#blow these cobwebs away

[whimsyfinny]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: None (Yet) in chapters to come there will be smut (and lots of it) and possible violence/blood/gore

Chapter Word Count: 2564

—-MDNI—-

A/N: Sorry that this one feels like a bit of a filler - but I’m seriously hoping to get some spicy content out in the next chapter so pls pls stay tuned! Also this is only proof read by myself so pls let me know of any errors!

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Please read the below first:

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

I’m Not Your F*cking Maid

Chapter 4

We spent a few hours researching and looking into the First Blades whereabouts after dinner, Dean and I only making work-related conversations after the pie ordeal. Every now and then when I looked up from the book I was reading I’d catch him looking in my direction, but I was far too tired for any more confrontation - I knew he'd act like an ass if I said anything. I decided to head to bed at around midnight, unable to read more than a few words and actually process said words in my brain. As Sam was still asleep, Dean showed me to my room which was tragically opposite his, and I could only imagine the noises that I’d be hearing coming through that door. Getting ready for bed, I dug out an old boyfriends T-shirt that I was still in possession of and threw it on, making sure to remove all other items of clothing except my panties. I climbed into bed - which was surprisingly more comfortable than I’d anticipated, though the sheets smelt a little musty - and set an alarm on my phone so I could hopefully rise before the boys in the morning. The moment my head hit the pillow, sleep whisked me away, not giving me a chance to think about the wild day I’d had and the total jackass that I’d met.

*

My alarm rang at 5am and I crawled out of bed, dressing in yesterday’s jeans with a clean, low-cut tank top and an open flannel thrown over the top. Pulling on my boots, I ran my fingers through my hair before heading to the en suite bathroom to brush my teeth. As I turned on the tap, the pipes clanged alarmingly as a small stream of water trickled from the faucet, the harsh noise echoing around the small tiled room. “That’s not concerning at all,” I mumbled to myself, the noise finally stopping as I turned the tap off. After I’d finished brushing I headed back into the bedroom to grab my phone before leaving the room to walk wearily to the kitchen. Upon arrival, I instantly made a pot of coffee, the smell alone already helping to blow away the sleepy cobwebs in my mind. I needed food. Something good, like pancakes. So I rummaged around until I found everything I needed, starting to memorise where the brothers kept everything after spending so much time in here yesterday evening. As I whipped up the batter, I threw some bacon in a pan and placed three plates on the table, along with some mugs, the pot of coffee and a big bottle of maple syrup. As soon as I started cooking the batter, it was like I’d used a summoning spell.

“You know when I first woke up I thought that I’d dreamt you up in some sort of weirdly tame nightmare” Dean said in a deep and raspy, fresh-from-sleep tone as he paced into the room and sat at the table, rubbing his eyes.

“Is that your way of saying that I’m your dream girl, Winchester?” I teased as I poured him a mug of coffee. He smirked, not looking up at me.

“You wish darlin’.”

“I really don’t,” I turned back to the stove and flipped the pancake, taking a sip from my own mug.

I’d made a stack of maybe twelve pancakes by the time Sam arrived, greeting me with that warm smile of his as he took a seat opposite Dean.

“Good morning (Y/n), something smells amazing.”

“Good morning Sam,” I smiled back at him before I looked over at Dean, “That’s how you greet someone in the morning Dean, not by telling them they were part of your living nightmare.” Dean shrugged, taking a long drink from his coffee.

Sam gave me an almost apologetic look on his brothers behalf, saying quietly, “as charming as ever then, Dean.” As he sat down I placed the stack of pancakes along with the bacon on the table and both men’s eyes lit up, immediately picking up their cutlery.

“Help yourselves,” I said, taking a seat between them, “just leave a couple for me at least.”

Dean was the first to pile about five onto his plate along with a good portion of the bacon. Without even looking at me he placed two pancakes on my own plate as he reached for the maple syrup. Before I could ask for the bacon, it was Sam who served some up for me before giving himself whatever was left over before handing me the syrup.

“Oh, thanks guys…” I said, a little shocked at how weirdly coordinated they were with that whole task.

“You’re welcome,” they both managed to mumble out through huge mouthfuls of food. We sat in a strangely nice silence for a few minutes, the only noise to be heard was the sounds of breakfast being totally annihilated. Dean was the first to throw his cutlery down with a very satisfied groan. He stretched, his T-shirt rising slightly to show his incredibly toned abdomen.

For fucks sake.

“THAT is what powers a man up in the morning,” he said, his fingers interlaced behind his head.

“Mmm hmm,” was all I managed to get out, finding it annoyingly difficult to look away, let alone to stop my eyes from trailing to where his leather belt hugged his hips and his old denim jeans gripped the thick muscles of his thighs. A few seconds must’ve passed when he cleared his throat and my eyes snapped up to be immediately caught in that moss-green gaze. Shit. I thought maybe for a second that he didn’t notice me looking. But then the corner of his mouth twitched up into that infuriating smirk. Luckily for me, he didn’t say anything, but I watched as he dragged his gaze over my figure, similar to how I did with him. It was Sam who spoke up next and I tore my eyes away, letting out a breath as he saved me from Deans silent interrogation.

“So I read last night about a possible case,” he started to say as he finished chewing the last bit of food on his plate before pushing it away and turning towards us.

“Go on,” Dean said, leaning forwards - finally covering his exposed stomach.

“I think it’s a haunting - some sort of item possession involving a ghost. All of the accidents that have been happening seem to occur either around or directly within an old antique store that’s connected to an old auction house. I think it’s worth a look,” Sam opened his laptop that he’d placed on the seat next to him, showing us all of the research he’d done overnight. Looking at the evidence he’d piled together, I think he was on to something. I nodded.

“Sure, I’m in. I’ll go pack a bag,” I said, standing up and clearing the plates from the table.

“Hang on a second,” Dean spoke up and I immediately knew he was talking to me.

“What?”

“What makes you think you’re coming with us for this?” His brows furrowed slightly.

“Because I never get to work out in the field - Bobby always had me on book duty and I want to see some real hunting in action,” I raised my voice a little starting to get defensive.

“If Bobby never let you do field work then neither are we. You’re staying here,” his tone was stern as he downed the last of the coffee and stood up, towering over me.

“What?!” I almost shouted.

“Dean, I don’t think it’s your place to say what she can and can’t do. I say we let her come along,” Sam intervened, his voice always full of reason and reassurance. I gave him a half smile - a small, ‘thank you for sticking up for me’.

“No way. There’s no way I’m letting Bobby’s girl put herself in danger. The old bastard would find a way to make us pay if anything were to happen to her; even from beyond the grave.”

“I don’t need you taking on his role, Dean. Bobby kept me safe my whole life, just him. I’m sure the pair of you could look out for me no problem on a little ghost trip,” I chided, coming up with a plan to get Dean to agree to me coming.

“(Y/n)s right, this shouldn’t be a hard case for us - if anything this is a small break from the real hard work,” Sam stepped towards Dean, trying to reassure him.

Dean looked from Sam to myself, and when our eyes locked I let a sly smile crawl onto my lips.

“Or maybe Dean Winchester isn’t up to the challenge?” I said, holding my hands up. He frowned, opening his mouth but I spoke again before he could get his words out. “Maybe….,” I stepped towards him, now only a few inches between us, “Dean Winchester is losing his touch, and isn’t the big strong man he used to be and really won’t be able to keep me safe…?” I flashed Dean my best doe eyes and I heard him suck in a breath as I reached forwards and tugged slightly on his T-shirt, making him look down at me with his eyes flicking between mine - dilating a little. I couldn’t help but bite my lip, looking up at him through my lashes and pressing my fingertips to his chest, feeling his heart rate increase with every beat from my touch. I liked to think that I was being very ‘persuasive’.

“I think you’re right (Y/n), I don’t think Dean is up to the task. He’s definitely been losing his touch,” Sam spoke up, catching on with my game and joining in with the verbal attack on his older brother. Deans eyes snapped up to look at Sam and the almost trance-like state he was in before was shattered.

“I have NOT lost my touch!” He snapped. Sam and I looked at each other and exploded into laughing very fake laughs, clapping and wiping away a pretend tear.

“Sure thing ‘sweetheart’,” I said, “prove it - keep me safe.”

“Oh I’ll keep you safe,” Dean took the bait and barged past us, “I’ll keep you safe from your own fucking shadow.”

*

After a few hours of packing and travelling, we arrived in a very well manicured town - even the motel was decent. Upon checking in, we got two rooms; one for me and one for the boys.

“Let’s drop our stuff off, freshen up and meet back here in ten?” Sam said, checking his watch. It was just past 11am.

“Sure, sounds good,” I replied, and Dean just nodded in approval. Their room was further down the corridor than mine, so I watched them leave before entering my room. It was the usual layout: one double bed, cheap linens, an old TV and an under-stocked minibar. At least the decor wasn't completely brown. I dumped my bags on the floor and started to unpack some essentials. I laid my clothes out on the bed - some of these outfits may come in handy later on. For now though, I’ll just stick to what I was already wearing. Lastly I grabbed a tin that was down in the bottom of my duffle - inside was a bunch of fake IDs that Bobby insisted on making me a few years ago. I smiled, remembering him always answering the phone to the Winchesters, pretending to be their FBI boss. I was always dying to know what they were hunting when he got those phone calls. I admired them a lot back then. I shook away the memory and pocketed the IDs, marching to the bathroom and splashing some water on my face before leaving, locking the door behind me.

The boys were already waiting for me.

“You boys ready?” I asked, to which they both nodded. “Where to first?” my question was aimed at Sam, but Dean replied.

“The old antique store just down here on the corner,” he grumbled as we started walking, still unimpressed that I was tagging along. I shot him a look as he practically glared at me from the other side of Sam.

“Get over yourself Dean. I’m along for the ride so deal with it,” I snapped at him, hoping he un-rustles his jimmies quickly. I wasn’t going to let him drag me down, not when I’m excited to actually be on a case. My first ‘out in the field’ case of all things. I wanted this to be a good memory. He scrunched his face up at my words, mouthing an angry ‘I hate you’ at me, to which I flipped him off.

“Guys just behave yourselves!” Sam stopped in his tracks right as we were outside our destination. “We are professionals so we need to act like it. We’re here to do our job,” Sam said in an authoritative voice - which undeniably sounded very attractive on him. I walked a few steps ahead of them and stopped with my hand on the front door to the store.

“Sam’s right. I’m happy to be here helping these people,” I smiled a little too sweetly before throwing a dark look at Dean, “so pull your shit together Dean, you’re making us look bad.” I heard him start to protest before I pushed the door open and walked into the shop, hearing the two brothers scurrying to catch up with me. As we walked in we were greeted by an older gentleman, with a kind face, a neatly trimmed pure white beard and round specs.

“Good morning and welcome to the store,” he said, his voice soft, “Can I help you?” He looked between the three of us. The boys reached for the fake badges, but they were lost for words when I beat them to the chase - obviously being unaware that I’d come prepared. Holding my badge up for the older gent to see, I spoke without missing a beat.

“Hi! Yes you certainly can help me - I’m agent Granger and these,” I jabbed my thumb to Sam and Dean who were standing right behind me, “are agents Crabbe and Goyle. We’ve got some questions for you regarding the strange occurrences going on around here recently.”

“Of course, it’s about time these things were investigated,” the older man turned and beckoned for us to follow, which Sam did immediately. Dean and I were left behind, staring each other down. I could tell he wasn’t happy that I had a badge, and I couldn’t help but smile at that. He scowled.

“This isn’t a fucking game.”

“You’re just mad that I got one up on you so early on,” I grinned up at him, his frown not budging.

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” he huffed.

“I’m safe from doing you then aren’t I?” I couldn’t stop the words from spilling from my lips.

“What?” He looked at me like I’d sprouted a second head, obviously not catching on. I chuckled a little, walking past him to catch up with Sam, leaving him standing there confused.

“Don’t think too hard about it Dean, you might hurt yourself,” I called back over my shoulder.

“Fuck y- hang on- oh you BITCH!” He shouted after me as he caught on finally. I laughed, not looking back.

“Only to you Dean.”

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Up Next:

Chapter 5

#dean x female!reader #dean winchester x you smut #dean winchester x reader smut #dean x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester #dean winchester enemies to lovers #enemies to lovers #eventual smut #slow burn #reader insert

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the water heater

lilac, chapter three

a/n: ...don't ask me how late it got when i wrote this.... i was on a roll that day and time just turned into a weird soup.

summary: “Dad, please, for the love of god, just–,” you spun around, though the unexpected figure that stepped into the low light caused your fury to fade away in an instant, “oh, uh, you’re not–, uhm, h-hi.”

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, renovating an inn, totally inaccurate description of tinkering with a water heater just for the sake of making them fall in love

word count: 1137

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“Well, maybe if you just–”

“Dad! Just–…” you swallowed the rest of the heated statement that nearly escaped your lips, mentally counting to three before glaring back at the man who was breathing down your neck, “do you remember when I was 12 and you had the clever idea of attempting to install that new sink in room 5?”

Already knowing where this story was gonna go, Harvey quietly replied, “…yeah…”

“And just who, pray tell, fixed it after you made the pipes uncontrollably spurt out water, consequently flooding the entire room?”

“…you did…”

“That’s right,” you sucked on another tense breath before continuing, “so, unless you’ve somehow improved that skill since then, which, I’m sorry dad, but I highly doubt that you have, please, just let me handle it alone.”

“…alright, fine,” he ultimately backed off, nearing the basement stairs, “but I’ll be right up by the front desk if you need me.” 

“I won’t,” you called over your shoulder as you redirected your attention to the hopeless pipes, “but thanks.”

Letting the illuminated spot from the small flashlight clutched in your palm guide your vision, you checked each and every rusty tube. 

After too many pokes and prods, you finally found the source of the problem. Stepping over towards the main pipeline you bend down and reached through tickling cobwebs to turn the paint-chipped knob clockwise, shutting all of the water off.

Before your spine managed to straighten back out, you felt your blood begin to boil as you heard the sound of heavy footsteps once again ascending the crooked staircase.

“Dad, please, for the love of god, just–,” you spun around, though the unexpected figure that stepped into the low light caused your fury to fade away in an instant, “oh, uh, you’re not–, uhm, h-hi.”

“Hey,” Pete’s deep voice echoed throughout the dim space, sounding the way that hot chocolate felt. 

“Uh, not that I’m not thrilled to see you here, in my basement of all places, but, um, what are you–, what can I help you with?” 

“Nothing ma'am,” he took a step closer, “it’s what I can help you with.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, Harvey sent me down here to take a look at something.”

“Oh, did he now…” that was the last you needed in order to lose your patience.  

“Yeah,” Pete’s eyes tracked your form as you riffled through the open metal toolbox and yanked out a wrench. 

“Well,” you huffed as you began to loosen the various hexagon-shaped fittings snug on the pipes spiderwebbing out from the bulky water heater apparatus, the labour of the task presenting itself in your vexed voice, “you can tell my dad that I’m still just fine and don’t need any help!” the tool on your palm then inadvertently slammed against one of the pipes, the clanging and therapeutic blow snapping you enough out of your ire to take a step back. Squeezing your eyes shut a moment, you let out a deep sigh before parting your lips once more to speak, “I’m sorry, it was very kind of you to offer your help, but I’m okay.” 

Fully expecting him to just take off, his stationary stance caught you off guard, “so, the water heater’s acting up?”

“It’s fucking ancient, that’s what it is,” you replied as you returned to twist the remainder of the fittings, “should have updated it long ago, but no, no, that never happened,” you continued to grumble mostly to yourself at this point, “of course it’s much more fun to let me handle it down the line when the hot water outlet is completely rusted over and clogged up to the point of no return, you know, that’s just so much more fun…” your words then faded away as you attempted to turn a knob that in no way wanted to corporate.

Quietly cursing underneath your breath, you tried to put all your weight into it as you strained to turn the stuck fitting. 

But just then, from out of nowhere, you felt the wrench begin to turn, but that victory wasn’t the only thing you suddenly felt. Engulfing your own, the comparatively massive hand of Pete enveloped yours as if it wasn’t even there to begin with, helping you turn it as though the metal was made out of butter. 

Blinking up at him after it finally twisted completely, his intimidating stature seemed even more towering up close. 

“Uh,” you slipped your hand out from under his calloused palm, “thank you…”

“No, problem,” you promptly whirled around to avoid his piercing gaze, busying yourself by riffling through the toolbox without any purpose whatsoever, “so your old man’s not helping you out in renovating this place?”

“Well, he’s brilliant at a lot of things, but those skills in particular have never really been in his bailiwick–, wait…” you kept your back turned to him as you asked, “how do you know that I’m renovating?” 

“People in this town like to talk, a lot,” he breathed out the essence of a laugh, “and that includes your father.”

“Ah, okay…”

Spinning around once again, you kept your eyes steadfast on the dusty pipes, though after what only felt like a second, Pete unexpectedly proposed, “hey, what do you say I lend you a hand?”

“What?” 

“Well,” hands clasped together in front of him, the digits on one of them dug into the palm of the other as he spoke, “I’m no stranger to fixing things, so it might help make it fly by a bit faster than if you try and get through it all on your own.”

Unable to detect if this was just some strange joke or not, you verified, “I’m sorry, but are you legitimately offering me your help in renovating this place right now?”

“Yes.” 

“Seriously?” you bellowed a little louder than you’d intended, earning just a small nod from him in confirmation, “I–…” you blinked back at him, downright dumbfounded, “that’s incredibly generous of you, but I can’t really afford to hire you right now…”

“Oh, I’m not asking you to hire me, just let me help out a bit.”

“Pete, I can’t let you do that, not without any form of compensation.”

“Well, then just pay me in free coffee till it’s done,” he attempted to joke, though it didn’t manage to crack a smile on your lips. 

“This is not funny, Pete.”

“No, it’s not,” he continued, still in a startlingly light-hearted tone, “you clearly don’t know yet just much coffee I tend to drink on average every day,” seeing you not budge an inch, he then dropped the attempt with a gentle nod, “fine, how about we just take a look at a price at a later date? Decide on it later when it’s all done, and you start making a profit again?” 

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#lea’s writing #lilac series #lumberjack!frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle imagine #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fic #the punisher fic #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher x reader #frank castle fluff #frank castle series #lumberjack au

[phonydiaries]

a Dance in The Dark - P x Reader

It’s late when you reach the puppet’s quarters. Long shadows loom along the walls of the hotel and a draft rustles past you, pajama-clad and disheveled from a night of restlessness. You hadn’t bothered to switch your clothes, knowing your dear puppet wouldn’t pay it any mind. You had half expected to find P dormant at this hour, but instead he’s laid out on the floor with his legs kicked over the side of his bed. A book -which he seems thoroughly engrossed in- is held up above his head, its pages illuminated by the yellow-green light of Monad’s lamp, which casts a soft halo about the edges of his face. You rap your knuckles against the doorframe and his eyes jump to you, startled out of their careful concentration.

“Can’t sleep.” You sigh, gesturing down the hall with a tilt of your head. “Walk with me?”

With a twitch of a smile, Pinocchio tosses his book to the side and rolls haphazardly out of his place on the floor, clumsy with excitement. 

Knowing the hotel well enough, the two of you make your rounds of its many chambers in the dark, ever so often bumping elbows to each other’s ribs. Your barefoot steps cast dull echoes through the halls as you dip in and out of doorways, poke behind desks and rummage carelessly through shelves. In the deep blue foreignness of nighttime, you feel exploratory; curious like children let loose in an enormous garden just brimming with unrealized discoveries. 

Passing through the entrance hall, you seize the coveted opportunity to act a fool behind the front desk. “Hello, you’ve reached Hotel Krat.” You say, picking up the receiver of the hotel’s long-dead rotary phone. You’re sat on top of the desk now, your legs swinging over the side. Pinocchio glances up at you, his hands preoccupied diligently petting the hotel’s beloved orange tabby. You feign listening to the nonexistent voice on the other end of the phone. “Oh I’m sorry, Mr. Spring is busy at the moment. I’m afraid he’s in a very important meeting.” 

After thoroughly nosing about, you find yourselves settling in the piano room, you and Pino curiously flipping through pages and pages of sheet music. P’s interest is especially piqued by one booklet and he takes a seat at the piano, attempting to make sense of its pages. An admirable attempt is made as he plinks slowly and diligently away at the piece, tugging at your sleeve when he gets stuck. You barely know more than he does, and as you sit together at the bench your fingers tangle and trip over each other. The resulting notes are dissonant and clangy and you both fall into ripples of laughter at your duet's messy melody. 

The night wears on calmly, P fingering through a box of cobwebbed records, most of which are scratched beyond recognition. He retrieves one with some care and blows a layer of dust from the cover, his nose scrunching as it flutters across his face. 

You’re lying on the floor, limbs outstretched like a lazy snow angel as P futzes with the gramophone. There’s a few moments of anticipatory static before the record crackles to life; a somber piano score reverberates through the dim and intimate space. You close your eyes  as a woman’s wispy voice floats through the room, cool and calm. Something about the melody, the echo, the timbre of her voice makes your ribs fall heavy around your heart like a slowly but surely shrinking birdcage. 

Close your eyes,

Come to me,

Feel alright,

Just dance with me all through the night

“I can’t stand it.” You start, “It’s beautiful… but it makes me so sad.” 

You wonder if P is affected differently, maybe even more than you are by the emotional quality of the music. He certainly seems to have a fascination with it. “What about you?” You ask, your head turning to glance at the puppet. 

P’s eyes flicker towards the ceiling and his mouth twitches to the side in thoughtful consideration. He lifts a finger at you -hold on- while he rises from his place at the piano stool and arranges himself with precision beside the grand. He stands up tall, shoulders back, one arm held out just-so at hip level, the other outstretched as if resting on the shoulder of a ghost. You beam at the fine mimic work in front of you. 

“Really?” you ask, your brows knitting with intrigue. “Makes you want to dance, huh?” 

He nods enthusiastically and motions for you to join him. Your mouth hangs open for a moment. 

“Oh- no really I don’t know the first thing about it.” You stammer. Before your days at the hotel as Pinocchio’s companion, you had never known such affluent people and knew very little of high society or of their practices. Any formal knowledge of dance was utterly foreign to you. 

P assumes a swordsman’s stance and shrugs at you, nonchalant, as if combat training and dance were the most naturally drawn parallels in the world. 

“Sparring with you isn’t the same.” You say flatly, but P’s already made up his mind, and before you know it his hand is closing around yours and he’s tugging you up off the floor. You laugh nervously as you rise to your feet. “No, I’m serious! I don’t-” You begin to protest, but you catch a glimpse of his face, wide pleading eyes and creased brows. He smiles with all the calculated charm of a fox, handsome and cunning. You exhale deeply, steeling yourself before meeting his gaze. 

“Oh fine.” You relent, much to his chagrin. “Just watch your feet, I mean it.” 

P’s smile is annoyingly triumphant as he holds his hands palm-up out to you, seeking your guidance. Always so much concern for your comfort, you feel your cheeks warm just barely and hope the low light of the piano room masks it.

“Right. Um. Let’s see, you’ll put your hands…here.”  You say, taking his hands in yours and leading them to the crook between your waist and hips. He steals curious glances at you as you do. 

“And then I guess I’ll just…” You trail off, as your hands fold neatly together at the nape of his neck. You stand still for a moment, just looking at each other in the dark, the features of your faces obscured and foreign. This isn’t the way these things are normally done, you think, in pajamas, in the dark, but you can’t imagine it gets any better. If not for the undercurrent of music, you may have forgotten your purpose here entirely. P takes the first step, and you follow his lead with a dull anxiousness. Strangely enough, your movements feel still and mechanical compared to his. You try to loosen up, rolling your shoulders back, allowing yourself to be disarmed. P’s presence has a funny way of setting you at ease. 

The two of you move slowly in circles through the room, swaying gently like awkward young lovers. You draw into him as the music carries. Your cheek settles against his shoulder and his arms wrap around the small of your back and you breathe easy. It’s a lovely feeling, the way your bodies fit together like this, like they were made to. As you continue to step and sway, you close your eyes and listen to the gentle whirs and clicks of your companion’s heart…although… 

You maneuver slightly and press your ear to his chest. With some surprise you notice a skipping in its usual rhythm, bolder than you’ve ever heard it. You pull your head away and look up at P’s face in awe, a glinting smirk crossing your lips. 

“Pino, are you nervous?” You ask, cocking your head to the side. His face contorts and he opens his mouth as if to speak, but nothing comes of it. He actually looks flustered and you almost don’t believe it. “It’s just me.” You say simply. At this, Pinocchio’s face softens, his brows turning up as if he’d taken offense.

“Just you?” He asks, and the timbre of his voice surprises you. You spend so much time together, and yet hardly do you hear him speak. Your smile fades slowly, replaced with an expression of curiosity. You nod hesitantly and hum in reply. P shakes his head at you, deliberate and slow. 

“Not just.” He murmurs, his gaze holding yours intently. “Never just you.” You realize you’re holding your breath. A ghost of a whisper slips past your lips. 

“Oh.”

Your fingers itch for something you can’t quite name and you find yourself pulling the puppet closer. His head dips to meet you and you feel a stray lock of his hair brush your cheek. His breath is warm.

The song ends. 

The needle of the gramophone lifts and the air is stretched thin with a cutting silence. You’re left in the dark together again, frozen in place. It feels terribly long, like you’re both waiting for something.  

“The music’s stopped.” You say, shattering the stillness of the moment, and as P moves to retrieve the record you immediately wish you hadn't. Your hand extends to stop him, fingers closing around his wrist. “But- we don’t have to, you know.” 

In the dark, you think you see him smile. He holds you like glass, delicate, and picks up again, moving leisurely to the music playing only in his head. He hums the tune softly and you follow suit, the two of you meeting in a duet of somber sounds. You wonder if your chests swell the same, if your breaths and heartbeats synchronize, following each other blindly the way you do now. The motion feels like crashing waves, steady and rhythmic, comfortingly repetitive. You fall into the flow of it all over again, leaning against P, sturdy and secure. You wouldn’t mind doing this all night.

Feels alright, indeed. 

#shalalalala KISS THE FUCKING. BOY. #P talks more than usual meaning a total of 7 words #piano and gramophone are not in the same room but I realized that too late so you're gonna have to be okay with that #lies of p #lop #lies of p fanfic #my writing #lies of p x reader #pinocchio x reader

[livingproofoftbd]

list of awesome manhunt plays

because i always forget which plays are in which videos. figured i'd put it here if anyone else wanted it

2v1

the OG pearl clutch when sapnap dies and he gets his stuff

3v1 round one

covering the water with planks so the hunters die when they jump (MY FAVORITE) (its the first i ever watched :,D )

hunters lava trapping the end portal

3v1 rematch

he drinks the fire res as he jumps into lava and bad dies falling after him

tricks the hunters into thinking his fire res is more strength

as bad and sapnap turn back, he shoots an arrow from a mountain and hits bad from ~100 blocks away

3v1 finale

building a new nether portal to trick bad

splashing an invis pot so no one knows who anyone is

he sets up an end crystal trap in the stronghold and kills them all

bad sneaks up on him and kills him when he’s on half a heart after just killing the other two in the end

3v1 finale rematch

wearing bad’s skin

building his nether portal in a tower

dropping his sword just in time to land on a horse after being knocked from his portal with no water

3v1 grand finale

placing boats under him to cross a lava lake

dropping tnt into the end portal and putting the hunters in the void

4v1 round one

using leaves to tower up and hide in the nether cieling

snd promptly use a fishing rod to pull ant and bad up and kill them from fall damage

we all know it, we all love it. Towering up in the middle of a lake and using frostwalker boots to kill the hunters when they fall

the hunters using end crystals to heal the dragon

4v1 rematch

ant jumping down in the temple with him and setting the tnt off

he kills sapnap and ant with a tnt minecart

the hunters getting prot 4 armour

building a portal on the nether roof and trapping them there with no flint and steel, leaving them to kill themselves to escape

he digs under the end stone and hides in the middle, exploding bed after bed under the dragon as it perches

4v1 finale

ladder clutching when sapnap knocks him down off a tower on the edge of a mountain

trapping sapnap and george in cobwebs and blowing them up

hunters getting full enchanted diamond armour and building a huge castle around the nether portal that dream combats by drinking an invis pot

entity cramming george with minecarts and getting his gear

he lands an MLG on the side of an ISLAND when the dragon hits him

4v1 finale rematch

half a heart and no hunger but still chasing the hunters

the western showdown between dream and sapnap

the under-lava duel between dream and sapnap

ant killing dream with a splash potion

4v1 grand finale

scaffolding glitch

setting off fireworks and killing all the hunters in the portal room

5v1 round one

the boat clutch of all time after sapnap hits him off the tower

stealing sapnap’s enchanted diamond axe and diamond pick

stealing ant’s look and dropping tnt when the hunters dig down

the hunters revive the dragon

5v1 rematch

jumping off the mountain into a village water source

the second boat clutch of all time when he lands on a ghast

rearranging tnt to blow up under the hunters instead of under his portal

visiting the end city

5v1 finale

falling as the tree grows and breaking a leaf at the last second

covers the portal in the nether and overworld in lava

that daylight sensor pearl trick where he disappeared hundreds of blocks from the stronghold

the ender dragon glitch with the water really high above the main end island

5v1 rematch finale

enters the nether within 2 minutes

building a hole to the void to trap the hunter in

sam punching him into his own trap while invis

THE SOUNDBOARDS

the hunters covering the last crystal in obsidian

bad having god-like reflexes, placing obsidian, an end crystal, and exploding it all in like one second

5v1 grand finale

stealing sapnap’s bucket as it falls

trapping the hunters in an ocean monument

bow boosting

throwing a pearl, bone-mealing saplings, and landing on the fully grown tree

building another flying machine

sapnap stopping him by breaking a slime block and sacrificing himself

basically this whole end, dude

dropping tnt and instantly killing four of the hunters, slime clutching and bouncing down to george

fishing his pearls and surviving (perfect throwback to 2v1)

hope you find this helpful if you are like me and can never remember which video the clutch you wanna watch is in

#one of the only good things to come out of me binging the whole series #idk if someone's already done this but whatever #im my own target audience #also its possible i've somehow missed one i was taking notes during watching so i couldve somehow just Not seen one #dreamblr #dtblr #dwt #dwtblr #dreamwastaken #minecraft manhunt #minecraft #gnf #sapnap #bbh #awesamedude #antfrost #georgenotfound #badboyhalo #munchymc #muffinteers #manhunt crew #rewatching era #dt #dteam #dream team #mine

[itsbackwoodsbby]

A/N: confession- pretty sure this was wrote the beginning of this year… like february/april. went through a lot. never forgot it though. revisited it a lot to read what i had. just never finished … here it is … nov. 22nd at 3am. removing the cobwebs and putting it for the world to see. hope you guys enjoy it. definitely not proofreading this, so excuse the errors.

ICU

Yahya Abdul Mateen II x Black Fem Reader

Warning: Smut! Unprotected Sex! Dinking (Recreational)! Swearing!

Summary: Yahya and you used to be together, until you both realized that you were better off as friends. You start dating again and none of the guys are really for you. a lonely night in your apartment makes you realize that Yahya might be one.

Inspo: ICU by Coco Jones

you come into your apartment and place your purse on the counter and take off your heels. you head to the kitchen and make yourself a very strong peach margarita on the rocks. after you make the drink, you trudge to your living room and sink deep into your couch, replaying the date in your head. he was an hour and thirty minutes late. he got loud with the waiter for getting his food wrong. the waiter was new and scared. so our waiter changed to a waitress and he starts flirting with her for the whole ass night. you groan and start face palming.

there’s no way you go out with yet another asshole. get it together y/n.

“alexa, play icu by coco jones.” you blow out, very upset with yourself.

she follows your command and the music plays.

you close your eyes. the cadence of coco’s beautifully crafted voice fills the room. you get up and look at the night sky and admire the stars. they looked so delicate in the sky. then, you were startled by a pair of hands wrap around your waist as you felt lips on the nape of your neck. you know who it was without turning around. it was him. but you don’t fully know if it’s him. you turn around to face this man and you were right.

yahya… the one that got away. you guys met through mutual friends who were trying to hook you guys up. a few weeks later, you two started dating. he was amazing. he called you every day to check on you, random flowers, occasional dates. sweetest guy ever. then, he got busy with work and you got busy with work, the two of you barely saw each other. slowly, texting each everyday went to no text for many many weeks. so you two decided with your busy schedules to just be friends.

as you two were facing each other, you don’t speak. just admire each other. you start to think how the hell you went this long without this man. his warm embrace and his touches were the best thing ever in this world. you two dance together to the song. your head resting easily on his chest his arms. you haven’t been this relaxed in a while.

as soon as the song goes off, yahya disappears. you open your eyes and realize you were only daydreaming about him in your lonely apartment. the condensation of the glass now soaking the couch. you shake it off by finishing the rest of your drink and heading to the bathroom to shower. you start playing your shower playlist and get inside. when you turn on the water, you let a sigh out and let the water rain down on your body and lean on the wall.

your thoughts travel to the first time you shower with yahya. you close your eyes again and he’s back in the shower with you. he hold you tightly and you reciprocate the same tight embrace. you look up at him and kisses his chest. he smiles at you and kisses your forehead. then somehow, you pinned against the shower getting dicked down by him. you’re grabbing onto to the shower curtain, screaming, because the pleasure is so unbelievably amazing. he just chokes you and plants his soft lips onto yours to quiet you down. you’re on the verge of coming. he goes deeper and hits your spot until you’re creaming all on his dick.

then… he’s gone again.

y/n … don’t do it. fight it. you don’t miss him. it’s just the alcohol and that horrible ass date.

you try to repeat it to yourself in the shower as you wash your body. you get out the shower, get dressed into this, and do your nighttime routine. when you get done, you go into your room and decide to write out the things you have to do tomorrow. trying to be productive and organize. afterwards, you scroll on instagram and the first post yahya. at a dinner party with your two mutual friend, leilani. they were cuddled up together… and not in a friendly way. your emotion start to show and you’re jealous. you sighs and lay in bed and try to go to sleep. but no matter what, you started feeling him cuffing him, making you miss him more than you think you actually think you do. you sit up in bed and look at the time. 1:30am. finally breaking and deciding you need to talk to him, you grab your phone and a cardigan to wear. heading to the living room, you grab your keys and glasses. you’re heading to the door and you open it and see yahya was about to knock on your door.

“uh… hey y/n.” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “i know it’s late and all but i just really need to talk to you.” you touch his chest and tap him. just to see if he’s real. he chuckles, “are you okay?” you sigh out, “yeah.” you giggle, kind of embarrassed. “this night has been crazy.” you say. “come in. make yourself comfortable.” you say moving out of his way so he could come in.

he comes in and you two sit on the couch staring at each other. “so. how have you been?” he starts off. “i’ve been good. started back writing.” you say. “and yourself?” you add. “that’s good. i’m amazing. finishing up filming with leilani. it’s been really fun.” he smiles really hard. “that’s good.” you say, trying to cover your jealousy. you don’t think he catches on to it but he chuckles, “what’s up?” he asks and you give him a confused look. “what do you mean?” he shrugs a bit, “you just said it dryly like you’re jealous or something.”

you laugh it off but he was spot on. he could always tell your emotions. and you didn’t know if you hated it or loved it but now… you definitely hated it.

“anyways yahya. what are you here for?” you asks him, trying to avoid the question. he breaths in, “y/n … i miss you.” you look at him and you’re super speechless. “what do you mean?” you stumble out somehow. “look… i understand we didn’t have time for each other at one point of time. but i really like you. hell i love you. i can’t even get you out my head.” he says. “you love me? what about leilani?” you ask him and look down. “what about her?” he looks at you confused. “aren’t you two together?” he chuckles and it turns into a laugh. “no, we’re not. it’s just for the movie.” you look down kind of embarrassed. “oh okay.” you smile at him and giggle. “i miss you so much yahya. with everything that’s being going on… it showed me how much i miss you. how much i need you. us breaking up was a mistake. i love you too.” you say, as it feels like 100 bricks has been lifted off your shoulders.

you both admire each other again. eventually, you shy away and look down because you both have been staring too long at each other. he lifts your chin up and caresses your warm cheek with his thumb.

“don’t break contact.” he says, looking into your eyes, more like your soul.

you just nod your head and look at him. eventually, the two of your lips collide with each others. this feeling right here is what you missed. after the kiss, you two catch up with each other some more. with a bottle of wine and some music, the conversation starts to get a little sensual.

“yahya… when is the last time you had sex?” you ask him boldly out of nowhere. he laughs, “well uh, i haven’t had sex since we broke up.” he places his glass down and eyes you down. “did you give my pussy away to someone else?” you astounded at the way he reworded the question, “wow, uh way to throw me off guard.” you giggle. “nope, i didn’t give your pussy away.” he smiles at you, “good girl.” making you bite your bottom lip. “mm … let me put this wine up. it’s a little warm.” you say and head towards the kitchen.

you open the refrigerator and place the wine in there. you close it and before you can turn around you feel those muscular arms wrap around your waist. you smile. his hand begins to fumble with the trim of your romper and his finger starts brushing against your clit. you remove your body from the romper and turn around to face him. he licks his bottom lip, letting you know, it’s about to go down.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷ (resume spot)

the time was now 2:30am. the room was filled with skin clapping and moans and groans. you looked back at him. it’s crazy how you were just scared to make eye contact with him a few minutes ago, but now you’re looking back at him with the most sluttiest, lustful eyes. making him know, you want more and he gave your more. a little too much more. you grab his chest and slowly trailed down to his stomach to slow him down a bit. however, he just grabbed both your arms and pinned them to your back.

“fuck! yahya, please it’s too much!” you cry out as he smirks at you. “baby girl, i know you can take this dick.” he grunts out. you sigh and bury your face in the pillow and moan into it. he smacks your ass, “i want to hear you, y/n.” you jump up a bit and bury your face into the pillow again. he shakes his head, “well, you put this one on yourself.”

he pull you up from the pillow by your hair. your back is now on his stomach as he digs deeper inside your pussy. your moan resume filling up the room as you relax your head on his shoulder. he kisses your neck and pulls your waist closer to his, making sure you don’t run from this dick. you grip his muscular arms and dig your nails through them.

“oh! oh! fuck! baby, i’m about to cum.” you squeal out. “cum on this dick, baby. he kisses your neck as you clench tighter and tighter around his dick.

you wet his waist down with your orgasm. you fall back on the the bed and try to relax as he was still fucking you. it wasn’t as aggressive. your throbbing pussy was bringing yahya closer his nut as he hovers over you, planting wet kisses down your back and giving you slow deep strokes. a few seconds later, he pulls out and cums on your back.

“shit, i really needed that y/n.” he says as he smacks your well bruised hand printed ass. “lemme go get you a towel.”

he goes to your bathroom, runs some warm water on two rags, and comes back and cleans his mess off your back. you arch your ass up to stretch like a cat. yahya spreads them cheeks to clean your pussy up from the wet mess you have, but gets distracted by your glistening pussy. he smirk. you look at him.

“oh, no. you’re not eating my pussy again.” you say, but you wiggle your ass at him. he touches your clit and rubs it slowly with his thumb. “oouu, shit, baby. i just said no.” you saying, but both of you already knew you wanted him to eat it again.

he starts having a full blown make out session with your clit. you couldn’t do anything but hang your mouth low and push his head closer to your pussy. he grips your cheeks and spread farther apart from each other and licks up and down. you close your eyes and bite your lip.

“mhm, baby. just like that.” you nod your head and start grinding your lower half into his face.

he grabs your waist and pull you even more closer to him, burying his face in your pussy and starts shaking his head in between your cheeks, getting his nose wet in the process. you couldn’t understand how you just fed this man your pussy almost an hour ago and he’s still eating this motherfucker like he’s hungry. your clit starts to pulsate, meaning it was time to cum again. you sigh as you cum in his mouth this time. you flip on your back and watch as he gets the semi-cold rag. he barely puts it on you, yet you still jump up.

“too cold. too cold.” you hiss out and he laughs. “you want me to just lick the mess up?” he jokingly says. “yeah.” you say laughing.

you didn’t think he would take it serious since you laugh, but he did. you let out a moan and he chuckles and comes up to your face and kisses you sloppily while let you taste yourself on his lips and in his saliva.

“see how good you taste, mamas?” he says after the kiss. “yes.” you smile, giggling at him. you two cuddle for the rest of night and watch the sunrise in the morning and making up for the time lost. then eventually, you both go to sleep.

Next >>

#Spotify #yahya abdul mateen ii #back from the dead #lol nah it was a mental health hiatus. #poc writer #x black fem reader #late night #candyman #aquaman #all day and night #black writer #black fanfiction #itsbackwoodsbby #past relationships #back together #smut #celebrities #short story #black tumblr #ICU Coco Jones

[horseshoegirl]

Set Me Alight: Part 7 - Paint It, Black

📜Life is messy. And complicated. And writer blocky, with a dash of imposter syndrome... I just want to put that out there... Anyway...

Well, the poll won out. You all want to know what Jake said to Midge. This is solely a flashback chapter. I can't say I'm surprised at who you all disliked in the last chapter, though I hope this one will give you some insight into why Midge has held on to this for as long as she has.

Special thank you to @teacupsandtopgun for helping me to write a certain part of this! You can thank her for the puns! And @sarahsmi13s for taking a peak at it!

❗️+18, Minors DNI, Strong Language, Enemies to Lovers, Original Female Character (s), Short OFC, Bradley Bradshaw x Natasha Trace, flashbacks, Halloween college parties, school, angst, sexual themes (overhearing), drunkness/inxotication. I mentioned angst, right? 💀

#8k <- yes, i know

Part 6 | Masterlist | Part 8

*Halloween Four Years Ago*

Giving orders to a football team to put up Halloween directions was not an easy feat. They were kids in a joke shop, only too happy to take every opportunity to jump-scare each other with a spider, a white sheet or slide out from behind a door and shout boo! 

Despite the antics, you were grateful for the help. Nat and you wouldn’t have finished in time. And even then, you suspected Nat probably would have given up halfway through, merely deciding to throw Yellow Caution Tape on the walls and call it a day. 

You wouldn’t have stopped - even if it became a doomed effort. 

Bradley’s friends weren’t what you expected them to be. True, their appearance fit the bill a thousand times over. Tall, broad shoulders and bulging muscles were all the product of hard work - including Bob, who was smaller than the rest, though not by much.  Even their mannerisms, from how they acted childish and goofy to how they winked or playfully flirted, everything you saw played into the stereotypical type that was the classic college football jock. 

Then you got to know them—really know them—and hated yourself for ever associating them as such. 

You already knew Bradley and had met him on occasion. When he stayed over to be with Nat, he was often up before you, and you’d chat with him over a cup of coffee. He always brought her a cup to wake her up when he could, and it always made you smile. 

His story was a sad one. His father passed away when he was only two years old, leaving his mom to raise him alone. While he couldn’t regale you with his memories of him, he instead offered you the stories attached to his father’s things: a button-up Hawaiian shirt in pale pastels, a pair of coffee-brown Ray Ban sunglasses, and even a worn Milk chocolate leather-strapped bag he used to lug his books around campus. 

Then, his mom passed away in high school, and his father’s best friend took him up until the point decided to leave for school. Bradley chose his words carefully when he spoke of any of them, offering little, and you wondered if the loss was still too much for him to bear. 

Or something else had happened, and he didn’t want anyone to know. 

 But as you helped him blow up a few balloons for the floor, a song from a later decade played through the speakers, and Bradley lit up, producing a smile wider than the nearby Jack-o-lantern. He launched into a story about how much his parents loved music and how his father would play the piano, which alone made him want to learn. 

You asked him if and when he did if he’d play for you one day.

Javy Machado, however, couldn’t be more different from Bradley if he tried.

He was just as meticulous as you when it came to detail. The two of you were discussing the best way to tape Velcro to the kitchen cupboards to stick fluff to the sides and mimic cobwebs when you discovered this fact. He was … quietly smooth and persuasive, with a suave smile that indicated he could charm his way into or out of any situation he wanted without needing to flirt or play it thick. 

“Angle it like this, Maeve,” he had explained, stretching the piece out. “Principle of maximum contact area equals maximum adhesive stretch.” 

You had raised your eyebrows at that remark, which prompted him to chuckle softly. 

"Science major," he shrugged with that smile, making your internal monologue stutter to a halt until you went, "Wait... What?!" 

He only laughed at your reaction, amused in a way like he’d been expecting it. But it was that look of genuine interest in his eyes that made you ask him properly. 

He didn't know what field of science to specialize in, but Javy made all of it sound amazing. From stars to not dirt—it's soil—to understanding how the world worked, he knew he wanted to spend his life trying to figure it all out. If he could throw a ball around and be part of a team with his friends, he considered himself fortunate to do both. 

Even if his passion was so far removed from your own, you may have seen some of yourself in his journey, trying to fit in while doing what you loved most. 

Holding up a string of lights against the wall, Reuben Flitch told you he was floating through school, waiting for the day he could finally be free. On that day, he’d take over his family’s business. Comparing him to the fractured story of your brother and sister following in your parent’s footsteps never seemed to cross your mind. 

Because when you asked what the business was, his face lit up with an enthusiasm you hadn’t expected. 

“My grandparents own vineyards," he had beamed. "They've been in the family for generations. I've grown up with the land, the grapes, and the entire winemaking process." 

He told you stories of growing up, playing through the vines and rows of trellises, making you long for the rows of apple trees at Aunt Viv's. He also talked about spending time with his grandfather, learning the process of pressing grapes and his grandmother tending and picking the grapes. He spoke about the people, everyone from the gardeners to the people who bottled the wine to his siblings, with whom he'd played hide-and-seek within the cellars. 

He told you a business major was worth it, as much as he loathed it, if he could own the place one day.  

You hoped he did. 

But Mickey Garica and Bob Floyd were... characters, to say the least. It was easy to talk with them, even laugh with them, as the three of you spread tiny black spiders all over the apartment. 

Mickey couldn’t stop asking if you could paint him one day, though you imagined it would be fandom-inspired rather than a realistic portrait. The second you asked him about his favourite universe, he launched into a word vomit of praise for each and every one. He spoke of Lord of the Rings, Marvel, Star Wars, Star Trek, and Batman—not DC—as the character deserved to be separated from the rest. 

It made you wonder if the one portrait would be enough. Still, you happily humoured him, saying you needed the practice. 

He was in Health Sciences, hoping it would be enough to get his foot in the door to become a firefighter. He talked about it so passionately, about being capable of making a difference and saving lives, that you honestly couldn’t see him in any other role. 

And given the opportunity, Bob was so full of sass and witty comebacks to the ones you managed to throw his way, you were surprised he was seeking an Anthropology and Archaeology degree. He seemed to have a natural talent for what Comedians had labelled “crowd work.” You honestly would have taken him for a drama major had he not told you differently.

However, once he explained his choice, you understood why. Growing up, having been a Boy Scout, learning about nature, rocks, and life. He wanted to know more about life, history, and how things were. 

A visit to an archeological dig site in high school sold it for him. His eyes lit up when he spoke about ancient civilizations, lost artifacts, and all the mysteries surrounding human evolution. He rattled off facts about Neanderthals and cave paintings, which had you urging him for more. 

He happily obliged and was encouraging when you offered a few that you knew of. 

All of them were so passionate about what they wanted to do with their lives, even Bradley, who wanted to pursue football seriously as a career; you admired all of them for it with your entire heart. 

But Jake Seresin was... you didn’t know. Nor did he, it seemed. 

Jake was there at your side every time you went back up that ladder, claiming someone needed to catch you should you fall again. You had rolled your eyes, a slight smirk gracing your face, but you let him all the same. 

He wasn’t as open as the others, wanting to flirt with you more than anything else. Somehow, you managed to get him talking about football, and when you asked him why he played, he admitted that his father had gone and played at the school. He had been urged to apply, and his family would support him throughout his entire ride. 

“Family money,” he said, his tone light when you gawked at him. You didn’t ask what his parents did, but knowing he came from a rich family, you wondered if he didn't want people to know. You certainly didn't. Nat didn’t know, at least not yet. 

It prompted him to add his parents weren’t pressuring him into one career or another; they simply wanted him to keep up with the sport. So, he was buying time and taking electives, trying to figure it out, though he would have to make a decision soon. 

And it made you wonder, under that confidence, under that layer of charm and ease on his surface, if he was searching for what everyone else in the group had already found. While everyone else didn’t fit the stereotype, you wondered if Jake was attempting to mould himself into it. 

How you wished to tell him, he didn’t have to. 

But Jake wasn’t a painting you could tear apart or theorize about. And as you pinned that last streamer to the ceiling, you realized over the course of the afternoon, you’d unwittingly developed a bit of a crush on him. 

You weren’t stupid. You recognized the signs the second he caught you off that ladder. The second he handed you that shot. He was laying on the charm, the flirty glances, the playful smiles. Even the slight touches on your waist as you leaned back, pining streamers to the ceiling, were waving the red flags in your head. 

Jake was either genuinely interested or actively looking for someone to hook up with tonight. 

It wouldn’t be you, that’s for sure—not even for someone so charming and handsome as Jake Seresin. 

In the last two hours, the guys took turns getting ready first while everyone else finished with the final touches. They wanted you and Natasha to go first, but you vehemently refused, knowing they’d ruin hours of hard work if left unsupervised. 

You also wanted to see this through to the end, but you kept that to yourself. You had revealed enough of your quirky, artsy side to them. You did not need to add to it by gushing over the decorations or how the entire apartment turned out, possibly damaging whatever relationship you'd established so far. 

People were weird when it came to shit like that. 

Jake and Bradley emerged from Nat’s bedroom just as the two of you were headed toward yours. The hallway was already lit in a deep red from the lights now neatly strung up in the corners of the ceiling. Though the sun was beginning to set, shining warm light through your window, you knew the total effect would be entirely eerie when night rolled around. You couldn’t wait to see it.

Bradley was dressed as Indiana Jones: a white shirt, a brown leather jacket, and a fake whip at his side. His outfit was complementary to Nat's Marion Ravenwood, her costume the classic white dress from the first movie you spent a while making. Though she did ask you to take some creative liberties with the design, the dress was more risque than necessary. 

The only thing remotely movie-accurate about it would be the puffy sleeves.

You couldn't help but whistle when Jake stepped out from behind Bradley. Instantly perking up at the noise, he let out a sly smirk and straightened the lapels of his deep black leather jacket. 

"Danny Zuko, huh?" you laughed softly. "Guess you've got the whole 'bad boy' vibe down." 

Jake smirked at you, copying one of the iconic character's signature moves by sliding his hands into his black leather jacket pockets as he strode by. "Only missing my Sandy. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find one, would you?" 

You coyly peered at him over your shoulder as you continued down the hall. Unknown to either of you, Nat and Bradley had stopped to watch the interaction, filled to the brim with curiosity. 

"Wouldn't know. I'm more of a Rizzo myself. Too much sass and not enough patience for leather pants." 

"To get into them or to get out?"

With a glimmer in your eyes and a smirk on your lips, you pivoted to face Jake completely, still walking backwards. “You're quite the smooth talker, aren’t you?” 

Jake shrugged, giving off the vibe of, ‘I can’t help my reputation.’ However, you could see the easy grin on his face, and one side of his mouth crooked upwards, making him appear boyish—just like the character he was dressed up as. 

It made your heart flutter inside your chest. 

“It’s a shame I’m more into the rough-around-the-edges type,” you teased softly, pausing by the corner. 

Liar. Oh, you horrible liar. 

Jake’s grin didn’t disappear when you saw him press his tongue to the inside of his cheek, arching an eyebrow. Instead, it turned into a knowing smirk.

“Is that so?” he teased.

You flushed, at a loss for words. Jake's teasing gaze lingered, and the lift in the corner of his mouth suggested he saw right through your lie. Your cheeks burned hot. 

Jake's chuckle echoed softly down the hallway as you made your escape, somehow making your heart race faster. You didn't dare look back, but you could feel his eyes on you as you turned the corner and down the hallway to your bedroom.

As Jake retreated back into the apartment, Bradley coughed lightly. He exchanged a knowing look with Nat, who had been watching your retreat. He jutted his head once toward you, and Nat replied in kind with a single tilt of her head toward Jake. 

They didn’t need to say aloud what they were thinking. They’d talk about what they discovered later, but it wouldn’t stop them from pressing this interesting development further. 

When she reached your room, Nat found you already in your robe, sitting at your vanity, brushing your hair. You had already laid out your costumes on your bed earlier in the day, and Nat raced to hers the second she saw it, making grabby hands at the fabric. 

"Ahh, it turned out so great, Maeve!" she exclaimed, grabbing the top and holding it up. You glimpsed at her through the reflection of your mirror, smiling when she hugged it to her chest.

“If I had made it any deeper, Nat, you’d be showing off more than just dangly bits.” 

She blew a raspberry at you. You giggled, shaking your head.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to do couples costumes. I never thought Bradley would go for it,” she said after a while, standing next to you and straightening her hair in the mirror of your vanity.

“Really?” you asked, concentrating on not poking your eye out with your mascara. 

“How else am I going to shoo off all the girls practically clamouring to get with Bradley? It’s a nice way to do it, don’t you think?” 

“Maybe. Not every costume as a twin, though,” you said, lowering your hand to gesture to yourself. You hoped Nat would at least acknowledge the effort you’d made or pep you up for a party you'd originally never wanted to hold. 

“What about the Danny wandering around the apartment ‘without his Sandy’?”

You dropped your hand from where you had started fixing up your other eye, glaring at her reflection in your mirror. “Really, Nat?” 

“What, you don’t dream of a little Summer Lovin?” 

You felt your face flush. As if Jake would ever really go for someone like you. “It’s Halloween, Nat.” 

“Exactly. It’s Halloween, and it’s getting colder. Maybe you’ve got chills, and maybe they're multiplying.” 

You groaned, dropping your head and smacking it against your vanity. 

“You’re sure he’s not the one you want?” she bumped you with her hip, grinning.

“Can you stop with the Grease puns? Please,” you squawked. 

Nat laughed, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger as she stepped away. "Okay, okay. But if you change your mind, I think Danny Zuko out there wouldn't mind being 'the one that you want.'"

Fingers wrapping around the handle of your hair brush, you didn’t lift your head from the vanity as you chucked it in Nat’s direction. She laughed hard, and you didn’t need to look to know you had missed her completely. 

Nat eventually cajoled you into helping her slip into her dress, adjusting bits and pieces of fabric here and there. You sat back down at your vanity as she twirled once in the mirror, declaring she was satisfied. Then her eyes went to the door, and her attention shifted to Bradley and what waited beyond it. 

"Are you okay if I go out? Do you need any help?" Nat's voice was laced with excitement, and her eyes gleamed with anticipation of finally having a party as she smoothed down the sides of her dress.  

You shook your head, leaning back in your chair. Nat didn’t meet your gaze. "No, I'm good. I only need to touch up my makeup, and my dress is a slip-on," you smiled. "Go make sure Bradley keeps his hat on." 

Nat wiggled her shoulders, biting her lip to mute her squealing giggle. The puffy sleeves of her short dress waved with her, and she precariously tip-toed out the door on her high heels. Once in the hallway, she dramatically yelled, "Come and get me, Indiana Jones!" 

You stifled a giggle, shaking your head, allowing yourself to turn back to face your mirror.

Staring at yourself, you searched every part of your face, making sure your foundation, blush, eyes, and lips were just how you wanted them to be. You toyed with a strand of curled hair, wondering if what you had done was enough—if all of it had been enough. 

Then your eyes came to rest on your costume, so carefully draped across the end of your bed through the reflection in the mirror. 

You're not sure why "Flaming June" happened to be your favourite painting, though you supposed it had to do with the girl in the painting so casually draped across that seat next to that fountain. She was curled up almost like a serpent, covered in sheer transparent vibrant orange, the painting's only bright pop of colour.

The painting was supposedly meant to depict nymphs, sleeping Greek nymphs for that matter, or even Victorian society's obsession with beauty. However, you argued differently in the paper you wrote for it.

You cared more about the juxtaposition of fire and tranquillity in the piece than about whatever cultural influence or social construct it had at the time. That one girl was at the centre of the painting, wrapped in sheer, see-through colour. She was meant to be the focus; that much was certain. 

Maybe you thought her dress signified the chaos of the world around her, and all she wanted to do was find a moment of peace. 

You’d spent countless hours at the fabric store trying to match the correct shade. Once you had completed parts of Nat's, you spent even countless more at your sewing machine, staying up late to make progress on yours. 

And each time she asked you to make alternations on hers, the more drastic you made it to be ‘just that much sluttier', the more you thought about what you could do to yours. In the end, the thin straps holding up your dress, revealing bare shoulders and the long slit between your breasts, ending just before your belly button, was all you could stomach. 

You held the dress up, contemplating your thoughts. You could do this. You could survive one simple Halloween party - one simple college rager party. 

Right?

———

The second the apartment was starting to flood with arriving guests, Jake realized you hadn’t emerged from your room with Nat.

He had been off to the side near a bookcase, talking with Bradley, hoping to stave off the crowd and the rest of the football team for a little longer. He knew they'd want to talk football and strategies for the season, and Jake simply... didn't. 

He wanted a night off. He wanted to relax and have a good time. And talking about football wouldn't be it. 

Bradley had said something to Jake, but he hadn’t been paying attention. He was too busy searching the gathering pods of people for your face. Why, he didn’t know. But he was eager to find out. 

Bradley snapped his fingers in Jake's face, startling him from his search. "Earth to Jake!" 

Jake shook his head, focusing back on Bradley. "Sorry, what?" 

Bradley raised his eyebrows under the rim of his fedora. "What's going on in that head of yours?" 

Jake regarded him for a few seconds before finally looking down at his drink, bringing it to his lips, admitting, "I'm just looking for Maeve." 

As Jake took a drink, Bradley grinned. "She's probably still getting ready. Nat said her costume was based on her favourite panting." 

Jake didn't even look up from his drink when he asked, "What's her favourite painting?" 

"Why? You looking to make a good impression?" he said, still grinning. 

"Fuck off, Man," Jake snapped, taking another swig to finish his drink. Bradley only laughed, now shaking his head. He would have let Jake simmer in his ask, but this was you. He had to give Jake at least a decent running chance. 

"It's Flaming June, the chick in the orange dress. It's a brilliant costume idea. She made it herself." 

Of course, you would have made it yourself, Jake thought. 

"Surely you came across that painting with your 'rich upbringing.' Nat was practically force-feeding information down our throats a few seconds ago to ensure we recognized her costume. It’s some Freddie Luigui piece. I don't know." 

"I know it," Jake snapped. "I've seen it before." 

Jake was pretty sure he had, maybe once at one of his father's fundraising parties, though he actively searched his mind, trying to remember what it looked like. 

Bradley remained silent, slouching against the bookcase and crossing one leg over the other. He narrowed his eyes at his friend and tilted his head. 

"Why the sudden interest in Maeve? She isn't one for..." Bradley trailed off, searching for the correct word. Just as Jake was about to ask him what he meant, Nat's approaching heels on the hardwood floor stopped them both. 

She stopped at Bradley's side, red solo cup in hand, looping her arm through his. "What are you two handsome boys gossiping about over here?" she giggled at her boyfriend, her chin plopping lazily down onto his bicep. "See any snakes in the crowd, Indy?" 

Bradley pulled his face back into a grimace, reciting the famous line. "Snakes. Why does it always have to be snakes?" 

Jake rolled his eyes at their banter, placing his empty cup on the table between them. Nat giggled, tilting her head back, indicating to Bradley she wanted to be kissed. He complied without protest, leaning down, pressing his lips to hers in an overly dramatic display merely to piss Jake off. 

"Get a room," Jake groaned, mocking a wrenching noise. The couple separated, turning to Jake with amused smirks. "You've heard and seen far worse, dude." 

Jake shuttered, the unwanted memory of walking in on Nat and Bradley from weeks ago flashing through his mind. Sharing an apartment with Bradley had its moments - some good, some decidedly less so. It made him wonder if Maeve had to put up with the same shit he did. 

“Where’s Maeve?” Jake asked Nat, ignoring Bradley's remark. "I haven't seen her yet."

Nat opened her mouth, about to tell him you were still getting ready, when she caught sight of a flash of orange stepping out from behind the corner of the hallway. You came into view, your head angled down, mindful of stepping on your dress as thin streams of transparent fabric trailed behind you at your sides. 

Javy let out a low-toned whistle from somewhere in the room, and heads turned, one by one, as you took your final step into the apartment. 

“Damn girl, you clean up nice!” 

Lifting your head, you were surprised to see eyes on you. Javy glided forward to greet you from where he had been standing at a nearby table, and you smiled at him, though a little weary. Deep down, you knew his comment was meant to be a compliment. But something coarse, like sandpaper, rubbed against your heart at the remark, lingering longer than you would have liked. 

“What? Not bad for a fine arts major?” you joked somewhat deprecatively, though your voice held none of it. 

Javy held out his hand, and you grabbed it, allowing him to lift it above your head. With a pump of his wrist, he urged you to spin under his arm several times, letting your dress fan out. You giggled as he urged you, though you wobbled on your heels. The dreaded things were Nat's only contribution to your outfit, and you were severely regretting it. 

He let you go, thinking you had your footing on the last, slowed spin. But when you came to a stop, you were on the verge of falling over, your head dizzy, and your legs unbalanced. 

To his credit, Javy tried to reach out and steady you, already regretting the step he took back. However, before he could, another pair of hands, one on your hip and one taking your hand, steadied you. 

Jake’s hands were firm on your skin, pulling you close as you lost your balance. You fell into his chest, head tilted back, half falling over. And looking up at his face, seeing the amused grin on his lip, you drew in a sharp breath at the sight. 

"Letting me make a good first impression?" he quipped.

“By catching falling women?” you laughed breathlessly, bringing your free hand to his chest. If you had let your hand stall slightly longer than necessary, you would have never admitted to it.

“Seems noble enough,” he replied, helping you to stand. Though he might have let go of your hand, he didn’t let go of your waist. “Or do you make it a habit to test the reflexes of every guy you meet?”

You couldn’t resist the playful jab. “Only the ones who seem like they can handle it. And the pretty ones.”

Jake's grin widened, and he even risked sneaking a quick peek at your lips, letting them rest there for a few seconds before his eyes roamed the rest of your body.

"Flaming June, right? Frederic Leighton's Masterpiece."

You blinked in surprise, letting out a small gasp. You honestly expected to tell people what your costume was, not just some girl in some random orange dress. Jake's knowledge of the painting, let alone his identification of it so quickly, was scoring him some major brownie points. 

"You know your art," you commented nonchalantly.

He shrugged, "I might know a thing or two. I always had a thing for the classics. By the way, it suits you." 

You practically preened under his gaze. "Thank you," you said, a shy smile creeping onto your face. He beamed at you in return. 

Yes, you might have a crush on him. But for the first time that day, you figured it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

—- 

This was a bad idea - Oh, this party was such a bad idea.

Believing you were having a good time and actually having a good time were two separate things. You certainly felt one of those things. As the night went on, and with each drink you tipped back, alcoholic or not, regret built in your stomach. 

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. Maybe you were seeking reasons where there initially were none, allowing Natasha’s suggestions to slowly chip away at your resolve until you finally gave in. Maybe it was the promise of letting loose, to embrace the spirit of Halloween with all its creative potential.  

Maybe it was the promise of making new friends. Of getting to know people outside the art department. Natasha had told you to mingle. She wanted you to mingle, and yet... you didn’t know where to start. 

You didn't expect Nat or Bradley to coddle you, but they could have introduced you to a few people besides the core group before things had gotten this bad. You didn't dare approach Javy or Rueben, who played beer pong and chugged beers back like it was nobody's business. They were off doing their own thing, and you didn’t want to intrude. 

 Mickey and Bob had gone home earlier in the night. Bob proclaimed he had a midterm to study for, and Mickey wanted to go home anyway so he could call his family in peace. You strongly suspected he wanted to watch Halloween movies instead.

Rocky Horror sounded like a wonderful idea right about now. 

You couldn’t hang around Nat and Bradley all night, either. And nobody from your art classes would even dare set foot inside a party where nearly half of its guests were from the sororities.

You knew that. While you did extend the invitation, you told them you wouldn't blame them if they didn't come. They had looked at you with such disregard you wondered if they were seeing you through newly polished rose-coloured glasses. And standing up against the wall next to your bookcase, like an insipid wallflower, you could hardly blame them for it either. 

You couldn’t introduce yourself in a place where you were the outsider, even within the walls of your own home. Soon after the first few attempts, that realization settled deep into your chest. And you couldn’t help but feel like you had done this to yourself -  an attempt to be part of something like this, even if just for a night.

But Jake… Jake was still here. At least, he should be. He had been by your side for the beginning of the evening, talking to you about what projects you were currently working on over another drink—not whiskey—after you had started to hiccup while putting up decorations. 

After he recognized your dress, you weren’t ashamed to tell him. You had launched into the ideas and thoughts behind two paintings and one sculpture, an old table that you were trying to turn into an elemental-type sundial. You told him about the zodiac signs you had already burned into the wood after sanding it down and how each was placed in its own little section as it related to its element. 

You had reached halfway through your thought process when you realized how lost you were in your explanation. You froze mid-sentence, blushing harder than the colour of your dress. 

"Sorry," you had said. "I ramble when I get excited about my art.” 

But Jake’s interest hadn’t waned. If anything, it urged him to ask, “How did you find something you're so passionate about? Creating things... making art?"

His question had made you pause, though not over what to say but merely how to say it. “It was my voice when words fell short or my escape when the world grew too loud.” 

You caught a glimpse of something in Jake’s eyes—a flash of longing, a momentary crack in his confident demeanour. What followed was a slight nod. It was there, and then it wasn’t, as if he’d accidentally revealed more of himself than he wanted. Then he caught himself, suddenly straightened his spine, and continued the conversation as if that brief lapse in judgment never happened in the first place. 

Ten minutes later, he excused himself to get another drink. And you hadn’t seen him since. 

You scanned the room for him, hoping to spot that black leather jacket among the sea of people. But it was impossible. Under the dim, eerie glow of the lights, each costume blurred into the next, and the crowd swallowed any hope of finding him.

Reaching for whatever mixed drink Nat had made you earlier off the table, you pushed yourself off the wall, weaving through the throngs of people, figuring you might as well try to see if she knew where he had run off to. 

Liquid sloshed over the rim of your cup onto your hand as you dodged a zombie here, a fairy there, and music pulsing like a heartbeat through the packed room. Laughter and snippets of conversations swirled around you as you scanned the sea of faces, both masked and not for Nat. 

Glasses clinked, a witch cackled, and the scent of spiced pumpkin mingled somewhere in the mix with the tang of alcohol and body sweat. By the time you spotted her leaning heavily against the kitchen Island, red cup in hand and her laughter too loud, eyes slightly unfocused, you knew the night had taken its toll on her sobriety. 

She was too preoccupied with telling a bunch of people a story to notice how you quickly launched the contents of your cup into the sink behind her. You extended your arm when you were close enough, looping your arm around her waist. Her arm came up at the same time, sliding across your back to pull you close. 

Nat tilted her head back onto her shoulders, glancing at you with happy eyes. "Maeve!" she whined tipsily. 

Given how far gone she was, you were surprised at how accurately she pronounced your name. She bent slightly, still holding her red Solo cup in her hand, to hug you tight, her face smooshing into your neck.

“It looks like you’re having the time of your life,” you snorted. She nodded against your skin, biting her lip in a smile with a happy, drunken snigger. She lazily pulled back to meet your eye, and you smiled at her. 

“Have you seen Jake around?” 

Nat paused, her gaze flickering around the room as if she'd genuinely forgotten about him, though she didn’t lift her head off your body. "Jake? Oh, I haven't seen him in a bit,” she slurred slightly. “Why? Do you two likeeeeeeeeeeeeeee each other? Is Jake going to make you scream grease lightin’?” 

You reached for her red Solo cup and pried it from her hand. “Okay, yup, you're cut off.” 

“Nooo,” she pouted her arm a dead weight as she tried to take it back. Her hand hit the bottom of the cup, and liquid shot up, once again covering your hand in whatever type of alcohol Nat managed to mix together. You could only sigh. 

“Here comes the fun police,” she muttered under her breath. “I thought you’d be off doing your own thing.” 

Well, that fucking stung just a tiny bit. 

“I’m not going to be the one who cleans up your vomit tomorrow morning, Nat.” 

“I’ve only had,” she held up her hand, widening her thumb and pointer finger probably further apart than she thought, “this much to drink.” 

“Ahm...”  

Luckily for you, Bradley appeared, having seen what was going on. He looked amused yet concerned as he slid between the gap of the island and Nat to observe his girlfriend babbling nonsense on your shoulder. “What’s happening here?”

Nat made another grab for her cup, but Bradley gently intercepted her, taking her hand into his before she could even grasp it. 

“That,” you offered. 

 “I think it’s time we get you to bed, love,” he suggested, wrapping an arm around her waist. You let him take her, happy for him to bear her weight. 

Nat leaned into him, mumbling something incoherent, a mix of protest and agreement. Bradley spared a glance at you, silently thanking you in your unspoken agreement. You nodded, watching as he sandwiched her to his side and carried her off towards her room. 

It always seemed like one of you was always taking care of her. At one point or another. 

After getting rid of Nat’s cup, you felt the sticky residue of both of your spilled drinks on your skin and felt the urge to run to the privacy of the bathroom to wash it off. Stumbling down the hallway, blusters on your feet finally making themselves known, you let your hands casually slide along the wall. The music from the party faded into a muffled, dull noise as you walked. 

You wanted to smile at the lights. The red eerie glow along the top corners of the ceiling only reached not even halfway down the wall, plunging the floor into a dark abyss. You clumsily stuttered through it, unable to see anything below your waist.

It was exactly as you pictured it, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to manage the slightest grin. 

The bathroom door was down at the end of the hall slightly ajar, with the red LED light illuminating its edges from behind. You zoned in on it like a wobbly arrow to a target, tired and completely done with tonight and everything about it.

You reached for the curved handle, about to push the door open, when a high-pitched giggle came from behind the piece of wood. You shot your hand back like you had been burned, and with a quick turn of your heel, you plastered your back up against the wall. 

You immediately knew what was happening behind that door, and it made you throw up in your mouth just a little. 

Ugh, I’m going to have to disinfect the hell out of that bathroom tomorrow. 

The next voice you heard, however, made your heart drop into your stomach. 

“You like that, don’t ya, sweetheart?”

You didn't want to believe it, but you had to see for yourself. Leaning forward off the wall, you peered through the crack in the door, only to spot a black leather jacket taking up most of your view—the same black jacket you had complimented Jake on earlier that day. It was a stark contrast to the red glowing light above him, and something snapped in your heart and recoiled back as one slender bare leg in beige fishnet stockings wrapped around his. 

There was an overly drunken and seductive 'ahm,' forcing you to glance over his shoulder at the girl he was with—her costume was a bejewelled Taylor Swift outfit to match her long blonde hair. 

You swallowed your bile and adverted your gaze, pressing yourself back up against that wall, out of sight and hidden completely from view. 

You knew this was a possibility; Jake was merely looking for a hookup and nothing more. You had considered it all afternoon. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel utterly hurt at the sight. 

"I mean, Nat's pretty clever befriending that girl.. what was her name, Maeve?" the girl snickered. 

"I know. It sounds like something out of those weird fantasy books everyone loves." A whimper from his companion followed Jake's breathy and muffled laugh.

At the dig, your hand went to your chest, your heart thudding painfully under your palm. The realization they had been talking about you, about Nat, made tears flood your eyes. 

You didn't understand it. Or maybe you did, and you were too blinded by the possibility of someone like him, someone like Nat, Bradley, Bob, Mickey, and Rueben, to beat the fucking pyramid scheme and care about someone like you. 

What other explanation was there except the fact you had been blinded by those who proved to be the exception? Blinded by the fucking elementary school crush cause he had flirted, smiled, joked, and maybe even showed some half-decent interest in you. Clearly, the second he figured out you weren’t going to hook up with him, he sought his sights on someone else. 

Jake wasn’t trying to mould into the stereotype. He was the fucking stereotype.

"Even her costume," she sneered. "Like, who the fuck dresses up like that for a college rager Halloween party? You're supposed to dress up slutty."

You couldn't speak, staring down the front of your dress to what you had thought had been a risky enough slit. You couldn't even breathe. 

"You kidding me?" he laughed lowly. "Bradley was practically screaming at us what she dressed up as. I'd have no fucking clue what she was otherwise. I'd guess some random Greek Godness obsessed with that awful shade of orange."

Your hand slid up from your chest, around your throat to feel your harsh, rough swallow. Only it didn’t stop there, suddenly finding yourself wrapping it around your entire mouth, stifling any noise wanting to escape. Through shaky inhales in and out of your nose, you fought hard to stop yourself from crying over this. 

Over him. Over a fucking jock who would say anything to hook up with a girl. Only to get his dick wet. 

But you couldn't prevent the tears from welling up in your eyes, or from one finally spilling over, dropping down your cheek only to stall there, or how the hand covering your mouth curled up around your cheekbone, only to stroke away the tear. 

You refused to look back at the door through the crack, so you fixed your gaze on the darkness consuming the ground. And as you lowered your hand, you caught the ugly black smear marring your skin.

 How could you not? Standing in the glow of that red hallway light, it was the only thing you could see.

The artistic irony hits you like a freight train. Here you were, dressed as the girl in your favourite painting. Her dress had been the only bright shade of colour in the entire painting, and you, standing in the top half glow of bright red LED lights, had failed to notice what had been staring you in the face all along.

Orange was muted by red, and black bled through all. The only thing about you that stood out the entire evening was this tiny black mark scarring the back of your hand—black tears from smeared mascara.

"I would have guessed an orange," the girl snickered, quickly followed by a mewl. "Though she practically blended into the wall, I couldn't see her with the lights." 

Lips plucking on skin echoed off the title and out the door, and Jake drew in a ragged breath as he agreed. "She did blend right into the fucking wall, didn’t she?"

Your eyes burned. The girl giggled. 

“How long do you think this one will stay? She seems… different, to say the least.” 

Jake sniggered. “Seriously, you think Natasha Trace is hanging around that girl out of the goodness of her heart?” 

His laugh was so full of malice that it was nothing like the ones you had heard pleasantly filling your ears earlier. 

“Everyone knows after what Nat did, she needs an image clean up. Playing the saint, befriending the weird loner art girl, giving her the best friend badge?” 

“If she thinks she’s got a place in the big leagues, she’s in for a rude awakening,” the girl murmured. “Pathetic. People like her don’t belong with people like us.” 

There was a pause. “It’s just like Natasha, though. She always needs an audience, something to validate her feelings. It’s brillant really.” 

Jake's agreement was a silent blow, his next words the dagger. "Nat's smart. She knows how to play the game. Maeve's just...convenient."

Convenience. The word echoed in your mind, bouncing off the walls of your already crumbling self-worth.

“Give it a year. Trace is going to drop her the second the next new shiny person comes along. And everyone is going to forget about the little art girl she used up and discarded. Or she’ll become the most hated girl on campus.” 

Without your back up against the wall, his words might have made you crumble into that dark abyss. 

“Can we stop talking about her now?” the girl whined. “I thought you promised to get me off.” 

Jake chuckled lowly, the sound morphing into a low, predatory growl. “You brought her up, sweetheart. But don’t worry—I’m all yours now.” 

You pushed yourself away from that wall, stumbling down the dark hallway to your bedroom out of instinct, refusing to subject yourself to any further torture. But just before your door, you fell into the wall, your shoulder throbbing as you slouched against it. 

The world around you swirled, leaving you consumed by one thought—and one thought alone.

That. Fucking. Asshole! How dare he! How fucking dare he!

To hear Natasha be demeaned, your friendship demeaned and used as a stepping stone in pursuit of a meaningless hookup... anger boiled under your skin. You didn’t care what he or what they had said about you, but Nat? 

If Jake thought he’d succeed in sweet-talking you, to play you like a puppet on a string, just as he assumed Nat had been doing, he had another thing coming. If he was going to talk shit about your friendship with her, you’d show him just how spineless you could be. 

Oh, he’d wish he’d never caught you off that fucking ladder. Wished he had never met you and flirted with you, obviously a ploy to find someone to hook up with. You gagged at ever having a crush on him in the first place. 

But as you leaned against the wall, trying to steady your swirling thoughts, doubt wormed its way into your mind.

What if he was right? 

What if your friendship with Nat was just a convenience, a way for her to maintain her status or recover from her sorority fallout? You knew nothing of it, nothing more than what she told you. There could be more to the story, things she hadn’t revealed, things nobody else had either.

 No, you shook your head, trying to dismiss the thought. Nat had been there for you in ways no one else had. 

Jake was just an asshole. Plain and simple. 

But then another thought sucker punched you in the gut. 

You couldn’t tell anyone else what he said. You wouldn’t be responsible for causing that type of drama within a friend circle, one that long before you ever showed up. They never would have believed you anyway, and Nat… she worked so hard to get out, escape the rumours and gossip, to put it behind her. She didn’t need to know about this.

You had no choice but to carry this burden alone. It was a lonely decision, but perhaps loneliness was a small price to pay for the semblance of harmony among friends—or so you tried to convince yourself.

But Jake. You could no longer give a rat’s ass about Jake. If he wanted to attack Nat, then fine. You hit him right back. That much you could still do. 

Whatever had possessed Frederic Leighton to name the piece you currently embodied, “Flaming June,” whatever possessed him to gift that girl with fire in her name, that fire was suddenly born in you. 

A flame that sparked and kerosened your soul to burn, hot and bright. It was a wildfire that rushed under layers of skin and ignited every nerve, ending with a ferocity you never knew you possessed. It was born to protect what you had found - Nat, Bradley, Bob, Mickey, Javy and Rueben. And that fucking asshole would never be allowed to put you down, Nat down, like your family did, ever again. 

Pushing yourself off the wall, you stepped into your bedroom. Slamming the door, the lock clicked hard into place. 

It never opened the rest of the night.

NOW YOU KNOW....

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[undercoverpena]

The day Frankie both loves and loathes the kitchen counter

frankie morales x f!reader | resurrected chances

summary: fall is a season that looks good on you.

warnings: none. autumn vibes. fluff, established relationship. dad!frankie (so mentions of a child - luca). an: i wrote this to make myself smile. wordcount: 2.5k

It changes in the blink of an eye.

One moment, the nights seem long and then they’re swallowed. The sunlight barely able to kiss the world for long, before it sinks back down to the horizon.

Then, there’s the changing leaves. How they fall from the branches without regret—all in a flurry of shades he finds you admiring each morning when you’re holding your morning coffee.

It does something to you, fall. It casts a spell—transforms—sprinkles shaved pumpkin and glitters over you as the wind whispers the incantation. It swoops through and blows away the other cobwebs left by the other seasons, until you’re embodied by autumn.

The change doesn’t just happen to you, but the rest of the home too.

He witnesses how, one day the counters and table are clear, and the next, they are decorated in fall ornaments, and ghouls and pumpkins replace the usual mugs you both drink from. How the fireplace in the living room has decorative ghosts all over it, purple and orange fairy lights, with homemade bunting hanging that features little orange and yellow Luca-sized hands from a craft morning he’d “rudely interrupted”.

Frankie had known what he was getting in for when you’d told him autumn was your favourite time of year—but, he still couldn’t quite believe what the season looked like on you.

How good you looked. How happy. How joy radiated from you and bled out into every corner.

You transition with a click of your fingers from a summer wardrobe to oversized fluffy jumpers (his, always his—specifically ones bought for him, but only ever worn by him once before they are ‘mysteriously’ stolen), black leggings and the fluffiest socks (that when unrolled, come up close to your knee).

And, if you’re able to—which is most of the time—Frankie finds you’ve perfectly matched the shade of jumper to the scrunchie in your hair. Sometimes, with embellishments, such as changing leaves on them or ghosts, but his favourite happens to be the pumpkins.

Before you, he’d never thought that would be a thought he’d even have. Frankie hadn’t ever even thought of himself as someone who loved a season, but just like his son, he’d been bewitched.

Your affection for flickering candles, big blankets and wrapped-up walks rubbed off on him and Luca—secretly both becoming as obsessed with mornings spent doing autumnal crafts as you. Frankie even stupidly got excited about the prospect of another pumpkin patch visit.

But, with that all said, if someone asked him what his favourite part of the season was, it was how your two’s home changed. The way warmth rolled from you—cementing the knowledge that he’d made the right choice. Because with you, there have only been moments when he feels peace, happiness and joy. Each emotion all underpinned by moments involving shadow-touched skin and sun-kissed bodies.

You patting the seat next to you, loading up another movie—your favourite, you’d said—with popcorn in an orange bowl, and a blanket (all earth green and lined with thick fluff) just for him.

He loves curling up, but there’s something about thickened blankets and soft layers that has him excited by the season.

He just feels disappointed that with another autumn arriving, he realises he hasn’t managed to sort the things he wanted to do for you.

The shelving he said last year he’d put up in the kitchen, so you can put more of your ornaments on display. Fix the door to the end cupboard, so you can put your baking and cookie trays away, rather than hiding them in the oven. But mostly, he had hoped to—

“You alright under there, Morales?”

Blinking, he finds you smirking, watching him. “Stop staring at me.”

“Well, it’s hard not to,” you murmur, swinging your legs on the counter.

The one he should have remodelled by now. It makes his jaw tighten, and his teeth slide together.

His head turning, dark pools of brown drinking you in as you swirl the spoon around your mug—not because you need to mix the sugar or milk, but for something to do other than drool over the appearance of him under the dining table he’s fixing.

Because Frankie knows your mug is practically empty. And he also knows that when he begins these home projects, he doesn’t tend to finish them in one day if you’re around.

“Could say the same to you.”

You roll your eyes, because, to you, it’s a jumper and leggings. But to him, today’s attire is a deep forest green jumper, the one with flecks of white and orange woven in periodically—a favourite of his, and apparently yours too.

The socks today, however, are different. Thick, woollen ones he recognised all too well, smirking to himself as he brushes the hair from his forehead, slotting the screwdriver back in place before tightening.

Because the socks are his.

Feeling your eyes on him, until he hears you jump down from the counter.

“Fine, I’ll begin baking before the little man gets dropped off.”

A smile being shot over your shoulder, pulling at the cookbook that’s more flour than paper from the shelf, before splaying it across the counter.

He knows you know what you’re doing when you hinge at the hips, and lean over the counter in front of him. His mouth going dry, just like it always does when you’re teasing him.

Frankie’s about to comment on what a distraction you are, that if you want to eat at the table tonight he needs to concentrate. But then you hiss, pulling your hand back from the edge of the counter—the one chipped and forever catching on clothes, once again catching against your hand.

Then he’s just full of annoyance.

Both at the fucking counter and at himself for not prioritising the kitchen. For not giving you the dream kitchen you deserve.

The emotions shoved into his repair of the table, completing it in record time, that by the time he’s stood, you’ve chosen whatever it is you’re aiming to make. Your fingers twitching—all lost in your mind, likely calculating, mentally checking timings.

It’s what makes it easier to slide up behind you, lose his hand up the jumper of his you’re buried in. Sliding it up until he can feel your skin, all toasty, warm. Your smile slowly grows as he rests his chin on your shoulder, watching you.

Frankie has the pleasure of seeing you smile in Spring, Summer or Winter—three-hundred and sixty-five—but your skin isn’t always tinged with the scent of spiced apple, to the point he’s not sure if the season is pouring from you or if you’re just around the candles and soaps too much. He doesn’t get to see you glow in the same way as you do in Fall, like you do in the other seasons.

“Is it sturdy? The table.”

Lifting his brow, he turns you in his arms. Fingers sliding up your neck, jaw until they’re resting on your cheek.

As much as he tells you that you’re easy to read, Frankie knows he’s not all that difficult himself. Least of all with you. He’s been told he gets a twinkle, a shimmer—a soft tug of his lips that he tries to bury in nonchalance.

Shrugging, he drops his hand as he sighs. “Maybe we should check.”

“How do w—Frankie!”

With ease, he spins your body, moving it backwards, twisting, until the top of your thighs nudge against the lip of the table, fingers fanning out, palm cupping your waist as he sniggers. His palm rests under the fabric, worn and toughened, flush against skin, tasting the warmth that burns from your lips—swallowing the joy which emits from every part of you.

“We can’t.”

“We can’t?”

Shooting him a look, you purse your lips. “If we break another piece of furniture…”

You’re not cross, he can tell. If anything, your eyes are gleaming, swarmed in happiness, so close to cracking and asking him to help you on the surface.

But then, you twist your fingers in the hairs at the base of his neck. Whispering that you love him, that it looks more than sturdy, it looks solid, perfect, amazing—more words punctuated by kisses, before his hands keep you nose to nose.

Because if he does, he won’t stare at the kitchen counter.

The one he despises, hates. The one that’s chipped and was up there at the top of his list to replace when the two of you bought the house you’re both standing in. But then it fell, plummeting, landing somewhere around ‘someday’ rather than ‘today’.

You don’t hate it.

Rarely ever see an issue with it. Barely recognise how ill-fitting it is to the rest of your hand-painted cupboards and thrifted accessories. That at least once a week, if not a day, you catch your hand in the same place—scuffing jumpers, blouses and more on the cracked edge.

You deserve better. A thought which pulsates inside him—constantly doing so, too. It vibrates in his ribs and echoes in the dark when he should be sleeping. He thinks about it like he does much of the house, the one he told you he’d fix, repair, re-build—even if you weren’t fazed then, and aren’t now either.

Your excitement swallows up any of his concerns, his internal beatings. Because I love it Frankie, I love you and I love this for us. He’d have thought you were lying, except your eyes still gush with joy when you look over it, as though you cannot see any of the imperfections he can.

Unable to see how he’s let you down. That he should be providing more for you—even if you never, ever think it or even say it.

“What you thinkin’ about, baby?”

Your knuckles trace his cheek. An answer there, burning on the tip of his tongue. That, thanks to you, it was hard to hate anything, never mind the counter.

The one you did a good job covering in assorted-sized decorative pumpkins and coloured pencils you’d pushed to the side. That in truth, he liked the things which sat on it, like his mail being alongside yours—and the set of mugs that had once housed both your coffees that he’d brought to you in bed this morning and the ones you’d made when he’d begun his table-fixing.

Morning. It seemed so long ago—more than hours, more like days. It forces him to tighten his arm around you and bury his face into your neck.

“Frankie,” you whine, soft, all innocent. “Talk to me.”

“Just thinking about how pretty you look.”

“Oh, shut up.”

His nose brushes against your cheek, eyes finding yours as you try to avert them. “So much so, I really, really wanna put your elbows on the table and take you from—“

“Francisco.”

Laughter flows from the last syllable to paint the room in even more contentment. Coating him in genuine bliss that smooths over the cracks, the rougher parts of him.

“Alright,” he murmurs. “Later?”

Later, you echo. Even if he knows the day has already been swallowed by him visiting the store to fetch nails and a tool, he’s sure he already owns—but can’t for the life of him find. The rest will be filled with hyperactivity and pumpkin carving with his son.

“You do look good in my socks, baby.”

He watches your chin dip, before your hand presses against his chest—fingers and thumb digging into his t-shirt. You try to bite back your shy smile, because even if the two of you have been together a while, you still seem to go shy when he compliments you.

“Really like the sight of you in my clothes,” he continues, hands on you as you head back to your place in the kitchen.

Turning, you swat at him, laughing—the sound you make is like music to his ears. Forever makes his days better. The noise which plays in the back of his head when he’s driving down a long, winding road—desperate to get back to you.

It’s why he tugs on your wrist, pulling your hand from your face, letting him hear it fully, watching it fade as your eyes blink, pupils fixing, lids widening as you take him in. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to how you look at him—full of appreciation and love, like it’s easy to do. Like you’re not forced or feel obligated.

“They’re comfy,” you say, all tinged with embarrassment—as though he would ever mind.

As though the sight of you slowly wearing his wardrobe doesn’t make his chest swell—doesn’t fill the space with warmth where his heart doubles.

Smiling—almost mirroring yours—he brushes your cheek. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

Looping an arm around his neck, you press a kiss to his lips—his hips pressing into yours, unable to move from him, arms looping around his neck. They won’t bake themselves, Frankie. And, doesn’t he know it, but neither of you move.

The kitchen counter—the one he hates, and wants to rip out—keeps you in place. Not that he gets the impression you want to be anywhere but here, laughing with him, baking, likely recanting a story about spiders and the reason you had needed to buy new wooden spoons and a spatula.

Your cheek warms under his palm, his thumb stroking a path that curls up with your cheek as you begin to grin. “Shh, Morales.”

And he does.

But only so he can kiss you.

You in his fluffy woollen socks, his jumper and your leggings.

Starting it slow before he deepens it. Before his whole body wants to feel you pressed against his, fingers sliding around your cheek and jaw, feeling the way you move to kiss him back.

It’s intense, fire being breathed into his throat and down into his chest. He laps up every flame—allows it to coat his tongue, and spreads its heat through every nerve as he licks into your mouth.

He’s happy, oh so happy.

Losing himself in you, mouth sliding from your lips to the curve of your jaw and down the pulse of your neck. Your fingers knotting in his curls and his top, leg trying to hook around him—leaning, cautiously and foolishly, against the counter until he stabilises you with his hands.

Because you’re brilliant. Perfect. Beautiful. But, oh so fucking clumsy.

His teeth roll over the space where your neck meets your shoulder, and he groans. Hands dropping from their place, finding a new home on the back of your thighs, lifting, leveraging until you’re safe. Sat all pretty and set to be devoured, upon the counter he can’t wait to replace—

“Stop thinking about the counter, Frankie.”

He smirks, biting back a laugh. “How’d you know?”

Hooking your legs around him, his fingers run up the bare skin—thumb dragging a line more intentionally than the rest—coming to a stop between your thighs.

“Because I know you. Because you look at me like I saved you from a burning building, and you look at the counter like it was the reason the building was on fire.”

Kissing you, he grins—right against your mouth. “I really hate it.”

“I know,” you coo, biting his lower lip. “So, how about we move to the bedroom.”

Pulling his head back, his eyes narrow—your fingers brushing his curls behind his ears.

an: autumn is my fave, can you tell?

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[cloudseeker14]

Late Spring (Scaramouche x GN!Reader)

Pairing : Scaramouche x GenderNeutral!Reader

Summary: The Balladeer's heart had always been a closed door but you'd managed to throw it open. Your love, though he never knew how to return it, was like warm sunlight kissing his skin. Yet, good things never last, do they?

Love. 

A word that shook the heart of every creature with tumultuous yearning, the subject of bards in every drinking den across Teyvat. 

Scaramouche could only scoff at the ridiculous notion. Love could never be true, not within the boundaries of a wretched, heartless world where emotions were a source of disdain. 

Not in a realm where his tears meant being cast aside, a creature as noble as him was supposed to be as steadfast as the mountains that slumbered in stone. 

Especially not in a world where you couldn’t exist. 

Scaramouche downed a bottle of whiskey, leaning against the headrest of his velvet armchair as he relished the burning sensation of the drink running down his throat. 

The stinging tethered him to this pathetic plane of existence, fastening the strings of his limbs to the earth as he attempted to fly away to the heavens. 

He could still remember that night, the wind had felt frigid on his porcelain skin as bonfires reached up to the sky. 

The fatui had been rejoicing, their hoarse cries of victory at the thought of another pesky obstacle in their path being tossed into oblivion. 

Yet, all he could see was you, all thoughts of merrymaking cast aside at the sight of your bright laughter. The sound of your joy had been a gentle breeze, blowing the cobwebs and opening the windows to sunlight in his heart. 

You’d drunk yourself to a slobbering mess, stumbling around as you jested with your peers. Scaramouche swirled his cup of cherry red wine, positively relishing the blush that coloured your face when you met his eyes.

After a couple of hours of painstaking formalities with the other harbingers, The Balladeer couldn’t help the groan that escaped from his throat as the gathering cleared,leaving him all alone with the stars and his mind.

His accursed mind, tormented with the sights of eras long gone.

He could practically see those cruel violet eyes in front of him, mercilessly casting him down from the heavens as he writhed in the air.

Scaramouche shuddered, breathing shakily, the silence penetrating the nooks of his heart.

Just as he was about to return to his quarters, he’d felt a tap on his shoulder.

The harbinger whirled around, only to be greeted by your charming face.

“I wouldn’t have come for this banquet if you were only going to keep staring at me.” You smiled, clasping his hands

If any other soul had done that simple action, it would have warranted instant death but what could Scaramouche say, in your hands he’d always been putty.

You stared at Scaramouche, eyes raking over the way the moonlight lit his porcelain features.

The way his clear blue eyes seemed to hold the depth of all the oceans of Teyvat itself.

The way that soft smile making its way into the corners of his lips had your heart bursting into flames.

“I missed you.” He muttered

“Hmm, what was that again?” You smirked, snaking your arm around his waist

“Don’t test me.” Scaramouche gritted, but the growing grin on his face said otherwise.

The two of you sat between the tall blades of grass, the birds chirped softy as a shooting star whizzed past.

“Did you see that!? Scaramouche, please tell me you saw it!” You cheered, your eyes practically about to fall from their sockets.

You were radiant, a source of such pure vividness that even someone as vile as him couldn’t shun away from.

“Yeah.” Scaramouche said, staring at you as he traced the lines of your palm. “It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

Deep inside you both knew he didn’t mean the star.

“Y/N.” The harbinger called, gently laying his head on your shoulder.

You stiffened, your heartbeat echoing in your ears as his cold breaths fanned your neck.

“You’ll stay with me, right? Always?”

“Always.”

“Once I get that gnosis, you’ll have to be the one by my side,” He confessed, biting the inside of his cheek “It can never be anyone other than you.”

“Whether you have the gnosis or not makes no difference to me, but if it makes you happy, I’ll stay by your side as long as you want me to be there.”

Scaramouche could swear that a strange warmth seemed to blossom in his chest, but that would remain a thought for him to ponder during a freezing, lonely night.

You placed a chaste kiss on his forehead. “I love you.” You whispered

Scaramouche nodded, closing his eyes. What else could he say? How could a creature like him, a broken puppet with neither a heart nor strong will, be able to understand the intensity of your words?

You knew you would never hear it back but that was fine, it would just be a silent prayer you’d utter to him each day. You didn’t need that simple sentence to understand how he felt, as long as you could still see that gleam in his eyes when he looked at you, you knew you had nothing to worry about.

It was love, Scaramouche just hadn’t understood it yet.

—

With you in his life, Scaramouche knew he was invincible, nothing could stop him anymore. 

He was no longer that fragile creature, sobbing and wailing, he was going to be a god.

The gnosis was so close to falling within his grasp that Scaramouche could practically taste victory on the tip of his tongue. 

Yet, all those thoughts fell apart into dust fluttering in the wind at the sight of you on the ground, your skin devoid of it’s warmth. 

Hair clung to forehead, drenched in blood as you pitifully covered the gaping hole in your stomach. 

“S-scaramouche,“ You called, feebly reaching for the man you were bound to leave 

“Who did this to you!?“ Scaramouche bellowed, cupping your face

A whimper escaped his lips at the coldness of your body and with every second that passed, Scaramouche swore he could see the light fading from your eyes.

“I-I’m sorry I couldn’t make it through.“ You felt warm tears falling upon your arm and you forced yourself to look at Scaramouche, the bottom of your lip trembling as the harbinger stifled his sobs. 

“I won’t let you die!“ He bellowed, tightening his grip on you. You weakly shook your head as your vision blurred. 

“I love you, Scaramouche. D-don’t forget me.“

No. 

No. 

It couldn’t be you. 

Another betrayal, another mar upon his frivolous existence. 

You grasped his arm tightly, hopelessly trying to hold on to the last embers of life within you just to not leave the man before you ablaze in rage. 

But alas, the archons had other plans, and you shut your eyes; blissfulness washing over you. 

Scaramouche would have followed you to the ends of the world but at that moment, you’d slipped away to a paradise he’d never be able to reach. 

“I love you too."

Those were the words that escaped Scaramouche’s lips, only to be heard by the stars. 

He knew what love meant now. 

It was you. 

It was your touch, the comfort you'd ushered him into.

It was the web of passion he had allowed himself to be foolishly woven into.

You, the one who’d made him have a heart by giving yours even though he’d done nothing to deserve such a boon. 

Scaramouche couldn’t help but bawl your name, the wind carrying the puppet’s rage across Teyvat and to the archons. 

The world shouldn't be the same without you, it should have been torn apart in flames that should tower the mightiest pantheon, stifling every creature with smoke.

A world without you had no right to have even a glimmer of beauty.

Scaramouche remained rooted in place, the facade of the ruthless harbinger shattering into pieces, leaving only a wailing child stuck in the body of a man crying for the loss of his only salvation.

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[violettduchess]

Welcome back, Violett!! 💖 For the ikepri halloween costume challenge, may I request Chevalier + devil + spooky? 🤗 Hope you have a lovely week! 🥰

A/N: Here you are @skiagrafia! I really enjoyed this! I was inspired by a short story by Tumblr legend Neil Gaiman called "Other People." You can read it here

Chevalier x Reader

WC: 900

The wooden bench in the church is rough to the touch. The end of it is splintered and there are scratches in the wood of the pew in front of you. A shudder runs through your body as you wonder how they got there. They’re too small to be from any wild animal. Certainly too shallow to be a bear or anything like that.

In the distance, you hear a lone cry, a faint howl that momentarily chases away the silence of the church like a broom violently scattering cobwebs. But outside the windows there is only gray, a gloom that seems to have wrapped itself around the small building in the middle of the woods. It's latched onto the peeling paint and loose nails and clings, territorial.

You nervously pull at a hangnail on your index finger, pull until it comes right off, taking a sliver of skin with it. You frown as you stare at the angry red stripe on your finger. That should hurt. It doesn’t.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you glance back at the church's double doors. They are as scratched as the pews and look somehow heavier than they should. The iron hinges are shaped like tridents, their points wickedly sharp for something decorative. Uncomfortable, you turn away again, smoothing down the folds of your white skirt.

You know you’re meant to wait. But for what….?

You can’t quite remember. It’s that elusive scratching at your mind when you know that you know something but can’t for the life of you call it forth.

The howling sound breaks the silence again.

This time it is louder. Closer.

You pull on the ends of your sleeves, curling your fingers inwards to clutch the white material.

In front of you, the altar is cracked, a jagged line like black lighting running through the stone. The cross on the wall above it hangs crooked, as if it is considering letting go, allowing the fall to the tiled floor to do what it will.

A loud whooshing sound pulls your attention back to the church entrance. The wooden doors have opened and in steps the most beautiful man you have ever seen. Dressed from head to toe in pristine white, broad of shoulder, long of leg with a face that could make a person weep at its classical perfection. His hair is pale as bone and rising from his head are twin horns of curling onyx. Striking as all this is, it's his eyes which catch you attention the most, a piercing blue the color of cruel frost, of endless frozen skies. When he fixes his gaze directly upon you, it feels as if winter itself is blowing through your bones, sending a corkscrew of cold fear straight through your body.

He stops walking and looks down at you, where you are sitting on the pew bench, his expression smooth as polished glass.

“We must go.”

His voice sends another rush of cold through you and you feel yourself starting to shiver. You glance at the church doors, now wide open. All you can see is gray gloom. Impenetrable. Suffocating.

“Where?” How your voice shakes, how small it sounds.

Again a howl pierces the church. It is louder now than before.

The window panes of the church tremble.

His gaze remains steady, although there is now a glint of something in his eyes. Something sharp and bright.

“You know.”

You rise to your feet on legs that feel numb. The man starts back down the aisle, then turns when he sees the way you grip each wooden pew you pass, your body tilting like a willow in a violent storm. The grip of your fingers is so strong, your nails dig little half-moon crescents into the wood.

He pauses, waiting for you to catch up and then takes hold of your arm. Despite the black gloves, his touch feels as hard and cold as frozen iron. The cold rushes through you and you can barely walk for all of your quivering.

You are almost at the open doors, at the mouth of all that opaque gray.

“W-w-what’s out there?” Your voice is barely a whisper, a wisp of smoke on the precipice of fading.

You’ve reached the doorway; his hand is still on your arm. He turns his head, looking down at you with those eyes of the most unearthly, startling blue.

“Nothing,” he answers. “Absolutely nothing.”

And then he slings you forward, forcing you into the gray. A flap of your white skirt. The white of your wide eyes. And then you are gone, utterly and completely, swallowed by the nothing. No trace of you left except the frightened marks of your fingernails in the scarred wood of the pew.

He reaches down, tugging once on the edge of his black glove, making it fit perfectly again. He turns his artic gaze towards the gloom. A second later there is a rush of wind, a burst of turbulent energy that continues its howling as it enters the church. It shakes the windows, jostles the crooked cross on the wall, skims the broken altar before growing still.

Slowly a figure fades into view, another lost soul slumped forward in the wooden pew. It will need time before it awakens, notices its surroundings.

Just like you did.

Just like they all do.

And when it does, he’ll be there.

Silently as fog he steps outside the church, closing the heavy wooden doors behind him.

Tagging: @xbalayage @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @portrait-ninja @queen-dahlia @scorchieart @nightghoul381 @bubblexly @ozalysss @ikesimpleton

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri chevalier #chevalier michel #ikemen chevalier #ikepri halloween costume challenge #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfic #violettwrites

[rungian]

Is there any better feeling than weeks of grime and cobwebs being scrubbed away? It’s been so long. Too long. Edward rests with his eyes closed, wearing an expression of pure bliss as his driver and fireman both scrub him clean with the utmost care. The water runs black with coal dust, and as caked mud and sludge and chipped paint are dug out of crevices and the cleaned areas carefully rubbed over with a polishing cloth, Edward finally starts feeling like his old self again.

At last, Sidney climbs up and tends to his whistle, scraping out the congealed mess that was blocking him up and stealing his voice away. ‘Give it a try,’ he says when he has finished, and the resulting joyful peep almost blows him off his ladder.

#wagahai wa train de aru #ttte edward #edward the blue engine #thomas the tank engine #thomas and friends #edward it's edward what a guy #sidney hever #when you give your big metal dog a bath at last #TTTE #knockoff copic markers

[instarsandcrime]

A Fresh Start

Obligatory "character neglects physical and emotional wellbeing so a loved one has to step in" fic! I hope you have your own Charlie somewhere to step in and stop you from overdoing things! Enjoy ❤️

---

Let it be said that Lucifer was nothing if not prepared for the worst case scenario. Met with an assassination attempt? He could handle an army with three wings tied behind his back. A sudden flood of requests from his citizens? Give him his favorite coffee mug and an all-nighter, and it'll all be sorted by tomorrow morning. Catch a glimpse of Alastor in the hallway? Remind himself why he’s here in the first place– to be there for Charlie.

Unfortunately, despite his better efforts, today his immune system said otherwise.

"Do it for Charlie. D-do it fohh...for...hit'schhh! ‘Tshh! Hit'tshhhiew! Het'CHIEW! HISHHH’HIEW! Ohhh..." Lucifer groaned, tossing another one of his many handkerchiefs into the laundry bin beside him. He massaged the bridge of his nose, glancing wearily at the clock. Three in the morning. He had to get up in four hours. Still in a drooping nightrobe, he stared back down at the snow white paper– save for a few scribbles of ink. 

“Hit'schh! 'Tshh! 'TCHH! Oh you've gotta be f-fucking kihhh-- k-kidding me– Hit'SHIEW! Just let me finish thihhhs and g-guhhh-go to behhh-heh-het’SCHHH'hiew!"

Sniffling back congestion, he suppressed another miserable noise as he collapsed back in his seat. Apparently the fit had spattered ink across the canvas like blood on a crime scene.

Charming. 

He reached for another handkerchief to force a gurgling blow, scarlet eyes trailing to the cellphone beside him. A ridiculous thought prodded at his foggy mind, and Lucifer shook his head to clear it. No. No, that's silly. He's been absent from the hotel for so long, he couldn't stop now! His little girl was counting on him! Maybe he'll just call to wish her luck. Ignoring the tight knot in his stomach, Lucifer snatched up the phone with shaky claws. It rang once. Twice. Then--

"Dad?" A sleepy voice yawned from the other end.

ASK FOR HELP.

The sudden possibility painted his mind, and he scrambled to end the call. A silence fell over the room. Lucifer’s lungs burned from hyperventilating. His heart drummed in his ears. Why did he do that. Why did he do that? The knot tugged itself tighter. 

Okay. It's fine. This is fine. Maybe she’ll think that he pressed a button in his sleep–

"Hi Dad! It’s Charlie. Do you mind if I step in for a sec?"

--and a knock on the door interrupted his frantic thoughts, shattering any possible means of escape. 

"Ch-Charlie?” Lucifer’s panic fell to guilt, “Oh Sweetie, I didn’t mean to wake you up. Why don’t you go back to bed?" He hurriedly crossed the room with aching legs, finally braving the mirror to fix his awful appearance. 

"Oh! I-it’s fine, really! It's just-- you sounded like you were crying. So I wanted to come in and make sure everything was okay. …Is everything okay?" 

"Don’t you worry your pretty little head! Time ran away from me, that’s all." With the wave of his hand gold mist sputtered and spurted weakly until all his blemishes were gone. A bright flush faded from his nose and cheeks. A red and gold robe was no longer slumped and wrinkled. Blonde hair bounced back into place. Bruise-colored eyebags shrunk to small shadows. He cringed at the way his fingers tingled, but stuffed the feeling down with a stubborn, slowly swarming itch. 

Her father opened the door slowly, hinges squeaking softly along the way. His daughter stood there in her silky pajama set, rubbing at cherub cheeks to chase off the cobwebs of sleep. "I just need a few more minutes and then I’ll–" 

Lucifer paused as his uninvited guest strolled into the room still bleary-eyed, messy hair swaying behind her. A panic welling in his gut as a strong tickle followed suit. He quickly pressed the lower half of his face to the hem of his bathrobe, desperate to stifle as silently as possible.

"'Nnt! 'Nxt! 'Hnxt! 'Htch! 'Tchhht! 'Tchhh! H'NXT!"

“I know, I know! But it’s pretty late, and it sounds like you’re still chipping away at the first draft. Maybe there’s something I can do?"

The second she turned around Lucifer snapped ramrod straight, cheshire grin plastered to his face. "Really? You don't hahh-have to."

“Are you absolutely, one-hundred-and-ten percent sure you’re okay?” Charlie raised a curious brow.

"I-- yes! I’m fine! Actually, I called because I neehh- snff! needed your help writing it." He winced, mentally slapping himself. 

Suddenly, the world seemed to stop just for Charlie Morningstar. Her eyes sparkled, suspicious behavior completely forgotten. 

"Wh-what?" Lucifer stammered, rubbing a finger under his nose to keep it from twitching like a rabbit.

"Nothing! Nothing, I just– nevermind!" His daughter sat on the edge of his chair, already waiting with bated breath. "Why don't you read it out loud? I want the full presentation!"

Oh. Oh, no.

"Of course!" Lucifer took the two-sentence script in his hands. The same one that looked like a cheap Jackson Pollock painting. The same one that he couldn't even read a sentence through without spiraling into a fit. Don't freak out. Don't frehhh--

"Hhh..." He inhaled through his nose, trying to ignore the tickle that began to creep down its bridge. "Good morning, denizens of Hell. It's w-with…hih-hhhhit'schhhiew!" He quickly covered his mouth, "Goodness! Excuse me. Ahem!"

Charlie's excitement wavered into something unreadable, cocking her head. "Um. Are you–"

"Fine! I’m fihh– hhheh! Hep'SHHHIEW!" Oh, for fuck’s sake! "It's wihhh…with great pleasure thahhht…J-Jehhh-JesusMaryJoseph– HIT’SCHH! ’TSHH! T’CHHHIEW! HHHET’SHhhoo…"

Thin brows furrowed. "Dad."

"Dust!" Lucifer blurted, chuckling despite the hand he held to his pounding head. "Haven't dusted in a whi-while– ET'SHH! HET'SSHHH! Nnnhh…oh goodness– snff! I’m so sorry, Charlie. What was I saying…?"

Gentle hands took his shoulders, and through his hazy fog he found himself steadied, sitting on a plush mattress. "Easy. It’s okay. You’re okay."

Breathless and dizzy, he felt a soft tissue press into his palm. Quickly turning to blow his nose– cringing when it played like a mucky trumpet solo– and found himself looking back at the mirror.

"...Charlie?" Lucifer rasped, tossing his now-soaked wad in the wastebin. Eyes still glued to his reflection.

"Mhm?"

"How long were my illusions down for?"

"Oh! Ummm. I think halfway through the first sentence."

"Of course it was."

"Yyyep! ‘Cause you’re sick."

"...A little." Lucifer immediately perked up again, "B-but I can still give the speech!"

Charlie's expression dropped. "Listen. I know you mean well, really I do, but you can't even go two minutes without sneezing your poor head off."

"Oh, please." A growing dread bloomed inside him, patting his pockets for more handkerchiefs– paling when he came up empty.

The princess crossed her arms expectantly.

"...Charlie."

"No, no. I’m proving my point. I'm getting my point proven in three. Two."

"C-come on, I said I’m fi…hhhh…f-ffide…hit'schiew! 'Tshhhiew!"

"See? Not even a minute–"

"Het'CHIEW! ‘CHIEW! ESHH! ESHHH! ET'CHHH! HIT'SHH!" Charlie squeaked as she dodged her patient, pitching helplessly into his hands. Blushing madly, he slapped his palm against a dripping nose. "Ugh-- snff! Thadt was disgusti’g-- ET'CHH! Shit!"

The other winced, reaching for the a tissue. Then stopped to think better of it, setting the box on his lap. "I guess I just don’t understand." 

"Hm?"

"It's, um. It's not that I don't want your help." Charlie moved to sit beside the sickly demon, patiently waiting while he cleaned himself up. "You're just a little more dedicated than I expected. It's nice that you offered to lead the opening ceremony, but. Why didn't you ask me to do it instead if you weren't feeling well?"

Lucifer stared blankly for a moment.

"...Did you...not know that was an option?"

"I-I don't know, Char. It’s been me and the ol’ workshop for quite a while! I've never really lived with anyone else since..." Lucifer’s raspy voice trailed off into silence, claws drumming nervously on his thighs.

Two pairs of scarlet eyes trailed to a small picture propped on the dresser. A baby Charlie laughing happily, lifted in the air by Lucifer, kissed on the forehead by...well. The fallen angel cleared his throat, clasping his the hem of his sleeves to keep them from shaking. Nerves calmed when a warmth suddenly embraced him.

"I miss her too." Charlie whispered in his ear, adding a doting squeeze for good measure.

"It’s okay, Char-Char. I’m okay."

"But you always say that! You always say you’re fine, but you’re not. It's– it’s not fair! It’s not fair that I had so many people behind me this entire time, and you were stuck in a room for years!"

Pulling back, her father squeezed her shoulders with a gentle smile. "But I'm here with you now. That's all that matters."

"Yeah." Charlie started to brighten, a realization lighting a new fire in her eyes. "Yeah, you are!"

"I…am." Lucifer repeated with an uncomfortable delicacy.

The Princess of Hell cleared her throat. She sat pencil straight, smoothing her pants and straightening the lapels on her nightshirt.

"Where-- snff! Wh-where is this going?"

"Lucifer Morningstar." Charlie began. She stood tall to grab the other’s hand, tugging him upwards with a startled yelp. "How would you like to join a very special hotel?"

"I already live here?" The demon king faltered, grabbing onto the headboard before he could fall.

"You are! But being a visitor and being a resident are two entirely different things! Everyone at my Hazbin Hotel has something they need to work on! Whether they want to cross those Pearly Gates or not, it's always a good idea to improve the soul!"

"No need to sell me the pihh-pitch." Lucifer retorted, weaving another handkerchief from thin air. Or at least tried to, blinking back shock when he tried a few more times to no avail.

"Oh, but I absolutely have to!" Charlie lifted a finger, grabbing a tissue from the bed. "You make a good dad, sure. But you'd also make a good resident! You just need a push in the right direction since you have a lot to work on!"

"Charlie!” Lucifer’s voice cracked, heavy with offense, “What're you tuhh-talking about? I don’t need...n-need to…work on anythih-hih-hitshhhew! Ishhh'hoo! Het'schiew! Hih'SCHHH! 'ISHHHIEW!"

Charlie hummed, waving the tissue in his face, "Exhibit A! Too prideful to ask for help."

"Hey!" Lucifer protested, still taking the fabric to blow his stopped-up sinuses for what seemed like the umpteenth time that night. Distracted, she poked his side, earning a squeak.

"Exhibit B! Because you’ve been working so hard, you haven't taken care of yourself! It’s so obvious that you haven’t slept or eaten in days A resident is required to fuel those bones and keep their mind sharp!"

"I’m just making sure everything’s still running before opening-- ack!" Lucifer stumbled backwards as his daughter loomed over him. His spine thumped against the wall, realizing he was literally and figuratively backed into a corner.

"I knew it!” Charlie cried, “Exhibit C! If you’re not asking to share responsibility and refuse to take care of yourself, you’ll overexert yourself. Not limited to your powers! You clearly need to learn how to set them."

"It was-- snff! it was just a gazebo!"

"That had a huge garden around it! You just finished building the hotel too." Charlie inhaled through her nose, frustration softening with a patient exhale. She took his hands in her own, tracing circles on their backs. "I know it’s hard. The hotel is so different from the life you used to live, and you want to make up for the lost time you have now. So everything has to be perfect. But it’s okay if you stumble a little. It’s okay if you relapse. When you can’t show it, let me take my turn. I’ll be the one this time to remind you that there's a family here. And that family loves you."

Lucifer paused. He let out a little huff of a laugh. Then a hiccup. His eyes grew misty, and he quickly moved to wipe them with his wrist. "Heheh! I s-suppose I can't blame this on dust again, huh?"

"Nahhh. I think Niffty would freak if she heard you slander her hard work, anyway." Charlie bent down to kiss a feverish forehead, "Now get your butt to bed, mister."

Ever grateful, Lucifer rested his head on her shoulder, leaning on the support as they walked. "Whatever you say, kiddo."

#snz #snz fic #ha//zb//in//ho//tel// #lu/ci/fer #char/lie

[seancekitsch]

Competition: an Eddie Munson x Reader Kinktober fic

AN/ Warnings: technically a continuation of Indiana Handshake but can be read standalone, mentions of poly! steddie x reader, biting/marking kink, less smut and more the aftermath, Eddie calls reader mama but it’s not really a mommy kink, drug use

“Anyone ever tell you that you taste delicious?” you ask, lips still pressed lazily against Eddie’s throat. He hums, splayed out beneath you in the back of his van.

“Mmm, no. Just you, Mama.” 

His hands move sluggish against your bare back, warm and soothing to your muscles. You continue your onslaught, lips smashed and teeth grazing against his soft skin. You love this, you think; the afterglow of your best friend, the sticky haze of sweat and sex hanging on the cobwebs of weed smoke twirling through the air. He fucked you good, limbs feeling like jelly, perfectly content to lay around naked and pass a joint back and forth while you kiss him stupid. 

Eddie places the joint between his teeth, and reaches down to grab a handful of your ass. 

You help as he sinks his fingers into the tender flesh, and out of revenge you bite down on his neck, trying to mess with him back. But you’re not mean, no you could never be. You avoid the raised pink scar tissue on the side of his beck. 

“Ah, fuck,” he hisses through gritted teeth, “Fuckin take this.”

He thrusts the wet end of the joint towards your cheek, and you finally turn and show him mercy by taking it between your lips. You lean back from him and pull smoke through, smiling at him as you exhale through your nose. 

“Yeah? You think lookin’ like a dragon is gonna be hot for me or something?” he asks, removing his hand from you to rub at the scar on his chest. 

“Well I mean, thats why you play D and D right? The hot dragons?”

“Shut up.”

You do, taking another pull before you hand it back to Eddie, and he places the joint in the ash tray. He takes the time to kiss you deeply, pulling you closer in another embrace. He quickly pushes you back down flat on your back, his knee pushing itself between your thighs. 

“Hey, Hey!” 

A shout from outside interrupts his wandering hands. 

Shit, either the group is looking you, or worse… they’re trying to go on a snack run. At this exact moment it seems to dawn on you and Eddie both that his van is blocking in every single other car in the Harrington driveway. Shit shit fuck shit fuck. 

“Looks like we gotta scatter,” you say, not at all hiding the pout on your lips. 

“Open the trunk,” you hear Nancy’s voice, a little more distant now. Okay, less stressful. You remember hearing her say that Jonathan brought an extra case of beer in his car. 

But you still have to get out of this situation. It’s not exactly… well known that you’re in the situation you’re in. The group knows you’re seeing someone, or at least dating around. 

You break away from each other as if burned, you scramble for your panties and also the joint. A girl’s got needs. 

Eddie finds his boxers pretty quickly, and awkwardly wiggles them on. You can’t help but laugh as you exhale the joint, blowing smoke everywhere as you laugh and cough. 

“Careful,” he smirks, winking at you.

Eddie rummages around in your bag, looking for the little compact mirror you carry. This is routine now, to make sure that his hair doesn’t look absolutely fucked and frizzy after these trysts. He places the little silver up against one of his amplifiers, using the moonlight to examine himself.

“Mama, holy shit. We gotta get you a muzzle next time,” he laughs, hands coming up to better assess the damage.

“What?” you ask, anxiety spiking in your tone. 

“Look,” Eddie says, his laughter infecting his tone.

You peer up at him through the smoke, worry crossing your features for the first time. He was right, you did do a number on him. Dark purple and red splotches littering his skin, more drastic than just a call for a spoon thrown in a freezer could fix. There’s no way you could walk back into the house without the entire group noticing.

“You think they’re gonna know it was me?” you ask meekly. Eddie just laughs, hands still pawing over the marks on his neck in the little mirror compact.

Eddie chuckles again. 

“Well its either you or Harrington chewing on me,” he reminds you, and yeah, there aren’t many option as to who could be doing that to him, “And they don’t know about Harrington.”

“So you think I have competition?” you ask, eyebrow peaked.

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Eddie shrugs, a mischevious smile playing on his face as he leans back down towards you, giving you a sweet kiss as his hands search the blankets for his discarded shirt.

“Wouldn’t be much competition,” you downplay it, “You’d be competing with me if we throw Harrington into the mix, and he loves my tits.”

Eddie tips his head, as if he can’t argue with that one. An almost win.

“If I buy a training bra it’s over for you, Mama.”

Both of you erupt in laughter.

“Get dressed,” he mumbles, and you shimmy into your underwear and continue the search for your sweatshirt. Eddie throws your shorts at you and you curse as he almost knocks over the precariously placed ash tray.

You smooth yourselves out in every way that matters, slipping your sandals back on as you crouch at the van doors. 

“Fuck it?” you ask, meaning so much more. 

“Fuck it, Mama,” Eddie confirms, tugging at your hair before he opens the doors, letting the streetlights mix with the moonlight from the car windows. 

Your feet hit the cement of the driveway and you turn back to the house, your friends all back inside presumably to continue their pool party. 

All except one. 

The porch light illuminates one figure standing at the entrance, cigarette smoke a cloud of a halo around their head. You’d know that silhouette anywhere. 

You jog up to the porch, ready to throw your arms around Steve and kiss him as well, but he stops you before you can plant your lips on him. 

“No, no no no no,” he practically begs, playfully pulling himself from your arms. 

You pull him back in, and he fake struggles to wrestle himself away from you. 

“Stop! Dont!” he gets dramatic, “I can see what you did to Eds from here!” 

He points to Eddie, who did not run up the driveway following you, but instead walks calmly, sated by weed and pussy. He only smiles sheepishly at the other man, and shrugs his shoulders. 

“She’s dangerous, man.”

Thats all Eddie offers as an explanation.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader x steve harrington

[norel-ravenclaw]

The Ikepri routes as dark, twisted fairytales~

Fandom: Ikemen Prince (otome game)

Featured characters: All 13 & Cyran

Genre: Dark angsty fairytale romance

Rating: 12+

Word count: 1295

WARNINGS: | big bad wolf | dub-con elements | mentions of abuse | angst | mxw |

Leon - Cinderella

The truth was, he had seen her before. Seen the cobwebs in her lovely hair, seen the bruise on her temple when the breeze blew her scarf back. And he was smitten. Her shy smile, her surprising wit, her wise words, soft touch. She did not know who he was, but that wouldn’t stop him from taking her away from that place. She would be his. Even if he had to try that remarkable glass shoe on every woman in the kingdom. She would belong to him, a slave no more.

Chevalier - Beauty & The Beast

Trespasser. Interloper. Fool of a woman. Surely her trembling fists and burning eyes in a show of courage against his rampage is merely… more favourable than silent cowering? Surely the lonely years of seeing faces only in furniture is the sole reason her expressions while reading are so… amusing? Surely, seeing her in the late Queen’s golden gown is entirely… Entirely captivating. Surely, the last petal will fall before she would ever claim to love a beast… like him.

Yves - Sleeping Beauty

The abandoned prince. Not in a cottage in the woods, but in a foreign castle. Blood of enemies in his veins. And her, an outsider who would go up against anything or anyone to protect his smile. No dragon, or beasts, or years of navigating thorny paths could stop her from pouring all her love into a kiss upon his rosebud lips. The Beauty deserved his chance to rule the kingdom he loved, as much as deserved to be loved himself. And she would stop at nothing to see it happen.

Jin - Snow White

He had wanted this. He had suggested the decree that would banish the gentle maiden from the palace forever. The King’s folly had driven him to act thusly. But now, seeing the tears streak down her face, the cruel blow about to be struck, he could not… He couldn’t… But wouldn’t her pain be worse if he didn’t? Such a delicate creature, lost in a hostile place. There was just one solution; one made in a final, damning moment of irrepressible impulse: He would be her protector.

Sariel - Aladdin

They never saw through his smiles. His schemes and lies and manipulation. No one that is, except for her. Blazing eyes and chin held high. A worthy prize if ever he saw one. But he would tame her, holding that proud chin in his hand. He would make her love him, adore him, serve him. It was only a matter of time. No filthy street rat could hope to steal his wish. No one’s power was greater than his, after all - not even the king’s. And the most powerful and worthy woman in the kingdom would belong to him, bow to him; just as the very moon and stars would.

Nokto - Little Red Riding Hood

How many delicious morsels have wandered this forest? How many have fallen prey to the cunning fox that stalks its paths? And so why, why is this one different? This bold, sweet treat with honeyed hips and spiced tongue. Why is she the one who gets special treatment? Hunted so much more carefully, yet recklessly, yet satisfyingly… Of course he won’t let her go. No, no. He is a nasty beast, after all. He intends to devour her like all the others. …Perhaps she’ll even taste sweeter.

Licht - The Snow Queen

The wounded prince, hidden away for all this time. A stranger even to his twin, once his closest companion. All are certain he will wither away to nothing, chipping away at his own heart until nothing remains. Until she arrives. And she makes a flower bloom in the vast field of ice that shrouds his scars. The warmth of unconditional, unwavering love is the only thing that can thaw his frozen heart. Only she can bring spring to his eternal winter. And all the kingdom will revel in the flowers that bloom in his smile.

Rio - The Little Mermaid

She is a beacon. The only light on a rocky, desolate shore. She is joy and goodness and a treasure more precious than anything he’d ever held before. How cruel then, that he cannot tell her of his past. Of the shadowy tentacles that threaten to drag him back to whence he came. The villains and oppression and darkness of the ocean palace. No, he refuses such memories. His life is here now, with her. He will serve and protect his princess with everything he has. Even if his voice fails him, his heart will not.

Clavis - Alice In Wonderland

Oh, how curious his new toy is~ Curious and shy and clever. No matter that she is beginning to get fed up with the nonsense. Nonsense! She will come to love it, just as she will come to love him! Naturally, he is the most handsome fellow in Wonderland. It’s only natural that she will turn to him at last, crying in his shoulder until he can feed her something sweet to make it all go away. Sweet thing, they’ll have tea parties every day! And she will love it. And she will love him.

Luke - Goldilocks

She should not have come here. A broken, raging, raving, beast lives here. And shells of memories, carefully preserved. She sits in her chair. She sleeps in her bed. She holds a lovingly sewn bear to her heart. And she cries. Perhaps… perhaps this sweet girl with wide eyes, could use the protection of a big bad bear. Just for a little while. Until it’s time for the bear to go hunt. …Just until then.

Keith - Princess & The Pea

She was a stranger from a distant land, obviously not one that belonged in the grand palace. She was too sweet, too delicate, too naïve. …Or so he thought. She noticed him, there in the shadows in his eyes. Only she was sensitive enough to notice something so simple was off. Only she was kind enough, wise enough, to meet him on both sides. And so, he was determined, only she would be his queen. Whether she was a princess or not.

Silvio - Rumplestiltskin

Money solves all problems. So he made her spin gold for him. But he never expected that she would see him. (He never gave her the time.) And yet she did. She saw the rose-tint in his face and the pain hidden beneath his glittering, distracting façade. Only she could see the gold in the straw-stuffed cracks of his heart. Only she could ever speak his truth - a new name for a new part of his heart he never dared open before.

Gilbert - Rapunzel

It was too easy, really. To take her. To steal away with her gentle, naïve, heart in the night. To take her away to a dark castle, and lock her in the tallest tower. No one would ever see or touch the bunny again. …Until she discovered his secret. Then, no tower would be high enough, secure enough to hide the only person who would ever see behind his mask. No, Bunny, no prince will dare to try to get you down.

Cyran - 12 Dancing Princesses

His master was a madman, there was no denying it. And there was no denying the Belle of the nightly ball… was her. Every day he would sneak medicine and ointment into her room to pass around to the women to use on their sore, blistering feet. Until her strained smile, trying so hard to hide the pain, the confusion, the fear - secured his resolve. He would free them - her - from this cruel experiment. No matter what it would take.

I will write for the winning poll choices soon! (I made the clavis one as a joke lmao, how am I actually gonna write that??)

#i’m completely obsessed with this #norel writes #ikepri cyran #ikemen prince #cyran rose #ikepri #ikepri sariel #sariel noir #ikepri keith #keith howell #ikepri jin #jin grandet #ikepri chevalier #ikepri nokto #nokto klein #ikepri licht #licht klein #ikepri yves #yves kloss #ikepri rio #rio ortiz #ikepri leon #leon dompteur #ikepri clavis #clavis lelouch #ikepri silvio #silvio ricci #luke randolph #ikepri gilbert #gilbert von obsidian

[kithtaehyung]

drabble: you’re next (3tan) (m) | myg

drabble: you’re next | part one pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series: three tangerines | fall drabbles masterlist | submit! rating/genre: m (18+) ; fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: after you get the texts from yoongi, you continue to keep goading him. little do you know that he’s still at the festival. because your brother is the only one that left. note: so… this is part 2 to the first fall drabble apple bobbing bc of this post. y’all are spoiled af what am i gonna do with you all lolll note 2: if you haven’t read the three tangerines series yet, i highly encourage you to! the side characters would make a lot more sense :D also this is unedited LOL warnings: language, dirty talk, fingering, tae is best boy, oral (f rec), haunted house, yoongi on the phone lol i’m sorry, spanking, edging, yoongi is rude?? drop date: october 13th, 2022, 9:07pm est word count: 4.5k lolll

-

-

Yoongi [8:20pm]: You’re next :))

Shaken, you stash your phone, a large hand clapping on your shoulder the second thing that makes you yelp.

Tae’s concern is ruined by a giggle, “You okay? This room’s empty.”

“Says you,” you scoff, “Y’all just went too fast.”

He looks around, taking in the boarded up walls and funhouse mirrors shrouded in dark cloth. More random roars and screams echo throughout the building, but neither of you are deterred.

“Well. Unlike you, I’m not scared of my reflection.”

Ass! Feigning a pout, you charge ahead of his laughs, “Yeah, whatever. Let’s go.”

“What did he send you?”

“Huh?”

Taehyung easily catches up to your still form with confident strides, pointing at your bag. “I saw that,” he reveals through a smirk. “No way it could’ve been anyone else.”

Damn it.

The group behind you sounds close, so you and Tae make your way through a hallway of webs while you admit,

“He sent a fucking photo.”

“Of himself?”

“Yeah.”

Taehyung brushes a dangling cobweb as he has to crouch, voice is so deep that you have to lean in to hear, “That’s actually shocking.”

“I know!” you exclaim in a whisper. “That’s why I’m slightly freaked out.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“He—Fuck!”

The puff of air that shoots right into your side makes you collide into your friend, and he catches you with strong arms while blowing out amusement.

“Shut up.”

“I’ve never seen you this jumpy!” He lets out another laugh as you leave the air-filled corridor and enter another dark room. “It’s so cute.”

“I just. He just.” You sigh, fishing out your phone to show him the thread because you can’t bring yourself to repeat it out loud.

And as soon as Taehyung sees both the picture and the text, his face releases a whole flurry of butterflies across your chest.

“That’s the scariest thing I’ve seen all day.”

“See? What the fuck.”

“You’re in more trouble than I thought.”

You groan, pocketing your phone and hearing Yuri’s scream a few rooms away, the telltale giggles following right after.

Dom also cusses so loud that both you and Taehyung burst into laughter yourselves.

Maybe Yoongi’s texts showed up on their phones, too. Since that’s the only frightening thing you can think of right now.

“What’re you gonna say?”

“Absolutely nothing,” you claim, eyes darting to the hisses and squawks around the glowing area. There’s no way you can respond right now, especially since he’s walking around with your brother.

“Why not?”

“You know exactly why!”

“Damn,” Taehyung comments, drawing out the syllable to try and guilt you. “He eyefucks you and you leave him hanging…”

“Tae!”

“I’m sorry, did we look at the same picture? He even—”

You launch yourself in an attempt to cover his mouth, but he easily swats your arms away.

“He”—a muffled giggle—“Even gave you tongue—”

Your groan is more like a cry this time as you shut your eyes in defeat, the picture already burned so hard into your vision that you still see it.

Because fucking hell, Yoongi knows what he did.

Footsteps and chatter approach from behind again, so you and Tae move forward while steam escapes your ears.

“Just send one thing.”

“No.”

“He clearly sent that without remorse,” he notes, and the bubbling sounds of a cauldron are all you get in warning before a humongous witch charges out of nowhere.

Shrieking.

Both you and Tae yell in response, amused at how smushed together and bent backwards you are when the worker retreats into her station.

“I did not expect her to be seven feet tall.”

“I’m gonna ask her out.”

After you head into the next room—adrenaline spiked into the ceiling—your friend reminds you of his persistence.

“Humor me,” he starts, and you tilt your head with lips pursed. “He’d lose his shit!”

“What do I even send?”

“Whatever’s in your heart.”

“Wow.”

“Or your p—”

“Stop.”

While he laughs, you spot a tiny sign hovering over a dark door on your right.

Bathroom, you assume? Maybe for costume changes.

“Okay, fine,” you relent, taking out your phone and knowing this could be a super bad idea. “But I’m only sending this because I’m tired of you.”

“Whatever. You love being goaded.”

Staring at your thread, you walk forward with tiny steps, wondering what the hell to say.

His picture is certainly not helping.

The only thing you can come up with is your default. The same damn concept you fell back on at the booth. Because if your earlier taunt resulted in whatever fresh hell this was, you’re highly interested in seeing what your text will bring.

Huffing a frown at Taehyung, you show him what you wrote.

And he gives you a triumphant smirk in return.

You [8:30pm]: do it u won’t🙄

After you get through the haunted house, the street is a lot more crowded, with lights illuminating everyone’s heads and distinct festival sounds embedding in your ears.

Since all of you decide that the adrenaline and scare-induced laughter will quickly turn into hunger, you head to one of the food stalls calling your noses. Which is great timing because you need a good distraction.

Because ever since you sent the text, you’ve been checking your phone periodically, both relieved and anxious that Yoongi hasn’t replied. Like your mind can’t decide which outcome is better.

It’s only after you order and stand next to Tae that you feel a message come through.

And suddenly your bag weighs a ton.

You give your friend a look before you check it, and he watches as you clutch your phone a tad tighter.

Yoongi [8:45pm]: Wanna bet?

You [8:45pm]: omg u know u can’t

Yoongi [8:45pm]: Bet I can

What the hell? If he’s around your brother being this brazen then you’re full-on dreaming.

The wind picks up, and you shiver as you type your next message.

You [8:47pm]: ???

Yoongi [8:48pm]: He left lol. I’m with Jimin now

Oh.

Your brother left?

And Yoongi stayed?

…That changes things.

You [8:50pm]: just y’all?

Yoongi [8:52pm]: Yeah

Yoongi [8:53pm]: Rather it be just us though :\

Your phone damn near falls out of your hand.

Because this cannot be happening.

What kind of alternate reality did you step into? Why is he suddenly so forthcoming you want to hurl your device into the nearest bin?

Whatever it is, he needs to quit before you run out of air.

Humming, you grapple onto reality before diving into conversation with Tae.

“It’s just him and Jimin now.”

“Now what?”

“I dunno!” you whisper, appalled that he’s left you out to dry in the cold. “You’re the one that put me up to this.”

He laughs. “I just wanted to see what he’d say. I didn’t expect to get this far.”

Groaning, you look down at your texts, wondering what the hell to do.

You [8:55pm]: just us?🥺

Yoongi [8:56pm]: Acting cute won’t work today, doll

Yoongi [8:57pm]: Not after what you pulled

Well.

Shit.

Everyone else at this festival be damned.

You [9:00pm]: i don’t recall a thing

Yoongi [9:05pm]: Uh huh

Yoongi [9:05pm]: You’re just making it worse for yourself

As your other friends get their food, you watch them go to a table before you sigh,

“Wish I could see him.”

The words come out so naturally that you even surprise yourself.

And Taehyung’s smile can be heard in his voice when he replies,

“Then do that.”

“Not here,” you mutter. “There’s way too many people around.”

“So?” When you shoot him a rueful look, he cocks a brow. “Everyone’s just enjoying themselves. I can sit with them if you wanna find him.”

Your heart skips right into Tae’s hands.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Keep it quick, though,” he says, looking towards the table your friends huddle around, eating and finally quiet. “Even though they look beat. They could still be down for stuff.”

“We stayed up so late last night,” you explain through a smile. “Movie marathons are no joke at Reia’s place.”

“Wow, thanks for the invite.”

“We thought—Well, I thought you were busy.”

“Mm. Perhaps.”

You don’t know what you’d do without Taehyung in your life. If only you were able to pack him in your car to keep during your university days.

But alas. He’s here now. And being the most supportive of your sneaky ways as he can be.

After you go up to get your food, you hold the container in one hand while messaging. “Lemme see what he says.”

You [9:07pm]: prove it then

It doesn’t take long for him to answer.

Yoongi [9:09pm]: You sure?

You [9:09pm]: i got 15 min tops

Yoongi [9:10pm]: Lmaoo that’s plenty

Yoongi [9:11pm]: Call me when you dip

Can he get any more insufferable today?

That’s plenty? For what!

Nerves buzz as you and Tae make a plan before you walk off, hoping at least Dominique understands where you’re going.

Well. You’re gonna get an earful later either way. May as well make this fifteen minutes count.

But when you’re a safe distance away in the crowd, you ring him up, wondering what could possibly await you on the other side of the line.

“Hi.”

“Hey. Where are you?”

“By the food trucks.”

“Head towards the haunted house. There’s gonna be a churros stall on your left.”

A churros stall? You didn’t expect that.

“Okay.”

“You want anything?”

“No, it’s okay! I just got food.”

“K. We’ll be here.”

How you can instantly spot Yoongi in a crowd is always gonna be a mystery.

Even with his hood up and draped in dark colors, your eyes zero right onto him, watching as he grabs something from a vendor that turns incredibly shy.

And Yoongi swivels in time to see your smile of understanding, too far away to catch the way you cease breathing.

Which is good. He doesn’t need his ego inflated even more.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Looking around, you take in the rest of the line and wonder, “Where’s Jimin?”

“Getting something else.”

Oh.

He leads you around the corner, settling into a space between the stalls only occupied by trash cans and trodden leaves. A tiny nook where you can pretend that you’re just hanging out with Yoongi like it’s the most normal thing.

And suddenly it’s your favorite area of the festival.

“Those smell so good,” you notice, mouth salivating as you lean on the warm side of the churro booth.

“Want some?”

“Nah. This was expensive enough.” Grabbing the wrapping, you look around at the people passing by.

Did you say no because you feel jittery enough standing here with him? Maybe. Because the butterflies in your stomach aren’t just from getting to spend alone time outside. Their wings are still dusting bits of paranoia along your rib cage.

“Suit yourself,” Yoongi tuts, getting a full bite while observing the night crowd. The crunch is enough to make you regret ordering the subpar meal you just paid for.

After the two of you get a few bites in, the sounds of cooking and games and voices fill the silence.

Before Yoongi disrupts with two words.

“Gimme some.”

“What?”

“Your food. Feed me some.”

You gawk, almost dropping the bite in your hand. “Umm, no?”

“Come on,” he persists with a lift of his cocky chin. “No one’ll notice.”

“Are you serious?” Alarmed, you swing your neck around to see if there’s anyone you suddenly know, senses on high alert. “People could see us—”

He.

Just took what was in your hand.

With his mouth.

As you still feel the cold air where his lips touched your fingers, he swallows in triumph. “Said you were next.”

This entire night is a fever dream.

You don’t even know what to say, much less do. Your head is literally quite empty, and any brain cell you can find seems to be focused on one thing and one thing only.

“Yoongi, I swear…”

“What?” He laughs. “Thought I was talking about something else?”

“I…” Blinking, you look at his unfinished churros. “Didn’t know what to think, honestly.”

He hands you his container while taking yours. “Didn’t even send a pic back,” he points out, and you think you hear a smidge of pout in his words.

Of course you weren’t gonna. But you only offer an excuse, “It was dark in there.”

“Just one,” he says, leaning onto the stall next to you. “Just once.”

After a moment of silence, he tacks on,

“Of your ass.”

“Yoongi.”

He’s laughing! You’re drowning in complete shock and suffering and he’s full on elated.

You’ve never seen him like this. Even if you were mad at him, you’d still smile. “What’s up with you today?”

Is it the season? The weather change? There has to be something about today that’s responsible for his mood. And you want to thank whatever it is until it gets tired of you.

Yoongi just looks at you with creased eyes before huffing. “You really got me at that damn booth.”

Oh. That’s not possible.

There’s no way all of this is because of something you said.

You look away with a shy curve of your lips. “Yeah, well. You got me, too.” Turning, you poke his chest with a nail. “So this isn’t over.”

“The hell it isn’t.”

You expected something completely different to happen in these fifteen minutes, but you’re enjoying yourself as is, just hanging out and eating outside.

And Yoongi’s the happiest you’ve ever seen him.

Any amount of time to witness him like this is already worth it.

Your bag buzzes, and both you and Yoongi look down at the sound.

Taeee😪 [9:17pm]: Take your time. They left and I’m gonna do the haunted house with Jimin.

Wait.

They left?

How the hell did Tae swing that?

You [9:18pm]: they left??

Taeee😪 [9:17pm]: Yeah. I told them I’d take you back to Reia’s when we were done here.

Ten-thousand lunches.

You owe him ten-thousand, very good lunches.

Every single thought in your body enlarges, crowding you to the brim with excitement and outright giddiness.

Time. You get so much more time.

But the logical side of your brain is quick to remind you: you’re still out in public. There’s a chance that people can still see you out with Yoongi, especially the people looking to hang out with him, too.

All this opportunity, but what do you do? What even can you do?

“Need to go?”

You quickly tear away from your phone, and the guarded look on Yoongi’s face makes you feel the guiltiest you’ve felt in awhile. Because you’re positive your expression is giving away the conflict raging through your brain.

“No, I…”

You didn’t like that look. Not one bit.

But what do you do? What can you and Yoongi… do…

Looking back down at your text, you realize.

The answer is right there.

Immediately, you snap your gaze back to him and blurt, “Do the haunted house with me.”

“Huh?”

“Or, us. Jimin and Tae are going.”

Yoongi switches from wary to defeated when he sighs. “Don’t make me do that.”

“Why not?”

When he looks away, his lips slip into a curve of regret. “Cus fuck that. But I’m gonna if you want me to.”

Your heart throbs.

As much as you wanna see him go through the house, the ultimate plan is something else entirely. But that’ll be kept under wraps to keep it a surprise. “I’ll protect you,” is all you decide to pledge.

“I wasn’t kidding. I’ll swing.”

“No need! It’s not even a scary one.”

He gives you a look of disbelief. “If you’re lying I’m leaving your ass.”

“Rude? Trust me.”

You await his answer, not wanting to push too hard if he really doesn’t wanna do it. Obviously, you don’t wanna unearth any potential trauma or whatever. You’re totally fine coming up with something else.

But he just aims slitted eyes your way. “Fine.”

Laughing at his fake leer, you tell him he’ll be alright.

If you can get him into the haunted house, you’re golden.

All you gotta do is get him past the witch.

After twenty minutes—thanks to a Jimin that roped you into the front of the line—you’re almost there.

But the journey proves just as naughty as your destination.

“Yoongi!” you whisper, moving your ass away from another playful grab. “Stop!”

His laughs in the dark are much more potent. “Why.”

“What if someone sees?”

“All they’d do is agree with me,” Yoongi confidently answers in a low tone, and you can only see a sliver of his side profile thanks to his hood still up. “It’s too nice in that skirt.”

If only you remembered the webbed hallway as well as you recalled the hidden bathroom’s location. You ended up getting the same puff of air on your ear, which caused you to flinch sideways into him.

But unlike Taehyung who just laughed, Yoongi seized the opportunity to also hold you against him before letting go, slapping your ass to move you forward.

And paired with the darkness, your weak scoldings have only made him bolder since then. You yourself almost break before you even make it to the witch’s room.

But you hold on, cackling as much as the towering woman yourself when you see Yoongi’s fists challenge her rapid approach. When you feel him clutch your arms while trying to suppress a grin, you only laugh even harder, loving how unfiltered his actions are.

It’s almost like…

There it is. The tiny bathroom sign behind a wall of curtains in the next room.

Yoongi’s already surveying the dark for another scare, completely oblivious to your devious plan. “I swear if there’s something in here, too—”

“Come here,” you whisper, grabbing his hand.

He only looks at the contact before eyeing you, and you bite your lip to keep yourself in check, not saying another word while leading him to the hidden door.

When he catches on, the look he gives you is devilish.

“Nu uh.”

Your curve only gets wider as you check the narrow space between the curtains at the door, parting the heavy material enough to get by and head into the empty restroom.

Aside from knocking on Yoongi’s door and asking him to fuck you, this is the second most daring thing you’ve done in awhile. And your stomach has almost the same type of twists as before. Just minus the fear of rejection and broken self-confi—

Closing the door behind him in a rush, Yoongi twists your body to pin you against the nearest wall, not even bothering to turn on the light.  

Which makes his low, gravelly question twenty times worse,

“You plan this?”

Heart pulsing wild, you squish your lips before admitting, “Maybe.”

“That’s hot as fuck.”

Your mouth is smushed as you bang against the plaster, and you run your fingers along his neck while licking cinnamon and sugar off his tongue.

“Someone might use it, though,” you warn between hard kisses. “We can’t be here long.”

He wedges a thigh in between your legs before giving your side a spank. “Then hurry up. No shy shit this time.”

Moan muffled, you roll against him, the thrill of being exactly where you shouldn’t be fueling your thrusts.

Because you shouldn’t have done this.

Oh god, why the hell did you sneak in here employees could come in at any se—

“Is that all you got, baby girl?”

Fuck, his voice got a lot closer to your ear.

When you swallow, he continues with an insult,

“What a shame. Thought I taught you better than that.”

“Fuck—”

Yoongi grabs the back of your neck before devouring your lips again, tongue flicking yours while a hand wanders along your leg, your side, your ass. When he clutches what he can in his palm, he guides you in a rhythm that matches the thrusts of his mouth, and you practically melt right onto his jeans.

“There you go,” he praises, chuckling right after. “Goddamn, I wanna taste you.”

His name escapes you in a gasp. Because you feel like you’re already pushing it as is. Shit, you need to wrap this the hell up.

Shivering with nerves, you whisper, “I don’t think we can.”

If only your body followed the same rules as your brain. It’s only staying still as Yoongi loops a finger into the hem of your bottoms, shivering when he tugs you forward, and responding when he claims your lips again.

“We can.”

“You sure?”

“This won’t take long.”

His last kiss steals not only your breath, but any other arguments on your lips.

“Okay,” you whisper, hearing the sounds of the haunted house right outside the door. “Okay.”

“Now cover your mouth, doll,” he orders while dropping to the ground. Swinging a shaking leg over his shoulder, he sounds frighteningly close to your soaked panties. “You’re gonna scream.”

“We—”

Your only other warning is a finger shifting your thong—hot, determined tongue replacing it while a rough hand holds your leg in place.

Holy fuck.

You buck forward on contact, yell pushing through your fingers as a strong hum instead.

And he doesn’t say anything else as he feasts, licking along your cunt and grabbing the side of your ass with his free hand. Darkness takes away your vision but heightens everything else, and you’ve never heard dirty sounds so crystal clear. 

He’s right. This isn’t gonna take you much longer. 

It’s more than obvious he’s done this countless times before. 

Your legs dissolve into jelly when he sucks, but you feel your knees give out when the lightest of kisses are planted against your nub. Again. And again.

When did your fingers get tangled in his hair? When did your leg lock so hard you don’t feel it anymore? You don’t know. You don’t care. All you know is to rock forward, controlled by the single string that is his tongue.

Until he adds two knuckles, rubbing them against your clit and making you flinch.

A dark rumble thrums against your cunt, and you feel his body shift to… a standing position?

No no no.

“That’s all you get, baby girl.”

“What?”

“You said we had to hurry.”

“You said it wouldn’t take long!”

“Did I lie?”  

“Yoongi,” you breathe out, ragged. “I’m so close, fuck.”

“Damn.” He brushes wet knuckles against your lips, and you groan at the taste. “That sucks.”

“Yoongi, I swear to god.”

“You said we had to go.”

“I… You…” Your cunt is throbbing so hard you feel like crying. “Don’t make me do it myself.”

He gets in close, heady scent of his breath pooling across your face. “Poor baby,” he teases, one finger jolting you upward with a single, soft touch to your slit. When he slaps your cunt instead of anything else, you whine before he slips vengeance in your ear,

“You get me wet, I do the same. It’s only fair.”

Your fingers find his sleeves immediately. “This isn’t fair and you know it.”

“You’re the one that brought me in here,” he parries, and you know for a fact he’s smirking. “And I told you it wasn’t over.”

“Please.” You try your absolute hardest to tighten your weak hold. “We don’t have time to fight.”

“Fight about what?”

“Make me come, baby,” you plead with your whole chest, not wanting to play a single game anymore. “I’ll do anything, just—”

A knuckle grazes your clit, and your moan isn’t stifled by a hand this time.

Oh shit that had to be too loud—

A large palm covers your mouth before two fingers slip between your folds, and your second scream is thoroughly muffled.

“You’re lucky I fucking love when you come,” Yoongi rasps in your ear, his fingers hitting spots that light the room with stars. “That’s what’s unfair.”

Your eyes squeeze shut while you thrust against his digits, feeling the end fast approaching and outright yelling into his warm hand.

“Better hurry, doll.” His breath comes out in a slow laugh. “Unless you wanna get caught. Is that what you want?”

You shake your head, knowing that deep down, for some reason, the very idea makes your cunt throb even harder.

“No?”

Another shake.

“Then fucking come.”

His fingers lodge into your folds, spreading you open and causing your walls to flutter like mad.

And your body obeys at once, head thrown back and limbs locking, plaster and Yoongi’s fingers your only purchase from sinking to the ground. Swells of pleasure almost taken from you gush onto his digits, and his hum teeters on a growl against your cheek.

“So perfect.”

The dark continues to heighten every sense you have, and you turn your head to capture his lips before gasping for air.

Your pulses are still deep when he removes his fingers. And you already miss them as you try to straighten, legs wobbly and hands steadying on his arms.

His teasing laugh makes you pout. “You good?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Then let’s go.”

You feel him move away from you, and you decide then and there that you want more.

A lot more.

Panicked, yank him away from the door, reaching for his face and pulling him onto your lips. Bold. Risky. So unlike you.

But the dark heightens your courage as much as your senses. And something about him only focusing on you makes you want him more than ever.

Yoongi’s just as rushed this time. A myriad of flavors smears across your mouth, and his hot breaths sink wonderfully into your skin. Seconds, minutes, years. It doesn’t matter how much time you have now.

This tiny stretch of time has been a miracle, and you wanna stretch it out as long as you possibly can.

When he finally pulls away, he tells you he didn’t think you had this in you. When you admit that you just really missed him, he repeats the sentiment right back.

And when you tell him you have a bit more time left, he suggests that you all swing by another prize booth.

“What, you wanna win me something, too?”

“Nah.” He huffs a laugh, and his next sentence earns him a playful shove,

“I just wanna watch you lose.”

-

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fin. :) 

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A/N: so... yes. this was a 4.5k word drabble. bc some people wouldn’t stop talking and being cute with each other and someone else just had to keep being a good ass friend!!! anyway. hope y’all enjoyed! there are so many other drabbles to come during the fall season, so get ready. i would love to know what y’all thought about this one! any feedback would be much loved :D  ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that aren’t okay with reblogging with a review, commenting on this, or sending a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a feedback dropbox :D ⇥ here!   ++ ⇥ masterlist

#🍎🍎🍎 pt 2 is here sry for the wait omg #bts fic #bts imagines #bts reactions #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #bts #yoongi #bangtanbathhouse #bangtansorciere #bangtanarmynet #*latest #*ryenfictalk #ryenwrites #*3tanfall #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #yoongi fic

[fairy-writes]

Vampire!Viktor x Female!Reader 01

i’ve been having brain rot about vampire!viktor and a female!reader, and just—

this is now a series i’ve dubbed cryptid!viktor! here’s a little blurb about merman!viktor :) linked HERE

you first meet him when you go to explore a decrepit old mansion on the hill of your little village in the middle of the night. the year is 18th century something, and you hike your skirts up as you scale the tall wrought iron fence surrounding the estate. except as you climb the wall, you realize it’s basically rusted steel.

why was that? wasn’t steel more expensive than iron?

this was a bad idea, but you were always curious and liked old things. they made you sad. but in a good way.

the estate is just as drab and creepy up close as it was far away. but you are astounded by the detail. gargoyles and griffons positioned at the tops of the corners keep watch over the massive house, and their stone eyes seem to follow you as you approach the large front door. 

the door is made of wood, and there is a large cast iron (again, you realize it’s steel) knocker in the shape of what looks like a demon with horns. is it a bad omen? you clutch your necklace tight in your fist as you reach for the door knocker and knock twice. 

nothing. 

the door is unlocked, and you have to put your entire body weight against it in order to open the beast of a door. inside is almost pitch black, and you hoist your bag that’s been strapped against your torso until now, and pull out a packet of matches. then feeling along the wall, you find a candelabra and use the match to light the dusty candles. 

the room is illuminated by the warm glow, and you swear you see glowing golden eyes in the corner. but as you look closer, they simply disappear. 

talk about spooky.

cobwebs hang from the chandelier, and the air is thick with dust, making you sneeze and almost blow your candles out. a breeze comes through the open door, and the flames flicker and go out. 

suddenly you get a very, very bad feeling. 

“who are you?” comes an accented voice, and you jump, whirling and feeling your skirts swish against your heeled boots as you look up to the top of the massive staircase. 

the man is dressed immaculately in a cravat, a pristine white long-sleeved shirt with puffy sleeves, a wine-red vest, and slim trousers that hug his legs all the way down to his shined shoes. his hair is a dark chocolate brown, and his eyes are that glowing golden color. 

the eyes from before. 

“i did knock,” you say hastily, and he scoffs,

“i heard you. now who are you?” is all he says in return, and you spin on a heel, dropping the candelabra and sprinting for the door. 

only for it to slam shut, leaving you beating against the wood. 

“let me out!” you shriek and turn back to face the man. he’s descended the stairs now and is but a few paces away. somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize he’s beautiful. with porcelain skin and two beauty marks dotting his cheeks. his eyes aren’t exactly gold, but a pretty amber that seemingly glows gold with unnatural power. 

“no, i don’t think i will. what is your name?” he says, and you swallow as he gets closer, stuttering out your name. 

but there’s something on his face that you can’t quite define.

“what are you going to do to me?” you whisper, and he tilts his head,

“that i am not sure of yet. but seeing as you trespassed on my property, i think i’ll figure out something,” he says and reaches for your throat. 

only to recoil with a cry of pain and clutching his steaming hand. 

you look down to see your silver necklace in the shape of a cross steaming as well. you weren’t particularly religious, but it was given to you by your father on his deathbed, and you had promised never to take it off. 

it looks like even now; he’s watching over you.

but then the dots connect, and everything makes sense.

“are you a vampire?” you ask, and he glares with bared teeth. the sharpened incisors are proof of your claim. 

but instead of fear, you feel curious. 

but you don’t get the chance to ask any more questions as he turns and disappears without another word. literally, one second, he’s there, and the next, he’s simply gone in a wisp of the wind. mysteriously, the door opens, and you are let out without any more trouble. you all but run to the steel gates but turn back at the last second. 

and see the man in the window, watching you as you scurry away like a mouse running from a cat. 

as soon as you get home, the sun begins to rise, and your mother descends on you like the worried parent she is. 

“where were you?! i was worried sick!” she all but shouts, and you flinch at the noise. you had scarcely opened the door when she had been up from her chair and across the dirt floor to grasp your elbows, scanning you up and down for any injuries. 

which save for a minor burn mark against your skin from the necklace; you are just covered in dirt and minor scratches from running through the brush surrounding the mansion.

“i’m fine mother, i just went on a walk to the mansion up on the hill,” you say and realize quickly it was a mistake. 

her face morphs into one of terror and anger. her grip on your arms loosens, and she frantically holds your face in her calloused hands. they’re worn with years of washing laundry in lye. she was a servant in baron silco’s estate as a laundry maid. you were a seamstress and tailoress who made clothing for noblemen and women who traveled through baron silco’s land. 

but your job was beside the point. your mother looked like she was about to pass out from fear. 

“you know that a monster haunts the mansion! you mustn't go up there ever again! promise me!” she chastises, and you nod in a daze. 

for some reason, you can’t get that man out of your head. 

and realize why as you sew the clothing of a noblewoman named caitlyn kiramman.

he looked old and lonely and oh so sad. 

you resolve to yourself that you are going to visit again and try not to get killed. 

you manage to sneak out a week later when your mother is fast asleep. it’s always been just the two of you ever since your father died, so at least you don’t have to worry about siblings or grandparents like many of the other peasants in your village. the trek up to the mansion is shorter than you remember, the worn dirt leading the way as your eyes adjust in the bright moonlight. 

again, the door is unlocked, and the windows are empty. you ease it open, wincing at the squealing hinges echoing into the night. if he didn’t know you were coming, he certainly did now.

he’s waiting for you at the top of the stairs. his eyes widen almost imperceptibly when he recognizes it’s you.

“what are you doing here? here to kill me?” he asks, and you stop in your tracks.

“what? no! i’m here… well… i’m here because you looked sad.” you say, trailing off at the end, realizing how ridiculous you sounded. your skirts are clenched in your fists, and your apron is rough against your fingertips.

“you’re here… because i looked… sad?” his tone is colored with shades of confusion and curiosity. but he didn’t seem angry, and that was good. so you nod, 

“it sounds stupid i know—”

“it is stupid. leave now,” the man commands, and you freeze at the commanding tone in his voice. it booms through the large room, making you feel as small as a dust mite in his presence. he turns to ascend the rest of the stairs toward one of the mansion’s many corridors, and you panic. you didn’t want to come all this way for nothing. 

“wait!” you cry and hurry up the steps after him, hiking your skirts up and scurrying up the stairs after the retreating man. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, if anything, he speeds up slightly. the halls are dark and filled with more cobwebs, but you find as you get closer to the heart of the mansion, they grow less prominent, and the torches are actually lit. the man shuts a door behind him, and you open it before he can lock it.

“i just want to talk!” you say, and he turns to look at you. before he can say anything, you get a good look around the room. 

it’s lit by oil lamps and candelabras. papers are strewn about between two desks, and they’re also covered in various gears and gadgets. you spy a few handkerchiefs covered in grease in under a few papers. a bed is in the corner and neatly made blood-red bedsheets are spread over the mattress. it looks comfier than anything you have ever seen. 

abruptly, you realize he’s started talking.

“—want you to leave,” he says curtly, and you bite your cheek.

“aren’t you lonely?” you ask quietly, and he freezes, his back to you. 

you seize your chance and ask another question,

“what’s your name?” you ask, and he turns his head slightly, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“it’s viktor.”

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane x you #viktor arcane x y/n #arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor x you #arcane viktor x y/n #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #arcane x reader #female reader #reader insert #arcane fanfic #fairy writes #cryptid!viktor

[saxamophone]

wip snip

Thanks to @academicdisasterfic for tagging me in their laugh-out-loud-i'm-deceased wip snip (Bottoms x Drarry, swoon).

I'm in the middle of three things right now. There's The Big Thing (wip snip below, you can skip the rest of this paragraph if you want) that I needed a break from. I'm at the dreaded halfway point were plot lines need to start actually making sense, and wanted to clear the cobwebs by writing some fun little side fics. Under 5k. Sexy. Easy. Next thing I know, I'm 10k deep in a Dreville fic about them falling in love and a Drarry hookup piece that somehow has me researching the cult of Apollo, Ezekiel's descriptions of angels, the Green Man, and Beltane rituals. Like, can't everyone just f**k in peace?

Anyway, The Big Thing is a Wolfstar fic ---Aftermath of October 31, 1981, Remus gets Harry and, whoops, Regulus is alive and supposed to help him. They hate each other, but maybe they can get along well enough to break Sirius out of prison. Maybe.

Also f**k Dumbledore.

Opening bit:

“No.” Remus tries to close the door.  “Remus,” he says kindly, and it’s almost more than he can bear.  “Go away,” Remus grits out, pushing the door, and it won’t close. It won’t budge, and Dumbledore isn’t even holding it open on his side of the jamb. He didn’t say a spell either, the fucker, and the door is stuck open, unmoving, and nothing Remus does will change it unless Dumbledore wants it to change.  He realises in this moment that the door is a metaphor for his whole miserable life, stuck where Albus Dumbledore decides, but he can’t address that right now. It’s too much to contemplate after everything else, so he decides the least he can do is close the fucking door.  Remus throws his shoulder into it. He’s always strong, but his strength will increase as the frost moon approaches. His tall, lanky build belies the monster beneath.    “Remus,” Dumbledore says again quietly.  Remus ignores him and throws his shoulder into the door. The fucking door that won’t fucking close. He slams his shoulder into it so hard the frame rattles, grunting at the blow.  “Go away,” he growls. He feels it, the wolf inside. Always lurking but more insistent now. Since everything. “Go away!” Remus shouts and smashes into the door, almost splitting it. It hurts, but it feels good, too.  The damaged door still doesn’t move, and Remus is properly angry now. He’s been numb for days, ever since he found out…ever since…he squeezes his eyes closed and tries to shut out the memory of finding out about James and Lily and Peter. And— “No!” he bellows, and he’s about to give the door one great shove when, suddenly, he’s yanked back as if an invisible rope is attached to his spine. He scrabbles for purchase, trying to grab hold of the hall table or the reception archway. He can’t get a hand on anything before he finds himself deposited on a sagging floral sofa, sitting upright but unable to move, arms pinned to his sides.  Dumbledore glides into the room after him, and Remus can hear the front door close with an offensive little click. He tries to wriggle out of whatever invisible binds he’s in and can’t. His wand is in his back pocket, useless.  He scowls as Dumbledore sits in a chair across from him, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. His blue eyes are red-rimmed behind his half-moon glasses, and he’s wearing a Muggle suit—brown plaid print and a bit shabby, a bit too large on Dumbledore’s thin frame. And that’s when it hits Remus—All of this is true. It’s not some nightmare he’s lived in for the last five days like he keeps hoping.

Five days. He’s been cooped up here in Milton Keynes, waiting for five fucking days. His arrival triggered the mora protocol when he opened the door. The protocol that meant they were compromised and to stay put. Don’t move. The Order will be in touch. And finally, after five days, Frank Longbottom showed up, his big eyes sad, and his voice low. He’d told Remus what had happened, and it didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be real. It was all a big mistake. Someone had made a mistake.  But he’s immobile on an ugly floral sofa, and he knows. It’s all real, and it happened, and it’s still happening, and Albus Dumbledore is wearing a brown plaid Muggle suit, and Remus’s life as he knows it is over. 

Tagging @geesenoises @citrusses @tackytigerfic @arminaa8 @maesterchill @romaine2424 @skeptiquex if you have anything you'd like to share! No pressure!

#drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry fic #wolfstar