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lale-txt · 4 months

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❥ subtle ways they say "I love you" without saying it ↳ w/ Nanami, Ino, Toji & Naoya

a/n: gn!reader for Nanami, Toji & Ino, f!reader for Naoya! somehow i got carried away writing these and halfway through wondered if i should have just made single fics for each of them... oh well ♡-(๑˙ー˙๑)-♡

word count: 1.5k

❦ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

Nanami needs his sweet time until he’ll put his feelings into proper words, part of him too afraid to pursue love during his time as jujutsu sorcerer, but his actions have always been louder than words anyway

his love is stored in the smallest gestures, like fixing the collar of your shirt or helping you put on a necklace, not letting you go without kissing the back of your neck gently, his lips lingering on your skin for a heartbeat longer than expected

when you’re in a bookstore together, his eyes always follow you around even when you’re looking at different shelves; he observes which books you pick up and put back again because you have too many unread ones at home (both of you are terrible book hoarders), just so he can go back another day and get you the one book you really wanted

sometimes he’ll also make the time to read it before he gifts it to you, small scribbled thoughts on the side so you can discuss them together later–a tiny book club of two lovers

in the comfort of your home, Nanami is also incredibly touchy, never not seeking skin contact; anything will do, even if it’s just linked pinkies across the table while you’re having your morning coffee and sharing the newspaper

his love will seep into you with every gaze, every smile, every kiss you share

with you, Nanami can let his guard down; he can allow himself to just be loved, with his head in your lap as you run your fingers through his hair, charming out sweet sounds from his throat that sound a lot like “I love you” if you listen closely

if he has to leave for a solo mission, Nanami will leave a handwritten note on the table for you to find in the morning, nothing too cheesy but enough to remind you that you’re always on his mind

and if you show him your collection of notes one day, stored in a box in your closet, a smile will play upon his lips, asking you if you really kept all of them (even if some of them just say things like “Can you buy eggs while I’m out? I want to make us waffles for breakfast tomorrow” or “I watered your dying plant on the top shelf. xx”)

there’s wonder in his eyes when he looks at you, as if he sometimes finds it hard to believe that your love is mutual, that he’s allowed to experience this during his lifetime, and the quiet hope that maybe, maybe this can last forever

❦ 𝐈𝐍𝐎

Ino’s love for you is written all over his face: the way it lights up when he sees you, the confident yet boyish smirk when you compliment him, the gleam in his eyes when you call out for him

it’s in his touch, too

his fingers playing with yours when you’re sitting somewhere together, always fidgeting with them as if he couldn’t believe that he really gets to hold your hand

or the arm that sneaks around your waist when you’re on the train together and it’s crowded, his body shielding you from the other passengers and giving you some space to breathe (plus–how convenient–he can steal a kiss from your lips without anyone looking, too)

Ino also walks you home at any given occasion, whether it’s after a night out with your senpais or after a mission you’ve been on together; he doesn’t mind that he lives in a different neighborhood or if he has to get up early the next day, he rather wants to know you’re home safely

when you’re apart, Ino and you keep texting with each other throughout the day, his lips curling into a smile whenever your name lights up on his screen

Ino will text you everything and anything that reminds him of you and it’s plenty and in the most mundane things

[img.attached] “saw this chonky cat on my mission. u would have loved to give them belly rubs. Nanami said i’m not allowed to take them home with me”

[new text] “i think we should adopt a cat one day. maybe two so it doesn’t get lonely. knowing us we’ll also adopt a third”

[voice message] “babe can you hear this? i’ve never heard a cat purr like this. (sounds of rustling and Ino sweet talking to the cat, it’s purring very loudly)”

[new text] “i hope the cat distribution system chooses us next”

being loved by Ino means being part of his future and his dreams; he’s thinking of you always and can’t imagine a life without you in it, so listen closely when he tells you all about it

❦ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

Toji isn’t shy to admit his love verbally, whispered into your ear at night, his voice bourbon raspy, making sure you never forget how your own name sounds when rolled off his lips

being in love makes him domestic; Toji grew up not knowing what a warm home is, and so he’ll strive to make his place one for you both to hide from the world outside

it’s like your presence is a reminder that even someone like him is allowed to love, and be loved in return

Toji brings you your favorite beverage to bed in the morning, urging you not to get up just yet (he also wants to slip back under the covers with you)

if you really have to get up on on cold mornings though, Toji will give you his worn and warmed up sweater for you to wear so you won’t be freezing

he also slips pocket warmers into your coat before you leave the house and gives you the deepest kiss, almost as if his biggest concern is that you stay warm

cooking isn’t Toji’s strong suit but he’ll get you takeout, even if it means driving across the whole town to get you that one dish from that specific restaurant that you’re craving (and some dessert on top); your big smile once he returns home is his solely reward

after seeing you struggle with opening a jar of jam once, Toji will go around the kitchen and loosen the lids of all the jars for you. every single one of them. there won’t be even one jar left that gives you any further troubles

it’s endearing in a way, how Toji always takes the fastest route to solve your struggles (there’s barely anything he can’t solve with his hands)

with love, it all comes down to warmth for Toji: the heat of your body when he has his arms wrapped around you. letting you warm up your cold hands on his stomach (he tries his best not to flinch). sharing a hot bath while you’re getting snowed in.

to Toji, you are his sun, the one who brought back colors into his life and who showed him what it means to live despite everything; he may be blinded by your light but he doesn’t need to see to find your lips in every universe

❦ 𝐍𝐀𝐎𝐘𝐀

Naoya doesn’t do love, he prefers to be worshiped and adored over admitting his feeling for you

yet still, he has his ways of showing that you actually mean something more to him than just being his trophy wife

the kitchen staff and servants have been drilled to cook all of your meals exactly to your liking, and he’ll look overly pleased with himself over dinner when he notices that you enjoy the food, proud of himself as if he was the one who prepared it for you (smug bastard that he is)

there’s always an air of possessiveness around him when you’re with him; as if he wants the whole world to know that you’re his wife, even insisting you walk by his side instead of behind him, always one hand around your waist or in the back of your neck, making sure to keep you close

even though it displeases him that you want to spent time apart from him, he made sure that you get a room of your own in the Zen’in estate after your arranged marriage (he still lingers around often until you kick him out)

he insists on sharing a bed at night though–it’s when he gets surprisingly clingy, insisting to hold you close, his hands playing with anything he can get a hold of: your hair, the hem of the pajamas he picked out for you in the color he thinks suits you best, the ring on your finger that proofs you’re his

Naoya can be surprisingly gentle in those moments when it’s just the two of you–no family and no servants around

his sharp yellow eyes study your features thoroughly, ignoring the pull at his heart strings when he picks up an eyelash from your cheeks and holds it out for you when you make a wish

he’s dying to know what you wished for, but he doesn’t ask; part of him scared it doesn’t involve him, part of him too prideful to believe you could wish for something that doesn’t include him, because at the end of the day you still belong to him–or is it the other way around?

#jjk x reader #nanami x reader #toji x reader #ino x reader #naoya x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk fluff #nanami kento #ino takuma #toji fushiguro #naoya zenin #nanami kento x reader #ino takuma x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #naoya zenin x reader #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios

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hyuuukais · 3 months

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-`♡´ - APARTMENT 143

pairing -> lee minho x fem reader

synopsis -> after a bad breakup, y/n needs to find a new place to live. although she's grateful for her best friend, up-and-coming model hwang hyunjin, for letting her stay at his, she can't keep living with him and his model roommates. so when an opening for somewhere nearby with cheap rent opens up, she jumps on it, despite knowing next to nothing about the 3 other tenants, only that one owns 3 cats. the three quickly learn of her breakup, determined to help get her back on her feet. but what happens when one of them begins to develop feelings?

warnings -> gen, y/n talks abt being compared to her sister, family tension, food/eating mention, lowkey survivors guilt going on

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CHAPTER FIFTEEN -> LIKE IT USED TO BE (partially written, wc: 898)

"Oh good, you're not dead yet," Han speaks a bit loudly into the phone and you move it away from your face slightly.

The bright screen has your eyes straining in the otherwise dark room, tucked under a plush comforter from your childhood. It's amazing it's still in good condition considering how old it is, but your bed squeaks under you to remind you of the age of this room full of old memories. On the night stand next to you is a framed photo of you with your family, your mom and dad standing behind you and another little girl, slightly taller than you; your sister. You lean over and put the frame face down.

"Still alive, barely," you reply with a sigh. "Why'd you assume I'm having a bad time?"

"Let me think," he puts a finger to his bottom lip in fake concentration. "'How am I supposed to last four more days'... doesn't exactly sound like someone having a good time."

"You caught me, but I swear it's nothing." A lie. "Nothing interesting." A truth; is your family drama really worth talking about? "How's the apartment?"

"Fine. We've started to try and befriend the guy down the hall, Seungmin? Maybe you've run into him?" You shake your head. "Minho seems to get along with him the best. I think it's because they both act unwelcoming to strangers."

This makes you snort. The two of you continue to talk and laugh, the cats making an appearance at one point with Minho, who gives you a short wave, and you don't realize how late it's getting until your eyes catch the time briefly; 3:08AM. Shit. How loud have you been? You freeze when you hear a door open, muting Jisung on the other end and flipping your phone over. Your door opens.

"What are you doing up so late? Don't you know what time it is?" Your sister groans. "And you're being kind of loud, mind keeping it down a bit? Who're you even talking to?"

"No one," you say too quickly, internally cringing at yourself. "Sorry. I'm going to bed soon."

"You're lucky it was me and not mom who walked in here," she says with a sort of laugh. "She would have screamed her head off and taken your phone, despite being an adult now."

You sit up. "Yeah."

"She really fucked us up a bit, huh?" She sits next to you hesitantly when you don't reply. "Maybe we'd be closer now."

"Hyo-"

"I'm sorry," she stands suddenly. "I shouldn't be saying all this. Forget this, please." Your older sister stands in the doorway, eyes pleading. "Don't mention this to anyone, okay?"

"Okay," you whisper, knowing damn well Jisung heard every word.

As you listen to her footsteps fade, you learn to breath again, flipping your phone back over and unmuting Han. When he notices you're back, he says nothing, fiddling with the string on the hoodie he wears.

"You-"

"It's okay-" You speak at the same time and laugh, breaking the newfound tension. He continues. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it, but I guess this is what you meant by complicated?"

You pout, eyes beginning to sting. When you speak, your voice breaks a little. "Yeah, I mean, it's hard, you know? All my life I've been compared to Hyo by my mother and teachers and even my friends. Like, I have to be her instead of myself, and she never once stepped in to protect me from all that like a big sister is supposed to. Never heard her stand up for me when it was happening right in front of her, no moment of 'hey, let my little sister be who she wants, you already have one of me'. I feel like I can't talk to her anymore. I'm rambling, sorry."

"No, it's okay," Han reassures you.

"We used to be close when we were young," you speak into the space he's left you. "Then as we got older, we drifted. We're only a few years apart, but she always acted so much better than me once we hit a certain age. She said hurtful things to me a lot, and I'm sure I said equally awful things back." A tear falls onto your blanket and you sniff, looking up to your ceiling where a poster of a boy band is pinned to prevent more from falling. "I want my sister back, but... I think there's too much pain."

"Oh Y/nnie," Han gives you a sad look. "I wish I could hug you right now."

"I'm just saying stupid stuff now, I should sleep." You've overshared and want out of this conversation ASAP. "Goodnight Han, sleep well."

He's about to protest when you hang up, moving your phone next to the frame to charge. For a while you lay there, staring at your ceiling with a heavy weight on your chest. You've never fully talked to someone about the way your upbringing made you feel or the way it still affects you. There's still a scared little girl inside of you, shying away from hands that want to hold you, comfort you. Because what if it's all a lie? What if they all leave you, like Hwa? Or like... like him?

You glance over to the frame again, not having it in you to flip it back up.

notes -> me vs y/ns mother rn- who do we think this "him" is referring to? and what happened? will hyunjin and y/n make up?

taglist -> @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @puppyminnnie @tfshouldidohere @kangaracha @chlodavids @whitney190 @thisisnotjacinta @borahae-reads @brooklynie @gini143 @kayleigh-28 @skz-streamer @babyphotos0325 @scallywag1299 @venusmoonxnight @naomisosoup @fertiliezedtoesw @s00buwu @realrintaro @anothershorthuman @skzstaykatsy @ilovejeongin007 @btswestan @multifandomedsimp @ihrtlix @raehawthorne @euphoric-univers @hyperpixie @evermourning @satsuri3su @jazziwritesthings @minhwa @wyzminho @fic-for-readers @dreamerwasfound @imsiriuslyreal @lailac13 @palindrome969 @lixie-phoria @aalexyuuuhm @sunflowerbebe07 @st4rhwa @lukeys-giggle @jabmastersupriseee @judeduartewannabe @gaysontheprince @stepout-09-15 @splat00z

^^^ orange means i can't tag you

#-`♡´ - APARTMENT 143 #stray kids smau #skz smau #non idol au #stray kids #skz #lee know #lee know smau #lee minho smau #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #lee know x fem reader #lee minho x fem reader #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #smau #social media au

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cupiohearts · 4 months

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CANT CATCH ME NOW ?! - leaving them behind

they see you everywhere. james, jonggun, joongoo. they find bits and pieces of you lying around in their pockets, their houses and memories. it depends on which one it is which scene they see you in.

DG VER. gun ver. goo ver.

for james, he sees the sight of you in the crowd when he first started as an idol. he catches himself hoping for a glimpse of you in crowds as he did before. maybe you just show up at one of his concerts one day. he knows its a childish hope to think you'll come back. especially not when theyve all pushed you out of their lives.

but was it such a hopeless thought to have? a particulary fond memory of seeing you in the front row at barricade. hopping down and singing his lyrics to your face. fans thought you were just a really lucky person to catch the attention of DG, minimizing it to a harmless fan interaction moment just for the concert.

he loved the way your eyes twinkled underneath the stage light illuminating your face in a mesmerizing glow. he recalled the heartbreak when they were all gathered up at your apartment.

it had become a haunting memory of seeing the house abandoned. the only thing left was a small ragged old scarf you insisted on keeping

"yknow! one day for my super awesome snowman! ive been waiting for winter to come in korea so snow is finally here!" you tell him with a giddy grin at the mall. your loose baby strands around your face and your face bare with nothing on it standing out to him.

you always mentioned you wanted to experience the snow. you said you didnt have it where you were from. far too sunny for that you said.

"you wont have to wait long. it get cold fast in korea" he tells you. chuckling as you hold the scarf in your hand while picking out more winter items.

how unfortunate. it was snowing right now. he wondered where youve gone. maybe youve died off, its better for him that way. that way he wont have to think about whether or not youve settled down yet. maybe gone back to your old country or somehwere new.

maybe youre out on a date somewhere, possibly 6 feet down in a ditch. his mind wanders when it comes to you.

reading the note you left behind for him. written in a sparkly pen you always used.

"why do you have so many pens and only use one?!" he questions you with a raised eyebrow. his long fingers unzipping your pencil pouch and looking through all the pens you own.

"you cant expect me to use all of them. plus my papers look sparkly this way and its cute. the design is cute and i like how it writes!" you chirp at him. turning behind you and hitting his forehead with your pen. "red hair... i like you with your curly red hair. reminds me of someone i used to know" you tell him.

curling his hair around your pen before dropping it when you hear the teacher say your name and turning back to the board. your hair whipping him in the face "im innocent!" you joke with your hands raised causing the class to laugh.

you tell him youre sorry in the note. that you couldnt handle it anymore.

you tell him everything but telling him nothing at the same time. telling him of how you felt like everyone else was moving while you were stuck in the present. everyone was special and you were not.

he let the paper drop down after skimming the rest of its contents. he wished to just crumple it up and tossed it away. he couldn't.

he knew he was being selfish wanting you back when youve clearly stated in the note this was out of youre pure will, leaving them behind. he wouldve cried. he wouldve cried if he was james lee.

all he could do was pick it back up and meet back with gun, and goo.

it was gonna all be in one set page but i found that it was longer than most of my other projects if i actually completed this whole

so i broke it up

like the friend group

i caught up with lookism

i like the new pretty boys :3

ALSO QLSO I HAD AN ENTIRLY SEPRATE DOCUMENT FROM THIS AND I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED MY UNFINISHED STUFF BC I ACCIDETNALY POSTED IT INSTEAD OF COICKING DRAFT SO I HAD TO COPY AND PASTE ALL OF THIS PARAGRAPH BY PARAGRAPH TO THIS PAGE THINGY BC IM ON THE PHONE TYPING ALL PF US THIS SO A+ FOR WFFORT

did not proof read (bc im insecure abt my works 😔🤞)

#gun lookism #lookism x reader #lookism #gun x reader #goo x reader #james lee x reader #dg x reader #lookism scenarios

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deepestnightcolor · 9 days

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If you don’t mind me asking, I love your writing and I’d love to see a Sam x quiet/awkward farmer who’s *really* bad at talking to people but he just automatically accepts them. Maybe mutual pining and anything else you’d like!! 🙈💕

☾ ᴘᴀᴘᴇʀ ᴘʟᴀɴᴇꜱ ☽

ᴀ/ɴ: Hello!!~ Thank you so, so much for your request. I certainly had fun writing it. I hope this is what you wanted! ^^ Thanks again for your time and request, I hope you enjoy~

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sam (SDV) x GN!Reader

ᴡᴄ: 2271 words

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: No warnings, just fluff.

Slowly, the pen slipped from your fingers, your eyes wandering over the pages you had just written down your thoughts on. Your journal; a loyal companion. Sometimes, it felt like your best friend, so safe and secure. It was the only time when you were able to articulate your thoughts and ideas without worrying about the words you chose, without fearing a stutter surfacing. You didn’t have to wonder if you sounded stupid, or your tongue twisting, disarranging your words. Your journal allowed you to share, without judgement, without the twisting in your stomach you often had when talking to people that weren’t part of your closest circle. Without feeling like you needed to run as fast and as far as possible. However, if someone casted a glance over the most recent pages, they would have found that you wanted quite the opposite. That there was a new person you wanted to talk to. That there was a person you wanted to get to know, that you wanted to share with. That there was a person that had caught your interest, and whose attention you wanted. Desperately so, even.

That’s why you took in a deep breath, carefully picking up the cactus fruit that had been sitting on your desk as if to remind you of what you had promised yourself, and you would be damned if you didn’t do it. At least that was what you had thought, up until you saw him. Sam was sitting on the bridge near the museum, picking up small rocks and tossing them in the river idly flowing by. Your heart fluttered in your chest when you heard him chuckle at an especially loud plop. His laugh was cute, you found. It started as a grumble in his chest and then brightened up like the sky after a thunderstorm. In all honesty, though, you found pretty much everything about Sam cute in a way. The blue-green of his eyes that reminded you of a cool lake on a hot summer day, the mess of hair that in all actuality was carefully styled every morning; the small freckles that had darkened over the summer season.

You were so deep in your thoughts that you hadn’t quite realized that you had started to wander towards Sam until he called out for you. “Hey, farmer! Comin’ to spend time with me?” His eyes were sparkling softly, and the smile on his lip was one of such warmth and genuineness that it made your head spin. The words you had oh so carefully sorted out and mulled about were seemingly picked up by their roots, put in a small container, and violently shaken around, just to be lost somewhere in your head, your tongue twisting into several knots all by itself.

You felt your hands getting clammy around the fruit they were holding, your cheeks heating up as an uncomfortable feeling travelled down your spine. You must have looked like an idiot; you sure felt like one. But if you did, Sam didn’t seem to care – quite the opposite. He seemed excited that you were here, inviting, even. You opened your mouth to tell him something, to at least try to find some words to start a conversation, but it appeared that your tongue took your mouth opening as a sign to twist even more. Panic arose in you, even though the blond’s smile had such a soothing energy that it almost lured you out of your shyness. Almost. Instead of answering him, or even speaking in general, you thrust the cactus fruit in Sam’s lap, turned on your heel, and ran off.

Sam’s head tilted to the side as he watched you run off, eyes slowly falling onto the fruit on his lap. He had been genuinely excited to spend some time with you; the farmer who seemed to ghost around town, the farmer that seemed to never speak; the farmer who was so adorable and cute and sweet that it made his heart swell. The farmer that he had been trying to coax out of their shell but had never succeeded. Or at least that was what he had thought until now. One day he had met you at the beach and, as it was his nature, struck up a conversation with you. Well, in reality, it had been a monologue. You had been digging your feet around the sand and were fiddling with a seashell while he had been talking about pretty much everything that popped into his head. At some point, he had mentioned how much he loved cactus fruits and how he would love to have one again one day. And now it was on his lap, which meant…You hadn’t been uninterested. You had actually been listening. And you cared.

You also remembered that day at the beach fondly. You had been intrigued by Sam’s ability to talk, by not having to think about his words fifteen times like you did. He made you feel a little easier, even though your body language didn’t show that once. Yet Sam’s attitude towards you didn’t change, he kept up the friendly tone in his voice, the warm smile in your direction. Plus, you were thankful. Thankful that someone other than Robin or Mayor Lewis talked to you; that someone else started a conversation. It had meant something to you, something so sincere that you held it dear.

Really, it wasn’t like you didn’t want social interaction. It just didn’t come naturally to you, and people often didn’t have enough patience to allow you to warm up to them. Sam, however, seemed like he did. That was the reason you tried to show him that you were interested. That you did want to get to know him. Yet since you were lacking words, actions needed to suffice.

The next time you found Sam he was at the beach again, the hot summer sun having reddened his cheeks – or perhaps it was the exhaustion from running after Vincent, who just didn’t seem to be affected by the heat at all. You looked at the blue, cooled-down can in your hand, a smile on your face. You had the feeling your gift would come over well.

Sam had just plopped down on the hot sand, stretching out his aching legs when a shadow suddenly casted over him. His eyes snapped up, and the smile that followed could have definitely been able to compete with the sun. “Hey. Lookin’ very cute today. The sun ain’t gettin’ to you?” An attempt to charm you, a weak one – he didn’t want to scare you away, after all, such a delicate thing like you -, but an attempt, nonetheless. It bared results with you that the sun hadn’t achieved. Your cheeks heated up, some of the redness spreading down to your throat and wrapping around your neck like a warm hand. You gave Sam the only thing you could muster; a smile. You handed the cold can to him, and before there was even a chance to open up the conversation, you were stalking back toward town. “Thanks!” Sam called after you, the smile on his lips still there, only dying down when he realized you wouldn’t come back.

That’s how your game went; you would find Sam and hand him a gift. The blond would smile and thank you, but before he could start talking more, you were gone. Some days you felt more confident than usual, some days you had your words ready again. But his smile? That stunning, pretty, sunshine and moonlight smile? It always made these words tumble down your throat, blocking any sort of noise from ever escaping again. That was the point when you just smiled back at him and vanished, making a beeline for the way you had just come from.

From the outside, it seemed like you kept your cool about this. But your journal held the truth; that you just didn’t know how to talk to him. That you just didn’t know how to overcome this. Whenever when you were close to him, seeing that radiant look on his face, smelling that scent of vanilla and cola, feeling these feelings everything around you seemed to crumble. Everything within you crumbled. The confidence, the intent to really make it happen, to actually talk to him today.

The only thing that kept you trying was the fact that Sam didn’t appear to lose his patience with you, quite the opposite. He became more open with you, telling you that you looked good, that your smile was pretty today. He tried to talk more to you, telling you that you looked good, that your smile was pretty today, that the crops that came from your farm were delicious – he talked as much as he could before you would plant whatever gift you had brought him in his lap and then wandering off.

And really – Sam did try his best, after all, you were worth it to him. You seemed like a genuinely good person, with eyes so pretty that he got lost in them every time he had been able to catch them. You caring enough about him to find him every day and give him his gifts made him want to try harder, help you feel comfortable enough around him to speak to him. Sam had simply never been in a situation where someone didn’t talk to him. Usually, he talked long enough and with such an energy that he lulled most people into a conversation, but not with you. Which meant he would need to try a different route.

He had heard you coming before he could have seen you. The smile was already lingering on his lips as he turned to you. You held a cactus fruit in his hand, a look of surprise fleeting over your face. Had he been waiting for you? “Hey. Had a good day today?” He asked, now turning around completely so he could face you more easily. You gave him a sheepish smile and tried to hand him the cactus fruit, but instead of just taking it, Sam dropped something small in your hand. “Thank you,” he grinned, giving you a wink.

You swallowed thickly, your fist clenching around the object he had given you as you headed back to your farm.

You were panting when you had reached your front porch, but that didn’t mean that your curiosity didn’t get the better of you. Slowly opening your fingers, you saw a rectangle of white. Upon closer inspection, you found that it was a folded piece of paper. Your fingers were trembling as you tried to unwrap it. Was he going to tell you to leave you alone? Had he realized you were weird and wanted you to stay away from him?

The sloppy handwriting that greeted you would have made you chuckle if it hadn’t been for the anxiety cursing through you. But the words were…soothing. Warm- like his smile. “Hey, I realized you don’t like to talk much. So maybe I thought you would like to trade notes while I take you on a date to the beach? I will be there tomorrow at 6.”

Your heart swelled in your chest – maybe there really was someone that would understand you, other than your journal. Someone was willing to give you a chance like this.

The blond of his hair appeared to be of golden colour as the setting sun caught it in its soft embrace. Sam was sitting on a blanket he had spread out in the sand, his face stretched towards the warmth he could still find in the sky, only turning his head when he heard you approach. As you got closer, you could see that Sam had been true to his word; different coloured pieces of paper were sitting on the blanket next to him; he had even brought a pencil case of markers. He gave you a smile and a gentle wave as you sat down next to him.

For a moment, you weren’t sure what to do. Was this a joke? Maybe he would just make fun of you? What if he grew tired of it quickly? A note, folded like an airplane, landed on your lap. The author carried a grin of pride, giving you two thumbs up.

“So, does a farmer have hobbies? Or are you too busy for them?” A smile folded on your lips, fingers wrapping around a pen, ready to do what you knew you could do; without the twist of tongue, without a stutter, without having to worry your words would get lost on the way.

The stack of paper had become considerably small as you were sitting in silence. The sun had set, and the pale light of the moon illuminating the beach made it hard to write. But it felt comfortable to just sit next to Sam and…exist. Sam had asked you about yourself, and whenever he had read your replies, he had looked at you and nodded, just to go back to reading. His tongue had been sticking out when he wrote, and his eyes had always been gauging your reaction when you read his replies; drinking up each smile, each snort, each giggle, each reaction. But right now, he was content with just being next to you, and not hearing you run away from him.

What he didn’t expect was a small voice next to him, unsure, and yet firm. “Thank you, Sam.”

#sdv #stardew valley #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley farmer #sdv fanfic #sdv sam #fanfic #sdv sam x reader

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strangersteddierthings · 1 year

Text

Bad News First, Eddie

Part One 🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇FInal Part

Whew! I don’t think I’ve written this much in such a short amount of time ever in my life. The boys deserve a soft ending, I think. Enjoy!

It goes like this. While Eddie's been lost in his own mind, his body was living. Sort of.

Top secret government assisted living, kinda living. For a secret government hospital one would think the place would be fancier or something but it's just a regular looking hospital.

Eddie's in therapy, both for his body and mind.

He learns that the voice he heard when Eleven helped pull him from the depths of his mind was Mike Wheeler of all people, and he sounds different because he's nineteen and in college. Mike mocks him on graduating before Eddie. He regrets it when Eddie gets him into a headlock.

He gets to meet Eleven, outside of his mind. And he starts calling her El. Part of him can't stop thinking about Eleven as the entity he thought was going to lead him to the great beyond.

She is just a person. Sorta.

Dustin had told him there was a girl with superpowers and Eddie is glad she's real. Not that he thought Dustin would lie about this (actually, he might have thought Dustin was lying just to give him some weird version of a pep talk. Everything said before going through Watergate was suspect if he's honest).

When he's finally well enough to be able to leave, Doctor Owens tells him their plan.

They're gonna convince Wayne to fly to Tennessee. Eddie, El, and Mike Wheeler are gonna be flown there, too. There's a place for them to stay, to meet up with his uncle in private.

They'll stay there a month. Doctor Owens knows a doctor who can do Eddie's final evaluations before he can really go home.

That's the real kicker.

Hawkins fucking sucks. Small town, narrow views, non-conformity gets you called a Freak in the same way his Dad used to call him a fag. Like he said, fucking sucks.

But it's also the sanctuary he escaped to when he was eleven years old. It's the place where his uncle built a home for him.

So, back to Hawkins first. He can always go somewhere else later. Maybe a coastal city. See the ocean.

Eddie hasn't been afraid of a reaction from his uncle since that day in the hospital parking lot after he caught Eddie making out with another guy. He's got that same fear inside now, though, knowing that when El opens that door, he'll see the family he feels like he abandoned. It's not fair to himself to think that, his therapist would say, but he's allowed to have crazy thoughts right now. He's come back from being (not)dead and gets to see Wayne again for the first time. Knowing his feelings are justified doesn't make them fade, though, so he's not surprised his voice shakes when the door finally opens. “Hey Uncle Wayne.”

Wayne takes less than two seconds to reach Eddie, pulling him into a bone crushing hug. “I love you so much, you little bastard. Don’t you ever, ever do this to me again.”

It's all Eddie can do to remain upright and hug him back, clinging to his shirt like he's eleven years old again.

Wayne gives him an overview of what he's missed after the Upside Down came into their world (he heard that part from El and Mike, against the better wishes of Doctor Owens). Learns that Wayne and Steve live in Steve's childhood home because his parents just gifted it to him, apparently. That Wayne is only part time at the plant now due to an accident he had, and how that sparked his current living conditions.

Learns that Steve and Wayne became close because, unbelievably, Steve Harrington goes to his grave in the cemetery and cleans off graffiti on the regular.

Eddie feels a little hot under the collar because his brain reminds him of a fact he’d heard once; that the author of Frankenstein lost her virginity on her mother’s grave and a little voice in the back of his head whispers that it'd be hot for him to do the same thing with Steve on his own grave.

He has to scamper to the bathroom to scold himself in the mirror because he cannot be having these kinds of thoughts about Steve while talking to his uncle!

Wayne asks him, the night before their flight, “what’s something you want to do, once everything is settled and life starts to feel normal again?”

“I wanna go on a vacation. Like, a real, bona fide, family vacation.”

“Where you wanna go?”

“Think I’d like to see the ocean.”

Wayne smiles softly. “Alright. When you feel ready for it, we’ll go.”

“Just give him a chance, Eddie,” Wayne says randomly, as they wait to board their flight to Indianapolis.

“Give him a chance? As if I’d waste it,” Eddie feels breathless at just the thought. It's certainly not helping that stupid crush he's been harboring for years, knowing how Steve’s been treating his uncle. It was one thing to watch Steve defend Jeff that one time in high school; it's an entirely different ball game knowing he's watched over his uncle with care and devotion for years. “He took care of you when I couldn’t. He cares. I don’t think there’s a chance I wouldn’t give him.”

“How long have you had a thing for Steve?”

Eddie's brain screeches to a halt because he was didn't think anything he'd just said would give him away. He can't even think of a reply good enough to throw his uncle off his trail. “That’s not- why would you think- when have I ever!?”

“You think I wouldn’t know this about you?” Wayne chuckles.

No. No, Eddie thinks, of course you could take one look at me and know. His uncle had been able to know everything about him so effortlessly. But Eddie doesn't have to answer, so he won't. “So, we’ll be living with Steve Harrington? Will he… be okay with me being there?”

“Yeah. Steve and I had each other when we needed it. Now I need you, so Steve won’t mind at all," Wayne sounds so sure, so convinced, that Eddie is too.

Eddie smiles, pulling a strand of his hair to hide his face behind as he imagines getting to eat at the same dinner table as Steve fucking Harrington. He doesn't even mind that Wayne gives him a look at says 'you are being so obvious right now' because he is. He knows he is. He's allowed to be. Wayne's not going to mock him for his crush.

On the drive from Indianapolis to Hawkins, Wayne tells him the lie he told Steve. Apparently, Steve thinks Eddie's dad is coming to stay for a while. The mere thought of that sets Eddie on edge, even though he knows Wyatt Munson's still in prison. Will be for a long time, with the list of shit they got him for.

They roll into Hawkins shortly after, and while Eddie may have not been in Hawkins the last five years, and he's willing to admit that things might have changed things up since they did have to rebuild a lot of the town, he's certain that Steve's house is on the other side of it. “This isn’t the way to the Harrington house."

“Steve won’t be there. He comes here when he’s overwhelmed," Wayne says. It's still pretty jarring to hear Wayne talk about Steve like this. Like he knows him. Which, he does, obviously, because they've gotten to know each other.

Still mind blowing to think about.

“The cemetery?” is what comes out of his mouth, though.

Wayne knows what's he's really meaning to ask, though, because he shrugs and says, ��we both come talk to you. Steve always starts with the bad news, you know. I think you should start with good news. Just this once." The car is slowing down, and Wayne is pointing out the front windshield, to a figure crouched down near a lone headstone. "Ah. See, there he is.”

Steve. He's too far away for Eddie to be sure sure but if anyone is still wearing bright polo shirts tucked into light wash jeans this far after leaving high school, it'd be Steve Harrington. Eddie's not even sure the car is fully stopped when he all but falls out of it.

He doesn't run to greet Steve, because that's a bit dramatic, but he's not too proud to admit he might be power walking. He slows down when he gets closer, coming to a full stop just close enough to hear Steve talking to his grave. Talking to him.

"Bad news, Eds. I'm too much of a coward to meet your old man. Afraid of what he'll sound like. Because I want him to sound like you so fucking bad it hurts. So instead of being home, I'm hiding here."

"Well, I've some bad news for you, too, Stevie. I got my voice from my mom," Eddie says, and almost instantly cringes because Wayne literally just told him to start with good news and he didn't. Eddie doesn't have much time to soak in his embarrassment, though, because Steve whips around so fast that Eddie's dizzy from the movement.

Steve looks older but it's in the way people who have seen more than their fair share of Hell look older, and less about actual aging. His eyes are wide and stunned. Eddie watches as his jaw moves but no words come out. He looks like he's seen a ghost which... ok, that's fair.

"Umm," Eddie says, a little worried he's broken him when Steve doesn't even seem to be blinking as he stares at Eddie. "Good news, Steve. I, uh, I lived. Kinda. El kinda pulled me back to the surface of my mind, or whatever, and Owens did a good job at patchin' up the goods here," he gestures to his whole body with a sweeping motion of his hand and wishes that a gate to the Upside Down would open beneath his feet and suck him back to Hell because could he be any more embarrassing?

"A-are you," he watches as Steve swallows and takes a deep breath. He's still not sure Steve has blinked yet. "real?"

"Yeah," Eddie nods, taking a few steps closer, "yeah, I'm real. I'm here and alive and real."

Steve launches himself forward then, meeting him halfway. It's so goddamn surreal be witness to how tenderly Steve actually reaches out to him, though, such a contrast to the flurry of movement he'd been just a second ago. Eddie stays still as Steve lifts shaking hands to cup his face with, pushing against his cheeks as if to test whether or not Eddie is solid. Those hands slide down, along his neck, across his shoulders, down his arms where Steve seems to need to pause and collect himself again, hands wrapped loosely around his arms just below his elbows while Steve shuts his eyes and a low, broken sound pulls itself from his throat before his eyes open again, wet with tears, and he releases Eddie just long enough to throw his arms around his neck and pull him into a hug almost as crushing as the one he shared with his uncle.

It's overwhelming in this moment. To see how much he means to Steve and not fully understand how he came to mean anything to him at all.

Doesn't stop him from wrapping his own arms around Steve's waist, though.

It goes like this.

He gets his own room at Harrington's house. Wayne has his own room, too. How strange it is, to not have his uncle sleeping the day away on the couch because the trailer had one room and he'd given it to Eddie.

They adjust to living together so seamlessly. Like they were always meant to be family.

They have dinner together. Real homecooked meals. Which isn't a novelty for Wayne and Steve anymore, but Eddie's memory ends five years ago, when his dinners consisted of microwavable meals or left over snacks from lunch. Wayne cooks on the days when Steve works, and Eddie helps. Gets to be taught how to cook.

For a while, Eddie is afraid to leave the house. Even knowing that Jason Carver bit the dust the same day he was supposed to also doesn’t help. He only goes places with Wayne and Steve, and even then, the double takes people send his way are enough to make him want to shrink into himself.

However, no one says anything to him. He's vaguely aware that everyone here lived through some sort of miniature apocalypse and maybe that's the kind of thing that has to happen to make a small town in Indiana change.

He and Steve dance around each other. He can feel it. There is something here, between them, that neither fully acknowledges.

He tries to talk to Wayne about it, but he won't give him much to go on.

"I won't be the one to say anything about what Steve thinks of you. That's gotta come from Steve. I will say this. He's waiting for you to bring it up first."

"Why does it have to be me?"

"He's had five years to gather his thoughts and emotions," Wayne levels him with a Look, "you gotta have the time to figure yourself out, too."

Well, fuck.

Steve waits until it's almost summer break for the kids (they’re not really kids anymore, though, but Eddie’s adjusting to that still) to ask if he's ready to face them. "It'll be a lot to handle," Steve says as he sits next to Eddie on their couch (their couch. He can't believe that's a truth in his life right now). "Eleven and Mike haven't told anyone yet, but they want to. It wasn't just Wayne and I that grieved for you."

"I know," Eddie says, "I know. I'm good. I'm alive and here and I want them to know about it."

Steve nods slowly, not fully focused on Eddie. Eddie's come to know that means he's thinking, so Eddie waits for him to speak. "Would you prefer to meet with everyone... one at a time?"

"What's the other option?"

"Well, I always host a barbeque when they all come back. Could tell everyone all at once. Like ripping off a Band-Aid."

Eddie crooks a smile because he's a bit mischievous and his mind instantly plays a scene where he walks into a backyard full of all the people he's come to care for, and who care for him, and he's trying to best to be casual about it in this fantasy. "Yeah. Let's do the barbeque thing."

"Bad news, Stevie," Eddie whispers as he leans against the wall next his closed door, trying not to hyperventilate. "I don't know if I can do this."

Steve reaches out and takes one of Eddie's hands in his own, linking their fingers like it's a casual thing they do all the time when it's most certainly not. "Good news, Eds. You don't have to. We didn't tell anyone you're here. You can stay in your room until they're gone, and we'll figure out another way to tell them."

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and thinks he might be crushing all the bones in Steve's hand with how hard he's clenching it. "What if they're mad at me?"

Steve understands the real question Eddie is asking, the one he doesn't know how to phrase. "You were dead, Eds, and no one out in that yard is going to be 'mad' about any time they'd spent grieving over you. There's gonna be a lot of tears, man, like a lot. Maybe even some shouting. None of it done in anger."

"How're you sure?"

Steve lifts his unoccupied hand and cups Eddie's check. Steve’s eyes are watery and his voice is a bit choked, but he says, "because I was there. I saw them through their grief. Everyone in the backyard either loves you already, or they will."

It's so fucking intimate, how close they are, how tenderly Steve touches him. Wayne had said he'd need to take the first step, so he blames Wayne when he blurts out, "what about everyone in this room? They love me, too?"

Steve's eyes go wide in surprise before his whole face lights up in a way Eddie has never seen before. It makes Steve look younger, less haunted, and then Steve whispers, "of course I love you," like there is no other answer Steve could have given.

Eddie grabs a handful as Steve's polo shirt and pulls him close enough to kiss.

Butterflies and fireworks erupt within Eddie. Kissing Steve is so much better than he's ever let himself imagine. They're still holding hands and Steve's still got his other hand resting so softly on his cheek and Steve's lips are kinda chapped but fuck does the briefest touch of their lips together make Eddie lose all his breath.

It's not deep, or all consuming. There's not even an exchange of tongue. Steve kisses him softly, gently, pulls back to pepper little kisses all over Eddie's face that has him blushing more than he's ever done in his life, and Steve places one, two, three more kisses to his lips before pulling back to look at Eddie like he's the answer to every prayer Steve's ever had. It makes his knees weak.

"I think," Eddie pauses to lick his lips, "I think I'll be brave enough to do it if you're holding my hand."

"Just try and pry yourself away, Munson," Steve teases. "Whenever you're ready."

Steve was right about the tears and shouting. He was also right that no one is mad at him.

Dustin hugs him so hard they fall over in the yard and Eddie finds himself part of a dog pile that starts with crying that turns into laughter that leads back into crying, everyone grabbing at him and him grabbing back.

It's emotional. It's overwhelming. It's the best fucking day of Eddie Munson's life.

Doctor Owens reaches out towards the end of summer to let him know they're issuing him a new social security card. Eddie asks if he's allowed to change him name. Owens says yes.

"Bad news first, Eddie," Eddie says to himself as he kneels in front of his own headstone. "You've become so boring and normal, no one vandalizes your grave anymore. Good news, though. Means I can do it myself."

Before him is his headstone, a thick red line painted through his death date. Another more carefully applied line is struck through his middle name. Above it he's painted in block letters 'Wayne'.

"Eddie, come on! This road trip's gonna start without you," Steve calls from where he's leaning against the side of Wayne's pickup.

Eddie is satisfied with his work, so he abandons the paint and returns to the pickup. He slides across the bench seat, one leg pretzeled under himself to be out of the way of the gear shift. Steve follows in after, shutting the door and reaching for Eddie's hand automatically.

He's got Wayne to his left, Steve to his right, and the first family vacation he's ever taken in his life ahead of him.

Good news, Eddie Wayne Munson. Maybe everyday going forward can be the best fucking day of your life.

#steddie #my fic #bad news first eddie #its complete!!!#thank you for all the wonderful comments #i tried to tag everone so im sorry if i missed you!

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ken-dom · 3 months

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Everything Looks Better When The Sun Goes Down

Driver x afab!reader

3k words

∘₊✧ Summary: Getaways usually come with a strong dose of adrenaline. He can usually deal with it himself, but this time a far more thrilling prospect presents itself.

∘₊✧ Authors notes: I wrote this well over a month ago, and finally decided to dust it off and post, with encouragement from K, with whom the Driver conversation is never-ending and delicious! I would advise caution because he's kinda creepy in this one (compared to how I’ve written him before). Title from Make Me Wanna Die by The Pretty Reckless.

∘₊✧ Warnings/content: NSFW, dubious consent, masturbation, fingering, sex, glove kink, kissing kink, just a dash of sneaky, creepy, stalker-y Driver

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

Driver’s leather-covered fingers tightened with a creak of resistance against the steering wheel. He might know the roads like the back of his hand, but being the getaway driver comes with the occupational hazard of not actually being able to control what your chasers will do, no matter how clever and thorough your plan.

Even if you’ve seen every trick in the book. Even if you have something of a sixth sense for predicting their movements.

Surprises can’t always be avoided, and tonight he was doing his best to get out of a surprise.

This had been just a touch more complicated to plot than his usual getaway routine. Locations hadn’t been quite as simple to pin down so timings would be off and he couldn’t have that. The only alternative was to alter his default plan of action only very slightly, yet the risks, apparently, tripled.

Or maybe Driver had just been unlucky.

He had kicked out the two masked men he had been hired to drive, easily getting rid of them en route as part of the plan, sticking to time down to the second, and then embarking on the more unusual part two, which simply required Driver to get himself away and hide the car somewhere different to where he’d hidden them. The route was meticulously added to his map, the hiding spots checked, double and triple checked, ahead of time.

Yet, despite the police radio suggesting they’d lost sight of tonight’s unassuming car of choice, the cops had picked back up, hot on Driver’s trail the moment he pulled back out onto the main streets.

He didn’t bat an eyelid at first. He knew what he was doing, after all; this wasn’t his first car chase by a long stretch. If he wanted to ‘wing it,’ he could. Easily. But he would never. He would simply go about the bulletproof backup plan designed for the event that this unlikely situation would come to fruition. All was fine.

Except that he really couldn’t seem to shake them. Every move he made, it was as though they’d read his mind and were one step ahead. It wouldn’t have been possible, but it was as if they somehow seen his detailed maps. They were only for his eyes though, and if anyone ever did see them… well. He would have to make it so that they remained only for his eyes.

Whatever was going on here, it seemed almost like someone was out to get him personally. His jaw clenched at the thought and his heart began to slam against his chest, breathing fast and ragged.

He tried to refocus. On the road, on the soft interior of his jacket against his arms. On the toothpick almost chewed in two between his teeth.

There were limited options at this point, and he was running out of ideas, running out of streets to slip down before they could predict his next action.

Driver firmly reminded himself to stick to the facts and ignore his physical response. He was still ahead. Just.

Actually, he was nearing your house. Oh…

No.

He shouldn’t distract himself, but it was hard not to notice that he’d pulled onto your street almost by muscle memory alone and he wondered if you’d see him, followed by that one police car that he was sure would soon be two, then three, sirens blazing.

It was darker down here. Residential, with parked cars dotted up and down the road, canopied with large leafy trees that blocked out the moonlight, too. So he killed his headlights and slowed down to avoid attracting any additional unwanted attention.

His ears pricked up as the discussion on the radio started up again in place of relaying the names of the streets they were chasing him down; they’d lost him again.

Just like last time they lost him. But they had found him as soon as he resurfaced, and he couldn’t sit out here on your street all night in plain view, no matter how unsuspecting the car may look to your neighbours.

A little blue Honda rattled by and he flinched.

Come on. Get a grip, he scolded himself.

His head began to pound.

He needed to find somewhere new to hide the car properly, and hide himself while he was at it. Fast. Somewhere he could stay for long enough that they’d really give up this time.

Another thought struck him and he blinked hard. He had to regain some self control. But your house was approaching on the right.

He couldn’t. Could he?

His eyes scanned the street. There were no other Hondas. No other moving vehicles. He couldn’t see anyone peering out of their windows into the dark street.

Then he found the end of your driveway, visible in the near distance. Your garage door was up. No car. You were out. Perfect.

No. He couldn’t.

Fuck. He was going to have to.

Besides, if anything did come of this, he could keep you safe. He was sure of that. No harm would ever come to you on his watch. Ever.

He slowly pulled onto your driveway and rolled the car to a gentle stop inside the garage, winding down the driver side window to punch the button on the wall that controlled the garage door. With a low hum and a light clicking, it swung down and locked into place with a soft clunk.

Complete darkness. The purr of the engine. And then, the crackle of the police radio.

Driver tensed, every bit of focus honed in on the voices coming through the small device.

With a note of three identifiable items: the car colour, model and number plate (two of which could easily be altered), and a reminder of where it was last seen (the next street along from this one), they’d officially given up the chase.

He relaxed into his seat, slumping down and stretching his long legs as far as they could lengthen in the confinement of the footwell, spreading his knees and dropping his head back against the headrest.

He would need to stay here for now, but that was manageable.

He killed the engine, trying to force his breath even and steady himself before he got out.

Although it had been tough, now it was over, he couldn’t deny that it had been exciting. There was rarely a time it wasn’t.

He felt a stirring in his core, the familiar thrill that ran through his trembling body every time he got away, high on adrenaline and filled with self satisfaction.

And he did get away. Every time. But this time? It had been a closer call than any he could remember and he was shaking, excitement coursing through his veins, sending all his blood south to throb between his spread thighs.

He chuckled, smirking and dropping his hands to his lap from where they were still bracing, tight storing the steering wheel. His breath caught in his throat as one palm slowly teased higher up his thigh.

It was becoming painful to sit here in these too-tight jeans, the denim rough against his leaking cock, and he hissed as he dragged his palm over the thrumming bulge that had formed inside them the moment he knew he was safe.

He felt a particularly thick drop of precum leak from his tip, gasping at the short lived relief his wandering hand had provided, gloved fingers now flying to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his jeans and free his aching length, all patience out the window. It didn’t matter how long it took. He just needed the release.

But as the first button popped undone, his ears pricked up at the unmistakable sound of tires rolling onto your driveway behind that garage door. He froze, heart racing, cock twitching, every sense heightened almost painfully.

He relaxed when he heard your car door slam shut, the sound of your shoes on the gravel. He’d know those sounds anywhere. He knew all the sounds you made – he’d studied you enough – and had an entire catalogue of them stored away safely in the back of his mind.

Hastily, he reached for the radio and flipped the switch back on. Nothing. Nothing about him, anyway. Nothing about you. You were safe even with him locked away inside your garage.

He heard your keys jingling against the lock of your front door, knowing you were inside once it had clicked shut and the jingle was muffled.

He breathed a long, shaky sigh of relief.

Seconds later, his personal cell buzzed from inside his jacket pocket.

One hand resting still against the denim covering his aching hard on, he fished his phone out and unlocked it, absentmindedly rubbing his fingertips over his length and whimpering when he saw your name on the screen above the message you’d sent.

‘Hey, babe… you up?’

Another thick pearl of precum.

Fuck. He could hide in here all night, sexting with you from just the next room, or…

He didn’t bother fastening up his belt or that one button he’d opened when he swung the car door open and jumped out, biting back a moan at the friction of his jeans settling, slightly looser and more comfortable, against his cock as he stood.

He knew where you kept your spare key, and the combination on the safety box that kept it hidden, so he retrieved it and let himself in through the internal garage door that led to your kitchen.

Driver was silent. Barely a sound as he crept through the house, knowing every floorboard and the placement of every piece of furniture down to the millimetre.

The house was dark, which made it easy for him. You’d only switched on one lamp since you returned; the one in the hallway where you still stood, hanging up your jacket and waiting for him to reply.

Your phone laid unlocked on the sideboard, opened to the message you’d sent him as you slipped off your shoes, eagerly awaiting his reply.

‘Come on,’ you breathed needily at your screen, ‘start typing!’ — and Driver swallowed hard.

He stuck to the shadows as he watched you, from the kitchen doorway, careful not to let his breathing turn too heavy, and certainly not above stroking himself over his jeans a couple of times just for the thrill of it.

You threw your shoes in the cupboard and picked up your phone again, checking to see if he was typing yet, and upon seeing that he wasn’t even online right now, you heaved a disappointed breath.

He might not have typed a reply, but he was ready to answer you.

‘I’m up,’ he breathed, hot against the back of your neck and you jumped, but his arms wrapped tight around yours, keeping you from fighting back, and he pulled you close as he breathed you in.

The still-gloved fingers of one of his hands hand toyed with the neckline of your shirt, ghosting around your throat as the other thrust unceremoniously into your jeans and dragged through your folds.

Even with his gloves on, he could tell you were already soaked.

It took you a terrifying moment, but your instinctual fear subsided, quickly replaced with burning arousal when you felt his cock pressing into your back, smelled his familiar scent, felt his glove teasing at your throat.

‘You are up,’ you sighed, reaching behind yourself to snake a hand between your flush bodies and drag your palm over his length in time with the fingers so precisely massaging your clit, and you moaned. Loud.

Driver’s knees felt like they might give out.

‘Mmmh-’ he hummed into your ear, ‘s-stop- fuck-’

You grinned, smug as ever about how easy he was to unravel, and at the wet patch you’d felt seeping through his thick jeans.

Despite the heat rapidly pooling at your core, you didn’t think on it for long, because any coherent thought was immediately pushed out of your mind when his hands left your core and throat, instead gripping your shoulders and spinning you to face him, slamming you back against the wall, his lips crashing onto yours with bruising force.

He pushed a thigh between your legs, pressing firmly against your heat and you moaned, muffled by his mouth as his tongue dragged hungrily against yours. Driver was always such a needy kisser, so passionate and intense and it made your head spin. But this was something else.

You gripped him hard, moaning and writhing against him, and he shuddered at your reaction, whining against your lips before fully pulling away to focus on freeing his cock.

Slightly dizzy, you removed your own trousers as fast as you could, hooking a leg around his waist as he shoved his wet jeans down and pushed forward, lifting you in his strong arms to help you clamp your other leg around his waist.

His eyes slid closed as he felt your slick against his cock, trying with all his might not to spill his release before he’d fucked you. The adrenaline was still so fresh, spurred on by breaking in and sneaking up on you, that he could hear his blood pumping in his ears. He felt almost invincible; but he knew that with just one eager and misguided move he would cum, ending it all too soon.

No. He needed to feel you around him. Feel you clench with need. Hear you scream. Fill you up.

He closed his eyes to refocus.

Now you were pinned between him and the wall, he slipped a hand down to guide himself to your entrance, a simultaneous relieved groan from both of you echoing around your entrance hall as he slid himself inside.

He stilled for a moment, composing himself, forehead pressed to yours because he knew that a kiss, even a soft and tender exchange, would break him.

He also knew that right now, one thrust and it would be over for him, so he moved his fingers up, massaging your clit in slow, precise circles, as though this was all designed purely to give you time to adjust.

Your head dropped back and you squirmed, trying to fuck yourself on him as his fingers sent wave after wave of shuddering bliss through your body. The angle was delicious, but balanced around his waist you couldn’t move enough to get what you needed.

‘Please,’ you begged, ‘fuck me- please-’

Driver growled, low and dark, against your throat. He could never resist giving you exactly what you wanted, and he could feel your walls tightening around him already. A low groan tore from his throat. You were close too.

Sicko, he thought. Like it when I break in and sneak up behind you? Shove a hand in your pants to try and get you off before you even realise it’s me?

Keeping his fingers against your throbbing bundle of nerves, he fucked you alright. Hard and fast and unrelenting, hips snapping frantically as he whimpered and gasped weakly into the thick air filling the inch between your mouths.

It was too late to stop his orgasm approaching. He’d been simmering for too long, and the way you’d kissed him, the way you’d begged him, the way you got wet just from him acting like a creep… his head was spinning.

The way he was fucking you, unceasing and intense, had you clawing at his jacket, wishing he’d taken it off so you could feel more of him, but there was no time. You pushed your fingers up to slide through his soft, neat hair instead, and he shuddered against you, biting down on his bottom lip. His blood boiled.

Fuck it. He smashed his lips back onto yours, tears pricking his eyes.

He finally spilled inside you, cock pulsing through his release. He squeezed his eyes shut, painfully aware you hadn’t cum yet, but his fingers on your clit hadn’t ceased, and as his cock began to soften, sensitive with aftershocks, he felt you clench tight around him. Your fingertips scraped against his scalp and your legs tightened around his waist and you cried out, loud and strangled, bucking your hips wildly as you chased your release.

Driver’s eyes welled with the tears he couldn’t bite back, dropping onto your shirt.

As you came down from your high, you stroked his hair back into place and slipped down from your position, standing on wobbly legs, head spinning, and Driver propped himself up with an arm against the wall, caging you in.

Your palm grazed his cheek, a tender thumb wiping his tears away.

He leant into your touch, eyes closed and breath slowing all the while.

‘So it was you who closed my garage door?’ you whispered, and he nodded against your palm. ‘Naughty boy,’ you added, teasing.

He looked up at you through the most stunning, sparkling, wet eyes and you knew you’d never stay mad for long – especially not when he fucked you so good and unravelled for you so easily.

‘Been on a job, baby?’ you cooed.

He nodded against your palm again.

‘Gonna jerk off in my garage until I arrived home and ruined the moment?’

Driver stiffened, eyes wide as he considered you, awed at the way you understood how his mind worked. Against his better judgement, he nodded, slowly.

‘Filthy boy,’ you added with a playful smirk. ‘Glad you found me instead, though.’

‘Yeah?’ he managed, weak and quiet, voice cracking.

‘Yeah. I fucking love it when you try so hard not to cum right away.’

His brow furrowed, but you hooked your fingers under his chin and lifted his gaze back to you, softly pressing your lips to his once again.

He whimpered, feeling weak, but he needed this more than anything after the rush. He was crashing, fast and needed comfort. Safety.

‘Wanna get into bed and make out until we fall asleep?’

Driver’s heart skipped, and he nodded again. It wasn’t always a bad thing to feel like someone was reading his mind.

#not s f w 💀#driver x reader #driver smut #drive 2011 #drive (2011)#ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling #drive fic #driver x reader fic #drive smut #driver x you #driver x y/n #driver x reader smut #ryan gosling x y/n #ryan gosling x you #ryan gosling fic #ryan gosling smut #ken-dom writes

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xxchumanixx · 2 months

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”sing me a lullaby” was so beautiful and well written but it destroyed me!!! Pls can we have something happier now??😭😭

Wake me up (sequel to Sing me a Lullaby)

Tim Bradford x reader

Warnings/Tags: Angst, fluff, hurt, comfort, near death experience

Word count: 1.418

Authors note: cough, cough... I'm a monster, I know. But to make up for it, here's the sequel/part 2 for Sing me a Lullaby. You can just read Sing me a Lullaby as a standalone, or take the happy ending down here.

To be honest I wanted a happy ending for it... so I made one... guilty. I'm a little sick at the moment, so I need something happy, too.

Anyways, Enjoy!

Ears ringing, your brows twitched.

You felt like you'd just been hit by a bus. Your muscles felt sore, like they hadn't been used in ages.

Maybe that was the truth, the reason as to why your body felt like shit.

As you tried to open your eyes, you were blinded, instantly closing them again as you groaned.

A chair moved, it scraped over the floor, unpleasantly ringing in your ears. Flinching, you tried to open your eyes again, as you heard your name being called somewhere far away.

What the hell was going on?

As you finally were able to open your eyes, blinking rapidly to get used to the lights around you, someone sighed.

Swallowing, you felt how dry your throat was.

Breathing in deeply, you felt something stitch in your lungs as you did so, making you flinch. Grinding your teeth, you tried to look around you.

The light slowly became more bearable, as you were able to make out silhouettes.

You were at a hospital.

Your fingers felt numb as you tried to move them, your gaze wandering to your right, where you spotted a familiar face.

Tim was looking down at you, worry etched into every single one of his features. But he seemed relieved as well, eyes glistening.

Your eyes stung, as they filled with tears as well.

You couldn't place why you were at the hospital yet, but you were happy to see him.

"Finally." he mumbled, as you licked over your dry lips. You wanted to respond, but when you tried to speak, you began to caugh.

Grabbing the glass of water that was sitting on your bedside table, he moved your bed into a more upright position, before he held the glass to your lips so you could drink.

The cold water felt heavenly against your sore throat, as you eagerly gulped it down.

When the glass was empty, he removed it, setting it back aside.

"How are you feeling?" he wanted to know, brows furrowed in worry. "Like I just died three times in a row." you tried to lighten the mood, but his mouth twitched at your words.

"It were two times." he gave back, gaze unwavering. When he not even chuckled after a few seconds of waiting, you realized he wasn't joking.

Your face fell, the realization sending shivers down your spine.

"What?" you asked, shocked. Suddenly, you felt cold. "Do you remember what happened?" he wanted to know and you shook your head in response.

His gaze fell on the bedsheets, as he breathed in deeply.

"We went to arrest a drug dealer, but they were already waiting for us." he started to explain, his head tilting as he relived the moment. "When we thought that we had gotten them all, a sniper got you."

Closing your eyes, the memories suddenly came back.

"Your face was full of blood." you spoke, swallowing. "I remember how you tried to keep me awake, b-before-" Tears made their way out of your eyes, as you realized, that you had almost died.

Or at least that they were able to bring you back.

"You asked me to sing Lullabye." he reminded you, clearing his throat, as tears filled his eyes. "I thought that I had lost you. I wasn't able to find a pulse, you couldn't breathe- I-I thought you were dead."

A tear managed to spill, and he wiped it away angrily.

"They had you in there for so long, that I was about to get in there and see what takes them so long to stitch you back up." he continued, looking up, as your hand took his carefully.

"You had lost a lot of blood, they said that your lung was perforated. It was a miracle how you even made it to the hospital. They lost you two times, but they managed to bring you back."

He looked like he hadn't slept in days, nor properly eaten. His cheeks were sunken in, his beard not having been shaved.

"You look like shit." you told him and he rose a brow, huffing. "You're not looking any better." he gave back. His own words caused him to crack a smile.

Finally.

"How long was I out?" you wanted to know, trying to orientate at the length of his beard.

He hesitated and your eyes widened slightly, not sure if you wanted to hear it anymore. Only then you noticed the flowers that were arranged all over the room.

"Two weeks." he then said, and your gaze snapped back to him. His eyes were fixed on your joined hands.

Swallowing you nodded. "Makes sense, given the circumstances." you spoke, biting your cheek.

"There were... complications." he added, shaking his head as his gaze found its way back to yours. "Your lung collapsed, scared the living shit out of everyone."

Huffing, you sat more upright.

At least his beard didn't look like a two week beard.

"I'm sorry." you apologized, swallowing. It still felt like needles poked your lungs whenever you breathed, but you would get over it.

"What for?" he gave back, confusion lacing his voice. "This wasn't your fault. Had I looked better, I would have noticed."

Shaking your head you sqeezed his hand, trying to stop another wave of tears. "No, Tim. It wasn't your fault. Not even Harper saw the sniper, and I didn't see him as well. He must have had a good hiding spot - too good."

"But-" he wanted to argue, body jerking forward in his seat. "No, Tim!" you cut him off. "Not even you would have seen him, I'm sure of it! So stop blaming yourself. Yes, I almost died, but that's the risk we take every single day. I can be lucky that I survived. Others don't have that much luck."

He fell silent, as he angrily wiped at his eyes.

"It's funny, cause Lucy said the same thing, after she was buried alive." he quietly told you, as your eyes met. "And I told her that it was the first day of the rest of her life. And that applies to you as well."

Sending him a reassuring smile, you nodded. "And no one can take that away from me."

He nodded in return, before he scooted a little closer.

Looking down at the bed you decided it was big enough for two.

Doing your best not to rip off the cables coming from you, you scooted over, beckoning him to join you in bed.

"Y/N, I can't." he told you, brows narrowed in worry as he shook his head. Sending him a pointed look, you made clear not to argue with you.

Huffing, he did as he was told. With the greatest carefulness he could muster, he lay down beside you.

Sighing happily, you breathed his familiar scent, head resting on his chest as best as you could.

His lips kissed the top of your head, as he sighed heavily, fingers circling on your arm.

"I don't know what I would do without you." he told you quietly, swallowing.

Smiling bitterly you placed a kiss on his cheek. "Did you sleep at all?" you wanted to know, worried. Shaking his head he leaned forward, his lips meeting yours.

You returned the kiss, before your lips parted. "Barely."

Sighing, your head rested back on his chest. "I love you, Tim." you spoke, drawing circles on his shirt clad chest. "I love you too, Y/N."

Swallowing, you snuggled more into his chest.

"Goodbye my angel, time to close your eyes." you hesitantly began, slowly finding your way back to the song of your childhood.

"And save these questions for another day. I think I know what you've been asking me, I think you know what I've been trying to say."

You weren't sure if he would accept Lullabye after what happened, but it was like a healing process for you as well.

You needed it.

"I promised I would never leave you, and you should always know, wherever you may go, no matter where you are, I will never be very far."

Looking up, you saw his eyes closed, face relaxed, causing you to smile.

"Good night my angel, now it's time to sleep, and still so many things I want to say, remember all the songs you sang for me, when went sailing on an emerald bay."

Closing your eyes as well, you sighed, feeling better.

"And like a boat out on the ocean, I'm rocking you to sleep."

#the rookie x u #the rookie imagine #the rookie x reader #the rookie #tim bradford x you #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford

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steddieas-shegoes · 9 months

Text

all i have

written for @steddiemicrofic prompt 'charm' rated: T wc: 548 cw: implied/referenced bad parent, referenced parental death tags: angst with a happy ending, canon-adjacent events, proposal

🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨

It was a stupid charm in the shape of an ice cream sundae, and it was all Eddie had to remind him of his mom.

His dad made sure to erase anything else.

When he went to live with Wayne at nine, the charm and his clothes were all he had to take with him.

He kept the charm in his pocket and by his bed when he slept.

He didn’t have a bracelet to put it on, and he didn’t want to risk anyone else seeing it and wanting it for themselves.

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When Eddie was 20, he nearly died.

A small part of him believed in superstitions and knew it was because he’d forgotten to put the ice cream charm in his pocket before going into the Upside Down.

It was sitting on his bedside table, next to his lyric notebook and whatever other clutter he’d thrown on there when he was looking for what Chrissy needed.

But he was afraid to ask for someone to go get it.

He trusted Wayne more than any adult, but after so many years, would Wayne be hurt that he hid it from him?

The kids would ask questions, and he would feel like he owed them answers.

Robin would drop it somewhere, or maybe forget she had it and wash it in the pocket of her jeans.

That left Steve.

He'd been by his side for days now, making sure he had everything he needed, making sure Wayne got to take breaks, making sure he was being treated fairly by everyone.

Maybe Steve would do it.

He’d already done a lot of other things, no questions asked.

“Hey, Stevie?” Eddie figured the light blush that colored his cheeks when he called him that was the perfect way to butter him up for this favor.

“Hm?” Steve asked, looking up from the book he’d been trying to read for the last 20 minutes.

“Could you run to the trailer and grab something for me?”

“Do you want me to call Wayne?” Steve asked, setting the book aside.

“No, I’d rather you get it.”

Steve looked like he desperately wanted to ask more questions, but accepted the description of the charm and rough location and left

When he came back, he handed the charm to Eddie, who was doing all he could not to cry.

“Thank you, Stevie.”

“Anything, Eds. Just gotta ask.”

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At 24, Eddie was on one knee, looking up at his entire future, holding not a ring, but the charm he’d cherished for most of his life.

Steve looked down at him, brows furrowed, tears only held back because of his confusion.

“I have a ring too, but this is more important to me. This charm is all I have left of my mom. We used to get ice cream sundaes together anytime we managed to slip a few dollars from my dad’s wallet when he was passed out. She had this charm on her bracelet for years and when she died I made sure to take it.” Eddie sniffled. “She would have loved getting ice cream sundaes with you.”

“Eds,” Steve’s tears were falling rapidly now.

“Will you be my ice cream sundae partner for the rest of our lives?”

“Yes. Anything, Eds. I’m glad you asked.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficseptember #stranger things #i have 8000 ideas for this prompt but i will be lucky to be able to write two #this one took priority though

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pentacentric · 3 months

Text

I probably think way too much about how very little Sam knew about Mary. How John and Dean gave him almost nothing, to the point that she wasn't even really like a ghost shadowing his life, more like the story of one overheard in bits and pieces over the years. And yet, his whole life from when he can first remember—every bit of motivation or guilt, every point of pride or shame—is built around his mother, this person he isn't allowed to know.

I've written a lot of bits and pieces about it before, but never a standalone. This is actually an excerpt from a longer story, but I modified it some and I think it works on its own, hopefully (he knows about hunting already but that's really the only canon difference).

..........................

When Sam's in fourth grade, and has to write a page about his favorite memory, he asks for Dean's help. All he can seem to dredge up at the moment is just too weird or too farfetched. Things that say far too much about the way they live for a teacher to read.

So he asks Dean what he would write about.

After some teasing about his best memories being of all the times Sam's embarrassed himself (and a well-aimed pink rubber eraser hitting him between the eyes) Dean quiets down and turns thoughtful.

"Well, I dunno what my most favorite memory would be, really. I guess…" He bites his lip, chews on it for a second, gaze directed absently into the distance. "I think it would prob'ly be my first memories? It musta been, like, when I was three and four maybe. They're…of Mom."

"Oh." Sam's chest gets a little tight. He speaks quietly, cautiously. Dean—Dean and Dad both—they don't talk about her much. Sam's seen her picture, the one that Dad keeps in his journal, a few times, but he knows so little about her. Just that she was pretty (beautiful), with a smile that reminds of him of Dean's and wavy blonde hair. "What was she—what are they like?"

Dean smiles, maybe a little sad, but it's more than that. Warm, wistful; gaze still unfocused and distant. "Mostly…happy. Like…bright. She'd sing to me a lot, and, like, I didn't know the songs back then, but, when I hear 'em now, I can hear her voice singing them. Beatles, Beach Boys, Simon and Garfunkel, um…Peter, Paul, and Mary, maybe…" Dean chuffs out a laugh. "I remember Puff the Magic Dragon, at least…I think I even remember Dad teasin' her about how she better sing me some real music, too, not just sissy crap, but, I dunno, maybe I made that up."

Dean pauses, that bittersweet expression on his face, still, and Sam doesn't want him to get lost in it. He also doesn't want to miss this opportunity, if he can help it.

"I dunno. He'd say somethin' like that." Dean spares him half a smile, still somewhere else in his head. "What…what else do you remember? What'd you guys do together?"

"Well, not a whole lot. I guess mostly just the normal stuff you do with a little kid. Like legos, I remember we'd build castles an' fortresses and stuff. I wanted her to build me a car but we didn't have enough black bricks, so she made me a little boat instead. Dad said it looked like a bathtub." He smiles. "Um, she'd dance with me, sometimes. To the radio. Make lunch—I mostly remember sandwiches and Mac n' Cheese. I'd sit in that little seat in the cart when she went to the grocery store, and she'd ask me what was on the list and I'd pretend I could read it and make up dumb stuff."

The silence is longer this time. Sam breathes out, carefully. "What kinda stuff?"

"I dunno. Just silly things, like 'elephant steaks!' Or 'a unicorn!' Or 'poop n' rhubarb pie!'"

"Gross." Sam wrinkles his nose.

Dean grins at that. "I think you're, like, the only kid ever who never found poop and fart jokes funny."

"'Cause they're not."

When Dean laughs, muttering little weirdo, Sam looks around for something harmless to throw at him, pouts.

"Don't worry, Sammy, if anyone wonders why you're so weird I'll just tell them it's 'cause you still poop your pants, and you're kinda sensitive about it an' all."

"Dean."

Sam decides that his pencil is perfectly fine to throw after all and, as a concession, doesn't aim it at his head. Dean grins, not seeming too annoyed by the assault, so Sam decides to push his luck.

"Did Mom think it was funny? Your lists?"

Dean's melancholy little smile is back. "Yeah…yeah, I think she did. She'd always laugh, anyways. An' she had the best laugh. I'd make up stuff that just got more and more ridiculous just so I could keep watchin' her laugh." He sighs, shrugs. "Anyways, yeah…that's Mom. That's what I remember."

It gets quiet after that, and Sam can see Dean's face starting to shutter over as he withdraws. It's rare for Sam to get to see his brother so open and unguarded any more. Over the last few years, Dean's started to change; Sam can tell. Still fun, still charming, still affectionate, at least with Sam (mostly when there's no one else around to catch him being so uncool). But, even though they're not always alike—Dean doesn't usually brood, rarely explodes, and he never gets that kind of burning cold John does when he's focused on something—sometimes now he kinda reminds Sam of Dad. He's been more closed off, the way Dad can be, his deeper emotions pushed farther away, out of Sam's reach. Doesn't show when things get to him, like he used to.

It's actually kind of lonely, sometimes.

"So, what are you gonna write about, Sammy?"

When Sam shrugs, Dean suggests the time they ran out of gas on a back road in central Florida. They'd only walked two miles before an Oscar Myer Wienermobile came barreling down the road, seemingly out of nowhere, and gave them a lift to and from the closest gas station (still a good eight miles away). Sam counters with the night in Montana that Dad got so drunk he started fighting with the motel owner about yetis (Dad coming down hard on the side of 'hoax'). They ended up getting kicked out at two am after Dad had cut down the guy’s “Bigfoot Crossing” sign with an axe. They toss back and forth increasingly ridiculous ideas until they're both laughing so hard they're in literal tears. When John comes back, they can't even stop long enough to answer what's so funny. Dad just smiles, bemused and fond, and shakes his head before heading off to shower.

Sam thinks maybe he can add this afternoon to his Good Memories pile.

In the end, he waits until that evening, before bed, and easily fills up a page-and-a-half about the time, last summer, when Dad was on a hunt out west and he and Dean had spent all afternoon exploring tidal pools in Yaquina Head, Oregon, marveling at the tiny little aquatic worlds they found. He invents an older teenage cousin that tagged along so the teacher won't question why two young kids spent the day alone in a national park.

He gets an A.

From then on, Sam keeps his eyes out in thrift stores for cassettes from the bands Dean mentioned; pockets them when he can to listen to later on the beat-up Walkman knock-off Dean stole for him for his sixth birthday. He likes a lot of it, but he's careful about what he keeps; only his favorites. He stashes them in the bottom of his school bag, in the hollowed-out book that Bobby showed him how to make last year, on a rainy day when Sam got bored with watching old Westerns.

For some reason, he doesn't want Dean to know about them. Doesn't want him to feel like Sam's trying to take something away from him. So he slips them in when he's sitting in the back of the Impala alone, on long trips, and closes his eyes. Lets the albums pour into his ears over the headphones; shuts the rest of the world out. Sgt Pepper's. Pet Sounds. Bookends. He tries to imagine his mom, Mary, singing the songs to him, in a sunny kitchen.

But he can never really pull together a complete image of her; just bits and pieces, blurred-together impressions: yellow hair, the smiling face from the picture (looking kind of flat, like a mask), a flowered dress he'd seen in a shop window. And he doesn't know what her voice sounded like, so it kind of just ends up being a composite of the voices of some of his favorite teachers (along with the mother of a classmate back in Indiana who drove him home once when she spotted him waiting for the rain to stop under the playground slide).

So he gives up on trying to picture her, and, instead, just tries to sink into the music, sees if he can feel what she was feeling when she listened to it. Imagines the conversations they might have: which songs would be her favorites, why she would have liked them, where she was the first time she heard them playing.

When he hears those songs on the radio now, or over the speakers in a restaurant, it makes him feel kind of happy and sad at the same time.

They remind him of her.

(Except for America—for some reason, that one makes him think of Dean.)

#spn fic #sam winchester #dean winchester #weechesters #mary winchester #john winchester #sam's lonliness #motherless sam #supernatural fanfic #my fic

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imrllytootiredforthis · 1 year

Text

Addicted

Pairing: Felix x reader

Summary: You’re obsessed with him, enchanted by him, too bad he’s taken...

Warnings: fem!reader, dom reader, sub lix, handjob, marking, slight humiliation, slight degradation

Word count: 5k

A/N: I’ve had this written for like 2 weeks now but felt bad about posting bc i have a whole bunch of requests that i haven’t gotten around to. so if your one of the people that requested, dunno when i’ll get around to it but i will, i have like a million wips rn and i’m trying to get through all of them

It was a bad habit, you knew.

Smoking.

You’d been a teenager once. Had the professionals talk about it, listened to all the same bullshit warnings; that your lungs would turn shrivelled and black-that cancer would bloom. Seen the pictures of the smoke-free lungs compared to healthy ones.

You knew it would end up killing you. You weren’t stupid.

But they filled you with warmth, calmed you down, made everything feel a sort of numb as you stood out on the balcony of the apartment.

There was shouting inside, laughter and talking, the others all hanging out, having fun.

You were supposed to be in there. Your step-sister-Avery had invited you, told you that you needed to make friends and get out more but you didn’t really feel as if you fit in with her type of crowd.

They weren’t actively trying to make you feel that way of course-in fact if anything they were very welcoming, asking you about yourself, trying to get you to contribute to the conversations, you just...

You didn’t know really how you felt, just that you told everyone that you would be right back, and now here you were cigarette hanging loosely from your lips, nicotine filling your lungs.

It was a horrible habit really-one you had thought about breaking dozens of times but never did.

You could stop anytime you wanted, if you wanted to but you didn’t need to yet so there was no point.

The slider door opened behind you.

At least smoking would take your mind off certain things.

“Why’d you leave?” Certain things like this.

Warm arms wrapped around your torso, head falling onto your shoulder into your hair, inhaling the smell of you. You and your slightly floral scent-perfume, maybe?

Of course along with the pungent stale smell of the smoke.

A smell that he hated in the beginning-it made his eyes water and his nose screw up in distaste. It was gross and bitter, a foul odour that reminded him of grime and dirty crowded cities.

But now the smell was you. It stained your clothing, lingered in your hair, clung to you like a second skin. It was addicting.

“Not really my scene y’know? Needed a bit of a break.” You sighed, twisting around to look at him.

His hair had gotten a bit longer but you liked it. A bit shaggy and a bit messy but boyish, cute in a way that made you want to play with it all the time. He had talked about getting a haircut earlier that week but you’d managed to convince him not to.

After all, the longer it is, the easier it is to pull.

That was your winning point to sway his decision.

“You should go back inside Felix. The others will notice that you’re gone.”

He cocked his head to the side, hair moving along with the action. “Why? Don’t want me around?” A small pout adorns his lips with the question, bottom lip pushed out in a way that makes your heart do flips in your chest.

You did.

You really, really did.

You wanted this more than you could even put into words.

Wanted to stay like this for just a bit longer. The feel his arms wrapped around you, his attention focused on you. Wanted for this to be a normal thing that happened, a normal thing that didn’t only happen when he was horny.

But he wasn’t yours.

And that was all just a fantasy.

You knew that.

You knew that too well as he nuzzled his nose into your throat, lips finding purchase against your neck. You took another drag, deeply sighing out, body shuddering as he whined for you to touch him-anywhere.

As he whined about how needy and desperate he was for you-somewhere-anywhere would suffice. As long as it was warm flesh against warm flesh, soft skin against soft skin, you touching him.

A moan slipped out, followed by another as he nipped at your pulse-point. “Please?”

His hands softly pushed your hair back, fingertips grazing your jaw, moving it out of the way for more purchase. “I need you.”

“Felix.” The words were a plead more than a command. A beg for him to stop, for him to make the decision you were too weak to make.

Because it was so hard to turn him down. So hard to tell him no because you wanted this-god-you wanted this so bad. Wanted to make him feel good, wanted to fill every single thought in that pretty little head of his. Wanted every single one of them to be you.

You. You. You.

Only you.

Even if it wasn’t true, you loved to live in the delusion of it-the fantasy make-believe world where maybe, just maybe he could be yours.

“Please, touch me~”

The cigarette hung loosely from your fingers.

“Felix.”

His breath was hot as his mouth moved lower, down to your collarbone. “You know you want to.” He muttered lowly, kissing up your cleavage. “And I want you to.”

The smell of him, you couldn’t even name what it was but it was utterly intoxicating-so much more than nicotine could ever be.

Some part of you came back and suddenly you were very aware of the voices still talking and laughing inside.

She was right inside.

Finally, with that thought, you were pushing him away. “Felix no, your girlfriend is right inside that door.” You stepped back, far enough that a good three feet of space stayed between you-almost as much as you possibly could on the small porch.

He blanched, trying to step closer before you held out an arm, pushing his chest back. “It’s okay. S-she’s with the others-she won’t come out here-she won’t-”

“No.” The word was concrete but your eyes stayed trained on the ground as it was spoken, avoiding the puppy eyes you knew would be staring back at you if you were to look up.

And if you saw them you knew it would be over for you. You knew that. He knew that.

“Please, I need you so bad.” The words were agonizingly enticing but you’d been around him for long enough to build some level of immunity to his charms.

“Please,” he took a step closer again, brushing away your arm as your eyes screwed shut.

You couldn’t see him but you could feel his breath fanning across your face. “You can do anything you want to me. Push me around, punish me. Just fuck me.” He pressed himself against you, showing you just how hard he was for you.

“I’ve been so bad, so, so bad. Need you to just fuck me back into place.”

Before your brain even comes to terms with his words, his hand was clasping around your wrist-the one with the cigarette in hand. Quickly bringing it up to his shoulder, pulling down his shirt to expose more skin. “Put it out on me.”

You’re sure your mouth is practically hanging open at the thought, lust pooling deep inside of you. “Do it-please!” He shakes your hand, desperation filling his eyes.

It would be easy. So easy to give into his whims. To let yourself fall into the trap of his desires...

"Miss you so much." His voice takes on a certain kind of desperation, lips trembling. "Need-need your touch so bad. Want you to bruise me, mark me, ruin me."

So, so fucking easy. To go along with it.

With a heavy groan you shove him away once more. He whimpers as you drop it onto the ground instead, snubbing it out under your foot.

“Not right now.” The finality of the tone has him sulking and whining but you ignore him as you pull out your phone at the vibration of a notification.

You sigh at the contact name on the message. The real reason you wouldn’t give into his whims.

Why you wouldn’t grab him by the throat right now, kiss him until his lips were raw and red, tease him until he came in his pants and make him walk straight back into there with his shame and your ownership stamped on him like a bright neon sign.

Because of her.

Avery: He’s with you rn, right?

You: Yeah

The dots pop up, signalling her typing before they disappear.

You: Why?

Avery: He just didn’t say he was going anywhere and I got worried

You: Worried?

Avery: Ofc! Why wouldn’t I be?

You: Avery.

Avery: Fine.

Avery: I left with Hyunjin like 5 minutes ago, we’re heading over to his place for a bit

Avery: Can you just tell Lix I was idk, sick or smth-literally anything it doesn’t matter as long as he doesn’t come looking for me lol

You: Okay.

Avery: Yeah, maybe invite him to stay over at urs or smth, I won’t be back at our place til tmrw and u guys are friends so it won’t be weird.

And there it was. Both the reason you rarely ever felt bad and simultaneously felt incredibly guilty about what you had with Felix.

Because while he was out with you, she was out with someone else too, so in a way you guess it kinda nullified it?

Made you sleep better knowing that you were fucking the brains out of a taken man?

You weren’t very sure to what extent either of them knew about the other’s rendezvous. You were sure he knew that she was cheating on him but doubted he knew it was his friend that it was with at the moment. And if she knew what was going on between you and him well she didn’t say anything and that was a pretty dead giveaway that she had no idea.

Because she was a hypocrite, not above starting a confrontation and spinning it around to make you and him seem like villains and her to be the helpless victim of the story.

Even as she was out with one of Felix’s best friends doing god knew what, knowing how much it would hurt him. But you guess that wasn’t so different than what he was doing to her.

“Hey, you wanna come over to my place? We can watch a movie or something.”

He perked up immediately at that, nodding quickly. “Yeah!” He knew what that was code for. He glanced down at his phone. “Should I go tell Avery I’m leaving?...Nah it’ll be fine, I’ll just text her later.”

“Okay cool, let’s go.”

The fire escape off the balcony landed right into an abandoned alley, perfect so you wouldn’t have awkwardly say goodbye to all of their friends.

You broke into a brisk walk the second you were on the ground, Felix having to almost run to catch up with you after he got off the ladder. “Hey! Wait up!” He shouted.

“Then hurry up, slowpoke!” You retorted over your shoulder, not slowing the pace.

Your own apartment was pretty close, only maybe a 10 minute walk but it was still cold as shit and you’d given Avery your jacket earlier. You hadn’t really registered the chilliness on the balcony before, have it be the smoke or Felix you didn’t know.

“Hey!” He panted as he caught up.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile at the way he linked your arms together, swinging them happily.

He looked happy.

A smile across his face-his eyes still slightly clouded and the bulge in his pants still ever-so present but seeming to be fine ignoring it for now, even if whenever he took a step too long or too short he’d have to suppress a moan.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket again. Probably Avery.

You ignored it.

Probably another update about her and Hyunjin, a reminder to keep Felix with you. Another reminder of how fucked up this whole situation this was.

“Do you ever feel bad?” You asked suddenly, the words blurted out before you could really think them over.

He let out a surprised noise. “For who-Avery?”

You nodded and he made a small noise of consideration, thinking it over before replying. “Not really, no. Really why should I? She was the one that cheated first.”

It was true, he could remember it all very clearly. They’d only been together for a few months at that point-basically nothing really but very quickly had either of them gotten attached.

He vividly remembered walking in on her with some other random guy when he came home from working on a group project after school.

He remembers standing there, frozen in place. Not wanting to watch but being unable to look away.

Stuck in his body. Feet glued to the floor. Eyes frozen on them. Forced to watch her moan out the guy’s name, for him to smile and leave a kiss on her lips, groaning out about how she was such a pretty little slut for him.

The next thing he knew she was gasping, pushing the dude away, yelling out Felix’s name in alarm. The guy was pulling out of her, eyes wide in shock.

And maybe he didn’t know she was with someone-maybe he was innocent in all this mess.

But she wasn’t.

And then his feet finally moved and Felix was running out of the room, trying not to cry as he threw himself into the guest room, locking the door and sliding down it, covering his face with his hands in an effort to hold back tears.

He could recall all of the sobbing and pain and apologizing that first time.

She’d wailed all night long like she was the one that had been the one to walk in on their girlfriend fucking another guy.

She refused to leave the house even when he yelled for her to pack her shit and leave.

She stayed, sitting on the other side of the door, banging and crying for him to let her in. For him to let her explain herself, like that would somehow make anything better.

She promised to not do it again. For two hours she kept that up until finally he cracked and let her in.

She cradled him in her arms and wiped away his tears, cried with him for a bit and promised and swore and crossed her damn heart, assuring him that she’d never ever do it again. Held him tighter when he gritted his teeth and told her again, to leave. But she refused. She grovelled and pleaded and ‘justified’ her actions for a second chance.

He’d ended up forgiving her of course but, surprise, surprise, only a few weeks later it happened again. The whole process repeated with the guest room and the begging and the promises.

And it happened again.

And again.

And the time after that.

Over and over until it got to the point where he was used to it-expected it. No longer did he lock himself in the guest bedroom, all that would happen with that was she’d get bruises all over her hands from banging on the door and complain about it the next day as if it were a routine and nothing more.

And he wouldn’t say he was exactly happy with this arrangement but slowly with each new guy he became practically desensitized to it.

When he came home from classes and saw her giving a guy a sloppy blowjob on the couch that had been Felix’s before they’d moved in together he simply sighed and rolled his eyes, ignoring the bitter twang in his chest and telling the dude to get out.

When he’d gone to a party with her and realized she’d disappeared only to find her practically dry-humping some random dude in the kitchen he’d just told her he was going home and to not wake him up when she came in.

It hurt, yes but through all of that he stayed with her. Why? He didn’t really know, maybe it was something to do with the fact that she was his first serious relationship and he liked the security of the title. Maybe because he was scared about how she would react, what she would do.

But for whatever reason he always stayed loyal throughout it all.

That was until you came along.

You, sitting in front of him in lecture hall. You who got decently good grades so the teacher’s paired you up with him, asking you to tutor him some days too if you were to have the availability, You who had a step-sister, through your dad’s marriage to her mom who just happened to be his girlfriend.

You.

You, you, you.

Who made him not want to be loyal anymore. Who made him laugh and smile and want to leave his cheating girlfriend once and for all.

And suddenly it was no longer the security of the title that kept him around, her anger or her small scraps of love only given when he begged for it.

It was you. Who reminded him how it would affect not only them but all of their friends, who reminded him that she was your step-sister and the issues and drama that would come along with breaking it off with her.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting to.

He remembers the first time he came onto you, it was only about two months ago-56 days to be exact-but who was counting?

It was during a tutoring session, he’d been watching you. Observing the way you bit your lip when you concentrated, a slight furrow in your brow. Fixated on the way your tongue would dart out to quickly wet your lips before you spoke.

Watched and watched until without really making the decision he was leaning in and kissing you and you were kissing him back and finally he understood how little Avery meant to him.

He could almost feel phantom hands on his body, remembering the way your’s had immediately gone to his hair, tugging at the silky strands until he moaned and then you realized what was going on.

You’d pushed him away all too soon, panicked and frazzled, yelling at him about why he’d ever do that.

Did he know what this meant?

Had he really thought over what this might do?

Did he realize how Avery would feel?

What this could do to you and to her and to-

And then he was kissing you again-desperate and needy, making you gasp out, grasping your hands by the wrists and placing them around his waist.

And then your hands were back in his hair, all over his body, taking and giving and feeling and exploring. Then he was under you and any thought about how Avery would feel was the last thing on your mind.

The whole experience was different. Then anything he’d had and anything that you’d had, in a good way.

After that you didn’t want to stop seeing each other and she was starting to question why he was getting tutored so much.

It started off as just sex and that wasn’t a morally good thing by any chance, but you could rationalize it.

You told yourself that you could stop anytime you wanted, if you wanted to but you didn’t need to yet so there was no point. And it would be easy, because there were no feelings, not as bad of a betrayal.

But it quickly turned into more than that.

To laying in bed afterwards, him curling up in your arms, pressed up close against your chest, fiddling with his hair, and taking in the way he smelt.

To enjoying each others company and nothing more during these moments-small bursts of time that started as one of you leaving right away, to staying for a few minutes, to staying for a few hours simply talking. About nothing. About everything. About your family and his friends, how your week was and how he wanted to be a professional dancer someday.

To suggesting good restaurants to him and to personally showing him to them. To days that one of you were in the mood and the other wasn’t, so you’d cool down and cuddle instead. To inviting him over for movie nights and making dinner together. To doing things without the idea of getting laid at the end of the night even in either of your heads.

And did he ever? Feel guilty about any of it?

“No.” Felix stated with a certainty in his tone. “If I could go back I’d do it all over again.” You unlocked the door and gestured for him to go in first. “But you never know...”

The keys were placed on the counter, “Never know what?” You questioned distractedly, shoes slipped off along with his.

“I might feel differently if you keep teasing me,” He rested his head on your shoulder, whispering into your ear. “Maybe I shouldn’t have even come to you...Avery would’ve helped me back at the house you know-”

Before he could blink, his body was pushed back, stumbling until his knees hit the couch and he feel backwards. And then you were on top of him, knees of either side of his hips, lips inches away from his.

A dark look had crept into your eyes, flickering over the length of his body hungrily. He shivered almost violently, he couldn’t help it.

“Wanna repeat that for me, kitten?” Chills broke across his skin at patronizing tone you spoke in and he was once again reminded of how turned on he already was.

His mouth was dry and his body burned in anticipation but he wouldn’t reply-couldn’t.

A dangerous sneer replaced the smirk, malicious intent written all over it and fuck, it left him throbbing and holding back the whimpers climbing up his throat. “C’mon pretty little kitty, you said it so confidently before.” Your hand brushed over his thigh and he whined, a pathetic sound that rolled off his tongue like an angel’s call to your ears.

“Say it.” You demanded, tipping his chin up to look at you.

“Please,” He whispered.

A single brow of yours raised, unimpressed. “That’s not what I asked for.”

He shut his eyes, unable to look at you. “M-maybe if you won’t help me,” His voice wavered, turning to a mumble. “Ma-maybe...Avery w-will.”

Your smile was large but the action didn’t convey to your eyes. Mirthless and dark-in lust or anger he couldn’t tell but could only hope it was both.

That was the only way you’d fuck him the way he needed to be right now.

“Really?” You growled.

His breath hitched. He was very accustomed to this version of you. The version that came out when it was just the two of you. Here and now. When he was needy and you were willing. When he begged you to do anything you wanted to to him and you would grant him that wish.

It got you into this head space where you wanted to remind him who he belonged to-not Avery certainly. It made you want to break him down and build him back up again just to remind him that you could. To make him forget who she was and who he himself was and the only thing left falling from kiss-bitten lips would be your name and begs for more.

He knew Avery was an especially sensitive topic to bring into this moment. To taunt you with her name in the way he’d just done. In a way that undermined your hold and control over him in these moments.

After all, you were nothing if not possessive.

And he fucking loved it.

Because now you were going to show him. Show him how good you could make him feel. Show him how well you knew his body and make sure he knew that plenty could try but no one could make him feel the way you did.

The laugh that came next was cold as your lips travelled down the smooth expanse of his neck. Nipping over his jugular, sucking harshly at his pulse point. “Does she fuck you better than I do sweetpea?” He could do nothing but moan brokenly in reply, arms grasping helplessly around your shoulders.

“Can she make you feel as good as I do?” Your hands dragged over his body in the seconds, touching him so slowly, so tantalizing.

Was this heaven or hell?

“Does she make you scream like I can?” It took a perfectly timed stroke to the words and he felt like he was go crazy with want, losing grip on reality, liquid heat filling his body with need.

He couldn’t even begin to try to figure it out in this moment.

Felix shook his head, frantically trying to find his voice but to no avail. You let out a chuckle. “When was the last time she touched you?”

And this time it seemed like you wanted a legitimate answer, pushing your body up and off of his, hovering over him. Those few inches of space devastated him, leaving his body cold and tingling for your touch again.

Your eyes trained on him, expressive and pushing, prompting him to answer the question.

“L-last week.” He finally croaked out.

At long last-which was only really a few seconds but felt like an eternity, you were back on top of him, bodies snug against each other. “Only last week?” You pouted. “Lixie, thought I was special, th-”

“-Y-you are!-”

“-Ah ta ta ta,” you clicked your tongue at him like he was a misbehaving dog. “No interrupting me sweet thing.” You scolded, pulling up his shorts to reveal unblemished skin of his thigh, kneading the flesh in your hand before continuing. “Thought I was the only one who got to see you like this.”

Grip turning harsh, you pried his legs apart, setting between them. “But it seems like you’re just an easy slut, opening your legs for anyone.”

He whined, pulling you closer to him if that was even possible, hiding his pink stained face in your hair, trying his very best to control his body. To keep his hips from jumping up and thrusting up against you like his body was aching to.

“No-she doesn’t make me feel the way you do. She doesn’t-” the words cut off into a moan of pure unfiltered unholiness.

“Doesn’t what? Doesn’t stroke you the way I do?” You taunt, slipping his shorts down to find...huh, no underwear, couldn’t say you were surprised. “Commando princess? And you say you aren’t a whore.”

Dragging the heel of your hand up and down him, slow and sure. “Only a whore for you~” he whispers through pants, breathing becoming erratic and irregular as you pick up the pace, increasing in speed.

You can’t help but laugh at the quip. “Whatever you say princess.”

He mewls, watching your head dip out of his view as your tongue continues your mission along his throat.

Tasting and teasing but careful to leave the skin unmarked-a certain amount of level-headedness able to still keep control over the horny thoughts beginning to run rampant.

Hand slipping behind his head you softly twine your fingers into the long hair you’d begged him not to cut and suddenly tugged, quick and harsh, giving you more space to work with.

You’re still level-headed.

But Lix has other ideas-rational thoughts replaced by wet dreams, hips chasing your hand for more and fingers threading through your hair. “Mark me-fuck! Bite me-please-bite me, bruise me!”

Something inside you thrums with heat and you gently scrape your teeth down his neck. “Dunno baby, can you really take that?”

He nods quickly, unable to keep his body from squirming anymore. “And what about Avery? You want her to see you all pretty-covered in bruises from another woman?”

“Yes! Please do it, m’ yours-wanna be yours!”

You freeze but he doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in his haze of pleasure, fucking up into your hand.

He’d never said that before.

You’ve called him yours-your slut, your pretty little thing, your whatever felt right in the moment but never had he said it.

...And the level-headedness was gone.

Your teeth sunk into his skin, leaving him keening, arching, tightening his hold in your hair. “M-more, please, need more!”

Happily, you could oblige to him and his request, carrying on with more teeth, more sucking, more fervor and a primal desperate need-like you needed to prove something-to Avery? To him? To yourself? Who knew.

Certainly not the boy under you who had lost any semblance of composure-not that he’d had very much to begin with.

A strangled sound akin to a sob left him and his legs wrapped around your waist, his eyes slipped shut-wanton cries and hiccupy gasps filling the room. “Please.” Was all he could say, your hand moving faster, matching rhythm with his thrusts.

“Trust me princess. When I’m done with you, you won’t even remember your own name.” The hiss in his ear had his mouth falling open, no sound coming out.

Finally you pulled away just a bit, admiring your work.

A piece of art that consisted of reddened patches of skin that would soon fade to purple. His cock, pulsing and throbbing his your hand, working up and down his length smoothly due to the copious amounts of arousal leaking from the tip. And lastly, the best part was his cute little fucked-out face.

Stroking his cheekbone lightly with your fingers, a slow smile crept across your face. His mouth hung open, eyes screwed shut, brows furrowed tightly. “And you sure as hell won’t remember Avery’s”

You were addicted to him, yes.

Just as much as that little deathstick you couldn’t seem to stop smoking.

But truly, in the end, could something that felt so good be so bad?

#lee felix x reader #sub!lee felix #lee felix smut #felix x reader #sub felix #sub!felix #sub!stray kids #sub skz #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #sub stray kids #sub lee felix #felix smut #dom reader #sub!idol #dom!reader #sub kpop #fem!reader

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nicosraf · 5 months

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You inspire me…. Any advice for writing books ?

!! I'm honored u get a little inspiration from me! That's very sweet of you.

I struggle with advice because I've only written about 5 books and published... two-ish. (An old fanfic and ABM, which as you know is basically fanfic). But I think I have some specific advice since I'm revising right now and have a lot of thoughts... Here is what works for me (!):

Outline. I know it sucks but... please try it. (Or you'll end up like GRRM).

Draft without going back to read what you wrote, or at least don't read your unfinished manuscript in full. You will want to edit it. Don't edit it. Yes it sounds bad; yes you used the same word 8 times in a paragraph by accident; yes you can see a major plot hole. Don't fix it yet, maybe write it down somewhere so you don't forget to fix it later. You need to avoid editing while drafting or you will never finish the draft. This is the biggest advice I can give anyone, especially if you haven't written your first book yet.

Give each character a strong backstory, even if it never shows up in the plot. Sounds obvious but sometimes I have to remind myself of this.

Give your characters friendships, not just romantic relationships. Include tender scenes with friends.

A lot of writing is tedious and boring. Drafting is hard, editing is hard. You have to be disciplined. But finding motivation is also hard. Don't motivate yourself using the dream of a fanbase or the dream of becoming famous. You're setting yourself up to be hurt. (Not because any of that is impossible but because achieving it in the way that you dream is virtually impossible.) Motivate yourself using something more personal, if you can.

Re-do your outline after you draft. Why? Because you probably changed things while you drafted, you probably made some stuff up on the spot, character dynamics changed, etc. A new outline is good because you can see the story you actually wrote, which is helpful for editing for plot cohesion, moving scenes, adding and removing stuff.

Your draft is going to be bad. Don't freak out. Drafts are always bad. You're going to want to analyze the hell out of it though. What did you plan, what did you write, what worked, what didnt work, what themes are on the page, what themes should you remove, what themes should you amplify.

When editing a scene isn't working, rewrite it entirely. Yes it's more work. You'll be much happier though, I promise.

The first to second revisions should be for plot and characters and pacing; these should take the longest and be the most difficult. The last third to fourth revision should be about prose. Don't focus on prose when you're trying to fix the plot.

Let characters fuck up unforgivably.

Consider your audience heavily when you edit, but don't consider them when you draft.

I've given this advice before but when it comes to plot devices/objects, you want to give each device a moment of introduction, a moment where it's recalled, and a moment of use. (Ex. A knife is introduced in chapter 1, its mentioned again casually in chapter 7, then it's used to kill someone in chapter 14.) This is mostly to give each object its own arc that feels satisfactory but ur the boss about what works best.

Kill all your characters, but not physically (unless you want to). Make them change so much that, by the end, they would barely recognize who they were at the start.

This is book advice for the type of books that I've written. Things are very different if you're writing, say, contemporary romance, but I think this list is pretty general !! I hope it helps. Good luck!!

#mine #ask #writing

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rebelspykatie · 10 months

Text

Soulmate AU Part Four

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Five

The night of the date, Eddie is pacing beside his front door. Wayne is watching from his armchair with an exasperated look, having already told him to sit down or he was going to wear a hole in the carpet. He jumps when there’s a knock on the door and shoots Wayne a dirty look when he laughs. Before opening it, he grabs the flowers off the counter and takes a deep breath, attempting to settle his nerves.

When he finally pulls the door open, he’s still wholly unprepared for Steve Harrington to be the one standing on his doorstep, eyes twinkling in the haze of the setting sun, hair perfectly coiffed and yellow sweater sitting snug around his torso. He holds out the flowers before Steve can even say hello.

There’s a beat of silence where Eddie almost pulls them back, but Steve hesitantly reaches for them, holding them delicately in his hands. “You got me flowers,” he says with a hint of awe.

“My mama used to garden a lot before she died, and I remember sitting with her as she talked for hours about the meaning of all of these different flowers she was planting. I don’t remember all of them because it was so long ago, but I do remember what these mean.”

It’s never easy talking about his mom, but it’s not as difficult with Steve looking at him like he understands the importance of Eddie divulging something so personal. There’s a hopeful look on his face that reassures Eddie he can trust Steve with every dark corner of his soul. They’re not there yet, but they’re headed in the right direction.

He looks down at the yellow and white water lilies with a watery smile, “Mama used to always say that water lilies were about rebirth and enlightenment. A lot of cultures tied that back to purity and religion. But mama used to tell stories of nymphs leaving them around those they wanted to protect or claim.”

Steve ducks his head, burying part of his face in the flowers. “Are you the nymph in this scenario?”

“If it means staking my claim, then yes.” A triumphant trill courses through him when Steve blushes. “I know the universe already did that for me, but I wanted to show you I mean it. I want to start over and actually give this a shot.”

“I want that, too.” Steve looks back at his car. “Maybe we can leave these here, though. I don't want them to get ruined sitting in the car.”

It takes a few minutes to find something to leave them in. The Munson’s aren’t big flower people these days, but soon enough they’re on their way, Wayne shooing them out the door. Steve hasn’t told Eddie where they’re going, but it’s somewhere outside of Hawkins.

As they exit the city limits, Eddie's nervous chatter has died down a bit. Steve quietly says, “I didn’t think you would be into flowers or any of that romantic shit.”

“Just because I look mean and scary, doesn’t mean I don’t believe in love. I was just as excited as you were to get my soulmate mark.”

“Why were you so scared to tell me?”

“My own stupidity, I guess.” Eddie shrugs. “Things never worked out long term for any of the Munsons when it comes to soulmates. My mom died young and my dad fucked off after that, not wanting to raise someone that was a living reminder of what he lost. Wayne’s died in Vietnam. I wasn’t hopeful that mine would work out when it was the most popular guy in school’s name on my arm.”

Steve holds out a hand across the center console of the car, wrist up as a reminder of whose name is written there. Eddie slides their hands together.

“I had accepted that my fate was just like all the other Munson’s before me. You were happy with Wheeler and I couldn’t bring myself to get in the way of that.”

“We weren’t happy,” Steve interjects faintly, absentmindedly rubbing a thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand. “I think somehow Nancy knew it wasn’t going to be her name on my wrist. She’s perceptive in a scary way.” What little he knows of Wheeler tells him that’s true. After a beat Steve adds, “Sounds like we both had unrealistic expectations for all of this.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, squeezing Steve’s hand. “But we’re starting over, no more King Steve or Eddie the freak Munson.”

“Just Eddie and Steve. I like the sound of that.”

“Me, too.” He’s about to ask where they’re going for the hundredth time, but Steve turns into a parking lot for what looks like a bookstore.

The building is nondescript with just a simple sign out front. Eddie is already bounding through the entrance before Steve’s turned the car off. Inside, there are walls of books, but it’s more than that. One side of the store is what appears to be a hobby shop, with puzzles, model kits of everything from boats to planes, and a whole display case of dice sets and miniatures.

Eddie’s frozen in place, just inside the doorway, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly, when he feels Steve come up behind him. “How did you find this place?”

“This kid I babysit plays Dungeons and Dragons, too. He’s the nerdiest little shit. Loves to read. Smartest person I know. He builds all kinds of robots that do stuff. His mom can’t afford to bring him out here all the time, so I started doing it. Let the kid go wild in here and he’s a happy camper. Easiest babysitting job ever.”

Eddie might climb Steve like a tree right here in the middle of this store for everyone to see. He can’t believe the words Dungeons and Dragons just came out of his mouth.

“This place is amazing. I’ve been using a secondhand set of dice from Gareth that he got from his cousin. I had no idea this place existed.”

“You wanna get a new set?” Steve nods towards the display case. “My treat.”

Eddie almost trips in his hast to sprint across the room and start going through the different sets, Steve’s laughter echoing behind him.

Part Five

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #katie writes #thank you all for being so patient #the final part tomorrow #i promise

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alimaybankkk · 1 year

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dear life

summary: your brother and best friend are presumed dead, and now you have no one. well, maybe you do.

warnings: angst mega angst sobbing bawling ripping hair out angst.

pairing: jj maybank x routledge!reader

“we… we lost them,” you heard shoupe say from your dazed state. you looked up as he stared at you and your friends. “i’m sorry.”

pope took a breath from beside you. “you lost them? what do you mean you lost them? like-like they’re gone? what are you talking about?”

shoupe sighed. “they took an open boat into a tropical depression, pope.”

“so they’re dead?” kie asked, tears filling her eyes.

shoupe looked at you, finally. john b’s little sister. the one he knew would defend his innocence with her life. “we don’t know.”

your heart fell to your feet and you almost tipped over. everyone’s voices were now a ringing in your ears, one that you wanted to cancel out.

you put your hand to your heart as your breaths grew heavier, something jj had taught you a while back. you tried to balance yourself, but you had to step away, pacing as tears fell down your cheeks.

“you drove them straight through the storm, man!” you heard jj say, motioning with his hands somewhere.

jj watched you walk away for a moment and everything snapped inside of him, grabbing shoupe’s chest. “are you kidding me? come here man, i’m gonna kill you!”

“jj, get off!” kiara called from behind you.

jj was detached from the deputy by thomas. he swung his arms, trying to get through his hold. “no, no!” and he broke through, shoving shoupe over and over again. “i’m gonna kill you! i’m going to kill you! don’t, don’t! get off!”

“he didn’t kill peterkin, you know!” pope cried, widening his eyes and silently begging shoupe for something.

“they’re still looking for him, alright?” shoupe calmly answered.

pope swung his neck back, grabbing a hold of his head. this is when tears hit is cheeks and kiara grabbed his arm gently. “pope… pope just relax.”

your chest heaved up and down as you stepped out into the rain, away from the protection of the tent. your tears were salty, mixing in with the pouring rain as you fell to your knees.

from your left you watched kiara’s parents rush in, and you walked back inside the tent to watch her hug them.

the same thing happened with pope’s parents as pope cried, “i’m so sorry.” over and over again.

but jj stood there and took off his hat aggressively and stared at the ground. you could tell by the way he looked at everyone else that he wanted someone to hold onto. hell, maybe he’d even hug his dad right now.

you walked slowly over to him, feeling the same way he did.

you first lost your mother as soon as you were born. then you lost your father a few months ago. and now, you lost your brother.

he had been all you had left, and now he was gone.

jj looked up at you with an open mouth and eyes full of tears and finally rushed to you and pulled you in for a hug. you sobbed into each other’s shoulders, whispering to each other.

“he… he didn’t do anything,” you cried, gripping jj’s neck harder.

he cried into your shoulder for a little bit before saying, “it’s not fair. they killed him!”

“and… and sarah,” you pulled away from the hug, looking into jj’s eyes. “she didn’t do anything. nothing at all. they didn’t do anything! they’re fucking innocent!”

jj pulled you back into the hug, gripping your shirt for dear life. you stayed with your arms wrapped around his neck for five minutes until you hugged kie and pope.

you sat on the porch of the chateau a week later, caressing the stone in your hand.

it was john b’s; a little project your father had you do with each other when you were little. you’d written dove, your dad’s nickname for you, and jb had written bird.

the sun shining brightly through the windows of the porch would usually be your invitation to hop on the boat or sit on the swing outside and play the ukulele or read a book, but today it was the reminder of not to do those things.

since john b’s death, you hadn’t let yourself smile or have fun or enjoy yourself. you’ve spent the whole week mourning your brother, reminiscing with old things that reminded you of him. for example, this rock.

every day you’d waken up and walked into john b’s room and pulled a shirt out of his closet, sniffing it before putting it on. jj had basically moved in, not wanting to go home and deal with his dad right now.

he was great company, actually. he would sit with you in silence and maybe hug you randomly. he would trace his hand on your thigh and tell you john b was a great person and didn’t deserve what he got.

your other friends had mostly kept to themselves, putting their brains to work to keep them from thinking about john b. pope was making deliveries daily now, and kiara was serving as a full time waitress at the wreck.

but today they all came to the chateau and stood outside, looking at you through the broken and rusty windows. kiara sighed. “she still hasn’t made any progress?”

jj shrugged. “have you gotten over john b yet? i mean, give her a break, man! that was her brother!”

kiara flinched. “okay, jeez, i’m sorry… i just.. thought she would want to come out for this.”

jj considered it and sighed. “i’ll go talk to her.”

pope and kie nodded as they watched jj disappear into the porch.

“hey,” he said, sitting next to you. “what is that?”

you dropped it and flinched as it made a clatter on the floor. “it’s just a dumbass rock.”

jj sighed. “i’m sure it’s not just a rock. what’s it say?”

you looked at him angrily, taking deep breaths. “jj, it’s just a rock. forget it.”

jj nodded and looked away. “do… um, did you.. did you want to come out with us and make that headstone or whatever?”

“what headstone?”

“we were… we were thinking about making john b a headstone. carve it into the tree. what do you think?”

you rolled your eyes and stood up off the couch. “i think it’s the dumbest idea i’ve ever heard.”

“i—come on. y/n, you know he’d love the headstone. come on, don’t you want to be a part of it?”

your head whipped around. “i don’t know, jj. but i do know that i still do not believe john b is dead. you can believe whatever you want, but i still have hope.”

jj took off his hat and sighed. “john b would love it. come on, baby.”

you looked at him in disgust at the nickname. “what?”

“y/n, we have to stick together… we both have no one. okay? so don’t just… stop.” jj cried.

you shook your head. “this isn’t about that, is it, jj?”

he looked down. “y/n… you know i love you. you’ve known forever.”

you blinked, no emotion in your face. “of course i have, j. but now is not the time. i—my brother just died. you have family, jj. whether you like it or not. i have no one.”

his eyes widened. “we—we’re your family, y/n!”

“you know what i mean.”

“yeah, i do, and i disagree.” he took a step closer to you. “blood doesn’t choose family. we do. i do.”

“jj, just go.” you cried, watching tears slip down his face. “please.”

“no, baby, please. i’m not leaving. i’m not leaving you; i would never leave you.”

you shoved his chest. “damnit, jj, leave! stop! i would never do that to my brother!”

“your brother is gone!” he yelled finally.

you blinked. “jj. get the fuck out of my house right now.”

he took a step back. “no… baby, please, ‘m sorry, i didn’t mean it.”

“go!” you yelled, sobbing. “and stop calling me that.”

“why won’t you just hold me again? i can’t go back to my dad. please, please… please.”

“jj, right now.”

he listened, i guess.

the chateau was quiet and you were sitting on john b’s bed, where you had slept for the past week. his pillows still smelt like him.

you felt guilty for your outburst with jj, but living in denial was a scary thing. it made you do things you wished you wouldn’t, like going into jj’s room and laying in his bed instead.

the sheets were still messy and imprinted like he was just here, which he was. he still had it arranged in the way he slept. it was unusual, but it was cute. he surrounded himself with pillows and stacked the bottom two, draping a blanket over himself. if you weren’t lying, it was comfortable.

you lay there in silence, breathing and syncing your breaths with the waves of the nearby water. you were startled upwards when you heard your phone ringing from beside you.

it was jj. you thought about hanging up, but something told you it wasn’t good. you answered, holding it up to your ear and waiting for him to talk.

“y/n?” he said. he was gasping for breath and you heard sobs. “i… i need you to come and get me. i’m at my house.”

you scoffed. “jj, after what you said to me, i don’t think you deserve a favor right now.”

“please,” he said quickly. “it’s my dad.”

you sighed. “okay. i’m on my way.”

you got up from the bed and threw on a random shirt you found laying on the floor and grabbed the keys to the twinkie.

shoupe had let you keep it as he knew you were close with your brother. he knew it was something you would want, and shoupe liked you, so he let you have it.

you drove full speed to jj’s, cursing but running every red light.

once you got there, you saw jj clinging onto his bike he couldn’t even mount. his short clang body was covered in gashes and bruises and you winced and looked away.

you ran up to him, helping him stand. he could hardly walk or move, but you managed to get him into the car. “what… j, i’m so sorry. damnit, this is my fault.”

“not your fault, sweet girl. just drive, take me home.”

your heart dropped to your feet when he called the chateau his home, one that you forced him out of.

you drove in silence until eventually, he broke it and said, “is that my shirt?”

“i…”

“why are you wearing my shirt?” he asked. if you didn’t know what happened to him, you would have thought he was drunk.

“i don’t know. i was in your room, and then you called and…”

“what were you doing in my room?”

you sighed. “i was laying in your bed.”

“why?”

“damnit, jj, i don’t know, okay?” you yelled, causing him to flinch. he took his hands and pressed them to his head and tears filled your eyes. “i’m… i’m sorry, j.”

he just looked away and out of the window.

my poor baby, you thought. mentally, you pinched yourself for thinking that. he was not your baby.

you instructed jj to sit on the bathroom sink. he obliged, wincing as his back hit the cold of the mirror.

“shit, j, he get your back, too?” you asked, caressing the sounds on his stomach.

“a lil. it’s ‘kay, though, i’ll just sleep it off,” he said.

you shook your head. “don’t think so. sit back down, i’ll take care of you.”

he sighed and sat back on the counter as you pulled open the drawer below him. you pulled out a spray and sprayed it over the wounds, disinfecting them one by one.

“he beat me up, and you know why?” he said randomly. you stayed quiet as he continued, “cause i came home and told him about a girl. a girl i wanted so bad, and he beat me up for getting rejected.”

you took a deep breath and wiped the wound with a paper towel before continuing to clean it.

you closed the door of kiara’s car, watching as her and pope walked separately. she grabbed his hand at last and looked him deep into his eyes. “we have to stick together, okay?”

pope nodded and whispered somegjjng incoherent before continuing to walk.

jj looked at you and grabbed your hand. “us, too.”

you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t let go. in fact, you held his hand tighter.

there, at the front of the school was a mock shrine for john b. it looked like it meant well, but it really felt different.

“i feel like… people are staring at us,” you said, looking around.

“definitely,” jj responded.

“let’s just go, guys,” kiara said and stormed into the building.

* the day went by pretty quickly, and before you knew it, it was mr. sunn’s class. of course, you weren’t paying attention, but you would rather be here than spending the day thinking about your brother.

you did that anyway.

at times where you were paying attention, though, you noticed mr. sunn had already started a lesson on the first day. and assigned homework.

twenty minutes into class, you and your friends’ phone rang. you paused, not looking at it until mr. sunn had finished his interrogation about “who’s phone was that?”

when you opened the text all together, your heart dropped.

(a/n: HAHAHAHHA THIS IS SO FUNNY SORRY)

you didn’t waste a second before running out of the classroom, jj following after. moments later, all of you were running outside. (jj tripped)

you made it outside and immediately texted back, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“hey,” pope shrieked. “what’s that for?”

“they’re impersonating my brother. what is wrong with them? that’s not okay.”

“it could be them,” jj said hopefully.

kie agreed. “i’m just gonna ask.”

kiaraa:

WTF is this you??

Unknown:

Is JJ there?

jj <3

i’m here bree.

the bubble thought, and then read,

Unknown:

did you pimp my short board?

jj laughed, and soon, everyone was giggling. you were dizzy and you had no clue what to do.

“it’s him.” you heard from around you.

you stood and wobbled a bit. the world was spinning.

your brother was alive.

everyone embraced each other into tight hugs, and you let yourself hug them, too. jj laughed and turned to you. “you were right.”

you sat at home, thinking of ways to get to charleston. jj had been chatting your ear off excitedly since the two of you got home, and you couldn’t help but wonder how this flipped the switch inside him.

“y/n,” he said loudly. you looked up at him.

“i’m listening.”

“no…. not that. now that we know your brother is alive, can we talk about it?”

you took a deep breath. “about what?”

“us.”

you sank back into the seat hesitantly. “talk away, j.”

he prepared himself and straightened up, grabbing your chin with his pointer finger and turning it so you were looking at him. “y/n, i’ve been in love with you ever since i laid eyes on you. when your brother introduced you to me when you were 6, i loved you. i was 7 and i still knew what love was, because you showed me. i… i don’t know what i would have done without you. i had no one, my whole life, but my family. but you. i love you.”

“jj…” you sighed, tears filling your eyes as you brushed the hair away from his face. “we can’t.”

“why not?”

“because, j, my brother.” you started. “how do you think he would feel if he found out his sister and his best friend thought he was dead so they started dating?”

“i think he’d understand once i talk to him,” he said, tracing circles with his thumbs on your cheeks. “i’d tell him i would never hurt you and that… i don’t know. you’re different. you’re special.”

you giggled. “if you say needs right now, i will tackle you.”

“…needs.” he chuckles as you pulled a pillow from the couch and jumped on top of him, hitting him over and over again with it. you held it to his mouth for three seconds before letting go of him.

he wrapped his arms around your waist, finally, and looked you in your eyes. he crashed into your lips with a kiss, immediately softening and turned it into a passionate one. you kissed him back, arms wrapping around his neck and trying to keep the kiss as neat as possible.

“i’ve been wanting to do that for almost ten years,” he said before pulling you in for another one.

a/n: idk how i feel ab this tbh but anyways lmk if u want a part two of them seeing jb and sarah in charleston

#jj x reader #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank #jj mayback imagine #jj obx #jj maybank x reader #obx fic #obx imagine #outerbanks #obx #outerbanks fic #outer banks

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greenerteacups · 2 months

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Hello! Firstly I want to thank you for sharing the brilliance that is Lionheart, it is truly a masterpiece and is canon now to me. All of your characterizations are incredible, Draco is of course amazing. I also adore how you write strong women. Hermione obviously but also Ginny, Fleur, and tonks are brilliant. I have to ask who is your fan cast for your characters? Does it change as they get older? Curious about Draco and Hermione but would love any info on all of them.

First, thank you for a really wonderful compliment. Second: this is a really fun question! I hope my answers aren't interpreted as definitive versions of how the characters appear in Lionheart; in fact, some of my fancasts actually look quite different from how I picture the characters in my head, because... well, nobody looks just like I picture them in my head! So I'm going to just rattle off a few people who I think would be good casts in terms of stage presence and knack for the role, in addition to looks!

I've written somewhere before about my Draco not being Hollywood Handsome, but a specific kind of inbred aristocrat WeirdHot, like a younger Skarsgård energy. A young Jamie Campbell Bower, maybe? He has the cheekbones for it. Hermione I'm much more picky about, because she canonically (for both!) is sort of plain — not necessarily because of her features, she just doesn't put effort into her appearance — and pretty much every recognizable actress I could name is going to be some order of knockout. Dixie Egerickx, maybe? With a good wig.

Ginny is a really hard role to play (and bless Bonnie Wright, she really tried, it's not her fault the script gave her peanuts). She's a jock, and she has that kind of jockish "I'm a dick but also somehow the kindest person you'll ever meet" energy that's hard to play. I could see Sadie Sink doing a great job here — her work on Stranger Things shows off that combined toughness with vulnerability really well. Fleur has an ethereal, dainty, almost unnerving beauty, very birdlike, which reminds me of Tamzin Merchant (Georgiana Darcy in Pride and Prejudice 2005, for ref.) Tonks gets to change all the time, but when Draco sees her, she's giving Bellatrix, so like — Alexandria Daddario, probably? But take down the eyes, like, 15%.

#greenteacup asks #lionheart #lionheart spoilers #just cf the thing about bellatrix #thanks!

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quizmasterfred · 4 months

Text

13 in 'The God Complex'

I saw a Reddit post a while ago asking 'what episode would you like to see a different Doctor tackle', and now it's been ages but i had some thoughts, and can't stop thinking about it, and just desperately need to write them down somewhere so here if you're seeing this: sorry, you've got to deal with my ramblings now.

This could replace ‘Legend of the Sea Devils’ wholesale. It was most people's least favourite centenary special, so hopefully we’re not losing much. OR, if you want to wrangle 4 specials in that year, it comes between ‘Eve of the Daleks’ and LotSD, which I’ll elaborate on later.

Arrival:

13 genuinely intends to follow through with “that moment on the beach where you tell me everything”, directly says as much at the end of EotD. Instead of fobbing it off with “whatever happened to the lost treasure of the Flor de la Mar”, they ARE going to San Munrohvar, which Yaz is ecstatic about.

In the OG God Complex (quick reminder: 11/Amy/Rory originally), it’s Amy’s faith in the Doctor which brings them there, and it’s the same now. Except it’s not just the generic faith of a particularly attached companion, it’s the exact specific moment of Yaz knowing she’s about to get that conversation.

Her faith is both restored, and about to be rewarded. After years of asking, and wondering, and being fobbed off, finally the Doctor is opening up. And right after Yaz’s coming out to Dan? Wow - what if!

They aren’t there because Yaz “has faith in the Doctor”, they’re there now because in the exact moment the TARDIS launched, that faith was higher and more intense that it has ever been.

Dan:

Common complaint is that Dan’s a bit of a blank slate – Diane, Liverpool, nice bloke. Fun moments, but not enough time to really develop as a character. I’m not going to make a spectacular reveal here and give him an amazing arc, but at the very least we have a chance to make that blank-slatedness really work. He takes on Rory’s role in the story:

13’s Room:

We never see 11’s room, only hear the TARDIS’ cloister bell as he looks in. The implication, of course, is that he’s afraid of dying – permanently. Trenzalore, no more regenerations. Very nice and subtle for 11’s arc/personality – the old man disguising himself as a 20-something.

13 has a very different problem: she’s the Timeless Child, she’s been alive for potentially a billion years before her memories begin, and she’s still regenerating. 11 is afraid of regenerations running out; 13 is afraid they’ll never run out.

It’s harder to convey my idea here with just a noise, not showing the inside of the room itself, so I will describe what I imagine the room to look like, but if there’s a way to do this without showing the viewer, that’d obviously be great.

Her room is a field of graves: “Susan Foreman”, “Sarah-Jane Smith”, “Alastair Lethbridge-Stewart”, “Donna Noble”, “Amy + Rory Williams” (an exact copy of the grave from ‘The Angels take Manhattan’), “Clara Oswald”, River('s Screwdriver/Neural Relay sitting on a Library server?), “Bill Potts”, “Yasmin Khan”, even one written in Gallifreyan (could be inferred to be the Master, but not directly stated). Only a brief look, but enough for someone to pause it and read a bunch of companions’ names.

Many are faded, symbolising a fear that one day she’ll be so old with so many lost loved ones, there simply won’t be room for all of them, and she’ll starting to forget their names and faces. Thousands more we can’t read, the people she’s yet to meet across all her future lives, and they will age and die all the same. In the centre, she’s still there. Alive, young, never dying. Maybe it’s not even Jodie standing there – maybe it’s Ncuti Gatwa, or some completely other actor: ‘generic future self’.

This is the moment of tragedy for her. After her own chat with Dan, the fireworks, seeing Sarah + Nick happy, she had decided to give it a try with Yaz. But seeing this room is what changes that. This is the moment she says to herself:

In OG, this happens immediately after 11 effectively invites Rita to join the crew, but maybe we can swap these around. So 13 sees this, completely psyches herself out of pursuing a relationship with Yaz, knows in her heart that her biggest fear is losing more and more and more people, but seeing Rita being a little bit brilliant again makes 13 invite her along anyway. She can’t help it – a clever little human working their way in, no matter what. Bittersweet.

Speaking of:

Rita:

Another young Muslim woman who’s a little bit brilliant and a little bit too brave? In all of time and space, it’s a bit weird for a bottle episode to have someone who, on the face of it, is basically a carbon copy of our main companion, right? We’ll see.

13 gets along with Rita just as 11 did. Maybe Dan is the butt of the ‘with regret, you’re fired’ joke. Maybe in a moment alone, Dan can crack a line to Rita that ‘she’s got a thing for clever Muslim gals’. But of course, most importantly, Rita and Yaz have a bit of bonding over their shared faith. Rita mentions ‘Jahannam’ in the OG, and we can use that to get some insight to Yaz’s faith. We know she’s practicing-enough to visit a Mosque (mentioned in Rosa), but really we get very little exploration of what Islam truly means to her throughout Chibnall’s run. Give Yaz something personal that isn’t tied to the Doctor, y’know.

Then, the phone call when Rita is about to die. Like 11, 13 tries to talk her into coming back: maybe she can save her, she really wants to save her. She can’t convince Rita, but Yaz takes the phone off of her. Two young women of the same religion have a heart-to-heart about faith and rapture and Jahannam. They both start off thinking Yaz was brought here for the same reason Rita was (and the viewer does too) – stealing their religion from them.

BUT, Rita gradually realises that isn’t true for Yaz. She realises that Yaz’s faith in the Doctor is stronger: “if you come back, the Doctor can save [you/us]”. That brief, shining moment of beauty that Yaz felt when the Doctor confirmed she would follow through on ‘tell[ing] you everything’ was so powerful, it eclipsed her religious faith. Not forever, she hasn’t become an atheist, but the novelty, the cocktail of love, and rewarded patience, and anticipation, and trust – for a tiny moment, it out-shone her other faith, and that’s why the TARDIS was pulled in by the eponymous God Complex.

Maybe Rita says it explicitly, or maybe she doesn’t. Either way, Yaz also realises what Rita has seen, but the Doctor isn’t privy to Rita’s side of the conversation (because… phone). They hang up, turn off the cameras, and Rita dies. If Yaz hadn’t let the Doctor take over her life and heart, could she have saved Rita? Did someone die because she failed as a Muslim? (Obviously the answer is no – that’s not how faith/religion works, and Rita was dead anyway because that is how the minotaur works, but the point is Yaz has a total crisis here)

As with the OG, the very next scene is the Doctor’s ‘I figured it out’ moment.

Yaz is hit with a whole fresh wave of guilt. The whole reason they’re here, the thing that killed Rita – and the Doctor agrees with that assessment (the Doctor couldn’t hear Rita, so this obviously isn’t actually the Doctor saying ‘you’re right, you got her killed’ – the Doctor would never think or say something like that – but that’s what it feels like to Yaz).

Yaz’s Room:

Now this is what’s really beautiful about the change from 11 to 13. Amy and Yaz’s rooms are the same thing. Amy’s is a little girl waiting by a window for her Raggedy Man to come back; abandoned. Yaz’s is a young woman in a basic white TARDIS console room, surrounded by sticky notes and sheets of paper, after hundreds of failed attempts to make it fly, waiting for the Doctor to come back from Gallifrey; abandoned.

[Quick side-note: the moment between Amy and Gibbis where she says ‘I thought that room was for me’ about the Weeping Angels still works for Yaz. In her only meeting with the Angels, what was the result? They took the Doctor away from her for 3 years]

11’s speech to Amy, tearing down the image of him in her head – saving her life by pretending he can’t – absolutely stunning. But 13 has even more to work with here: Amy/Rory, Clara (died because she became too much like the Doctor – hello Yaz), River. The added tragedy of breaking not just a friend, but someone who is actively in love with her and who she shares those feelings for, and the only way to save Yaz’s life is to shatter those feelings.

AND: Bill. "Remember that man who tried to kill you, Graham, and Ryan in a plane crash the instant he met you? The man who tried to kill us all on Gallifrey, and is ultimately the reason I left you, vanishing for 10 months? The man you’re most afraid of, of every villain we’ve met together? I TRIED TO HELP HIM. I put his redemption above Bill and Nardole’s safety because ‘[he’s] the only one person that I’ve ever met who’s even remotely like me’ (direct quote, btw(!) – ‘World Enough and Time’), and it got her mercilessly killed and converted. That’s the sort of person I am, and now I’m about to get you killed too."

Falling Action:

Because Yaz is a little bit brilliant, and coming into her own as “becoming like the Doctor”, like Clara did, she later works out that the speech in her room was ‘the plan all along^TM’ to get rid of the minotaur, and starts to patch herself up by telling herself that the Doctor didn’t really mean not to trust her. So Yaz presses, once again, asking for the Doctor to tell her something about herself.

The Doctor, of course, actually was being genuine, because her own room – the field of graves – scared her that much. 11 rebuffs Amy’s question, continuing with his exposition about the prison. 13 does the same to Yaz. The episode started with Yaz being elated that the Doctor would finally open up, and ends with 13 reverting back to closed-off, and refusing to answer a personal question. Because 13 saw what was in her room, and decided, against everything they both wanted 45 minutes ago, that she can’t fix herself. So back in the box it goes.

Then:

From 11’s perspective, this could be perceived as bittersweet. He’s still afraid of death, but at least there’s someone here and now commiserating with him. Maybe it would be a gift, and maybe he can accept it in time, and go to Trenzalore in peace. But for 13, it’s just bitter. 'Yes, it would be a gift – if only I could ever have it. But at least I can grant it to you.'

We can either do the beach scene now, ‘can’t fix myself’…

(and then in my ideal world, alter Power of the Doctor to give us a slightly happier end / opening up / explaining 13's hotel room / Thasmin kiss, because god knows us gays need someone to throw us a bone – but that’s not important right now, not relevant to 13!GodComplex)

Or this is where the Doctor goes ‘let’s fuck about looking for the Flor de la Mar’, cue LotSD. Again we see the contrast between her genuine intent to be honest with Yaz 45 minutes ago vs fobbing it off now. Yaz’s heart is broken for real, just after she managed to convince herself that the Doctor’s speech in the hotel room was all a trick.

I can't stop thinking about it, because Doctor Who has consumed my every waking moment for the last 2 months...

#13th doctor #yasmin khan #thasmin #11th doctor #amy pond #the god complex #eve of the daleks #legend of the sea devils #power of the doctor #doctor who

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