#shout out to cherry for indulging me in this idea and making me say the magic words

[daincrediblegg]

For your consideration, Terror fandom; Fae!Crozier

#yes inspired by carnival row but like fam #you can’t just lay on me a blatant irish allegory like that and not have me run with it with my blorbo irishman #like of course I’m gonna slap some pretty irridescent wings on that fella are you kidding? #francis crozier #the terror #jared harris #shout out to cherry for indulging me in this idea and making me say the magic words #which are ‘I’m too out of practice to draw this’ which always leads to masterpieces somehow #also because I’d love him to wrap me in his wings and kiss me like god what a dream how ideal

[yoongiseesawmp3]

punch me - jungkook

back again with another self indulgent fic! enjoy

summary: daycare worker jungkook invites you, his favorite coworker, to the lake with his friends. why the lake? he wants you to see his new sleeve and whipping his shirt off in the classroom isn’t quite acceptable. plus he just wants to spend more time with you. there’s no harm in that.

warnings: none i think! 

word count: 3.5k

you work at a daycare, which isn’t a bad thing. it’s pretty chill, you like the kids and you can take off work pretty easy because there’s tons of subs. but also, not many people are bringing their kids in lately. so that means you and the other staff have been digging into the snack closet so “they won’t go to waste.”

jungkook was the one who suggested it. well, maybe suggest is the wrong word? he got caught up to his elbows in the bin of sweets, so when he turned to face your boss he immediately went into charming mode so he wouldn’t get in trouble. and once jungkook said it, everyone else thought it was a good idea too. hell, you’ve stopped buying snacks for yourself because you just sneak them from work now. wait. don’t tell anyone that. 

anyway, it was a great idea, but that was two weeks ago. now the snack closet is empty and you have a room full of toddlers on the verge of anarchy because of it. because of jungkook.

you just watched him pass by your room, arms laden with cheez-its and rice krispie treats, and you know for a fact he doesn’t have a class today. he’s only here to touch up the mural he’s been asked to paint near the front desk, so all of those snacks must be for him. 

you get the teacher from next door to keep an eye on your kiddos so you can sneak to the front and steal a couple bags of cheez-its (the kids don’t need their own bag, they’ll never know). but you get there and find yourself distracted from completing your mission.

jungkook is wearing old sweats, spattered with paint here and there, and he’s stooped over a bucket of water with a paintbrush between his teeth. it’s cute. 

“jungkook,” you semi-shout to get his attention. you get a sort of “hmgpfh?” in response, and that’s enough for you. “do you seriously need this many snacks? just for yourself?”

“i’m a growing boy, y/n,” he replies, taking the paintbrush out of his mouth so he can dip it into a paper plate covered in red shades. “you can have one.”

“i need three, actually,” you reply, picking them up as you speak. 

“are you a growing boy too?”

“no, i have six little kids with bad attitudes waiting for me in my room so i’ll be taking these off your hands,” you explain, finally turning to look at the work jungkook has put on the wall. “wow.”

“you like it?” jungkook asks, turning to look at you with a smile and a dancing light in his eyes. “is the tree too much?”

“no, oh my god, this is really good, jungkook,” you assure him, tracing your eyes over the wall full of characters and scenery from various children’s books.

“thank you,” he replies. “it’s better than wiping asses all day.”

“watch your mouth.”

“why don’t you watch it for me?” he quips back, peeking up at you with a smirk.

“what does that even mean, jungkook.”

“just thought i’d try to make you blush,” he says with a shrug. “didn’t work this time.”

“i don’t think it works anytime, actually,” you mumble, but he ignores it.

“hey, are you busy this weekend?” he questions, inspecting a bottle of green before squirting some directly on the wall. 

“are you sure you know what you’re doing?” you ask with a laugh. you watch him frantically spread the paint around to resemble a bush.

“shut up. are you busy this weekend?” he asks again. 

“i don’t think so, why?”

“come to the lake with me,” he says as he stands up to meet your eyes. “one of my friends convinced his uncle to let us borrow his boat. it’ll be fun.”

“do any of you know how to drive a boat?” you ask. “the safety of all this is what would keep me away.”

“i’m sure yoongi hyung will be able to do it,” jungkook says halfheartedly. “but still, the boat could just stay docked. it would be fun either way.”

“when are you going?” 

“saturday, so i could come by yours and get you on my way?” he asks with a lot of hope in his voice. you shrug before responding.

“why not? sure.”

-

so, jungkook texts you late friday that he’ll pick you up at 7am saturday. what the fuck. you wouldn’t have said yes if you knew you had to leave that early, but jungkook explained that he’s the only one the uncle trusts to have the keys, so he has to get there before the world wakes up. but also, has this man met jungkook? jungkook, being trustworthy with small, easy to lose items? please.

nevertheless, you’re up bright and early on saturday with a very large thermos of coffee. jungkook texts you right at 7 that he’s outside, and when you walk out you see him at the back of his car trying to force something into the trunk.

“whatcha doin?” you ask as you approach, noticing his strong legs in his (surprisingly) short swim trunks. you’re now realizing you’ve never seen him in anything other than baggy pants, so his legs are a little...distracting. 

“trying to keep the beer bottles from rattling,” he says through clenched teeth.

“and you’re trying to fuse them together with sheer force?”

“no, i’m stuffing a towel in between them in the box but it’s really tight.”

“if hoseok were here he’d make a ‘that’s what she said’ joke,” you jest. 

“i thought about it,” jungkook replies. “so i guess that counts?”

as he talks, he rearranges the other things in the trunk so it can close easy, and as he lowers the door he turns to you.

“you look nice,” he says, eyes drifting over you quickly. he notices the coffee cup in your hand and smiles. “any chance that has the sickly sweet creamer in it that i like?”

“how would i know what coffee creamer you like?” you ask, slightly annoyed that he just assumes you pay that much attention to him but also annoyed that you got caught. 

“because you like me,” he replies, grabbing the thermos and taking a sip. “oh my god, i love you.”

“you better be talking to the coffee,” you warn him as you grab the coffee back from him. 

“i’ll say it to you someday,” he promises, walking around to the passenger side of the car before opening your door. “if you let me.”

“what’s gotten into you lately?” you ask with a smile. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a little crush on jungkook, and recently it’s gotten worse. after you started working together, you noticed how many shared friends you have, so you’ve been hanging out more and more the past few months. jungkook has always been more than nice to you, but these flirty little comments are a welcome change. you hope they keep coming.

“is it cool if we stop at the gas station real quick?” he asks as he gets into the driver’s seat. “it’s an hour drive and i need gas and snacks.”

“fine with me. how about cheez-its and rice krispies?” 

“i had my fill of those at work this week, thanks,” jungkook laughs. 

at the gas station, you offer to get the snacks while jungkook stays at the pump. you’re looking for your favorite gas station snack, a crappy fruit and cheese danish that you could eat every day. jungkook finds you bent over in the sweets aisle, ass poking out too much for him to pass by and not push your face right into the premade baked goods. he considers it, because funny, but mean. he also considers passing behind you and smacking your ass as he does so you’ll move. tempting, but maybe too far. he opts for just bending down next to you to see what’s so interesting.

“what are we looking for?” he asks, scanning the labels for something to try.

“cherry and cheese,” you tell him, moving a blueberry danish out of the way, hoping to find what you want, but no luck.

“what? that sounds gross,” jungkook replies as he stands. “you like that?”

“it’s one of my favorites,” you tell him as you move into a squat. jungkook slides behind you and looks for his favorite jelly candy as you keep searching. “what’s so gross about it? they go well together.”

“like us.”

“what?” 

“huh?” jungkook asks, staring down at you with a glint in his eyes. the glare you give him is definitely ignored as jungkook looks back up and spots something on the top shelf. he grabs it and hands it to you. “this what you want?”

“yeah, it is,” you reply. “thanks. get another one for yourself.”

“why?” he asks, screwing his face up in disgust.

“because i know you’ll want to try some even with the way you’re acting right now, and i don’t like sharing.” 

“whatever you say,” he grumbles with a roll of his eyes. “now help me find the sour worms.”

-

jungkook tried the danish, and he hated it. 

have you ever seen a baby eating a lemon? it was like that, except jungkook spat what was in his mouth into his hand and then tossed it out the window of his car as he drove. sure, that whole part was gross, but he looked cute when he didn’t like the danish. who doesn’t love babies making silly faces? 

“i can’t believe you like that, but i can’t believe you convinced me to try it,” jungkook complains.

“kook, i think if i told you electrocuting yourself was fun you would try it just because i said i liked it,” you reply. he thinks about it for a moment before nodding, a slight tint gracing his cheeks.

“you’re right, but that’s not gonna make me finish your gross choice of snack.”

“fine, more for me,” you say, grabbing the discarded treat in the cupholder. you take a bite, not really caring that jungkook’s mouth was on it before you.

“omg.”

“did you just say ‘omg’ out loud?”

“yes, why?”

“you’re a loser,” you laugh, taking another bite, causing jungkook to gasp again. “what?”

“it’s like we just kissed,” he replies, almost giggling through his toothy smile.

“what do you even mean by that.”

“we just swapped spit.”

“you’re disgusting. stop talking.”

“hey, you’re the one that wants to kiss me,” jungkook says with a shrug. you want to protest, but you don’t want to convince him that you’re totally against kissing him. you’d actually very much like to plant your lips on his and never let go, but life doesn’t always give you what you want. jungkook notices your silence and smiles. “you’re not denying it.”

“i’m being polite.”

“mmmhmm,” he replies, failing to hide how pleased he is as he pulls into a treacherously sloped driveway. “we’re here.”

-

it’s turning into a beautiful day. the morning chill is starting to slowly melt away, and you find yourself sweating slightly as you help jungkook move all of the junk from his car. he insisted on doing it himself, but you felt super weird just standing there while he huffed and puffed carrying things back and forth, so you finally jumped in. it’s still just the two of you here, the friend’s uncle had successfully given you both a crash course on how to handle the boat, and you’re confident the two of you can share that info with yoongi when he gets here and hopefully no one will get hurt. 

speaking of yoongi, he said he was a few minutes away, and that was more than a few minutes ago. maybe he and hoseok got lost. the final four (as they’ve been calling themselves all morning) will be here later because taehyung didn’t have a swimsuit and they had to make a pit stop at walmart to get him one. you’re familiar with jungkook’s friends, and comfortable with a couple of them, but you don’t know much about taehyung aside from his interest in art and now his view on the boxer vs briefs debate (he was apparently very picky when trying on said swimsuits). but whatever. they’ll get here eventually. 

before you know it, you and jungkook have unloaded all of the snacks, alcohol and water accessories from his car, so all that’s left to do is hang out until the boys get here. 

“you ready?” jungkook asks, offering you his hand. you give him a questioning look and he motions to the boat. “c’mon, we’re not gonna sit here in the sun while we wait for them. it’s hot as balls.”

“but it’s hot as balls on the boat too,” you counter as you take his outstretched hand and let him pull you behind him on the dock.

“yeah, but at least we’re on a boat.”

he leads you to the edge of the shaky dock and let’s go of your hand momentarily to steady himself as he steps over to the boat. he turns back and offers his hand again, giving yours a squeeze as he guides you over the gap of water. the boat is slippery, so you lose your footing slightly and jungkook reacts quickly by wrapping you in his arms. the boat is bobbing a little too much for your liking, but jungkook is giggling and that distracts you enough from the fact that you could’ve fallen just now. 

as you both stand there awkwardly staring at each other, you don’t notice yoongi’s car pulling up to the top of the hill and its two passengers walking out toward the water. 

“oooh, what do we have here?” hoseok asks as he sees you holding onto each other for dear life. you separate quickly, making the newcomers laugh.

“don’t stop because we’re here,” yoongi replies.

“yeah, i can hug yoongi if it makes things less awkward for you,” hoseok offers.

“please don’t do that,” yoongi quips back.

“i’ll get you when you least expect it, hyung.”

jungkook, still standing very close to you, clears his throat and waves yoongi over. you scoot around them to help hoseok with the bag of food in his hands.

“are you sure you know how to drive a boat, yoongi?” you ask. 

“i’m a fast learner,” he replies.

“that’s not very reassuring.”

“i’ve done it before, y/n,” he laughs. “just not with this kind of motor, but it won’t take long to figure out. everything will be nice and safe, i promise.”

“besides, we have jungkookie here to save you even if hyung throws us overboard,” hoseok jokes.

speaking of jungkook, he’s rustling around the boat, trying to figure out how to put the suncover up. his jacket from this morning has been tossed aside, and he’s in a baggy tank top. you allow yourself a moment to admire the way his muscles ripple as he works when you notice -

“you finished your sleeve?” you ask him. his head snaps up in your direction and he smiles.

“enjoying the show?” he teases.

“answer the question.”

“honestly, i wanted it to be a surprise,” he replies, stretching the arm out and turning it around as best he can.

“so what, you were gonna take your shirt off and punch me and that’s how i was supposed to find out?”

“are you offering?”

“i’m just mad you didn’t take me with you! i was gonna get something this time,” you complain with a slight pout, which jungkook scrunches his nose at. you’re really cute, he thinks to himself.

“my artist called me last minute and said they had an opening, so i went in as soon as i could. i think you were still handling six hungry toddlers,” he explains.

“so is that why you invited me today?” you laugh. “you couldn’t think of a reasonable way to take your shirt off in front of me so i had to come with you to the lake for the big reveal?”

“jungkook, if you say yes, then jin and i are giving you the sex talk. you gotta up your game,” yoongi mumbles.

“no,” jungkook insists, ignoring yoongi. “i invited you today because i think it’ll be fun and i wanted you to be here.”

“and he wanted to see you in a swimsuit,” hoseok adds, pulling some cookies out of the bag of snacks. he offers them to you and you gladly accept. then he turns and pops one into yoongi’s mouth as he yawns, before he tosses one over to jungkook, happily shouting “a cookie for kookie!”

“that’s cute,” you smile, liking the way hoseok babies jungkook. it’s got him flustered, and it’s kind of adorable.

“kook, did you hear that? y/n thinks you’re cute,” hoseok sing-songs.

“i- that’s not...i didn’t say that,” you stumble. “the rhyming was cute. if anything, i called hoseok cute.”

“everyone thinks hobi is cute,” yoongi replies. “but jungkook? eh.”

“eh?!” jungkook shouts. “i’m just eh to you hyung?”

“now you hurt the boy’s feelings,” you tell yoongi, and he shrugs.

“you should’ve just called him cute.”

you look over and notice jungkook is staring at you, an eyebrow quirked in a challenge. hoseok is watching and munching like this is a movie, and yoongi looks between you and the so-called cutie and laughs to himself.

“well?” jungkook asks.

“i mean, yeah, you are cute, sometimes,” you begin. “not when you’re being annoying though.”

“i’m not annoying!”

“yes you are,” hoseok and yoongi agree in unison. jungkook huffs at that and looks back at you.

“now my feelings are hurt again. talk more about me being cute,” he pleads as he finally gives up on the suncover and joins you on the wraparound couch of the boat. he’s looking at you with the absolute worst puppy dog eyes, so you keep going.

“uh, you’re cute with the kids i guess? like when they use you as their personal playground and you’re all giggling. that’s cute,” you offer. “or when the little girls get hurt, they always run to you first and you cheer them up with sweet songs.”

“hmm, family planning perhaps?” you hear hoseok joke with yoongi. 

you would go on (or deny how often you’ve thought about jungkook being a dad) but the other car of boys has finally arrived, so the two instigators leave the boat to help them unload. that leaves you next to jungkook, who’s not done talking about the cute stuff.

“i didn’t know you noticed all of that,” jungkook whispers, suddenly sitting very close to you. you try to act like it’s nothing, but he stops you. “ah ah, now it’s my turn.”

“your turn? for what?”

“for talking about how cute you are,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing ever. if he had his way he would be pulling up a whole powerpoint presentation right now, but he has to rely on his words, which is fine. “first of all, you have great style. you’re maybe the only person who can make the daycare uniform look like a capital o outfit everyday you come in. and the way your eyes light up when a kid tells you a story, or shows you something they made? that’s my favorite. wish you would look at me like that someday.”

“you...what?” you almost can’t believe where this conversation has gone, but it’s making your heart beat faster and you’re not ready for it to stop.

“i wish i could make your eyes light up like i’m the only person you can see,” he clarifies, locking eyes with you. he holds your gaze for a moment before his eyes flick down to your lips. you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t so close, but the movement was obvious. jungkook wants to kiss you. 

“and what would you do if they did?” you challenge, repeating the same glance from his eyes down to his lips. your gaze lingers a little longer, and when you look back up at jungkook you know what’s coming next. that doesn’t mean it’s not shocking, though.

kissing jungkook is like pulling down a piece of the sun and slamming it into your chest. the warmth that he exudes, and the softness of his lips as they caress yours, it’s perfect. but - 

“wait,” jungkook mumbles against your lips. you pull back, worried.

“what?”

“i did that wrong.”

“wha..how? jungkook, i thought that was nice,” you assure him but he shakes his head.

“i did it wrong,” he insists, looking at you and noticing the shine in your eyes that he was hoping for. “can i kiss you again?”

you nod and let out a quiet “yes” before jungkook is cupping your face and connecting your lips again. this one is stronger, more intentional and you’re glad he wanted to try again. not that the first kiss was bad, your mind is still reeling from that first one. but this feels like a kiss full of love. it feels like a kiss from someone that’s been pining for you over bags of cheez-its and funny kid stories, but they didn’t know how to tell you how badly they wanted to do this. jungkook didn’t know how to tell you, but now he doesn’t have to because this kiss tells you everything you need to know.

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jeongguk #jeon jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook one shot

[many-gay-magpies]

@loabivey @honeyseungz @angelhee @ofaffectionate @yixiangs @cherry-riki

so uh. heyyy <3

pt 2 (technically pt 1 because it happens before) of blood bonds is here!! tagging everyone that i tagged for blood bonds (except for kyu </3) bcs why not

i'm not 100% on this, but that's mostly because i've been staring at it for a week, and y'all haven't, so i hope that you'll enjoy it thoroughly more than i do

wc: 1.7k, tw for blood, blood-sucking, death and mentions of death, and vague descriptions of a car crash. same as the last one pretty much, let me know if there's anything i missed!

that being said, have some bloodlust.

It's a scent that stops him in the middle of the street, blaring alarms through every inch of his body—thick and sweet, intoxicating, like the richest chocolates and tenderest meats. For a second, it brings him back to his days in the castle; feasts coating tables upon tables in every decadence he could imagine. He hasn't felt that kind of indulgence in a long time.

Jungwon is immediately aware of his instincts overcoming him; he knows what the smell is, he's smelled it coming off the other boys enough times to be familiar with it. But not this strong. Never this strong.

His head swims. Stars cloud his vision, and yet everything is ten times brighter, more crisp; his senses sharpened, sensitivity heightened. Jungwon battles with himself for a moment, there, on the side of the road, watching the car with the contents of it's driver's seat smelling so delectably like food as it drives by; no, no, don't give in, don't succumb, you've made it so far already, just hold on a little bit longer—but the gut-wrenching hunger inside him is like none he's ever faced before.

It tears at him, the unbearable hunger, the emptiness; twists his insides into knots and makes him double over against the brick wall beside him. He doesn't want to give in, doesn't want to take, doesn't want to hurt—but he's so, so hungry, and it smells so, so good and he just can't take it anymore. It's a kind of longing that burns him from the inside out, and maybe... maybe it wouldn't hurt, to... to give in, just this once.

He's hungry. He needs food. Really, when he thinks about it for long enough, rationalizes it in his mind, that's all there is to it. Lions don't feel bad when they hunt gazelle, do they?

(Something is different here, though. Lions, unlike vampires, will stop. Lack of food will make their body grow cold, their energy sapped until there is nothing left; they grow tired, bodies moving slower and slower, until they breath their last breath. Vampires do not. Vampires will not stop. The hunger depletes them, eats at them, and then when it can eat no more it consumes them completely—writhing black hole taken ghastly, human shape. Death evades them, and so they become death in it's place—emptiness so great it would eat the whole world if it could.)

So, with his resolve melting as his hunger rages, Jungwon presses onward—taking advantage of the scenery's sudden clarity to slink towards the moving car at a truly frightening pace. Plus, it could be... fun, he finds himself thinking; fun, to play around a bit, see how much fear he can truly instill. In the past, Jay and Sunghoon's jokes to Sunoo to "not play with his food" when me mentioned spooking his victims the tiniest bit before feeding had left Jungwon feeling sick to his stomach—but now, the idea doesn't seem so bad.

A voice in Jungwon's head (the more logical Jungwon; the one that isn't starving, the one that's still on the edge of rational) tells him, you're being stupid, as he throws caution to the wind and teleports directly in front of the car. Someone could see you, do you even have any idea what you're doing? But the voice of hunger rises above all others, and Jungwon, smirking at the screech of tires on asphalt as the car skids to a stop in front of him, tells the voice, it's dark out, and we're in an abandoned part of the city; who, really, do you think could see us?

The voice protests, but the drone of Jungwon's hunger drowns it out. He feels cool metal on the palms of his hands, hears the metallic clang of his boots against the car's hood. The trembling of the man inside tinges his nerves with delight.

He raises his finger to his lips in a single gesture, shhh, and wonders if his eyes gleam red.

Thoughts run one by one through his mind, though they are fleeting, like mice; skittering into the darkness as soon as he catches sight of them. He should have listened to the hyungs, he should have been more careful, he shouldn't have waited this long—he knows the consequences of vampires going too long without blood from Sunghoon's stories, how could he have been so stupid?

But it all fades, irrelevant, in face of what sits before him now—food. A meal. Satiation, finally, an end to his hunger. He can feel his conscience slipping away more and more as the moments pass, the little Jungwon in his head letting go of it's logic.

It is with this quieting of the rational voice and sudden booming of the instinctual one that Jungwon teleports himself to the back seat of the man's car. It doesn't take long for him to be noticed—even the lack of his reflection in the rear view mirror cannot disguise the creak of expensive leather and the sigh he lets out.

"Jesus Christ--" the man nearly shouts, car jolting forward as he slams on the breaks. Jungwon doesn't flinch. He turns to look over his shoulder and meets an unblinking vermillion stare. "W-what the hell are you, kid?"

"Go on, guess," he says, brow raised. "I have all night."

Though even as he speaks, Jungwon knows the statement is a lie—he's the closest to the man, the closest to a human he's ever been since turning, no plexiglass or metal barrier between them—the smell of the man's racing heart and pumping blood chokes his senses like smoke, so thick he can barely breath. Jungwon doesn't know how long he'll be able to hold out—but he can feel how the seconds tick by, as if there's a pocket watch embedded in his skull. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Agonizing. Even so, Jungwon delights in the fear, the rabbit-quick pace of the man's heart. Equally as amused as he is overwhelmed, he decides that quickening it a little more won't hurt, and smirks, doing well to lick over his fangs in perfect line with the man's eyesight.

"Shit--" Eyes widen comically, and breath grows shaky with the reckless fumbling at car door handles in an effort to escape, pure, cold fear jolting through bones and bringing goosebumps to unsettled skin. It's useless, though; because all the doors lock, jammed shut, and the most he can do is huddle as close to the door as he can, as far away as possible from the boy with glowing eyes suddenly perched in his passenger seat.

"Surprised?" Jungwon asks with a grin.

The man gulps. "Th-this isn't happening," he mumbles, eyes focussed somewhere off in space, past Jungwon. "This can't be happening to me. This... this is impossible."

"Oh, it's very possible," hums Jungwon. "You'd be surprised to find out how much is." And he smirks wide again. He probably looks like a madman, but he doesn't care. He can taste the man's blood on the air.

"Please, don't kill me," he whispers. "W-whatever it is you want, I'll do it, just-- I don't wanna die. Please."

Any other day, the pleading would have gotten to him—any other day, Jungwon would have cried and screamed and torn at his own skin at the prospect of ever killing anyone, let alone drinking from them. But now, the logical him (the human him, he thinks for a moment) has been tucked into the deepest recesses of his mind, and the sound is like music to his ears.

"H-have mercy," the man stutters quietly.

Jungwon tilts his head. Mercy? a voice in his head whispers. It is a voice he hardly sees himself in, and yet it consumes him completely. There is no mercy. You are only prey.

It's funny how suddenly it hits him—how long he's waited for this, and how he can't stand to wait a second more. Faster than lightning Jungwon blinks on top of the man, pinning him down; the protests (physical as well as verbal) make no difference to him. He searches for a carotid artery with shaking fingers and, once he finds it, sinks his teeth in with a groan.

The car swerves in a panic, and the sound of it crashing into a streetlight is a distant ringing in Jungwon's mind. Everything is muffled, as if he's been thrust underwater, and he might as well have, with the way the smell and taste of blood blooms around him, inside him. He feels himself wanting more, needing more, craving more, the hunger never-ending as he sinks his teeth even further into his victim's neck.

Nothing else matters in that moment, and he knows, now, he knows what the others were talking about—how good it feels to feed when you've starved for so long.

His victim loses consciousness soon after that, but still Jungwon drinks. He can't find it in him to stop—it tastes so, so good and he's still so, so hungry, and it seems his hunger only grows the more he feeds; every bit of blood he drains, the sickness and lethargy drains away with it, leaving a hunger larger than he had known behind. Eyes closed, the world spins around him, and Jungwon can feel himself slowly revitalizing as he drinks, and drinks, and drinks, and drinks.

Jungwon loses track of time the longer he sits there.

The hunger is less ravaging, now, only a low growl in the back of his throat; and soon it peters out entirely. The body under him has grown cold—it's warmth taking new ownership. He feels the stolen blood and pulse humming under his skin.

There is plenty to worry about, he knows—plenty things he should, realistically, care more about than he does. But for the life of him he can't pick out what they are, buried beneath layers of cotton he doesn't care to reach through.

His mind is heavy with fullness, and heavy with sleep, and for the second time that day a little voice in the corner of it urges him to just give in—so he does.

#magpie writes #magpie's writing adventures #enhypen fanfiction #enhaverse fanfiction #enhaverse writing #enhaverse #enha theories #gay yearning #bloodlust

[theladyofdeath]

Scared & Horny {Nessian}

31 Days of Halloween: Day 9.

All installments co-written with @snelbz​

Based on a prompt sent in by anon: “ Halloween prompt idea - “Well, Mark me down as scared and horny”. Doesn’t necessarily have to be smutty... but ya know... thirsty anons and all... X”

Autumn/Halloween 2020 {Collection}

Cassian walked through the front door of the party, looking around for any of his friends. He spied Mor chatting up a sexy bunny, but figured she wouldn’t appreciate his interruptions.

Figuring he could take care of and entertain himself, Cassian kept wandering through the herds of people. When Elain Archeron threw a party, she really threw a party. Cassian didn’t know half the people there, and didn’t bother to introduce himself as he found his way to the kitchen, where appetizers were laid out on the island.

Elain had really outdone herself. All of her treats were Halloween-themed, and Cassian should not have expected anything less, but he was truly amazed. There were pretzels dipped in chocolate that looked like monster-fingers, chocolate-covered cherries that looked like eyeballs, and an alcoholic punch that was bright green and bubbly. 

Considering he was alone, Cassian decided to indulge himself. 

After his third cup, he realized the punch was one of those dangerous kinds that didn’t taste like alcohol, but it was definitely there.

A firm hand clapped on his shoulder. “You finally made it.”

He turned and found Rhys standing there, dressed up in full Batman regalia. “Please tell me Feyre is Catwoman.”

He snorted. “She’s Robin.”

Cassian blinked. “She’s Robin?”

“Is there something wrong with Robin?” Rhysand asked, pouring himself a glass of punch. 

“Catwoman is so sexy, though,” Cassian said, sighing. “She really missed an opportunity there.” 

“Maybe that’s why she chose Robin,” Rhysand muttered. “To keep you from calling her sexy.”

Cassian rolled his eyes as the door was pushed open, yet again, and Azriel strolled in, and took one look at Cassian. 

“What the hell are you supposed to be?” he asked.

Cassian blinked, looking down at his outfit. “I’m a space cowboy.”

“A space cowboy?” Azriel repeated, then looked to Rhysand. “Have you already made fun of him for this?” 

“Didn’t have time. He was too busy wondering why Feyre isn’t Catwoman.” 

Azriel frowned. “That’s actually a good argument. Catwoman is way better than Robin.” 

Rhysand rolled his eyes and drank from his punch without another word. 

When the door opened again, Cassian’s and Azriel’s laughter died down.

A zombie strolled in, her hair a wild mess, her makeup done as well as the world’s best cosmetologist. 

“Fuck,” Azriel muttered.

Rhysand had stopped drinking his punch. “You look….nice.” 

“Well, mark me down as scared and horny,” Cassian grinned, taking in Elain’s sister’s beautifully gorey, wild appearance. 

Nesta rolled her red eyes as she met them all where they stood by the island to get herself a cup of punch. “A space cowboy? Really?” 

“A space cowboy is a badass,” Cassian grinned, downing another glass of punch.

Rhys asked, “You couldn’t decide whether you wanted to be an astronaut or a cowboy, could you?”

“Nope, and both costumes were expensive, so I made it work.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and said, “Where are my sisters?”

“Feyre is playing Cards Against Humanity,” Rhys offered.

Azriel shrugged. “Elain is probably running around making sure everyone is having a good time.”

Nesta shot him a look. “Shouldn’t you be helping her with that?”

Azriel hesitated, but Cassian was the one that said, “Az isn’t really the social type, I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed-.”

“I can be social,” Azriel muttered, knowing full well it was a lie. 

Rhys clapped his hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “Let’s go find our girls.”

The two of them were making their way into the living room, leaving Nesta and Cassian alone in the kitchen. The bass of the music was subtly shaking the floor under their feet and Cassian filled a glass with the green liquid, before handing it to her. She sipped on it, her eyes staying on Cassian. They were bright but hazy, and he could tell she’d been drinking before she made the short walk over from her house.

“You really do look great,” Cassian said, voice low.

She smiled, but took another sip of punch, and tilted her head to the side before she spoke. “So which part is more dominant? The scared or the horny?”

Cassian didn’t try to hide his gaze as he let it trail down her body. Her face wasn’t the only thing that was “zombi-fied”, large holes and tears were ripped and shredded along her clothes. Glimpses of her toned stomach and legs were visible as she moved.

“I don’t think you really want me to answer that,” Cassian muttered.

“No?” Nesta asked. “Why’s that?”

“Because last time I voiced a thought like the one I’m having now we ended up fucking in-.”

“Cass,” she hissed, looking around, desperately hoping no one heard, even though it was obvious they were alone. “Keep your voice down.”

Cassian groaned, running his fingers down her arm. “I’m tired of keeping all this a secret.”

“We don’t even know what this is yet,” Nesta said, finishing her punch and pouring more. 

“You like me, don’t you?” he asked.

Nesta looked around again before giving him a tight-lipped, “Yes.”

“And you think I’m cute?” he crooned, his words starting to slur and stumble together. 

She rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“Then what is there to figure out?” he whispered, taking her hips and pulling her closer.

“Don’t kiss me,” she muttered, her eyes meeting his.

“Why not?” he asked, coming in closer.

She held up her hand and blocked his lips. “Do you know how long it took for me to do this makeup?”

“I’m going to fuck it up later, what difference does it make now?” He breathed, his lips barely brushing hers.

“Because no one has seen it yet,” she replied, laughing quietly as his fingers brushed over her stomach. She was so easily ticklish. “And I didn’t spend hours working on this makeup for just you to see it.”

“I’m the only one who matters,” he whispered.

Nesta’s fingers clung to his arms, feeling his muscles beneath the ridiculous plaid shirt he wore over the NASA t-shirt beneath. She held onto him, regardless of the fact that she didn’t want her sisters to know yet.

“What’s happening here?”

They jumped apart, looking to the doorway.

Elain stood there, her brows shot up into her hairline. She wore a fairy costume with thigh high socks and incandescent wings. 

Nesta hesitated, but Cassian instantly tapped into his bullshit zone. “She was feeling a little dizzy. Just making sure she was keeping upright.”

Nesta was nodding. “Yeah, too much alcohol, not enough water, I think.”

Elain chuckled, hurrying to the island. “Been there. Anyway, have you seen Az? I want him to help me pass out appetizers.”

“He just went looking for you,” Cassian assured her. “I can help, if you want?” 

Elain’s smile softened as she pushed a tray of goodies to him. “You’re sweet, Cass. Thank you.”

He nodded his head before taking the tray out into the party. Mor, as usual, was the life of the party, dancing in the middle of the living room. Rhysand was with Feyre, drinking on the sofa, but Azriel seemed to have gone MIA.

After making a quick pass of the room, offering the chocolate-and-red vine spiders to everyone, he ended up on the couch with Rhys and Feyre, a beer in his hand. He was chowing down on spiders when Feyre looked at him.

“So what is this fainting spell Nesta was having earlier Elain was telling me about?”

Cassian trained his features into boredom. “She’s fine. Just drank a little too much on her way over. A little water and she was just fine.”

“That’s all she needed?” She asked.

He nodded, biting the head off another spider. “That’s all.”

“Then why is there white makeup on your lips and fake blood on your shoulders?”

Cassian froze, looking down at his shoulder. Sure enough, there was fake blood smudged on the plaid. “I caught her.”

Feyre rose a brow. “With your face?” 

“Nesta seemed fine when we were in the kitchen,” Rhysand said, shrugging. “A little tipsy, maybe, but not drunk, at all.”

Feyre looked back and forth between Rhysand and Cassian before her eyes settled on her friend, her eyes widening, her grin spreading. “You and-.”

“No,” Cassian interrupted. 

“Yes,” she said, excitedly.

“Wait,” Rhysand said, connecting the dots. “You and Nesta?”

“No,” Cassian repeated.

“Yes!” Feyre followed. 

“Seriously?” Rhysand chimed in.

Cassian’s hand ran down his face. “You can’t say a word.”

“Why not?” Feyre asked, gripping his arm. “Cass, this is so exciting.”

“Because,” he said, pulling Feyre’s death grip from his arm and running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to freak her out. She doesn’t want to label us and I don’t want to push her to.”

Feyre’s face fell just a bit. “But you’re together, right?”

Cassian raised his shoulders in a shrug. “I like to think so, but I have no idea.”

He looked up and caught her gaze for a split second across the room. She was talking to a broad-shouldered fireman and laughing at something he’d said.

“I’m going to talk to her,” Feyre said, standing up.

“What?” Cassian asked, practically shouted, instantly on alert. “Why?”

Rhysand, still on the couch, looked back and forth between them, amused. 

“Because she needs a kick in the ass to know how good she has it,” Feyre went on. “We’ve all been waiting for the two of you to get together for years, and she has, too.”

Cassian blinked. “What?”

“You heard me,” she said, simply, before walking away.

By the time Cassian remembered that she was going to talk to Nesta, she was already halfway across the room. “No! Wait!”

Nesta had hardly come out of Feyre’s lips when Cassian made it to them and yanked Feyre away.  

“Let’s dance, Feyre,” he said, pulling her to the middle of the makeshift dancefloor. 

Nesta simply shrugged and went back to her conversation with the fireman. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Cassian asked.

“Me?” Feyre asked, exasperated. “What the hell is wrong with you? Both of you!”

“I don’t want to push her away!” He said, in a loud whisper, keeping his hands at a very safe spot in the middle of her back. “I don’t want to scare her by showing her how much I want a label.”

“Yeah, well, she wants one, too, but for whatever reason, her head is up her ass,” Feyre replied, looking over her shoulder at Nesta.

Cassian watched as she touched the fireman’s arm and he said, “Maybe she wants to play the field. When we started sleeping together, we didn’t make any promises-.”

“You’re sleeping together?” Cassian swore that Feyre’s squealed question registered on a scale that only dogs could hear.

“Fuck,” he sighed, realizing he was only digging his own grave even deeper.

“When?” She demanded. “When did this start?”

“August-.”

“August?!” Feyre shrieked, and Cassian begged her, yet again, to keep quiet. 

“Yes, August,” he sighed, sneaking a look at Nesta, who had disappeared.

Cassian couldn’t help but wonder if it was with the firefighter. 

“Have you been with anyone else during that time?” Feyre asked, quietly.

Cassian shook his head. 

“Then you’re together,” she said, simply. 

He didn’t bother to tell her that Nesta probably had just gone off with the firefighter. “Just keep it quiet, yeah?”

The song ended and Feyre sighed, but nodded. She stepped back from him and said, “Ask her to be your girlfriend. Don’t just let her dictate it or she’ll keep dancing around it.”

“I’m not-.”

“Robin and a Space Cowboy… This is an interesting combo.”

Cassian and Feyre turned to find Nesta walking towards them. She looked decidedly more drunk than she had been when she’d left the kitchen.

He cleared his throat. “We were just-.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she interrupted, grabbing a handful of his shirt. “Let’s dance, cowboy.”

She tugged him towards her, but ended up stumbling herself. He caught her, and chuckled. “That’s Captain, to you.”

At some point, Feyre had made herself scarce. Cassian went to step back, but Nesta held onto him. “People will see us,” he breathed.

She could barely hear him over the music playing, but she glanced up at him. “Is that such a bad thing?”

He blinked, not understanding her change of heart. Yes, she was pretty drunk, but that would just come back to bite him in the ass when she sobered up. He hesitantly asked. “No?”

“That fireman just asked me to go home with him,” she said, dragging her fingers up his arm.

Cassian’s fingers tighten around her waist. “That was nice of him.”

“It was,” Nesta mused. “But then I realized I didn’t want to go home with him. I don’t want to go home with anyone.”

Cassian was nodding. “Gotcha.”

“Anyone but you,” she added under breath, teasing him. 

Cassian’s lips twitched at the corners. “Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she breathed, then a look of pure offense overtook her facial features. “You didn’t say it back.” 

Cassian paused. “Didn’t say what back?” 

“That I’m the only one you want to go home with,” she said, that frown remaining. 

“Nesta-.”

“Is there someone you want to go home with?” she interrupted, leaning back. “Fuck, who-.”

“No one-.”

“I should’ve known-.”

“Mother’s tits, will you shut up?” Their lips met.  

Just as she was pulling away, ready to dramatically storm off, Cassian had grabbed her by the hips and pulled her back toward him, instantly reconnecting his mouth with hers.

They stopped dancing, and suddenly nothing mattered but them in that moment.

It was a public announcement. 

A declaration.

One that no one was really surprised by at all.

#nessian #31 days of halloween #nesta #cassian #acotar #acofas #acomaf #acosf #sjm #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot

[lailyn]

Could I ask for an IronStrangeFrost drabble of sick or whumpee Loki with the reproductive system please? 👀❤️

Here ya go, my lovelies!

Immaterial Love

Summary: Stephen and Tony bicker over the cost of a cheeseburger. The actual price? More than they can afford.

TW: Mpreg Loki

Somewhere in Manhattan…

“I think we should get the Beebop Ferrari Baby Buggy.”

Stephen made a face. “Ferraris are overrated.”

“Yeah, wait till Lamborghini makes strollers and then we’ll talk.”

“If we’re going designer, why aren’t we getting actual designer strollers? Silver Cross has some really nice ones, even if they cost more than my annual stipend.”

“While we’re on the subject, how much is your stipend? You never told me.”

“You never asked.”

A smooth voice suddenly spoke up from behind. “Ten thousand dollars.”

Stephen’s eyes bulged at Loki; Tony’s at Stephen. “How did you know that?” “That’s all? For the whole year?”

Loki shrugged. “That’s how much an average Silver Cross pram costs. I needed only to work backwards.”

Tony looked like he was about to cry so Stephen boldly grabbed him around the shoulders. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

Tony shook his head furiously. “I don’t care. I’m giving you my black card.”

Stephen wrinkled his nose at the obscenely generous gesture. “Materialism is unsustainable by nature. Why do you think I wear the same outfit all the time?”

He then turned to Loki. “And what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at home resting?”

“I’ve rested enough. I am hungry. I want a cheeseburger.”

Stephen still looked doubtful. “You were vomiting quite a lot this morning. You sure you’re up to eating something so greasy?”

Loki only gazed at his husband coolly and said nothing.

“Aaand it’s a cheeseburger you shall have, darling!” Tony forgot all about his empathising with Stephen and his poor pittance. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

“It’s only going to make him sick!” Stephen hissed back.

“Then let him be sick! You can always stick an IV in him if it gets too bad, can’t you?”

“There’s a difference between indulging and being stupid and careless.”

Loki cleared his throat. “You do know I can hear every single word you say, don’t you?”

“That was kind of the point,” Stephen said. He was willing to bear the brunt of Loki’s wrath if Tony wouldn’t. “You are carrying our child.”

Loki’s eyes began to well.

“Stephen…” Tony moaned.

But Stephen would not budge. “Just trust me on this, okay? Let’s get something else. Anything you want.”

“I do not want anything else,” Loki said so tightly there was no mistaking the wobbling of his lips.

“He’ll get a salad for side. No fries.” Tony’s frantic gaze vacillated between his two fuming husbands. “Deal?”

Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes in frustration. Bad feeling aside, he wished his husbands could take his words at face value and stop arguing with him. “I am telling you it is a bad idea.”

“Fuck this.” Tony threw his hands up and strode across the street to get to the McDonalds at the end of the block -

“Tony, look out!”

Tyres screeched. A woman screamed.

One second Tony was jaywalking, the next he was flying.

Oh, fantastic. I’m finally gonna be a dad. Now I have to be dead.

“Tony!” Someone shouted.

“Huh?” He lifted his head off the sidewalk. “Whuzzat?”

He tried to rise but someone’s arm was slung across his back. He recognised from the weight that it was Loki’s.

“Are you alright, Anthony?” Loki asked tersely, still breathless from the hard landing.

Horns blared. The sounds of heavy running.

“Tony, you idiot!” Stephen hollered. “What were you thinking?”

“You...pushed me out of the way?” Tony asked numbly. He pawed Loki up and down from head to toe. “Are you okay? Is the baby okay?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine…” Loki walked his elbows and knees across the concrete and tried to push himself up before Stephen caught him by the elbow.

“Easy.” Stephen looked him over anxiously. “Are you hurt?”

Loki shook his head. “I am unharmed.”

Overwhelmed with relief, Stephen exhaled shakily. “All this over a cheeseburger.”

Tony’s face burned. “I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Loki stressed. “Stop fussing.”

Stephen shook his head before pressing fierce kisses to the sides of Loki and Tony’s heads, one after the other. “Come on. I’m buying.”

Tony opened his mouth to protest, but Stephen cut him off. “No fries, right? I’m sure I can afford that much.”

A short while later, they were sitting at a table and staring at the food in front of them silently.

After his close brush with death, Tony found his appetite completely nonexistent. He grinned weakly. “I’m suddenly not very hungry.”

“Well, I am.” With a roll of his eyes, Stephen picked up his fork and began attacking the salad Loki was never going to eat. He paused in the middle of bringing a cherry tomato to his mouth upon noticing the wince on Loki’s face. “Loki? You alright?”

Roused from his daydream, Tony looked up in alarm as Loki slowly rose to his feet, a hand pressed to his stomach. “Bambi, what is it?”

“I need to go to the washroom,” Loki mumbled. “Excuse me.”

But before he could take the first step, he swayed right where he stood and his eyes rolled back in his head.

“Shit - ” Stephen leapt out of his seat and caught his husband on the way down. He laid Loki on the floor. “Loki!”

“Stephen,” Tony called out suddenly.

Stephen followed the line of Tony’s horrified gaze, and his face drained of all colour at the sight of blood pooling on the plastic chair, a stark red against the unforgiving yellow.

A shaky hand grabbed the front of Stephen’s robe.

“Stephen.” Loki was as white as a sheet. “I don’t feel very well.”

“You’re going to be okay.” Stephen fumbled with his sling ring. “Tony, take him. Loki, stay awake!”

But the pain in his stomach was too great, and Loki gladly succumbed to the beckoning darkness.

                           ________________________________

Stark Tower

“Hey. Welcome back.”

Waking up to Stephen’s handsome visage staring down at him was always fantastic, except that he was not on his bed, and his entire shoulder was wet.

It took Loki a few seconds for his vision to adjust to the bright lights over his head. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

Loki closed his eyes. He remembered the screeching of tyres. The smell of burning rubber.

“Was I in an accident?” he mumbled. That must be it. It would explain why he felt like he had been trampled by a bilgesnipe.

Tony’s body shook harder and Loki frowned; the jostling was unnecessary and sending jolts of pain deep inside his belly.  

“Why is Tony crying like a - ” Loki’s eyes flew open and he gasped. “Baby!”

“Is the baby alright?” He begged. “Stephen, tell me!”

“Shhh, you’re both fine,” Stephen soothed, stroking Loki’s still-flat stomach. “You just had a minor placental bleed from the fall. I’ve arrested the bleeding and done the scan and everything. You’re fine. The baby’s fine.”

“Oh, thank the Norns…” Loki flung an arm across his eyes. His other hand reached for Tony’s head. “Anthony…”

Loki’s fingers sifted through Tony’s hair gently. “Tony, stop. You’re ruining my shirt.”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Tony mumbled, his voice muffled by emotions and fabric. “I’m a stupid idiot.”

Loki craned forward to kiss the top of Tony’s head. “You’re my stupid idiot.”

“Our stupid idiot,” Stephen corrected, smiling fondly at his two idiots. “Now will you both listen to me from now on?”

“Yes,” Tony immediately said.

“Only until the baby’s born,” Loki said at the same time. “Deal?”

Stephen sighed.

You win some, you lose some.

He bent down to give the more stubborn of his two husbands a kiss steeped in gratitude and relief. “Deal.”

His maddening anxiety finally assuaged by the sweetness of the kiss, Stephen straightened and leaned his body forward across the bed. “Tony, are you going to cry all day or are you going to get up here and kiss me?”

“No, Sir. Yes, Sir!”

#ironstrangefrost #mpreg loki #mpreg #ask #fic #loki whump #sick loki #strangefrost #frostiron #ironstrange

[unholyplumpprincess]

Vengeful Tease

Self indulgent Dark sparks fic that ended up Way bigger than intended.

Summary: With Natalie being a tease in the arena and loving to ‘play with her food’ it leads to a back and forth tease war between herself and Wraith. Leading to a lil bit of exhibitionism inside of Elliott’s bar (Sorry Ellie :( )

Rebogs > Likes. It costs zero dollars to reblog :D

!!!Minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked on sight!!!

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Wraith/Wattson

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Trans gal Wattson with cock/dick verbiage for her, teasing, public play, Wraith has lots of body mods and is mildly mentioned, possessive behavior from Natalie, p tame for a lemon!

Words: 4.4k

___________

To say that either of them were clueless in the beginning was an understatement.  

At some point, Natalie had gotten comfortable and close enough to Wraith to call her ‘best friend’. Gleefully shouting it whenever she could and wrapping her arms around Wraith with delight. Yet, on the same hand, Natalie couldn’t ever place why Wraith would only half smile at the term ‘best friend’ and why she was the only one who could hug her without threat of a kunai at her abdomen.  

And on that other hand, Wraith couldn’t place why ‘best friend’ made her heart do a funny thing of almost disappointment. Or why she felt safe enough to let Natalie wrap her arms around her, burying herself into Natalie’s shoulder and curling her fingers at the middle of her back. Or why when Natalie’s perfume lingered on her clothing, that she seemed to perform better in the ring.  

Or why both of them had become so comfortable to the point Wraith could allow affection to her person, or that Natalie knew that Wraith’s room was her comfort area. Or that she could outwardly stim in front of her in ways that someone else would perhaps mock, but Wraith would just smile patiently before proceeding the conversation when Natalie worked it out of her system.  

~Rest under the cut~

Or why when one night, Natalie had been excited to be taught eyeliner and Wraith had stood in front of her, carefully applying it, how both their eyes had lingered on each other’s lips and the tension between them lasted all night.  

Now? Wraith wouldn’t tell you how long it took either of them to catch on. But Natalie would be the first to tell you that Wraith isn’t all salt and vinegar.  

Wraith had...expected it to go a lot smoother- or well, had expected that Natalie might have been the more nervous or shy one. Turns out, Wraith was the one who was nervous and shy, trying to go slow or not sure what was too fast. Their first kiss had been Wraith saying she was finally ready and Natalie beaming so bright and clapping a few times.  

It had taken a whole three minutes for Natalie to stop getting too excited when their faces were close. Herself bursting into giggle fits and murmuring about how exciting this was, grabbing her skirt and flapping it a few times before going, “Okay, okay! We can do this! Gah! You’re so cute- ah hold on-” And having to lean back to ground herself.  

It was Wraith who finally cupped her cheeks and gave her the quickest peck, only to have Natalie giddily climbing into her smaller girlfriend’s lap to press cherry tasting kisses all over her face and lips.  

Elliott had tried to give pointers when Wraith asked, but after finding out he was just as hopeless and projected himself full of experience, it was clear both of them weren’t going anywhere. Certainly not with Elliott a mess himself and gesturing loudly about how he couldn’t even tell Bloodhound that their shots were ext- exarg—extra—extrav- really super cool.  

It didn’t help Pathfinder had patted him on the back and exclaimed in that permanently delighted tone, “It’s alright, best friend! I’m sure they would have shown you first hand what a good shot they are!” And making Elliott groan and thunk his head into his hands.  

At least both Pathfinder and Elliott try to help Wraith with girls. Both having varying inputs until Wraith realizes that the best way to do this is to, well, actually talk to Natalie.  

It goes...great, save for the part where Wraith feels tears sticking to her lashes as her throat clogs up. Trying to get out her fears, of her thoughts, having to try and open up. Natalie is just as patient, sitting with her and asking if she needs a break. Telling her she could write it down instead if that helped. Going so far as to bring Wraith a notebook and markers just in case.  

God, she loved her.  

Now, thankfully, quite a few months into their relationship and coming up on their ‘first year’ according to Natalie who kept track, they’re pretty stable. Keeping communication constant. Well, except for in the arena if they weren’t on the same squad. Natalie certainly made it more of a challenge with her taunting with sniper shots around Wraith’s feet as a warning she was coming to get her.  

Made the killing part less heartbreaking and more like a primal instinct of competition.   

That’s what had happened earlier in a match. Natalie had gotten the upper hand that time all because Mirage had gotten separated from her own duo. Wraith, later, would find it was due to sniper shots chasing him the other direction that were from his own partner, whilst Wraith had been chased the opposite direction with the sound of a revving peacekeeper right on her ass.  

She’d found herself chased into one of the bunkers, managing to get her back to the charge tower so she’d at least have a chance to turn around and maybe portal away. But then she finds herself knocked to the ground and a very cute electrical engineer happily in her lap with a peacekeeper tossed over her shoulder, and Wraith’s L-star slid to the side.  

“Bonjour, mon trésor! Ah, it is a beautiful day for- how did you say it last time? Revenge?” Natalie’s voice is teasing, her eyes bright and delighted as she speaks. Overhead, the announcement for Champion Eliminated goes through the walls and a quick glance at the scoreboards on her arm piece tells Wraith there’s five squads left. And her own teammate is a death box.  

“Mmh. Can’t recall. Was it before or after you screamed?” Wraith teases back, already accepting her fate. There wasn’t a way around it, her own weapons too far, even the kunai on her calf couldn’t be reached with Natalie straddling her lap. She could probably roll her over, but even then, she risked Natalie being quicker. And judging by the four other whispers curling on the left side of her head, that is precisely what would happen.  

Regardless of the tease, Natalie is beaming bright at her, leaning down to peck her nose. “I’ll see you from the champion’s pedestal. Bye bye!” Before Wraith feels the blast of a revved-up peacekeeper and finds herself waking up in the medical bay and in desperate need of a shower.  

True to her word, Natalie and Bloodhound place as the top duo. It’s sweet to see Natalie bounce on the screen from the showers where Wraith was getting dressed. Watching as she holds her fist out for Bloodhound who hesitates before gently bumping their own to her fist- much to her girlfriend’s delight.  

Elliott is the one who suggests a little get together at his bar that night. To celebrate their victory, he says. So, it ends up with almost all the legends at his bar. Revenant, Alexander, nor Crypto attend, all having varying excuses.   

Wraith tries to back out, but upon seeing Natalie’s joy at the idea of a day out, she’s quick to agree herself.  

It’s when she arrives at Natalie’s room do things heat up. Wraith arrives with some outer wear of a cropped leather jacket, a black lacy bralette and matching torn up, high waisted skinny jeans and her boots. Her hair is down, washed and in gentle waves curling onto her shoulders. She’s even got a bit of eyeliner and lipgloss on, and the black choker with a silver heart on that Natalie had gotten her.  

Once she’s in, she’s quickly dragged into the bedroom and told to wait right there as Natalie disappears into her bathroom to get dressed. A laugh bubbles from Wraith’s lips, her pierced tongue flicking across her lips, “Nat, not that I mind you wanting to change in the other room- but I’ve seen you naked before.” 

“But! I have a surprise for you! I got a new dress, just- let me-” There’s a small struggle noise on the other side of the door that makes Wraith bite her lip to resist laughing. Hearing the small ‘pat pat’ of Natalie trying to jump her way into something and the sound of shimmying before the door opens up.  

All that peeks out is her head, allowing Wraith to see her huge smile narrowing her bright blue eyes that have a touch of pink eyeshadow clouded around them. Her hair is a bit frazzled, her short, triangular bob looking almost like static is making it float. Her undercut at her nape looked freshly shaven too once she turns her head as if to peek back into the bathroom, and Wraith was dying to get her hands on its velvety texture.  

“Well?” Wraith gestures to the still closed door and watches Natalie grin softly this time, as if she’s shy. There’s a moment where she seems too nervous, or even too excited before she pulls back the door and stands in the doorway with her hands in the air excitedly.  

“Ta-da!” Natalie happily exclaims, doing a small twirl where she stands to show it off in full. It looked tailor made, a cotton candy blue fabric covered with yellow lightning bolts dress with tied straps at her shoulders in sweet little bows. The top was a bit low, showing off her cleavage with the top part looking to be made out of stretchy fabric. Down to a fitted waist with a flared-out skirt at her hips with a fluffy petticoat underneath, much like a sundress, that reached just above her knees. What she must have been jumping into must have been the fishnet tights she had on, going into her everyday pink and blue sneakers.  

She looks the direct opposite of Wraith. Bright, sunny, bubbly, sweet.  

She’s watching you.  

Are you just going to stare?  

You’re making it obvious-  

Wraith mentally tries to block out the sounds of the whispering that remind her. At least twelve fawning over their- her- their—no her girlfriend. Clearing her throat as she tries to find her voice with the throbbing echo lingering. “Y-yeah it’s- uh. It’s definitely cute. You look beautiful, Nat. Did you cut your hair?”  

“Yes! You noticed? Would you like to feel?” As if reading her mind, Natalie’s already coming closer, tilting her head down so Wraith can reach up. Feeling over the soft fuzzy of her nape until her hand drops to cup there.  

For a brief moment they look at each other, with their faces close and Natalie’s eyes flickering down to Wraith’s parted, plump lips. Gently, Natalie’s resting her arms over Wraith’s shoulders, looping them and smiling oh so softly at her as Wraith’s fingers idly trace over her nape.  

Kiss her.  

Kiss her, what are you waiting for?  

Kiss her she wants you to, she wants you to, she wants you to...  

She wants you to kiss her.  

“Too loud?” Natalie murmurs, snapping Wraith from her glazed state. Her bright white eyes flicker up to read Natalie’s expression, patient as ever with a soft smile. Wraith gives one back, letting her hand slowly drop from her nape to let both hands rest on the dips of Natalie’s waist. Gently thumbing over the fabric there.  

“Nothing bad.” She reassures her, tilting her head ever so slightly and watching as Natalie follows the motion, leaning ever so slightly closer until their breath mingles. “Lookin’ to quiet my mind?”  

A grin splits across Natalie’s face, her eyes brightening with a mischievous little expression. “Anything for you, mon bébé.”   

That’s how they end up late to the bar. When Natalie had kissed her, holding Wraith tighter, she had moaned and grabbed at her waist tighter. Resulting in gently getting pressed backwards until Wraith fell onto the bed and had Natalie in her lap. Her skirt fanned around them and over her hips, a memory of the arena and the sound of the peacekeeper distant in her mind when Natalie kisses her again.   

It really isn’t Wraith’s fault when she ends up with small hickeys on her neck surrounding her choker. Nor is it Wraith’s fault when Natalie is grinding against her lap, panting into her ear about how badly she wanted Wraith to touch her. Whining about how good she could be for her, how she’d do anything to have Wraith’s legs spread, please, please, please, she just wanted to taste her-  

But it is Wraith’s fault for reminding her they had a bar to get to.  

That results in Natalie huffing, at first starting to make an excuse, but then she sits up. Her eyes sparkling and fluttering her lashes despite her flushed face. “Alright. You’re right. Let’s go.” Said in a perfectly sweet tone as she slides off Wraith’s lap and adjusts her skirt. Wraith is certainly thrown for a loop, and not liking the mischief in her girlfriend’s eyes when Wraith narrows her eyes in suspicion at her sweetness.  

When they arrive, Elliott greets them brightly. Though his eyes do linger a moment on Wraith’s neck, giving her a playful look of raised eyebrows whilst she cranes her neck to the side to see a bite mark in double canine placements on his own neck, making the same face back at him. Their quiet exchange quickly left to just quiet when Elliott quickly shoots a look her way that says to drop it before she can make a remark.  

Wraith realizes quickly why Natalie had been so quick to agree. Because this meant she could do her favorite thing: Teasing.  

When they sit down for their drinks with everyone else at the bar table, Natalie idly rests a hand on Wraith’s thigh. Squeezing there whilst maintaining conversation as her fingers slide into Wraith’s inner thigh. “Oui! Bloodhound was a fantastic duo partner- do you think our sponsors would allow us to go again? I am sure Elliott will not mind having his butt kicked again?”  

Resulting in Elliott grinning as he yells, “Hey, hey, hey! I wasn’t the only one getting my ass kicked by their own partner!” He’s quick to defend, shooting a look to Wraith who thanks the lights overhead that her heated face is not seen. Nor is anyone paying attention to where Natalie’s other hand is besides the one tapping the table. The one under it gently squeezing Wraith’s inner thigh until she parts her thighs and feels fingers tracing along the seam of her crotch.  

“I let her win.” Wraith coolly replies, shooting a glance to Natalie who feigns an offended gasp and expression.  

“You did not!”  

“And you think I’d just let myself be hounded into a bunker if it was anyone else?”  

“Yes! Because you were out of ammo!” Natalie cheekily replies, squeezing her thigh once more before leaning away to make conversation with Makoa who is howling with laughter at this point.  

Wraith feels herself throb and curses herself when she glances over to see Natalie leaned over the table a bit and able to get an eyeful of her cleavage.  

This was going to be harder than she thought. Especially with Natalie not catching anyone’s attention with her subtlety.  

--  

This happens the rest of the night. With soft whispers in Wraith’s ear when no one’s looking, softly biting her pierced lobes, to kissing up her neck when no one’s looking. To grabbing her ass when they’re both getting up to get drinks, keeping herself behind Wraith so she could slide a hand from behind and under her to rub at her through her jeans. It was torture, not to mention the thrill of the public play really sending Wraith over.   

It isn’t until Natalie goes to the bathroom and everyone starts to move and do their own thing like darts or pool does Wraith get a  text.  She pulls it out at the table, instantly feeling a flush over her body to see Natalie in the private stall mirror with her ties undone on her shoulders and breasts exposed. One hand pulling her skirts up to show she’s not wearing panties and the fishnets keep her exposed, the other taking the picture cheekily with the caption, “Want to create sparks between us?” with little lightning bolt emojis spread around the image.  

Natalie was really going to be the death of her with her adventurous taste. But, not like Wraith would want to even say no as she’s getting out of her seat and letting Elliott know she’s feeling a bit overwhelmed so she’s going to go to the bathroom. He’s understanding and kind as always, telling her to text him if she needs anything and if he sees Natalie he’ll let her know!  

He knows.  

Can’t lie to him.  

Bloodhound is watching him.  

They look hungry.

Thanks, great, guys. Now’s not the time to worry about if Elliott is going to get pounced either. More important things at hand like trying to go to the restroom area and figure out which room Natalie is in.   

On your left.  

An echo relaying through Wraith’s mind just as a door peeks open on her left and her jacket sleeve is caught, dragging her into one of the private bathrooms. The click of the automatic lock behind her sounds deathly loud despite the soft bass boosted music still thrumming in the restroom. Wraith has her back against the door, looking up at Natalie who still has her top pulled down. And even despite having seen her naked more times than she could count, Wraith still politely maintains her eyes on her girlfriend’s face.  

“Hi,” Natalie smiles, her voice soft as she comes a little closer. Only briefly making eye contact with Wraith before having to glance away. Their bodies are pressed together now, her chest against Wraith and her warmth spilling over their bodies. She’s coy in the way she leans her head in, tilted ever so slightly and breath fanning across Wraith’s lips. “Is...this something you would be interested in?”  

The smallest question of consent, the smallest gesture that Wraith could back out, that relaxes her entire body all at once. A sigh exhaling from her glossy lips and watching as Natalie licks her own nervously. Wraith can’t help the soft laugh that escapes her, gently reaching up to cup Natalie’s cheek and swiping her thumb over the scarring on her face softly. “Think it’s a little hard for me not to be interested.”  

It’s the playful tone that makes Natalie smile, leaning into Wraith’s hand briefly before being guided forward into a kiss. At first it’s gentle, with both of Wraith’s hands coming up to rake through Natalie’s hair. Wraith is the first to nip at her bottom lip to make Natalie moan softly, pressing their bodies closer and one of her hands coming down to grab Wraith’s thigh and hitching it around her waist.  

“Nat-” Wraith whines out when their kiss breaks, Natalie kissing down her jawline and down her neck to where the smaller bruises had been from earlier. A gasp chokes from her lungs when Natalie bites down on one, sucking over the flesh to leave it darker and large just beneath her choker.  

“You chose to wear your choker one purpose, oui?” Natalie teases when she pulls back, using her free hand to trace her fingers over the new bruise. Pulling her fingers up and tucking just underneath the choker through the little heart in the front to give a little tug.  

Wraith’s face flushes, because yeah okay maybe she did. She almost picked her collar instead, black with silver studs, looked perfectly suitable for outside. But the embarrassment had been too strong.   

Natalie’s mouth finds her neck again, softly kissing until she finds the  spot  she wants to create a bigger bruise. Wraith hisses, gently tugging at her hair as she manages to get out, “Yes- fuck, Nat, they’re going to see-”  

“Let them see.” She murmurs back against her neck, kissing down her body as she starts to sink to her knees. God, she looked pretty like that, Wraith thinks. Her skirt fanned around her  waist, top pulled down to reveal her C cup breasts with little beauty marks dotting them. Wraith’s mouth waters at the idea of getting her mouth on them, but is quickly distracted when she feels her jeans being undone.  

“I’ve been thinking about this since earlier,” Natalie sighs as she pulls Wraith’s jeans down with her help of a small shimmy. Pulling them down to mid-thigh with her panties and sighing at the sight of her. Wraith’s cunt had dark, soft hair there with the hair at her lower lips darker from her wetness. Her clit was on the larger side, enough to be a mouthful.  

Natalie groans, nuzzling her nose against her mound to inhale her scent, breathing out her next words, “I almost asked to take you in the woods outside- but, I was unsure if this would even be ‘up your alley’.”  

Wraith swears at even the mental image of Natalie taking her outside. Having her up against a tree and having to cover her own mouth as Natalie touched her. Thinking about the sweet, noisy thing that Natalie was when she was being touched, how she probably couldn’t keep quiet enough- someone would come see-  

“Fuck-” Wraith gasps out, feeling Natalie part her lower lips and quickly running her tongue from her hole to clit. Her head  thunks  backwards onto the wall, one hand coming down to quickly fist into her hair and feeling her face burn when she feels Natalie moan back against her.  

It wasn’t a surprise to her that Natalie liked to give head, an oral fixation of sorts she had explained, it helped keep her mind clear. Leading to Wraith some nights ending up only receiving head for hours at a time until she was overstimulated and couldn’t think.  

Worked out great for them both to clear their minds.  

It’s really hard to think of where they’re at right now with Natalie moaning against her cunt. Hands holding onto Wraith’s hips to keep her still despite her desperate attempts at trying to press her hips forward. Wraith’s much quieter between the two of them, sighs and gasps leaving her, occasionally looking down to watch how Natalie noses at her. Or to see how she backs up and peeks up to briefly catch Wraith’s gaze as she presses a wet kiss over her plump clit.  

Wraith’s breath catches in another swear, curling her fingers at the back of Natalie’s head to hold her still. Trying to fuck her hips towards her mouth and finding Natalie still has a grip of her hips. The look Wraith is given could make her fall to her knees at how Natalie looks under her lashes, a smile quirking her lips as she suckles on her clit. Leaving one last, long lick before she’s pulling her head back to start peppering kisses over Wraith’s exposed hips and belly.  

“Nat- Nat, come on, that isn’t fair-” Wraith breathes out, her clit throbbing and already feeling the denial edging through her body. It doesn’t help when Natalie leans down, blowing cool air over her and still keeping her held still so Wraith can’t even buck. “Nat! Fuck, come on we’re in- we're in public-”   

“You know what I want to hear, mon coeur.”   

Please.  

You know the rules, behave.  

She wants to hear you say please.  

Just beg. Don’t fight. Look at her.  

And Wraith does look at her, watching how Natalie looks up at her with such adoration. Her lips glossy from the wetness sticking to her and her own saliva, no shame in her eyes when she leans forward to give a sloppy, wet kiss to leave Wraith wanting more.  

Even with Wraith’s hands in her hair, fingers shaking and trying so hard to guide Natalie’s pretty mouth back to her clit, it doesn’t work. She swallows thickly, practically on her tiptoes to try and gain some sort of leverage, but she quickly finds it doesn’t work.  

“Please- please, please, let me cum. Baby, please?”  

“Mmh...And what else?”  

“I...” Wraith breathes out a soft sound when Natalie goes back to properly eating her out. Licking at her hole to get her wetness and gliding her tongue back up to her clit. Properly sealing her lips around it and moving her tongue just underneath to feel the harsh throbbing of Wraith getting close. “I’m- I’m yours! I’m yours, I’m yours!”   

Wraith’s voice is a quiet, desperate shout, and that seems to be the magic word because Natalie’s moving her skirt out of the way and letting go of Wratih. Holding her skirt up in one hand and the other maneuvering her cock free from the fishnets to jerk herself off. Wraith wastes no time in curling her fingers into the blonde hair, holding Natalie still as she humps against her face, fucking her face earnestly with soft gasps leaving her throat.

Natalie moves her own hand in sync to the small humps, taking it like a champ with her own soft moaning fueling Wraith. It isn’t long before Wraith’s cumming, letting out a small cry and holding Natalie right in place so she can still fuck against her mouth. Riding out the waves until she’s satisfied with a shaky exhale and leaning back against the door.  

When Natalie’s mouth is no longer busy getting fucked, a loud moan passes her lips just as Wraith reaches down to cup her cheek affectionately. Sliding her hand down to grab Natalie’s chin, angling her face upwards to see slick coating her chin and her eyes glazed over. Poor thing.   

“Open your mouth, Nat.” Passes from her lips softly, watching as Natalie obediently does so, so Wraith can slide two fingers into her mouth to give her something to suck on. It muffles her whining too, her hips desperately fucking up into her own grip. She looked so cute like that, and not to mention, Wraith had some vengeance to enact for making her embarrassed. Both in the arena, and in here.  

“You wanna fuck me, sweetheart?” Wraith croons out, watching as Natalie’s eyes flutter and she makes the sweetest ‘mmhhmm’ sound around her fingers.  

A smile plays on her lips as she presses her fingers further into Natalie’s mouth to make her choke a bit, whining around her fingers as Wraith croons again, “Maybe if you’re a good girl I’ll let you fuck my thighs here and maybe, maybe I’ll ride you when we’re home, hm?”  

Judging by the high whine and Natalie’s eyes tearing up, she’s going to take that as a ‘yes’.  

Boy, she really hopes Elliott doesn’t come looking for them.  

#Darksparks #Wattwraith #Wattson x Wraith #Apex legends #apex lemons #Wattson #Wraith #nsft #lemon #Trans Wattson #princess writing #Omg this was such a good fic too go me

[strangestdiary]

Light My Fire | Klaus Hargreeves

Relationship: Klaus/Reader 

Summary: Being back in the 1960s was a lot more comfortable the second time around Klaus comes to realize. 

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: Mentions of drugs and alcohol, light angst??, fluff, not going with canon of season 2 obviously 

A/N: Uh oh what’s this? Part 2 is possible. This was totally unprompted and I just really wanted to write it so here it is!

Also should I make a tag list? Let me know.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

---

It wasn’t hard to realize what exactly he was doing down here, rifling through your recently stocked cabinets for some alcohol as he muttered to himself. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself while watching him clumsily push some bottles aside, swearing when one or two is about to fall off the shelf.

He backed away from your cabinet with a giddy smile on his face, kissing the neck of a half empty cherry smirnoff bottle. He unscrewed the cap and wiggled his hips a little before raising the bottle to his lips. He was slow to turn around but once he finally did he gasped followed by watery choking and clutching his chest in surprise. 

“Jesus Christ!” He shouted “How long have you been standing there?” 

A smirk found its way to your lips at his reaction. You shrugged, pushing yourself off the entrance of your family bar. “Long enough to watch you raid my alcohol and almost cost me a whole shelf of drinks that would be very expensive to replace.” You shot a playful glare at him and brushed past him to latch the shutter doors closed once again. 

It had been a few months since Klaus landed in your life in a very unceremonious fashion, quite literally landing on top of you in your bed after being spit out by a bright blue light just below your ceiling. You still had a small bump from where he accidentally elbowed your jaw when falling. 

At first you had convinced yourself it was an all too realistic dream produced from the weed you had smoked a little too much of earlier that night. That idea was pushed out of the window the day after when you woke up and the strange man was still in your room, laying in your silk hammock that was nailed up in the corner of your room. 

You both had gotten to know each other in the small amount of time you’ve known each other though, you had taken him to meet your friends who were all too enthusiastic to embrace a newcomer. He fit in well with them though, the smoking circles becoming more lively with him around and the conversations being the most entertaining talks you’ve had in your life. 

He was a curious but wonderful change to your life, and to say you were attracted to him was an understatement. 

Klaus hadn’t opened up to you that much about his past, but there were moments where he would let his walls drop just for a second. Sometimes an offhand comment about a sibling or sometimes indulging you in how exactly he got here in the first place. Everything he provided just sounded like some made up story he had spun for your entertainment. Especially when he would joke about being from the future. 

Klaus may not be the strangest person you had met but he was up there for sure. 

“Are you doing anything tomorrow night?” You asked, leaning back against the shutter cabinets he had been practically inside of just minutes ago. Klaus watched you curiously raising a brow with a gleam in his beautiful emerald eyes. 

He leaned against the bar idly with a smile playing on his lips “It depends on what you have in mind.” He brought the smirnoff back up to his lips, barely even reacting as the harsh alcohol burned its way down his throat. 

Pushing off the cabinets softly you walked up to him in three strides, a smile of your own threatening to break through “Marry and her girlfriend are hosting a get together in the woods behind their trailer, the usual smoking circle and maybe something else.” You felt him tug aimlessly on the black piano shawl wrapped around your shoulders. “There’s also someone I want you to meet too.” You said just above a whisper, your faces inching closer and closer by the second. 

“Yeah and who’s that?” His smile was breathtaking, his hands coming to rest on your waist. 

“His name’s Dave.” You whispered your lips just about to touch his. Klaus tenses up at the name, his fingers clenching against your waist, his eyes were wide and he was frozen in place. You backed off by an inch or two staring at him curiously “What’s wrong?” 

Klaus shook himself out of his shocked state long enough to look into your eyes, his mind reeling. “Did you- did you just say his name was Dave?” 

You nodded slowly confused why he was so bent up over this so suddenly, “Yeah he’s back home from bootcamp for a few months.” You detach yourself from Klaus to take a step back and look at him fully “He’s one of my closest friends and we kinda had a thing for a while before he left.” You play with your shawl idly trying to find the right words “I would have said something before but it’s hard talking about him without getting myself all worked up.” You chuckled to yourself before bringing a hand up to cup Klaus’ face in your hand, the stubble on his face scratching against your palm slightly. 

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” You whispered studying his face, emotions clouding his eyes. He shook his head against your palm before smiling, taking your hand in his. 

“No I wanna go. I just... I don’t know.” This was the most speechless you had ever seen Klaus in your short time of knowing him. Usually he was jumping at the opportunity to join you and your friends. You remembered that one time when you both got drunk and he told you that he hadn’t felt this wanted and included since being with his ex, he never elaborated more than that though and you never pushed him to tell you. 

“Do you have any pictures of him?” He asked after a few quiet seconds. You nodded with a smile tugging him by the hand to the stairs that led up to your apartment above the bar. 

Once in your living room you walk over to the coffee table, sliding one of the drawers out you grab the thick velvety photo album that has all of your pictures with your friends and you. You sat back onto the couch and pat the space beside you, Klaus didn’t hesitate to sit himself down. You flipped through a few pages before finally landing on the page you were looking for, you smiled to yourself as you picked up your favorite photo. 

It was you and Dave sitting on the same couch you and Klaus were on, Dave’s arm slung over your shoulder laughing at some stupid joke you had told him. You remembered that day so clearly even after getting arguably a little too high, it was the day after high school graduation and you were both practically attached at the hip back then. 

You didn’t even notice you were crying until Klaus’ thumb was smoothing over your cheek. You chuckled weakly muttering a weak apology “It’s been too long since I’ve looked at these.” You said with a fond smile looking up at Klaus. He was staring at you with his own unshed tears. “Are you okay?” He nodded before looking back down at the photo still in your hand. 

“Do you have any more?” The adoration in his eyes was hard to miss when he looked at the picture, you almost wondered if he knew Dave... but that was impossible Dave would have told you about Klaus in some way or another. 

You decided to indulge Klaus and went through the rest of the album, a few more tears being shed by you as you retold the stories behind some of them. Once you were done and closed the photo album Klaus stood from the couch and put his hand out for you now. 

“I have something to show you.” His voice was somewhat strained but you decided not to question him on it. 

He led you to the spare room you had let Klaus sleep in while he tried to get his feet back under him. You stood next to his bed watching him go through the nightstand drawer before sighing to himself and standing. You looked curiously at the dogtags he held carefully in his hand. 

“Promise me you won’t freak out okay?” The skeptical look you gave him made him heave a sigh again, he grabbed your hand and urged you to sit down on the bed, your knees touching as you faced each other. “I know I told you about a boyfriend I had but I never really went into it for... well for reasons, but when you showed me those pictures I knew I couldn’t keep this from you.” You noticed his hands were shaking, the metal dog tags clanging against each other. “I need you to hear me out okay?” He looked at you hopefully, you urged him to go on with your hand “And I mean really hear me out even if it sounds so out of this world. I promise you I would never lie about this.” You couldn’t help but notice how his voice was trembling as well. 

You placed a hand on his bicep in hopes to help him calm down “Hey it’s okay. I’m listening to you Klaus. I mean, you fell on me from some blue portal thing above my bed. It'll be hard not to believe you about something you’re this worked up over.” You assured, a smile making its way to both of your faces. 

He took a deep breath before launching into a story about how he was never joking when telling you about him being from the future. How he had accidentally landed himself in the middle of the Vietnam War for ten months and how he had fallen in love with someone along the way. He hadn’t given you the name of the man he fell for but you had a wild guess of who he might be talking about. Everything he described this man to be reminded you so much of Dave, and when the reality of who he was talking about finally dawned on you Klaus had told you how that man had died in his arms, how broken up he was about it. 

“He was the first person I ever really went sober for...” Klaus said, trembling back in his voice again “I mean I had to see him one last time before everything ended you know?” The look in his eyes broke your heart. He looked back down at the dog tags clutched in his hands before looking back up at you again. He handed them to you almost reluctantly, waiting for you to reject him and accuse him of lying. 

You read the name over and over again before a sob tore through your throat. “I can’t believe it.” You whimpered looking back up at Klaus, his own tears streaking down his cheeks. You pulled him into a tight hug and you both just sat and cried in each other’s arms for who  knows how long. 

You knew there was something special about Klaus from the second you met him, the both of you screaming as you tangled yourself further in your blankets as you tried to push off the mysterious man who fell from a blue light in your ceiling. He was just as tied to Dave as you were, his love for your best friend matching your own. 

After the last of your tears had dried you sat back and looked into Klaus’ red rimmed emerald eyes. “So what do you say Klaus, you ready to go meet Dave?” Your grin was just as watery as his was. 

“I’ve been ready.” He muttered, his eyes fluttering and his eyelashes kissing his cheeks as you wiped away another tear that escaped the corner of his eye. 

He let out a chuckle and grabbed your hand “You know you kind of remind me of him.” He said with a wink. You snort and shake your head against his pillows, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m serious, you both are scarily alike.” 

You hum in agreement, turning your head to look back at him “That’s probably why we didn’t work out together.” You muse, smiling to yourself “We would get in these really stupid fights all the time and eventually we just had enough and broke it off.” Klaus nodded in understanding “We were always better off as friends but that didn’t mean we didn’t indulge in a little sharing every so often.” That caught his attention. 

“Oh?” His tone was teasing yet curious. 

“Man, you have no idea. We were both in a year long relationship with Sky, you remember him right? The really cute one with the long blonde hair that likes to cuddle up with people when he’s high?” Klaus chuckled to himself before laying on his stomach next to you, propping his head up with his hands. 

“So scandalous.” He joked making you roll your eyes a laugh of your own floating in the air. 

The night went on and on, the both of your trading stories back and forth going from Dave to what your childhood was like. He opened up to you about his power he claimed to have, the look on his face told you he was all too serious about the horrible things he went through as a kid. It made your heart clench. 

You both talked until finally you both drifted off to sleep one after the other, his fingers threaded with yours. It was comfortable, not being woken by one of Klaus’ nightmares he would have every so often. You couldn’t be more happy where you were.   

#klaus #klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves imagine #klaus hargreeves x reader #the umbrella academy imagine #the umbrella academy #tua imagine #my writing

[humaforever]

Quality time/Huma fic

It was a bright Sunday morning in Auradon. The sun was blasting, but when was it not in Auradon. Most of the people were out strolling around the beautiful city on this perfect day. But not everyone. In room 24 on the side of Auradon prep where the girl's dorms were located was a beautiful dark-skinned girl with amazing turquoise hair along with a pale boy with ebony hair. Harry and Uma were currently in Uma's dorm room. Uma was on her bed reading over a legislation Ben wanted to make for the "Isle reformation committee." Uma oversaw this committee, she knew what was best for the isle. As for Harry he was spinning in a chair looking through the things in said girl's vanity. Uma had no idea why he was there, he looked extremely bored and Gil had invited him to go with him, Jay, and Carlos to get lunch. But Harry had declined. Uma didn't mind his company, but he was being nosy, and it was distracting her.

"Hey Harry" she finally spoke up now getting very irritated by him

"Hmm?" He responded as he continued to look through her things

"Can you please stop...whatever it is you're doing"

"Ugh!" He threw his hands up and just started spinning more in his chair

"Woah, what the hell was that? Fricken drama queen" Uma responded more irritated than ever. What he just did was not cool with her. "What's wrong" she asked trying to take a calm stance on this

He just walked over to the bed and flopped down at the bottom of the mattress.

"Okay then, take your time" Uma said rolling her eyes and furrowing her eyebrows.

Uma continued to look over the document not having the energy for this. A few minutes passed when Harry let out a long hard sigh into her comforter.

"OKAY what! You obviously want my attention! Stop acting like a baby and tell me what your problem is!" Uma shouted

Harry turned around and looked at Uma as a smile started to grow on his face

"Sorry captain, I was just wondering when you were going to be done. It seems like one of us is always busy and we haven't been spending quality time together anymore." He stated

Uma scoffed at him "Quality time huh? Okay so what did you want to do?" She asked putting the document on her nightstand deciding to indulge him

His expression immediately changed, and his face brightened with excitement "Can I do your makeup!?" He asked excitedly

My makeup! She thought. Uma fully trusted Harry with most everything including when it came to her appearance. He would help her pick out her outfits and do her hair sometimes but her makeup. He wasn't the best at doing his own makeup. Although the charcoal eyeliner he used brought out his beautiful eyes it could definitely look well...messy at times. And it definitely wasn't something she wanted on her face. But he looked so excited she didn't want to spoil his excitement. He was also right; they hadn't had much time to spend together just the two of them.

She must've been thinking for a long time because his face fell, and he looked away

"Its okay if you don't want me to, it was just a suggestion" He said voice sounding incredibly sad

So sad that it made her heart swell, not in a good way. She never wanted to be the reason for his sadness "No, no, umm, I guess...umm if you really want to you can"

"Really!" He said face lighting up again

"Yeah" how could she say no when he looked so cute

**********

"Alrighty I think I found one"

They had set up two chairs at her vanity. She laid out her makeup and took off the makeup she previously had on while he looked for a reference photo to follow. At least he wasn't just going to do his regular makeup routine on her.

"Can I see it?" She asked

"No, it's going to be a surprise" He said looking over her makeup

"Please"

"No"

He opened one of her eyeshadow palettes and picked up a small brush

"Wait you're starting with eyeshadow?" Uma asked skeptically

"I was planning on it. Why am I not supposed to"

"Most people start with foundation but you can do whatever you want"

"Mmkay which ones that" Harry questioned

"Here" Uma said holding out a bottle of a dark liquid substance

He took it and pumped some of it out on a larger brush

"Oh Harry" she said watching the whole thing

"What now?"

"You were supposed to use this" She said holding up a beauty blender "The brush leaves it uneven"

He took the beauty blender from her and sighed "okay, thanks, but please stop telling me how to do it. I really appreciate it but you're kinda taking the fun out of it"

He tried to rub the foundation he had just put on the brush onto the beauty blender. All while Uma pressed her mouth into a flat line deciding not to mention how he was supposed to wet the beauty blender first.

He gently grabbed her face and started to apply the foundation. Covering all areas of her face.

"Close your eyes" Harry said fully concentrated on his work, she had to admit it was cute how focused he was

So she obliged and felt the large sponge glide across her eyes. When she could tell he stopped she opened her eyes.

"Alright I don't really like it but I don't care. I'm doing eyeshadow now." He declared

"Can I look at it?" Uma asked

"No, it's gonna be a surprise"

Even though they were sitting right next to a mirror she was still going to ask for permission to see the look because this was Harry's time to shine and she wouldn't spoil it for him.

He settled on a small palate and started to put the powder on a brush

That's my bronzer pallette! She thought

"Close your eyes again for me dear" he said inspecting the powder ratio on the brush

When Harry started to apply the eyeshadow (bronzer) he did it so incredibly gentle that it was extremely ticklish on her eyes and made them start to water. Uma had peeked a small look at him. He was so close to her face, so concentrated, and oh yeah did I mention cute.

"Open"

When Uma opened her eyes Harry immediately noticed they had watered up.

"What happened? What did I do? Did I press too hard?" He asked somewhat frantically

"No, nothing, you didn't hurt me. The brush was tickling my eye" She said with a laugh

"Oh" he said with relief "Hey, do you have any brightly colored pallettes?"

She didn't bring those ones out on purpose she didn't want to look like a clown. But oh well she had already come this far.

*****

After Harry had spent a large amount of time trying to get both eyes the same and perfect, also quicky putting on eyeliner. he was ready for lipstick.

He'd definitely shortened the makeup look by not adding any of the highlights, concealer, and what not. Anyway, Harry had chosen a dark cherry red color for her lips.

Once he had applied it he looked very satisfied.

"Okay, last but not least, time for blot"

"Blot? You know about blot?" Uma asked

"Of course"

"Hm, well I have some tissue ove-"

She was cut of by Harry firmly planting his lips on hers. Just as her eyes began to flutter shut he pulled apart.

"Perfect! Well you can look now"

Uma nodded slowly regaining herself. Seeing the small amount of lipstick he had on his lips. When she turned to the mirror. She was very surprised to say the least. He had done a fantastically blended, sparkly, gorgeous eye makeup. The colors worked so well together and against her complexion. Even the bronzer as eyeshadow looked good, she may have to try that more often. The eyeliner he did was actually pristine with a perfect cat eye. The lipstick matched well and complemented her face.

"Ta da! You like" He asked

"I love! When did you get so good at makeup?"

"I uh, I practice sometimes. I mean practice other things than my regular guyliner. I've been wanting to ask if I could do your makeup for a long time now but I thought you'd say no" he said shrugging while looking down at his hands.

Uma's expression went soft. "You can always do my makeup"

He smiled at her. They kept their gaze on each other not breaking eye contact. She leaned in for another quick kiss. Light, soft, passionate, but short.

"Well I don't know about you but I'm ready to paint the town. Show off my new look. Wanna come with me" Uma said

"I'll follow you to the ends of the Earth captain"

#harry/uma #huma #uma/harry

[until-we-fall-in-love]

Ingénue: Chapter Two

- Read Chapter One -

Ingénue Masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, in later chapters Sam Wilson x Reader, Natasha Romanov x Reader, and Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: You get to know Bucky and Steve better in this chapter and try to grasp a little more about what you’ve gotten yourself into.

1920s AU

Warnings: Light smut and drinking. In later chapters there will be violence.

If you are under 18 you should not be reading this!

A/N: hello again! this chapter is mostly just self indulgence and smut lmao but the next chapters will hopefully have more plot in them! for now, i’m just developing relationships! thank you to all those who have liked and re-blogged and commented! your feedback means the world to me!

Read on Ao3

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

Your life continues on rather normally despite the way you seem to always daydream about the three men you’d met only two or so weeks ago. You and Wanda become close friends, spending all your evenings together backstage or onstage or in rehearsals. On weekends, before performances, you giggle as you sneakily take shots of burning vodka in the dressing room; clothes askew, half on, half off. Neither of you ever get drunk but it’s fun and you’re young and maybe more reckless than you should be.

    Natasha catches you one Saturday, scolds you with dark eyes, tells you to be good and not to disobey. It makes your cheeks flush, warmth curling inside of you for some odd reason. Wanda pushes back, a little playful, a gleam in her eyes. 

    “Careful, Wanda,” Natasha tsks in that sultry way of hers, the warning flashing in her eyes.

    Wanda, for her credit, bites her lip and takes the rest of the scolding with you quietly. And when it’s all over, she bursts into giggles. Your cheeks are flushed from Natasha and the alcohol but you laugh with her now, grabbing onto each other, breathless and electric. 

    You come to find that these shenanigans don’t stop with Wanda; she likes trouble. But only the fun kind, she assures you and the wicked glitter in her eye always manages to pull you in. You don’t like displeasing Natasha, though she never seems genuinely upset with the pair of you. In fact, she seems half-amused, and her eyes always trace your rosy cheeks when she reprimands you. You wonder if she can hear the catch in your breath, the stutter in your heart, too. 

    But with Wanda, you feel young and girlish and wonderful. You’re both practically joined at the hip, fingers always brushing, or shoulder to shoulder, toeing some invisible line. She takes you dancing sometimes, after the show, presses her body to yours and wraps her small arms around you. Her lips skate over your cheek, warm and smirking. The boys whistle and hollar for you both and she teases that they can look, but can’t touch. She’s bewitching and you happily submit to her spell. 

    You trust her with things of all matters; deep or fleeting. You admit your infatuation for Steve, Bucky, and Sam to her and she teases you about it mercilessly until you tackle her, laughing all the way. 

    And then there is one night when you exit stage after your final performance of the night, change out of your costume, before Wanda nearly runs into you. 

    “There’s someone here to see you,” She sings, eyes twinkling. 

    “Who is it?” You ask, hoping she won’t toy with you. But her smirk tells you otherwise. 

    “Come out and see,” She urges, pulling at your hands, your arms. You are helpless to her, follow her with a huff. 

            “I don’t know why you can’t simply just--”

    Your words die as you notice Bucky backstage, in the shadows, just outside of the light from the stage that peeks from between the heavy, red curtains. He has a bouquet of deeply red roses across his chest and when he spots you, his whole face seems to light up.

“Bucky,” You gasp quietly, heart fluttering happily, and before you can stop yourself, your excitement has you rushing towards him and straight into his arms. 

He catches you at the last moment, air leaving his lungs at the force you collide with but then his arms, strong and broad, are around you, banding around your waist and keeping you close. 

“Hi ya, doll.” He rumbles, warm and infinitely happy to see you. Your arms are around his neck, near hanging off him as he holds you up, “Miss me?” He asks and you find a blush warming your cheeks quickly. 

You pull back slightly, realizing that this perhaps wasn’t the proper greeting for a man you’d only met once before, but his arms don’t fully let you go, and keep you close in his embrace. As if he refuses to let you be embarrassed for your zealous greeting of him. You blink up at him, at the flowers in his free arm. 

“The roses are from Stevie and Sam, too.” He then explains, passing them from his arms to yours. The petals brush your cheeks, the end of your nose and they’re fragrant and soft. “They’re real sore over not being able to come tonight.” 

    Your lips pop open in slight surprise; for the flowers, for the idea that the three of them had even thought of you, wanted to be here tonight. It makes your heart quicken. You shake your head, “You didn’t need to do that,” You insist, “It’s too sweet.” 

    “Nonsense,” Bucky replies, hand still at your waist, smooth and smelling of expensive cologne, something warm and musky and intoxicating. You sink closer to him. “It’s nothing.” 

    “Thank you,” You tell him sweetly, “And tell Steve and Sam that, too.” 

    “I will,” Bucky promises, hand falling to the small of your back, head dipping close to yours, “Now, what do ya say we get out of here and go dancing?” 

    You light up, outside fluttering warm and smile brightening your features in the darkness. “That sounds swell, Bucky.” 

    That’s all it takes for you to find yourself tucked under his arm, against his side, leading you out into the streets of New York as if he owns it, promising you a perfect night out on the town. 

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

He takes you to another speakeasy and you think, with the way the bouncer regards him with a familiar smile and handshake, that he owns this one, too. Your suspicions are confirmed when the bartender asks him, “What can I get ya, boss?” 

“Whad’ya drink, babydoll?” Bucky then asks you, a protective hand on your waist, keeping you close in the crowded room. You almost feel shy with the boisterous people around you, screaming and shouting and swaying. Their bare arms and shoulders, scandalous dips in necklines, pearls and silk glitter before your eyes. The room is thick with coiling perfume, smoke, the sticky sweet of alcohol on everyone’s lips. It’s sin, it’s wild and makes your head fog. Couples on velvet couches drape over each other, mouths moving, and you flush, turning your gaze from them. You’re usually on the stage, not in the crowds, untouched and perfectly unaware. Besides, The Valkyrie isn’t as...hedonistic as this. 

Bodies move on the dance floor, twining and grinding, gripping and pushing against one another lewdly. You curl closer to Bucky, find comfort in his broad frame against yours. Your lashes flutter up to him; you don’t really know what you drink besides the few, shots of Vodka that you and Wanda sneak some nights. 

“Surprise me!” You chirp at Bucky and he grins, picking his head back up to the bartender. 

“Gimmie a Mary Pickford and an Old Fashioned,” He says and in no time, a sleek, slim glass of something citrus pink with a bright cherry is given to Bucky, followed by the small glass with what you assume is brandy or whiskey, orange peel curling the side, and a round ice cube rocking in the center. 

Bucky takes both drinks in hand, tells you to hang onto him, and begins weaving through the crowds. Your small hand latches onto the back of his shirt and you stumble along behind him. He guides you into a plush, deeply blue booth in the corner of the speakeasy. A table rests in front and you slide in beside him, eagerly pressing close to him. 

He plucks the cherry in your drink up with nimble fingers, “Open,” He says with a smile that promises trouble, devilish and fun, as he holds the cherry up to your mouth. 

You blink up at him, unsure at first, but slowly let your lips part. He drops the cherry onto your tongue, let’s you bite down tentatively. Red burst of fruit erupts, juicy and sweet, and he pulls the stem of the cherry from you, tosses it onto the table. You chew, the bright and sugary flavor on your tongue before you swallow. 

In the next moment, he’s holding the glass of your drink, pink and filled to the brim, up to your lips. “Now drink, bunny,” He says and you welcome the rim of the glass to your mouth as his other hand sinks into your hair at the back of your neck, guiding and authoritative. Bucky tips the glass slightly, let’s you drink pineapple nectar, sweet and citrus, form his hands. 

It burns down your throat with your inexperience, though, the bite of alcohol you taste around the sugar, and he only allows you a few sips before setting it back down on the table. 

“It’s got a kick!” You tell him, lips puckering slightly and he laughs richly, letting his hand fall from the nape of your neck, to drape his arm around your shoulders.  

“You’ve never had a Mary Pickford before?” He asks, eyes glittering in the dark. 

You shake your head, warmth spreading through you just from those first few sips, “I’ve only ever really had a little vodka with Wanda backstage.” 

He whistles low, “You’re a baby,” He coos, half teasing, in a way that makes heat burn through your cheeks, “Well, stick with me, and I’ll teach ya more.” He then promises, finger toying with a strand of your hair. 

Your heart stutters and jump starts and you find you really, really want to learn from him.

The night edges onward with the pair of you squeezed into this booth, drinking, talking, and laughing. He wants to know all about you, uncovers what you love and hate, where you grew up, all that you’ll give him, he takes. And he regales you with stories of him and Steve as kids, the way they met Sam and Natasha. He tells you that some things are secret, asks how well you keep them with a wicked gleam in his eyes that you’re drunk on, fuzzy and yearning.

Somehow, you end up in his lap, straddling his waist with your small hands on his shoulders. The edge of the table digs into your back but you don’t care, too swept away in Bucky’s gaze on you. The alcohol has made you a little bolder, otherwise your inexperience with men would make you nervous. You’re not chaste, but the majority of your experiences with men or women have been fumbling and quick. No one’s had the skill or confidence as Bucky does, whose hands seem to know exactly how to touch, to brush, to grasp. 

His hand cradles your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip. You look at him with wide eyes, small hands on the curve of his broad shoulders. 

“I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since I met you,” He admits, eyes blue haze and warm, his thumb passing another tender swipe over your lip. 

“You tell that to every pretty girl?” You ask in response, half-serious, half-teasing with a tilt of your head. 

Bucky smirks a little, shakes his head, “No,” And his thumb presses lightly against the seam of your lips, so you part them, let your tongue brush delicately against the pad of his thumb. “Just you,” He murmurs, enraptured, eyes darkening. 

You wrap your lips around his thumb, tentative; it seems strange and foregin but Bucky’s gripping you tighter, looking at you as if he wants to devour you whole. A bloom of arousal, low and soft, unfurls inside of you. Your hips squirm over his, involuntary, and you can feel a flush creep over you, a little embarrassed with his thumb in your mouth and suddenly desperate need for relief. 

Bucky only pulls his thumb from your lips though, slick and warm before covering your mouth with his and for a moment, you’re frozen, heart stopping. But then his broad palm grips your waist, rolls your hips forward slightly and you whine against his lips and come alive beneath his hands. 

He half groans against your lips at your eagerness, small hands tightening in his shirt, delving into his hair. You can taste the bite of the alcohol he’d been drinking, the sudden splash of orange. It’s intoxicating, it burns you. 

He repositions you slightly, thigh slipping between your legs, brushing at your core where you’re sensitive, forcing out a trembling breath. His lips part from yours, skate along your cheek, down to your jaw. “Pretty girl,” Bucky murmurs, teeth skimming, fingers digging into your hip to rock you onto his thigh, which pulls a shaky moan from you.

Your cheeks flush in embarrassment, but you can feel the sharp cut of Bucky’s smile, “Feel good, baby?” He coos, evidently unworried by the noise, and repeating the action, giving you friction and trying to pull it from you again. 

“Yeah,” You gasp before you can stop yourself, tilting your head to give him more room there. His lips seal on your neck, warm and overwhelming. You should care more about the way your dress is hitched around your hips or that someone could see you, but Bucky doesn’t allow you to shy away, gripping you tight and encouraging you. 

Besides it’s dark and your face is hidden in his neck, soft lips pressing messy kisses there, smearing any remaining lipstick. It’s dirty, a little lewd, but it feels good. It’s freeing to let go in his arms, rock against him as the heat builds. You chase release, keening slightly as you near it, dizzy and breathless. 

“You gonna come for me?” Bucky purrs then, as if he can sense it, grabbing your hip harder, “Just like this?”  

You mewl, soft and desperate and a little pitiful, head dipping into a slight nod against his shoulder. He doesn’t let you slow or stop, not until you fall apart for him, shaking and letting out a quiet, broken, little cry into his neck. 

He strokes you, hand lovingly caressing up your sides and back. “Good girl,” he praises, refuses to let you be embarrassed, even if you can’t quite leave the comfort of his neck. You squirm, aftershocks rolling through you, clinging to him as he soothes you. 

“So lovely,” He continues, pressing sweet, wet kisses against your jaw and cheek and neck. You feel as if you’re glowing, warm and sated and pressed into his chest.

But after a moment, you pick your head up and blink, eyes round and glittering in the darkness. “What about you?” You ask, almost shyly, ducking your head. You’re hovering in some hazy, sweet fog of bliss but you want him to feel the same, deeply satisfied. You want to please him, you find. 

“Well, aren’t you the sweetest?” Bucky hums, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, pressing his lips to the corner of your jaw. But he shakes his head slightly, “You don’t need to worry about me tonight, though, okay? This was for you, it’s all about you.” 

You pout slightly, bottom lip pushing out, “Are you sure?” 

Bucky nips lightly at your jaw, a quick pinch, “Don’t tempt me, babydoll.” He says lowly and it has you arching into him all over again. But he doesn’t let it simmer and expand again, he pulls you away from him slightly, sleepy-eyed and burning for him. 

“C’mon,” He tells you, “I told you we’d dance.” 

And dance you do; he holds you close, grabs your hips and rocks you against him, just the way Wanda does. Except where her body is soft and plush, his is firm and commanding. He whispers pretty words in your ear, calls you intoxicating and stunning and extraordinary. You preen and dance for him, wrapping your small, arms around his neck and swaying to the jazz that croons throughout the whole establishment. And he’s perfect, so taken by you that you feel as if you are as rare and precious as the gems in the rings that adorned his fingers. You are young and beautiful and full of life, drawing eyes and Bucky proudly displays you. 

Just like Wanda; they can look but can’t touch. It sends your heart soaring. 

But at some point, the night has to come to an end and Bucky takes you home, walking you all the way up to your door. He kisses you sweet and chaste, but a subtle, possessive hand holds your chin to tip your face up to his. 

“I’d love to see you again real soon, doll.” He tells you with sincerity, with earnest. 

“I’d love that too, Bucky.” 

And he kisses you again, slow and gentle, making you sway on unsteady feet. You cling to his shirt again, half think of inviting him in. But he pulls away from you, smiling, blissfully happy with just your kiss. 

“Goodnight, baby. Dream of me?” He asks and you can’t help the laugh that spills from you the way the starlight spills onto his face, brightening his eyes and the crooked smile. 

“Of course,” You sigh, moonstruck, leaning back against the door to your apartment building as you watch him retreat back to his car, distancing himself from you slowly. “Goodnight, Bucky.” You say before slipping inside, heading up to your apartment, and dropping into bed. Your heart blooms with warmth the same way alcohol spreads gooey and molten inside of your chest, mind flickering back to Bucky, whose smile lingers in your thoughts until darkness cradles you, rocks you into sleep. 

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

Steve visits you next week, stops by the Valkyrie despite having other business to attend to that evening. He tells you he can't stay, unfortunately, looks at you with longing, blue eyes. 

However, he surprises you, shoving his hands into his pockets, he begins, “Since I know you work in the evenings,” He shifts slightly, perhaps nervous, “Can I take you to breakfast tomorrow morning?” 

You blink up at him, think back to Bucky. Surely, Steve knows that Bucky took you out; surely it wouldn’t be betraying Bucky if you agreed. Your heart picks up as you find Steve’s face. It’s earnest and open, makes you blush for some reason. You want to go out with him, too, you realize with a slight start. As much as your mind had been consumed by Bucky, it had always wandered back to Steve, even Sam, too. 

“Sure, Steve,” You begin, nibble at your bottom lip, feel his eyes follow the movement and hope to God your face isn’t as red as it feels, “I’d really like that.” You tell him honestly. 

And he grants you a smile, winsome and darling and brightening his entire face that seems so serious most of the time.

“How’s nine in the morning sound?” He asks and you nod, certain you’d agree to about anything for him. 

Before he can leave, you speak up, let the words bubble out before you can stop yourself, “The roses look really nice in my bedroom.” You grow bashful, “I really love them.”  

He pauses, tilts his head before realization dawns over his features and his smile turns lopsided. “Oh, I’m glad you liked ‘em, honey.” He responds, growing warm with your praise. And then he quirks a brow, “Buck said you guys had fun the other night,” He mentions, half-inquiring. 

“Oh,” You exhale, glad to know that Steve is aware Bucky had taken you out, but suddenly nervous that he knows what Bucky had done with you-- would Bucky have told him?

“It was a lot of fun,” You add, blush warming your cheeks. 

“Good,” Steve says, nodding, “That’s good.” And then he glances at his watch, checks the time, and lets out a breath. “Well, I have to get going. But I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks you, hopeful, pretty eyes finding yours. 

“Yes,” You agree, “Bright and early.” And you flash him a smile. 

Surprisingly, he leans forward, brushes a kiss to your cheek, and agrees, “Bright and early, babydoll.” Before he leaves you there, with your fingers ghosting over where his soft, warm lips had been just moments ago.

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

You wake to the sound of your alarm ringing, blindly fumbling to shut it off. Morning light fills your room, spills onto your bed and bare shoulders. You slowly open your eyes, rub at them before stretching out in your bed. You sigh; you have an hour to get ready before Steve is supposed to pick you up.

So you set on getting ready, picking out a pale, casual, pink dress that has pretty, swirling beads in some areas. It bares your shoulders and collar bones, allows that peak of skin. Your makeup is soft and subtle compared to the dramatics of being on stage; satin pink rouge and a swipe of dolly pink lipstick. A tan clutch, tan kitten heels to match. 

And true to his word, Steve is right on time at nine in the morning. You watch as he pulls up in his automobile in the bright, soft light of the morning. You rush out the door, stepping out before he even reaches the door to your apartment building. When he sees you, his mouth parts slightly, pink lips opening. 

“Hi, Stevie,” You say and he blinks. 

“Morning, sweetheart.” He responds, looking you over, and then he says with a little too much reverence, “You look lovely.” 

Your think your cheeks turn as pink as your dress, “Thank you,” You respond, soft and stepping up to him. 

He helps you into his automobile and off you go, wind tossling your hair and making your eyes glow with wonder as the city blurs by your vision in the morning sun.

Steve takes you to what seems to be a hotel, towering high into the robin’s egg blue sky, dreamy, white clouds scattered in it’s background. But he goes right past the front desk and to the elevators, where he pulls open the iron cage, allows you in, before shutting it behind him. He presses the button for the very top floor, number fifteen, and your curiosity begins to stir. 

But before you can gather the courage to ask any questions, the elevator is slowing to a stop and Steve is ushering you back out. You step out onto a rooftop restaurant, with tall, clear windows surrounding the entire place and giving you a brilliant view of the sparkling city below you. 

Before you can stop yourself, you rush forward, towards the grand windows and peer down below. It’s dizzying, it’s astonishing, takes the breath straight from your lungs. From up this high, the world seems vividly colorful and tiny. Green grass sparks bright compared to the rough, dark asphalt. Gleaming automobiles of yellow, red, and blue streak across the streets. The blue sky opens up wide before your very eyes, clouds rolling past leisurely, the sun casting all in a glow. 

Steve approaches your side, watching you with fondness and tenderness you aren’t prepared to find, but welcome eagerly. 

“It’s incredible,” You breathe, eyes flying over the skyline of New York, open and massive for you. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees softly, eyes fixed on you, “It is.”

But you aren’t quite sure he’s talking about the view anymore.

You take your seat beside an open window and instead of Steve sitting across from you, he takes the seat beside you, casually drapes his arm around the back of your chair. You sit prim and proper beside him, but can’t help the way you lean towards him as you talk. 

And like Bucky, he wants to know everything about you. Willingly, eagerly, you give him all that you gave Bucky, too. You relish in Steve’s attention in a similar way you did with Bucky. He’s not as seductively dark as Bucky, but he’s got a commanding streak, a rougher edge of someone who's never backed down before. It’s as intoxicating as Bucky in an entirely different way.

Steve orders mimosas without the waiter batting an eye and you have to wonder what sort of connections he has here, too. What kind of men and business you’ve entangled yourself with. The slim, tall glasses of bright orange mimosas are placed in front of you, strawberry hanging off the rim, and your sudden questions are quickly quieted. 

You pluck your strawberry off the rim, bite into the sweet fruit that gushes against your tongue and lips. Steve smiles as he watches you, swiping his thumb at the corner of your lips, catching some of it’s sugar on his thumb. 

And he swipes his thumb clean of it, catching your eyes as your heart flutters. 

As if to get back at him, you swipe his own strawberry, playful and giggling as you quickly bite into that one, too. Steve’s eyes dance with amusement, even as his broad palm comes down onto the back of your neck. He squeezes lightly, “Think your funny, huh?” He asks, voice gone low but a corner of his lips is lifted into a smile.

“I think so,” You say around the strawberry, cheek full with the fruit and it makes you both laugh, deep and full and warm. Steve’s hand slides to your back, sometimes to your shoulder as you both sit too close, laughing over mimosas at nine in the morning. 

You feel on top of the world, sitting pretty beside one of the most powerful men in New York City.

The thought strikes you deeply and the slow realization of who you’ve been so infatuated with; Bucky, Steve, Sam, even Natasha, come rushing forward. They’re dangerous, they’re powerful. You begin to become aware of the sly glances cast your way, the way people seem to be looking at you. And Steve’s been taking it all in stride, sitting close, possessive hand on the back of your neck.  

It should make you nervous. You try and convince yourself you’re nervous, but you aren’t. It’s a rush, like being on the stage every night, intoxicating and fun. And you’re smitten, caught in the shock of blue from Steve’s eyes. 

You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, but you reach for it anyways, eager and seeking. 

Steve ends up ordering for you when you don’t know what to get, too many options; all expensive, things you’ve barely heard of. When the steaming plates of food are placed in front of you, you’re met with something that’s perfectly scrambled eggs, salmon, rustic bread, spring greens. It’s rich and savory and you half-groan on the first bite. 

“That good, princess?” He asks around a smile and you nod enthusiastically, which makes his eyes brighten. 

As if he’s happy just because you are. As if you’ve reminded him to savor something as simple as food, looking at it through new eyes, young and naive and excited to try everything. 

You both eat and talk and lounge in the morning light, enjoying all that he’d gotten. The cinnamon, pecan rolls that are decadent and dripping and sticky-sweet. They have you licking your fingers clean, Steve’s eyes darkening a fraction, and your own cheeks sent blazing.

Steve pays for everything, won’t even let you look at the bill. It’s overly kind because you know it was all expensive and he ordered plenty of food for the two of you, but he acts as if it’s nothing. Maybe to him, it isn’t. Once more, your curiosity for him, for what exactly he does grows. 

He takes you back home after, walks you up to the door of your apartment building and this time, before he can say any sort of goodbye, you peak up at him and ask, “Would you like to come in for a bit? For coffee or tea?”  You ask, flicker wide eyes up to his face.

He looks a little surprised, but he smiles, and agrees and you become keenly aware of him at your back as you lead him up to your own apartment. You become slightly self conscious; it isn’t the nicest, most modern or chic place. It’s minimal but clean and tidy, soft blues, cremes, and whites adorn the living room and shared kitchenette. You let him in, tell him to make himself at home as you toe off your shoes and wander further in. 

“Coffee or tea?” You ask, thankful that’ll give you something to do, so you can get your fluttering heart under control. You don’t recall the last time you’ve had a man in your apartment and now Steve takes up so much space, hands in his pockets as he looks around. 

“Whichever you want,” He responds, disarmingly gentlemanly and charming. You opt for coffee because it will take a little longer to prepare, give you a spare moment of tinkering around in the kitchen.

“Do you like your coffee with sugar or milk?” You ask him over your shoulder, aware of how much you want to know, the domesticity of knowing the way he takes his coffee is not lost on you. 

“Just black is fine, honey.”

The pet name soothes you, but doesn’t entirely quell your nerves. 

 However, once its brewed, you step back over to Steve with a steaming cup and settle onto the couch beside him. Further than you were at breakfast. He accepts the coffee with a smile of thanks, taking a small sip before settling it on a coffee table. 

It should’ve taken longer for him to coax you closer, but you couldn’t help the way you gravitate towards him. The conversation is friendly, playful, light. The buzz of the coffee hums through you, making you jittery and lively. You’re animated, regaling him of stories of performing, of rehearsals. 

And before you know it, his smiling lips are pressing to yours, the taste of coffee and sweet cinnamon from the pastry earlier hitting you and it takes all of your self control to put a hand on his broad chest and push him away. He eases away, despite being strong and big enough to not budge. 

You stare at him with wide eyes, nervous and fretting, you let out a shaky breath. “I don’t--” You start, pause, try and grab your bearings, “I don’t want to lead you or Bucky on.” You say in a rush, feeling suddenly foolish. Perhaps your night with Bucky meant nothing to him, perhaps he wouldn’t care, perhaps--

Steve’s large palm, rough and calloused, cups your smooth, soft cheek. “Sweetheart, it’s okay.” He hushes you, eyes soft as he gazes at you, “I know about your date with Bucky. I know what you two...did.” 

Your cheeks smart with color, flushing with embarrassment, even a twinge of shame or a slight spark of irritation. Did they talk about you like that? Were you nothing more than a conquest? “I’m not easy, Steve Rogers,” You get out, eyes burning, a bite of attitude. And a piece of you grows weary because should you be talking to one of the most powerful mobsters in the city like this? Absolutely not. But--

 “Woah, slow down,” Steve tries to soothe, surprise flickering through his face, “That’s not what I’m saying--” 

“Then what are you sayin’?” You fire back, lips almost coming out into a pout. 

Steve lets out a slow breath, gathers his thoughts, “Just that--” He starts, “Bucky and I share everything. Our business, the work, our manor, everything.”  

You blink at him, taking in what he says, and when you say nothing, he presses on;

“Dames, too.” And he’s nervous, you can tell by the way he swallows, by the way his eyes turn a little pleading. “If we really like ‘em.” 

You pull away slightly, letting this slowly sink inside of you. You become uneasy, wary that you’re so naive and have been so swept away with them that you haven’t seen the way this might look. “I don’t wanna be either of your-- of your conquests. Or anything of the sort.” You tell him, feeling your heart squeeze, you really liked them. Had you been foolish? 

“No,” Steve says quickly, giving you that distance, even if his fingers twitch, wishing to reach out to you, reassure you. “No, we’re real serious about you.” 

Relief begins to flicker inside of you, but you aren’t quite ready to trust yet. “Do you tell this to all your girls?” You ask him, echo the same question that you asked Bucky. 

“No,” He responds again, stronger this time. And when you don’t soften, he sighs thinking for a moment, desperately wanting you to see how serious he is, before his eyes brighten and he finds your gaze, “Look, I’ll prove it to you--” 

And then his fingers are reaching beneath the collar of his shirt, unhooking a simple, thin gold chain. It glitters prettily in the afternoon light, catching and spinning in the air. And then he slips off an old, expensive looking gold ring, a white diamond resting in it’s center. You don’t bother questioning if it’s real, you’re quite certain it is. He slips the ring onto the chain, and then finds your eyes once more. 

“May I?” He asks, holding it up, open and offering to you. 

Your lips part. 

“That looks awfully expensive,” You say tentatively, eyes wide. 

“It is.” Steve responds, then adds, “And it’s got a lot of importance to me.” He holds your eyes, “And I want you to wear it. To prove that we’re serious about you, baby. We can’t get you out of our heads.” He says, voice softening, dropping to a murmur. “Now, can I put it on you?” 

You can’t help the rush of air that leaves you, the way your heart begins to melt for him. Your eyes are wide, uncertain, but you’re wavering. You want to wear it. Because it’s his. Because he’s trying to prove that he really likes you. That Bucky does, too. “What does it mean?” You force yourself to ask, finding his eyes, “Am I your girl, then? Am I,” You pause, thinking, “Am I Bucky’s, too? How does this work?”     “If you want,” Steve says in a fast breath, eager and earnest, “Whatever you want. However you want this to work.” 

“I want..” You begin, inching towards him, “I want to spend time with you and Bucky, before it’s all official.” You decide, eyes then falling to the sparkling, gold necklace in his hands, “But I’ll wear it, if you’re serious.” 

Steve lets out a breath of relief, let’s his shoulders relax slightly. “Of course,” He promises, and you shift, turn your back to him and offer your neck to him. 

His arms go around you, your back pressing against his strong chest. The chain is cool to the touch against your neck and chest, it rests low, in the dip of your dress, nestling between your breasts sweetly. Steve secures it and you glance down at it, seeing the way it glows against your skin. In your distraction, you don’t notice Steve until his lips suddenly brush the line of your shoulder. A gasp leaves you, warmth curling low inside of you. 

You blink, “Wait,” And immediately, he freezes, and you peak over your shoulder at him, demure, lovely. Steve has to force himself not to claim your lips again. “What about Sam?” You ask and Steve tilts his head slightly, nose skimming the line of your cheek, as he regards you a little curiously. 

“We trust Sam with our lives,” He begins, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek, “With everything that we share.” He then adds, a little more hushed. “We trust Natasha like that, too.” He drops another coaxing kiss just beneath your ear, lingering there, “You can trust them, too.” He murmurs in a way that might suggest trust does not just include loyalty. But your head is already reeling and there is time-- there is time to sort it all out, and not when Steve’s lips are soft and inviting. 

You lean back into him, melt and go pliant against his broad chest. His hands slide up your arms, lips moving against your neck, against your shoulder. Your breathing grows tremulous, especially as he opens his mouth against your skin, warm and wet and making you arch slightly. 

His broad palm meets your waist, slides up your body until you’re squirming with his touch, suddenly burning and heavy-lidded. Rough hands hitch your dress up higher, slide up one of your thighs. 

“Steve--” You start, heart ratcheting in your chest, “I’ve only ever done this once.” You admit quietly, shy and nervous. 

“It’s okay,” He murmurs against your ear, even if you can hear the slight edge in his voice, as if you’re driving him just on the right side of crazy. “Do you want me to stop?” He asks, halting the path his hand was on.

Your blood is rushing in your ears, head spinning but you-- you want this. You want him. You arch your hips towards his hand, shoulder blades pushing into him. “No,” You admit quietly. 

“Then I’ll go slow,” He responds, breath hitching as his hand slowly rides upward on the smooth, bare skin of your inner thigh. 

The first touch of his fingers at where you’re most sensitive could’ve burned you with the way your finger sink into his forearm, nails biting. Steve doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, but you can feel the slight smile against your neck, “You’ve got some claws, kitten?” He asks, tone light, almost playful, and you can’t help the way you mewl. 

And although you’ve gotten a little rough, he stays gentle, stroking soft, opening your body to him like a flower blooming, petals unfurling beneath his hands. He keeps you like this, desperate and whining pitifully in his arms, caressing over the silk of your little, pink bloomers. 

His fingers, nimble and quick, push them aside, brush against your core with a slick glide that pulls a shaky moan from you, and a sudden, low growl from him. It rumbles through him, into you, making your nails dig deeper into his forearm. 

“This all for me?” He murmurs, an edge to his voice, his finger gliding into you on an easy stroke. You whimper, body tensing.

 “Relax,” He commands, voice low, finger moving slowly until you listen to him, settle back into the safety of his arms. 

“Good girl,” He praises as you do, as you let pleasure sink into your bones, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. You can feel him watching you, watching the way your chest rises and falls, the way the gold of his ring looks against your bare skin. His mind flashes with you, nothing but his chain on and resting along your neck, it makes him twist his finger, try and wring pleasure from you, drive you as mad as he feels with you. 

And it works, because you cry out, arch against him. Soon, you’re gasping and half-begging him, wild with him before he grants you what you’re straining towards. You shatter for him, glittering like the gold around your neck, cheeks flushed, body surging with pleasure for him. 

“You’re stunning,” He praises, slowly easing you down from your high until you can open hazy eyes to glance back at him. He withdraws his hand, slipping his finger into his mouth the same way he’d done with the red sweet of the strawberry earlier. You watch with wide eyes for a moment, mouth popping open, before you twist in his lap and in a flash, press your lips to his. 

He’s surprised, your momentum taking you both backwards, but in a moment, he’s humming softly into the kiss, holding you tight to him as you stretch out over him on the couch. 

His firm body beneath you makes you melt, small hands squabbling at his biceps, on his chest. But he subdues you, settling you onto his chest, soothing the kiss into something lazy and sweet rather than heated and desperate. 

And that’s how you spend the afternoon; on his chest, letting him hold you, stroke careful fingers through your hair, dozing in his arms as you listen to his heart, and kissing lazily until you both have to return to reality. To work. 

Steve kisses you goodbye at the door, as sweetly as Bucky had, and you can’t help but sigh as you watch him go, fiddling with the gold around your neck. You feel entirely too soft on them already, tumbling sharply into new, blossoming emotions. 

When you open your mouth to sing at the Valkyrie that night, you can’t help the way the music seems sweeter, the way your voice carries a little more, glowing and warm. The stars seem brighter, your smile wider. 

Everything’s rosier and soft, so lovely that you could burst and you have a feeling it’s entirely to do with the men who’d walked into your life only a few, quick weeks ago.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes #steve rogers #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction

[sansy-fresh]

halp

It’s time for the Semi-Annual “Fresh is Never Leaving This Fandom!” fic idea tour! In which under the cut I’m going to talk about fics I’m currently working on and how much longer I expect them to be, as well as long fics I have ideas for and how lengthy I expect them to be in the long run. There’s gonna be probably spoilers so look away if you don’t wanna see them! Also this is really long so be prepared for that.

I’m also going to be discussing some of the mini series that people have funded recently, so there’s that lol

Anyways, ranting and rambling under the cut!! This is more or less a way to keep excited about some of my ideas and get some of you hyped as well ^^ (And also a way to assure anyone wondering “hey, fresh has been here for a while, are they ever leaving?” that the answer is no, apparently not)

Current Fics

Okay so I have around 5 long fics, 1 series, and 1 mini series I’m currently working on. They are as follows:

A Silver Chain: A fic about vampire Honey and polyruses with the other Paps being hunters. Is well on its way but needs re-done in a few places so its currently on hiatus.

Little Fangs: A fic about Dadby and older bro Papyrus with babybones and Badster. Is not even close to halfway done, depending on how far I end up going with the narrative. Might end up being one of the longest fics I write.

Moral Compass: A fic about assumed bad brothers and possible Blackcherry goodness. Is basically 3/4ths done at this point, isn’t meant to be a super long one. Was pretty much completely funded by @1readervb so shout out to them for being a super cool peep.

Hold Myself Together: A fic about Bad Bro Red and how Fell gets a better life. Just started, but based on how long the first iteration of this story was, I’d say this one will be a little longer than C&S ended up being. 

Garish: A fic about a Reader who ends up with the Swell bros as roommates. Might end up being both Reader/Swell bros and Reader/Fell bros, but I haven’t decided. Just started, might be a long one.

Bitter White Memory: A series about how Fell and Stretch get together based on an attempt to keep the Edgelord feeling safe. Only has two parts so far so nowhere near done. I’ve just been too busy to write the next part lol whoopsies

Cherries in Snow: A funded mini series about abused Red falling into Undertale, with Kustard and a little tiny helping of Cherryblossom. One chapter so far, but there should only be about five so it won’t take super long.

There’s also two more mini series that have been funded, but one I only have part of the info on and the other I have no info on, so they haven’t been started yet. (One of them is about Omega Paps in a A/B/O world so that’ll be fun ;;;))

Fics I want to Continue/Rewrite

This is a list I didn’t know I was adding until I was in the middle of making this post. There are a few fics I’ve started and then pretty much abandoned, or that I left behind because I no longer wanted to write them. They are:

The Reset Conundrum: A fic that I wrote a long time ago and never finished about Papyrus and Sans going through the Resets and various endings together, with a happy ending of course. It was a popular one, but I never finished it because I got bored with the idea. I was thinking about it recently and kind of wanted to revisit the idea. Its on this list because I might just do it.

The Ole Razzle Dazzle: A fic I started and then revamped as a fic about Razz and Slim and how they react to a pacifist Chara moving through the Underground. Kinda looking forward to this one, not going to lie.

Sparks and Wires: A fic that I started because of my love for the game D:BH and its androids. About Android Honey and his owner Fell, and how they fall in love. Basically self indulgent Spicyhoney lol

Long Fic Ideas

So just about once every other week I get a new fic idea, and if I like them enough (and can actually imagine myself writing them) I write them down in a doc. Now I’m going to talk about them all in as much detail as I have so ya’ll get comfy this is gonna be a long’n. (These are not up for adoption they are things I plan to write myself.)

The Great: A fic idea @badgertablet came up with and I helped round out. Ambassador Paps with a side of Polyruses and lots of angsty pining and hurt/comfort. Is going to be a longer fic, since there’s a lot of background stuff and quite a bit to set up. I’m really really looking forward to this one though, is going to be a gift for Badg (but shoosh no one tell them).

Family Portrait: A fic idea for Middle Bro Gaster with Paps and Sans. Basically going from Sans’ birth to Gaster falling into the Core to the kid saving everyone and Sans pulling Gaster back out of the Void. Is going to be super long, so probably won’t get to this one for a while lol

Scattered Pieces: A fic idea for a character getting bitties that helps their life out. Lots of angst and hurt/comfort, as each bitty has its own backstory of woe. One I’ve had planned for a while but haven’t been able to sit down a write.

A Concerted Effort: A fic idea where Fell and Stretch have a one night stand and Fell ends up pregnant. The two of them don’t get along super well most of the time so its not like he can tell him, right?? Another old idea I just haven’t started yet lol.

Itty Bitty Teenie Weenie: A fic idea where a different character gets some specialty bitties, ones that need a bit more help than others. In the same universe as Scattered Pieces, probably going to be written after that one.

Segregation: A fic idea that @nurse-gaster came up with that I adopted. Bledgeup in a world where Fell monsters and Tale monsters live on different sides of the fence, a literal fence in this case. Going to be a gift for Nurse when I start writing it lol.

Recovery: A fic idea where a personal character of mine fosters special needs bitties and ends up with one for himself. Is part of a two fic series. 

Caramelized Apples: A fic idea where my Caramel version of Slim ends up pregnant. I haven’t decided how yet, but its hurt/comfort and fluff, so no hard angst here!

Edgy but Smiling: A fic idea where an anxious Reader ends up with a Sansy and an Edgy who just want a good home. 

You Got Me All Fired Up: A fic idea with Sans/Dante (my UF Grillby). I don’t know I just really like Sans and Fellby together and I want to write a slowburn.

Harried and Torn: A fic idea about Spicykustardpuff with lots of angst and hurt/comfort and maybe some fluff along the way. A slowburn because I’m a masochist.

Nice To Eat’cha: A fic idea based on the Asian side of the fandom’s art of Farmer Sans/HT Sans. Won’t be farmer Sans, but it will be a slowburn of Sans and Butch learning how to not judge each other for their own sins.

Seen in Glorious Splendor: A fic idea I had earlier today actually. King Fell, with possible Edgepuff or Polyruses, I haven’t decided yet. My own take on how Fell takes over as King of the Underground from Asgore.

There are a lot of iterations of Skelebros/Reader I want to write, so I’m just throwing a blanket over them called “Eventually”. Them being namely Swap Bros/Reader, Tale Bros/Reader, a reverse harem in my style, HT Bros/Reader, and something just Papyrus/Reader (which Papyrus you ask? all.)

And my Magnum Opus, Safe House, will be the last fic I write for this fandom. So when I start posting that, you’ll know we’re nearing the end.

#fresh babbles #fic plans #long fic ideas #oneshot ideas #series ideas #fresh rants #spoilers #idk a lot of rambling #if i forgot a fic idea then ill just die i guess

[samsylviasmoustache]

So have some self-indulgent GLOW fanfic!!

The Birthday Paradox

In a room of just 23 people, the odds of 2 people sharing a birthday are 50:50... 

“Okay, so.” Sam puts his hands down flat on the scored wood of his stolen desk. “Friday night after the show we’ll—”

“Oh, we can’t do Friday,” says Debbie.

He scowls up at her. “Why the fuck not?”

“It’s, uh, Ruth’s birthday.”

“Oh.”

Silence reigns for an awkward thirty seconds. Debbie’s immaculate eyebrows arch. “We could do Saturday instead?”

“Right. Sure. Yeah.”

He roots about his papers, discomforted, until she rolls her eyes and asks the obvious question.  

“Are you… okay?”

It’s not the kind of thing they have to ask very often, both of them usually perfectly transparent to the other. Like a pair of housecats. Just about able to tolerate being in the same room, and good at giving the other space when they come in hackles raised. Their claws generally reserved for other people. Which is probably just as well, given the amount of fur that would fly should they ever turn on one another.  

“I’m fine,” he says, too quickly. He makes the mistake of catching her eye and sighs. “It’s her actual birthday on Friday?”

“Don’t you have all of our birthdates written down on those consent forms you made us sign?”

“I’m not Klaus fucking Kinski, alright? I don’t remember that shit.”

“Who?”

“It doesn’t matter. Forget I asked.” He tries to handwave her confusion away, but she’s damned if she’ll be dismissed like that by him.

“Fine. Yes, it’s her actual birthday on Friday. Are you…what? Wanting to buy her a present?” If she sounds incredulous it’s because she is. The idea of Sam giving enough of a shit about anybody else to go and buy a gift is laughably ludicrous.

“No.”

“Well, what then?”

“Jesus Christ. Will you just—? I mean, can you not—?” He stutters to a stop, scowling; realising he’s going to have to spill. “Because it’s my fucking birthday, too. Alright? Are you happy now?”

She blinks. Of course, Sam must have birthdays. He moves through linear time like the rest of them, despite his efforts to remain firmly stuck in his Seventies heyday. It’s just hard to think of him in the same context as cake and candles.

“Oh.”

He is shaking his head. “Don’t, don’t fucking tell—”

“I won’t. Any anyway, nobody’s going to care.” It comes out more harshly than she intends; she can see it stings from the sudden droop of his moustache. “I just mean: we’re all too old to give a shit about birthdays. Apart from Jenny.”

“Right,” he says, flatly. “We done?”  

“I will… make the arrangements for Saturday,”

“Great. You do that.” He’s making a show of taking out his cigarettes rather than look at her.

“Fine,” she says, determined to have the last word.

He slides open the door to his balcony, fumbling for the carton in his shirt pocket again. It’s a real Vegas sunset outside, the sky a lurid pink. He pulls out his lighter and hears the chirrup.

“Not this again,” he says, cigarette wobbling. The little white cat jumps down onto the concrete from the balcony above, winding herself around his ankles. Against his better instincts he pets the thing, and she starts purring like a thundercloud.

He sighs. It’s a sad fucking thing to have to admit, but it feels nice there’s something in the world that’s glad to see him.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he says, rubbing his thumb across her little bullet head. Somehow, she purrs even louder; batting at his hands when he stops. “Yeah, yeah...”

She tries to run inside when he’s finished his smoke, nosing at the door as he puts his hand on the glass. “Hey, no.” She chirrups up at him again, intentions clear. “No. I don’t want fucking fleas. Okay?”

Purr-purr.

He sighs again. But he’s always a sucker for a woman who won’t take no for an answer.  

“Hey.”

He looks up from his seat on the bleachers, half-watching Cherry and Carmen plan a match. “Oh, hi Ray. How’s things?”

“Good, man, good. A little bird told me tomorrow is an important day for you.”

Sam groans. “Was this bird named Debbie?”

“I can’t reveal my sources.” He smooths down his goatee. “Is it a big one?”

“Oh, no. But thanks for flattering me.”

Ray grins. “You have plans?”

“Ah,” he squirms, “I mean, it’s a Friday night in Vegas, right? If you can’t find a good time you’re just not looking hard enough.”

Ray purses his lips. “Sure, but it’s a birthday. You’re not inviting friends into town? Or family?”

He swallows. “Well, you know, they’re pretty busy with – with school and shit.” It sounds pathetic, Ray looking at him with something like sympathy in his eyes. And he can’t stand being pitied like this. Fucking Debbie. Why she couldn’t just keep her mouth shut—

“Well, I’ve been waiting to invite you to the monthly poker night,” Ray continues, oblivious. “Sounds like this Friday’s a good fit.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Eleven o’clock in the Sinatra Suite. Unless, you know, your girls decide to take you out instead.”

“Ha,” he snorts, “I fucking doubt it. Thanks, man.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s a fifty dollar buy-in and last time I barely made it out with my shirt.”

Sam bares his teeth in something like a grin. “Sounds great,” he lies.  

Something sharp bites into his neck, dragging him up from the depths of dreamless sleep with a yelp—  

It’s the cat. Curled on his chest, digging her claws into him for reasons known only to herself. “Ow!” he says, grabbing hold of her to stop her doing it again. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She merely purrs in response, as if this is all perfectly normal; trying to lick his face with her rasp of a tongue.  

“Jesus Christ...” He wriggles upright, finding his cigarettes on the night stand, lighting one. It’s a little after five in the morning. Which means he is officially fifty-two years old.

It’s a funny thing, but the older he’s gotten, the more his thoughts turn to his mother on this day. After all, she was the one that put all the work in. He just turned up, fat-headed and late enough to make everything a real ordeal. Starting, it seems, as he was destined to go on.

The fat little cat curls into his side, as he finishes his cigarette and tries very hard not to cry.

The lighting box door opens, noiseless, and Ruth is framed in the lintel. “Hi,” she says. Still wearing Zoya’s face but dressed in a button-up shirt and jeans. The sight of her like that does something complicated to his chest.

“Hey,” he replies. “Happy birthday.”

She bites her lip and looks at her feet. Still, she’s smiling. “Thanks.”

“You have fun?”

“Mm-hm. Sheila has a contact at The Aladdin. We got to see all the animals.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Mm. Sounds great.”

“We’re all going for a drink. Do you… wanna come with us?”

No, if he’s honest. He’s sad and consumed with a horrible kind of nostalgia; thinking back to this day five years ago, fifteen and thirty. Counting all the ways he’s screwed things up for himself, lost every good thing he ever found.

But not Ruth. Not yet, anyway. Why not spend an hour or two in her company before he loses all his money in a poker game? There are worse presents he can give himself. “Sure,” he hears himself saying. “Which bar did you have in mind?”

“Oh, Ray said we could use the member’s one tonight.”

“Really?” Jenny’s party-planning skills are clearly better than he gave her credit for.

He follows Ruth down the stairs and sticky-carpeted corridor, to the door with the Members Only sign. She pushes it open and they are hit by a wave of noise: fourteen variations on “SURPRISE!” and a dozen party-poppers exploding at once, leaving them both covered in paper streamers.  

“What the fuck is this?” he says, stupidly. The home-made banners make it clear enough, one at either end of the long table loaded with party food. HAPPY BIRTHDAY RUTH says one. HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAM says the other.

“Sorry man,” says Ray, coming over to pass him a glass of champagne. “I couldn’t stop them.”

“Jesus.” He shakes his head but takes the glass. “And no poker?”

“No poker,” confirms Ray. “But I did manage to get us some other entertainment…”

The doors at the back of the room open on those words, and a literal circus enters the room. Fire-eaters and jugglers, gymnasts with spangled hoops and spinning plates. He vaguely recognises some of them, performers from a show at their sister casino.

“Thanks,” he shouts over the din. “I guess.” He catches Ruth’s knowing gaze. “And you can stop that right now.”

She presses her lips together, compressing her smile. Eyelashes fluttering as she makes up her mind about something; he recognises the tell even if he has no idea what she’s debating internally—

“Happy birthday, Sam,” she says, and kisses him on the cheek.

And there are too many people in the room for him to do anything other than swallow the sudden lump in his throat; to hope the sudden heat in his face will be attributed to the fire-eaters.

“Yeah,” he manages. “As these things go, it’s not so bad.”

#netflix glow #sam x ruth #fanfiction

[blamsart]

No one’s POV

Gloria hung her head, wringing her hands as Cherry Blossom sighed.

There had been complaints. Gloria’s visits to Nathan’s old project had not gone unnoticed. The room had been entered several times according to records, and often the appointed scientist would enter the room and find Gloria on the floor talking to the subject.

Gloria was Cherry’s charge, and while the higher up was willing to dismiss her behavior as adolescence, it was still up to Cherry to establish some more discipline.

“You know you can’t go interfering with projects that you are no longer a part of. So why do you?” Cherry asked.

“I wasn’t interfering with the project, I just went to talk with Sala-”

“Oh you’re telling me you made friends with the girl? You’re making friends with subjects now?”

Gloria swallowed and shook her head. “No. Of course not-”

“Of course not! If you want friends, be friends with Doctor Svenson, or Alliade the janitor, I don’t mind.  But most certainly not subjects or elements of a project. Apart from the mere fact that you’re imposing yourself on things that no longer involve you, you’re putting yourself at risk. Reds are not people you can befriend. Do you understand?”

Gloria nodded quickly.

Cherry didn’t feel she’d convinced her.

“I’m going to have someone check the hallway tapes to make sure you don’t go again. As well I’m going to give you more projects, since clearly you have too much time on your hands. Don’t even think about shapeshifting to slip by the cameras. That will only force me to add magic sensors that will detect your specific magical presence. That’s equipment we could put elsewhere and that will just make me extremely unhappy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I wish you actually meant that. I don’t enjoy having to micromanage you.”  Cherry said. “Well go on, I’ll send you your new projects soon.”

***

Nikolas gripped his head as his entire body ached and pulsated.

“There doesn’t seem to be any residual magic from the tattoo you got, but…there’s something that doesn’t correlate so we’re going to keep you a little longer okay?” The man said, a fake smile in his voice. Without even turning to look at the teen, he left the room.

Niko’s only been here for a day and he’s already at his wit’s end.

They drugged him, dragged him out, and he’d wake up attached to the wall just before they used a machine on him. A device that sent intense and painful pulsating waves across his entire body. Waves that pushed him across the wall with physical force and ones that forcefully dug into his skin with magic.

After an hour or so, they knocked him out again and he’d wake up in the cell, exhausted and aching.

And he knew, he knew what he was going through right now was minimal. He’d heard them talking enough to know this was a standard kind of test. He could barely come to imagine the things everyone else in this building was going through.

He carefully laid down on the box forcing himself to try and think, despite the aching. How does he get out of this?

Does he?

Whatever happens he can’t stay here. Like Ashlynn said, there has to be a way out. No system is perfect.

To Niko’s mild surprise the scientist came in again. The event seemed a little strange to him, but maybe the man had just forgotten some papers. Either way Niko’s eyes were closed and he could care less. Just as long as the man wasn’t here to knock him out again.

A few moments passed before the scientist spoke. “Hey!”

Frowning Niko turned to look at him.

The man looked weird and expectant, but Nikolas really didn’t have the energy to indulge him, so he simply stared.

The man shook his head. “So you were bluffing. You can’t actually spot me from miles away.”

That got Niko’s interest.

“You know your comment struck a blow on my confidence.” The man mumbled.

Nikolas sat up. “…You! What the fuck is your name anyway?”

“Gloria.” She said as her disguise fell off.

Her idea of a good time was not checking in on the sometimes intimidating red head, but going to see Salandra had suddenly gotten too risky. She had gotten the idea to shapeshift as the scientist and slip into Sal’s room, even though Cherry had insisted she didn’t. Gloria wasn’t worried however. It was a matter of getting caught, and as long as she checked the man’s schedule she’d be fine.

However…just as she was about to enter the room, she remembered the artifact implanted in the doorway that would strip her disguise off. There weren’t any cameras in the rooms unless someone was recording something so she didn’t mind not having her disguise inside, but the cameras would have spotted her in the doorway.

So in a split second decision, she’d headed for the room right next door.

“Hey Gloria.” He said, leaning against the window in a suspiciously friendly manner. “How would you feel about helping me out of this place?”

“What?” Gloria asked with a laugh. “What makes you think I’d help you? I barely even know you.”

“That’s not true! We went to school together, we had math class together.”

“Oh was it math? I thought it was chemistry.” Gloria frowned.

“We both went to that experiment. We’re past the level of acquaintances.”

“You know I work here right? This is my home. Why would I help you? I’d just get in trouble – serious trouble.”

“Right, you’re right. What do you want in return?”

“What could you possibly give me that warrants an escape?”

“Well I’m a witch for one. I do know people.” He shrugged. “What do you want from life? Are you actually happy running around catching people so they can be tortured?”

“Oh, I suppose you could tell me more about Salandra.”

Nikolas stared blankly for a few seconds. “You do realize I’m a witch right?”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at. What does that bring to the table?”

He rolled his eyes. “Good point.”

“You were friends with her weren’t you? You two were always seen together.”

Nikolas eyed her suspiciously. “This is her talking right? What are you, her eyes and ears? What, is she expecting me to forgive her on the account of whatever friendship we used to have?”

“Actually-”

“Cause that’s really fucked up you know and I have no interest in being a pin cushion for her amusement.”

“Actually she doesn’t even want me to mention your name.” Gloria cut in.

“Oh she’s angry because of the message I gave you huh.” He said after a pause.

“You mean that REALLY rude message? No I didn’t tell her that. She just doesn’t want to talk to you – or well about you. It must be something else you did.”

“Something I did? She blew up my house!” He shouted, making Gloria back away.

“Right this seems like a sensitive subject for you.”

“Wait, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you.” He rapidly attempted to remediate.

“But you did.”

“I’m sorry. Did you actually mean it?” He asked. “About helping me?”

“Well…I’d consider it.”

“Just for some information on her?” He confirmed again, incredulously.

“I want to understand her better.”

There had to be a catch. There had to be something. It felt like too good of a deal. “Do you have a crush on her?”

“No.” Gloria said, then took a few moments to actually consider it. “Yeah, no.”

“There’s no shame in it, basically all the guys at school did.”

“Does that include you? This is a lover’s quarrel isn’t it? I can feel it now.” Gloria grinned as if she were talking about her favorite tv show.

“Is that what she told you?”

“Stop it, I told you she won’t talk about you.” Gloria sighed. “God what was I thinking, you don’t know anything. You’re probably going to make things up just so I help you.”

“No no wait, I’ll stop beating around the bush. If that’s all you want, it’s a simple task.”

“Ok good. Make it quick but detailed, I don’t have a lot of time. And don’t talk about the explosion I’ve heard that way too much lately.” She said, sitting down on the floor.

“Alright…anything in particular?” Nikolas asked.

“What happened to her? I remember she was a really sweet girl.”

“Her mom died.” Gloria raised her eyebrows at his short reply. “Well I…that might not be all of it. I don’t understand myself how we got here. But if there was anything that could be the starting point, it’d be her mom in the hospital.  Sal went on a quest to get money to help her mom. Took on a hundred jobs and then signed up for that skeevy as hell experiment because they were offering a grand. I followed to check on her and with good reason, the Hans are fucked up. Her mom died the day after.  I tried to be there for her, because this was obviously tearing her up, but…” Niko ruffled his own hair, bothered by the old emotions that were being brought back up.

“But what? That’s hardly enough for me to put my neck out on the line for you.”

“But I had my own shit happen, and I didn’t have the time or the opportunity to help her. I guess she spiraled, because the next time I saw her – once both our shits had calmed down – she was,” He gestured. “Trying to force herself on me as if that was the ultimate solution. She told me she loved me, that she’d always loved me, but…that’s not what that was. She wasn’t even there.”

“I think I get what you’re saying.”

“I rejected her and then next time I see her, she’s waltzing in my pa’s funeral and blowing everyone up.” He finished. He cast Gloria a side glance, mildly annoyed that she’d gotten him to spill all of this.

Along with that little feeling that maybe, it was his own fault in the end, what had happened. Maybe if he’d tried a little harder to be there for her…

But that was just a small feeling, in the end truth was, it was her goddamn decision to do that.

“She was going to blow up eventually anyway. The tattoo she got was unstable and she didn’t use its magic so it just got built up. It’s what happens to most of the people that we used to put back on the street before. Remember all those reports of teens causing fires or other drastic uncontrolled acts of magic?”

“I was told tattoos couldn’t affect someone like that.”

“Well it won’t force you to say things you wouldn’t, her actions are her own. But the blowing up part, that’s pretty normal if she doesn’t use her tattoo at all. You would know, it’s a bit like what your father’s known for.” Gloria said as he got up. “Ok I can’t actually break you out.”

Nikolas grimaced, seeming unsurprised.

“It’s too obvious if I just switch open the door! I don’t want to get caught, I already got a warning. But they have so many prisoners, they won’t miss you. Anyway, I can’t open the door, but I could get your rings through the food hatch. That’s about all I can do for you. Nothing else.”

“I’ll take it.” He said getting up as well. “This really doesn’t feel like a fair deal.” He hadn’t actually expected this to work.  “If there’s anything else you want-”

“Sounds good, see you later.”

Nikolas stared after her, annoyed. It didn’t matter how fine she was with it, it still felt like he was getting a lot more out of this – like he was abusing of her. He was still barely believing she was willing to help him out for so little.

He couldn’t think of anyone else who would’ve accepted this kind of deal.

That or in actuality she’s getting more out of it and he just can’t see it.

***

Salandra’s POV

“Running with all of my brothers, I always wondered how far we could go…”

1, 2 and 3 steps into the nether.

“If we could break through the ceiling above us, there’d be no point of us looking below…”

I’m falling, falling

Falling

“We could be free, we could be free…”

Fall

Fall

I’m not falling

“Finally we could be free.”

Oh I wish I remembered the rest of the lyrics. It’s all I have now, snippets of lyrics repeated in my rusty musty voice in an attempt to recreate the rhythm.

I’m so

Freaking

BORED

Always always always fucking BORED

There’s nothing to do

In this itty bitty sucky ass SPACE

A glorified lab rat left alone for HOURS WEEKS MONTHS on end

What am I supposed to do!?

It takes everything I have not to go INSANE

Hahahahahhaahahhahaha

“Hahahahahhaha!”

I held my sides flipping over at my own humor.

I’m going to have another birthday coming up in several months. Last year was amazing.

I giggled just remembering how a few well-placed words from various overheard conversations had gotten me a bloody fight right outside my cell.

Absolutely magical. Incredibly entertaining!

I don’t understand why they’re all so hesitant to talk personal to me now.

Except Gloria.

I wish she wasn’t as desperate for companionship as I am.

Even though I know that’s the only reason she even speaks to me.

Oh pardon, that and she was born retarded. Oh if she didn’t work for the Hans…we’d get along so much better. Sadly, that element is a real turn off.

I closed my eyes and relaxed into the floor.

Into the GRASS. Oh the sweet soft grass. I do remember it yes. I can feel it surrounding my entire body, I can smell it yes I can. I roll in it, feeling it glide across my skin.

I sit up, raising my face towards the sun. I can feel its heat, I can feel the wind in my hair, I can feel-

I shot to my feet, my daydream vanishing back to the small tight living space I’d been existing in for an eternity now.

“What a fucking plague.” I muttered.

Another reason to dislike Gloria.

I didn’t ask for more Niko.

Okay, no, I did, curiosity and boredom got the better of me. But I thought it was fake. Or that I was dreaming. Who CARES.

It’s real and I don’t want it.

I’m fucking scared of it.

Guilt guilt guilt pride shame

A reason to like Gloria. She’s so eager to feed me anything I want.

But not him. I don’t want him. He’s tainted already.

Why would I worsen it?

I let out a humorless chuckle. “Do you even listen to yourself think? Shameful nonsensical coward.” I muttered, slamming my head against the wall.

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  9.97 – We could be free No one’s POV Gloria hung her head, wringing her hands as Cherry Blossom sighed. There had been…

#blams #generation 9 #legacy #light the way to heaven #nikolas #sim #sims #sims 3 #sims 3 legacy #sims 3 story #sims legacy #sims story #story #whitelight

[sian265]

Whisper Chapter 3

Whispers

Chapter 3

  Alec was very happy he had let Izzy dress him. Luke picked Alec up and now the pair waited in Luke’s vehicle for valet to park the car. The line of cars was impressive with many a foreign luxury model waiting for the suited parking attendants. People weren’t formally dressed, it was still a nightclub. However, the attire was much more expensive than your average club-kid could afford. Alec himself wore a pair of black dress slacks and a black silk button-up that Izzy had presented him with on his last birthday. Even the alpha, Luke, wore fancier slacks and shirt than normal police detectives did.

 Finally, the valet took the keys and Alec followed Luke into the foyer of Whispers. The outside of the club was simple, almost plain with a black awning and white stenciled ‘Whispers’ in a flowy script but inside was a whole different world. The club featured an elegant foyer with rich cherry wood. The coatroom and hostess stand both had well dressed, attractive young ladies manning them. Behind the stand was a set of stained glass sliding doors, they were stunning but it was the subject matter that had Alec blushing. Each pane of glass depicted a different scene, couples embracing in a series of intimate poses. Two women, two men, or a woman and a man, all nude, and all entwined in private dance.

 The hostess slid the doors open and Alec followed Luke into the club. The interior was a lot quieter than Alec had imagined. There was light laughter, soft voices, low music and gently clinking of glassware being used. The low tables and soft lighting gave the large room a cozier feel. Couples sat at most of the tables with others standing at the long bar on one side of the room. One whole wall was made up of more stained glass, and Alec looked closer, yep, more nude pictures. Couples of every color, shape, and size, all depicted in states of intimacy. Before Alec could step through those doors, Luke put a hand on his arm to stop him. Alec looked at Luke, who seemed hesitant and unsure all of a sudden. “What is it,” he asked the other man.

 Luke looked a little uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “Listen Alec, you are going to see, feel, and even hear some pretty strange things once we cross these doors. I just want you to know what happens here tonight, well it stays between us, okay?”

 He had no idea what was up with his mom’s boyfriend, but decided to humor the alpha. “Sure Luke, no problem.” Alec stepped through the doors.

 The lights were so low, Alec was tempted to use his night vision rune, but stopped because Luke moved in front of him and led the way. From what Alec could see there were three stages with groups of seating around all three. Luke leaned close to whisper, “The left side is the male dancer, the right the female, and the center for any undecided viewers.” Luke moved to a table in the center stage area.

 A server appeared as soon as they sat and Alec ordered a beer, that he fully intended not drinking. Not only was tonight about business and he needed to keep his wits, but Alec wasn’t much of a drinker on a good night. Something told him he would need all his wits with this Warlock, Magnus Bane. He leaned a little closer to Luke, “Do we have to sit through this show before speaking with the Warlock?”

 “Careful Alec, that sounded almost like a sneer when you said Warlock. Remember we want Magnus to talk, not offend him before he even sits down.” Luke warned.

 Alec flushed. He had been working on his prejudices and knew he still needed to watch his tone. It wasn’t that he had a problem with Downworlders, hell his mother was dating one! It was just working past all the Clave bullshit they were indoctrinated into from birth. “Sorry Luke,” he muttered.

 Luke just patted his arm. “Magnus won’t meet until after the show, but I have no doubt what-so-ever that he is fully aware we are here.”

 “How do you know,” Alec asked.

 Luke ginned. “I brought a Shadowhunter into his club, and not your mom. That more than anything will have Magnus’s curiosity pinged.” Before Alec could ask more the atmosphere changed.

 The lights dimmed even further, almost completely pitch black except for the small flicker of candles on the tables themselves. Then the whispering started. Low, so low almost undetectable by Alec’s half human ears, but grew loud enough so that everyone in the room could hear it, not just the wolves. The voices echoed and bounced around the room almost seemingly hitting the walls to ricochet back against them. This kept on until Alec was almost ready to shout, enough! As abruptly as they started the whispers stopped.

 “Good evening,” the voice whispered, and Alec shivered.

 Goosebumps rose as it continued. “Welcome to Whispers.” The other low whispering was back and seemed to echo and caress the owner of the voice.

 “What’s your forbidden desire?” The voice asked, and Alec felt sick. His hidden desire might be now out in the open, but he had still not found the courage to act upon it, the voice seemed to know this.

 “The Whispers know, and here, you can indulge.” There was so much promise in those words, in that voice, that for a second, Alec believed it.

 Luke’s hand on his arm broke the spell. Alec shook his head, trying to break away, stop the voice’s control. The hair on Alec’s arms and along the back of his neck was standing up, he felt almost electrified. He shifted in his seat, face flushed; thankfully in the dim light know no one could tell. Alec felt a stab of fear, he was aroused! The voice seemed to sense that he had enough because this time when it came the draw was not as powerful, not as seductive.

 “Banish all but your desires, feast upon that which is forbidden.” The lights on the stage came up; a soft blue glow that spread till it covered the bowed, robed, figures. “Enjoy the whispers.” The voice faded away.

 Alec tried to watch the show, but he couldn’t get that voice out of his head. The words kept repeating themselves over and over again. He wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone what the voice sounded like, only describe how it made him feel. So smooth, almost like what Alec imagined a lover’s caress might feel like. Or a drink of ice cold water after he had pushed and pushed in training, so good, Alec couldn’t drink fast enough. That voice could make one not think about responsibilities, not consider anything else, just following its direction. Directions to what you most desire, that’s what it promised.

 He could tell Izzy later that the dancers were beautiful, that they moved in time perfectly. He would admit he still didn’t know if the center dancer was male or female. What he would tell no one was about the voice and what it did to him. Alec was ready to escape, and breathed a sigh of relief when the dancers left the stage. What Alec didn’t know was that another had not been watching the show either. Yellowish –gold cat eyes stayed fixed on the Shadowhunter through the entire performance. As soon as the house lights came up, the owner of those eyes made his move.

 “Lucian Garroway, I thought my staff was joking when they reported you arrived in the company of a Shadowhunter.” A voice over Alec’s shoulder spoke and Luke stood up.

 “Magnus,” Luke held out a hand. “Good to see you.” The pair shook and Alec turned slowly in his chair.

 Twinkling dark eyes were trained on his face and Alec carefully stood up. “And not just any Shadowhunter, but I believe the Head of the New York Institute?” Magnus continued.

 Alec didn’t remember his own name. He knew he was standing there like a fool with his mouth open, but nothing prepared one for Magnus Bane. The Warlock was only a couple inches shorter than Alec. He had black hair, spiked, and the glitter in it caught the light. His dark eyes were lined and he had the most perfect set of bow-shaped lips, stained red. Magnus was slender but with strong shoulders and biceps. Also, one impressive chest, fully on display in the shirt open to his navel. Several necklaces danced against his chest, and Alec’s eyes were drawn to that caramel-colored skin so firmly on display.  Shaking his head a bit, Alec struggled to bring himself back under control. “Alec,” he managed to stutter out.

 The eyes continued to twinkle and the red lips bore a slight smile, Magnus seemed to also like what he was seeing. “Lightwood, I believe, Maryse’s son?” Magnus asked, eyes still trained on Alec’s.

 “Yes,” Alec answered and was thankful when those eyes left him to turn to Luke.

 Magnus sighed, a small pout forming. “Well what can I do for the New York alpha and Head Shadowhunter? I take it this visit isn’t for pleasure?”

 “Afraid not Magnus,” Luke replied. “Is there somewhere we can talk more privately?”

 Magnus turned away and waved them to follow. “Very well, ruin my fun. Yes, you and pretty boy follow me.”

 Alec was glad Luke followed Magnus first, so that he couldn’t see the grin on Alec’s face. Magnus called him pretty.

 TBC…

#malec fanfiction #au #Magnus x Alec

[rachelkaser]

Stay Golden Sunday: It’s A Miserable Life

An attempt to save a neighborhood tree somehow results in the death of the Girls’ most misanthropic neighbor. The Girls decide to pay for her funeral.

Picture It...

The Girls all meet up in the living room to compare numbers -- they’re trying to get the residents of Richmond Street to sign a petition to save a 200-year-old oak tree, which the city wants to cut down to widen the street. Rose is upset because she tried and failed to get the signature of Mrs. Claxton, their misanthropic neighbor on whose property the tree is growing. Despite the Girls agreeing that Mrs. Claxton’s just a terrible human being, Rose is convinced there’s some good in everyone, telling a St. Olaf story to make her point. She’s going to be extra nice to Mrs. Claxton to get her signature.

SOPHIA: *as the Girls run into the kitchen* Boy, that was a close call. BLANCHE: If I have to listen to one more story about the colorful people from St. Olaf, I think I’ll explode. ROSE: *coming in* Ernest T. Minky was St. Olaf’s librarian... BLANCHE: Kaboom.

Blanche, Dorothy, and Sophia arrive at the courthouse to block the proposal and discuss their options. Sophia wants to bribe the commissioners, which Dorothy and Blanche shoot down. Blanche, however, did sleep with two of them (but, to borrow a line from a later episode, she probably would have anyway). Rose appears and proudly announces that, through persistent application of delicious Danishes, she managed to extract a promise from Mrs. Claxton to save the tree.

Mrs. Claxton arrives at that moment and the Girls attempt to be friendly. Mrs. Claxton quickly proves her reputation is entirely deserved when she tells Blanche she’s taking blackmail pictures of her bedroom activities, which she can see through binoculars, and makes a snide comment about Dorothy’s comparatively inactive bedroom. She quickly goes back on her word to Rose, and says she only said she’d help to get the Danish. She even says straight to Rose’s face that she hates her assumption that she just needed to be shown some kindness to change her mind.

In the courtroom, the Girls attempt to present their petition to save the tree, only for Mrs. Claxton to shout them down, being as nasty to them as possible. Rose finally snaps and lets loose on Mrs. Claxton, who has the audacity to look shocked at Rose’s shouting. She says she’s done indulging Mrs. Claxton and tells her to sit still while the rest of the neighbors have their say, finishing with, “And if you don’t like it, just drop dead.” When she walks away, Mrs. Claxton promptly collapses to the ground, and Sophia confirms that the old woman apparently took Rose at her word.

Two days later, Rose is moping in the kitchen, convinced her shouting at Mrs. Claxton was what killed her. Dorothy tries to comfort her, saying that the woman was 83 and just had a heart attack. Blanche also attempts to comfort her, saying she should just have a cry at the funeral. Rose says there won’t be a funeral, which neither Blanche nor Dorothy are too broken up about, given how awful she was. Blanche tells a story about faking her death as a teenager just to see how many people showed up at her funeral.

SOPHIA: What’s everybody talking about? DOROTHY: Ma, I can honestly say I have no idea. ROSE: We started out talking about Mrs. Claxton’s funeral. DOROTHY: Yeah, but somewhere along the way we segued into Blanche: The Miniseries.

Sophia comes in and asks when Mrs. Claxton’s funeral is going to be, and they’re surprised she wants to go. She says it doesn’t matter how horrible Mrs. Claxton was -- going to the funeral shows regard for human life. When they point out that Mrs. Claxton had no friends or relatives and so won’t have a funeral, Sophia says they should pay for it for the same reason. They all agree to go in on the funeral.

At the Forever Peaceful funeral home, the Girls confer with Mr. Pfeiffer (the “P” is not silent) about the funeral arrangement -- he initially thinks they’re planning ahead for “mother” (meaning Sophia). He tries to give them the hard sell on the most expensive casket in the house, but they balk at the $6,000 price tag. They finally settle on an inexpensive pine box for Mrs. Claxton. They decide on a Friday night funeral based on the TV schedule and leave.

ROSE: *about Blanche* You’ll have to excuse her. Funeral homes make her a little nervous. MR. PFEIFFER: Golly, they used to make me nervous too. At a traditional funeral home, all they want to talk about is caskets, burials, dead people. Here at Forever Peaceful we’ve gotten rid of all that morbid death stuff. SOPHIA: What are you running here, a sushi bar?

Friday night, the girls are sitting in the pews at the otherwise empty funeral. Rose is surprised that no one else came, but just as they’re about to leave, a woman shows up who claims the deceased was a dear friend. She gives a heartfelt eulogy about the virtues of the dead woman, and the Girls are tearing up, until the woman says the name “Celia Rubenstein.” She’s at the wrong funeral, and kicks the casket when she finds out whose funeral it really is. Rose runs out in tears, and Mr. Pfeiffer walks in with a golden urn and reveals Mrs. Claxton was cremated by mistake. Now the Girls have to take her home.

Later, Blanche is convinced that Mrs. Claxton’s ghost is haunting the house -- it was actually Sophia. Rose comes home and reveals that she found a place to put Mrs. Claxton’s ashes: She spread them at the base of the old oak tree and told the committee they can’t disturb the old woman’s final resting place, so it looks like they won’t cut the tree down. They go out to gaze at the oak tree.

SOPHIA: What are you all looking at? DOROTHY: That beautiful, old oak tree, Ma. ROSE: Mrs. Claxton’s spirit’s part of that tree now, Sophia. SOPHIA: That’s really lovely. *looks at the base of the tree* And it’s touching how that Great Dane is paying its respects.

“Hey P-Feiffer, how would you like a punch in your P-Face?”

Rose headlines this excellent, memorable episode about the value of life, which has some of the best scenes in the series. It may not have a B-plot to speak of, but it doesn’t really need one when all the Girls play such a balanced role in the episode. I really can’t overstate how good everyone is in this episode, from Sophia’s outward apathy masking internal softness, to Blanche’s funeral home jitters, to Dorothy’s struggle with the name P-Feiffer. The brief appearance of the excellent Nan Martin at Freida Claxton is the cherry on top.

This marks the second time Rose has been in close proximity to someone who’s died and blamed herself for it (the first being Al from “In a Bed of Roses”). This time it’s funnier because we see the character die onscreen -- that doesn’t sound like it should be funnier, but it is. Nan Martin’s two-scene performance makes Mrs. Claxton’s death funny if only because she’s just the worst, and Martin’s clearly having a blast playing her.

DOROTHY: *about Sophia’s bribery attempts* And don’t tell us that’s how you got things done in Sicily. SOPHIA: That’s not how we got things done in Sicily. Bribing people with money is how we got things done in New York. In Sicily, you cut off a horse’s head and put it somebody’s bed. BLANCHE: Sophia, you’re making that up. SOPHIA: Like hell. Our garbage commissioner, Fredo Lombardi, went on strike once. He woke up the next morning sharing a pillow with National Velvet. At 7 a.m. he was out cleaning the street with his tongue.

The other Girls aren’t wrong when they describe Mrs. Claxton in horrible terms, and Rose’s insistence that there must be some good in her is thoroughly punctured, not just in the courtroom but during her empty funeral. As funny as it is to see the Claxton clashes, poor Rose gets a big knock on her positive worldview, which adds a hint of sadness to the episode, even if she does improve by the end of the episode after she spreads the ashes.

There’s even one serious moment where Mrs. Claxton tells Rose that she hates that Rose assumed that just because she lived alone, that she must want “company and a few kind words.” This tendency of Rose to try and insert her sunny demeanor into the lives of people who neither like it or want it will come back to bite her later. As nasty as Mrs. Claxton is, she’s not wrong that Rose assuming she must be a lonely, misunderstood person is kind of patronizing.

ROSE: Oh Sophia, I think you’re a wonderful person. It’s a lovely idea to share Mrs. Claxton’s funeral expenses equally. SOPHIA: Equally? I figure your share should be about half. After all, you’re the one who killed her.

The question of whether Mrs. Claxton’s life was pointless because she didn’t have anyone who cared about her is a bit of a thorny one, and definitely not something I think Mrs. Claxton herself would have cared about. But the episode makes it clear that it’s not a philosophical or moral question -- it’s only important in the episode because it’s important to soft-hearted Rose. And even though the use of her ashes to protect the oak tree they were originally trying to save is a little trite, I do think it works because at least one of the Girls -- Sophia -- isn’t taking the whole thing very seriously.

The tree is also a nice plot point. We’ve seen the Girls describe their charitable endeavors before, most notably in “Flu Attack.” Here we see them actually doing their charity work, in this case saving a 200-year-old tree. All four of the Girls are part of the endeavor, even though Blanche can only get men to sign up for the petition one at a time the old-fashioned way, and Sophia put the names of a few dead people on the petition.

To harp on my favorite topic, the episode is very fairly balanced, with each of the four Girls having almost equal screentime. Sophia’s role as the person who badmouths Mrs. Claxton the most and yet encourages the others to pay for the funeral because she feels bad for her.  Remember what I said weeks ago about how the show gives the least active member of the cast a big monologue in the middle of the episode to keep it even? In this case it’s Blanche with her long, ridiculous monologue about how she faked her death at age 15 because she wasn’t crowned Miss Magnolia Blossom. This time Dorothy even lampshades it by saying she has no idea how they got to that topic.

The comedy really culminates during the funeral scene, when an unnamed mourner shows up and speaks about the deceased in glowing terms, speaking about her anonymous charitable work and giving the Girls the brief impression that Mrs. Claxton was secretly the greatest person. Then she discovers that she’s in the wrong funeral, and when she discovers that the funeral is for Freida Claxton, delivers a kick to the casket in the ultimate wordless indicator of exactly how bad of a person Mrs. Claxton was.

I feel like Forever Peaceful is really lucky the Girls didn’t actually like Mrs. Claxton, because cremating someone who was supposed to be buried is a lawsuit waiting to happen (not that I’m a lawyer, but still). Also, I know they had to do it for story/comedy reasons, but I’m not sure why they gave the ashes to the Girls. Presumably they’ve already paid for the casket and the plot in which Mrs. Claxton was to be interred -- why not just pop the urn in the casket and bury it that way? 

But I have no regrets about its inclusion, because the scene where the Girls confer with Mr. P-Feiffer about the funeral arrangements is one of the funniest scenes in the whole series. Everything from the strangeness of the name to the Girls rejecting his hard sell to the decision not to have the funeral on Thursday because it conflicts with the Cosby Show is just solid comedy gold.

DOROTHY: Thank you, Rose. That was a wonderful story. ROSE: I’m only half-done. SOPHIA: I passed a kidney stone once that was less painful than this.

Also, correct me if I’m wrong, but I think this is the first instance of a St. Olaf story being acknowledged as such. Rose has told scattered stories of the other residents of her hometown in Minnesota before, but this is the first time the other Girls give such a strong, disgusted reaction to it, even running out of the room in an attempt to escape hearing about the life of Ernest T. Minky. This is the reaction they’ll generally have to the stories of St. Olaf throughout the rest of the series, and it’s hilarious every time.

Episode rating: 🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰 (five cheesecake slices out of five)

Favorite part of the episode:

#golden girls #stay golden #stay golden sunday #picture it #it's a miserable life #blanche devereaux #rose nylund #sophia petrillo #dorothy zbornak #s02e04

[sankta-arya]

The Seasons of My Love (3)

Written for day 1 (soulmates) and day 5 (seasons) of @jonsa-week

Rated mature, major character death

3. Melting In My Hand

Chapter title from ‘Misty’ by Kate Bush

A widow at twenty-five and her only experience with marriage being quite a horrendous one, Sansa has no intention of ever getting married again.

That's until she meets a handsome young soldier in a pub.

After fifty-five years of marriage, two children, five grandchildren and three great-grandchildren, Jon and Sansa are still happy. But then disaster strikes.

Sansa is twenty-five.

She and her friends have all signed up as army nurses. She wanted to spend her last night before leaving in peace and quiet, but somehow she let Margaery talk her into coming along to a pub. A group of soldiers awaiting deployment are spending their free night here as well and the girls are giggling too loudly as they try to catch the boys' attention.

Because that's what they are: boys, all ranging between the ages of seventeen and nineteen - perhaps one or two can boast to be twenty or twenty-one - and they have no idea what's waiting for them. The Knights of Summer, her mother would have called them.

Sansa feels out of place, being not only the oldest of their group, but also a widow. She can't say she regrets her husband's death, she's too relieved to be rid of him. Joffrey was a vulgar bully and at times she can still feel the bruises and cuts that used to litter her skin during their marriage. Between Joffrey and leering Uncle Petyr, she's had her fill of men, so unlike her friends, she's not keen on having an innocent flirt with an army boy.

She takes a sip of her soda, trying to smile at a bawdy joke Margie's cousin Megga just shared and excuses herself. She needs some fresh air and a cigarette.

It's colder than she thought outside, so she wraps her coat more tightly around her as she tries to light a cig. The flame of her lighter keeps flickering out and suddenly a pair of large hands cup around hers to shield it from the wind. His head's bent down, but she recognises the unruly dark curls. He's one of the soldiers from inside the pub.

"Thank you," she mutters.

He glances up at her with a smirk. "You're welcome, Miss."

Their eyes meet, and even in the dark, she can see colour flooding his face. His lips part in surprise and she instantly drops her cigarette, fleeing back inside.

She tries to ignore him for the rest of the evening, overwhelmed by all the beauty she can suddenly see and what it means.

It's not until later, when Margie is talking to her handsome stranger and lightly brushes her hand over his shoulder, that Sansa can't take it anymore.

She stalks over to them, heels clicking rhythmically, and practically shoves her friend aside.

She's not even sure what she was planning to do, but now that she's close enough to count his eyelashes and study the curve of his lips, she doesn't hesitate.

She cups his jaw, lightly scratching his wispy beard and dives in to kiss him deeply, encouraged by the hoots and delighted shrieks of their respective groups of friends.

I loved a maid as white as winter

with moonglow in her hair

Sansa sighed as she pulled the brush through her thick, snowy mane. They'll find him, she kept telling herself. He'lll be fine, the mantra repeated itself over and over again in her head.

She couldn't allow herself to think otherwise. Oh, how she wished she could be out there looking for him herself, but she would be of no use to them.

I shouldn't have sent him out by himself. Jon made the trip to the grocery store just around the corner and the bakery across the street almost weekly. The doctors said it was good for him to keep doing things independently as long as he could. The worst that had happened so far was that he got angry because the butcher wouldn't sell him any bread.

It's all my fault. She'd given him a list, told him exactly where to buy what, but perhaps she should have waited until she felt better and could have gone along with him, or asked Minisa for help. It's just that she didn't want to impose on her daughter's life more than she already did.

Suddenly the front door swung open and she pushed herself to her feet, bracing her hand on the table to keep herself steady.

"We were out of dog food," she could hear Jon explain to Mina. "Your mother forgot to put it on the list."

They hadn't had a dog in seven years and the store on Torrhen's Square he went looking for had closed nearly two years ago. When he couldn't find it, he'd tried to head home again, but he had forgotten how to get back.

***

The next morning she woke up to Jon opening drawers, a scowl fixed on his face. At first she'd asked him what he was looking for whenever he did that, but she'd learned it often set off his temper.

He glanced up to find her standing in the doorway and beamed at her. She was fond of his smiles, they made him look fifteen years younger and incredibly handsome.

He closed the distance between them quickly - he was still in an excellent physical condition for his age- and cupped her cheeks to kiss her. Suddenly his hands slid down her neck and collarbones and he started to fondle her breasts.

"Jon!" she cried out, swatting his hands away as she pulled back. "We're too old for that nonsense!"

She pushed past him to get to the kitchen. She almost jumped when she suddenly felt his hand groping her arse. "I can't help it, lovely girl," he whispered into her ear. "You drive me insane."

***

She was sitting on the bench under the cherry tree, trying to focus on her knitting, but the doctor's voice kept echoing inside her head.

She'd been able to hear the words, but she couldn't make sense of them. Lymph nodes. Metastasis. Early stage 4.

"Is it treatable?" Minisa had asked. Her stomach churned as she recalled the look of pity on the oncologist's face. He'd murmured excuses like "your mother's age" and "with her medical history."

I'm still sitting right here! part of her had wanted to scream, but she'd just felt too numb.

"How long?" she remembered asking.

"Difficult to tell, probably six months."

Dying didn't particularly scare her, being left behind was always worse, but she couldn't leave Jon, not now.

"Should we tell him?" Mina had asked after explaining the situation.

The doctor had rubbed his chin and removed his glasses, wiping them as he pondered her question. "I believe it's best to consult the physician who's treating your father before making a final decision," he'd stated eventually. "But I'd advise against it. He won't remember most of the time, and when he does, it might be too much to handle."

***

So Sansa tried to cope by herself, keeping her husband in the dark on the fact that she was dying. She willed her body to stay strong, for him. The doctors and her daughter and son had all agreed that she shouldn't tell Jon, but she kept worrying. What's going to happen when he wakes up one day and I'm gone?

She was aware telling him probably wouldn't make any difference, but it still hurt so much to lie to him and to bear this pain alone. She had Arya and Brienne, but neither of them were good at talking, and Sansa would never burden Mina or Ned with her own troubles. She was their mother, for Seven's sake!

Jon had been her rock for over fifty-five years, and though he was still with her, she was on her own now. Some days she felt like the Jon she'd known and loved for so long was already gone.

Jon would have never shoved her aside in frustration. Jon wouldn't stand in front of their open window stark naked, glaring and shouting at the people who pointed and laughed behind their hands.

***

Brienne and her husband Jaime were visiting. They'd just finished their tea and cakes when Jaime proposed they all play a board game together. Sansa tried to distract him by asking how his brother Tyrion was doing, not wanting to explain that Jon was no longer able to remember the rules to most games.

She couldn't make Jaime change his mind however, especially after sweet oblivious Jon agreed, both men's competitive streak coming out, but she did manage to steer their choice toward a relatively simple card game.

Yet twenty minutes in, Jon suddenly leapt to his feet, roaring: "You're all cheating!" and threw his cards in Jaime's face.

"Hey, sit down, caveman!" Jaime urged him, as Sansa hid her flushed cheeks behind her own cards.

"You're a fucking cheater, Lannister!" Jon threw back at him, banging his fist on the table.

Sansa thanked all the gods Brienne had the presence of mind to stop Jaime from taking it any further by putting a hand on his arm.

***

Jon was walking around naked again, but at least he wasn't near any streetside windows this time. He grinned at Sansa as she let her eyes trail down his body, desperately wondering how she was going to convince him to put on some clothes.

Suddenly he slapped his own arse. "I have a nice butt, don't I, Sansa? I've seen you looking at it. I know you want to get your hands on me," he purred, trying to wink at her.

She decided to indulge him, taking a step closer and admitting: "You caught me!"

Suddenly her vision became blurry and her knees buckled. The last thing she heard was his panicked cry: "Sansa! Sansa, baby! What's wrong?"

***

Five months later.

Jon hobbled on through the black-and-white streets of Wintertown, the snow flurrying down around him. For some reason he'd woken up in a hospital bed that morning, and though his joints felt a little stiff, he was quite sure he was not ill, so he had no business being in a hospital.

The world around him looked drab and dull. It hadn't always been like that, but he couldn't remember when or why it had changed. When he closed his eyes, he could still see colours: blue and pink and cream, and a rich rusty red that smelled like lemons and lavender.

He couldn't recall the exact significance of those colours and that scent, but he knew he had to get back home, where she'd be waiting for him, and everything would be fine.

Her name was on the tip of his tongue. He wet his lips, trying to remember. He kicked the lid off a trash bin, huffing in frustration.

He crossed the street when he saw a florist shop, going in to buy a pot of jonquils. After another forty-five minutes, he'd finally found the house with the cherry tree.

He patted his pockets, looking for a key. When he realised he must have forgotten it, he knocked on the door, but no one came to answer it. How foolish of him! It was the middle of the day, she must still be at work.

He sat down on the bench under the cherry tree and decided to wait for her. It was colder than he'd realized. He rubbed his hands together, blowing hot air into them, wishing he had a warmer jacket.

He pushed himself to his feet, groaning at his protesting joints and started pacing the front garden. He didn't really keep track of time, but after a while he decided to get comfortable on the bench again. She won't be long now.

He could feel fatigue settling in his bones and his head slumping to his shoulder. He jerked up, suppressing a yawn. She won't be long now.

He felt so sleepy suddenly. He'd just close his eyes for a minute.

A delicate hand touched his shoulder. "Jon," she whispered. He blinked, shielding his eyes from the bright light that suddenly invaded them.

She was standing in front of him in a lovely blue sundress, long auburn hair framing her face in soft curls. "Sansa?" he asked, his voice rough.

She beamed at him. "Come."

He took the hand she was extending to him without hesitating.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #my fic #jonsaweek #tw: mention of abuse #major character death #dementia #cancer #seasons of my love

[positivityhunkgarrett]

Alright buckle up kids cause I’m gonna tell y'all a story you probably never wanted to hear. This is the abridged story of my relationship with my mom. Now before I start I want you all to know I still love her, despite everything.

So ever since I was little my mom would always tell me that I was a miracle child and the daughter she’d always wanted. I only have two elder brothers and my mother has had several miscarriages. So I was her special child and yet beyond those words I never really felt it. Most of the time they would focus on my just older brother. He was talkative and boisterous where I was quiet and demure, even as a small child. Whenever we were together the focus was on him. The only time we both got attention was when we both got in trouble. While my dad would make time to spend just with me, mom wouldn’t. The first time I got complete attention from my mom is a story in itself, so I’ll try to keep it simple.

So I was about three and a half, and I didn’t have preschool that day. Sadly my just older brother had kindergarten and my dad had work which left just my eldest brother and mom and home with me. I had been playing in the basement by myself when I heard shouting and yelling, so I decided to sneak up the stairs and check it out, only to almost be knocked back down the stairs when my eldest brother stormed past to go to his room. He ended up packing a bag and leaving, and my mom ended up crying in the living room. So at that tender age I decided to take on the job of comforting my mother when she cried. Every time she cried. And she did this often. Whenever anyone got into an argument with her she would cry. I would then have to comfort her and try to find a solution to the argument that made her happy and that whoever she was arguing with would begrudgingly accept. But she would also cry whenever anyone so much as criticized something that involved her, so I would have to try and tell her they didn’t mean it. My job was to fix all the problems and try to make sure our family stayed happy. 

Another important thing to know about my mother is that she hates all things that are incredibly feminine. She hated dresses, the color pink, bows and ribbons, and doing anything with her hair besides dyeing it. When I was little, however, I was the very embodiment of all of those things. I wanted to wear dresses all the time, even in winter. My favorite color was a toss up between rose pink and cherry blossom pink (while very similar colors there is a subtle difference between them), I loved having bows on my dresses and ribbons in my hair, and I loved having my hair styled all the time, especially in pigtails. While my dad indulged me my mom didn’t like it. She would steer me toward purple and blue clothing, tried to get me to wear shorts or at least skorts (skirt+shorts if anyone didn’t know) and styling my hair was something that happened sparingly. Not to mention the lack of bows and ribbons in my possession. This and my ever growing anger issues are some of the things that directly led to my tomboy phase. After all, a cute girl in pretty dresses can’t kick ass and take names, but a rough and tumble girl in pants can.

Of course as I got older I began experiencing problems at school. Nothing too bad, just basic teasing at first, being called fat even though I was perfectly within the healthy weight for girls my age and height, being called racist as one of the only white girls in my class even though before then never even hearing the word much less understanding that that problem even existed, along with milder things like how I was too tall for a girl, or that I was weird. I didn’t want to bother my family with any of it seeing as my brother actually got bullied. Eventually though, when the teasing became torture I decided to finally go to my mom, since she was the parent more readily available. She had even told my just older brother and I that since she was a trained councilor, we could always come to her with our problems. However every time I tried talking to her she would give solutions of what she would do, share anecdotes from her childhood of something similar, or completely derail the conversation by telling me that the kids were wrong. Nothing ever actually helped, so I stopped going to her and tried going it alone.

So seventh grade rolled around. I was no longer one of the tallest kids in class, seeing as most of the boys had shot up recently. And while I was still on the heavier side I wasn’t the heaviest kid in class by a long shot. I had friends I hang out with often. So many friends that I had to keep track of which ones liked each other and which ones didn’t so I didn’t accidentally try hanging out with a few that hated each other. Everyone went to me for advise and comfort, seeing as I had no interest in anyone romantically so I was impartial to their relationship drama, and I had years of practice with comforting people. Then my grandma died. I was heart broken. I had loved her a lot, and her death was a huge blow. After being bullied for being a crybaby I had stopped crying all together for several years but that broke the flood gates. I wept when I heard the news, I sobbed at her funeral, and for days after I was an emotional wreck, crying at almost anything. I couldn’t even go to my piano lessons for awhile because the piano just reminded me of the reason for starting it which was to be able to play her a song on the baby grand piano at her house. I quit one of the only clubs I was in, table tennis, because she was the one who got me into it.

My mom’s reaction to all this was to tell me that I had barely spent any time with the woman, having only visited her house once a year, and saying that I needed to get over it because the grief was taking up my life and ruining my grades. My friends couldn’t comfort me any better. They got uncomfortable. The person that could calm them down from anything was herself now inconsolable. So with everything compounding, my friends pulling away and my mother’s blatant apathy to my situation, I tried to commit suicide. My father caught me, and forced me to throw up all the pills I had swallowed. But after dad lectured me about how stupid of an idea that was my mom told me that clearly I didn’t care about them and how much my suicide would effect them. She went on after that about how terrible a mother she must be and started crying, instinctively making her the victim of my suicide attempt.

After that my depression just got worse, and even more of my friends pulled away from me, just making the depression worse. However despite trying to reach out for help my dad only suggested talking with my psychiatrist, and my mom continued to make the whole situation about how terrible a mother she must be, rather than actually trying to fix me. When high school came around I stopped trying to talk to my parents again, especially my mom. Despite the fact that my mental state seemed to be deteriorating to the point where my intrusive thoughts seemed to be a 24/7 noise in my head, and I couldn’t go an hour without either scratching my skin or cutting it. I figured that nobody could help me. The best I got was a school therapist when I had a nervous breakdown one day. That was until my English teacher found out about the state of my arms.

Now the nurse knew. I had to go to her several times for large gauze pads to cover the wounds from scratching my arms. This was because of volleyball in gym class. But after an entire quarter of smacking the injuries with a ball repeatedly my arms became sensitive. So one day while I was getting up to leave English class, one of my books fell on my arm. I nearly cried out in pain, but I did crouch down and cradle my arm protectively. She asked the other kids to leave faster and decided we needed to talk. She was more of a mother than my mother had ever been and so I broke down completely, telling her about the fact that I was being bullied, the terrible thoughts that plagued me day and night, my ever worsening depression, my ever growing anxiety, and I showed her my arms, the utter bloody and scarred mess that they had become. She called my house and suggested that I needed to see a therapist because she was concerned I might not make it to sophomore year if I didn’t.

When I got home my mom was pissed. She demanded to see my injuries, and not so gingerly treated them with hydrogen peroxide and rubbing alcohol. She ranted at me about how I trusted a teacher more than my own mother. She made me feel terrible both for finally opening up to someone about my problems, and for having them in the first place. She went on and on about how it was bad enough that my brother had panic attacks on a bimonthly basis, but I had to somehow be in a worse state than he was because at least he didn’t hurt himself to try and get attention. Everything she said hurt me. Less than a week later I tried to commit suicide again, only to be stopped by my brother before I could do anything. He decided from then on to be the person to listen to me. I got better. We both did. By leaning on each other we somehow managed to fix ourselves well enough to keep going. This is still how we deal with our problems. We talk to each other instead of our parents because our father often isn’t there, and doesn’t have a firm grasp on heavy emotion as it is, and mom just makes it about her.

This is already really long and isn’t even half of the abridged version of my relationship with my mom, so I guess when I’m up to it I’ll get around to posting a part two.

#long post #hella emotional #blood mentioned #I don't know what else to tag this #suicide tw #not positivity