#remember when I said this part would be shorter than the second? it's seven words longer

[2btheanswertothequestion]

Eddie's Kissing Lesson #3: It's way more than kissing now

(Lesson 1 | Lesson 2 | AO3)

A few years ago, Eddie made a habit of driving to Indianapolis. Inevitably, he ended the trips at a club or a bar. The visits were usually solo affairs, though not always; sometimes Donnie or Zac (the only ones in Hellfire who looked old enough to get past the bouncers) or Callie (who didn't look old enough, but who could charm her way in), would tag along. If they did, they'd go to a straight club. If he was by himself, he'd roll a die between a straight or a gay one. No matter the kind, he'd be approached at least twice every night. Beautiful strangers with appreciative eyes, a drink in hand and a line ready on their lips.

Eddie would accept the drink, flirt for a second, then tell them he 'wasn't interested, but thanks anyway'.

It was half true – he was interested (fuck, was he interested), but also… not. He'd never say it out loud, but even at his horniest there was something in his way. A roadblock. Because the thing was, intimacy required, as one might suspect, intimacy. Although, one night stands walked hand in hand with alluring anonymity. Like being watched without risking being seen.

Eddie liked that, most of the time. Liked shrouding himself in a mystery. But when it came to sex, he wasn't so certain. Something instinctual told him it wouldn't be truly good unless it was real. For it to be real, walls would have to come down. Leave an unobstructed field of view for wide-open eyes. Terrifying and exhilarating; he wanted it so bad, but he couldn't (wouldn't) have it with just anyone.

It had to be special.

So, he accepted the drinks, flirted for a second, and sent the beautiful strangers on their way.

Steve writes with a rhythm. It goes tap-tap-tap-tap with the pencil on the pad while he thinks, followed by scritching, before he pauses to tap-tap-tap some more.

It's strangely endearing, not to mention relaxing. You'd expect a guy like him to be rough, leave imprints on the papers underneath and constantly break the point, but no. His large hand is soft as it writes. Eddie could fall asleep to it. A shame they're too busy to sleep.

Star Trek IV came out a week ago and the kids, Dustin especially, have been obsessed ever since. The moment they stepped out of the theater, the little twerp turned to Eddie and begged for a science fiction-themed campaign. And because he's a chump who can't say no to the kids nowadays, Eddie agreed – to a one-shot, not an entire campaign.

(Also, he's already been crafting a solar system for a potential space exploration-campaign on the down low. Why not finish and use it?)

And because Eddie Munson doesn't do half-measures in these circumstances, he spent the next week worldbuilding and polishing his new universe. At one point, as he put the finishing touches on the water planet's cuisine, Steve peeked over his shoulder and asked about sports. Eyebrow raised, Eddie said 'what about sports'. And that's when Steve snottily pointed out that Eddie had developed everything about these space cultures except for the sports, which didn't make any sense – sports was a huge part of every culture, whether Eddie liked it or not.

So! Because Eddie Munson does not do half-measures… he's currently creating extraterrestrial sports games in Steve's kitchen. Although, right now Steve's doing most of the work. After Eddie came up with the base concepts, Steve stepped in to use earth sports as inspiration for the technical aspects: rules, scoring, player positions, player numbers, playing fields, seasons (which ties in with the climate of each planet), and so on.

If he's being honest, he'll never use most of this. God knows the kids (except maybe Lucas, but he wouldn't bring it up) wouldn't notice or care about the absence of sports. But. Turn down an opportunity to hang out with Steve? Never. Also, deciding how much of real baseball should inspire their thinly veiled version of space baseball (spaceball) is kind of fun? What's a penalty and what isn't is just exciting when you throw anti-gravity into the mix.

Most importantly, it's nice seeing Steve be in his element. Dude is so fucking knowledgeable about this. Hearing him say that this will score x points because of that reason, confidence dripping from every syllable, has Eddie's tailbone tingling.

Would it be rude to swipe their notes off the island and jump onto it, offering himself like a buffet?

He knows he's allowed. Or, he knows that Steve wouldn't mind if he asked for a break, even if it was to make out. They've made a habit of sucking face when it's just them and there's nothing else to do (or when there are things to do, but they're easily ignored). Question is if he truly wants to interrupt those soothing pencil scritches and put an end to Steve's surprisingly sexy thinking face. He's got a little furrow between his eyebrows while chewing on his bottom lip, and every so often he'll mutter hoarsely under his breath. The fact that he's being so serious about doing this for the campaign, for the kids, for Eddie, is…

'Unreal' is what Eddie would've said nine months ago. Now he knows it's entirely in character. It's still noteworthy enough for him to memorize every detail of this moment. The King creating nerdy sports with the Freak is a picture that must be immortalized.

He doesn't realize how hard he's been staring until Steve looks up from their work, raising his brows in a silent 'what is it?'

Eddie shakes his head, warmth creeping over his cheeks. He pushes off the kitchen island and turns away to hide it. The sink is conveniently right there, so he grabs a glass out of the cupboard and fills it as excuse.

Behind him, the pencil hits the pad, rolling across the paper. Steve's footsteps are deliberately loud, telegraphing his advance over the surge of running water. Eddie fills the glass, drinks it in one gulp, and puts it on the counter. When he turns, heart thudding, Steve is standing inches in front of him. Steve leans forward, bracing his hands against the counter on either side of Eddie's waist. Boxing him in, but not trapping him.

"Did you want something?" Steve asks.

Eddie crosses his arms casually and shrugs. "Not really."

"Huh. It seemed like you wanted something."

"I was admiring your dedication to the campaign. It warms even this barren heart that you'll partake in nerdestry for the sake of the children."

"Oh, okay," Steve says and doesn't move; his hands remain on the counter and his face stays inches away. His eyes shine like suns, hot and intense. Eddie meets his gaze, face schooled into something calm. At least, he hopes – years of DMing have taught him how to regulate his expressions, but there's a big difference between DnD and this.

"Did you want something?" he asks to fill the silence and – yes! – his voice didn't tremble.

Steve grins. "Now that you say it, I did."

And with that, Steve kisses him.

The initial second, Eddie's brain shuts off, as it always does. It's simply too much too fast and all he can register is Steve Steve Steve. His taste, his scent, his firmness as he presses against Eddie and backs him into the kitchen cupboards.

But only the initial second. After that, he's back on, and that means he's on. Loping his arms around Steve's neck, Eddie tilts his head at the perfect angle until their mouths fit together just so and licks the inside of Steve's mouth. His hands delve into product-stiff locks and tug the way Steve likes it. Steve moans, slumping against Eddie. Eddie giggles into the kiss. He fucking loves knowing Steve better than his own back pocket, loves coaxing these reactions out of him, loves when he melts and leans his weight on Eddie.

It could be better only if they were horizontal and on a bed, or couch, or the fucking floor, and he'd get to feel the hair on Steve's chest and legs, the jut of his hipbone, and his evenly distributed weight. He so badly wants to know how heavy Steve is. He wants to be fucking crushed underneath him.

Maybe he could if he asked. Or maybe that'd be too much. The only time they've gone past second base is during the spontaneous blowjob he still can't fathom happened. Since then, their hands and mouths have stayed strictly above the waist. Eddie, though he's dying to blow Steve, is not going to complain or rush. Steve's the teacher here; he decides the curriculum.

All Eddie can do is show off the results of his rigorous practice. Today, it's by slotting their faces together like a pro and perfectly executing that tongue-sucking move Steve seems to love having done to him as much as he loves doing it to others. It brings a guttural noise out of Steve; he grabs Eddie's ass with both hands and yanks him closer. Eddie nearly loses his balance and must cling to Steve's neck to stay upright. Laughter rumbles within Steve's chest as he steadies him and rolls their hips together. The neck of his shirt bunches in Eddie's vice-like grip. They're as close as during that first kiss, no room for Jesus' finest hair between them. Eddie feels Steve's heartbeat, which means Steve can feel his, and the combined thud-thud-thuddings have his knees shaking.

Steve's hands round Eddie's hips and tug at his belt buckle. Eddie jerks back, breaking the kiss; a string of saliva still connects their mouths. Steve's eyes are enormous, more black than hazel. There's a question in them, a plea for permission.

Eddie nods and doesn't look as Steve opens Eddie's jeans and pushes them down his thighs. His face is on fucking fire. You could fry eggs on his cheeks. Which is a little debilitating. This is never how it goes in his fantasies – he's a lot suaver in those. Quicker on the ball, so to speak. On top of things, one could even say. But not here. Because here's an unfortunate fact about sex:

It's embarrassing.

Exciting and sexy and fun, obviously. But also embarrassing. It was the same during the blowie. The moment his pants were coming off and his dick popped out, Eddie was more inclined to run away than anything else. Hopefully, the feeling will fade as he gets used to it. These hopes are supported by how at ease Steve is, going from de-pantsing Eddie to unbuttoning his own jeans like it's nothing, second nature.

Eddie couldn't look away from that if he wanted to. Why would he want to? Steve's dick is a sight to behold. It's the eighth wonder of the world. Worthy of worship, of a dozen temples and daily sacrifices. It's long and thick, smooth and symmetrical, flushed at the tip and with a bead of precome already pooling in the slit.

It's pretty. And it's hard. It's hard for Eddie.

"Hey." Steve cups Eddie's face, tilting his head up (as well as bringing to his attention that his mouth's been hanging open like a fool; Eddie's teeth clack when he shuts it). "Is this okay?"

Eddie nods, breathing harshly through his nose. "Okay. So okay."

Steve smiles like Eddie just did him a favor. Eddie could – would – analyze that a little closer, except Steve lines up their cocks so that they rest against the broad expanse of his palm, rest against each other, and-

That's another guy's hand on Eddie's dick. It's another guy's dick on his dick. Steve's. Steve Harrington's dick. Next to Eddie’s.

Hoooooooooly shit.

It's happening right in front of him, and he's still having a hard time believing it. But it's real; it has to be real. Imaginarily gifted as he might be, not even he could daydream this into existence. Like, the way Steve's fingers curve around their cocks as he squeezes and strokes? The scratchy calluses on his fingertips? The ever-present chill of the Harrington mansion? How Eddie's testes keep catching on Steve's shaft, rising and rubbing against the dry skin? Steve's softly labored breaths? The edge of the fucking countertop digging into Eddie's lower back?

That's real. Uncomfortably and amazingly real.

Steve pauses to spit in his palm; Eddie whimpers out loud. When Steve resumes stroking it's just amazing, the glide so much easier now. It lets him go faster, put his hips into it and grind their pelvises together. Eddie keeps whimpering, these shamefully squeaky little ah-ah-ahs that he tries to swallow until Steve moans, hotly against the shell of his ear, that he sounds so pretty and sexy and "fuuuuuck, Eddie, wanna hear you like this every day."

He stops holding back then. Gets even louder when Steve noses along his jaw and sucks what'll surely become a mark at the underside of it.

The saliva has rubbed off but the glide is only improving, thanks to the precome dripping everywhere. Both are leaking, but Eddie especially – he's so fucking close. He tries to say it, but his skull is full of cotton and he can't form the words.

Steve must have some sixth orgasm sense, though, because he presses his lips to the scar on Eddie's cheek and mumbles, "So good, baby, you're doing so good, so perfect, wanna hear you come, wanna see your face, looked so pretty last time, almost made me cream my pants-"

Eddie screams. Head tossing back, lungs bursting, as he slouches against the counter. Most of all he'd like to sag to the floor and nap for an hour, he's that spent. But he can't – Steve hasn't come yet, and there's no way he'll go without again.

"Steve," he says. "Whaddya wan' m' to… C'n I…?"

The syllables slur together; he takes Steve's dick in his hand while licking his lips, hoping the point comes across. He just wants to make him come. 'How' doesn’t matter, as long as he's the one doing it.

Steve, thankfully understanding, puts Eddie's other hand on his cock, molding them tightly around the shaft, and rocks back and forth. Eddie almost whines a little since… well, he honestly has never before been so keen on having a cock in his mouth. Like, Steve towering over him, holding his head in place while fucking his throat? Yes and please, Jesus Christ, amen!

But this image is also pretty good: Steve's face inches away, pink with exertion and arousal, fringe plastered to his forehead, mouth kissed raw, and him thrusting wildly into Eddie's closed fists. Eddie's gaze darts between it and the throbbing cock in his hands. It's the second he's ever touched, after his own. It's a bit like jerking himself off, except a million times better, despite the kinda awkward angle.

Steve makes a noise, reedy and desperate. Eddie's eyes snap up just in time to see the climax wash over him, his mouth dropping into a perfect 'o' and his half-closed eyelids fluttering in pleasure. Ridiculous, beautiful, intoxicating; Eddie could become addicted to it.

Sighing, Steve lumbers forward to flop his head into the crook of Eddie's neck. Eddie drapes his arms over Steve's shoulders, probably smearing body fluids on his shirt. Neither says anything – they simply hold each other and breathe.

It's been a while since Eddie last was in Indianapolis. Been even longer since he visited a club. After some time, rejecting willing strangers and going home with bluer and bluer balls, no one to blame but his own fucking hangups, got old. Why waste the gas when he could just as well be getting no dates and not laid in Hawkins instead?

Except here he is, sweat sticking his shirt to his skin, hair frizzing around his ears, come drying under his nails. Standing with his dick hanging out in Steve Harrington's kitchen, with Steve Harrington in his arms.

He's sure he could've gotten this exact experience in a gay club bathroom years ago.

"Rather unhygienic doing this in the kitchen, hmm?" Eddie says.

Steve grunts, grossed out, but shrugs a shoulder. "I'll disinfect it."

Eddie giggles, and so does Steve, rubbing circles over the scar tissue on Eddie's hips. Burrows farther into Eddie's neck and makes no indication he'll move anytime soon.

Yeah, Eddie could've had this in a club. But he couldn't have had it with Steve in a club. Couldn't have felt this swoop in his stomach, like he's at the top of a roller-coaster, anywhere but here. Couldn't have felt this special.

You're ruining me, he thinks as he pets Steve's head.

Do you know that? he wonders when Steve ducks away, griping about what a pain it is to get semen out of hair. Squinting, Eddie asks how he figures. Steve blushes and laughs and doesn't reply, eyes glittering.

Can you see it?

------------------------------

Not tagging anyone except @piratefishmama because she's the reason this exists in the first place. Also, I'm pretty sure she's even more excited about this than I am, so. Here you go, girl. I hope you enjoy this very late continuation.

#remember when I said this part would be shorter than the second? it's seven words longer #I'll just never say anything ever again if it's ok with you #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic: lesson/plan #my writing

[robinswrld]

Don’t Go Breaking My Heart, L. Sinclair.

# summary: when a snarky red-head comes along, you begin to reflect on your past with the party and a certain sinclair in a sequence of events before, during, and after the appearance of max mayfield. # pairings: lucas sinclair x fem!reader. # warnings: cussing, bittersweet/sad ending, angst angst, unrequited love, the ‘80s, lucas kinda leads the reader on :/ # word count: 2.1k

💭cara’s thoughts: okay first, sorry for kinda totally dropping off the earth! i wrote this like two months ago but i never finished it. but now it is! anyways, some parts are significantly shorter than others! that’s what i’d like to call cara losing her motivation $$ i don’t know why i keep putting myself through writing angst. it kills me but idc!! enjoy <3

FEBRUARY 13, 1982. SOMEWHERE IN HAWKINS, INDIANA.

it was probably around seven in the morning when your house’s landline began the shrill shrieking that woke you from your sleep. lucas had deemed the day, the coldest of the year so far, perfectly suitable for broke person’s ice skating.

unfortunately, while you were preparing, your eleven year old self had neglected that fact that your friend-turned-crush hadn’t mentioned any of your other friends. as usual, you assumed dustin, will, and begrudgingly mike would join you for such occasion.

broke person’s ice-skating was a term you and will came up with back when nancy and jonathan used to take your group to a place called lover’s lake when it was frozen over.

mike and nancy wheeler both possessed a pair of ice skates, nice ice skates. the rest of you, somehow didn’t. however, jonathan byers claimed you didn’t need ice skates to ice skate, earning the confused glances of five other children, including yourself.

the older boy simply covered his huge boots in a plastic bag he stole from his mother’s work and stepped out onto the smooth ice.

it was ridiculous.

while, you and will laughed at him for a good twenty-five minutes before deciding to join him, dustin was the first to accept his own bag. lucas followed almost instantly.

you remember briefly the two slipping the second they rested their feet on the cold surface.

you and will had laughed harder.

that day though, when you arrived at the lake lucas had told you about over the phone, the only person you saw was him.

shit.

he didn’t even seem phased when your head swiveled around the area, trying to catch any sight of your other friends.

his dark eyes glistened pridefully under the rays of the morning sun and he seemed to be sitting on top of cloud nine. or ten, or whatever it was. you wondered what he could possibly be planning as he grabbed your hand and pulled you to the singular bench that sat upon the shoreline.

then, you remembered what nancy had said about boys during this month.

as an eleven year old, who didn’t know a single thing about dating boys or girls, kissing, and all that other gross stuff, you didn’t quite comprehend the meaning of her words.

“if you’re really lucky, some boys will go out of they’re way to make you feel special.”

unwarranted hope rose in your chest at the thought lucas dragging you somewhere to ask you out on a date.

nancy went on dates, jonathan sometimes went on dates, your parents went on dates, you could too, right?

it was the absurd and childish words that passed through your head that made your palms begin to sweat. even when standing in the freezing cold, lucas sinclair somehow made your skin grow warm.

a silly crush, mike would have labeled it as. and maybe he was right, but in that moment by the lake, the day before valentine’s day, you swore to whoever was in the skies that you had fallen in love with your friend.

SEPTEMBER 21, 1983. WHEELER RESIDENCE.

your skin was itchy. unbelievably itchy.

so itchy, in fact, that you were distracted long enough to run face-first into the post my mike’s stairwell.

“what are you doing?”

holding your forehead in your hands, you pivoted around to face the boy in question. his usually styled bowl-shaped hair was disheveled in all the ways it could be after a twelve hour long d&d campaign.

most of your friends were long gone.

will was picked up by his brother and dustin had bid you a goodbye before racing out the door to his bike.

the only three that remained was mike, lucas, and yourself.

the entire party could sense the shift in the wheeler’s attitude after eleven’s death. he had gained a moody sneer, cracked far less jokes, and practically attacked anyone who mentioned those changes.

will was first.

but that didn’t matter right now, because you were next.

the excuse of your itchiness flowed out of your mouth along with more relentless pacing, but it seemed mike wasn’t having it.

“could you sit down?” he said, his words underlined with blatant disinterest. “you’re annoying me.”

you understood where he was coming from. eleven was your friend too. he was simply upset. blaming himself for what happened not to long ago.

so, you did as he said, and sat yourself on the musty basement couch. the boy next to you, your best friend, seemed just as agitated. however, his wasn’t pointed at you.

“could you stop being such an asshole?”

a gasp tumbled past your lips before you could stop it. lucas had never really talked back to mike after the whole “she’s a weirdo” incident.

“you’re acting like you’re the only one who lost her.” he reasoned. “i get she was your first girlfriend, or whatever, but she was our friend too.”

mike scoffed, his back turning to face you.

“i’m serious, man. you’ve been acting like steve harrington for the past two weeks! we were having fun half an hour ago!”

the smaller boy didn’t reply.

“did you even hear yourself when you snapped at will the other day? he just got back, man.”

this time, mike turned again and sat himself in-between you. what shocked you most was when he stuck both of his hands out in your’s and lucas’ direction.

he grumbled unintelligibly under his breath.

“what?”

his face contorted in mockery, “i drew first blood.”

you spared a glance at lucas, only to find him beaming at his friend.

“��s alright, mike.”

“learned your lesson, huh, mike?”

just like the first time at the lake, you swore again to the people above, you wouldn’t stop loving lucas sinclair until your heart stopped beating.

OCTOBER 31, 1984. HAWKINS MIDDLE SCHOOL.

you were sick to your stomach the very second your gaze fell upon her. max.

she was gorgeous. fiery red hair with the brightest eyes you’d ever seen. her skin was pale, but it held some kind of sunlight glow that complemented the light freckles that dusted her cheeks.

lucas liked her, you could tell. dustin liked her, you could tell. mike didn’t like her, you could tell. will maybe liked her? you weren’t sure.

it didn’t stop you from sitting in your room and wondering what she had that you didn’t. maybe it was the californian roots. you weren’t from california, you would never be from california.

however, you knew that lucas and dustin didn’t like max because of where she was from. the red-head could just as well have been from hawkins or some other rundown town in shitty indiana, they wouldn’t care.

they liked her because she was max.

you couldn’t be max.

her laugh sounded way different than yours. her smile was beautiful. she looked really pretty in a dress too. you couldn’t blame them. she was gorgeous.

you couldn’t hate her just because she was max. she was good. and she’s be good for either of them.

MAY 26, 1985. HENDERSON RESIDENCE.

nowadays, you spent your time with will. being the only two not in a relationship in the group pushed you both to the side. at least you were there together?

you both laughed at dustin’s stupid recommendation to “give it a shot!”

there were so many reasons that wouldn’t work.

reason a; you were still madly in love with lucas and you couldn’t just push that aside like a sugar packet.

reason b; will took his time to explain to you the meaning of homosexuality. which he dubbed, he was. he liked boys!

reason c; will was your fucking friend! you didn’t have a crush on him, and he didn’t have a crush on you. easy peasy!

while dustin was sure you liked each other because of your denial, you slapped will’s arm as you were bent over in hysterics. he was equally as a mess, tears falling from his eyes.

“yeah right!” he’d phrased through harsh wheezing. “okay dustin!”

now that you think of it, that’s the first time you’d seen will laugh like that in a long time. for some reason, even if it meant your unfortunate demise, you’d stay single for the rest of your life if it made will smile that way.

MARCH 24, 1986. WHEELER’S RESIDENCE.

this was the first time you realized you weren’t okay. the first time you realized just how much your hands shook. first time you realized the way your stomach churned painfully even when lucas and max weren’t in sight.

you weren’t okay.

lucas always seemed to make it worse.

for the first time in two days, you sat alone on mike’s front porch, simply listening quietly to your thoughts. the door creaked open behind you but you paid it no mind.

you weren’t okay.

lucas made it worse.

“hey.”

you didn’t acknowledge him. you were tired of hiding everything. sick of being alone because it felt as though you were mentally cheating on a mirage of lucas sinclair.

you weren’t okay.

and lucas made it worse.

“do you remember halloween in 8th grade?”

of course i do, you wanted to say, i would never forget.

you chose silence as your answer. you were so tired of pretending you were fine. you weren’t okay and lucas made it worse.

“do you remember what you said?”

how could i forget? i embarrassed myself.

“you said i was your best friend and that you loved me more than dustin and mike.” his words quieted near the end as if he was afraid to say them.

you said i was your best friend and that you’d always be with me, your conscious says, and then you left and ran up to max, i remember.

“i was an idiot, wasn’t i?”

yes, you wanna say so badly, yes you’re still an idiot. you’re so stupid it hurts me. you’re an idiot.

“you loved me.” he says in disbelief, “that’s crazy.”

i love you.

“what?”

you said it out loud. oh well, you shrug. what’s the worse that can happen? you lose a friend, he doesn’t love you back, he shames you — you didn’t think any of that irrelevant bullshit bothered you anymore.

you weren’t okay.

“present tense love?”

you shrug again.

“come on, give me some answers here.”

your head lulled against the cool brick wall to your left as a light sigh was finally released from your mouth. “yeah.”

lucas’ eyebrows furrowed together painfully, “yeah? yeah to what?”

“present tense.”

“you-you love me?” his throat was clogged. he couldn’t breathe. the world stopped.

“yeah.”

his throat was clogged. he couldn’t breathe. the world stopped. if he coughed, he’d bleed. if he inhaled, he’d choke. his throat was clogged. he couldn’t breathe. the world stopped.

“shit, man.”

“don’t worry,” you went with. you wouldn’t be the person to get in between a wounded relationship, whether it was an active relationship or not. “i get it. you love max, you love her a lot.”

it was lucas’ turn to sigh. “i do, but i love you too. just..”

“in a friendly way?”

“yeah.”

you laughed. the nails on chalkboard sound hurt his ears. it had never sounded like that before, so why now?

“i think i’m gonna go home.”

“what?”

“i’m gonna go home, lucas.”

“okay.”

you hoped this was him finally letting you go. giving you a freedom you craved after three years of yearning.

you stood steadily, not allowing the bare-ness of your arms phase you. you began following the small staircase down to the rough pavement, your mind ignoring the consequences of your actions.

you didn’t care anyways.

and it seemed lucas didn’t either. he didn’t bother to remind you that a inter-dimensional wizard was out on the loose, killing teenagers with boat loads of trauma.

whatever, you thought. you were tired of pretending you were fine. you weren’t okay and that was alright.

“hey!”

turning around, lucas trailing down your similar path with his jacket folded over his forearm. the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes were visible, yet you didn’t comment on them. “take it, can’t have you catching a cold.”

“thanks, lucas.”

“be careful.” i’m sorry, he means.

“i always am.” it’s okay, you mean.

#lucas sinclair x reader #lucas sinclair #stranger things x reader #stranger things #lucas sinclair angst #stranger things angst #gn!reader #robinswrld!

[ninjadeathblade]

Moulin Rouge Discotrain AU (part seven)

Summary: (Post-game canon) The Conductor and DJ Grooves agree to finally work on a movie together. They come up with 'Moulin Rouge', a musical drama filled with romance. Over time the two directors grow closer and discover that maybe they don't hate each other as much.

Beginning | Previous | Next

Word count: 1,285 (shorter than I thought but who cares)

Warnings: None

Author's notes: Cinema chapter! Literally only Conductor and Grooves are named characters this chapter. Next chapter we have a little more Owlice. But yeah, enjoy the boys at the cinema!

"Two large portions of popcorn please," Conductor requested before turning back to look at Grooves.

"You want anythin' else?"

"Um, maybe a bottle of water." Grooves shrugged, looking around the cinema.

"And two bottles of water please," Conductor added, turning back to the vendor.

The vendor nodded, taking a minute to get the things together.

"I cannae believe these tickets have the added charges of food and drinks prepaid. How much did it cost you?" Conductor asked.

"Not much. Besides, you seemed down. And I wanted to help," Grooves admitted.

Conductor let out a huff of amusement as the vendor arrived back with their things.

"Enjoy the movie marathon! There are five minute breaks between each movie and those tickets allow as many snacks and drinks as you and your companion would like," the vendor explained.

"Thanks lad," Conductor responded, balancing the bottles and popcorn buckets in his arms.

"Want a hand with those?" Grooves offered, moving towards Conductor.

The owl shifted the food and drinks in his arms, looking up at the penguin.

"It's fine. But can you direct me? I can't see that well," Conductor replied.

Grooves laughed quietly and picked up a bottle of water and some popcorn anyway.

"We're working together, remember? Let me help," Grooves said, smiling down at him.

Conductor returned the smile, pushing open the door to their cinema room.

"This place is empty, you'd think no one else had been allowed to book," Conductor joked, scanning the room before looking back at Grooves.

Grooves made a face and shrugged slightly.

Conductor stared at him, blinking a few times as he pieced everything together.

"You didn't."

"Well-"

"You hired out the whole cinema room just for me?!"

"I asked around the Express Owls and they said you didn't like when you had to share a cinema with other people! It's not my fault!" Grooves protested, his face a portrait of guilt.

"You pecking idiot," Conductor muttered, not meeting Grooves' eye as he walked over and sat down in a chair.

The lights dimmed and the first movie began to roll.

"So are you mad?" Grooves quietly questioned, sitting down next to him.

Conductor tore his gaze away from the first ever winner of the Annual Bird Movie Award, looking at his co-director.

"I cannae be that mad. I mean, I love these movies," Conductor whispered, looking back at the screen.

"But you shouldn't have done all this for me."

Silence stretched between the two of them as the opening credits finished, launching into the first scene of the movie.

"It's what friends do for each other."

Conductor almost missed Grooves' words.

Conductor looked back over at him, chest growing warm.

He moved his hand over to Grooves', holding onto his flipper.

"You peck neck."

"Yeah, you're nice too."Grooves looked over at him and the two smiled at each other.

"You're a great director," Grooves complimented.

"Shut up and watch the movie," Conductor giggled, resting his head on Grooves' shoulder.

"Those movies were brilliant!" Grooves cheered, pushing open the doors to the lobby.

A couple members of staff looked over at the two birds before returning to their business.

"I told yer! They're amazing!" Conductor replied at an equal volume.

After the second movie the two of them had found out about the cinema's minibar and decided that they could have a few drinks due to the free refreshments.

A few per movie. And there had been three more movies.

"What should we do now?" Grooves asked, holding onto Conductor's hand.

The owl's face screwed up before he gasped. "We should write another love song!"

"But you hate the love songs I write," Grooves frowned as both of them walked outside.

Conductor shivered, feathers puffing up as he pulled his coat tighter around him.

"No I don't. I actually really like yer songs. But how aren't you freezing?!" Conductor hopped up and down slightly, trying to stay warm.

"The moon is really cold," Grooves said.

"Here, take my jacket." The penguin took off his red jacket, draping it around his partner's shoulder.

The owl pulled it tighter around himself, frowning as the baggy fabric touched the floor.

"Why is it so big?"

"Because it still needs to look the right size when I'm wearing my platform shoes," Grooves replied.

"Anyway, are we gonna write this love song or not?"

"Course we pecking are! We're amazing!" Conductor answered loudly.

"We're the greatest directors ever!" Grooves shouted, spinning around a lamp post.

"Actually, the director who won Annual Bird Movie Awards five, seven, and twenty one was the greatest director ever, he was declared as it," Conductor stated.

"Oh."

"Tied for second greatest directors ever! Conductor and Grooves!" Conductor yelled happily, grabbing onto the penguin's arm as he swayed slightly

"How come you get to go first?" Grooves asked, looking down at his friend.

"Because I've won more awards." Conductor said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Let's go write that song!" Grooves began walking, dragging Conductor along with him."

"Yeah!" Conductor agreed before pausing.

"Wait! Wait, wait, wait!" Grooves looked down at his companion.

"What?"

"Yer drunk," Conductor deadpanned.

"So are you."

"No, I'm not. If I were drunk you'd know it," Conductor explained. "But I still don't trust myself to get us back to the studio."

"Well then, let's go back to my place. My apartment's only a block or two away," Grooves suggested.

"I didn't know you had an apartment near here."

Conductor blinked up at the penguin, tugging his friend's coat tighter around himself.

"You never asked."

"Well then, I'll take you back to yours then I'll head to either the Express or the studio," Conductor responded, putting his hands into the pockets of Grooves' coat.

"D'you want your coat back?"

"No, you can hold onto it for now. Just give it back to me tomorrow," Grooves decided. "And you could always stay over tonight. It's already early morning."

"No. I'll head back."

"It's fine, really."

"You already treated me to the cinema, no need for anythin' else."

"Fine."

"Fine."

Most of the walk to Grooves' apartment was spent in silence until just before they reached the door.

"I think I'm gonna collapse from tiredness. Keep talking to me so I stay awake," Grooves instructed, fumbling with his keys.

"About what?" Conductor asked.

"Anything. Everything."

Conductor took a deep breath. "Okay then."

He wasn't sure what came over him but he plunged into a nervous rant as he followed Grooves.

"I'm worried about making the movie. I'm worried about findin' good actors. I'm worried about the fact that I'm making another romance. I'm worried about working with you. I'm worried that we'll never find the leads. I'm worried that I'll never be good enough for this. I'm worried that I won't be creative enough, that I'll never succeed again-"

"Stop being so worried," Grooves interrupted, turning to Conductor and holding the owl's head in his flippers.

"Look at me. You are an amazing director. Your films are brilliant and way better than mine. You have earned every single one of those awards you've gotten. You are one of the best people I've ever met. I am so glad to be working with you. Don't discredit yourself," Grooves affirmed.

"Oh." Conductor wasn't really sure what else to say.

"Anyway, I'm gonna pass out on the sofa darling. See you tomorrow." Grooves yawned, letting go of Conductor and walking the short distance to the sofa before lying down.

"Should I leave your coat here too?" Conductor asked from the doorway.

"Keep it. I'll have it back tomorrow. You'll freeze otherwise," Grooves said tiredly.

"Okay. Night Grooves."

"Night Connie."

"Don't call me that."

#ahit #a hat in time #ahit moulin rouge au #a hat in time moulin rouge au #ahit au #a hat in time au #discotrain #a hat in time the conductor #the conductor #conductor ahit #dj grooves #ahit conductor #ahit dj grooves #discotrain moulin rouge au

[elegantwoes]

The clans have grown bolder since Lord Jon died,” Ser Donnel said. He was a stocky youth of twenty years, earnest and homely, with a wide nose and a shock of thick brown hair. '

The chapter starts off with us being reminded of the Vale knights and Mountain Clan conflict and how the tension between them is growing.

She liked that less well. Without Bronn she would never have reached the Vale, she knew; the sellsword was as fierce a fighter as she had ever seen, and his sword had helped cut them through to safety. Yet for all that, Catelyn misliked the man. Courage he had, and strength, but there was no kindness in him, and little loyalty.'

Catelyn’s wisdom is visible in this part. Competence is a good thing in a person, but more often than not moral compass and integrity is more important. What use is skill if you cannot use it for good?

'She says yes, provided she finds a man who suits her,” Brynden Tully said, “but she has already rejected Lord Nestor and a dozen other suitable men. She swears that this time she will choose her lord husband.'

I almost want to say something but I will keep my mouth shut.. for now.

'Tyrion Lannister glanced up doubtfully. “And beyond that?” Brynden smiled. “Beyond that, the path is too steep even for mules. We ascend on foot the rest of the way. Or perchance you’d prefer to ride a basket. The Eyrie clings to the mountain directly above Sky, and in its cellars are six great winches with long iron chains to draw supplies up from below. If you prefer, my lord of Lannister, I can arrange for you to ride up with the bread and beer and apples.'

Brynden is ruthless. It seems like sharp wit is a Tully trait. #Tullysforthewin

'My brother is undoubtedly arrogant,” Tyrion Lannister replied. “My father is the soul of avarice, and my sweet sister Cersei lusts for power with every waking breath. I, however, am innocent as a little lamb. Shall I bleat for you?” He grinned.'

I can give credit when it’s due. Tyrion is actually funny here.

'It did not please her; it was an effort for Catelyn to keep the smile on her face. Stone was a bastard’s name in the Vale, as Snow was in the north, and Flowers in Highgarden; in each of the Seven Kingdoms, custom had fashioned a surname for children born with no names of their own. Catelyn had nothing against this girl, but suddenly she could not help but think of Ned’s bastard on the Wall, and the thought made her angry and guilty, both at once. She struggled to find words for a reply.'

Call my crazy but I always interpreted this part as Catelyn remembering what she said to Jon in his second chapter and her feeling guilty at her outburst.

'She remembered what her uncle had said of baskets and winches. “The Lannisters may have their pride,” she told Mya, “but the Tullys are born with better sense. I have ridden all day and the best part of a night. Tell them to lower a basket. I shall ride with the turnips.'

And it’s because of this why the Tullys will survive but the Lannisters will not. Again #Tullysforthewin

'It had been five years, in truth; five cruel years, for Lysa. They had taken their toll. Her sister was two years the younger, yet she looked older now. Shorter than Catelyn, Lysa had grown thick of body, pale and puffy of face. She had the blue eyes of the Tullys, but hers were pale and watery, never still. Her small mouth had turned petulant. As Catelyn held her, she remembered the slender, high-breasted girl who’d waited beside her that day in the sept at Riverrun. How lovely and full of hope she had been. All that remained of her sister’s beauty was the great fall of thick auburn hair that cascaded to her waist.'

I don’t really like how Lysa is described in here. George RR Martin’s contempt for her is too strong in this passage.

'My quarrels?” Catelyn could scarce believe what she was hearing. A great fire burned in the hearth, but there was no trace of warmth in Lysa’s voice. “They were your quarrels first, sister. It was you who sent me that cursed letter, you who wrote that the Lannisters had murdered your husband.'

Catelyn’s outrage is so obvious in here. If there was one picture that could sum up her mental state right now then it’s this.

'Quiet!” Lysa snapped at her. “You’re scaring the boy.” Little Robert took a quick peek over his shoulder at Catelyn and began to tremble. His doll fell to the rushes, and he pressed himself against his mother. “Don’t be afraid, my sweet baby,” Lysa whispered. “Mother’s here, nothing will hurt you.” She opened her robe and drew out a pale, heavy breast, tipped with red. The boy grabbed for it eagerly, buried his face against her chest, and began to suck. Lysa stroked his hair.'

The way Lysa coddles Sweetrobin is unsettling to say the least.

'Even if they could bring an army through the mountains and past the Bloody Gate, the Eyrie is impregnable. You saw for yourself. No enemy could ever reach us up here.'

If you consider how many times this line is uttered throughout the book series you know it will be disproven at some point. Will it happen in the form of the mountain clans invading, or worse, in the form of a dragon?

'Catelyn wanted to slap her. Uncle Brynden had tried to warn her, she realized.'

Catelyn is really funny when her temper flares up.

''Make him fly,” Robert said eagerly.' Lysa stroked her son’s hair. “Perhaps we will,” she murmured. “Perhaps that is just what we will do.'

Don’t make false promises you can’t keep, Lysa. A woman like me will be disappointed.

Next chapter we are at our reluctant detective: Ned Stark.

#asoiaf reread project #agot reread #Catelyn Stark #Lysa Tully

[avocado-frog]

Forget-me-not. 24

Chapter rating: T Chapter warnings: Child abandonment in the first part, implied unalive Chapter title: 3/12/2019--3/13/2019 Word count: 2500 Summary: Dylan backstory because I love and appreciate them with all of my soul. The kids are fighting. Elliot does the number one thing you shouldn't do during a snowstorm and physically Vanishes

Dylan's earliest memory was when they were two years old, their parents holding both of their hands, walking through the streets. Their mother held a basket of granola bars and a soft, white blanket with the head of a bear imprinted on the corner. She was crying, their father was not. He had a stoic expression on his face. Dylan hadn't known what was going on; when they asked, their mother just shook her head, and their father said they were going on a vacation, but it was only going to be them.

Dylan remembered being small. Smaller than the people around them, who gave the parents holding baskets of food and blankets odd looks. Dylan remembered being excited. A vacation, special for them. Only them. Their parents were not coming.

And they remembered turning into an alleyway, and their father picked them up, and sat them down on a closed dumpster lid. Their mother stood in front of them, and Dylan remembered this being the part where their father started to cry. Their mother wrapped the bear blanket around their shoulders, and set the basket of food in front of them. Calmly, she showed Dylan how to open the wrapping on the granola bars, and how to open the fruit cups. She reminded them to drink water from their small, black cup.

And then they were gone.

Dylan remembered the following few days. Being terrified to move from the dumpster lid, it was too high up for them, being only two. They remembered running out of food after the second day, and a group of people, with cigarettes and bottles of alcohol, Dylan couldn't remember exactly what it'd been, seeing them and taking pity on them, and called the police.

The police came the third day. Of course, they were taken to a hospital, and of course, being taken to a hospital resulted in a blood test, which of course, led them to be taken by the lab.

The parts after that were hazy, the month they spent in a section for the youngest group of kids there, the babies, before they turned three and was taken to a different area, a checkered room with someone else.

Jaxon had longer hair and went by a different name back then, of course, but Dylan only remembered him as Jaxon, like how Jaxon only remembered Dylan as Dylan, and so did Lily and Logan.

Specific details, Dylan could not recall. They couldn't remember what their mother looked like, but imagined her to look like they did. Black, coiled hair in a bun like how Dylan always did it, though the strand of hair that always fell in front of their face was trademarked. She probably had brown eyes instead of silver. Their father was tall, though that could've been because Dylan last saw him when they were a toddler, but he was tall. Mostly wishful thinking, as Dylan didn't want to stay four-foot-seven forever. They were almost shorter than Ryan was. The triplets stood at four-foot-six, four-foot-seven, and four-foot-eight. Ryan, Elliot, and Sam, respectively.

They didn't like to think about their parents, like how Lily didn't like to think about her father, and how Logan didn't talk to his family, and how Jaxon avoided the subject of his own.

No one knew where Lily's father was, but she simply wasn't interested in finding him. Logan nearly had a breakdown the last time his older brother called. He was afraid they would blame him for his sister's death. The idea of Logan cutting off anyone from his life was actually bizarre to Dylan.

Jaxon's parents, Dylan could make an entire presentation on why they hated Jaxon's parents. He'd been inconsolable for weeks after his father's arrest. Lily was lucky to be only ten years old an incapable of being charged for aggravated assault.

Dylan could remember the day before they were abandoned, too. The silent tension in the dining room, parents shooting looks at Dylan. At the time, they didn't understand. Now, they knew that their parents figured out that they were magic, from the silver eyes. They were afraid of them, or afraid of them being taken, or afraid of being killed like many parents were.

There was a similar tension, Dylan decided, at the dining table now.

Dylan chewed slowly on a bit of lettuce, glancing at Jaxon, who's foot tapped anxiously against the floor. The twins were silent, Lily was on her phone, and Logan's hands drummed against the table. The triplets shot daggers from each other from opposite sides of the table. Ryan was in the corner of one side, Sam on the other corner, and Elliot in the middle.

Elliot was angry at Sam and Ryan because of something Sam did that everyone refused to elaborate on, and because Ryan stabbed him in the eye. Sam was angry at Ryan and Elliot because Ryan told Elliot whatever it was he'd done, and because Elliot attacked him. Ryan was angry because Sam was mad at him, and also because Elliot tried to break his skull in.

Dylan thought that was all fair reasons to be upset at someone. They'd be lying if they said they had never felt a bit of resentment towards Jaxon for causing the explosion. It was hard to stay angry, though. Especially when Jaxon got off with brain damage, and Dylan was left off with the hearing loss.

The difference was that Dylan never got violent like Elliot had. That'd been terrifying to witness, though he'd calmed down after a few hours, there was still a silence among the three. They had a loud argument the day before. They'd all been locked in Elliot's room, having agreed to a civil conversation. Jaxon heard and told Dylan everything. Elliot said that Ryan told him, and Sam hadn't even hesitated to start screaming at him. Jaxon said it was the loudest he'd ever heard Ryan. Even Elliot, who usually spoke in a monotone silence, had been yelling. Arguably louder than Sam had been, since Dylan heard them.

Lily and Jaxon used to fight a lot. Always about small things, because no one knew for sure whether Jaxon was a year younger or the same age as Lily, so it'd always be who was oldest. It was only recently when Logan decided that Jaxon was a year younger, though it was still unknown for sure. Dylan had never been involved in those fights. They felt personally involved in this one, even though it only had to do with the youngest three.

Dylan watched Elliot pick up a small knife to cut a piece of steak, and froze as a flicker of blood appeared on the blade. Froze again when a hole carved itself into his stomach. Dylan blinked, it was gone, they were still tense. Elliot was still staring at the knife.

Jaxon tapped them on the back of their hand. "You okay?"

Dylan nodded They stared down at the salad in front of them, refusing to look up. They saw Leo signing something in front of them, and didn't bother to respond. Holes that looked like gunshot wounds covered her body, gone when they blinked again. They didn't appreciate that aspect of their magic, knowing how someone would die, but it only came up when it was going to be relatively soon. They'd seen Elliot's first, and then Leo. That would be the order. They scratched at the back of their hand. No one knew about this part of their magic, really, because it didn't exist. It wasn't a real category, something only Dylan could do. Some sort of experiment, they suspected.

Elliot was supposed to die, and then Leo. Elliot by a stab wound, Leo by gunshots. Leo's kept changing between gunshot wounds and an explosion. Leo was immune to fire, so the explosion one didn't really make much sense. They couldn't see anything else for any of the others.

---

Early in the morning now, around six o'clock, and Dylan hadn't been able to sleep. That was rare, as they didn't get nightmares as often as one would expect, like Jaxon or Lily, even Logan, so it wasn't like it was normally hard to sleep for them. Unlike their siblings. They suspected that was the reason Logan was always up so early.

Dylan stood on the counter, wobbling with their inability to properly balance, holding a knife block in one hand, trying to hide the knives where they knew Elliot wouldn't be able to reach.

Maybe they were being paranoid. Only one thing they'd seen had ever really happened, and Jaxon had ended up okay in the end, so it didn't really count. Maybe Elliot and Leo would be okay too.

One of the knives wobbled out of the knife block, and nearly stabbed them in the foot. Apparently, Logan had been watching, as he swiftly stole the knife block out of their loose grip, staring at Dylan with a confused look.

Logan set the knife block down, and put the fallen knife back in.

"What are you doing?" Logan signed, and Dylan shrugged, slowly fingerspelling Elliot's name. Logan's expression darkened a bit.

"Elliot could climb up there," Logan signed in response, and took the knives to his room. Dylan sighed in relief that they didn't have to explain, that Logan understood the implications.

So, the knives were hidden, which should've kept Elliot safe. That left Leo. Leo, who Dylan didn't think they could protect. Leo, who was supposed to die in an explosion or from gunfire. They didn't know anyone who could cause explosions; that was a special type of fire magic that only very skilled people could preform. They didn't own any guns, either. Dylan was at a loss.

---

The twins were fighting now, too. Cass wanted to try to find Emily and Oliver, who disappeared back in November, and Leo didn't think that should have been the priority. According to Jaxon's translation during breakfast, at least. Again, the yelling got to the point where Dylan could hear it. They couldn't tell which voice was Leo's and which was Cass's, but needless to say, that wasn't what their voices sounded like in Dylan's head.

Jaxon also told them that he was arguing with Lily as well, though he didn't elaborate on why, and Dylan didn't ask. Logan and Dylan were currently the only two who didn't hold a grudge against anyone. They'd like to keep it that way.

So, the twins were arguing over their aunt and uncle, out of nowhere, Jaxon and Lily were fighting for no reason, and the triplets were fighting over the only thing that was really worth it. Dylan saw all sides of the argument, and hadn't picked a side like most of the others.

Logan wasn't on any side either, so he and Dylan were both neutral. Dylan knew Sam had done something that separated Elliot from the other two, and had apparently explained it to Lily and Cass, so they were on Sam's team. Jaxon thought it was perfectly reasonable to be upset over what Sam and Ryan did, so he was on Elliot's team. Leo was on Ryan's side, having heard him out long ago. Dylan thought it was childish. They remembered an argument they'd been involved in once with Lily and Jaxon as younger kids, it'd been stupid, something about the best flavor of pie. Dylan still stood with their answer of blueberry, though.

"How long are you going to let this last?" Dylan signed, a small grin on their face. They saw Logan slump over a bit, he was washing the dishes, and Dylan was sitting on the counter, not helping.

"We'll see," Logan responded. "They'll tire out."

Dylan made a small, distrustful hum. They highly doubted it.

It was like a warzone. Jaxon and Elliot had completely claimed the first floor of the house. Lily and Sam took the second floor, and Leo and Ryan had the attic. As the neutral group, Dylan and Logan had free access to any of the floors.

Logan turned the sink off, soap running down his hands, as he stared at something in the distance. Dylan tried to follow his gaze, and found nothing. They hummed flatly, as Logan gave them a deadpan stare.

"You'll never guess," Logan signed, looking annoyed.

"Battle to the death," Dylan signed as a response, glaring, punching their other hand.

"We're not doing that."

---

The weather in March couldn't make up it's mind, Elliot thought to himself, holding his hand out. A small snowflake drifted onto his bare palm. He shivered as it melted. He hadn't bothered to wear a coat, or tell anyone he was leaving. He was currently only speaking with three people, all of which would tell him to wear a coat. He didn't want to.

He swallowed, trying to take deep breaths, and the frigid air stung. He wiped his eye with his sleeve, cold air brushed past his face, and hurt his eye. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that he was on the brink of tears, not at all. It was just cold outside.

He wasn't sure where to go. The wind felt like it was getting faster, colder, he could barely see. Humming nervously to himself, he rubbed the hem of his shirt between his fingers. The original plan was to go find his mother, she told him to get her if he needed anything, so he left. Logan would know. 

Elliot flinched as someone touched his shoulder. He turned, a woman with long, black hair and bright red lipstick, wearing a purple scarf, looked concerned, holding a baby swaddled in a blanket.

"Are you lost?" She asked, and Elliot gave a half-shrug. "It's going to storm soon, where are your parents? Do you need help?"

Oh, maybe she would know. Her voice was a little muffled from the loud winds.

"Actually, have you seen my mom anywhere?" Why was he having such a hard time describing her? "Black hair, tall. White dress."

The woman hummed a little in thought. "No, I don't think I have. I'm sorry. Where did you last see her?"

"At home. She said to find her if I needed anything. I think she was going to the graveyard. I can't remember why. Do you know where that is?"

The woman gave him a look, and pointed at a church across the street. "In this weather? Sweetie, go find your mother, and then go home. It isn't safe for you to be out here, you don't even have a coat on, for goodness sake!"

Elliot hugged his arms. She was right, he supposed. It was cold. "Sorry."

"Oh, don't apologize. Just go on, then. Stay safe."

She huddled the baby in her arm, mumbled something, and ran off. Elliot turned to the direction of the church, smoke formed a cloud when he breathed. He darted across the street, narrowly avoiding a truck, the yellow headlights looked hazy in the snowy air. A car horn honked at him, he covered his ears.

When he opened the tall, black gate to the cemetery, the snow had gotten at least a few inches deeper. It crunched under his feet, as he searched for his mother, glancing around worriedly.

He caught sight of her, hovering a few inches over the snow, wearing a white dress. Wispy, black hair blew gently around her. She smiled warmly at him, and the air felt a little less cold. He gave a shaky smile back.

#oh these chapters were depressing to get through #writing #original work #original characters #writeblr #writers #original character

[absolutepokemontrash]

MC is Half-Demon and They Look Awfully Familiar Part 2!

Part 1 Lessons 1-5 Lessons 5-6 Group Retreat Lessons 10-12 Lessons 13-15 Part 3 Part 4

Okay, They’re Your Cousins but You’re Not Sure How They’re Related to You...

(Barbatos, Simeon, Solomon, and Luke)

(It’s mostly Luke)

Barbs likes smol Lucifer. Smol Lucifer likes Barbs. They bake together with Luke. MC nearly set the kitchen on fire. MC needed to learn to cook.

MC is forever delegated to mixing duty because they refuse to admit that they don’t know how to work the oven.

Simeon is the one telling MC embarrassing stories about Lucifer and the rest of the Student Council from when they were all angels. Lucifer never hated Simeon more than when he found out that Simeon told MC about how hard Lucifer cried when he got to hold baby Mammon for the first time. MC was sworn to secrecy.

Well... sworn to secrecy, but if Uncle Mammon just happened to find out through a series of coincidences it wouldn’t be MC’s fault, right?

Simeon also tried to help teach MC to fly... but he kept distracting them with stories about Lucifer and Michael learning to fly.

“So my father was even WORSE than he told me he was?!”

“Yes, he actually challenged Michael and Raphael to a race at one point. Lucifer ended up slamming directly into a wall because he didn’t know how to stop.”

“SIMEON!”

Solomon was absolutely fascinated with MC. How did their half demon half human nature affect their reaction to certain spells and potions? Do half demons have more or less magical strength than normal demons? Can half demons make pacts with humans? Wait- Lucifer why are you taking MC away they were talking- Lucifer!

Immortal troll needs to troll. MC is the unwitting victim of many of Solomon’s shenanigans.

“Why must I speak in rhymes?! This is the end of times!”

“MC, just stop talking.”

“Father, I don’t mean to be a bother but-”

“So the rhyming spell works the same on half demons... interesting...”

“Solomon...”

“I’m leaving, Lucifer. I’m leaving!”

Aw! Two kids in the Devildom! They were fast friends. Sure, Luke was a little annoying and MC was a bit of a dick, but their mutual smallness and desire to impress their parental figures brought them together.

“Michael’s just so cool and amazing! The way he flies, the way he commands everyone... I want to be just like him someday!”

“Is that why you’re making a cake?”

“Michael has a sweet tooth, and I want to impress him.”

“I wonder if Lucifer likes sweets...”

“Why would you want to give HIM sweets?”

MC just gave Luke a toothy grin and started making the dough for the cake.

Remember back in Lucifer’s section where I said MC would keep their lineage a secret to freak people out? Yeah... they kept it from Luke. At first it was a joke! They were going to tell him! They just uh... it got really awkward. They planned on revealing it to Luke right after they learned how to properly fly so they could swoop in, pick their angel buddy up and zip the two of them to school. It’d freak Luke out at first, but it was meant to be funny! MC would have even sung the song from Aladdin! It um... didn’t turn out that way.

“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” MC growled at the lesser demons that were crowding Luke.

“O-oh... uh... nuh-nothing...” a few of the demons backed off, mumbling a few harried apologies to MC as they scurried away. The remaining demons seemed a tad more... hmm... they say there’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity.

“M-MC! You can’t fight demons! I’m an angel I-I c-can...” Luke sniffled, but tried his best to step in front of MC.

“Oh please, the little half-breed and the lowest ranked angel are going to put up a fight?” One of the demons jeered, a few of the remaining demons joined in.

MC’s eyes narrowed, their glare as cold as the worst winter storm. “I’m going to tell you once, and once only,”

Their wings sprouted from their back, horns now fully grown and on display, teeth sharper and glistening in the light. Hm, it seemed half demons could make their eyes glow too, how delightful.

MC gave the other demons a sweet smile, it would have been comforting if it weren’t for the amount of teeth they were showing off. They lazily placed their hand on Luke’s head and lightly moved him out of the way.

“Leave, or I will make you regret ever crossing us exchange students.” MC’s carefree smile couldn’t mask the malice that coated every single word that left their lips. “Run along now, you’re not needed here.”

The demon that had started the taunts stiffened, he looked from MC, to Luke, to the other demons, before scoffing and shaking his head. “Whatever, the two of them aren’t worth it anyway...”

When the offending demons weren’t leaving fast enough for MC’s liking, they snapped their fingers and shot a fireball right behind the fleeing demons’ feet. They cleared out pretty quickly after that.

“Luke?” MC turned to look at their friend. “Are you...”

Luke was backing away. That look in his eyes, he was... scared. Scared of MC...

“Y-you’re a d-demon?” He whimpered, taking another step back.

“Half demon, actually.” MC let their demonic elements disappear. “I meant to tell you, I really did! It just was never the right time-”

“You lied to me! You said you were human! But you’re a demon like the rest of them!” Luke shouted, he wiped at his eye with his sleeve and sniffled. “I tried to help you, but you just..! I thought you were my friend!”

“Luke- hang on!” MC took a few steps forward, but Luke was already running away. MC felt something twist in their gut, something awful. That ball of innate pride twisted and practically screamed, filling MC’s head.

“He’s not worth it!”

“You’re above him anyway...”

“If he can’t understand how perfect you are, he doesn’t deserve your kindness.”

“Don’t grovel for his forgiveness. He’s beneath you.”

“Your help was rejected. Let him hate you. You’re the child of one of the most powerful demons in the Devildom, who is he to make you upset?”

The thoughts filled MC’s head as they desperately tried to shut them up. They were their father’s child, their pride wouldn’t be easily combated.

“Just be quiet!” MC clawed at their head.

“You’re better than this. You’re better than this. You’re better than this-”

“Luke!” MC called out again. “I’m sorry!”

It truly was a shame that their friend didn’t understand how much an apology from MC really meant.

They guessed Luke was right, wasn’t he? Demons were nasty awful liars. MC was no different...

That hurt.

Lucifer noticed his kid was moping around, not even Detective Toe Beans could cheer them up. Mammon even came home covered in mud from a failed money-making scheme and it didn’t even make MC crack a smile! He needed to get to the bottom of this.

Upon hearing the reason for his child’s woes, he was fully ready to break down the door of Purgatory Hall and throttle the little chihuahua, but Lucifer came to his senses and realized that MC probably didn’t want that.

He teamed up with Simeon and Solomon the things he did for MC... And managed to get both Luke and MC to the Demon Lord’s Castle to hang out with Barbatos.

It didn’t take a genius to realize that Luke missed his friend too. Sure they called him a chihuahua sometimes, but they were still the bestest friend he had made during his time in the exchange program... maybe ever...

Maybe... just maybe... he overreacted. MC did protect him after all, and they never tried to hurt him...

Barbatos was fully ready to fulfill his role as Luke’s second dad and help his angel-son make up with his friend.

It may have been awkward at first, but the two had to join forces to stop Solomon from getting within a hundred metres of the kitchen. Nothing brings two people back together more than fear for your tastebuds.

Mission success. Lucifer could relax knowing that his kid and the chihuahua were back to being friends. Maybe MC could convince Luke to quiet his infernal yapping... Lucifer was trying to work here!

For some extra fluff, after many days of asking and asking, Lucifer and Simeon agree to take Luke and MC up to the human world for Halloween. They got to go trick or treating, and everyone complimented MC and Luke on their ‘costumes’.

*insert sitcom laugh track here*

Sure, it may have been a little immoral for MC to use their powers to manipulate the humans into giving Luke and MC more candy but... candy...

Oh shit would you look at the time- they had to get back to the Devildom for Diavolo’s birthday party- MC STOP WITH THE CHOCOLATE! THE SIGN SAYS TAKE ONE! DON’T BE LIKE MAMMON.

The exchange year had been a success. Well... sort of. MC wasn’t exactly the average Joe human the Student Council expected, which is why after a lengthy break where MC went back to the human world to visit their other parent and human friends, the seven rulers of Hell (+MC) were sitting and waiting for the new exchange students to arrive.

Unlike the previous year, the entire student council was present. That included Levi who they had to physically drag there, Belphie who was carried there and had to be placed in his seat because he was completely passed out, and finally Mammon, he just had to be threatened.

“Father,” MC pouted from their seat next to Lucifer. “Why isn’t my chair as big as yours?”

Lucifer sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Because you’re much shorter than me. You can have a bigger chair when you grow a few more inches.”

“Mmm...” MC murmured, crossing their arms. “Are the students going to get here, or what?”

“Can you be patient?” Lucifer asked. “They’ll be here any moment now. I can trust that you’ll behave, right?”

MC looked scandalized, placing a hand over their heart and gasping. “Father! Of course! I’ll be the most polite person these humans have ever met!”

Not so deep down, Lucifer severely doubted that.

“Come now, Lucifer and MC!” Diavolo said from his elevated seat. “It’s almost eight am!”

Right on schedule the portal opened, two sets of screams followed.

“The next big priority should be making the trip more comfortable.” MC huffed. “It’s demeaning getting dropped straight down like that and just slamming into the floor.”

“Hm.” Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Perhaps instead we can just teleport them up to the Celestial Realm, start a war, and have them crash through not one, not two, but all three barriers between the realms with no portal.”

“Father...” MC matched Lucifer’s eye roll. “That has the same energy as ‘when I was your age I walked to school 100 miles through a blizzard!’ The polite thing to do for the exchange students is to not let them hit the floor at 100 mph and possibly give them a concussion.”

And slam straight onto the floor the two other exchange students did. Well, one of them slammed right into the marble, the other had tried in vain to use their wings to slow their decent or fly back up.

Wait...

WINGS?!

WAIT THE OTHER HAD HORNS?!

THEY BOTH HAD-

Oh and would you look at that... one looked like... and the other looked like-

Shitballs.

Lucifer had to keep himself from actually shouting in frustration. One normal day... one day of no exchange student issues was all he asked for...

“Out of over ten million candidates out of over eight billion humans...” Lucifer grumbled. “How in my father’s name did this happen again?”

(OOOOOOOOOO SEQUEL BAIT!)

#Obey me #I’m not good at writing angst... I’m so sorry #Obey me! #obey me shall we date #I’m a crack and fluff writer... #obey me! shall we date? #Obey me Headcanons #Obey me! Headcanons #Obey me Lucifer #Obey me MC #Obey me Luke #Obey me Simeon #Obey me Solomon #obey me barbatos #Lucifer’s Kid

[ellsbclls]

White Winged Dove

warnings ➛ COUNTRY!TOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!!!! smut, baby! (PLEASE do not interact if you are a minor), hurt/comfort, minor angst, happy ending: guaranteed!, a handful of swear words, and y/n has no choice but to have a country accent, i don’t make the rules here. extended warnings will be under the cut!

word count ➛ 9.5K

authors note ➛ i saw that gifset of tom taking a shower in cherry and my brain short circuited, so here! have a cupcake!

synopsis ➛ Tom feels like his world is falling apart, so he turns to you, the only person that reminds him of home.

extended warnings ➛ nsfw, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected f/m intercourse (please practice safe sex, kiddos! wrap it before you whack it!), a tiny tiny tiny sliver of blood!play if you squint with one eye closed.

You remember the night in waves, docile, fleeting waves that tease the rim of your consciousness before reeling back. Golden whiskey licks at the seam of your lips with each pass of the bottle, and the pond is glittering beneath the blinking trails of all the lightning bugs — tens of hundreds of fireflies, dancing in the night’s misty skyglow, rivaling the pale moonlight.

You remember the night in waves, but he is a mighty current.

You can’t scrub the memory of him from your mind, that bleak, hopeless expression that hollowed out his features. You remember how your heart split into a million little shards the second it appeared, and just when you thought there was nothing left to break, his fragile voice pleaded for you to take him somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far.

By the time the sun spilled past your window pane, you were nothing but a drowsy amalgamation of lithe limbs, coated in morning glow as it spilled through the glass.

But behind your eyelids lives an imprint of the night before — a shimmering reflection of the night sky, and the moments that unraveled beneath its sweeping gaze.

9:17PM — You’re belting into your hairbrush, not a care in the world, and pouring your heart and soul out to a crowd of none. Somewhere between all of your clumsy twirls and impromptu choreography, you stumble over the shoebox that was poking out from under your bed, and a flurry of damp tresses and musical giggles fan across your comforter.

The walls in your house have always been notoriously thin, but what could you possibly expect from the weathered planks of wood paneling that lined your bedroom? You could hear your father’s creaky footsteps whenever he ransacked the fridge for leftovers in the dead of night, and the heavy thump of laundry that your mother would throw down to the basement, but once your radio crackles to life, and Stevie’s enchanting croon permeates the air, all those subtle nuances fades to a dull, lifeless roar.

With each passing note, the white winged dove becomes you, and you soar above endless miles of  Mississippi wood. There’s not a soul that can drag you back to the outskirts of town, force you to confront what may become of you when you land, there’s no room for trepidation where you go. There, in your own little corner of the woods, it’s just you, Stevie Nicks, and the moon.

And, technically, Thomas.

Minutes have gone by, you still can’t find the strength, nor the energy, to lift yourself up, and as your downy blankets hug your tired frame, you remain blissfully ignorant of your peeping tom.

Thomas, affectionately penned Tommy, has been your best friend, your confidante, since the very first day of kindergarten. You had pulled a pack of scented markers from your tiny, pink barbie backpack during free time, and he had pulled out the empty seat beside you, plucking, sniffing, and ultimately discarding each and every pen until the box was empty. When you asked him which one was his favorite, he asked you the very same in response, just so you’d “coincidentally” have a shared affinity for coconuts. He was oddly endearing, which is a trait that’s always stuck with him. So, even at a young age, you never wondered if he was just using you for your nice possessions, or trying to take advantage of your courtesy — he always offered himself to you at face value, and you never stopped taking as much of him as you could get.

Had you been aware that your childhood friend was waiting expectantly at your window, you may have handled your alone time with a tad more discretion — but you weren’t, and each act of your private concert forces him into an even harder position. To what extent does he let you embarrass yourself before he makes his presence known, and for how long will you bury your head in the sand before the embarrassment mulls over? He sees your stage dive as a golden opportunity, and seizes it before you begin to stir.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three short, mild raps, uttered in quick succession, jostle you from your lavish daydreams like a bucket of ice water, and you have to squint just to make out his fair features amidst all the darkness shrouding them.

“Tommy?” A flash of his soft, earthy hues tame the wild drum of your heart, confirming your suspicions, and you fight the urge to chuckle when he innocently waves at you.

“Well don’t get all shy on me now. Come in.” You open the window just enough for him to slip through its frame, allowing your eyes to graze the sculpted plains of his back, and admire, albeit shamelessly, how his muscles ripple beneath his fitted t-shirt.

Yet, there’s something about him being in your room, towering over fixtures that once towered over him, that makes you feel uneasy. A part of you adores the way he instantly makes himself at home, but the remainder is doused in fear, fretting over his wandering hands and what they may discover, surveying little trinkets and souvenirs that decorate your desk.

“Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here, has it?” He notes, absentmindedly shaking the contents of a snowglobe your grandma brought you from New York, a miniature skyline of Manhattan continuously buried in a flurry of snow. Most of your playdates took place in his house, so as your friendship flourished past elementary school, and the time that spanned between your meetings grew shorter and shorter, you’d found yourselves frequenting his home for all of your endeavors. It was just easier that way.

That’s the sole reason you rarely visited your room. It surely wasn’t the suffocating atmosphere that plagued your home, or your hormonal, angst ridden brain convincing you that you’d scare him to the high heavens if he caught a glimpse of your relationship with your family — how dismal it is. How you build entire worlds, cycle through dozens of bountiful lives, in the luxury of your mind in hopes of retreating.

You’d be lying if you said the poster of Zac Efron, now lurking precariously behind his shoulder, wasn’t a glaring reason as well.

“Yeah, couple things here and there, but it’s pretty much the same.” You try to be discreet as you wander around your own room, Destination: Tiger Beat. Once you reach it, you rise up on your tiptoes to cover as much of the poster as humanly possible, but scramble for an excuse once you notice him turning. “You actually left something the last time you were here. It’s on the top shelf.”

RIP! The poster is crumpled in your grasp no sooner than his back turns to you. You’d have to give a formal apology to your wildcat once you were left to your own devices, but until then, he was banished to the most unsuspecting corner of your room.

“Jesus Christ Y/N,” His thumb fondly strokes a small, yellowed testament to your friendship, a weathered page of loose leaf etched in awry plumes of ink that perfectly encapsulate his very essence — egregiously passionate, regardless of the outcome. He had written it when he was about seven, intending to give it to the “girl of his dreams” once he met her. You can still hear his sweet, little voice echo between your ears, endearingly mistaking his r’s for w’s. “You kept this?”

“Of course I did.“ Candor coats your tongue before you catch yourself, the tail end of your answer turning to dust as soon as it hits the air. You can’t bring yourself to admit just how many restless nights you’ve allowed yourself to clamber up that oak dresser, just to read that letter over, and over, and over again, praying that if you had stared at it for long enough, his messy scrawl would transform into the words you yearned for most — that it was meant for you, that he’s loved you from the very start. “Wasn’t sure if you were planning to repurpose it for some other lucky gal.”

You lock eyes with him for the first time since he appeared at your window, and stowed beneath his reservation are faint embers of warmth, kindling behind ebony curtains as you indulge in the hearth of his gaze. Lifetimes seemingly pass before his eyes are flickering back down to his hands, and it prompts you to offer him the note. “You can have it back.”

“No, you keep it.” Your brows pinch together, and a thousand questions collect on the tip of your tongue. You wonder if he recalls the same memory you do, if he remembers the significance buried in that little scrap of paper, but ultimately choose not to dwell on it. He knows just how much you love to collect memorabilia — keep cherished memories stowed away for safekeeping — he’s just being thoughtful. “Consider it undeniable proof that I know how to read and write.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in here about knowing how to read.” You tease, catching your tongue between your canines as a smirk conquers your lips.

“Ya got me,” He chuckles, smile reaching for, but never quite meeting, his faraway stare. You are so accustomed to his teasing quips, his usual flair for the dramatics, that this half-hearted attempt at replicating it fills you with discomfort. He tries to punctuate his words by tossing his arms to the sky, but they don’t reach high enough to convince you that he’s okay. Something is plaguing him, and you won’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“Tommy,” His name is sweet on your tongue, all honeyed vowels and soft, descant consonants that command his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’, I just-“ he’s avoiding your eyes, which is a clever strategy on his part. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his are a stained glass mosaic, a vibrant display of all his emotions, and you — you are but an avid observer.

“Hey, look at me,” Two slender digits underline the curve of his jaw, and with a firm grasp of his chin, leave him no choice but to meet your gaze, tender and resolute all the same. “ You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I can tell when someone’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I just, I need to get out of here, and I thought I’d ask my favorite distraction to accompany me.” He stumbles over his words, faltering over his messy façade, but you’d rather this over nothing at all.

“And where might we be goin’?” You query. You can tell that this is going to be a long night, but luckily for him, you don’t have any plans that can’t be rescheduled. Your adoring fans will just have to wait another night.

“Somewhere… Anywhere,” He murmurs hopefully, and your heart nearly sinks to the floor. You’ve never seen such a chasm of joy, not in those bright, amber orbs you study so adamantly. You’d almost deem it pain, whatever’s tugging at the frame of his optics, whatever’s depriving them of that usual, warm glow. “as long as it’s far from here.”

9:39PM — “Watch your step.”

“Can you help me?” You whine — one hand reaching out for his assistance, the other firmly clasped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is an awkward incline just below you, only a few inches off the ground, but tall enough to make you stumble, and he could already see you bumping your knees on the way down, so he offers his elbow as a point of leverage.

“Atta girl, you’ve got it.” He coos, reluctantly abandoning your grip once you’re safely on the ground.

Mystical, and buzzing with life, you introduce him to the farthest corner of the woodlands. Whenever the walls of your room become suffocating, your legs always give out right about here. 

Your secret hideaway. 

Where you let your most worrisome thoughts roam free, and when those thoughts seemingly wander into nothingness, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, and fail to realize that they haven’t disappeared, they just don’t belong to you anymore. They belong to the babbling brook, constantly replenishing itself and its inhabitants with fresh, spring water, belong to the frogs and crickets as they fill the night with their moonlit ballad, they belong to the night, and it’s reflection, as it wades across the face of the creek; dotted with lightning bugs or the cosmos themself, you weren’t sure. All you know is that you always returned, as if a piece of you was tethered to the very spot.

“Where are we?” He wonders aloud, raking his fingers through his downy, chestnut locks as he explores his surroundings.

“I don’t exactly know.” You confess, making yourself comfortable on the ground. Most nights, you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into the brook, but you know Tom like the back of your hand, know what kind of ideas might venture through that rascally mind of his when he spots you near the water. So, you play it safe, pulling your knees up to your chest as you peer up at him from a safe distance. “It’s nice, though. Quiet. Good place to let your thoughts wander.”

“You ever take a dip in here?” Predictable. You stifle the urge to laugh at his query, sinking ivory veneers into your pillowy bottom lip, and shake your head in response.  “Hell, if I were you, with my own nature-made swimmin’ pool, I’d bring all the boys around.”

“You know I don’t waste my time with no silly boys.” You sigh, sending him a wistful glare. 

“You sure about that?” He counters, mimicking your perked brow with eerie precision.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You huff. God doesn’t build boys the same way he built him, he took his time crafting that statuesque frame, implemented hawk-eyed precision for each and every beguiling detail you’ve come to adore. He is a man, tried and true, from his sharp, angular structure to the neverending bounds of his heart, but rather than inflate his ego moreso, you let him assume the worst. “You can take a dip if you want, though. I wouldn’t mind.”

You wonder if he can tell just how little you’d mind as a mischievous glint highlights his amber hues, but before he can even open his mouth, you’ve already pinpointed the source of his glower, already voicing your adamant refusal. “No, absolutely not. Not a chance, Tommy.”

“But why not?” He whines, bellowing over your feeble chant, conjuring the most convincing set of pleading eyes he can muster. “It’s dark, it’s humid, and ain’t no one around to tell us not to.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to not do that.” You scoff, scooting further away from him and the strength of his hopeful gaze.

“I hate to pull out the big guns, but... what if I told you that it’d make me feel so much better if you accompanied me?” You’re left to wonder what the big guns are supposed to be, if they aren’t the way he is encroaching on your personal space, crawling up the length of your legs until there is only a sliver of space between you. 

“I’d remind you that there are much drier ways to make you feel better.” You could feel your warm breath fanning across his lips, distracting you with the scent of minty toothpaste and your vanilla chapstick, ultimately failing to notice his hands, and how they’re positioned just below your waist.

It would only take one swift move to reach the small of your back, two to scoop you up in his arms, and about six more to drag you into the pond — kicking and screaming, but successfully so.

And he doesn’t chance it.

SPLASH! You’re no sooner submerged in the brooks’ murky depths, reaching out for lily pads and cattails that fail to provide you leverage, and your screams bubble into thick, smothered embers of a once irate flame. He better pray you never emerge from usunder, because he’s merely a howl away from being swept up in the tide — the tide being your arms as they force him to the bottom of the crick.

“Y/N,” your name scrambles between the slosh of the water and the pounding in your ears, but you manage to break the surface and blink spare drops of water from your eyes.

“I was drowning!’ You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water as you kick, and splash, and writhe around in the stygian abyss.

“In two feet of water? I beg to differ.” You can barely make out his comeback over his fit of giggles, but a part of you would rather this bright, teasing version of himself that what you’ve been dreading beforehand. Taking his outstretched hand, you stumble to your feet and, much to your dismay, find yourself standing in about two feet of water (which, in your defense, is a far more daunting threat to someone your size as opposed to his). You cool his inflating ego with a cold splash of water, dispersing tiny droplets from your fingers as they wave in front of his face.

You splash around in the water for what feels like forever, transforming stray lily pads into makeshift hats, dressing to the nines in the latest collection of aquatic couture, and as the moon casts a pale spotlight on the babbling brook, you occupy it’s centre, huddled in one another’s embrace, swaying back and forth amidst the shallow pools.

10:02 — You're still wet.

Drenched, really.

You’ve resorted to wringing out your hair with your bare hands, twisting the dampened locks between your fists until water pours from the follicles. You’d never once pondered the benefits of freshwater landings, but you were about to find out. A glare threatened to slice through the air, but immediately wavered at the sight of him — desolate, void, so lost in his thoughts that you’d wondered if he were even there.

God, you’re worried sick. You’ve dealt with bouts of sadness, sprinkles of melancholy, but this was downright depressing. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you tried, and that’s what worried you the most.

Thomas, your best friend, your crush, your light — the best parts of you all wrapped up in a clumsy little package while the best parts of him threaten to snatch up your heart, as if it wasn’t already his.

“Tommy?” You break him out of his reverie, but press on, scooching closer to his form, dangerously standoffish, like an uncaged animal winding up to attack, until you cross the threshold into his personal space. With a sturdy hold on his bicep, he melts into the palm of your hand, practically leaning all of his weight into you, stealing a reprieve you didn’t know he needed. “You can talk to me, y’know. It’s just us.”

“She left, Y/N.” The evening air seems still, in perfect tandem with your breath as you fear what might come out once you finally exhale. You know he’d shove all of his feelings down if he caught you shedding a single tear, and this isn’t about you, it never has been. So you hold your breath, latching onto the heavy silence that follows his confession, and pray that your chest is strong enough to smother the sob bubbling beneath its surface.

Fortunately, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “The closet was empty, and all her cookbooks were gone. I looked downstairs and there was nothin’ there.” You don’t know if he’s finished, watching as he toys with a loose string on his jeans, but he breaks his own silence with a newfound waver in his voice.  “I had a feelin’ she was ‘bout to leave, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I thought I had a lil’ bit more time to say goodbye.”

Edie was a good mother, the best of mothers, and never had she drawn a line when it came to who she nurtured. When you were little kids, you’d race each other to his house once the school bell rang, tiny little bodies weaving through the stalks of corn that prefaced the farm. She would follow the shuffling crops with a heavy eye, leading you to the porch with her raspy, whimsical chime, and crouch down to envelop the both of you in a tight hug when you emerged. She was the best of mothers.

But she wasn’t the best of wives. You were both far too young to notice the signs — the nights where you found her sound asleep on the sofa by her own volition, the packed suitcase that hid underneath the stairwell to the basement, the hesitance that laced her tone when she said I love you to his father — and something tells you she wanted to keep it that way. 

Her son didn’t need to worry about his parents, and how fast they were falling out of love, and whether they really loved each other in the first place. Her son just needed to be a kid, and that is a belief she devoted the best years of her life to.

But he isn’t a kid anymore.

That’s why she fled in the middle of night, leaving nothing but a ruby encrusted ring on his dresser — her class ring. The same one he’d snatch from her jewelry box whenever she wasn’t looking. The same one he used to propose to you at the wee age of four, promising you as much of the world as a toddler could imagine.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he recounts every detail, and every fiber of your being yearns to just schoop him up in your arms, hold all his broken pieces together with the strongest embrace you can muster. He doesn’t deserve that type of pain, shouldn’t have to relive it, and yet he takes it upon himself to tell you everything, to relive it for your own selfish gain.

You grow envious of the way the moon trails kisses down the slope of his nose, across the high rise of his cheeks, and over the swell of his bottom lip. There were times where you’d find traces of his mother in Tom’s features, lining the curve of his warm smile or, when the sun hit them just right, speckling his earthy hues with tiny rods of gold. Tonight, he is shrouded in a celestial spotlight, mesmerized by its waning body, and if you squint just enough, you’ll find her longing stare hidden beneath his own.

“And the worst part is that I ain’t even mad at her. Not even a lil’ bit.” He concludes, talking more to the sky than to you. “Not even at all.” When his gaze falls back to you, you can only try to cover up the betrayal, wipe the back of your arm across your tear-stained cheeks before he notices they’re even misty.

You inevitably fail, expelling a wistful sigh as he pulls you into his side, comfortingly running his hand over your bicep as he murmurs sweet nothings into the night.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want you to find out like this,” You furrow your brows, and wonder just how he would want to break the news to you. Would he let you find out for yourself, or would he bring you out to the plantation, and let you sink into the soil until the news began to blossom in the fields? Would they be cornstalks? And would they reach for the sky just like her?  “I didn’t wanna make you cry, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice is a wash of dulcet tones, fingers soothingly raking through his damp tendrils in a silent bid to comfort him. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can take it.” You’re quick to clamber to your knees, wrapping him up in an airtight embrace, keeping him from wallowing into a puddle of tears. “I’m right here, Tommy.”

“I know,” he sputters, with an edge of sorrow to his tone.

“I’m right here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You promise.

“Don’t say that” He whispers, and shatters any trace of consolation looming over the encounter. Your brow furrows, your heart pounds against your chest, and for a fleeting second, you feel like you're caught in a lie. What if he knows? What if he can tell just how much you’d surrender to be with him? What if he doesn’t want it?  

“Why not?” You’re near hysterics, praying that the intensity in your eyes makes up for the tremor in your voice. “Why not? I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.” 

“I just don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep, Y/N.” That sullen gaze resurfaces, chills the air with it’s haunting presence — that hollow stare which fosters the remnants of a bright, contagious joy, and carves a pit, just as empty, in the well of your stomach, one that aches to be satiated. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his palm lingers against your cheek, trying to smooth out the heavy creases in your expression with the gentle stroke of his thumb.  “Hell, I don’t want you to promise that in the first place. You deserve more than all this, you deserve the best this life has to offer you, and I’m not gonna keep you from all o’ that.”

You’ve lost track of your heart long ago, it’s dizzying tempo rivaling a hummingbird, nearly undetectable as it flitted uncontrollably, knocking against your ribs until its ultimate descent to the pit of your stomach. 

You pray that he can one day see everything that you see in him, that loving himself is as easy for him as it is for you; you hope that there is a life where he never has to feel as small, or inconvenient, as he confessed, and you wish that this would eventually be that life.

You decide that it’s time to put an end to wishful thinking. 

“Let me make something clear to you, Thomas.” You cup his jaw, firmly, and utter each word without a trace of uncertainty. “I’m not sure exactly what I want from life yet. I don’t know if I wanna spend the rest of it in this little ol’ town, or just pack my things and go as far as the wind will take me. I couldn’t tell you if I tried, but… that’s okay.” Slowly but surely, your lips give way to a sheepish grin, feeling lighter, freer, the further into your declaration. “It’s okay, because there’s one thing that’s for certain, and it’s that I’m all yours. It don’t matter how far I go, I’m always gonna come home to you.”

The silence is deafening. 

All your emotions hang in the air, crippling your air supply with insurmountable regret. But his gaze is what terrifies you the most; just as suffocating, but in a way that sweeps the air from your lungs. You knew that there would always come a time where all the unrequited feelings you’ve harbored would finally boil to the surface, fueled by the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as one sided as you thought; but under the void of his empty gaze, you wonder if you’d made a huge mistake. 

Or maybe there really is nothing — nothing to reciprocate, nothing to subdue you, nothing to salvage what little remained of your friendship after such a loaded confession — and so you scramble to assemble an apology convincing enough to overshadow your lapse in judgement.

But he doesn’t even spare you the chance, swallowing your half-hearted excuses with the firm press of his lips, pouring a lifetime of ardent desire, of longing, into the hollow of your mouth. It’s crystal clear that you’re his, the realization comes borderline cathartic. There has never been a day where your heart has not beat for him, and only him, forever threatening to spring from your chest and return to its rightful owner. The days, the months, the years of back and forth felt like a cruel jest from the fates, but now you were here, bundled in the warmth of his strong embrace, tongues curling against one another in an endless battle for dominance, and you would endure it all over again if this was where it lead

He searches for some sign of absolution, paws up and down your back in hopes of grounding himself, and you reverently provide, mustering what little strength you have left to crawl into his lap, brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans without a trace of subtlety, offering him the most sacred parts of you in hopes of bringing him home.

“Y/N,” he sighs raggedly, a half hearted attempt to gain your attention, one that proves unsuccessful as his pleas whittle into a frail, insipid shadow of what they could be. You’re too busy acquainting yourself with the plains of his body, embedding a trail of deep red marks into the column of his neck as your hands slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He’s built like a greek statue, you don’t even need to discard his shirt to indulge in the taut muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. “Y/N, darlin’, wait.” He interrupts your greedy ministrations by fastening his digits around your wrists. This is the point of no return, you can feel the fragile divide between friends and lovers, splintering beneath the weight of your heart, and yet you fail to concern yourself.

His digits are free to roam the high plains of your cheeks, pioneering the flushed expanse with beacons of soft, arching butterfly kisses until there’s no skin to cover, ultimately pressing his forehead against yours. ”You don’t- I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” Seems almost redundant, you muse, to wonder if you want him when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. You are a pillar of salt, and as he showers you in a knee buckling torrent of kisses, you melt into the palm of his hands. If the way you’re draped against his form isn’t evidence enough, then the wetness pooling between your thighs most certainly will be, he’ll come across that confirmation once he tends to the spot you need him most.

You trace the cleft of his chin in delicate pursuit, whining as he tears his lips from their languid path, and peer through your inky lashes to meet his gaze once more. “I want this, Tom. I want you.”

“You have me. I’m all yours.” He echoes your words back to you, reverently, delivering a sacred vow from the hearth of your soul, ove you have, and will continue to, dedicate your humble living to, and you seal that promise with a bruising kiss. 

The weight of his palm melts into the small of your back, pulling your chest flush against his own as it sweeps up your spine, and you moan against his lips when your nipples press up against his sturdy chest, aching to be freed as they strain against their gossamer confines. 

You’ve only had the pleasure of making out with Tom for less than five minutes, but you can already tell that it ranks high on your list of favorite pastimes. Soft, pink petals brush against your own like they’re a flourishing canvas, and he’s trying to even out the brushstrokes, but all he leaves is a scorching flush in his wake, and your clothing, despite being bathed in pond water, do little to ease the blistering heat. It’s suffocating you, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away so that you can rid yourself of the article.

Besides, the less fabric separating you from his anchoring, toned embrace, the better.

“I’m all dirty,” Your meek voice collapses into a fit of giggles, and your feeble attempt to wring out your clothes is thwarted by his hands, venturing up, up, up, and under the hem of your skirt at a teasing pace, savoring the feeling of your warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips. You can tell he’s as desperate as you are, confronted with acres of new terrain to explore, and only so little of his patience to spare.

“I know, I’m sorry angel.” His voice is soft, and soothing, and riddled with mischief. Even if there is even an ounce of truth in his apology, you can still make out the devilish grin that toys at the corner of his mouth. “May I, m’lady?” He croons teasingly, flashing those whiskey glazed hues in a way that you could never refuse. 

“Proceed, good sir.” You counter in the most refined timbre you can dictate, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he bunches the hem of your dress in his palms, hoisting it over your head to expose the breathtaking contours and curves of your body. You can’t remember what compelled you to forego your bra, but the thought is soon pushed to the corner of your mind, making room for the warm, fuzzy feeling that conquers your insides when Tom lays his eyes on you, bared to him and only him. His gaze alone makes you feel like you are a spectacle to behold, the most enchanting vision to ever cross his line of sight. If there was even a speck of insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind, the sight of Tom’s eyes, blown wide with adoration as they worship every sinful inch of your skin, instantly quells those fears. 

He struggles to find his words, to occupy this infinite silence with anything, everything, as his calloused palms caress the sides of your waist, but all he can manage is a husky growl. One that prefaces the reappearance of his tongue, and its feverish descent from the column of your neck to the tops of your breasts, bathing your skin with gluttonous, broad strokes, and coaxing pretty, little whines from the back of your throat.

There is something so unhinged in his actions, so carnal, it summons another wave of arousal to pool against your soiled panties, knowing you have such a strong clutch on his resolve. Though, another branch of your mind races at a mile a minute, consumed by the endless possibilities that come equipped with Tom’s skill. 

You try not to dwell on the little flings that came before you, especially now, in the afterglow of your confession. The taunting, pitious gazes you shared with his hookups in the hallowed halls of your alma mater, toting a reminder that they could indulge in everything you yearned for, scorched you more than the thought of the act itself — but the rumors were just plain inescapable. If even a fraction of them hold a candle to the truth, then you are in for one hell of a night.

“You’re just as sweet as I imagined, angel.” Angel. The nickname sends sparks flying in the well of your stomach. “Can’t wait to taste that perfect little pussy. Just know it’s gonna be even sweeter when you cum all over my fingers.”

You whine softly at his words, but clench hard around nothing, aching to be filled by those unbearably long, slender digits. Nothing could have prepared you for the scene unraveling below you — his lips latched around the stiff peak of your nipple, a husky groan reverberating around the pebbled surface, and head slightly moving against the palm of your hand as your fingers tug at his chestnut locks. The long, covetous laps of his tongue mingling with the vibrations of his contented little hums make you desperate for more, arching, writhing, trembling against him in hopes of finding a semblance of relief for the ache between your thighs.

“Tommy, please.” You plead in the most convincing, fucked out tone you can muster, but he doesn’t budge, showering your other bud with a flurry of quick, relentless kitten licks. Even mother nature joins in his relentless teasing, making you squirm as the gentle breeze blows cool, summer air against the glistening bud.

This is torture, a blissful, euphoric form of torture that, despite your irritability, you would surrender to time and time again. But you fail to notice just how hard your canines puncture the swell of your bottom lip, too immersed in the stroke of his tongue, in the ghost of pleasure that stirs in the pit of your stomach each time you rut against his clothed cock. A sharp, metallic tang seeps into your mouth, hitting the tip of your tongue and forcing a trembling whimper to the front of your mouth.

The pitiful sound piques Tom’s interest, and before you can wipe the blood from your lip, your face is already cradled between his palms. “Fuck, Y/N, look at you,” His eye were wide with concern, and your heart sputters over the blistering scorch of need his compassion arises in you. “C’mere.” Dropping his forehead against your own, his tongue tentatively brushes the curve of your lips, lapping up every last drop of blood that is smeared against it. He applies pressure to the wound, cauterizes it with a searing dance of bloodstained brims, as his one hand weaves into your damp locks. You barely know how to respond, but your body compensates with an untapped sense of hunger, scraping your teeth against his lower lip as you desperately claw at the toned valley of his back.

“Please, Tommy, please. I’m dripping.” You mewl, teetering over the perilous edge of delusion, foraging between your stomachs in search of his free hand. Yet another wave of arousal pools between your thighs at the sight of him, with his puffy, saliva stained lips slightly parted, and his eyes blown wide with the insatiable need to indulge himself, to spoil you. Once your fingers circle around his wrist, you guide his hand to the apex of your thighs and urge him to feel for himself, applying the lightest of pressure against his fingers, urging him to caress your tender lips through the sodden barrier of your panties. To feel what he’s done to you. “You feel that? It’s all for you.”

“All for me,” he echoes back, mesmerized, cognac hues fading into obsidian orbs as he rubs deliberately teasing circles over your covered clit. “And you ask oh so pretty. Let me take care of you, my pretty girl.” Before you even get the chance to reply, he’s pushing your panties to the side, dipping the pad of his middle finger between your silky folds — feeling, exploring, acquainting himself with the tight ring of muscle that he plans on stretching open. 

His hesitation is nothing more than a plight at this point, you are more than willing to take anything he has to offer, and he can gather that much from the wild gleam in your eyes, so he slowly works one finger into your snug, velvety walls and curses under his breath at how heavenly you feel. You’re unlike anything he’s had before, far exceeding the lengths of his imagination as you softly clench around his digit, and it only takes a few seconds to adjust to the lithe intrusion, your walls already twitching against his shallow, testing thrusts, before he adds another.

“So fuckin’ perfect, darlin’. Love the way your pretty little cunt takes me.” A thin sheen of sweat coats your forehead as he rocks his digits at a leisurely pace. Tom is obsessed with the tiny frown forming between your brows, almost like you’re confused by the amount of pleasure building between your legs, struggling to keep your eyes open, your juices spilling past your opening to trickle down the palm of his hand. To say your experience is limited is a bit of an understatement — the whopping two men you’ve slept with prior were merely amateurs in comparison to your lover. Even if there was enough air in your lungs to articulate it, you don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ve never been fingerfucked. Period. The embarrassment almost swallows you whole.

But even without anything to compare it to, you’re convinced that you’re receiving the upper echelon of experiences.

As his pace quickens, prodding against your pulsing walls with an onslaught of keen, ravaging thrusts, you’re too busy gasping for air to notice how he’s switched his angle. Now the heel of his hand is rubbing against your bundle of nerves with each stroke, applying just enough pressure to light a spark without ever setting you off, and as the pads of his fingers pound against your sweet spot, you are reduced to a limbless puddle in his hands, doused in an ethereal glow that only he could surface. “God, Y/N, you look like an angel. My pretty little angel— ‘bout to cum all over my fingers.” he panted, voice biting the air with a wolfish gleam, canines peaking past his thin lips.

“Tommy, I’m so close.” You aren’t sure if you can hold on for much longer, dangling on the coattails of insurmountable bliss, finding a new reason to fall apart with each lewd kiss or sharp thrust. Your orgasm is already creeping up, threatening to crash over you each time he plunges into your slick heat, but you know that you want to feel him — all of him — stretching you to unimaginable lengths as he sinks into your tight little hole for the first time. “I wanna feel you. I wanna- I need to cum on your cock.”

Tom’s brows meet in the middle, and you wonder if you’ve strewn too far, surrendered the remainder of your common sense to lust and her shameless palms. “Such a filthy little mouth for such a good girl.” He whispers, wondering aloud, his free hand abandoning the nape of your neck to cup your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to drag it down before letting it spring back to its pouty default. “You will, angel, you will, but I gotta get you ready first.” He reassures you, and you remember just how prominent his length is, straining against the denim cage of his jeans, and attribute his wavering tone to the sheer restraint he’s been exhibiting. But you have to admit — if his fingers are only a fraction of his length, then you are not sure just how much of him you’ll be able to handle. The thought sends you barrelling toward your climax, but not without the help of his thumb, pressing up to rub fervent, clumsy circles against your clit, his husky tenor cooing sweet words of encouragement into the space just below your ear. “I can feel you, angel, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

With one final thrust, he buries his fingers to the hilt, caressing your g-spot with a tentative come hither motion, until you are ridden with overwhelming waves of pleasure. All you can feel are your tender walls tightening around his fingers, and your thighs starting to tremble under the weight of your high. But he is spellbound, mesmerized by the swirling vision of you at your most content, eyelids hanging low over your blown out hues, your hips absentmindedly grinding against his hand, meeting his timid rhythm as he tries to work you through your aftershocks.

Emptiness soon replaces the stretch of his fingers once he slips them out, but a twitch of excitement follows the path of his slick hand, and you can’t stop from outright moaning at his shameless display.

“Just what I thought,” he murmurs. You are too captivated by the sight of his lips — pink, and kiss-weathered, and frankly obscene —  opening wide to welcome his slick fingers, gracing his taste buds with your juices, and humming around them as they coat his tongue in an intoxicating elixir . “Open up, pretty girl,” You‘re torn from your trance by the pressure of his digits, knocking against your bottom lip, begging for entry. “Come taste how sweet you are.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you graciously welcome his fingers, putting on a show as you swirl your tongue between the two digits, moaning softly as the bittersweet taste that hits your tastebuds. You aren’t prepared for the shallow, tentative thrust of his digits, or how he starts up a slow, steady rhythm against the back of your tongue — but god do you welcome it, softly gagging with each steady downstroke, spit already dribbling down your chin as you try to keep up with his quickening pace.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He offers you a ginger smile, one that makes the tears pooling in your eyes worth gagging for. “Good girl. Good, good girl. I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You try to reply over his digits, but your words are muffled and faint as they thud against the wall of your lips. Luckily, he’s coherent enough to notice that you’d like to speak — and who is he to stifle that sweet little voice of yours? “Thank you,” you pant, fluttering your tear-stained lashes up at him as you clamber to fill your lungs, disputing your feverish pleas as you wriggle away from the outline of his cock. The sensation of his waterlogged jeans rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you keening over him, pushing you further from his crotch, and closer to his embrace, back arched with a near-feline agility.

“Can I?” you ask, kneading your palms over his thighs, feigning innocence as you inch closer and closer to his zipper with each upstroke, and he nods, granting you permission to free him from his denim confines. In one fluid motion, your one hand unzips his fly as the other helps him kick off the remainder of his offending items, and you have to resist the urge to drool at the sight of his cock springing from his boxers, let alone his sinfully perfect, exposed form.

He’s a little bit larger than you expected — what he lacks in length, he makes up in girth, but there isn’t much to make up for in the first place. His shaft is decorated with pretty, ivory veins, ones that would no doubt twitch beneath the hot, heavy weight of your tongue, and the crown of his cock is flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of precum that makes your mouth feel conveniently dry. Your walls twitch at the disheartening reminder of your emptiness, but all out spasm as his fingers eclipse the circumference of his cock, using your juices to leisurely pump himself.

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh, a flurry of giggles floating beneath your words as you reach out to touch him, hovering just above the tip in order to send him a cautionary glance — one he hurriedly accepts, nodding his head fervently as he stutters into his grasp. A rosy hue blooms across the valley of your cheekbones as you encircle him, covering whatever he can’t as he all but bucks into your palm. His heart strains against his chest upon the realization that his hand easily dwarfs your own, watches your smaller fingers barely curl around his engorged shaft and fights the urge to cum right then and there.

No, he needs to feel you.

“Are you sure?” He asks once more, granting you a final chance to salvage what little scraps remain of your childhood friendship, but you are already committed, determined to devour every last, glorious piece of him, to prove that he is the rightful owner of you, all of you, every shimmering shade of you.The sentiment would be almost derisive if not so loving, so noble, and yet you dismiss it with three, chaste kisses upon the outline of his profile — against his forehead, the notch on the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, warm and inviting.

“I’m certain.” You promise, merely a breaths width away from his lips.

You have never been more certain of a decision in your life, desperate to feel him nestled deep inside you, to blur the line where he begins and you end. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, their pressure neither here nor there as they coax a hiss out of him, and you line him up with your entrance, tossing your head back as you waste no time breaching your needy hole with the bulbous head of his cock.

It’s blindingly clear that you have been given the reins, what with Tom’s finger’s seeking refuge in the soil beneath him, a low groan rumbling beneath his chest, his eyes rapt with an unspoken urgency as they survey the spot where you connect, and you relish in your paramount. Your knees dig deeper into the ground as you lower yourself onto him, and with little resistance, your walls steadily welcome inch after inch with a searing embrace, etching every delicious ridge and vein of his length to memory until he bottoms out, and you’re left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. There is a dull pain laced in the stretch of your opening, intermingling with the remnants of your last orgasm, and as you twitch and pulse around his girth, he appears like an dream before you, sifting through a thick haze of desire, wispy curls clinging to the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and eyes blown wide with ripples of pleasure, of lust, that long to be indulged.

Once you’ve adjusted to him, you test a few shallow, tentative rolls of your hips, lifting yourself off the tiniest bit before filling yourself up again. He just feels so perfect, like god spent a little extra time molding him just for you, rubbing against parts of you that have never known such ecstasy until now, and you struggle to find a rhythm amidst all these new, dizzying sensations. “Poor little thing, you’re so worked up, you barely know how to take my cock.” It’s funny, how he can make such degrading words sound so sympathetic, and regardless, your body responds long before your brain can register, wildly spasming around his cock. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to return, digging into the curve of your hips to assist you, working you over his length in long, plundering strokes that steal the air from your lungs. “That feel better, angel?”

“Mhmm,” you shakily nod your head, fingers finding purchase in the broad expanse of his shoulders as you dig your nails into the freckled expanse, flooding his senses with the weak little uh, uh, uh’s tumbling from your lips each time you’re impaled on his cock. If he could lap up every hitch of your breath, every wayward sigh, he’d be drunk off the height of your unbridled joy. Hell, he can barely sustain himself as is, ravenously lapping up the beads of sweat clinging to your temple, swirling his tongue around your earlobe in its descent. Yes, yes, he’s swept up in sultry waves of you, and as your pelvis kisses his, as the air is filled with the sounds of your hips snapping against his own, he’s less and less concerned about emerging from your enchanting depths. “You got another one for me, angel? I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby, I know you got another one.” He’s delirious, clawing at the altar of your hips, and nowhere near as close to finishing as you are, but god is he eager to tear another orgasm out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a furnace, taunting flames of embarrassment licking up your insides, pooling in the small of your back, racing up your cheeks, at such arduous lengths as to mix with the coil of pleasure tightening in your core. Tom seizes the opportunity to find some leverage, pulling his knees up to rest on either side of you, planting his feet on the ground so that he can thrust up into your sopping cunt at a punishing pace, and you both can already feel the tell-tale signs of your building pleasure. “It’s okay, Y/N, you can let go.” Nothing more than a faint whisper, you indulge in the way his cock massages your inner walls, how your name sounds so filthy, yet beguiling, as it slips from his slightly ajar lips, how it blends so well with the weak little moans of his own name rolling off your tongue. “Let go for me. I wanna feel that perfect little pussy cum all over me.” His hand dips between your sweat slick forms, firmly swiping his fingers over your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, turning circles into your favorite shape, and his change in position makes the crown of his cock curve into your g-spot each time he pounds into you — so your helpless to the crescendo of pleasure that washes over you. 

A broken, startled shriek tears through your lungs, and you topple over his thighs, digging crescent shaped indents into his knees as you surrender to your climax, walls fluttering and contracting over his length as he works you over the edge.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He coos encouragingly, reaching his hand out to cup the weight of your breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked bud as his pace eases up, and it isn’t until now that you realize he’s leaning back, holding himself up by his forearms while he drinks in your pleasure-ridden form. “My sweet, sweet girl.” You can tell he’s holding back by the way his hips still stutter up into your overstimulated heat, how his cheeks, his forehead, all of his features are set with a heavy flush, how you aren’t filled to the brim with his cum — and you simply won’t allow that. 

“It’s okay, Tommy.” You whisper, carefully lowering yourself until your chest is aligned with his own, sharply exhaling as you feel him push up against your tender core. Your eyes are soft, and dazed, and oh so pretty, glittering beneath a thin layer of unshed tears, but this is about him, it’s always been about him, and as his cock twitches amidst your spasming walls, you firmly believe that you can handle another orgasm if he can coax it from you.  “Keep goin’, it’s okay. I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel all of you.”

“Y/N—” His voice is stern, but your lips are fierce, stealing whatever argument may have been building in the cavern of his mouth as you weakly tilt your hips downward, offering yourself to him once more. When he muscles up enough strength to tear himself away, he only finds a bounty of understanding, of devotion, of love, teeming at the brim of your eyes, and he needs no words to indulge himself, to yield to a mesmerising whirlpool of you, you, shimmering you.

Tom wraps one arm around your back, holding you close to his chest while you scatter soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder, smoothing his palm over your damp tresses as he hoists one leg over his hip, prying your legs even further apart so he can fuck up into you — impossibly tighter, and tormentingly more responsive as he slams into your overstimulated cunt. You can feel every square inch of him now, every long sweeping vein, the tiny sliver of skin hidden beneath his tip, it’s all crystal clear as he plunges into your weepy core, and you’re so cockdrunk, so fucked out of your mind, that you don’t even notice your hips slanting down to meet his thrusts. You’re just that greedy for another orgasm, hellbent on tumbling over yet again as he fills you to the brim.

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to that precipice once again, the coil in his stomach pulled taut with your whimpered chant of his name, with each strong pulse of your cunt tightening over him. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, stuttering into your hips with a loud, frenzied groan, and finally teeters off the edge, dragging you down with him as you sink your teeth into his shoulder blade, pumping his hot seed into you, coating your walls with hot spurts of cum as you milk him for every last drop, the crude sound of your arousal mixing with his own making you shudder.

You both lay there for a second, safe in each other’s warm embrace, basking in the aftermath of your fortuned affair, and you cowered beneath the sky and it’s constellation clad ceiling, feeling infinitesimal, but oh so contented, beneath its glorious gaze. There, wrapped up in one another, two splintered halves mending, healing, into the whole they were destined to become — the sky was but a star in comparison to your light, your bright, everlasting light.

How did we get here? You wonder. How, oh, how is he finally mine?

You follow the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the moon lounges across his curly lashes in a silver chaise — you survey him at his most vulnerable — and determine that you have more than enough time to find the answer. As long as he’s here, by your side, you don’t plan to wander too far.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! PLEASE LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT, IF YOU ENJOYED!

TAGLIST: @devotion @reawritesthings​

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland blurb #tom holland oneshot #I CAN NOT BELIEVE I ACTUALLY FUCKING FINISHED THIS #the way this magically climbed from 4.7 to 9.5k in one day will never cease to amaze me #and i hope that this spawns a new love and excitement for country boy tom because i love arvin but #BOY does that man scare me a lil bit #this is more like a . . hart of dixie type of country #more apple pie! less homicide! #I ALSO DONT KNOW WHA THAPPENED TO THE SMUT THIS IS LIKE 40% SMUT #anyway i really do hope yall enjoy #mine*

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

wooohooo MCU gremlins drabble

Thor and Bruce examined the burn patters swirling on the remains of a wall, as Tony and Steve chatted to themselves.

“It’s been a month since these so-called Four Warriors were summoned, and we still haven’t found them. And now we know they have energy-based weapons.”

“But don’t you think that’s strange? These Warriors have been in New York for a month, and this is the first we’ve seen of any sort of attack.”

“Ahem.” Thor stood up. “I’m afraid that you are incorrect, Man of Iron.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

Bruce stepped in, data pad in hand, which he passed to Tony. “The burn patterns here are too sporadic to be man-made. They look like natural lightning- or the kind of stuff Thor can summon. If I didn’t know this came from the middle of the city, I’d say the wall was just struck in a storm.”

Tony hummed. “So, what are you saying? Instead of the Warriors running around my city with weapons, they’re running around with superpowers? That’s worse!”

“Tony, you have to calm down.”

The Thunder God shook his head. “Actually, I have seen this kind of lightning before. It was made by a child of the stars- your people do not have a name for their race.”

Steve blinked. “An alien?”

“Yes, but one forged in the heart of a star. That is not the concerning thing about these markings, however.”

“What is it?”

“They are powerful, but wildly inaccurate. Whoever shot these blasts was not trained to use them effectively.”

“Meaning?”

“They are either a non-combatant... or a juvenile. I would tend towards the latter, as a fully grown star child would have more power in their blasts.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “It’s a kid? You’re sure?” He stopped. “Fuck.”

“Language.”

“Shut it, Rodgers. I just remembered something.” He tapped the data pad. “When we fought that weirdo with the staff, we saw a bunch of teenagers.”

Steve made a noise of realisation, and his heart sank. “Four teenagers. I thought they’d been caught up in the blast, so I made sure they got out safely. I only saw two of their faces- but they were definitely just freaked-out kids in over their heads.”

Bruce took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Are you saying he summoned teenagers to do his dirty work? Are you saying the dangerous Warriors SHIELD has been tracking are kids?”

“Most likely stranded kids, if they’re still in the city.”

“Fuck.”

Steve didn’t admonish him this time.

——————————————————————————

A good thing about a city that’s constantly under attack is that nobody looks at a beat-up teenager twice, except with pity. Tommy knew that from back in L’Manberg, and it still rang true in... wherever the fuck they were. New York? He kicked a rock. “Fuckin’ stupid name. I would have come up with a much cooler one.”

Purpled scoffed, but there was no malice in it. “Uh huh.” The Starborne kept an eye on the entrance to the alley, fingers flexing around a hidden knife. He wouldn’t be caught unawares again. “You’d have named it L’Yorkberg or something.”

“Like I said, a much cooler name.” Tommy shot his friend a grin, and the wall behind them promptly disappeared. A tall figure with a hood over his face beckoned them through, the wall clicking seamlessly back into place behind them.

Finally, safety. The house they’d found was abandoned, and if anyone had come across it they’d be... confused. Random chunks of soil, sand and marble in perfect cubes were scattered around the room, and every surface was covered with random bits and pieces of machinery.

Purpled swept some scrap metal off of a cube of granite, and emptied out the bag of food he’d snagged on top of it. “I got enough to last us the week. I don’t think they saw me, but we should go to a different store next time to be safe.” Tommy passed the hooded figure a handful of first-aid kits. “Did Tubbo get that fridge working?”

The hooded figure- Ranboo- nodded. “Yeah, put the meat and stuff in it so it doesn’t go bad.” That had been a shock- food in this world spoiling over time. They couldn’t get ill from it, just Hunger, but it was still unpleasant to eat. The worst part of it was that they couldn’t just stock up on bread and wait for someone to find them, they had to constantly go out to get food. At least the first-aid kits were just a precaution.

The ram hybrid in question leaned into the room. “Hey, guys! Did you run into any trouble?” Tommy shook his head emphatically, while Purpled looked sheepish. “No...”

Tubbo put his hands on his hips. “What happened?”

Purpled coughed, embarrassed. “We kind of got mugged. They wanted this green paper stuff we found.” Tommy puffed out his chest proudly, wings flicking mischievously under his hoodie. “Purpled kicked the shit out of them, you should have seen him! Zapped them right through a wall.”

The ram’s eyes lit up, radiation symbols dancing in his pupils. “Sick!”

Ranboo, on the other hand, looked slightly panicked. “Uhm, aren’t we trying to keep a low profile?”

Tommy shrugged. “Eh, we had our hoods up, plus there’s a fuckin’ million people in this city. It’ll be fine.”

Tubbo clapped his hands together twice, banishing the nervous air that had grown in the room. “Right. Ranboo, you’re still banned from the kitchen after the Spaghetti Incident, so Tommy, it’s your turn to cook.”

——————————————————————————

Tony Stark was not good at waiting. It took approximately seven seconds for JARVIS to illegally download the CCTV footage of the attack, and about sixty for everyone watching to see what had really happened. It was still too long for him.

Two teenagers were walking down an alleyway, one in a red hoodie and one in a purple one. They were talking together and laughing about something.

“Red has blond hair, blue eyes, about 6’3. I think he’s got a dyed white streak in his hair.” He’d roped Natasha in for this, her spy training making her excellent at spotting details others would miss. “Purple has lighter blond hair and... purple eyes? Huh. They could be blue too, just a trick of the light. He’s shorter than Red, maybe 5’11?”

One of the teenagers swung his bag at the other with a grin on his face. The other yelled at him. Two older men appeared at the other end of the alley.

The spy’s eyes narrowed. “Two adults, 20-25, Caucasian, wearing beanies and dark clothing. They’re armed, one of them is nervous but the other has done this before.”

One of the men pulled a gun, and the other cracked his knuckles. The teenagers scowled.

“Huh. Interesting. Red and Purple aren’t afraid of them. They look... annoyed, but not scared.”

The man with the gun lunged forward, and was promptly knocked through a wall with a blast of electricity. The other man froze, and the teenager in red hit him over the head with a bag, before bursting into nervous laughter.

Nat’s eyes widened. “Holy shit. Okay, now I get why you wanted me to see this.” She looked at Tony. “Mutants? Have you contacted Xavier yet?”

Tony shook his head. “Not just mutants. Thor thinks Purple is an alien. Called him ‘a child of the stars’ or something.”

Shadows appeared at the end of the alleyway. The teenager in red swore, the words clearly visible despite the silent recording. He tore off his hoodie to reveal a large pair of wings, and grabbed his purple-clad friend. The pair flew out of sight of the camera.

“Red might be a mutant, we don’t know. Neither of them are showing up on any databases. No birth records, schooling, missing persons reports, anything.”

Nat sat back in her chair. “Right. You got any idea where they went after this?”

He shook his head. “Not one. We can assume Red landed in a remote area and hid his wings, before meeting up with the other two.”

She rose an eyebrow. “Other two?”

“There were four teenagers at that battle, remember? Just after four great Warriors were supposedly summoned.”

Recognition flashed in the spy’s eyes. “You think they’re the Warriors? They’re a little young.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. Steve was pissed when we put two and two together and Bruce nearly Hulked out. Kids don’t belong on a battlefield.”

“What do we do now?”

“Look for patterns. Where we see them, and when. JARVIS is looking through all public cameras right now, and he’s already found Red and Purple stealing food from a nearby store a couple of times.”

“No sign of the other two?”

“Not yet. Although, they could just be better at hiding. Hell, one of ‘em could have invisibility powers or something. Hard to tell.”

She shook her head. “I doubt it.”

Tony recognised that calculating look in her eyes. “You’ve figured something out. Alright. What’ve you got for me?”

She steepled her fingers together. “Put it this way. You’re a kid, and let’s for argument’s sake say you’ve been summoned to an unknown city, possibly even an unknown planet. You’re lost, and you’re evidently not able to get money or food, if you’re stealing from stores regularly.”

“Right.”

“If one of you has invisibility, why risk the visible ones getting caught? Why not just send them instead? No, my money is on Red and Purple being the most inconspicuous.”

He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“They’re the easiest to blend in- the most baseline human-looking. And considering one’s an alien and one has wings, that’s saying a lot. The other two might not be able to go out in public without causing a scene.”

“Huh. I hadn’t thought about it that way. But it makes sense.”

She shrugged. “Or the other two could be injured. Red was holding a bag full of medical supplies.”

“Shit. We need to find them, and fast.”

!!!!!

:D

#dream smp #dream smp au #gremlins in mcu au #tommyinnit #tubbo #purpled #ranboo #ask #drabble #fanfic #long post #op i love it #i love it so much #also #starborne purpled my beloved #man i can't wait for them to just meet #that's going to be fun

[im-juggling-fandoms]

She never learns, does she?

A Resident Evil fanfic of reader who is a former lover of Albert Wesker but is now on the run from him when she discovered his involvement in the Raccoon City incident. She is terrified of him and what he’s capable of and at the same time angry with herself for not being capable to suppress her feelings towards the man. She’s also determined that he is obsessed with her, it doesn’t matter where she hides, he always finds her and he just won’t stop. So far, reader has been lucky to get away just in time before his arrival. This time, she’s taken by surprise.

Rated mature. 18+ for language, deaths and sexual content.

Long time no see, dear heart..

It has been three years, four months and seven days since the last time Y/N felt herself at home. Now, the closest thing she got to feel like home was the people she surrendered herself with. The people who gave up their own lives to make sure of your safety. What would you have done without their sacrifices? You didn’t need much time to think over the possibilities. You knew you would’ve been dead.

You were a loose end that knew too damn much and Albert wouldn’t stop until he silenced you for good.

After all these years, it still hurt you. The two of you once shared everything together. Or so, you thought. One day you had stumbled upon his underground laboratory that had been hidden from your view for two years behind a massive mahogany bookcase. You found his research, you found an entire life he had been living in a city called Raccoon City not far from where you had built up your life. You found everything. It terrified you how gullible you had been about everything. You believed him when he said he was working at the bank downtown, why wouldn’t you?

It was all a lie. He had been creating horrific viruses and killing people to the left and right before he came home to your bed and ravished your body with his.

It made you sick.

But it made you hurt even more.

You kind of liked the little bed and breakfast you had been calling home for three days now who had an incredible view of the Swiss mountains from your room. It was peaceful and the landscape alone made you hope for a brighter future. Maybe you could finally settle down? It surely would help your mental state to have some peace and quiet. Well, it had been quiet for you and your friends for several weeks now and they told you over and over again not to let your guard down but you just couldn’t help yourself as you peeked over to your sleeping friends before you turned back to the window you where standing in front of. The sun made its way up over the mountains and it cast such a mesmerizing view over the little village. You knew you should be careful but you really wanted to go outside by yourself, if only for a few minutes.

You put your coat over your red nightgown and the silk was so smooth to your skin it almost felt like you were naked underneath.

Before you exited, you made sure to at least pack a gun into your hip holster. You hurried out, careful not to make any sound when closing the door behind you. There was a small hallway with a few rooms and a long stairwell leading down to the lobby. You walked with your hands in your pockets as you exited the B&B and felt the cool spring wind kiss your face. This, this was exactly what you had been needing, some peace and quiet.

You took a stroll around the village that began to wake up. You took in every smell, every sound.. it almost felt as you were vibrating.

Wait

You put your hand in your pocket and retrieved your phone who was buzzing like crazy.

Jeez.. you thought, you hadn’t been out more than maybe a little over ten minutes and Jessica was already buzzing up your phone.

Where the hell are you? Come back right now! You know we don’t go anywhere alone! She wrote.

Jesus Christ, Y/N! What are you thinking?! Jared wrote you.

You couldn’t help but feel ashamed and guilty. What where you thinking? These people had offered everything to go underground with you and yet, you jeopardize everything by taking a goddamned stroll..

You sighed loudly and turned your little stroll back to the B&B. As you walked hurriedly, you went over in your head the best way to explain to your friends why you went out but every outcome was the same. It made you sound stuck up and ungrateful. You decided it was for the best to just apologize and own your mistake. You told yourself that you would promise them to never do anything like this ever again and you meant it.

The lady at the front desk was sitting with her back towards you as you entered the lobby. You wondered if you should bid her good morning but she seemed devoured in that book of hers so you decided to just leave her be. You walked past her but something in the corner of your eye made you stop in your tracks immediately.

You turned your head slowly in her direction and what you feared the most, became reality.

She wasn’t devoured in a book as it first had seemed. She was lying with her face into the open book. The pages that once must’ve been white was colored red and she was as still as a statue.

You grabbed your gun from your holster and called out for your friends to come downstairs as you walked towards the dead woman.

It was as quiet as a graveyard.

Nothing.

A not in your stomach began to build and you abandoned the dead woman and bolted up the stairs as fast as you possibly could and kicked the door to your room open, only to reveal it abandoned.

You began to panic. Where the hell where your friends? It couldn’t have been more than five minutes ago they blew up your phone.

Maybe they got so worried that they decided to go out and look for you? Maybe they had found the woman at the front desk and was at the police station? You had to find them.

You walked down the stairs once again, this time the peace you earlier felt was long gone. When you rounded the crook of the stairwell you completely froze. This time, you literally could feel the ice slithering up your spine.

Albert sat down in one of the armchairs that faced the stairwell, his face were stoic and calm and he had one of his legs over the other which made him look like he was waiting for someone.

He’s waiting for you.

You knew that your gun couldn’t do him any harm. Jared had fired multiple shots at him three years ago during our time in Japan but Albert had dodged every single bullet like he was some kind of a super human. You where lucky you got out of there alive. That was the last time he got this close as he was now.

Your insides were in raging, burning agony. You were so terrified that you trembled but at the same time, your heart hurt with the memories of your love years ago.

“Long time, no see, dear heart.” He spoke and you had forgotten about what a velvety voice that man possessed. Every word rolled of his tongue with absolute expertise. You wouldn’t let him fog up your brain anymore so you stood tall, the gun in your hand pointed directly at his beautiful face even though you knew it was useless, you wouldn’t let him think you would give up so easily.

“Where are my friends, Albert?” You asked. Your hand which held the gun were shaking and you tried to steady it the best you could but to no avail. You were so scared and it was displayed openly for him to see.

Before you could even register that it had happened, Albert had got up from the armchair and made his way over to you. You have no idea how he did it but he had managed to do it in shorter than a second. Now, he stood towering before you, mere inches between the two of you. He was so close that you could inhale his scent. The scent that you had forgot made its way up your nostrils and an raging battle began taking form inside of you. A part of you wanted to run, as far away as you could from this monster of a man or whatever the hell he was and the other part wanted to forget everything that has happened over the years and pull him in for one of those kisses that made your mind all foggy.

You looked up at him hesitantly, his sunglasses was covering his eyes, covering those magical light greys you so well remembered. The eyes you spend so many nights gazing into while you were making sweet love to each other. You didn’t need to see them to have all of those memories pool into your mind immediately, his presence did it all.

He grabbed your wrist of the hand that held the gun and you tried to make him let go of you but he was so strong that it barely even phased him. Without any trouble on his behalf, he took the gun out of your trembling hand and tossed it carelessly to the side.

“Where are my friends?” You tried again, this time your voice broke mid-sentence and you could feel the tears burning behind your eyes, threatening to break free and make you look even smaller than you already did.

“Three years, Y/N.” He began without any hint of emotions in his velvety voice, “You had me turning upside down on half the world for three years.” He finally stated.

“Just let them go, Albert, it’s me you want, isn’t it? They-“ you began sobbing, “They don’t know anything, I swear!” You exclaimed.

He pushed you up against the wall of the stairwell with his hands firmly on yours above your head. He leaned in closer to your tear filled face, so close that you felt his breath ghost over your skin ever so lightly.

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N.”

“I’m not lying, they don’t know anything about-“ you began hysterically but was cut off as he pushed you deeper into the wall and it made your backside ache profusely.

“Don’t. Lie. To. Me.” He pronounced every word with spitting venom. Now, you could feel how angry he was with you. The stoicism from before was a good act, you thought.

“Please, don’t hurt them.” You begged. “Do whatever you want with me but please, just let them go. They won’t tell anyone anything, I am sure of it. I can make them promise to not say anything to anyone! Please!” You were desperate. Every passing minute could mean that your friends lives were closer to an end and you had to do everything you could to help them. Just as they had helped you.

He chuckled.

You looked up at him in confusion under your wet eyelashes, the tears blurring your vision ever so slightly.

“I am not interested in making conversation about your little friends.” He spoke up sternly before he lightened the hold he had on you. You were still pushed up against the wall but it hurt less than it did before.

“I just need to know they’re okay.” Your voice were merely above an whisper.

“They are, for now.” Albert confirmed. Jesus Christ, he was too damn close to you. You could see every little pore in his skin, his scent filled you up like a balloon that was going to pop any second. You knew that he was going to kill you and you felt nowhere near being ready to die but his mere presence awoke something inside of you. The thing that you had been trying to bury deep, deep within. The undeniably eternal love you felt for him with the strength of a thousand elephants. It was blind and it was more forgiving than it was wise. It was so intense it made your skin burn and your insides too, you felt like a hot burning mess. It almost felt unnatural. Mainly because of what it did to you. You had never felt this with anyone else, not ever. It felt like you belonged together. You still knew better, though. Hence why you left and had been on the run for years.

You felt weak and tired. All of this, all of these years had made you so tired. You just wanted it to stop. You were done. There was no use to try and fight him, he was way too strong now. It’ll only make you end up dying in more pain than necessary and you felt obligated to save yourself from that.

“Just get it over with. For old time’s sake, make it quick.” You said, your voice was on the verge of a new wave of tears but you managed to keep them at bay.

His hands let go off yours and you felt his body leave yours, the warmth disappearing by the second. You closed your eyes, ready for the fatal strike.

It never came.

You held your eyes closed for what felt like minutes but nothing happened.

You battle with yourself if you would dare to open them and see what was going on and after a while, you decided that you had to.

He was just standing there, a feet or so from you, with his back against you. His gloved hands were clasped neatly behind his straight back and it appeared as if he was in deep thought. You could tell that, even with his back to you. It was your bond that told you.

Should you try to run?

No.

You wouldn’t get far and you were so tired of this cat and mouse bullshit.

You just wanted it to end.

“Albert, please..” you softly spoke, almost begging him to put you out of your misery.

“You never learn, do you?” He said as he turned to you.

Your confused expression spoke for you and he smirked hastily.

“If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be standing here after all this time.”

You felt weak, confused and at the same time irritated. It felt as if you were back at square one. You had been running for your life only because you sincerely thought that he wanted to end it. All of the ruckus he had been making hadn’t exactly told you otherwise but it was true now when you actually thought about it, you had never once been harmed under these 3 years. All of your friends had been but never you.

“What do you want, Albert?”

“Isn’t it perfectly clear what I want, Y/N?”

You gave him a sour look. It really wasn’t. With all the information you now had on him, you had come to learn that he wasn’t that quiet but passionate lover you once thought you were dealing with. You’ve come to know that he was a sociopath and was capable to do about anything to preserve his goal which seemed to be collecting viruses from around the globe. You didn’t want to know what he was planning to do with them.

“Dear heart,” he began, that smirk upon his face for a few seconds before he continued, “I want what’s mine. I want you.”

If you thought you were confused before, it was nothing compared to what was going on inside your head right now.

“But you, you almost-You sent fucking mercenaries after us! You bombed one of the houses we were inside of, we just barely got out in time!” You fumed, your hand gesturing angrily with every word.

“You left without a word, Y/N, it made me very angry.”

“Oh, it made you angry?” You spat at him, every fear and tremble as blown away. “It made me angry when I found out you were a fucking liar! And not to mention a full blown psychopath!”

He briskly walked over to you and grabbed you by the shoulders roughly.

“You watch that tongue with me, Y/N, before I change my mind.”

“I’m done with these games, Albert! I’m done! Just get it over with, I can’t bear another second with this.” You said, refusing to face him. His face made you want to jump him right here right now. Your hormones were going crazy and you were equally angry as you were a hot, horny mess. The last time you orgasmed by another hand than yours was with Albert. You still remember it as if it was yesterday..

You had been slow cooking some fancy meat on the stove and had some baked potatoes filled with cheese and paprika in the oven. You were working on a side salad when he entered the kitchen freshly showered in nothing but a towel around his waist. He began kissing your neck and one thing led to another and before you knew it, you were sprawled out on one of the counters with his head between your legs, his tongue skillfully massaging your little bundle of nerves while two of his fingers were massaging the inside of your pussy and it didn’t take long before you clenched down on his fingers with a loud moan.

You needed to get your head straight. You couldn’t be thinking about things like that right now. You could literally feel the wetness pouring out of you.

“Hmm...” he hummed with a smirk. You couldn’t see his eyes but you felt how intense they were ravaging you right now.

“I can smell you.” He said, that damn smirk still plastered on his beautiful features. “You are aching for me Y/N, aren’t you?”

“No,” you said hastily, “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, yes you are.” Albert took one of his gloved hands to his face and removed the glove with his pearly white teeth. His naked hand snaked between your exposed legs and traveled up to your clothed pussy. You should slap him right across the face for taking such freedom to touch you like this and yet, you couldn’t do anything. You just stood there, looking up into his face, as if to get some reassuring that this wasn’t as wrong as it actually was.

He didn’t waste any time, he ripped the cloth from your skin with a growl. It probably would’ve stung your sensitive skin if it wasn’t for your arousal. You were dripping and you were desperately longing for the man that you deep down knew was the love of your life.

You grabbed his face with your soft hands and you tried to pull him into a kiss but he wouldn’t succumb to your wishes. He simply undid his belt, opened his trousers and pulled them down to his knees to reveal that he was already hard. You mouth watered and your pussy ached painfully at the sight of his cock. The same exact cock that you had been fantasizing about every time you pleased yourself nowadays.

Albert pushed you once again against the wall of the stairwell but this time he lifted you up as well with his hands at your hips. He didn’t leave you any time to comprehend a single thing, he buried himself to the hilt into your tight, wet cave with a deep, deep groan. It sounded as he had been holding that inside of him for a very long time. You, on the other hand moaned out loudly for everyone to hear as the two of you finally were connected as one.

You had almost forgotten about how good he actually was in bed but all of that came right back to you as he demonstrated his skills by pounding into you evenly, he squeezed your soft hips with every movement.

You clawed desperately at the fabric on his chest as he pounded roughly into you. You didn’t mind him being a little rough, it were a long time since you last made love and if he was anywhere close to as desperate and aroused as you were, he probably couldn’t contain himself.

“Oh, Albert..” you moaned as a wave of pure pleasure washed over you, “I’ve missed you so much.” You confessed openly.

He didn’t answer.

Sure, he was a man of few words but he would always praise you and shower you with affection while making love, now he was all quiet except a grunt here and there.

It was extremely hard for you to get anything from his eyes since those sunglasses covered them and left you to look at your own reflection instead. You had no idea what he felt right now and it made you wary.

You reached for his glasses and removed them as best as you could while he was pounding into you tirelessly. What met you behind those glasses was nothing you were prepared for.

His light grey eyes were a distant memory and now replaced with the eyes of a demon. Red swam around tight slits and you almost didn’t believe what you were seeing. This wasn’t the Albert you remembered.

He was angry. So, so angry. You could feel it vibrating from his furious eyes.

You should be frightened, you should’ve ran away from him but something inside of you made you remain in place with nothing but shame for what you had done to the man you loved.

You had hurt him. You had most likely broken his heart by leaving him without so much as a letter. You had done this to him, you thought.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” You said, tears forming in your eyes as you leaned your forehead against his.

“You are mine.” He growled back,

“Yes.” You nodded in agreement.

“You will never betray me ever again.” Behind his anger you could detect the pain, the pain that you were responsible for.

“Never, baby, never. I’ve been so foolish.”

He slowed down his ministrations and captured your lips with his, the kiss became desperate very quickly, both of your tongues massaging each other in your mouths. You tugged at the locks at the back of his neck as you moaned into the kiss, giving yourself over to him completely.

You were still kissing passionately as he fucked you, and you knew that if he kept moving his hips like that together with his hot, wet mouth, you weren’t going to last very long.

You knew that he also knew.

Your legs began to shake from the intense, burning pleasure between your legs, your nails found his neck where you scratched helplessly as moan after moan escaped your lips.

Albert kissed your face and then went over to your neck affectionely, humming while doing so. Never breaking the rhythm in his thrusts.

“I’m-, I’m so close..” your voice were raspy and low, “Oh god, Albert..”

“That’s it, my sweet” he huskily whispered in your ear before he kissed the curve of your ear, “Come for me..”

You did so, your legs shaking with the same intensity as your screams that left your lips as you rode out the exquisite orgasm eagerly. Every fiber of your body felt as if it was on fire and you couldn’t do anything besides moaning and holding him tightly to you, afraid that he might disappear if you didn’t.

The orgasm left you weak to the bones but Albert didn’t let you rest. He withdrew himself from inside you and lead you upstairs, into the first room that was in sight.

Albert undressed the rest of your clothing and laid you down on the bed softly and positioned himself between your legs, this time with his face.

The first contact with his lips and tongue to your pussy made you moan out with eyes closed, your fingers finding their way down your stomach and onto his blonde locks.

This was one of the best things you know and you’ve been longing for it for three years, it didn’t matter that you had just had an orgasm minutes ago, because when he began using his fingers on you and sucking your clit between his delicate lips, you came undone for the second time today.

He kissed your thighs feathery light and traveled up your now naked body. He kissed and licked every inch of skin on your torso, your breasts he sucked and licked softly, which earned him a moan from you.

He crawled on top of you and spread your legs a little wider for the comfort of both of you. You wasn’t satisfied just yet, though.

“Please, remove your clothes.” You said, looking deeply into his red swirls. “I want to feel you on my skin. I’ve longed so for you, my love.”

He hesitated for a moment but complied to your request and removed his clothes in a blur, it didn’t take more than a few seconds before he was in between your legs again, now in his full naked glory.

You trailed your hands down his hard chest and down his hard washboard abs. You sighed deeply in fulfillment when he entered you once again.

He held you possessively by the neck as he was thrusting into you, his face mere inches from yours as your eyes were locked in each other’s gazes. You had your arms around his back, because you wanted to get as close to him as you possibly could.

You shared a few kisses as the love making grew hotter and closer to the edge for the both of you. It gave you such immense pleasure to see his own pleasure in those eyes of his. You wanted him to feel good, to unwrap himself completely inside of you.

The connection the two of you shared only made the sex even better, more intense than any sex you’ve ever had with anyone else. You didn’t only shared each other’s bodies but each other’s minds and souls as well. He didn’t need to tell you that he loved you, you could feel it with every kiss, every thrust, every single touch he laid upon you. It was magical and brought you straight over the edge for the third time, you were a moaning mess and you chanted over and over again how much you loved him. It didn’t take long after your release for him to find his own. With a deep grunt he filled you up right to the hilt but he remained inside of you just for a little longer.

You shared each other’s lips, and you caressed each other’s faces softly, lovingly.

“If you ever do something like this again, I’m going to have to kill you, Y/N.” He spoke softly but gravely.

“I know.” You responded as you kissed him on his forehead.

You knew that he wouldn’t forgive you a second time. You still had some questions you wanted answers to but you had already decided to stop fighting him. You loved each other, deeply and eternally. That’s all that matters to you. At least for now.

#resident evil #albertwesker #albert wesker #resident evil fanfic #smut #wesker x reader #resident evil smut

[mostlydysfunction]

From The Stars, Part  8

Summary: Kira moved out of town for isolation and peace and quiet. But that quickly gets turned on its head when a spaceship crash lands not far from her house and a strange creature decides she's its new queen. Luck had never been on Kira's side, but things are going to get a lot worse for her as she's forced into this new role and everything her new alien subject thinks it entails.

Warnings: Bodily fluids, hatching eggs, post-labor, talk of birth and mothering, some hinted at violence at the end. 

Authors Note: So this has been up on my Ao3 for ages, I’ve just been too lazy to post it here. For this story specifically, I suggest following on Ao3 cause it’s updated there faster than it is here. There’s a link on my masterlist. Also, if anyone wants to know what I modeled the babies after, I modeled them after the neomorph concept art that Colin Shulver did for Alien: Covenant. A close idea can be found here. 

MASTERLIST

Kira fades in and out for a while. She vaguely recognizes something moving her, the skin of her legs sticking together as she’s carried closer to her eggs. She still has the eighth in her arms, cradling it protectively. She registers their warmth, a solid mass against her back, hissing in her ear. She remembers pain, weakness. Her head heavy, eyes not staying open as she fades in and out.

She’s sure she’s dying. That has to be it. She had lost too much blood and now she was dying. The eggs had caused her to hemorrhage, and she was bleeding out on the floor of her barn. She waits for the bright light, the pearly gates, or even the lake of fire considering the past couple months, but none of that comes. She’s stuck in an inky darkness, her body slowly knitting itself back together again without her knowledge.

It’s light outside when Kira wakes.

She can see the light of the sun in the space near the window where the black substance hadn’t covered it completely. She feels exhausted, her body aching. She’s sticky, covered in something. Something in her arms is moving, shifting around. There’s something pressed against her back, solid and tough. She tries to move, her skin pulling as she attempts to stretch her legs. Something hisses in her ear, a clawed hand pressing against the floor in front of her. Things slowly begin to come back to her. She’d given birth to the eggs, and she had been sure she was dying. But here she was, however long after, alive and breathing.

Something nudges against the side of her head, making her groan at the movement. She slowly moves her upper body, her limbs unsticking from her torso. She’s still naked, but her skin is covered in some sort of almost resin-like substance. It wasn’t all that different from what was covering the inside of the barn. The eighth egg was still in her arms, still smaller than the others. Something inside of it was moving though, she could feel it bumping against the sides.

Kira slowly presses her body up and into a sitting position. The other seven eggs are arranged close to her, moving slightly as well as her babies move around inside. She watches as one of them cracks, lines spidering through the thick outer shell. She sits up on her knees, watching the shell crack and move, something pushing at it from the inside. Her alien leans over her, watching his spawn work its way out of its egg.

It finally makes its way out with a cry, shrill and high. Kira looks at the creature, something inside her stirring as she looks at it. It’s small, no longer than her forearm. It’s pale, almost white. Its head is oblong like its father, but shorter, ending at a sharp point instead of the rounded curve. It stares up at her with big black eyes, its face almost human like. Its mouth opens wider than any human jaw could, revealing sharp, razor-like teeth. It has a small nose in between its wide eyes and mouth, its body built more like its father’s, lean and delicate looking but with a hard exoskeleton. A tail whips behind it, smooth unlike its father’s.

Kira reaches out a hand, a five-fingered clawed hand reaching out towards her. The other eggs are cracking, the feeling swelling in Kira’s chest as she touches her baby’s hand with a finger.

This was her child.

These were her children.

Her babies.

She watches with her alien as the others claw their way out of their eggs, looking very similar to their oldest sibling, near replicas. The feeling inside Kira builds as she looks at each one, touching each one of them. They’re sticky from the inside of their eggs, but their skin is strangely smooth, almost like human skin.

The eighth egg is the last to crack, her last child struggling to fight its way out. She reaches forward to help it, but a clawed hand wraps around her arm, yanking it back. She’s held against her alien’s chest, forced to watch her child struggle to leave its egg. She feels her heart clench in her chest, wanting desperately to help it, but she can’t.

Finally, it makes its way through, this one smaller than the others, its limbs slightly too long compared to its body, not quite as evenly proportioned as its siblings. The runt of the litter. But despite this, she loves it. It lets out a weak cry, trying to get its legs under it properly. Her alien’s head brushes her shoulder as he watches, still holding her back.

Eventually her smallest baby gets its feet under it, unsteady slightly, but standing. Kira’s alien releases her, crawling over to their babies. They let out high-pitched cries, reaching towards his face as he leans down towards them. Kira watches, emotions bubbling in her chest as she watches her babies and their father. Her alien hisses at them quietly, their hands touching his face, tails whipping back and forth as they get acquainted with him.

After a few moments they all turn to look at her, Kira’s eyes going wide as they all rush at her, clambering over each other to get into her lap. She’s helpless as the eight tiny bodies climb onto her, gripping at her skin with clawed fingers. She quickly numbs herself to the pain, nothing more than insect bites as she holds her babies in her arms. She doesn’t care that she’s still naked and covered in dried fluids and sticky resin. These were her babies. Her children.

Nothing was going to stop her from holding them.

***********

Kira sits in the bottom of the shower, letting hot water run over her. She’s tired, her body still aching from forcing out eight large eggs. She can’t fathom how she’d managed to not only carry eight eggs seemingly to term and birth them when humans weren’t supposed to be able to do that. The amount of blood she had lost had to be more than a human could withstand, but yet, here she was, scrubbing said blood from her thighs.

When she had pictured becoming a mother before this wasn’t what she had pictured. Birthing alien-spawn in her barn and then feeding them ground beef within hours of their hatching wasn’t exactly what she had been prepared for. But she can’t bring herself to complain. She can’t bring herself to find it strange. Those were her alien-spawn. They carried some of her DNA, since they weren’t exact replicas of their father. Somehow they had developed partly from her and partly from him to become what they hatched as.

It didn’t matter to her what they were, though. She loved them. She would do anything for them. Anything.

There’s a sharp pain in her head before she gets the feeling of being hungry. No, it’s not her that’s hungry, she realizes. It’s her babies.

She climbs out of the shower, wrapping herself in a robe. She tries not to stare too long in the mirror. She’s pale and there are bags under her eyes. She looks like she’s been through hell. Like she’d been deathly ill. It’s good. She can use that to firm up her story.

She makes her way down to the kitchen, her own stomach growling. She looks through the fridge, the milk and raw meat she had subsisted on for a month suddenly unappetizing. She’d have to do some shopping, it appeared.

After foraging through the stacks of meat, she finds some bread, deciding on some toast. Just as she’s pulling out the jelly there’s a knock on her door. She looks down, realizing she’s still in her robe, but she can’t bring herself to care. The feeling in her mind is still thrumming, crying out for food. She pushes it aside as she goes to the door, seeing two familiar agents standing on her doorstep.

“Ms. Matthews.” One of them says. She can’t for the life of her bring up their names in her memory.

“Are you alright? You look...” The other doesn’t finish his sentence, his unspoken words implying enough.

“I’ve been sick.” Kira says, wrapping her arms around herself.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The first agent says. “We hate to bother you, but we just wanted to check on you and see if anything had happened since we last spoke.”

Kira tilts her head. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know, anything strange? Unexplainable?”

Kira shakes her head. “No, not that I can think of.”

“Your neighbors called to report some strange sounds that were coming from this property a few days ago. The local police sent an officer to investigate, but he never returned. His car is parked half a mile down the road. He knocked, but there was no answer.”

She nods. “I was probably asleep. I’ve been taking some heavy duty medicines. Knocks me out real good.”

The second agent nods, and she can tell he doesn’t quite believe her. “Right. Well, we have a warrant to search the house, if you don’t mind.”

Kira shrugs, taking a step back, letting them in. “Please, go right ahead.”

Kira stands in the living room while the agents look through her house. All the while the cries of hunger are getting more and more insistent, making her wince slightly. She wants to help them, but she doesn’t know how. But then it hits her.

“The house is empty.” The first agent says, coming back to the living room.

The second agent is standing by the back door, looking out at the yard. “The barn looks different.”

Kira steps into the dining room. “Yes, I was doing some renovations before I got sick. You’re more than welcome to go have a look if you want.”

Like she said. She would do anything.

Part 9

#xenomorph #alien #xenomorph x oc #xenomorph x human #from the stars

[efyra]

pairing: remus lupin x reader

summary: the first time that remus almost lost his control

author’s note: i swear that i didn’t pretend to make two parts for this story but it just happened; i couldn’t help myself. i’m sorry 🥺 and I also am sorry for any grammar mistakes - like i said before, english is not my native language

1994, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Honestly, you never thought that would be so sensitive about your last year at Hogwarts. You didn't think you would miss walking those halls, dining under the starry sky of the Great Hall, the Quidditch games that cheered up the students of all Houses, resting on that tree next to the Black Lake or the magnificent view from the Astronomy Tower. All these little things that never meant much to you before, made your seventh year more melancholic than you imagined it would be - you couldn’t even think about no longer seeing your friends every day without starting to cry.

In a few months, you would be a graduated girl; an adult woman who would be entirely responsible for your own future. Technically, you would be free. Free to pursue any career you want; you could become a healer, a teacher, a magizoologist, or even an auror, and you would have a happy and prosperous life. Or you could just screw yourself up.

The uncertainty made you apprehensive.

Ever since you were born, everyone told you what to do, be it your parents or your teachers; how did they expect you to make a decision as big as "the future of your life" being so young? You were only 18, for Merlin's sake!

Why did you stay only seven years at Hogwarts? If you could, you would continue studying there until you were 25 years-old.

But, unfortunately, that was not possible.

What made you feel a little better was to think that your colleagues were as apprehensive as you were about venturing into the adult world.

Since the school year has began, seventh graders threw a "farewell party" every month and overdosed on firewhisky. You have witnessed a diversity of drunken behavior during these parties; there would always be someone crying because they would miss Hogwarts, others despairing because they didn't know what the fuck they were going to do with their lives, some pompously saying that they already knew exactly where they would work after graduation, there would also be those who would make brave confessions, act recklessly or end up sleeping on a couch.

You weren't a very party person; not that you were those people who didn't even attend the party, but you never crossed your limit, let alone did something to embarrass yourself. Of course, you've taken doses of firewhisky before, but you never got drunk.

Until that night.

Earlier that day, you got a letter from your parents telling that they expected you to become an auror just like them; that gave you stomach pain all day long. You had already thought about following the same career as your parents - who were phenomenal in their job - but you weren't sure if that was what you want for your future.

You were a simple girl. You were never very extroverted, but you made good friends during your years at Hogwarts. You were a great student, not extraordinary nor mediocre. You never drew much attention, and frankly, you never wanted that - in fact, you hated being in the spotlight. For some weird reason, you become very clumsy at those times.

So you never really considered becoming an auror. And because of that letter from your parents, you forgot to control how much firewhisky you were consuming.

And, for the first time in your life, you were officially drunk.

"Ok, I'm hungry" you declared to your friend; your voice tone was louder than usual and your words came out a little shuffled.

Y/F/N faced you with some fun in her eyes; it was unusual to see you like that.

"Right. Let's go to the kitchens, then"

You frowned in confusion.

"How do we get in there?"

"Just tickle the pear" she shrugged "easy peasy". A giggle came out of her lips. "What?" Y/F/N raised an eyebrow.

"You said pee-asy" you answered, giggling one more time.

Your friend shook her head.

"You're very drunk," she said with fun. "Let's give you some food and water and put you on bed.

"Oh, but I don't want to go to bed" you made a pout.

"Well, we're going anyway," Y/F/N said firmly; she knew you wouldn't want to wake up on some random couch. "I'll tell Riley we're going and be right back. Don't go anywhere.”

If you were sober, you would never consider invading Hogwarts' kitchens in the middle of the night, and you wouldn't have escaped from your friend after she told you to wait for her, but, obviously, you weren't even a little sober.

Walking through the dark and empty corridors was already an unknown experience for you, but walking through them being so drunk seemed like an adventure. You had no idea where you were going - even though you knew you wanted to get to the kitchens.

Then an intense light blinded you for a second.

"Miss Y/L/N?" the familiar voice of your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher took you by surprise.

Your eyes widened and you stumbled in your footsteps.

"Professor Hottie!" exclaimed automatically as soon as Remus fucking Lupin appeared in your front, seeming very intrigued to find you in the middle of the hall. "I mean... Professor Hottie!" you paused for a short second; looking sideways and not noticing the amused little smile that appeared on the older man's face. "Wait I said it again... Professor Lupin! Now I did it" you smiled and turned your head to face your teacher.

Then you saw.

That damn look. The look full of savagery that made your knees weak and the air escape from your lungs.

Your teacher slowly approached you; he calculated his steps so he won’t scare you - and honestly, he needed to control himself to not kiss you right there.

Remus Lupin looked like a wolf hunting his prey - and you looked delicious in his eyes.

"Miss Y/L/N..." he kept walking towards you, causing you to automatically take a few steps back, getting close to the wall. "What a little girl like you is doing in the hallway off hours?"

The words got stuck in your throat.

"I-I-I... Ah... I..."

Then he smelled it. He smelled the firewhisky on your breath.

A surprised moan came out of your lips when Professor Lupin pushed you against the wall, pressing his body on yours; his 6'2" height rising dangerously over yours much shorter.

"Were you drinking?" his tone was not as gentle as usual; it was rough and demanding. His question came out almost like a growl.

You gulped.

Your heart beat wildly and you never felt so hot like that before; you wondered if you could burst into flames just with that interaction.

"No!" you lied.

"Y/N..." was the first time Remus said your name; you loved how your name sounded in his voice. "I think you're lying to me," he whispered close to your ear.

You felt shiver over your spine.

"Professor, I-I... I don't..."

"I, I" he repeated in a mocking tone, appreciating how nervous you looked before facing you intensely again. "Don't lie to me again. You won't like what I'm going to do to you if you lie to me again.”

You gasp with your words, and to your embarrassment, a pathetic moan came out of your throat.

Remus growled; he clenched his hands firmly, trying to control himself to not fuck you right there in the hallway - his cock already hard inside his pants.

"Or maybe you would like it" he thought to himself.

But at the same time your groaning excited him, it also awakened him from his trance. Remus remembered who he was; he was your professor and you were his student. He couldn't do anything with you.

He took a step away from you, reluctantly; taking the time to admire how delicious you looked with your breath intertwined, your cheeks blushed and so submissive.

You were disappointed when you could no longer feel his warm body against yours, but you stopped yourself from saying anything. Honestly, you had no idea what had just happened between you and your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher; it seemed wrong and it certainly was forbidden, but you couldn't help but want more.

"You will go back to your dorm. No more firewhisky for you, do you understand, Miss Y/L/N?" he asked, looking at her intensely.

"Y-Yes" you stuttered nervously.

"Yes, what?" he growled.

"Yes, Professor Lupin" you corrected yourself quickly.

A smile appeared on the man's face full of scars.

"Good girl" he couldn't prevent those words from coming out of his mouth. "Now, go" he said authoritarian.

You nodded before heading back to the party; the drunkenness seemed to have left your body completely and you almost felt sober.

Almost.

Your little interaction with Remus fucking Lupin still made you feel a little dizzy.

Y/F/N found you halfway through, she guided you to your common room and brought you to your dorm.

That night, you slept quickly because even though Professor Lupin had taken you out of your drunk state, you still had a good dose of firewhisky.

Unlike you, Remus Lupin could not get a good night of sleep.

He thought about you all night long; the way you seemed to submit yourself completely to him without any hesitation, how small and fragile you seemed and how easy it would be for him to throw you on bed or any other surface he could fuck you into oblivion, the way you pressed your thighs together when he approached you - you didn't notice it, but he did.

Remus thought that, maybe, having you wasn't something so surreal; that, maybe, you wanted it too. But he remembered the firewhisky smell on your breath.

He knew he should never have done what he did.

He should have controlled himself.

The next day, he waited for Dumbledore to tell him that he was fired, but that never happened. He waited a week, two weeks, three weeks, more than a month passed and absolutely nothing happened.

Remus didn't know if he should be relieved or if he should feel like the worst man in the world; you had completely forgotten what had happened that night.

Or that's what he thought.

In fact, you remembered every minute of yours little interaction in the hall.

You remembered the way he looked at you ferociously, his predatory walk, you remembered perfectly the growl that came out of his throat, his body against yours, his chocolate and parchment paper perfume, and you, definitely, could never forget how dominant and controlling he acted - and how your body surrender to that behavior; how you liked it.

"You won't like what will happen to you if you lie to me again", it was his words, and Merlin, you had the most absolute certainty that you would love anything he did to you. And you would still beg for more.

You waited for Professor Lupin to come to you, but he never did. You waited more than a month and nothing happened.

It was as if that night had never happened.

Of course, you felt disappointed - very disappointed - but it was your last year at Hogwarts. Your last year walking through those halls, having dinner under the starry sky of the Great Hall, cheering for your house team at Quidditch, resting on that tree next to the Black Lake and enjoying the view from the Astronomy Tower, and you wouldn't waste it lamenting for your Dark Arts Defense teacher.

You graduated. And you thought you would never see him again.

But fate had other plans for you two because in that summer of 1995, you met at Grimmauld Place, number 12.

It didn't seem wrong anymore and it wasn't forbidden, so you promised yourself:

You were going to find out what Remus Lupin was hiding.

#harry potter #harry potter smut #remus lupin #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin smut #remus lupin imagine #lupin x reader #hp #marauders #smut #hp smut #lupin smut #remus x reader #remus smut #dom remus lupin #student reader #harry potter imagine #hp imagine #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fanfic #harry potter fic #harry potter fanfic

[thefallennightmare]

Hard to Love [19/?]

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader

Words: 2748

Warnings: this story will have mentions of abuse, mental and physical so please read at your own risk. Some swearing, angst, and a good amount of fluff. Maybe some smut if I'm feeling frisky.

Summary: After moving to a new town all on her own, Reader would do anything for a stable job and income. Even if that means housekeeping for one of Boston's eligible bachelors. What she didn't expect was finding herself falling in love with him and finding him out about the past that she was running from.

A/N: I couldn’t leave you guys hanging all night! TBH, I’m not sure how much longer this series is going to go. I’ve got a few things in my brain but well see how long this lasts! As always, enjoy :) 

Tags: @kelbabyblue @patzammit @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @jennmurawski13 @divadinag @cosmicbreathe @thevelvetseries @capstopavenger @chris-butt @denisemarieangelina @im-a-stranger-thing @jennamarieee623 @introvertedmouse @lharrietg @thejemersoninferno  @breezykpop @instantbasementtimetravel @rodgersteves @michaelscotfield-blog1 @40srogcrs @wonderingshawn @bellaireland1981 @katelyneannxo @lady-x-red @sare-bare93-blog @annmariek8​ @raabrakha​ @stxvercgersslut​

Chris’ POV. 

A broken sigh fell from my lips as I sat on the back patio, Scott and my mom sitting at the table next to me. They had been here for the morale support, knowing that if I was still left alone, I would have gone insane. 

The bags under my eyes had darken, my facial hair had grown longer than I usually like; I hadn’t had the will to shave. My long hair was matted on my head, refusing to get off the couch to shower. I didn’t want to risk missing her phone call. 

“How long has it been?” Scott asked, his voice breaking the last ten minute silence. 

I looked at my watch and choked back a sob. “Almost 48 hours.” 

“They’ll find her, honey,” My mom rubbed my back. 

Running a hand over my face, I nodded. “I keep thinking that if we haven't fought that night, she would be home right now. I can’t believe those were my last words to her. What if that’s all she's going to remember if she di-.” 

I wasn’t able to finish my sentence, a loud sob replacing my words. 

“Chris, you can’t think like that. You have to think positive.” Scott stated. 

“How can I?!” I yelled while I stood to my feet, the chair scraping on the pavement.

“Her crazy ex husband has her! For all the cops know, he could have killed her the second he hit her with the bat!” 

My voice was deep and bellowed through my backyard. Thankfully it was only us outside so I didn't need to explain myself to anyone. 

The news of Y/N’s kidnapping unfortunately had been on every news channel local to Boston and Chad’s face was plastered all over social media, hoping any tips would pour in. My phone had non stop messages from family, friends, and fans. A lot of the fans thought it was a hoax since I hadn’t said one word about it. 

“Any tips come in online?” My mother asked. 

“Nothing, everyone thinks it’s a hoax,” I sighed. 

“Why don’t you say something?” Scott suggested. 

I looked at him skeptically. “I don’t know how that would help.” 

“You have a huge fanbase, Chris; especially around Boston. It doesn't hurt,” Scott said. 

Sucking on my bottom lip, I tossed the thought around in my head, back and forth back and forth, until I decided with a nod. Someone would be able to find something. 

I stepped away from them while pulling out my phone and clicked the live button on Instagram, taking a deep breath beforehand. The light had turned green, indicating I was live. 

“Hey everyone. I’m sure a lot of you heard the news about Y/N. First off, I want to say that it is true. She was abducted a few blocks from here almost 48 hours ago. The cops have evidence that her ex is behind it but they’re having trouble finding where he took her.” 

I ran a hand through my hair and continued. “We’ve been together for almost a year and she means the world to me; almost as much as Dodger. Hell, even more than Dodger. She’s everything to me, I need her back home. So if any of you have any information please pass it along to Boston PD. Or you can even send it to me but please, I beg you, serious leads only. I love her. Let’s bring Y/N home. Thank you guys, you are simply the best fans. I love you all.” 

The live ended and immediately I noticed the outpouring coming from everyone that had watched the live, letting me know that Y/N was in their prayers and that they would help bring her home. 

A few tears rolled off my cheeks and I let out a shaky breath, holding back the sobs. My mom snuck up behind me and wrapped herself around me, pulling into a much needed hug. 

My body crumbled in her embrace and the sobs became louder, burning our ears. I could help but grip my fingers into my moms back, even if she was shorter than I, but suddenly I was a little kid again. She always knew when I needed a hug or a shoulder to cry on. She knew exactly what I needed to get over heartbreak and she knew exactly when to back off when I needed space. 

Right now I needed her. 

After a few moments, I finally pulled away from her and thanked her with a kiss to the cheek. 

“Thanks mom,” I forced a smile to my face. 

“Of course,” she cupped my cheek, “I’m going to make you something to eat.” 

I went to protest but she immediately hushed me, saying that I looked like I hadn’t eaten in days. 

It was true. 

“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay with you?” My mother asked.

Scott sat behind the wheel while I leaned against the window of the passenger side in front of my mom. They stayed for a few hours after dinner and when the clock struck seven, I knew that they should head back home to rest; they’d been by my side all day. 

 “I’ll be fine, I’ve got Dodger.” I nodded. 

“Chris,” she tsked. 

“Ma, I’ll be fine. If I need anything, I’ll call.” I reassured her. 

Her hand rested on my cheek and with sad eyes, she nodded. “She’ll come home.” 

“I know. What’s killing me is not knowing-.” 

“Chris?” 

Looking to my left, my shocked eyes watched in horror as the figure walked towards me. I scurried away from Scott’s car, closer to the figure. She looked broken, bare feet tore up with cuts, but what caused my lips to tremble was the blood that covered her dress. 

“Y/N?” My lips quivered. “Baby?” 

Readers POV.

The soles of my heels burned with every step I took, closer and closer to my destination. The pavement scratched and cut my bare skin and I hissed in pain after every few steps. I wasn’t sure how long I had been walking but knew that I had a bit more to go. 

A soft breeze tangled around my legs, causing the cuts to sting and I let out another hiss of pain. I pulled the jacket closer around me, blocking out the view from anyone I had walked past, which thankfully wasn’t many. I was in a part of town that the scene of me, disheveled and cut all over was nothing new. I could feel all parts of my hair was matted and stuck to my face, the sweat and blood dried a long time ago. 

As the sun began to set, I knew I had to make it back before dark. This part of town was worse at night, but compared to what I had endured, that didn’t scare me. Nothing could scare me anymore. 

Time passed slowly as the streets started to become familiar and as my tired feet turned the corner, the familiar three story home that had all those windows slowly came into view. The closer I got, the bigger the windows looked. My heart leaped into my chest when I saw him leaning against a car, talking with someone I couldn’t see. It didn’t matter, however, all that mattered what that I had made it back; back home to him. 

“Chris?” My voice was raw and broken, barley coming past my lips. 

He pushed himself off the car, taking large strides towards me. His hand outstretched and shook, afraid that I wasn’t real. 

“Y/N? Baby?” 

Everything seemed to slow as I stood in front of him, broken and a mess, knowing that with the look in his eyes that he hadn’t slept since I left. 

“Is that...blood? Oh, god, please tell me it isn’t blood,” he cried, pulling me into his arms. 

I broke down in a sobbing mess in his chest, the hell from the past few days finally catching up to me. 

“It’s not mine,” I choked between sobs. 

“Shh, it’s alright. I’ve got you,” Chris cooed, large hands rubbing circles on my back. 

His body shook with sobs, happy that I had found my way home and sad from everything that happened to me. 

“We should get you to a hospital, baby.” Chris cupped my face. 

I wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on mine but I couldn’t force myself to close the distance; thankfully Chris understood. 

“I’m fine,” I tried to fight. 

“You’re not fine, Y/N. Please, let me take you to the hospital.” Chris begged with sad eyes. 

Eventually I nodded. I didn’t want to go to the hospital because I knew the cops would get called which meant I had to tell them what happened; something I wasn’t ready to tell. 

Silence was all we heard, threatening to pull us in deeper, as we waited for the doctor to return with the officer; they wanted to go over everything with them in the room. I agreed.  

Chris had his eyes trained hard on the floor, his body unreadable. 

“Chris?” My voice was quiet. 

He slowly looked up. “Do you need something?” 

I nodded and patted the spot next to me on the hospital bed. “Can you sit with me? I really need you right now.” 

In a flash he was up from the chair in the corner of the room and by my side, arm wrapped around my shoulder. He kissed my forehead and the warm gesture was enough to slowly heal my heart. 

“Ms. Y/L/N?” 

We both looked in the doorway and Chris greeted an officer and the doctor. 

“Baby, this is Officer Ramirez, she’s handing your case.” Chris informed me. 

The word sounded so wrong coming from his lips; your case. 

“Are you feeling alright?” The officer asked. 

I shrugged. “Better than I was earlier. The drugs helped ease the pain.” 

“Are you alright if I go over the results in front of him?” The doctor suddenly asked while nodding toward Chris. 

Linking our fingers together, I nodded. “He’s my boyfriend. He was with me for the tests, he’s staying for the results. 

It was the doctors turn to nod. “Alright. So you have two bruised ribs, a laceration to your neck, hip and hand which we all stitched up. Some bruising on your face, a black eye, and a few minor cuts on your face as well. You do have a slight concussion so do take it easy for the next week. The bottom of your feet are severely cut up and we pulled quite a few debris out of them so I recommend staying off your feet as well.” 

Chris stumbled over his words, trying to ask the one question that burned in his mind. Even though I reassured him countless times, he still needed to hear the doctor say it. 

“What about the rape kit?” He finally breathed out. 

“Negative. There was no sign of trauma and no foreign fluids. I don’t know how you survived, Ms. Y/L/N, but you are a fighter. I’ll leave you alone with Officer Ramirez.” 

After she left the room, I stole a glance at Chris who’s shoulders had eased up a bit, knowing that I wasn’t raped. I knew that it was on his mind the whole time I was gone and since I came back. 

“Are you up for giving your statement now?” Officer Ramirez asked. 

I nodded. “I need to.” 

Chris went to leave but I placed my hand on his thigh to stop him. “Please don’t leave me.” 

He nodded. “Okay, I’m right here.” 

Taking a deep breath, it came out shaky as I started telling them exactly what happened to me. 

“He had me in a run down motel room across town, I knew it was across town when I was able to escape. When he was getting ready to put on a condom,” I felt Chris’ body stiffen next to me, “I saw the knife he’d brought on the table next to the bed and I didn’t even think about it; I went for it.” 

“He was too fast and grabbed the knife before I was even off the bed. He used it on my, cutting up parts of my body. He didn’t care how loud I screamed or writhed in pain, he liked it.” 

“Uh, after he smacked my head against the wall for trying to escape, he handcuffed me to the bedpost so he could run out for something. I couldn’t hear what he said, my head was throbbing in pain. He was gone for quite awhile and I stayed locked to the bed the entire time. I remember feeling how warm and sticky my blood was as it dripped from my body.” 

I cried out, my hands shaking with the awful memories. 

Chris wrapped his arms around me to calm me down and looked at Officer Ramirez. “Can we finish this another time?” 

“No,” I shook my head while pulling away from his chest. “I have to tell them where his body is.” 

Chris’ head snapped over to me, his mouth falling agape. “Don’t say another word, Y/N. Not until I get you a lawyer.” 

“Damnit Chris, I don't want a lawyer! I did nothing wrong!,” I yelled. “That bastard, after he finally came back and unhandcuffed me, he passed out drunk in the bed next to me. I thought about running out but I knew that he would find me again. He felt me get out of bed and pulled me back down. We fought for the knife and he kept punching me in the head, smacking me against the wall. All I had was one second as he wiped my blood from his hand to reach for the knife, pushing it deep into his chest!” 

My cheeks were soaked with tears, replaying the memory of the knife going into Chad’s heart over and over again. How easily the knife slid into his chest and the sound it made hurt my ears. 

“I was so scared of what I had done that I sat in the corner of the room in the fetal position while his body went cold and ridged. I finally was able to will myself up and stole this dress from the laundry room of the hotel and walked all the way home.” 

Chris looked at me, completely helpless and broken, but knew that I needed him more than ever. While he had me in his arms, Chris looked over to the officer. 

“It’s clear what this is,” He stated. 

She nodded. “The defense attorney won’t be pressing any charges. We only needed to get her statement.” 

Chris and her chatted for a few more moments, her saying that she would be in touch, and it was finally Chris and I alone. 

“You alright?” He pulled my chin up to meet his eyes. 

“I was afraid I was going to die,” I admitted, “The only thing that kept me alive was thinking of you.” 

“You’re incredibly strong, Y/N.” Chris breathed in my hair, savoring my scent. 

Even though I was still covered in blood and sweat, not being able to shower until they collected evidence, I still smelled divine to him. 

We found ourselves laying in the hospital bed, my head on his chest, and I could feel his heart beating rapidly through his chest. 

“You can relax, I’m home now.” I reassured him. 

A stray tear fell from his eyes and I was quick to wipe it away. 

“I thought I lost you. I kept replaying our last words to each other in my head and blamed myself for what happened.” Chris admitted with a shaky breath. 

“No,” I cupped his cheek, “None of this is your fault; or mine. I’m sorry I ever compared you to him.” 

“Don’t apologize. I was being an asshole,” he stated. 

“I just want to move past this,” I sighed while laying my head back on his chest. 

Chris agreed with a kiss to my forehead. 

“I love you,” he muttered against it. 

My head shot up, looking into his eyes to see if he meant what he had just admitted. 

“What?” I asked. 

“I love you,” he said again, not missing a beat. 

Getting through the last 48 hours of hell had been worth it because not only had I survived, I made it back home to the man that loved me and who I loved. 

“I love you too,” I pressed my lips to his, feeling the familiar taste encase my tongue. 

There was a long road to recovery in front of me but I knew that it would be an easy one to walk; with Chris by my side.

#chris evans and reader #reader insert #chris evansx reader #chris evans reader insert #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #chris evans angst

[gureishi]

10 and Saeyoung if that's okay, thank you! 💕

Thank you for this request, darling anon! And I am so so sorry, but I have written a reset theory fic. I never do this! Really! But this prompt was screaming at me, and I just had to. If you don’t mind a bit of pain, I hope you enjoy this. It’s the good kind of pain, I promise. ♡

i can feel you even now

Saeyoung X Reader, T (cw: reset theory, angst), words: 2223

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

There is an indent in the pillow where you used to sleep, and he isn’t smoothing it out.

It has been eleven hours, forty-two minutes, and seventeen seconds since you were here—which means, Saeyoung thinks (drumming his fingers impatiently on his desk, averting his eyes from his work phone, which is buzzing insistently), that he may get to talk to you again very soon.

He doesn’t know for sure that you’ll be back tonight. But lately, you haven’t been waiting long.

He spins around aimlessly in his chair. Checks the clock. Eleven hours, forty-two minutes, and fifty seconds.

The first time you left him, you were gone for weeks, and he nearly gave up altogether. He ignored his agency; he spurned his friends. He stopped checked the messenger; he didn’t pick up his work phone. It was a miracle that he survived those few weeks—a miracle he opened the messenger when he did (feeling a tingling in his fingers that told him, inexplicably, that you had returned).

And when you didn’t remember him, he felt sick to his stomach. His head pounded; his vision went fuzzy, like he, too, was fading out of existence. But he held on, somehow, for you: went through the motions the way he always had, because he didn’t know what else to do. Because you’d want him to. Because he knew, somehow, that you would find your way back to him.

And you did. And it was different—and it was the same. You loved him every bit as fiercely as before, though the way you told him was different, and though your eyes were softer. Almost as if you knew that you had been here before.

And the more he looked at you, the hazier his memories became—till he wasn’t even sure what was past or present; till he could no longer remember how you had been before you had left him for the first time.

It all come rushing back when you disappeared again. You left—you returned. You left again. You came back.

He never got used to it. But he knows, now, what to expect.

He knows what time of day you usually slip back into his world—unnoticed, unseen, a tiny blip in the fabric that holds the universes together. He knows how you will behave when you want him—knows what you will say when you don’t. You don’t always choose him—and when you don’t, his heart arches like it has been submerged in a noxious liquid: burning, melting.

But most of the time, you choose him.

Most of the time, you make your wandering way back to him—different and the same, nostalgic and new—and his photographic memory can’t manage it, somehow, and all the moments of your past and present and tenuous future blur together into a mess of touches and delight, terror and devotion.

He tucks his legs up into his chair: a physical manifestation of the anxiety knotting in his chest. He looks at his phone.

Eleven hours, forty-six minutes, and twelve seconds.

You were with him longer, this time, than ever before.

He doesn’t check if the pictures of you are still saved on his phone. He knows they are gone—they always are.

But he doesn’t need them: your face is fixed in his mind like it has been carved by a hot knife into smoldering metal. He closes his eyes, his head pounding, and can see the shadows your eyelashes cast on your cheeks. He can see your jaw when it is lit by sparkling sun, as you sit in the passenger seat of his car; he can see the way your shoulders shake when he makes you laugh. He almost believes that if he stretches out his weary hand, he will touch your arm: find it soft and warm; feel your hands curling around his, the way they always do. He can hear the way you breathe when you’re sleeping; he can hear you calling his name.

Who is he, he thinks, without you?

With you, he is Saeyoung, and Saeyoung is someone who is soft and scarred and shifting. And loved; Saeyoung is loved. But without you, he is only Seven, and Seven is no one at all.

Ah: he feels sick again.

His work phone buzzes itself off the desk, and he doesn’t bother to pick it up. He digs his palms into his closed eyes and sees shades of purple and red; his office is dark, because it’s late and he hasn’t turned on any lights. 

When you are here, the house is always full of light. He laughed—just yesterday (a lifetime ago), telling you that you were going to run up his electricity bill. You had lights on in the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom, the bathroom—as though determined to flood his sad, underground home with brightness. You giggled and kissed the tip of his nose.

“You can afford it,” you told him.

You padded around his home barefoot. You left your socks everywhere—and you were so clean otherwise, but in this one way, you were messy (just like him).

“I like that it looks like I live here,” you told him once—not recently, but two returns ago. “It makes me happy to know I belong.”

His other phone lights up: the messenger. But it is not midnight yet, so he turns the phone over. It can’t be you. If you are coming at all, you won’t be here yet.

The gaps have gotten shorter lately. Sometimes you are gone for only a day or two; last time, it was just twelve hours. 

But he doesn’t tell you.

He wants to—oh, how he wants to whisper yes, I know when you tell him you love him for what you think is the first time. But he can’t, because when you look at him like that he is incapacitated; but he can’t, because he fears that if you know the truth, you won’t ever come back.

Saeyoung doesn’t know if time itself is repeating, or if he alone is stuck—fated to loop forever and ever around the moment in his life that means the most. He doesn’t know where you go when you leave his side—doesn’t know if there is another life you’re returning to.

Take me with you, he thinks. I’ll live there too.

He flips his phone back over again to check the time.

Eleven hours, fifty-two minutes, and thirty-three seconds.

You left at exactly noon. He knew it was coming—had feared, for days, that it would happen at any moment. The world was letting him have this for too long, he thought—so many nights in a row with you in his arms.

He often wonders if the circling of time is divine punishment for the person he used to be. But with you, he is becoming someone else—a person you can be proud of.

But he understands that he doesn’t get forever with you.

He knew, earlier today, that the time was drawing near, and so he tried not to leave your side. He has never seen the way you leave: never understood if you walk out a door and faded away, or simply disappear right where you are standing. No matter how hard he looks, how closely he watches—it always happens when his back is turned.

This time, you left him for a moment only. You slept in that day; it was late morning, and he was in the kitchen watching you make coffee. He was smiling at the way your hair kept falling into your eyes. 

“Be right back,” you said cheerily. You went to the pantry for the jar of unground coffee.

“I’ll come with you,” he started to say—but the words died on his lips as you turned the corner.

Oh, he thought. This is it.

You didn’t come back.

He waited—perched on the counter, frozen in place—until his legs cramped up and his head started to ache. At last, he checked the coffee maker: empty, though you’d filled the canister with water just before you left. He didn’t retrace your steps—didn’t go to the pantry to see the spot where you’d vanished.

He’d tried that before. It had been excruciating.

He gets up from his desk, now—walks aimlessly down the hall, returns to the bedroom. He turns on the light—winces as it burns his eyes.

And there is the indent in the pillow: just the shape of your head. The objects you leave behind disappear, but the marks you leave linger. And he made the bed that morning, before you left—but he didn’t smooth out your pillow. He never does.

Just in case.

He sits carefully on the edge of the bed—feeling, for some reason, that he shouldn’t wrinkle the sheets (though he doesn’t know quite why he bothers). Even if you return tonight—even if you return at all—it will be weeks before you are back in this house.

He tries to swallow, and finds it difficult.

He’s not sure he’ll be able to sleep in this bed while you’re gone.

Often, after you’ve left, he sleeps at his desk—as he sometimes used to before you appeared in his life. Sometimes he sleeps in the living room, with all the lights on so he doesn’t have to see how dark it is in here, without the glowing stars he has on the ceiling of his bedroom. And sometimes he does come back to his bed: is thankful, at least, that no one can see him as he presses his face into the pillow that used to be yours and fights with his stinging eyes.

He paces the room. He feels something—not the emptiness he is used to, but something new. Like fire.

Ah—he knows this feeling. He is angry.

He hates the universe, he thinks, for cursing him the way it has—hates the other place you go, for taking you away from him. Hates you, for appearing in his life against all odds and putting the pieces of him together, then leaving him half-complete and longing to hold you.

No.

No—he doesn’t hate you. He hates the way his chest feels, like it’s caving in; hates the fear that claws at his stomach as he waits for you. But there is not one single thing about you that he doesn’t love.

You are good—too good, to care for someone like him. You are kind; you are forgiving. You are resilient.

You keep coming back.

Saeyoung flips the lights off, not allowing himself a last glance at the pillow. He makes his way back down the hall.

He steps on something.

And before he has stooped to pick it up, he knows—knows, in the part of his heart that always waits for your return; knows, in the tips of his fingers that remember how it feels to touch your cheek. His heart is in his throat.

He bends down. It is a sock.

Oh, and it’s a small sock, smaller than his—and it is short and brightly colored, and it has been left here all on its own, its partner discarded carelessly in another room. 

Breathlessly, he says your name. The air seems to shimmer in the wake of his voice.

Because always, when you leave, the signs of you go too: the coffee maker is empty, the shoes are gone from the entryway, your clothes are no longer in his closet. The socks disappear from the halls.

Saeyoung is used to the way things are. But this—this is something new.

He stumbles mindlessly back to his office, the sock in his shaky hand. Breaking, he thinks wildly—shifting. Whatever strange twist of fate is taking you from him again and again is falling apart—or the walls between his world and yours are crumbling—or he misses you enough that you just can’t quite leave him behind.

It’s changing, he thinks—with a certainty he didn’t know he had.

He sinks into his chair. Eleven hours, fifty-nine minutes, and seven seconds. His head is spinning. Something has shifted in the very fabric of the universe. Something is falling apart. Something is being born anew.

For the first time in eleven hours, fifty-nine minutes, and fifty-five seconds, he feels a tiny flickering in his chest: a little fluttery thing. Less familiar.

It’s hope.

He opens the messenger. There are five people logged in. He closes his eyes. He tries to breathe.

Three, two, one…

He opens his eyes.

Six: there are six people now.

His fingers shake as he pulls up the users on his computer: and there you are. Not here, beside him, but in this world—one step closer to falling right back into his arms.

His dark office feels brighter, all of a sudden. He whispers your name again: intones it, like a prayer, into the still air.

This time will be different, he thinks—not with his mind, but with his whole aching, beating, longing heart.

This time, I’m not letting you go.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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#mystic messenger #saeyoung choi #707 #saeyoung x reader #707 x reader #gureishi writes requests #anon #after it all

[fandomficsnstuff]

Little Dragon - Part 10

Summary: You were a child slave of Meereen, when one day a silver haired woman sets you free. Though your master isn’t too keen on letting you go, and Daenerys took personal action to see you freed and taken care of.

(Warnings: sorry it’s shorter than the others but a whole lotta stuff’s coming! So buckle up ya’ll!)

High Valyrian is in cursive

You watched Grey Worm and the other Unsullied sail away, your hand finding Missandei’s and already you could feel how tense she were, seeing him leave, “he’ll come back, he has you” you reassured her, and felt her relax just a tiny bit, enough to give your hand a quick squeeze before leaving with Daenerys. You were about to follow when a certain black haired figure caught your eye, and you smiled brightly as you parted from the small group that had been at the beach to see the Unsullied off. You approached Ezzo and grinned at him, one he matched as soon as he saw you “Ezzo…” he grinned at you, and for a second you were worried if he even knew your name, but when he spoke he put all your worries to rest “(Y/N), I’m sorry, I don’t know how you say…” he seemed confused and conflicted for a second, making you frown for a split second before he spoke back up “princess? Is that how you say it?” you nodded eagerly, “yes, but please, I would like it more if you just called me (Y/N)” you knew it wasn’t exactly how a princess should speak, but you felt comfortable enough around him already, and he seemed to share that comfort. You were both unaware of the four sets of eyes watching you, each pair belonging to two women, one with brown curly hair, and one with silver hair, watching silently, seeing how you smiled with him, this Ezzo. “This is the man who gave her the small statue” Messandei confirmed and Daenerys smiled softly at how you laughed at something he had said, and she decided to speak to him, MIssandei following close behind.

You froze as you saw your mother approaching, but she didn’t look angry, or upset, or disappointed, and upon seeing her Ezzo instantly froze up, bowing his head “Khaleesi, it is an honour to stand before you, I remembered when you rode your dragon above us, when you called us Blood of my Blood” Ezzo was talking quite fast, so you barely caught any of his words, but Daenerys caught all of them, of course, “you honour me with your words, you are the one named Ezzo, correct?” Ezzo suddenly got nervous, gently nodding and Daenerys smiled, which only managed to ease his nerves somewhat “my daughter,” she gave a nod at you before continuing “has told me of you, you gave her a small wooden statue of her, she was very happy upon receiving this gift” Ezzo blushed at her words and glanced at you, clearly getting a bit embarrassed “Mhysa…” you were getting embarrassed as well, frankly, after this he probably never wanted to talk to you again, but Daenerys only showed you that she acknowledged your words by smirking at you, “tell me, Ezzo, what do you think of my daughter?” they were both talking so fast now that you had no idea what they were saying, and you glanced at Missandei who gave you a small sympathetic smile, but it gave you some comfort, through that smile you knew that Daenerys hadn’t said anything too bad.

Ezzo glanced at you, even through his copper-coloured skin you could see how red his cheeks were “I-I’m sorry, Khaleesi?...” Daenerys just looked at him expectantly, like she was waiting for his actual answer, making Ezzo gulp as he once again glanced at you, before straightening his back a bit, looking back to Daenerys as he answered “she is very kind, I have not talked to her much but-”

“She has captivated you?” Daenerys interrupted, making Ezzo look away embarrassed, probably for the hundredth time. Daenerys gave a knowing, amused smirk to Missandei who mirrored it, glancing at you who just stood there completely still, why were they looking at you? Did they need you to answer something? Daenerys knew that you weren’t that fluent in Dothraki, so that couldn’t be it. Maybe you had missed something? A hint of some sorts?

While your mind was busy flying faster than any of your dragon brothers, Daenerys turned back to Ezzo “how old are you, Ezzo?”

“I am fifteen, Khaleesi” Daenerys nodded at his answer, thinking it over, he was very young for a Dothraki, and you were fourteen, a grown woman by most standards, you were already wise for your age, you knew that you had a responsibility as heir to the Seven Kingdoms, and as her daughter, and yet you were not her. A part of her was horrified that something would happen to you, you and her dragons were her whole world, what if one day you needed help, and none of the dragons or her or your guards could help you? Back in Mereen, when she thought she was going to die in the fighting pit, her thoughts were of you, she’d leave you behind, with no idea what to do, she wished in that moment that she could fight, that she knew how to fight so she could get back to you, so an idea sprung to mind. “Ezzo, every day you will train my daughter to fight, you will teach her how to defend herself if she ever were to be in trouble, unable to get help, if her life was ever in danger. My daughter means more to me than any iron chair or land, more than a thousand horses, losing her is not an option, so I want you to help protect her in this way” Ezzo’s coal black eyes sprung open at her words, staring at her confused before looking down at you, who still had no idea what was going on.

“Khaleesi… I will not fail you” Ezzo finally decided, his eyes never leaving yours, though you still had no clue what they had talked about, you had given up on trying to pick up the few words you understood. Daenerys nodded “you start tomorrow, I will send for you” she turned and were about to leave but looked at you, extending her hand to you, which you took, and then she walked back to the castle with you and Missandei, knowing of the second glance you threw over your shoulder at Ezzo, still confused but giving him a small wave and smile all the same, which he happily returned.

#Daenerys Targaryen #Daenerys Targaryen x Child!Reader #GoTFanFic

[sweetdejun]

someday // l.t.y.

summary: several years after high school, when you and your peers have all established careers, you get invited to your graduating class reunion.

pairing: lee taeyong x gn!reader

word count: 2.4k

genre: exes!au, angst, some closure.

a/n: mentions of alcohol, UNEDITED

You knew this day would come, but not this soon.

It feels like it came fast when in reality it’s been almost seven years since you graduated from high school. It took a handful of odd jobs after receiving your bachelor’s degree, but you were able to land a position as an accountant. With your hard work, you’ve slowly climbed up the ladder to where you now serve as the finance director of the firm you work for. Your salary is handsome, as per your standards, and you were recently able to afford a nice apartment. It was only after your move that you visited your parents on the other side of the city where they handed you the envelope in your hands. It was an invitation to your high school reunion.

That's how, fast forward a week later, you found yourself standing in front of your old high school gymnasium. You see people walking towards the entrance and feel stupid because most of them seem to be going with another person, maybe a friend they would keep in touch with or a significant other. Maybe you should have coaxed one of your co-workers and bribed them with drinks or something afterward. Too late now, you thought, as you sighed and made your way to the entrance. Upon arrival, the first thing you notice is the reasonably large group of people scattered throughout the room. It’s dark and the only light sources are the few disco ball lamps projecting multicolored circles throughout the perimeter of the room. You squint to try to make out people when seconds later, your thoughts are interrupted by a shrill, “Y/N!” You turn your head towards the sound and find an adult Jisoo approaching you. Jisoo was one of your closest friends you kept in touch with for a while but lost contact with a couple of years into college. “Jisoo, is that you? Oh my god, it’s been ages! How are you?” you hugged her, and she began to share how shortly after graduating college, she applied for a job as a photographer at a fashion agency, but she ended up landing a job as a model. Long story short, Jisoo was now a thriving model. “I’m so happy for you!” you gush with sincerity and she gets shy, combing her fingers through her hair. She tells you that she may have just landed her big break, about to fill you in on details when an oh-so-familiar voice cuts her off. “Hey guys,” you turn around and your eyes meet Lee Taeyong.

Taeyong and Y/N: the “dream team” as they used to call you back in high school. You shared a long and valuable relationship with him, dating almost throughout all of high school. That's why when people heard that you split up, they were more shocked than they would have liked to admit. it was a rather nasty breakup that was not mutual at first; he had gotten into his dream university located across the country while you chose to stay in your home city for college. You didn't want to stop him from achieving his dreams of becoming a pediatric dietitian; you would have hated yourself for acting that selfish. Therefore, you thought things could work via long-distance and they did for a while, but the harsh realities like not being able to hold each other in your hard times set in faster than you wanted to admit. Your schedules were becoming increasingly incompatible, and it became difficult for either one of you to grasp onto the relationship. You both watched as it slowly slipped away from your hands. Taeyong was the one to pull the trigger, and with heavy hearts, the two of you officially parted ways.

You have not contacted each other since then. Now, the two of you stand face to face, and you see an emotion in his eyes that you don’t recognize. Perhaps it’s because you successfully managed to forget the negative memories from all the ones you still have of him. Or maybe you just forgot how to read him. “Uh, Y/N, I wasn’t expecting you to show up,” he awkwardly rubs his hands together as he slowly shifts his gaze around the room. “Yeah, I wasn’t going to come, but I decided to come just for the fun of it. Bit of a last-minute decision, actually.” Jisoo could sense the tension in the air and playfully scoffed, “really? Y/N, I thought you weren’t the type of person to make last-minute decisions. You used to grill me for doing that all the time.” You notice the surprise looming on Taeyong's face; he must’ve been taken aback by your statement too. You turn away from his careful gaze before coldly replying, “people change over time, I guess.”

After Jisoo finds someone else to catch up with, you quickly excuse yourself to the bar to grab a glass of punch because there is no way in hell that you want to be left alone with Taeyong right now. The walk over to the bar is a little difficult, mainly due to the lack of light, but you manage to make it without bumping into anyone else. as you pour your punch in a cup, someone clears their throat in front of you. “Johnny Suh!” you gasp, a smile forming on your face. Johnny and you used to be neighbors in high school but right after graduation, he and his family moved to Chicago. You were very sad at the departure of one of your only friends, so you were beyond thrilled to see him again. You shuffle around the table to give him a hug that he gladly reciprocated. “I thought I saw you walk in. how are you, Y/N?”

“I’ve been well. Busy, but well. When did you get back?” He tells you that he recently got a job at an accounting firm, right here in the city. When you ask him where he says the name of your firm. “No way! I work there, too!” Johnny lights up at this, you talk about the work-life, how the people are, and share your experiences.

You fail to notice that across the room, a pair of eyes have been following you ever since you left them alone a few moments ago. Taeyong watches, with a pained gaze, as you reciprocate what is obvious flirtatious behavior from Johnny. Truthfully, when Johnny moved away, Taeyong remembers being a little happy on the inside, because he wouldn’t have to hear you talk about him so much. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Johnny harbored a small crush on you. When he brought it up, you used to throw your head back in laughter, before pinching his cheeks and calling him cute. That same feeling begs to ignite again, but his head is quicker than his heart, as it forces him to look down at the thin silver band wrapped around the ring finger of his right hand. You’ve moved on, he hears, and he tucks his hand into his pocket. Someone walks over to him and captures his attention, pushing the thoughts of you and what could have been to the back of his head.

Johnny gets a call from someone, so he excuses himself from your company, leaving you standing amidst the terrible background music and a half-full cup of punch in your hand. You figure you can go grab some fresh air right about now, so you meander off to the door, before stepping out onto the concrete outside. The cool summer breeze is comfortable against your arms but out of habit you fold them together, the cup of punch firmly held in your palm. You close your eyes and exhale the breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Care if I join you?” Taeyong’s voice rings, shattering the silence you developed briefly. Opening your eyes, you clear your throat before saying, “be my guest.” Taeyong stands next to you, and once he’s in the light you’re able to get a better look at him. The last time you saw Taeyong, his hair was much shorter and cleanly trimmed. He had innocence in his eyes that twinkled with every step. The version of him standing next to you was definitely more mature; there’s a shadow of smile lines and crow’s feet on the side of his face you see, his hair has grown out quite a bit and you can make out the sharpness of his cheekbone and jaw naturally contouring his face.

“Some things never change, right?” He says out of the blue and you cough to offset the growing embarrassment you feel. He’s referring to how you used to zone out into your thoughts when you stared at him, usually from the side. He would always be able to pick up on it, teasing you relentlessly. “Have you been well?” “Did you move back here?” The both of you asked at the same time to one another, awkwardly laughing off the collision of your questions before you said, “you first.” Taeyong nodded, “I moved back here almost a year ago actually. I was transferred to a small hospital and they knew I was from here, so they figured it was easier to send someone who had a feel for the demographic.” You bit your lip, and he continued, “I didn’t realize how much I missed this city. It was only after I moved back that I felt like this is where home was all along. How about you, did you ever leave?” You shook your head, “I had all my opportunities here, so I never felt the need to go anywhere. I have been perfectly happy and I never felt better,” and as you speak, you notice Taeyong pull his hand out of his pocket to scratch his ear and light reflects the ring resting nicely on his ring finger. You try not to let your eyes widen too much, but you can’t help it if your heart shatters in your chest. “You’re engaged.” Taeyong winced at the change in your tone; he wanted to avoid this topic. “Uh, yeah. Yes, I am.” You attempt to play it off, looking away from his analyzing gaze. “Who’s the lucky person?” Taeyong looks outward with a certain fondness as he recalls details of his significant other. He says they met in one of his classes, saying they “were the best friend he never had”. You listened on as your walls started to break.

“I proposed shortly after I found out I was transferred here. They moved here with me, actually.” You nodded, recognizing all too well this feeling growing in you. It was reminiscent of how you felt when you broke up with him, but this was much more intense. You painfully exhaled and you knew he could sense it. “Happy for you. I really am,” you managed to say without letting your voice crack. Taeyong was always very straightforward with you, and it didn’t surprise you when he said, “Y/N, I was in the darkest place when we broke up. They helped me get out of that. I know it was not an easy decision to make, which is why I want you to know that you will always have a place in my heart. We spent so many years together, it’s natural that you and I will always be something special.” You turn the other way, and this time, you can’t stop the tears from falling. You couldn’t face him anymore because you don’t want to reveal to him that a big part of you still wanted him. Seeing that ring on his finger and hearing him gush about his partner reaffirmed all that. Now, all you wanted to do was to get out of there. “I’ll be honest, sometimes it still feels like I haven’t gotten over you. Even if I did. Know that I will always love you and that you’ll always have a piece of me.” Taeyong says, and a small whimper leaves you. “I’m a mess, Taeyong,” you croak. “I built this strong wall and convinced myself that I was okay. Tonight you’ve proved me wrong. I tried time and time again to find someone else to introduce into my life but no one comes close.” You finally wipe your eyes and turn back to face Taeyong to find silent tears trailing down his face. “I was hoping you’d be here tonight if I’m being honest. I needed to get this off my chest. I’m sorry for everything, Y/N.”

You breathe, the final bit of teardrops sitting at your waterline. “Thank you, Taeyong. For everything, but especially the memories. I know I can’t fall out of love with you overnight, and I certainly will not ask you to do anything selfish. You know that I just want you to be happy, and if they make you happy, that’s all that matters.” Taeyong wants to reach out to wipe your tears, but he’s afraid he’ll cross a line he set for himself. “Would you still want to be friends? For old times’ sake,” Taeyong asks, hoping you’ll say yes. You feel conflicted but you say, “you’re going to need to give me time, Taeyong. I need to sort things out in terms of relationships, and right now, I don’t think I can take being your friend. That’s going to lead to me wishing terrible things on you two, and I don’t want to jeopardize a relationship that is strong enough as it is. Please, don’t force me to befriend you when I’m broken.” Taeyong is hurt, but the rational voice in his head is telling him that you are doing the right thing. “It’s getting late,” you muster the courage to say, “I should head out but I’m glad you got the closure you needed.” Taeyong offered to walk you to your car, and you don’t know if you can take any more heartbreak, but you let him walk you anyway. The tears are gone for now, but they’ll come back. Taeyong hesitates, “Do you want to meet up for lunch or something anytime soon?” You unlock your door and open it before turning to him. There’s a glint of hope in his eye, and you smile meekly, “maybe but not soon, Taeyong. When I’m ready. I hope you can understand.” He nods almost instantly, and you’re grateful for his reaction. “I’ll see you someday,” you tell him and he nods, waving to you as you start your car and leave, whispering under his breath “someday.”

a/n: AHHH my first ever long scenario. this was much easier to do than a series lol but I’m nervous! I would appreciate any and all feedback you guys have for me, and thank you for reading it!

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