#so its not like two awkwardly hung up there forever

[pennyserenade]

wish you were here.

chapter five - fade into you | ao3 link | previous chapter

pairing: javier peña x female oc, javier peña x named female oc (mariella) rating: t (teen) tags/warnings: angst, brief mention of infidelity, alcohol word count: 2.1k summary: Mariella and Javier continue to feel their way through a friendship. a/n: sorry this is taking me so long to write. love you

A tattered floral scrapbook of Mariella’s sits, face up, on the table. She stands in the corner of her kitchen, looking at it as though it has wronged her in some way. And in some ways, it has. 

In one hand she holds a glass of water and in the other, her telephone. Henry Rath’s number has been typed in, and her fingers hesitate to dial it. The trip down memory lane has proved to be a bitter one. So much of her life had been documented in that scrapbook, from graduations to weddings to the first house, to the very last birthdays she and Henry would spend as a couple together. It was hard to ignore him when he was all there—a little piece of him merged forever with a little piece of her. 

She knew it wasn’t fair, what she did to him. Or rather, what she’s doing to him. In the past three months, he’s left a handful of voicemails she’s deleted before even finishing. She screens most of her calls, just on the offhand chance that it might be him, and each time it makes her feel wrong. At first, it started off with good intention—she wanted to leave him alone, to let him go back to his life. But eventually, the more she thought about what they had done, the more ignoring him became less altruistic. Every time she hears the phone ring, she thinks of him in that hotel room and that little girl that hung on his hip, and she wants as far from it as possible. 

She places the telephone back in its cradle. The excuses are endless: it is Tuesday and she works tomorrow, so she shouldn’t start something she doesn’t know she can’t stop; he probably isn’t home from work yet; he’s likely forgotten about it and to call and remind him now would be cruel; his wife could pick up; closure isn’t the sort of thing either of them are particularly good at. 

Mariella picks up the telephone again. She waits patiently as it rings. 

“Hello?” Chucho answers. 

She leans back onto the counter, swirling the water in her cup. “Hey, Chucho. I was wondering if Javi’s home.”

“Javi?” he asks, sounding surprised. 

“Yeah, Javi. I never thanked him for helping me with my classroom last month and I’d like to.”

There’s a beat of silence before Chucho speaks again. “Javi’s always home, just never know where,” the man laughs. “Would it be alright if I had him call you back? I gotta go find him.”

Mariella glances over at the scrapbook on the table. “That’d be lovely, Chucho. Thank you.” 

When he hangs up, she moves over and closes the book shut. If she wasn’t so goddamn sentimental, she might throw the whole thing away but she is, so she can’t. Instead she tucks it away in the cupboards over her oven, where she’s stored a lone bottle of tequila for about two years now, and then she sits back, waiting. The phone rings a few moments later and she doesn’t hesitate to answer it. “Hello,” she picks up. 

“Mariella?” Javier asks. His voice is low, almost a whisper. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t called you sooner. I wanted to thank you for the classroom. I’ve been using it for about a week now, and it looks wonderful.”

On the other end, she can hear him shift with the phone. “It was no problem,” he replies softly. Then, after a pause, he says, “How are you, Mari?” 

“I’m good, Javier.”

“That’s, uh, that’s good.”

“How about you?” 

More movement. “I’m good too.” 

“My dad says he hasn’t seen you in the movie store as of late,” she says. Javier coughs awkwardly. 

“No? I guess I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy avoiding me? ‘Cause if so, I assure you that’s a safe zone. I don’t work there during the school year, remember?” It’s meant to come out teasing, but, at the current moment, she lacks the exact humor needed to pull off the weight of that sentence. She punctuates it with a laugh that is more of a huff than anything.

He protests. “I—That’s not why.”

“No?” she asks simply. 

“No, not really. There’s just been a lot to do around here. We got new horses. There’s a fence that needs to be built. Chucho just needs me more than the television does.” He attempts to laugh, but it sounds forced. She doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“Think you could spare an hour or two to go get dinner with me?” 

“You want to get dinner?” he sounds in disbelief. 

She can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. One of my new student’s parents owns the bar downtown. They gave me two coupons for a free dinner.”

“Oh,” he replies. “Well, I’ll have to get cleaned up. Can you wait?”

“Sure.”

“Alright. I’ll meet you there at, uh—“ Another pause, “—how about seven?”

“Sounds good.”

“Alright, see you then,” he replies. 

“Yeah, bye,” she adds awkwardly, hanging up. 

Slumping her shoulders, she lets out a deep sigh. Why must everything feel so fucking hard lately?

—-

“Thought you didn’t go to bars,” Javier says, bringing his beer to his mouth. He’s teasing, she can tell: that slanted brow, the pursued lips working hard not to press into a comely grin. She takes a sip of her own drink, and shrugs her shoulders. 

“I don’t,” she hums in response. 

The dinner crowd at the bar is surprisingly large, but conversation is easy to have. It’s nicer, really, in a place like this - too busy to have to worry if the table next to you is listening in. Not that she and Javier have ventured to any topics unsafe for public consumption. They’ve been good, drinking their beers, making small talk the way one might with a friend they’ve grown apart with. It’s got an intimate air to it, but it’s stilted for a strange, heartbreaking reason. 

They don’t talk about all that happened weeks ago, or why they’re sitting here now. Mariella doesn’t mind, really. This is the thing she enjoys about Javier, what she has seen in him since the beginning: he isn’t interested in brewing in the past. If she were a better woman, this might worry her, but luckily enough she isn’t. She understands all too well the temptation to look forward and never backward. 

The beer is making her feel warm and pleasantly buzzed. In the corner, there is a jukebox playing soft country songs and some people are dancing slowly in the middle. She and Javi watch them curiously, resting back in their chairs. 

“How’s the teaching going?” He looks back over at her. 

“It’s going well. The kid’s are as brilliant and witty as ever,” she smiles softly. “How’s the farm?”

Javier shrugs his shoulders. “It’s work. For the first time in months, I’m finally getting a full night’s rest, though, so I won’t complain too much.”

“I’ve always loved that piece of land,” Mariella says, looking back at the dancing patrons. “Miles upon miles of greenery. And the horses! I love driving up and watching them run.”

This makes Javier smile. “Chucho is proud of it and he should be, I suppose. I certainly appreciate it more now than I used to. In Colombia, it was like that—beautiful, I mean. And so green. Standing out in the fields sometimes reminds me of being back there.”

“Do you miss it?” she asks, before she finds the sense to know better. 

Javier’s eyes rake over the crowd, too. He watches a young couple in the corner for a bit, smiling as the boy’s hand gradually works its way lower on the girl’s back. Before he touches her ass, Javi looks back to Mariella, his smile faint but present. “Sometimes,” he answers. 

“I’d love to go someday.”

“You should,” he encourages. “It’s magnificent, really, unlike anything else. That shit they say in the news—it’s true, but not nearly that bad. Not for regular people with clean hands.”

Mariella shakes her head. “Just when I thought you had me sold, you had and go say that.”

“What, your hands dirty?” he narrows his eyes. 

She holds her palms out. “Red,” she nods, though they aren’t. He breathes out a quiet laugh. 

“I think you’d be alright—but go to Mexico first.” 

“You sound like my mother,” she laughs too. 

Looking over at Javi, Mariella debates whether to ask him if he wants to dance or not. The beer has made her feel a little more relaxed, but she’s not without her reason. She remembers the first day they met - really met - and how he said he didn’t know how to dance anymore. She also remembers the kitchen, and the incident that has driven them apart for a month. 

Before she’s given the chance, a woman stops in front of the table. She’s pretty — big blue eyes, an endearing grin — the kind of woman for whom the country accent was made to be spoken by. “Javi,” she says, someplace between shocked and amazed. 

Mariella feels bad at first, thinking this is going to be another one of those small town run-ins he hates, but when she looks over at him, she can tell it’s not. Something softer takes hold of him, something almost tender.  Mariella feels almost like an intruder as he says, “Hey, Lorraine.”

Lorraine’s eyes meet Mariella’s, and then go back to Javi’s. Javi understands. “Mariella, this is Lorraine. She’s my—“

“His old friend,” she finishes for him, extending her hand for Mariella to shake. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve known about you for years. You’re all your Daddy talks about on Sundays sometimes.”

Lorraine can’t be much older than she is—maybe five or six years—and yet she seems so much more mature. She looks like what Mariella feels she’s been trying to attain her whole life: this perfect, well-rounded, soft-spoken girl who says words like ‘Daddy’ and manages not only to sound sincere, but sweet. 

Mariella shakes her head and smiles politely. “It’s nice to meet you too.” 

Lorraine glances over her shoulder, holding her finger up to a man standing by the entrance. “My husband,” she supplies, looking back at them both. “Listen, I better get going but I just wanted to say it’s nice to see you out and about, Javi. A lot of people here missed you.” Lorraine looks over to Mariella. “And really, it’s lovely to meet you, Mariella. I wish I had more time to sit and chat, because so many people have been telling us about your school. I’ve got a little one about school going age, and I’d love to put her in it.”

“Oh,” Mariella says, “Well, I can give you my number if you’d like.”

“Could you?” Lorraine smiles. “Oh, that’d be lovely.”

Mariella reaches into her purse and rummages around for a pen. When she finds it, she takes one of the napkins from the table and quickly jots down her information. “I wrote down my home number and the school’s. I wouldn’t mind answering any questions you have, but if you’re interested in enrollment information, the office number will be most helpful.”

Lorraine nods. Her hair bounces with her head, and Mariella can’t help but feel like she’s encountered a real life Barbie of sorts. She can imagine that she and Javier must’ve been real good friends, but it doesn’t do anything more than amuse her. 

“Bye, Javi,” Lorraine says, throwing up a hand. She pats Mariella on the shoulder on the way out, “Thank you again,” she says softly. 

Mariella rushes out an “Oh, you’re welcome” and Javier offers a wordless smile. They both watch her return to her husband, but Mariella returns her eyes to Javier long before he does to her. She watches the way a frown takes over his lips. 

Javier brings his beer back to his lips, seemingly shaking the encounter off. The tenderness is replaced by whatever was there before. It’s no less kind, but certainly not as intense. 

“She was my fiancée, once upon a time,” he explains. Mariella wouldn’t have asked, but she’s happy he’s willing to give her that information freely. She nods her head, not saying anything in reply. 

Her eyes return to the crowd, and they both settle into an introspective silence. Mariella forgets she ever wanted to ask him to dance in the first place. For a little bit, she even forgets her own troubles, too. 

She didn’t entirely know why she had called for Javier like she had earlier. He’d been on her mind, sure, but no more than Henry. In fact, a lot less than Henry. Something inside of her had told her to do it, so she had. She’s happy she did, now. 

Misery loves company they say, and she thinks she might’ve found herself a companion in one Javier Peña. 

#javier pena x reader #javier pena #javier pena x you #javier pena x female oc #javier pena x oc #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x female oc #javier peña x oc #javier peña #javier pena fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal character #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic

[moomv]

eternal affection. the heartache of death before the renewal of rebirth

Blade first met you on the Luofu many years past. 

You were bright and bubbly, a smile always gracing your lips. You were bright summer days and quiet evenings, you were sunshine and light and Blade couldn’t help but be drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Blade loved you. 

So when you died, red spilling between your lips and body coated in the colour, Blade didn’t know what to do. His hands hung heavy over your form, unsure of whether to press on the wound or comfort you, he was unsure and in the end he blames himself for how you died that day. If only he was faster. If only he didn’t falter, if only-

He remembers the look on your face, it was serene, so utterly serene and Blade felt ill looking at it, why? He questioned, a recurring thought throughout your whole death, why?

You reached up to his face, your hand, that was once so full of warmth and vibrance sat colourless with cold end, you were dying and Blade didn’t know what to do.  

Your voice was light and airy, and Blade leaned into the sensation, each syllable you spoke he took it in and held onto it like a forever priceless artifact. 

You reassured Blade, countless reassurances left your lips, you repeated each word over and over till your throat went hoarse and you could no longer speak and even then, with all your dying strength you held onto Blade’s hand like a healing lifeline.

You died that day with the reassurance that you two would meet again, be in the far future, hundreds of years next or in a few weeks, you would meet again, you would make sure of it.

You left Blade that day, forever was his life touched with vibrance he could no longer see without your presence to guide him into it, forever was he left with a feeling of warmth that he could no longer feel. 

Blade waited, years upon years passed, he waited.

He waited even when he joined the Stellaron Hunters even when he could barely remember your face, your lips forever ghosting his body, the warmth that you brought forever a memory that he could no longer feel. 

He waited. 

And it wasn't until he went abroad the Luofu again that he finally caught a glimpse of you, shining brightness that the sun couldn’t dream of competing against, all your brilliance so heart-wrenchingly beautiful. 

You turned around, a smile easing its way up to your lips like a forever harmonious melody, you turned around, clean recognition reflecting in your pupils at the sight of him. 

You rushed over to him. 

And without hesitation, you enveloped him, warmth spread through his body like a wildfire, burning every crevice of his body with your never-ending fire that he so desperately craved. 

His hands hung awkwardly behind you before closing in and pulling you closer, you smelt of jasmine tea and fresh flowers and Blade relished in the comfort it brought to him. 

You whispered countless apologies to him, “Sorry” you said, your voice thick with guilt, “Sorry, I wasn’t with you.” you took in a breath, “Sorry, It took me so long to make it back to you.”  

Blade held onto your tighter as though you might disappear as soon as he let go, you peered up at him, eyes glazed with sadness that he couln’t bare to see, you gently smiled, “I’m back.” 

His body relaxed at your words, his lungs finally took in enough air and his mind finally slowed down, “Welcome back.” he spoke, cold in all aspects and if it wasn’t you he would have never said it at all. 

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #blade x reader #blade hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail blade #hsr angst #₊˚ʚ writes ₊˚✧

[bowieandqueen11]

Dating Doc Ock Would Include...

Request: May I request doc ock relationship headcannons

I’m shaking and crying I’m so excited here we go!!

If you enjoy, please help me out and leave a comment

(I do not own Spider-Man or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @patrick-stewart.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

You and Otto meet for the first time during your third year at University, right outside the front steps of the science building. You were just minding your own business, taking a break after your last lecture to read through your notes before taking your bike and heading back home. You feel something rustle beside you, and raise your hand to squint into the dying sun rays only to spot the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen perching awkwardly on the step beside you.

‘So... Dr. Mahoney’s class is killer, huh?’

He spends the whole afternoon just sitting beside you, inching closer and closer every so often, always making sure that you’re comfortable with his presence. By the end, he was slouched over the steps. His full attention was on you, elbow resting by your knee as he hung onto your every word with such forceful intensity it often made you stutter. He’s so cute - gazing at you with those wide, wonderous eyes, as if each word out of your mouth was stealing more and more of his soul, and he couldn’t be happier. Finally, the sun began to settle behind the concrete towers behind your head, and Otto managed to qualm his laughter enough to ask if he could walk you back to your dorm. 

Ever chivalrous, the first thing he does once you agree is to help you up. You can feel his hand shake as he tenderly slides his fingers against your palm, only letting go so you can interlink your arm within his. On the way back, the two of you talk so idly that passerbys would believe you’d known each other forever. It felt that way too, when he noticed how chilled you were getting in the late night air and shrugged off his thick woollen coat to wrap around your shoulders - it feels so warm and cosy and smells like a strange mix of chemicals and cherries and it’s just so HIM I-

He makes you keep it, when you arrive in your doorway. With a beaming smile, he glances shyly down at you and tells you that ‘he has thousands, but there’s only one of you.’ Mf is smooth, following this by asking if you would like to see him again sometime after class. You nod and reach up on your tip toes to kiss his cheek, gripping onto his biceps. He becomes all blushy and flustered, looking down at his feet when you pull away and walk inside.

The whole way home, he’s got his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets to keep them from trembling. He basically skips back to his room, heart fluttering so quickly against his breast he fears it may fly out and find its way back to you. As if it had been encaged, and just waiting for this moment to finally be set free. And it all just sort of takes off from there.

You two move into a small, but homely and cosy apartment soon after University. He spends a lot of time fretting about whether he’s moving too fast, if he’s making you uncomfortable, if he’s enough for someone who deserves the whole world and more. But then he comes home one day after a long morning searching for a job in New York and just... there you are. Just sitting on your armchair with a cup of tea, and he just goes all heart eyes and realises this is it. This is everything. And he never feels sad again, not after that moment. Not when he realises that all he needs is you, and he’ll be okay.

He’s still an old romantic at heart, and so he still likes to try and woo you at the weekends. He just likes to remind you as often as he can how much his heart aches for you, and so the two of you will take walks (and a few subways) down to Central Park. He sits on the edge of the Bethesda Fountain, the murmuring boats trickling through the water nearby fading into the backs of your minds as he pulls you down between his legs. He’s so corny, leaning you back against his chest and beginning to recite an Elizabeth Barrett Browning sonnet he’s memorised for you.

His arms link round your waist, letting you collapse into the brackets of his arms. Just taking a moment to stop the heat rising to your cheeks as you feel his chin move against the top of your head.

‘I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life.‘

Turns out, as he stumbles his hand behind him and reaches into his back pocket, Otto had also taken a rose with him to give to you. As he presents it in front of your face, he looks slightly aghast at how the squashed petals now wilt, but you readily accept it in return for a warm kiss.

He’s the kind of cutey patootie to try and make you breakfast in bed during cold spring mornings when you’re both still half asleep, often enjoying it while tangled together. Or, if you both have time for a lie in before work, he likes it when you slide up between his legs and lie against his squishy stomach. He always likes to read the Daily Bugle before his morning starts, but he enjoys it far more if he can tuck his chin against your face and read it over your shoulder too.

If he has to go to the lab, though, he always does two things. One, he leaves a fresh bouquet of your favourite flowers he orders daily in a little glass vase by your pillow. Two, he always leaves a sticky note on top of the tea pot, a different compliment each day.

He just wants you to know how he’s always thinking about you. Because he always is. You never leave his mind.

If he’s having trouble figuring out some of his equations while he’s at home, he’s S O CUTE!!! He becomes all grouchy, and he starts frowning and shaking his head in a way that reminds you of an upset little bunny. When he spots you out of the corner of his eye, he’ll just kind of tap his knee in his tell tale sign that he wants you to come sit on his lap and stroke back his hair to calm him down.

Bonus, he always gets to tickle your sides while you’re straddling his thick thighs. Your laughter is like a contagion to him, and in the end his formulas are left abandoned on the dinner table as he spreads his warm, large hands over the bottom of your thighs and picks you up.

Plus, if you reach up to cup his cheek and just stroke your fingers against the side of his face, he always does these whiny little gasping breaths and shuts his eyes tight in an effort to control himself. Play with those little arch fringes of hair that he has, though, and he can’t stop the rumbling groan that echoes from the back of his throat.

In conclusion, while the two of you are dating before the whole tentacle situation, your man is VERY affectionate. He’s the sort of guy who loves to sleep with his head on your stomach, but gets all moochy and flushes peach when you try to lie on his. You just have to coax him into realising how beautiful he is each night, and in the end he always turns into putty in your hands.

Although, he always feel so secure and safe and assured when you lie on his thighs and press little fervent kisses along their inside oh lordy.

He’s not massively into showing PDA in front of other people as he grows older. Mainly because he feels, as a scientist, that he should emit a sense of professionalism to others. But when you come to visit him in the lab, and you see how well his fusion reactor is doing during testing, he can’t help but just absolutely light up when you come through the door. Like he’s a naughty university student again, he takes off his gloves and goggles and drags you into the storage closet. Giggling, he cups your cheeks and presses a thousand kisses over every inch of your face, before you finally grab his vest and pull him down to eagerly meet your lips.

And then the accident happens. And you’re left in the wreckage as your boyfriend is carted off to the hospital as they try to saw off his extra arms. And it rocks you to your core, tendrils of fear and regret and nausea gripping your chest as you believe this is the end. There’s no way back from this.

He’s gone.

But then he appears, arms causing shockwaves across the ground. He’s wearing nothing but the tattered remains of an old hospital gown, his eyes wild and unfocused, but still staring straight at you. His first thought, after all the horrible things that have happened - that he’s done - was to come and find you. To make sure that you were still safe. To protect you. And so you stay with him, because you know the Otto you love is still in there somewhere and you’ll be damned if you leave him behind.

Although his temper is shorter than it used to be, and the voices in his head are screaming at him, the first thing he does when he finds you in the street is to lower himself to the ground and fall into your arms. He’s crying - no, he’s weeping, a blubbering, stuttering mess as he burrows into your neck.

His tentacles are more protective, more possessive over you than Otto had ever been, but they’re never cruel. They’re just sort of, always there? Like another presence keeping an eye over you - nipping playfully at your waist, or handing you an item you didn’t even realise that you’d needed. It felt, sometimes, like they were wired into your brain as well. But that was just Otto. He just knew you that well, that major chunks of him are just a reflection of you.

He also uses them when he gets cocky as well, like after he’s managed to kidnap Spider-Man and hand him over to Harry Osborn. In celebration, he uses his arms to pick you up and pin you against his chest. You can feel his heart thundering against the bare, cold, skin of his chest, lips smirking as he carries the two of you off.

Mmmm he still loves it when you lift his glasses away from his eyes and place them on top of your head. He traces your every movement with trusting, easy eyes, resting his head back and sighing happily when you reach up and grab a fistful of his hair, trying to distract him from his work and allow Spider-Man enough time to swing in and stop Otto from levelling half the city.

He’ll love you forever, but it’s never easy. Or simple. It just takes a lot of time, and a lot of trust, and a lot of hope that one day the two of you will find your way back to the lovestruck students sitting on those steps, both of them seeing their whole world emerge in the others’ eyes.

#spiderman #alfred molina #otto octavius #no way home #doc ock #otto octavius imagine #doc ock imagine #doctor octopus #doctor octopus imagine #marvel #spiderman no way home #otto octavius headcanons #doc ock headcanons #doctor octopus headcanons

[lonely-lost-soul]

Blood for the Blood God

(Technoblade x Reader)

gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss.

~~~

A young hybrid stood at the edge of the world, his pink hair tied up in a bun, face free of scars he’d acquired in his later years, and he looked decades younger. A diamond-encrusted dagger rested against his hip in its holder, his feet nervously tapped on the dirt. Silence surrounded him, maybe he should’ve told Phil where he was going, what he was going to do, the deal he was about to make. There were no trees on the cliffside, no signs of life anywhere for miles, in fact, he wasn’t sure if he stepped into another realm altogether. It was just him, the cliff, and of course the ancient scrolls in his bag. Technoblade frowned slightly thinking back on his old friend once more, would Phil’s family and his old friend be disappointed in his choices. Did he even care? He swallowed thickly holding out his hand, he pulled out a dagger from its holder, and drug it across his palm. Blood spilled from the wound, Technoblade let out a hiss of pain watching the blood pool in his palm. He held his hand out over the void and let a few drops of blood seep into space. He had long since memorized the words on the scrolls in his bag, Technoblade chanted the words written in Greek and he felt the wind begin to pick up around him. Goosebumps appeared on his arms, He was grateful his hair was wrapped up in a bun or else it would be tangled and blowing all over the place. At this time in his life, his hair was down to his ankles, getting it calm in any sense of the word was a struggle.

Dust picked up and he covered his eyes, by the time Technoblade opened them a beautiful figure stood in the void, the goddess was giant, towering far above the treelines below the cliff. A crown rested on top of the Goddess’s head, it was golden and formed a halo above her head, stars littered across her face as her eyes opened. Her gaze bore straight into Techno’s soul, her gown was a deep black with red lacing across the neckline, and it flared out at her feet. A corset tight around her waist, intricate gold was embedded into the fabric, her (h/c) hair floating around her head.

“Technoblade,” Her voice sounded like silk in his ears, and he loved the way her voice said his name. Pink blossomed in his cheeks as his eyes widened, he didn’t even comprehend that she knew his name without even asking. “Why have you summoned me here today?” The Goddess hummed softly leaning downwards her giant face in front of Technoblades, he was in awe at her majesty. He gaped like a fish for a few moments and she lightly giggles pulling away from his body, Technoblade swallowed thickly recovering from his shock.

“You’re the Blood God?” He questioned not expecting you to be so womanly, you hummed softly tapping your nails on the ground causing it to rumble under his feet.

“I go by many names young one, but yes that is one of them.” She hummed the clouds began to swirl around her head, “I’m known as the Blood God, Blood Goddess, but if we strike a deal you may refer to me as (Y/n).”

“The scrolls said you’d be a man.”

“Disappointed?”

“No, not at all.” Technoblade hurriedly corrected himself, “Just startled.”

“Men always like to change history,” She clicked her tongue in distaste brow furrowing in frustration. “Changing the great things women do, the fear of powerful women is only felt by weaker and pitiful men.” He watched the Goddess’s eyes turn blood red a smile came across her lips, “They deserve to bleed. Pitiful men don’t deserve to walk the same earth of those worthy.” Technoblade felt himself nodding alongside the Goddess’s words, she had a point. Any man who disrespects or underestimates women deserves the fate she mentioned. “Now Technoblade tell me what you need from me?”

“I wish to never die.” The words hung in the air, he watched the goddess lean back in contemplation.

“I cannot make you immortal, I’m afraid you’ve contacted the wrong God.”

Technoblade shook his head, he knew he contacted the proper God, if he tried to contact the God of Death, Phil would know immediately.

“It’s not necessarily immortality I am after,” You titled your head curiously urging the young man to continue his point. “I just want something to make me never die, whether it’s power or unaging, I need something.”

“Why? Are you aware of the consequences of becoming immoral or like an immortal,” The Goddess gently reached her hand out nudging her giant finger against his cheek, “To see those who love you die around you while you never age? Anyone, you fall in love with won’t grow old with you.”

“I don’t plan on falling in love.” He interrupted the goddess, standing up straighter. He watched her purse her lips, in a blinding flash of light a woman was standing in front of him. Technoblade felt his face heat up, in her mortal form she was much smaller, but her outfit remained the same, the crown still on her head, showing off her power.

“You cannot comprehend the ideas of the goddess of love Technoblade. She has many interesting ideas on who should fall in love.” Technoblade straightened as she leaned in closer to his face,

“I’ll fight them.”

The Goddess blinked a few times as Technoblade looked away awkwardly at what he blurted out, and you burst into hysterical laughter. You covered your hand with your mouth trying to stifle said laughter, he made a small ‘heh?’ like sound as you clutched your abdomen.

“Sorry- Sorry! I just never heard someone so willingly eager to fight the God of Love so they don’t fall in love.” Your eyes lit up with delight as Technoblade visibly relaxed, for the self-proclaimed Blood God you sure were child-like, much like Wilbur, “You’re so cute yet so naive.” He tensed again his teeth grinding together,

“I’m not naive.” He huffed narrowing his eyes not even processing that she had called him cute. You hummed a few more giggles spilling past your lips, before collecting yourself and straightening your dress.

“Technoblade, before we continue forward with our potential deal there are some stipulations.” You hummed softly holding out your hand, “If you wish for my power to never die this is what I can grant you.” You pressed your glowing red finger to his forehead, his pupils shrunk in and he saw himself in the future. Scars littered his face, arms, and back, his hair was tied into a tight braid, gold jewelry coated his ears and fingers. He had a scruff of a beard on his chin, and he overall radiated power. By his side in some form of a Tundra, was Phil, looking a little older, his right-wing shredded beyond repair. On Technoblade’s back were three Wither Skull tattoo’s one in the middle of his back and the other two on his opposite shoulder blades. A netherite sword hung on his hip and it seemed to be coated in dried blood, his arms were crossed in distaste, he caught a glimpse of three lines on his arm.

He never lost a single life. Suddenly he heard thousands of voices echoing in his head, he clutched his ears falling to his knees, all of them were screaming, pleading for blood.

Technoblade breathed heavily snapping back to the current reality, “what was that?” He panted eyes a bit frantic, “the future?”

“One version of it,” You hummed pulling your hand down to your side. “The future can change on such a whim there never may be a true future I can show you, but it was one.” His brow furrowed watching you reach out and trace over the lifelines on his wrist, a pleasant tingle was sent up his spine. “I can assure you the power I can give will not make you immortal, but it will give you the power to slaughter all your enemies on a whim. Reach your goals and make it nearly impossible to die, that is the power I can grant you.” He watched his lives glow a soft gold and he choked on his spit, another tingle shot up his body, “but there are consequences as there is with every deal one makes.”

Technoblade nodded in understanding willing to risk anything to be that powerful, keeping his life and living with Phil. So the older man won’t have to lose anyone else in his life due to his immortality.

“While you’ll be powerful and practically impossible to kill you will still be mortal. You will be able to die and will still be bound to the three life systems my brother has set up. However, you will live forever so long as that does not happen.” He felt your hand move up his arm and he involuntary flexed his muscles. “But, you’ll have to bear the curse of the Blood God,” You whispered eyes flashing in regret, “The voices.”

“Voices?” He questioned with an eyebrow raise watching you nod almost sadly.

“They will be hard to ignore and occur almost instantly once the deal is in place. There will be thousands of them, always talking or screaming begging you to kill and slaughter. Begging you to kill and supply me with the blood I so desperately crave be spilled on the land. They will say other things too, commenting on your thoughts and your life, you’ll eventually learn to live with them. Especially with my help, but they’re hard to deal with, hard to ignore their yearn for the slaughter of anything with a pulse. You’ll have to learn to get along with them, that is your only hope to not lose yourself to them.” He felt your hand up to his cheek, thumb brushing against the apples of them, “It will be painful and you’ll still need to train to gain more muscle and strength, but it will be easier for you to reach that goal. So with that in mind Technoblade, do we have a deal?”

Technoblade locked eyes with the Goddess in front of him, he could deal with a few voices screaming in his ear, after all, you’d be by his side, helping him learn and grow.

“Deal,” Technoblade spoke gruffly, “how do we go about this?” He tensed swallowing thickly watching you cup his cheeks in your hands. “You’re touching my face, that’s fine this is fine, not intimate at all.” He watched you raise an eyebrow,

“It’s about to get a lot more intimate I’m afraid,” You purred as Technoblade flushed red, he felt your one hand remove itself from his cheek. She trailed her hand down his neck and his body, he was a shivering, red mess, she found the dagger at his side. He watched in awe as it floated in front of her, slicing open her palm, blood bubbled from the wound it was laced with golden flecks of ambrosia. Technoblade looked at her nervously, “Drink.”

“Eh?” He made a disgusted face eyeing the blood smearing on your palm, he watched it drip intimately down your wrist. Technoblade swallowed thickly, “why?”

“You have to take a piece of me to grant my power, you’ll grow fond of the taste of blood eventually.” You smiled pityingly, another hand gently squeezing his neck and Technoblade let out a shaky breath. He placed a hand on your wrist looking up into your eyes, you hummed sweetly urging him to continue, “I don’t bite. Hard.” You mused, eyes sparkling, dangerously, the look was verging on flirty, the young man flushed. He leaned forward, hesitantly licking the dripping blood that spilled down your arm up to the cut you made with his dagger. The ambrosia in your blood tingled his tongue tasting sweeter than honey, his pupils blew wide dragging his tongue across your palm. He barely registered your hand in his hair, curling around the loose stands tenderly, and much like a kitten, he began to lap at your palm. Technoblade felt like his entire body was on fire, but the blood you possessed tasted so sweet, he felt as though he’s never tasted anything better. He drank until your body healed and he couldn’t taste any more blood, he felt a whine bubble in his throat desperately trying to get more blood from your healed cut. You shushed him softly poking his nose, which seemingly snapped him back to reality, ears turning red as a small amount of blood stained the corner of his mouth. You leaned forward standing on your tiptoes, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the corner of his mouth, tongue lapping at the left-over blood. He let out another whine as you pulled away licking your teeth, humming fondly at the taste. “Such a good boy, listening to your god,” he felt himself pant his vision blurring the praise from you swimming in his head, doing things to him he didn’t quite understand.

Technoblade’s eyes snapped open as the world around him filled with screaming voices, he yelled out in agony as a fire shot through his skull, burning his brain and licking at the top of his spine. Voice pleading and screaming for more blood, to paint the entirety of the cliffside with sweet blood, to grab the nearest thing with a pulse and tear it to pieces. His pupils shrank and his mouth began to water helplessly,

‘Blood for the Blood God! Serve her! We live to serve her, get her blood. Feed us, Feed her. Blood. Blood. Blood. Kill anything that tries to stop us. Blood. Blood. Blood.’

These millions of voices pounded heavily in his ears, he felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Suddenly the voices quieted and he was vaguely aware of your hand on his forehead,

‘Goddess, our goddess.’

“Shhhh,” You whispered fondly and Technoblade leaned into your cool touch. “Be kind to this one, he’s special.” He didn’t understand what you meant but heard the voices calm down as you spoke to them. “Play nice,” Techno realized that you weren’t talking to him but the voices in his head.

‘Yes ma’am. We’ll be good. But I want to break this one. Don’t be rude to our goddess! Bark, bark, bark. Don’t bark at her! She’s gorgeous though! Truly a work of art. We just want to provide you with blood! Let us play with him a little!’

“I know my darlings and I appreciate it.” You cooed fondly and Technoblade felt warmth flow through his entire being. “But try to get along with this one, he’s special,” Technoblade watched the goddess wink at him. He found himself asking her if he would see her again and she snickered softly,

“Of course you will. We’re interconnected now,” you took his hand, allowing his bigger one to encompass your own. “I’ll see you again soon, try not to die.” In another flash of light, the goddess was gone, he was left alone with the roaring voices and deep-seated loneliness that he was not accustomed to feeling.

It only took a few weeks for Phil to find out about his meeting with the Blood God herself he was immediately worried for his friend. Scolding him for doing something so stupid and reckless, even if what he was preaching was largely hypocritical. The newly acquired voices seemed to have a different interpretation of his nagging, instead, they urged Technoblade to call the man Dadza. Behind Phil his crows cawed and flocked around the both of them, Phil’s brow furrowed and squeezed Technoblade’s shoulder.

“I hope you know what you’re doing mate. Dealing with gods is a dangerous game,” Phil sighed “I know that better than anybody. You need anything, contact me immediately.”

“I will,” The young man nodded in response to his old friend, “Trust me.”

“You know I do.” Phil responded his wings fluttering anxiously, “Just know how dangerous the Blood God can be, the voices granted to you will be hard to resist.”

“She gave me the spiel Phil, I can handle a few voices.” Technoblade scoffed crossing his arms over his chest, “Have a little faith.” Phil only grew more concerned watching Techno’s hand twitch, he could only hope he knew what he got himself into.

~~~

“Oh, Technoblade what have you done?” Your voice echoed in his head as he snarled loudly, red eyes blazing fire. Corpses littered his feet, blood staining the floor and walls, he was older than the last time she had visited. Hair was tied in a braid, scars littered his face and arms that seemed to only accentuate the blood staining his face. His ax was in the corner of the room blood stained the weapon as well, “You poor man.” He turned towards you and snarled the voices in his head roared needily, his head and heart were pounding, “Use your words.” You commanded hardly red mist swirling around your fingers, it hit him square in the chest sending him flying backward into a wall. Behind you stood a taller figure, in his state Technoblade could only make out a mask with a large ‘X’ carved into it.

“Your little plaything seems to be struggling with your curse dear sister,” XD mused from behind you, “Your supposed prodigy seems to have lost control.” You clicked your tongue in distaste sending your brother a look.

“Technoblade come back to your God.” You commanded your voice harshly seeping into his ears, he only roared in response, steam coming out of his nostrils. “I’m disappointed in you all,” the voices all at once stopped their screaming and Technoblade fell to his knees the sudden shift to silence throwing him off. You walked over to his crumpled body, bare feet stepping on the wooden planks marking the floorboards with your bloodied footprints. You knelt in front of him, the hybrid breathing heavily, his tusks tried to cut your skin and succeeded in pricking your fingers. You grabbed onto his tusks, those were also bigger than the last time you saw them, you tugged them harshly. He grunted in pain, “No.” You snarled looking deep into his eyes, “You slaughtered an entire village of innocent lives! That is not in my plan or my wishes you stupid mortal!” You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, his clarity was slowly coming back to him. “There were children here! Children you tore apart, I trusted you to have some semblance of control, and you!” She pressed a manicured nail to the top of his head speaking directly to the voices, “I asked for one thing from you and you make him do this!”

“Get ‘em, girl. You tell them.” XD mused from behind you, snapping his fingers almost sassily. His robes flowing around his arms, you turned over your shoulder to glare at him.

“Oh, go fuck George Lore.”

“Fuck you.” Lighting cackled from behind the God of the SMP his long nails digging into the flesh on his arms. You huffed glaring at your older brother, from behind you Technoblade tried to lunge at God for disrespecting his Goddess. “Watch your dog,” He scoffed another growl bubbling in Technoblade’s throat.

“Techno.” Your voice filled his ears again and he fell against your shoulder, “I haven’t been a good Goddess to you have I?” You spoke softly, his entire body relaxing into you as he listened to you. “You cannot handle the voices on your own that was my mistake, I will train you so this doesn’t happen again that I can promise you.” Your fingers gently played with the hair on the back of his neck,

“(Y/n)?” He mumbled groggily,

“There he is, welcome back to the real world.” The goddess pulled away from his beaten body, he looked around seeing the blood and the bodies. His ears twitched something akin to guilt curled in his stomach.

Had he done this? To a village of innocent traders?

“Did I..?”

“You lost control I’m afraid.”

“I- that’s impossible, I was doing so well I had control-”

“Technoblade!” A voice called out pushing past XD, an older gentleman with messy blonde hair a bucket hat. “You’re alright!- Who the hell are all of you?” The man seemed to realize they weren’t alone and his eyes locked onto yours. “(Y/n)?”

“Philza Minecraft. Long time no see,” You hummed a smile spreading across your lips, “Kristin says hello.”

Phil’s entire face flushed to the tips of his ears and he coughed nervously, “Er...tell her the same and that I miss her.”

“I will,” You gave a little bow of your head, “Is Technoblade your son?”

“More like an old friend, but I see him as such.”

“Shut up old man,” Technoblade grumbled sitting up on his knees without you to support him.

“I didn’t realize you were the Blood God,” Phil continued dropping by Technoblade’s side the old man was missing a few of his flight feathers. A large cut was gouged into his shoulder, that was it that was the trigger, something must’ve hurt Phil and caused the halfling to snap.

“That seems to be a common theme,” You frowned a little with a gentle sigh, you tried to glance at your brother, but XD had long since disappeared from the doorway. Most likely because he was bored and wanting to go bother Foolish, “Philza.” You declared as Technoblade glanced over at you through hooded eyes, “Will you allow me to train and help your son."

“He’s not my dad-”

“Of course Goddess, whatever will help him stay in control.” You nodded your head at the consent, in a flash of light your entire appearance changed. You looked much more human, with a simple yet sophisticated outfit that fit the period

“Then let’s begin.”

~~~

The sun began to rise above the cliff where Technoblade had first summoned his Goddess. He took in a deep breath inward and then let the breath outwards after a few minutes of holding it. He sat criss-cross on the cliffside letting air into his lungs as he remembered the meditation techniques you had taught him many years ago. The voices were particularly antsy today but he had learned from the best how to control them, to quiet them down, talk, and reason with them.

‘The sun is rising. It’s very pretty, can we please just spill a little bit of blood?’

“No.” He murmured under his breath, “We get to see (Y/n) today. Don’t ruin this for me. We need her help.”

“They bothering you?” Your voice flowed through his head like butter, and warmth engulfed his entire being,

‘We are not! Come on, we love you! E!!!! Don’t be mean to us!’

“They said you’re being mean.”

“Am not,” You snorted wrapping your hands around the back of his neck and fell across his broad shoulders. Surprisingly the goddess’s touch comforted him, while others’ touches felt like fire, yours was pleasant. “Just want to make sure my prodigy is safe and in control,”

“I am thanks to your lessons.”

“Good, now. You said you wanted to talk to me about something important. Do tell, I’m very curious. It’s not like you to keep secrets from me.” A feather-light kiss was placed on his cheek as you moved from behind him to the front, he adored you. The sunlit up your cheeks and framed your head like a halo, it was like everything on earth was made to make you look perfect.

“I have a predicament,” He tapped his nails on his knees as you hummed thoughtfully, “There’s a war brewing between the government of ‘New L’manburg’ and myself. The government killed Wilbur, drove him so mad that Phil had to kill him to stop his nonsense.”

“I remember that,” You said with a stern nod, “there was a lot of blood spilled that day.” The people who fought in the war lost a lot of lives and you remembered it vividly, XD watched the battle with you from above, you wanted to keep an eye on Technoblade. When the battle was over and his allies betrayed him it took all of your willpower to not go down there and kill them all where they stood.

No one touches your prodigy.

XD had to physically hold your powers away from you, it was the closest you’ve come to losing control of since you were a young Goddess.

When Technoblade escaped to the Tundra that’s when you appeared in front of him, giving him a bone-crushing hug. He grunted at the unfamiliar body but there was only one person that he knew of who could appear out of nowhere and that was his Goddess. You remembered him apologizing to you, fearing you’d be mad at him for failing to kill all those who opposed you and him. You shut him up with a searing kiss, he was dizzy as you pulled away,

“Don’t scare me like that again.”

“I won’t,” he murmured still recovering from the shock of the kiss, recovering from how much he enjoyed feeling your lips press against his own. “I won’t disappoint you again,”

“You better not.” You cupped his cold cheek with your hand, he nuzzled into it, “You have so much more to give.” Technoblade gave a stern nod as the voices urge him to kiss your forehead, and he listened. “My strong prodigy,” you recalled how he shivered at your words “Are you mine?”

“Only if you’re mine in return.”

“I can live with that.”

His big hand cupped your cheek and you snapped your attention back to the mortal in front of you, you smiled and kissed one of the scars on his palm. Techno brushed his thumb across your cheek, the stars on your face left his fingers tingling. “I need your help, they tried to execute me and hurt Phil they need to be taught a permanent lesson. Please fight by my side,”

“Love, you know I’m not allowed to interfere with wars of mortals. My brother will demote me.”

“I know that,” Technoblade assured reaching out to squeeze your hand, “that’s not what I mean or what I want for you Goddess.” You raised an eyebrow and tilted your head,

“Explain,” consider your curiosity peaked.

“Grant me more of your power, fight through me, my dear.” Your eyes widened as his eyes flashed red,

“That’ll tear you apart, you will not be able to handle that.”

“I will.”

“Techno-”

“I trust you.”

Your lips dipped into a tight frown, “I don’t trust myself.” You admitted closing your eyes, “I’m called the Blood God for a reason Technoblade.”

“You’ve taught me how to keep control, I know you can as well darling. Please.”

“Fine,” You agreed after a while looking at the ground, “I’ll let my power flow through you on one condition. You only use it once when it’s life or death.”

“I promise you,” he leaned forward and kissed your lips causing you to purr happily. “I’ll only use it once just keep an ear out for when I call for you.”

“I will.”

The battle came much faster than Technoblade would’ve liked, he had Dream, Phil, and the dogs by his side. They would blow the government to smithereens and won’t stop until they hit bedrock. Above the clouds, he knew his Goddess was watching over them, there was no way they wouldn’t succeed. He felt the voices yearn for blood, yearn to serve and please their god, to wreck the entire governmental system. Dream told Technoblade and Phil their duties, which consisted of distracting the government with as many Withers as possible, so Dream could set up the canons. Technoblade could feel the buzzing in his skull knowing the voices were itching to set off the Withers and conquer. They gathered the wolves from underneath L’manburg and Technoblade ruffled their fur and gave them each some last-minute treats, he hated to think of that as a last meal for some of them, but that’s essentially what they were. As he made his way into the country Phil had squeezed his shoulder, a gesture meant to be affectionate in nature.

“Try not to die.”

“You too old man. You still have the totem I gave you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Good. Now let’s kick their asses,” Technoblade grinned viciously. He looked up into the swirling clouds in the sky, crows screaming overhead, “Watch over me, my goddess.” His head filled with warmth and he knew you were by his side like you promised you would be, Phil smiled over at Technoblade and looked to the sky as well.

‘Watch over him (y/n), Kristin,’ He thought getting into a position to release his Withers onto the world.

Technoblade followed suit, the citizens caught onto his presence almost immediately, ready to battle him with weapons drawn. Luckily the dogs took care of anyone who dared try to get a hit in, ripping apart any exposed flesh and spilling their blood on the ground. The dogs allowed him to set up two Withers and send them into the battle, exploding and targeting individuals in their line of sight. Technoblade escaped into a small area by a river and was suddenly attacked by Sapnap. The fire demon spawn’s eyes were alight with bloodlust, seemingly from slaughtering half of his pet wolves singlehandedly.

“Well, well, well, who do we have here?” Sapnap grinned swinging the sword in his hand, fire sparking from the horns on his head. Technoblade had no time for the cocky man’s small talk as he charged at him, he blocked the blow with ease, golden ring glinting in the fleeting light. “Not much of a talker huh? No matter,” Sapnap snickered, “I’ll be the one to take your first life.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Technoblade snorted pulling away to kick Sapnap in the chest, he stumbled back but he was known for his quick recovery time. He grunted a little and sent a trail of fire-spitting towards Technoblade’s feet. Technoblade was distracted by the fire and it allowed the demon to slice a deep cut into Technoblade’s chest, the man didn’t have time to block. He grits his teeth and felt blood seep across his chest, pain ricocheting through his body. The voices roared to kill the idiot, to get up and give him a severe wound back, but before he could he was kicked in the chest by Sapnap and fell to his back. The sword was pointed at his neck and it dug in just deep enough for a droplet of blood to bubble under the sword.

He was fucked.

‘Call her. Call (Y/n). Call the Blood God. Call our Blood God. Blood for the Blood God.’

“Any last words?”

“(Y/n) I need you.”

“Who the fuck-” A blaring light blinded Sapnap as he stumbled back, squinting his eyes he could barely make out Technoblade in front of him. Technoblade’s eyes blazed a scarlet red, the wound on his chest healing over rapidly like he just ate two god apples. That wasn’t the worst of it though, Sapnap stumbled back some more, above Technoblade’s head was a stunningly gorgeous woman. Her hands were cupping his head, red seeping from her fingers and licking at Techno’s head like flames. The Goddess’s eyes were closed as her hair floated around her head, framing her face beautiful, she was terrifying calm,

“What the fuck. Who the fuck?” His voice cracked watching the being open her sharp eyes, a bloodthirsty grin appeared on her lips. “Fuck, fuck!”

“Technoblade. Kill the idiot man, who dared to try and kill you. That is my command. Give Blood to your Blood God.”

Technoblade’s lips curled over his tusks, he was salivating, the voices were roaring. “Blood for the Blood God,”

He spoke and the last thing Sapnap saw was the shine off Technoblade’s blade, and the glowing eyes of the Goddess herself before the world around him went dark.

Technoblade was breathing heavily, the voices wanted more blood, he felt the pull from you as well, you wanted more blood spilled. Steam curled around his nose and he shook his head, ‘no. no more. Thank you.’ He licked the blood off his sword and the voices quieted, satisfied with the taste on his tongue.

“Stay safe,” Your voice echoed around the battlefield, some chose to ignore the booming voice of the female but others turned to look. Staring in awe at the sight of the goddess, many not knowing her origin or what she was but felt her power over the battlefield. “Don’t disappoint me,”

“You know I won’t.” He grinned blood staining his teeth, behind him an explosion rang out, Dream was ready with the TNT cannons. He heard a familiar cry from who he assumed Tommy and when he turned back to face you, you were gone.

They will forever know that Technoblade serves and is dating the Blood God.

~~~

Tag list: @iamsuchasimp, @victory-is-here, @pastelmoonwitche, @ignat1usaquar1us, @boiled-onionrings, @alovestruck-fool, @mack4676

#dreamsmp x reader #dreamsmp x you #dreamsmp x y/n #dsmp x reader #dsmp x you #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #mcyt x y/n #romance #fanfiction #fanfic #minecraft fanfiction #techno x y/n #techno x reader #techno x you #c!techno x reader #c!techno x you #c!techno x y/n #technoblade x reader #technoblade x you #technoblade x y/n #c!Techno x reader #oneshot #powerful reader #blood for the blood god #techno imagine #techno drabbles #technoblade imagines #technoblade drabbles #technoblade x reader imagines

[littlefreya]

Henry's reaction to finding out GF's house is haunted.

Summary: Henry’s friend invites him over to watch a horror film on Halloween, problem is he is madly in love with her.

Pairings: Henry Cavill x Unamed OFC (3rd person, no description)

Warnings: RPF, fluff, romantic goo, friends to lovers or rather idiots to lovers, brief mentions of alcohol and Henry’s green hoodie p0rn.  

Words: 1.6K

A/N: So I had to take it to the “friends to lovers” lane, also I will need all the fluff after what I am about to post tomorrow :|! Divider by @firefly-graphics. Beta’d by my beautiful @agniavateira​ . Also FYI my house is totally haunted.

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed. 

Haunted Houses

All Hallow's Eve was Henry’s favourite time of the year. The spicy autumn air was thickly shrouded by magic. Spooky tales and plastic spiders inhabited drapes of thin cotton tendrils and fat pumpkins carved with scary faces would sit on his doorstep to welcome him home or bid him farewell on his way out. 

Per tradition, he would rally close friends at midnight for a horror flick and pineapple-anchovy pizza; often a bottle of rum would be added to the party. However, this Halloween fell on a bittersweet period, as his friends grew too old for said spooky gatherings. Starting new families of their own, they had no time to indulge him.

All save for her, who just like him was still somehow single. 

How bad would it be to spend the evening just the two of them... alone? Ignoring the fact that it was enough to see her name flicker on the screen of his phone for pure warmth to enkindle in his chest. He thought about her often before he fell asleep and when he woke up; and by often, he meant every single day since he met her.

Though she didn’t think much of him as anything other than a friend she loved to banter with - he presumed. And of course she loved Kal, possibly more than she cared for him. Yet, Henry did what he did best: bury his emotions into a little pit he dug in the graveyard of his mind. 

"Heh!” Henry croaked as the door opened. His sapphires ensnared the veils of black that cloaked her, preserving the sight of silk laces tied tightly at her torso in what seemed like a gothic medieval gown. 

“I see you took off your costume for the evening." 

She narrowed her eyes but only to observe his attire carefully: that same green hoodie and a pair of worn jeans that complimented his… asset. 

She wanted to etch her fingers around the thick fabric and have a whiff of this hoodie, or perhaps just steal it and wear it forever and a day.

"First of all, it is called The Witching Hour so I must dress properly. Secondly - where is your costume, Cavill?" she crossed her arms together, looking rather displeased. 

“I’m dressed as a homicidal maniac, we look like everybody else does.” 

Snorting, she tilted her head, unimpressed. “You totally just stole this joke from Wednesday Addams.” 

Henry shrugged and pressed his lips to a thin line. One of his foolish expressive gestures. It made her feel less nervous to which she was thankful. When she suggested they’d hang out despite them being the only two, she didn’t think much of the consequences of being all alone with the man who inhabited her mind and never paid rent. Everything about Henry made her feverish, but it was always easy when others accompanied them. The awkward anxiety of having to entertain him wasn’t her job, not up till now… 

Oh, god! What if they had nothing to talk about? What if their playful chemistry was always influenced by the presence of other people?

Beads of sweat began to form below her breasts when Henry shoved a bottle of rum into her hand and then leaned in to steal a casual kiss from her cheek. She smiled with a friendly huff in return, stifling the shiver that coursed through her muscles while he welcomed himself into her home. 

Striding forward, he peered at the Halloween decorations she hung across the walls and inhaled deeply - the scent of maple and buttery chestnuts filled the cosy little house, a scent that he could easily get intoxicated with. 

It was what she smelled like and here he was, drowning in its excess.

After a quick observation, he turned to look at her, holding his hands clasped behind his back. She smiled awkwardly in return and then averted her gaze, becoming fascinated by the bottle he brought.

‘There it is,’ Henry mused, ‘that embarrassing silence, there is so much to tell her, but she probably… no! She definitely finds me boring.’

This Halloween celebration would probably be the last and it was all sorts of disastrous. 

Trying to overcome the silence, he cleared his throat and reached a hand to scratch his curly mane. “So what movie are we watching?”

“Movie?” she asked confused and then quickly corrected, “Oh yes, umm... The Exorcist.” 

“Good, love me some green vomit.” his eyes followed carefully as she waltzed into the small open kitchen, placing the rum on the counter and then returning with a large bowl that made his nostrils flare.

“Green vomit goes extremely well with caramelised popcorn,” she suggested and popped a golden flake of popcorn into her mouth. 

“Sweet-salty popcorn? I love you!” Henry groaned and snatched the bowl right away. It was only when his mouth was stuffed that he realised what words he just used. 

But she didn’t seem to react, thankfully. Instead, she brushed a hand over her many skirts and pointed toward the living room.

Hugging the bowl, Henry strode behind her, entering the dimly lit living room. The traditional pizza was already laid on the wooden coffee table, along with a few bottles of Guinness. 

Her couch was small, only fit for a couple. And Henry, being a hulking man, took most of the space. Their thighs immediately ground into one another’s, yet they both pretended as if they hadn't noticed the hot tingle running beneath the layers of clothing. 

“I have to warn you about something,” she uttered, hoping that the tremor she suddenly felt in her body was not visible to him. 

Henry crooked his eyebrow, looking at the ominous glare she offered.

“My house is totally haunted.”  

Not waiting for his answer, she grabbed the remote and pressed play. Henry chuckled at her silly joke, waiting for her to break character but she only peered at the screen.

“Nice try, I am not scared of that stuff.” He shifted in his seat slightly, lifting his lengthy arm and spreading it on the headrest right behind her. Immediately, he regretted this semi-possessive masculine gesture, but it was too late to pull it away. 

Her instincts screamed to snuggle into him yet she held back. “Don’t believe me, but I am not making this up,” she insisted, “Every night around 3 am, I hear scratching from within the walls and these thuds from the ceiling, and then one night… I woke up the door creaking.”

Henry glanced at her quietly for a long moment, watching the reflection from the screen gyrating over her glossy irises and then snorted. He leaned toward the coffee table and grabbed two beers, uncorking them with the help of his pinky ring and then offering her one of the bottles. 

“I think you have rats.”

“Rats who make heavy thuds and open bedroom doors?”

“Yup, a big fat randy rat.” he teased. “We’ll take a look at your bedroom later, but I promise you, there are no such things as ghosts.”

‘We’ll take a look in your bedroom? Great…’ He berated himself. At this point, he just wanted to sigh and shake his head. 

She peered at him oddly, her throat clenching a tad before she turned her head back to the movie with a mumble, “It’s not a ghost, it’s a demon.” 

Within a few minutes they grew quiet, deciding to focus on the movie with the occasional dry jokes and bad puns from Henry as an attempt to overcome his anxiety. Outside the window, thunder rumbled in the distance and shy raindrops lightly kissed the glass, tinted with the many vague shades of lights coming from the street. 

Now and then, Henry shifted in his seat, his meaty thigh further grinding into her leg which stirred her blood to the point of electric spasms. She lightly pushed against him, pretending it’s by accident when truthfully, she wanted to exploit every second of being in his proximity. Had she any guts, she would turn to kiss him, but the thought alone made her heart clench in fear.

She threw him a glance, and their eyes met. Henry offered a kind grin, avoiding staring at her lips. She smiled back coyly, her heartbeat accelerating with anticipation when the possessed girl in the movie made a horrifying groan that ruined the moment. 

And then the room suddenly was swallowed in darkness, followed by a strong clap of thunder that tore open the sky.  

In the scant moment of chaos, he heard a scream and then the light came back as if nothing happened, aside from the fact that she was now in his arms, with her legs straddling his waist, and her fingers clutching the collar of his hoodie. 

Henry was unsure how and when his hand found itself latched to the small of her back, only that he didn’t want to let go. They exchanged bemused glances and swallowed the dryness parching their throats.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely, “I got scared…”

Embarrassed to the point of tears, she attempted to climb off, wanting nothing more than to run to the bathroom and cry in hiding, when Henry sent a hand to stroke her temple and gently brushed his fingers behind her ear.

“Stay,” he insisted, squeezing into her lower back as if to prevent her from escaping. 

Her lips parted slowly, the same golden hue that suffused the living room split into her eyes, beaming even brighter as he continued to caress her face before bringing her closer to graze her lips with his.

Halloween was, without a doubt, his favourite. 

Tagging: @the-soot-sprite​ @henrythickcavill​ because they asked to be tagged in these. <3 

#henry cavill #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x ofc

[cloudybarnes]

the reveal

Pairing: peter parker x bestfriend!reader

Summary: after years of being friends, y/n wants to tell peter just how she feels. the night she decides to tell him, she walks in on him in his spider-man suit and suddenly second guesses if it’s the right time

Word Count: 2.7k+

Warnings: one curse word 

A/N: added in some platonic interactions with ned and y/n cause why not :)

Masterlist

✰  ✰  ✰ 

“I think I just failed our math test.” You huffed as you dropped your lunch tray onto the table. 

Peter and Ned left an open spot between them for you to squeeze into. 

“Honestly, I don’t see how you could have failed this test, (Y/N).” Peter chuckled.

“Yeah,” Ned agreed, “if you think you failed this test, then I don’t even want to know what I got.”

That made you laugh. “Okay, maybe not failed, but definitely not my best. I feel like I know what we’re learning, but it’s hard to do on paper, you know?”

Peter nodded his head. 

“Whatever,” you chuckled, “let’s talk about something else. What are we doing after school?”

Peter whipped his head to you, “we had after school plans?”

“Well not exactly, but it’s Friday so I thought we could do something fun.”

Ned agreed, “Yeah, plus we haven’t all hung out in a while.”

Peter sighed, “Guys, I have that Stark thing tonight remember? I can’t just abandon my internship.”

You pout and poke Peter’s arm, “but all you ever do now is go to your internship. It’s like Ned and I don’t even see you anymore, Pete.”

“She’s right. You were so busy last weekend, (Y/N) and I had to go to the opening of her sister’s dance recital all by ourselves.”

“I mean, I understand why he didn’t want to go to that one. It was a nightmare.” You chuckled. 

Peter sighed, “Listen, I’m really sorry I’ve missed a lot. I’ll make it up to you guys, I promise.”

“So... tonight?” You asked hopefully. “I swear, we will make it worth the time of the all mighty Peter Parker.” You teased as you bumped your shoulder with Peter’s.

He nervously chuckled, “Y-yeah! Okay, um, yeah, tonight.”

You giggled, noticing a new warmth to his cheeks. “So, what time do you get done?”

“Get done?” He repeated.

“You know, your internship.” Ned reminded him.

Peter gasped, “Oh, right! Right, my internship. Um, actually it might be late, are you sure you want to do it tonight?”

You shrugged, “It’s the weekend, I’m sure my parents won’t mind. Please Peter, we haven’t hung out in forever! The internship is eating up your social life!” You chuckled.

Ned gasped, “oh my god, we should totally have a sleepover at Peter’s tonight! I can bring some comics and movies for us.”

You cheered, “Yes! That would be so fun!” You noticed Peter looked a little awkward from the conversation. “Unless, you just don’t want to hang out, which is totally okay! Ned and I could always ju-”

“No!” Peter yelled.

He looked around the cafeteria, embarrassed. He cleared his throat. “I-I mean, no, I do want to hang out with you guys tonight. I think I should be getting back around ten, so you guys can come to my place.”

Ned gasped, “Peter, you work that late and you’re not even getting paid?”

He chuckled nervously, “well, yeah. I just really like working for Mr. Stark, so I don’t mind it.” Peter wiggled around awkwardly, almost like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Peter’s hand rested on his leg, and you placed yours on top of his. He looked up at you, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. 

You gave his hand a squeeze. “Peter, you’re my best friend. I can see how you’re acting right now. If you don’t want to hang out tonight, that’s totally understandable. We get how important this is to you, and we wouldn’t want to get in the way of your opportunity.”

Peter’s face softened into one with a smile. He squeezed your hand back, “thanks (Y/N), that means a lot. I do want to hang out with you guys, though. We’re going to have a sleepover at my place tonight, and it’ll be fun. I promise.”

Peter cleared his throat, and stood up. “I’ll be right back, I’m just going to use the bathroom real quick.”

Once Peter left, Ned started to chuckle. 

You turned to him and smiled, “what’s so funny?”

“What’s funny is how obvious it is that you have a thing for Peter.”

You giggled, “come on Ned, no I don’t.”

Ned shook his head and grinned at you, “I know you do; I just know these things. The way the two of you look at each other is like you’re in some rom com.”

You groan, “okay fine, I do like Peter. And I’m only telling you this because your my best friend, not because I want you to tell him!”

Ned scoffed, “please, of course I’m not going to tell Peter. You should be the one to do it.”

You smiled and lightly pushed his shoulder with your own. “Thanks, Ned. Also, don’t make anything awkward now that you know, okay? Peter will definitely know something is up.”

Ned made an ‘x’ over his chest. “Cross my heart!”

You look away from Ned just in time to see Peter walking back into the cafeteria. He takes his seat next to you and gives you a smile.

“Oh Peter!” Ned said, “I forgot that I have plans tonight already. My mom wanted me to try out this new yoga video with her. She thinks it’ll be a nice way to relax and release tension.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Peter nodded, “we can always hang out some other time.”

“Oh!” Ned gasped, “Well, (Y/N)’s still free tonight. The two of you can have that sleepover still. I’ll lend you my comics.”

“Yeah! That-that sounds cool.” Peter looked at you and smiled, “I’m down if you are.”

You grinned, “Totally! I’ll never turn down the chance to hang out with you.”

Peter blushed at that. 

You smiled at Ned, “Sorry you can’t come! We’ll miss you tonight.” You winked.

Ned chuckled a little, “It’s okay, there’s always next time.”

The bell that signaled lunch was over rang. The three of you stood up.

“Okay, well I’ll talk to you guys later!” You smiled. “See you tonight, Peter.”

He shyly smiled, “yeah, see you tonight.”

✰  ✰  ✰

“I think I’m going to do it tonight.”

School had finished without any excitement other than yours for tonight. You had already eaten dinner, and as the time drew closer to ten, you grew anxious.

You were dramatically sprawled out on your bed, with your phone on FaceTime with Ned. 

His eyes got wide, “Oh. My. God. You’re crazy.”

You quickly sat up, worried now. “Is that actually crazy? Cause I don’t have to; I mean, it might make things weird.”

Ned chuckled. “No, I meant like, crazy as in you’re a bad-ass. I think tonight is the perfect opportunity to tell Peter you like him; and I’m not just saying that because I gave up spending time with you guys so this could happen.”

You rolled your eyes and stood up, walking over to your closet. “I think I’m just going to wear some sweatpants and a comfy top since it’s supposed to be a sleepover. Or do you think I should wear something nicer since I’m going to be telling him I like him?”

Ned shakes his head. “Definitely the sweatpants. If he doesn’t like you in your comfy look, he doesn’t deserve you in your dazzling look.”

You giggled, “you’re right, thanks Ned.”

“I’m here to help. Let me know how things go between you two. I think things will work out like you want.”

You smiled, “I’ll call you tomorrow! Bye, Ned.”

“See ya.”

You hung up the phone, and put your comfortable clothes on. Your bag was already packed with your overnight gear all ready to go.

You picked it up, and slung the bag over your shoulder.

“Mom, dad! I’m headed out to Peter’s now, love you!”

You parents said their goodbye’s, and you were on your way to Peter’s.

The trip was very short; Peter and you lived only a short distance from one another.

Once you were at his front door, you knocked and were greeted by his Aunt May.

“(Y/N)! Oh my gosh, it’s been too long since you’ve been over!” She grinned, pulling you into a tight hug.

Since you and Peter were always so close, May thought of you as a daughter.

“Hi May! It’s great to see you again. Is Peter back from his internship yet? I know I’m a few minutes early.”

She ushered you inside and shut the door. “No, I don’t think Peter’s back yet. I just got out of the shower so he may have snuck in while I was in there. You can wait in his room if you’d like, Peter won’t mind.”

You smiled, “Okay, thank you May.”

You started to walk down the hall into Peter’s room before May stopped you.”Oh, and (Y/N)?”

You turned around, “yeah?”

May softly smiled at you, “don’t be nervous, dear. I’m sure things will work out.”

You lightly laughed, “how did you know?”

She just shrugged with a playful smile.

You grinned, “I’ll try my best, May. Wish me luck!”

You turned back, and headed for Peter’s room.

In your mind, you were trying to plan out exactly what you were going to say to him, and when. You were thinking about waiting a little bit before dumping all of your emotions onto him. Or you’d do it as soon as you saw him just to get it off your chest once and for all.

As you pushed Peter’s bedroom door open, you saw something you never thought you’d witness. Peter was standing, back towards you in the Spider-Man suit. 

When he heard his door creak open, Peter rapidly spun around. His eyes were wide, and his mouth agape. He looked scared and extremely caught off guard that you had just seen him in his outfit.

“Oh, my god.” Is all you could manage.

You stared at Peter with the widest eyes he’d ever seen. Your mouth gobbled open and shut like a fish out of water; you couldn’t find any words to say to him.

He rushed over and pulled you into his room, frantically shutting the door behind you.

“(Y/N)! I didn’t expect you to be here so early.” Peter’s heart was racing. “It’s not what it looks like, I promise.”

You lightly shook your head, “I think it’s exactly what it looks like.” 

You walked around him in a circle like a vulture stalking its prey. “You’re Spider-Man, aren’t you?”

Peter’s mouth opened, then shut as soon as it did, trying to come up with a response to you. When he couldn’t think of anything, he sighed. “Yeah, I’m Spider-Man.”

You gasped. Peter honestly could have told you he was just playing dress up as Spider-Man and you would have believed him, but here he is admitting to being the superhero that had been around the city.

“That is so crazy, Peter!” You grinned. “Oh, my god, I’m friends with Spider-Man!” 

Your face fell, “oh, my god, I’m friends with Spider-Man.” Oh, no. Why did Peter have to reveal himself as Spider-Man tonight of all nights! 

You were freaking out, now. You didn’t want Peter to think you only liked him now that you knew he was Spider-Man! You wanted him to know you liked him for himself, as Peter.

“(Y/N)? Are you alright? I know this can be a lot to take in, but I need you to listen to me.” His eyes were desperate as he tried to talk to you.

You nodded your head and gave him your full attention. “Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry, this just caught me off guard is all.”

He nodded his head, and placed a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to tell anyone, especially not like this.”

“So I’m the only one that knows?”

“Well, Mr. Stark knows cause he’s the one that gave me this upgraded suit, but yeah. You’re the only other one.”

“Oh, man. This is crazy.”

“You can’t tell anyone, (Y/N), please. If people find out, things will change for me, and I like my life how it is. I didn’t want to tell anyone because the more people that know, the more people there are that could be in danger.”

You nodded your head, and smiled at him, “Don’t worry, Pete, your secret is safe with me.”

Peter let out a relieved sigh, “I knew I could trust you. Sorry you had to find out this way, though.”

Peter presses a button on his chest that released his suit, leaving him in only his boxers.

You face heated up as you scanned you eyes over his toned chest. “Oh my god.” You quickly spun around to not face him once you realized what you were doing.”

Peter’s cheeks were hot as well. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking when I did that.”

You heard some shuffling around as Peter got changed. 

“You can turn around now.”

You do, and see that Peter is in sweatpants and a sweatshirt with his suit hung up in his closet.

He sat on his bed, and motioned you to sit as well.

You do so, and play with your fingers a little bit, now uncertain if it’s a good time to tell him how you feel. 

“Hey,” Peter said as he grabbed you hand, stopping your nervous fiddling, “talk to me. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, and it’s freaking me out a little.” He nervously chuckled.

You gently smiled and started to mess with his fingers. “I think it’s really cool what you’re doing for the city. I think you’re really brave for all of this.”

Peter smiled at you, “yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m just worried that you could get hurt from this. You know I care about you, right?” You nervously added.

Peter nodded his head with a smile, “I know you care. I promise, I’m being careful out there, don’t worry.”

You lightly smiled, and looked down at your interlocked fingers.

“So, Ned told me something earlier.”

Your head quickly perked up at that. “Oh, did he?”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, “yeah, he told me to make sure you tell me the thing you were going to tell me.” He sounded confused. “I don’t really know what he means by that, but he wanted me to make sure you don’t chicken out of it.”

You sighed. “Well, I was going to tell you something, but I don’t know if it’s the right time because of your whole... reveal.” 

“Oh, well I’ll still care about what you have to say. Just because you know I’m Spider-Man, doesn’t mean I’m not still Peter.”

You looked up at him and smiled. “Yeah, you’re still Peter.”

He chuckled, and you took in a breath, trying to calm yourself down.

“Well, I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while now, and I didn’t really know when a good time would be since you’re always at your internship or we’re hanging out with Ned as well. Not that I don’t like hanging out with Ned! I do, it’s just-”

Peter cut off your rambling by grabbing your face and pressing his lips to yours. You were stunned, to say the least. Peter’s lips were soft and gentle against yours. He made no move to escalate things; it was like all he wanted to do was feel your lips against his.

You finally kissed him back, and brought one of your hands to the side of his face. You rubbed your thumb along his cheek as you kissed, loving the feeling of being so close to him.

When you couldn’t take anymore, you pulled back and took a breath of air. 

Looking at Peter like this was something you had only dreamed of. His lips were red and puffy from your kiss, and his eyes gleamed with excitement. You could only imagine how you looked.

“Was that what you were trying to tell me?” He cheekily remarked.

You giggled, “that was exactly what I was trying to tell you.” 

“Good,” he grinned, “because I really like you, (Y/N), I have for a while now.”

You let out a chuckle, “it’s a good thing I’ve liked you for some time as well.”

Peter bit his lip to try to stop himself from smiling so much. He grabbed your hand and laced your fingers together.

“So, does that mean you’d want to go out with me sometime?” Peter asked, hopefully.

You pretended to think for a minute, then giggled. “Yeah, I’d love to go out with you sometime, but right now I just want to spend our night together like we planned.”

You leaned in closer to Peter, gently pulling him in by the collar of his shirt. 

“I like the sound of that.” Peter gently said, right before you placed your lips on his. 

You have so much to tell Ned tomorrow.

#aaaaaahhhh #writing peter fics makes me soft #also #only proof read once!! sorry if there are mistakes #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker x bestfriend!reader #avengers x reader #avengers #marvel #mcu #marvel x reader #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland #fluff #captain america #steve rodgers x reader #Steve Rogers #Iron Man #tony stark #thor #loki #loki laufeyson #thor odinson #peter parker imagine

[dancingamongstdust]

Creepypasta Scenarios - First Meeting Part 2

Hoodie

The area where you lived had a ton of back alleyways that acted as shortcuts in a pinch. They were generally safe but you often got an uncomfortable feeling when using them so you preferred to take the busier roads if you could.

Unfortunately, when you had gone to leave work that day, you had spotted the customer who had been harassing you the entire day. It wasn’t anything creepy but it was over-the-top persistent and you weren’t in the mood to deal with it. You slipped out the backdoor as a result. At least you’d get home sooner.

For the most part, you didn’t encounter anything too suspicious and the light from the streets illuminated where you were going.

The large bins outside the grocer’s home indicated that you were getting close. You sped up and rubbed your eyes blearily.

Ahead of you, a dog was barking from inside one of the buildings. It was a pretty noisy animal and you began peering around to see what the source of its agitation was. Ironically, you ended up bumping directly into him.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised, rubbing your shoulder.

The guy was tall, wearing dark clothing and standing right in the shadows. You could have probably noticed him if you were a little more awake.

He turned and your breath caught.

His face was obscured by a dark mask with red features stitched onto it. His hoodie which originally seemed dark was now illuminated into a soft yellow or orange, stained with a dark substance.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. His voice crackled out, clearly coming through a voice changer of some kind.

“I – I was just taking a shortcut home. I live near here so I thought… I really didn’t mean to bump into you. I’m super tired.”

“Tired or not, you shouldn’t have seen me,” the guy said. “Do you have a phone or a camera?”

Slowly, you reached into your bag and pulled out your phone. “I don’t have any cash in my wallet –“

“I don’t want your money!” he snapped. “I’m not some petty thief, believe me, I have better things to do with me time. Unlock this.”

You did so and he went through it with a gloved hand. He didn’t have a weapon but something in your gut warned you to just go along with it. Nobody covered up everything, including their voice, when they were up to something good. This guy may not be a thief… but the alternative didn’t feel too much better.

He shoved your phone back at you. “Get out of here and don’t breathe a word of this to anybody. Consider yourself lucky that I’m in a good mood today.”

You swallowed nervously. “Thank you?”

“I’m serious,” he warned. “I can let you go just because you seem pathetic enough to not take this to the police but unless you want to catch a bullet in your back, you’ll keep quiet. My boss doesn’t like people getting involved with this nonsense.”

“A bullet?”

He didn’t answer and your heart thundered in your chest. Part of you wondered if he was going to kill you while you ran away but his attention seemed to have moved away from you. You hurried away, holding your breath the entire time. Every time you glanced over your shoulder, the guy remained unmoving.

When you reached your home, you locked the door tightly and slumped against it in exhaustion.

Homicidal Liu

The sunset was beautiful over the graveyard – the only beauty to an otherwise morbid place.

You stared at the purples and oranges dancing across the sky. The wreath pricked at your hands after a while and you stared down at it. Why did you still bother with bringing flowers? Hadn’t it been long enough? Still, you made your way down to the grave and placed them there, not even bothering to read the name on there.

Lately, your graveyard visits had becoming fewer and fewer. Time hadn’t been on your side recently and thus, your precious solitude had to suffer. You relished in the way that nobody really bothered you here.

An orange glow warned you when the streetlights came on. Perhaps you had been there for longer than you thought but this was to be your last visit.

Better to make it count.

Something caught in the wind made you raise your head. A piece of fabric was stuck in the nearby fence, identifiable as a scarf when you ventured closer.

You took it from the fence and looked around for its owner. Nobody was in view… maybe it had been blown off one of the graves? It did seem homemade.

Guessing, you began to place it on a grave when a voice startled you.

“I’m sorry to bother but I think you have my scarf?”

The man was standing far too close for you to have not seen him when you were glancing around but you blamed that on your night vision. He wore dark clothing and seemed awkward just to be speaking to you.

“Thank goodness,” you said. “I was just going to leave it on one of the graves because I didn’t know who it belonged to.”

He thanked you for it, wrapping it around the lower half of his face almost immediately. “That would be a waste,” he said. “Especially to leave it on this one. Thank you for grabbing it.”

A harsh wind blew through the graveyard, carrying with it the smell of an incoming storm. He grabbed his scarf just in time to prevent it from going flying away again.

“Seems like the weather is determined to steal it from you.”

“Far more powerful things have tried.”

You buried yourself further into your jacket and smiled. “I haven’t seen you around before, are you new in town or just coming to visit a new grave?”

“I’m not visiting a grave,” he admitted. “I just thought that this would be the way back to my house… I grew up in this town but only recently moved back and I’m already lost. It’s a little embarrassing if I’m honest.”

“Well, I like to know everybody,” you said. “What’s your name?”

“Su – I mean, Liu,” he said. “Liu. Sorry, I nearly gave you my surname.”

You laughed. “Oh that’s no problem. It’s nice to meet you but I really like your name. Is it Chinese?”

“I don’t know,” he said. He looked around and began walking away. “I really have to go. Thank you for getting my scarf and all that.”

“I’ll see you around,” you said with a wave.

It was only later when you realised how suspicious that entire interaction was. You had never seen Liu before in your life and he was just hanging around in the graveyard? He hadn’t seemed too creepy at least. Maybe you would see more of him in the coming days.

Jane the Killer

It wasn’t that you were unobservant or inattentive toward girls but nobody had really caught your eye until Jane.

She was stunning in a way that few people could ever match with dark hair that tumbled past her hips and soulful eyes. Her walk was always confident, her smile always perfect, and her attention always desirable. Your main regret about life was that you didn’t speak to her sooner – especially when you thought back on what happened not too long after your first meeting.

You organised with your friends to somehow bump into her but instead, you wound up getting treated for a pretty painful bruised hip. Your second plan didn’t work out either and your third never even left the drawing board.

“Just go up to her and say hi. Tell her that she’s beautiful,” your friend encouraged. “She’ll say thanks and then you’ll be able to talk to her.”

“That’s so boring though,” you said. “It’s not like something out of a romance novel.”

Your friend groaned and stood up. “Well, I’m going home. We have like three months left of high school and I’m not going to spend that time obsessing over how to speak to a girl. She’s literally a regular person.”

They were right and you knew that. No matter how you tried to set up a sweeping romance, it probably wouldn’t work out.

So you tried.

And you tried.

Two weeks later, you were about to give up on mimicking a romance novel and it appeared that your friend was thinking the same thing. She grabbed your arm and began to drag you somewhere, muttering about changing the topic. You had a vague idea of where you were going but you didn’t fight too much.

“What if she’s still dating that Woods boy?” you asked. “The older one.”

“They broke up after literally a month of dating. I don’t blame her – those Woods boys are pretty enough but the older one has something seriously wrong with him. And the younger one is always talking to himself…”

“I really don’t care about the Woods’,” you commented.

“No, you care about Jane who is honestly quite weird as well,” they said. “But that is going to be your problem and not mine.”

They dragged you directly up to her group. It wasn’t large – despite Jane’s beauty, she wasn’t incredibly popular due to her associations. Your friend wasn’t the only one who was a little scared of the Woods boys and Jane had hung out with them for quite a while.

“Hey,” your friend said before even letting you go. “You have no idea who we are but my friend here has a massive crush on you. Could you please just say hi so they can get it out of their system?”

You were sure that it was unhealthy to be as red as you were. It felt like your heart was about to leap from your chest.

Jane laughed, a soft and gentle sound. “I’m not really interested in a relationship,” she hummed. “But thank you. That’s very flattering.”

Somehow, your heart sped up still and you awkwardly rubbed your arm. “No problem?”

“Why don’t you join us for a little bit?” Jane offered. “Just because I don’t want to date anybody doesn’t mean that we can’t become friends. You look like my kind of person.”

You stumbled over your words but somehow, your conversation managed to go extremely well. Jane was brilliant in every possible way and you quickly grew attached to seeing her every day. That was why you mourned so greatly when she died.

Jason the Toymaker

The sun was so warm against your skin. You could stay there forever, stretched out on the grass and basking in the sunlight.

“It’s done,” your friend’s voice broke through your daydreaming

You opened your eyes and rolled over to see exactly what they had been working on for the entire trip. After realising the first few times that you weren’t going to get a reaction, you had decided to wait for them to finish working before you tried to have a conversation.

“I didn’t know you could draw,” you said. “That’s amazing.”

The hyper-realistic man was sketched to perfection with a top hat, a fur coat, and a small mouse sitting on his left shoulder. It felt like his eyes could piece into your soul.

“Who is that?” you asked them.

They stared blankly at the image and shook their head. “I don’t know,” they said. “He’s been in my dreams for so long. I think it has something to do with my amnesia. Maybe I knew him once before.”

“He’s a little intimidating,” you said. “I could imagine him to be a ringleader in a circus that’s like a secret cult. Maybe he’s why you lost your memory.”

“Maybe…” they said, tapping the picture. They suddenly shoved it into your chest and stood up. “You keep that. I don’t want it anywhere near me. I need to go talk to my parents.”

You watched them race out of the park in confusion. The man in the picture stared up at you with haunting eyes.

Folding it in half so it didn’t freak you out, you stood and dusted off your clothing. Maybe it would be best if you headed home. It was getting late either way.

Later on, you’d call your friend and check up on them.

About 10 minutes away from your house, the feeling of being watched snuck up on you. It hung heavily around your shoulders like a cloak. You glanced around but saw nobody.

Still, you didn’t feel comfortable leading whoever was following you back to your house. You made a point of walking amongst large crowds and headed for the police station.

They were watching you the whole way.

You sped up. A few people bumped into you and you apologised as best as you could. Your grip on the picture was getting tighter enough for you to tear it. The later it got, the fewer people were on the streets and so you were pretty much alone when you bumped into him.

It took you a few seconds to recognise the man from the drawing.

If you thought his drawn eyes were captivating, they had nothing on his real ones which glowed with an almost ethereal light.

“You’re him,” you breathed.

He stared at you, smile falling from his face in confusion. “Who?”

You shakily held out the drawing and he yanked it from your hands. “My friend drew that,” you explained. “They said that its of somebody from their past. They have amnesia you see.”

He was unmoving as he studied the picture. You began feeling a little uncomfortable and then his gaze snapped to you. “Is that so?” he asked.

You nodded and took a small step away from him. “Maybe you should go and talk to them? See –“ you swallowed nervously. “See if you can help them remember?”

“No need,” he said, dropping the paper on the ground. “Who are you?”

Your name came out as little more than a soft whisper. Something about the entire scenario made you uneasy. His appearance was too unnatural.

A gust of wind came by, picking up the drawing and whipping it away. You watched it go and when you looked back down, his eyes were locked on you.

“Such a pity,” he said. “You would have been the perfect doll.”

Wearily, you took a step backwards. His words made your stomach churn uneasily. “What are you talking about?”

He smiled. It was kind and warm but it only made you more nervous. His eyes looked like they had almost changed colour; shifted a shade darker than previously. “Thinking aloud my dear,” he said.

“About dolls?” you asked.

He tilted his head a little towards you. “I’m going to have to bid you goodbye. It seems I have other matters to attend to.” He brushed past you, stopping briefly when directly next to you. “Consider yourself lucky.”

He was gone before you could even spin around to face him.

Jeff the Killer

Pausing the song, you removed your earphones as quietly as possible and placed them down on your desk. According to the blinking numbers on your phone screen, it was nearing 2 AM. Far too late for anybody to make an excess of noise.

You listened closely. The music had been too loud for you to hear anything and you almost brushed the strange noise off as your sleep-deprived imagination. Until something squeaked like shoe soles on tiles.

In retrospect, you should have immediately called 911 but you didn’t want to sound a false alarm.

The light switch was thankfully directly outside your room. The hall illuminated most of the house when they were on and it steeled your nerves. Your roommate’s door was open, allowing you to confirm their sleeping state, curled up in their bed amongst the piles of mess. They had had to move to the spare room due to a faulty window earlier in the day and had clearly given up sorting items.

You glanced into the apartment’s other rooms before heading to the kitchen. There was nothing odd. The scuttling when you entered the kitchen just suggested that your neighbour’s rat infestation may be migrating.

Making a mental note to call the exterminator, you turned to switch off the kitchen light.

Something slammed into you, forcing your back to collide with a wall. A hand covered your mouth and the overwhelming scent of blood and decay invaded your nose. Something cold and sharp pressed against your neck.

“Shut up and stay still,” the man snarled at you. “I don’t think anybody will appreciate you getting blood in the kitchen.”

Your heart leapt into your throat and your body stilled. The man in front of you was terrifying. His skin pale and mutilated. Eyes far too wide for a normal person and dancing with an insanity that sent chills down your spine.

And his mouth… a bloody smile carved across his face, stretching halfway to his ears.

He studied your face carefully and his expression twisted. “You’re not the right one,” he snapped. The knife moved away from your neck, so he could point with it. “I had this all planned and yet when I came into that room, I found it empty. Why?”

Even if he hadn’t been holding your mouth shut, you doubted you would have been able to formulate an answer. The pounding heartbeat in your ears was nearly blocking out his voice.

He lightly tapped your cheek with his knife. “Not that it matters,” he said. “I’ll just have to adapt my original plan. You’re not the right target but I’m a huge fan of collateral damage.”

A small whimper escaped you and tears welled at your eyes. You didn’t want to die.

“Don’t blubber!” he ordered. “View it as a good thing. You’ll be all over the news. Another victim of Jeff the Killer. Hell, you might even be added to a Wikipedia page or something.”

You could recall that name from the news. Often followed by a lengthy list of deaths and the police chief begging for any information about the murderer.

Jeff stared at you for a long minute before he pressed the knife’s blade to your throat and moved his hand away from your mouth. “Scream and I will remove your vocal cords,” he threatened. “Who are you?”

It took several deep breaths and a flicker of impatience in his expression to give you the ability to talk again. You stammered out your full name as quickly as you possibly could.

He rolled his eyes and tilted the knife so it scratched your skin. A sticky and warm substance ran down your throat in small droplets. “Pathetic.”

“Sorry,” you whispered on instinct. “Please don’t kill me.”

“Why not?” he asked. “You ruined my earlier plans to take out my original target by interrupting me before I could find them. Why shouldn’t I settle for you instead?”

You didn’t have an answer.

He took the blade away from your throat. “If you call the police and report what happened here tonight, I will slice you into little pieces.”

It was almost twenty minutes after he left before you regained any movement in your body. You slumped into a heap on the kitchen floor and started sobbing.

Kagekao

Things had been going missing around your house.

Initially, you had thought it was just due to you forgetting where you’d plopped things because it was simple things. Drinks that vanished, keys turning up on the opposite side of the house, and random spills that you didn’t remember making.

But then it started getting weirder still.

You would make food and pack it away, knowing that you would eat it later, and find it gone. Picture frames disappeared, never to be seen again. Your rug half-unraveled during the night and you found it in a pile the next morning. A candle in your bathroom fell over and, somehow, the curtains on the other side of the house had caught alight.

It was suspicious, to say the very least. You began to think that you had some kind of intruder – once, the news reported that a woman found a homeless man living in her attic and eating her food when she wasn’t looking.

So you went out and bought cameras, setting them up throughout your house.

For two weeks, they caught nothing until one of them ended up breaking. You went to get it repaired and the company managed to recover what it had last seen. Which was nothing on your first glance.

But you were soon to realise, that was only because you had been looking at the floor.

While you were rewatching when you got home, you noticed something. The window was sitting wide open and the camera’s angle only allowed you to see half of it. Right toward the end of the feed, a gloved hand appeared on the side of the window and a slight shadow indicated something climbing through.

So you got reinforced windows and made sure that none were open unless you were in the room.

Things still continued happening.

You were beginning to get really annoyed by this. It was tempting to go to the police and let them just handle it but that was going to be a lot of effort that you really didn’t care for. You didn’t feel like you were in much danger. Nothing had happened in your bedroom.

Your next plan was to set up a trap of some kind. With a hidden camera set up, you made extra food and left it on the counter to see if something happened.

The next day, you watched as a plastic toy of some kind was thrown directly into the plate from somewhere off-camera, breaking it and leaving an absolute mess everywhere.

Still not considering it to be anything dangerous, you just cleaned up the mess and loudly cursed out anybody who was listening. You stalked the house after that, searching every nook and cranny with a bat in hand. The final place was the closet in your bedroom and you peered in, expecting nothing.

When you turned around though, you spotted something sitting in the corner of the room.

It was humanoid with arms twisted into awkward positions and a mask on its face. Half the mask was black and the other white, both sides bearing an unnaturally smiling expression. The creature cackled when you saw it and scuttled out of the door, stuck to the roof the entire time.

A second passed.

Then another.

You pinched your arm hard and waited to wake up. Surely there was no way… I mean, why would… humans didn’t generally crawl along the ceiling? Well, you were quite sure they never did that. You must have been imagining it.

A second laugh corrected you on that.

You swallowed thickly, walked over to your door as calmly as possible and locked it. Then you took out your phone and finally called the police.

Kate the Chaser

The day when Kate was sent away remained very clear in your mind. It was a moment that brought extremely change to your life, mixing up your friend group and sending you in a different direction.

The years has passed and you had never gotten over your best friend. They said that she had lost her mind and you knew it was true. All those games investigating the woods and ghost hunting must have put a toll on her mind. Sometimes, you blamed yourself for all the pranks and you knew that Lauren had similar doubts.

And now she was back.

Lauren and you hadn’t remained close, the entire situation feeling too real with one another. Your greeting was stilted but neither of you wanted to be the first to approach the house.

“Do you think that she remembers us?” Lauren asked.

“If she didn’t then her mom wouldn’t have invited us over,” you said.

You stood in complete silence, staring up at the house. Would you even recognise Kate? The last time that you had seen her was when you were both young children and her face remained at that age in your memories.

Eventually, you gained your confidence before Lauren and you walked over, knocking on the door before anxiety could find you.

Kate answered the door and you forgot why you had ever been nervous.

Time had slimmed her face and shortened her hair. Her eyes were still a gentle brown and the cockiness had faded from her smile, but it was recognisable from your nostalgia. It made you feel warm and known – an aura that you had missed without even realising it.

“Hi,” you greeted.

Kate pulled you into a tight hug and you returned it, clutching at her tightly as though she could slip through your fingers. It really had been too long and when you moved away, she held onto Lauren with the same enthusiasm.

“How have you been?” she asked. “You have to tell me everything.”

The three of you spent the rest of the afternoon having tea and just talking about the world at large. Kate didn’t have many stories from the hospital – she claimed it was because the place had been extremely boring and neither of you pushed to find out more about it. Honestly, it was more comfortable to act as though she had simply moved away.

Lauren had to leave first and you were going to go with her but Kate had looked so down that you remained just a little longer. That was when things got weird.

“I’ve missed music a lot,” Kate sighed.

“Did they not allow you to listen to music?”

She grimaced. “No, they did but often I couldn’t hear it over the static. Its mostly gone away now but it came back last night… it fills my brain and all that I can think of is a way to make the pain stop.”

The colour drained from your face as you stared at her. You didn’t know much about what happened to her but you had thought she would be okay now.

Realising it, Kate hurried to reassure you, “I really have recovered,” she said. “My hallucinations have faded and my medication keeps my emotions in check. You really don’t have to be scared of me.”

You stared down at your cup awkwardly. “I’m not scared of you,” you reassured her. “You’ve never done anything to me.”

She nodded. “It will be alright, you’ll see. I’m ready to get back to a normal life with my friends and not have to worry about that ghost stuff ever again.”

Laughing Jack

It was on your leg…

The glare you fixed the small child with could wilt plants. It didn’t care though and merely clutched at your clothing with a happy smile. “Come play with me?” it asked. “I can introduce you to all my friends!”

“How old is she again?” you grumbled at your friend.

Your friend laughed and ruffled their cousin’s hair. “I had an imaginary friend when I was 10. She’s only 6, she’s still at the stage where they’re a big deal.”

The child was oblivious to your conversation and reached out her arms. “Come on. The parents are being boring. I have candy that my friend gave me. We can share it.”

“I agreed to come along to your family get together to keep you company,” you said to your friend. “You know I don’t like children. Babysitting really isn’t my forte.”

All you received for your complaining was laughter.

By the time you had the 4th teddy bear had been introduced, you were done. Why did one kid have so many toys?

“Now which one of your friends gives you candy?” your friend asked. “Because if it’s from Princess, I don’t think it’s edible. What if she secretly puts glitter in it?”

Expected to play along, you sighed. “Unless it’s glitter from rainbows because then it’s got magic powers and allows you to fly.”

The child liked your thumb-sucked statement because she jumped up in excitement. “I don’t get it from Princess. Jack gives it to me! But if Princess can make me fly, I want to have that kind of candy instead!”

“Which one’s Jack again?” you asked, eyeing the line of toys.

“He’s not here right now,” the child said, biting her inner cheek. She turned in a circle. “Sometimes he hides in the cupboard though!” She ran over to her cupboard and pulled the doors open. “I don’t think – OW!”

She reeled backwards, clutching her cheek. Both you and your friend immediately jumped up and ran over to her. A tiny slice mark ran across the side of her face. It wasn’t anything serious, but she was sobbing as though it would kill her. You presumed a small edge on one of the boxes in the cupboard had been the cause.

“Do you want me to take you to mom, so she can kiss it better?” your friend asked. “Your new best friend can wait here and make sure all your toys are safe.”

The child nodded, and she got led out of the room. You rolled your eyes at the sensitivity and reached into the cupboard to push the box out of the way. A clawed hand reached out of nowhere and grabbed your wrist tightly.

Before you could even shout, it lifted you off the ground by your arm and a second hand had wrapped around your mouth.

The monster’s body appeared out of the closet.

It was a clown. Easily 7ft tall and comprised of monochrome colours with a sharp, pointed nose and long, greasy hair. Its black lips spread into a smile, revealing pointed teeth and a sickeningly sweet breath.

You writhed against its grip, trying to scream or do anything but it was insanely strong, and it just laughed at your efforts.

“How mean,” it purred, leaning in close to your face. “You ask who I am and then, when I appear to you, you insult my appearance. Awful etiquette. Your parents should be concerned about how rude you are to strangers.”

You strained your memory to think about what you had been doing before it grabbed you but the adrenaline was clouding your mind. What had you asked? You struggled more with the lack of memories.

The clown shook its head. “I haven’t revealed myself to somebody so old in a long time. You should be flattered but instead you choose to try and kick me. This is why I don’t do this. Children are far more polite.”

He released you suddenly and you landed hard on the ground. It winked and disappeared, right as your friend and her cousin returned.

“You met Jack!” the child shouted excitedly, pointing to the candy lying next to you.

You shoved it away from you as quickly as possible.

#creepypasta #scenarios #hoodie x reader #marble hornets #homicidal liu #jeff the killer #jane the killer #jason the toymaker #kagekao #x reader #jeff the killer x reader #laughing jack #kate the chaser

[soleilsuhh]

— soon the cold night falls.

plot. when you went to doyoung’s place to study, you didn’t expect to end up staying the night and sleeping on the same bed.

pairing. doyoung x gender neutral! reader.

genre. college!au. fluff. suggestive. pining. good ol’ sharing-a-bed trope.

word count. 1.8k words.

you had been falling behind in maths, which was why you asked doyoung to help you study. although you didn’t have the same major, you knew he was more than proficient in the subject. he had eventually agreed to help but not without calling you an idiot first. this was how you found yourself in his rented studio apartment where he lived off-campus, about fifteen minutes from the university.

suddenly, you felt a hard but painless tap on your hand.

"are you listening?" he demanded, the look on his face is evident that he already knew the answer. he sighed, "pay attention, y/n, this topic is important."

"it seems like even you can't make maths interesting,"

he shot you a look at which you responded immediately by raising your palms up slightly in surrender, topped by a cheeky grin. you tried your best to focus as he continued with the explanation but by the time he reached to the next page, your thoughts began to drift away from the formulas and to the fact that the two of you were alone.

it wasn't as if this was the first time you had been alone with him in a room; you weren't sure why you were feeling jittery and why your foot was bouncing of its own accord under the table.

"—will you stop zoning out!"

his raised voice and the sound of frustrated slam of pen on the table startled you, effectively pulling you away from your thoughts.

surprisingly, the rest of the tutoring session went by smoothly. but it seemed like at some point while studying for what felt like forever, you fell asleep. when you woke up, you were pleasantly surprised to feel a jacket wrapped securely around you, and that its owner was also asleep in front of you, using his own arm as a pillow. his face was serene, the soft breathing making the world outside seem to stand still.

you grabbed your phone, trying to ignore the odd feeling in your heart. looking at the screen, you jumped, nearly causing the jacket to fall off your shoulders. it was already midnight, and you were still at his apartment. you reached over to shake doyoung awake, and as he rubbed his eyes, you showed him the lit-up screen.

he momentarily froze in his movements. "huh." he looked at you, "sorry, i didn't mean to fall asleep; i was planning to wake you up before your dorm curfew," he paused and after a moment, he said: “do you want to stay here tonight?”

your heart involuntarily beat faster at that and you brushed it off. it was probably a good idea; you were already an hour past the curfew. you said ‘okay,’ before calling your roommate to inform them. they sounded sleepy but nonetheless, relieved to hear from you. as you talked on the phone, doyoung walked over to his dresser and your gaze lingered after him.

“catch,” he said, throwing a simple tee and sweatpants at your direction just as you hung up.

you caught them clumsily.

“thought they might be more comfortable than your jeans, but you don’t have to change if you don’t want to,”

you smiled at him, “thank you,” you brought the clothes closer to get the whiff of fresh scent, “they smell really nice,”

he scoffed but not unkindly.

as you shuffled towards the bathroom to change, he began to put away the books on the table. when you came out, the table was cleared, everything neatly stacked and an extra bedding was spread out on the floor along with a pillow.

"you take the bed," he said, gesturing towards it.

you blinked at him for a moment then delcared, "hell no, this is your place anyway; i can sleep on the floor,"

"exactly, this is my place, so i make the rules," he said, "take the bed,"

you refused to move, not giving in but also uncertain about what to say. this was such a conflicting situation you were in; why did you care that much if he slept on the floor? why were your eyes so fixated on the fact that there was no extra blanket for him? what was this clenching feeling in your stomach?

"the bed is big enough for two people..." you awkwardly suggested. "i mean it's not like we've never shared a bed before,"

it's true; you had taken so many naps together - that was back in primary and middle school, yes, and things might not be the same anymore.

you could have sworn that you saw doyoung's movements stop after hearing your suggestion but he continued whatever he was doing on his phone. his lack of response was a clear enough answer for you.

"um, fine then," you said with a hint of despondency.

"i guess we can keep a pillow between us," his voice came. "i don't have an extra blanket too, anyway and it gets cold at night," he paused a brief second and lifted his head to look at you, "are you sure you're okay with sharing a bed?"

you nodded, a little too eagerly, a little too fast, "yeah, i'm okay with it! sounds good!"

the two of you remained motionless on the bed. it was awkward. you couldn't tell if he felt the same or if he was already asleep. he was lying still on his back, eyes closed and face relaxed.

you tried not to move too much, but you couldn't help yourself from restlessly tossing and turning, pulling the cover that you were sharing slightly closer to your body. he was right; the night was really cold.

suddenly, you felt a hand on yours, not grabbing it, just resting there and applying enough pressure to get your attention. you noticed how warm his hand was and you cherished it.

"y/n," his voice was soothing in the quietness of the night, "stop moving so much,"

you stopped and his touch, warm and gentle, lingered before he completely retreated his hand.

after a moment, you lifted your head slightly, "doyoung?"

"hmm?"

"i'm cold,"

he eventually opened his eyes and got out of bed with a sigh; he headed towards his dresser, the path dimly lit by the moon and then he came back with a hoodie which he tossed at you. "here,"

you mumbled a 'thank-you' as you put it on, feeling both thankful yet also...disappointed. you weren't sure why though. what exactly were you expecting anyway?

once again, both of you lied down on your backs, neither moving; his eyes closed, and yours wide open. minutes passed before you began to feel restless again. somehow, your mind wouldn't stop thinking about how warm his hand was and how yours was itching to be held again.

you turned your body to completely face him as you edged closer to the pillow barrier between you two. "doyoung?" you tried.

you waited a few seconds.

"what?"

"i'm still cold,"

you waited a few seconds. a few more. and a few more.

you were certain you wouldn’t get a response anymore. he was probably tired and dying to get some sleep. and he already gave you a hoodie; what more could he do for you?

sleepless, you found yourself distracted by how pretty he looked in the pale moonlight that came through the window. you noticed an eyelash on his cheek and tentatively, you reached over to gently brush it away. you were tempted to wake him so that he can make a wish but that probably wasn't a good idea. despite how warm his hand was, his face was cool under your touch, his skin so soft that you found yourself lightly trailing a finger along his features; first his cheekbone, then his nose, and when your finger reached his lip, his breath deepened and his eyelids moved albeit still closed. you stopped dead.

you weren't sure whether knowing that he was awake made you feel more nervous or more delighted. perhaps both.

your fingertips lingered on his skin, waiting for him to stop you but he didn't. you felt compelled to continue and that’s what you did; your fingers began moving again, trailing over the shape of his lips. with each passing second, your movements gained more sense of ease and certainty as your feathery touch brushed along his jawline, creeping down his neck, and then his collarbone.

you watched, marvelled as his breath hitched softly.

your fingers edged up his neck again.

and his hand grabbed your wrist. there it was. that warm touch of his.

he opened his eyes and your gazes locked.

the look on his face was unreadable and it made you all the more nervous and excited. the eye-contact broke only when you gulped, trying to shove the nerves down, and his eyes followed the movement on your neck.

“you said you’re cold?”

you nodded.

letting go of your wrist, his eyes met yours again. “turn around.”

you looked at him uncertainly, suddenly feeling a tingling sensation in your fingertips and toes. “why?”

he gave you a small, reassuring smile, and his hand reached out to trace along your jaw and down your neck, the maneuver emulating yours earlier.

“you’ll see,”

you shifted your position and turned until you were facing the other way. behind you, you felt the pillow between you two being lifted and placed on the other side of the bed. soon after, doyoung wrapped his arms around yours, pulling the covers over your bodies and holding you close. back pressed against his chest, you entwined your arm with his and laced your fingers together.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, still and quiet.

it was him who broke the silence, “how about now?” he said, “are you still cold?”

you smiled, “no, this is really nice,”

“good.”

it was a little awkward and stiff at first. but after a while, it became peaceful as you both slowly relaxed and allowed yourselves to melt into the warm embrace. your breathing slowed down and your heart stopped racing. the steady rise and fall of his chest was so comforting and you found yourself snuggling closer against his chest and into his arms.

“honestly,” you began, voice quiet but light-hearted, “i was kind of thinking about something else when you told me to turn around,”

he hummed amusedly and let out a chuckle. then he leaned forward to hover his lips over your ear, “i know what you were thinking,” his voice was barely above a whisper and held a tone of refrained laughter.

you shivered but eventually bursted out laughing, and he promptly joined, unable to contain it in him any longer. the laughter in the stillness of the night was heavenly. doyoung muffled himself by burying his face in your neck to stop himself from laughing too loud for the sake of the neighbors, but that only caused you to laugh louder and harder because of the tickling sensation. in spite of himself, he managed to whisper soft ‘shh’s and gently covered your mouth with his hand from behind.

even as you both tried to calm yourselves down, you broke into fits of soft giggles every now and then. doyoung tried to sound annoyed as he told you to go to sleep but he couldn’t stop smiling.

you sighed, happy and content but also sad because you knew this moment would eventually pass, “i don’t want this to end,”

“don’t be silly,”

silence filled the room for a while.

“you can come sleep over whenever you want,” he said, hugging you closer, his voice soft and unwavering.

#nct #nct x reader #nct fluff #nct fic #nct scenarios #doyoung #kim doyoung #doyoung x you #doyoung x reader #doyoung fluff #nct doyoung #doyoung fic #doyoung scenarios #doyoung imagines #nct 127 #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 fic #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 suggestive #nct suggestive

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 2,952 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: The prison (Season 3) Warnings: language, that's it! A/N: Kintsugi, aka "golden joinery" is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with precious materials like gold and it is strikingly beautiful. I think you'll understand why I titled the fic this at the end! Summary: After Daryl leaves with Merle, he return to the prison to find that Y/N is extremely angry with him...

Your name: submit What is this?

Your face went through a rapid series of emotions as soon as his familiar broad shoulders came into view. First was shock and surprise, and then relief to see him again and to see him in one piece, and then just... anger. Daryl shifted his weight anxiously from one foot to the next, watching over everyone crowded around him as you simply stood up and turned your back on the room and left. You walked straight out and into the row of cells, disappearing through the heavy metal door. Daryl caught Rick’s eyes and the sheriff simply tilted his head and gave Daryl a knowing look. Daryl’s attention was pulled away as Carol grabbed him into a tight hug.

He was surprised when you didn’t come back out to join in the discussion of what the hell to do next about Woodbury and the Governor. He worked up the courage to try to talk to you, knowing full well it may just be an exercise in futility.

You easily heard the familiar cadence of his steps approaching your cell and the doorway darkened as his frame stopped in the space. He gripped the edge of the cell door and anxiously chewed his bottom lip.

You were sitting on the edge of your bunk, determinedly not looking at him. “Go away, Daryl.” Your voice was quiet but there was an unfamiliar edge to it.

He shifted uncomfortably but didn’t leave. “Just—would ya just talk to me?” he ventured. He saw the muscle in your jaw tense as your teeth clenched. “What is there to talk about?” “I—’M back now. I came back,” he said. He felt sick. He wasn’t used to you being angry with him and it was completely twisting him into knots.  “Yep,” you said, standing and going to the doorway. You pulled the hanging sheet in the doorway, a makeshift door, closed right in his face. “Leave me alone,” your voice came out from the cell and then he heard the springs of your bunk creak as you sank back down on it.  He stepped back from the fabric and dropped his hand from its grip on the doorframe, heaving a heavy sigh. Carol stepped out of her cell, just a few doors down and looked at Daryl staring at the closed sheet in front of him. He turned at the sound of her soft footsteps.  Carol’s brow was furrowed low over her eyes and she tilted her head in the direction of the staircase that climbed to the second level. Daryl’s hand clenched and unclenched in a fist and he gave your cell one last parting look before turning away to follow Carol up the stairs. She peeked at Judith in her makeshift bed and smiled. Daryl stopped beside her and looked down at the little sleeping bundle. His heart warmed at the sight of her, but his expression was still dark. Carol glanced over at him. He chewed on his bottom lip anxiously again. “She won’t even talk to me,” he drawled. “Give her a little time,” Carol said gently. “She’ll come around.” Carol sounded very sure of her assertion, but all Daryl could think was that he’d ruined things for good. “I came back,” he said, leaning back against the railing. His heart was aching with regret. Going off with Merle was stupid in the first place. Almost as soon as he’d done it he knew it was a mistake.  “You being back doesn’t change the fact that you left in the first place,” Carol pointed out. “You really think she doesn’t have a right to be upset? Think about how she’s interpreting you leaving.” He gave her a questioning look. Carol straightened up and stared at him. “I understand why you did what you did. He’s your brother. He’s blood. But you leaving with him... to her it means she wasn’t worth staying for. You chose Merle, a racist asshole, over all of us, and right when we’re sitting on the edge of war against the psychopath Merle worked for. I know that isn’t really what happened. It’s not that simple, but that’s what it feels like. She thinks you leaving means that... whatever there is between the two of you wasn’t worth anything. It wasn’t enough to make you stay.”

He gulped and shifted uncomfortably. “But that ain’t true...” Carol shrugged. “That’s how it seems to her.” 

Daryl ran a hand over his face and sighed again. “I really fucked up,” he growled. The grit and gravel in his voice was heavier than usual. “You did what you thought you needed to do,” Carol said, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. “Just give her a little time. She’ll cool off.” But the rest of the day, you stayed in your cell with the doorway covered. Daryl hung around hoping you’d step out so he could try to talk to you again, try to apologize and explain. He was sick with regret and guilt and worry, but you never stepped out. “Who’s on watch tonight?” Daryl asked Rick. He was thinking about offering to stay up and take both shifts because there was no way he would be sleeping that night anyway. He was too anxious. “Y/N first and then Glenn is taking the second shift. He gave Daryl a knowing look. The archer looked miserable. Rick sighed. “I’m just glad you’re back,” Rick said.

Daryl nudged his nose up in nod. “Yeah... thanks...” You’d be on guard first. You wouldn’t be able to hide in your cell forever. You could, however, still tell him to fuck off, but he had to try. Just waiting around was agonizing and he kept thinking about how in this world even the next minute wasn’t a guarantee. He had to make things right as soon as he could.

Night fell and after scraping together his courage, Daryl got up, knowing you’d be in the guard tower by now. He went to the little stove and heated up some water, pouring it over a tea bag in a mug and staring down at it. Yeah, bring her tea, dumbass. That’ll fix it. But regardless of that derisive voice in his head, he grabbed the mug and headed out to climb the narrow stairs of the guard tower, curls of steam wafting off the surface of the amber liquid. You turned when you heard the metal door from the stairwell creak open, thinking maybe Glenn couldn’t sleep and was coming to keep you company early. Instead you saw the broad shoulders of the archer coming through and you turned away and fixed your eyes on the darkness blanketing the prison yard. “What?” you asked sharply. Daryl gulped. Obviously you hadn’t cooled off enough yet. “I just—uhh.” He rubbed his hand awkwardly over the back of his neck. “I brought ya some tea,” he drawled.  You kept your back to him and said nothing. He edged closer and set the tea in front of you on the table. It was then that he noticed the bandage on your upper arm. He hadn’t noticed it before, probably because you’d been wearing a jacket. Without thinking, he reached out and gently grabbed your arm. “What happened?” 

You glanced at his hand on your arm and then up to his blue eyes. You felt your resolve crumbling as soon as your eyes met his. It was like some involuntary reaction you had no control over, but you tugged your arm from his grasp and shifted away from him, averting your eyes back toward the outside again. “I got shot,” you said. “What?” he urged. “The hell ya mean ya got shot?”

His voice was tinged with deep concern. “By one of those Woodbury assholes. You know, when you were off running around with Merle,” you replied. Daryl’s stomach twisted. How could he have been so stupid? If he’d been at the prison where he was supposed to be he could have protected you. What if it hadn’t just been your arm? He hadn’t even said goodbye to you... he’d just left. The hell was he thinking? You must have sensed his sudden panic because you looked over at him again and studied his face. “It’s just a bullet graze, Daryl.” Your tone was flat this time, but it was an improvement over the previous anger. “I’d rather be alone,” you said quietly. You hesitated. “Thanks for the tea.”

He gulped again. This distant tone you had was eating him alive and he felt his blood pressure rising. “Would ya just look at me at least? Gimme a chance to explain!”

You were a bit taken aback by his tone, which was now a little angry too, and you did turn to stare at him, your brow furrowed heavily now. “Explain?” You scoffed. “What the hell is there to explain? You made your choice. Your priorities are pretty damn clear. So, just—just leave me alone...”

“Nah,” he growled. “Not ‘til ya listen to me.”

You glared at him and he watched the muscle in your jaw tense as you clenched your teeth. “Actions speak louder than words, Daryl.”

“I fucked up, alright? I ain’t denyin’ that! I wanted to come back as soon as I left!” he roared. “‘M sorry!” “Sorry?” You stared at him, bewildered. “You’re sorry,” you repeated. “Yeah, well, so am I. Sorry I was stupid enough to think that maybe—” You broke off and shut your eyes, breathing in a tense breath. “That maybe what?” Daryl pressed you.

“That maybe I actually fucking meant something to you!” you yelled. There were angry tears in your eyes now and you fought to blink them away. “But if you could just leave then clearly I’ve deluded myself, because I could never do that to you. So, I guess I don’t know what this—” you gestured to yourself and then to him, “—is. Was. Whatever... apparently it’s nothing.” The archer stared at you feeling like his heart had split open. “That ain’t—that ain’t true. And it wasn’t that simple. S’not that simple.” He took a hesitant step toward you. 

Your jaw was still set. “Forget it. You don’t need to explain anything to me. It’s not like we were.... together. I was stupid to read into anything. I’m—I’m done. I’ll just send Glenn up later,” you murmured, trying to storm out of the guard tower, ready to race down the stairs and leave the whole mess behind you. But Daryl’s hand gently caught you as you tried to move past him, landing lightly but firmly on your arm.

“Nah. Don’t do that! Don’t just—just dismiss this!” he growled. 

You stared up at him, caught off-guard by his hand on you, by him physically stopping you from leaving. You were trying to think of something to say but your mind was suddenly blank. His hand finally dropped from your arm but instead of backing off he stepped closer to you. “This ain’t nothin’!” he argued. “And ya weren’t kiddin’ yerself. Now just stop bein’ so damn stubborn and talk to me!” You felt your resolve crumbling a little.  “I—I don’t have anything else to say!” you retorted angrily. “Now let me by!” You tried to brush past him again but he stepped right in your way. “Daryl,” you growled. “Get outta the way.” “Nah,” he said shaking his head. “Ya wanna be stubborn? Fine, but so will I.”

“Move!” you yelled at him again, feeling a flush of angry heat in your face. “No,” he said again, this time catching your eyes with his blue ones.

Your chest was heaving with angry and nervous breaths. “Let me go,” you said, and this time even you were surprised by how weak your own request sounded.

Daryl stared down at you, his posture defiant, obstinate. His heart was absolutely racing in his chest and he finally couldn’t suppress the urge any longer. He clasped your face in both hands and kissed you urgently, something he’d wanted to do for so long, but even more so since he’d tried to leave. It was all he could think about. A moment later he was sweeping you into him with a hand on your lower back.

You let out a noise of surprise and stumbled back, away from him, staring at him standing there with his chest heaving. “Wh—what the hell are you doing?”

Daryl gulped. Oh shit. Had he just fucked things up worse? He gestured vaguely with one hand. “This ain’t nothin’,” he drawled, breathless from his lips on yours. He stepped toward you cautiously again, half expecting you to move away or brush past him for the exit, but you didn’t move. He anxiously licked his lips, and you felt butterflies flit to life in your stomach. “‘M sorry,” he said again.

You stared at him, a quizzical expression on your face. You wanted his lips on yours again. “Say it again,” you said softly. You stepped closer to him. 

Daryl stared down into your eyes. The regret in his was plain. He slipped his fingers into your hair and clasped your face again. “‘M so sorry. I ain’t ever gonna leave again if I can help it.”

Your expression softened and you grabbed onto the front of his vest and pulled his lips down to meet yours, kissing him heatedly. Daryl’s hand landed on your lower back again and he pulled you against him, pressing forward so you were touching practically from knees to nose. His kiss was urgent, feverish. He pressed into you and you moved backwards blindly until you felt the table behind you. Daryl’s strong hands lifted you, setting you on the edge. You looped your arms around his neck and gently bit at his lower lip, eliciting a chesty growl from him. His hands wandered over your back and smoothed down your sides, feeling the curve of your waist and angles of your hips. They wandered down further and ran over your thighs, sending tingles of electricity up your back. You tugged him into you more tightly, feeling his hips pressing into the inside of your knees as you sat on the table. You slid a hand under his vest, around his back, and scratched your nails over the thin cotton of his shirt, feeling his strong, tense muscles beneath the material. He pulled back from you suddenly and your eyes opened, long eyelashes fluttering, disappointed and feeling the inches between your lips profoundly. “What is it?” you asked him, completely out of breath. He just stared down at you, not lifting his hands from your hips. “Nothin’. Just tryin’ to convince myself this is really happenin’,” he drawled, his eyes flitting between yours and your partially parted lips. 

You ran your fingers through his hair and he leaned into your touch. “It is.”

He looked suddenly nervous again. “Listen, I still wanna tell ya... I can’t entirely explain it. I know Merle’s an asshole. Of course I know that... But he’s my brother. And it was almost like I didn’t have a choice in the matter. I’d already left him once in Atlanta. I couldn’t do it again.” Daryl rushed on, still in vague disbelief that somehow you’d gone from yelling at him to kissing him in a span of a few minutes. “But as soon as we were alone out there... I realized he might be my brother but he ain’t really my family anymore. Maybe he never was.”

You gulped and nodded, pressing your hand flush to his chest and feeling his racing heart beneath your fingers. “I’m sorry I was so hard on you,” you said regretfully. “I was just—hurt.”

He nodded. “I can’t blame ya. ‘M sorry.”

You looped your arms around his neck again and he gave in to the gentle tug easily as you pulled his lips back to yours. The heat built between you again and you let out a small sigh as Daryl’s lips wandered from yours to kiss your neck and the delicate skin by your collarbone, his fingers tangling roughly into your hair. You found yourself arching into him more and more and Daryl was reeling as your fingernails lightly scratched his back, even over the fabric of his shirt. But the building heat was quickly quashed by the sound of the squeaky metal hinges on the door to the stairwell and both of you startled. Daryl spun around and you jumped up from your spot on the table, accidentally knocking the mug of tea to the floor, which of course shattered and sent liquid splashing everywhere. Your entire face flushed as you saw Glenn standing in the doorway with a surprised look on his face, one hand still on the doorknob. 

“Uhhhhh... sorry,” he mumbled. But his face quickly broke into a grin he tried to stifle. “I’ll just—I’m gonna go,” he said jutting a thumb back over his shoulder, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. Daryl shifted uncomfortably next to you. Glenn turned on his heel and headed right back down the stairs and into the cellblock again. 

Rick, unable to sleep with the threat of the Governor still looming, caught sight of him returning and gave him a questioning look. “I thought you were on guard duty now?” he asked curiously. Glenn smiled and laughed a little awkwardly. “Uhh, yeah, but uhh—Y/N and Daryl have got it,” he said, his eyebrows lifting. “Y/N and Daryl? Isn’t she still pissed at him?” the sheriff asked, looping one thumb into his pocket. Glenn laughed again. “I’m pretty sure they made up... Night, Rick.”

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Hayloft p.4

Pairing: Arvin Russell x F!Reader

Summary: Your dad brings home his new coworker, Arvin Russell, telling you that he’ll be living with the two of you for a while. While attempting to keep Arvin from seeing the disfunction of your relationship with your father, the two of you grow closer than you thought. (Inspired by “Hayloft” by Mother Mother, though that’ll really only be one chapter later on so I don’t know if it really counts…)

Warnings: Mentions of suicide, death, abuse, and sexual assault (depictions of none, though), alcoholism/ drunkenness, mentions of teen pregnancy, mentions of infidelity, murder

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: Pretty lightly edited, just a warning

Read the Previous Chapters!

Part 1  Part 2 Part 3

“Hey, hun, what can I getcha?” You leaned into your popped hip, pen and notepad in hand.

A man you hadn’t met before, clearly someone just passing through town, was sitting across the diner bar in a light blue button-up and suspenders. He was fairly clean cut save for the day-old scruff across his face. He studied the menu intensely before setting it down and looking up at you with a sweet-as-pie smile. “Can I please have coffee with some cream and the grits?” He asked with a southern drawl.

You scribbled down his order on the notepad, “That all?”

“Mhm, I think so. Thanks doll.” He slid the menu towards you before reaching for a newspaper that had been left on the counter beside him by the last patron. You turned around to pin the man’s order on the little turnstile for the chef when the little bell on the door rang.

Tucking your notepad back into the apron tied around your waist, you grabbed the pot of coffee from the counter and poured the man a cup of the rich black liquid. Next, you prepared a little ceramic cup of cream and walked back to set them on the counter in front of him. His polite thanks were only the background when you saw Arvin walk behind the man and shoot you a smile before settling down in a seat at the bar only a few seats away.

You walked over to him and leaned on the counter with a smile, “Well, hey there stranger. You on lunch already?”

Arvin nodded, looking to you hopefully, “Yeah ‘n I was hopin’ you might be too so I could grab a bite to eat with my favorite girl.”

“Shh!” You hushed him with exasperated wide eyes, like it should have been obvious that he needed to keep his voice down, because in your mind it was. You nodded your head to the other patrons in the diner. “Y’know word travels fast in little towns like this ‘n I don’t need my daddy findin’ out ‘bout us,” you whispered to Arvin who sighed in annoyed understanding. You knew he wasn’t annoyed at you but the situation was less than ideal.

He tapped his fingers on the counter and his knees bounced under the bar, “So is that a no for lunch?”

You glanced over your shoulder to look at the clock that hung on the wall. It was only eleven in the morning but maybe you could ask Charlene if she could cover so you could take an early lunch. “Let me double check real quick.” You held up a finger to excuse yourself into the back to find your coworker.

No more than ten minutes later, you and Arvin walked out to his car with two take-out boxes of burgers you had managed to swipe from the kitchen in hand. He slid into the driver’s seat while you planted yourself beside him in the passenger’s. You handed him one of the boxes of food before opening your own and

digging into the small handful of fries. “So how is your day going so far?”

Arvin took a large bite of his burger, covering his mouth with his hand has he tried to speak and chew at the same time, “Ain’t too bad. I got an engine to rebuild for an old Ford when I get back but nothin’ too terrible. How ‘bout you?”

“Ready to go home already,” you chuckled, popping a fry in your mouth, “But it ain’t too bad here either. Just would like to not be here.”

Arvin laughed a little beside you, “I know how that feels. Thanks for the burgers by the way. I appreciate it. I don’t want you gettin’ in no trouble for stealin’ food.”

You shrugged off his concern, “Don’t worry ‘bout it. If people don’t eat it, it just goes in the trash anyways. I ain’t gonna get in any trouble.”

He let out a heavy breath, resigning to your insistence, which he really just found an adorable confident stubbornness. A comfortable silence fell over the unmoving car as the two of you ate your lunches in the parking lot. When you finished chewing your bite, you looked over at Arvin, “How long you been livin’ with us?”

Arvin looked up at the brick wall straight ahead in thought, “Maybe five months now. Longer than I meant to-"

"I didn't mean it like that! I was just wonderin'...." you got awkwardly quiet for a moment, "Havin' you 'round has been the best five months in a really really long time."

"For me too. When I came into town, I thought I'd be livin' in my car. Didn't know how lucky I'd be gettin' to live with the most beautiful girl in the world." His hand reached over to your thigh, squeezing lightly.

Even after all of his sweet affections and compliments, they never failed to make your cheeks ache from trying not to blush and smile like a schoolgirl. “You really think flattery will get you somewhere?” you giggled teasingly, turning towards him and nudging his leg with your hand.

“Well it got me in your house so…” He teased back, something that he had been doing more often in the last few weeks. Arvin had never been the most humorous of people, aside from the occasional chuckle or hidden smile. That had been changing since the two of you had gotten closer though.

“Uh, no! It might get you kicked outta my house though if my daddy ever finds out.” It started as chuckle but the words faded into concerned worry as you realized how true they could really be.

Arvin sensed the shift, “You really think your daddy would kick me out if he found out ‘bout us?”

You nodded, “Without a doubt. Would probably throw me out too.” You shifted so you were sitting on your bent leg, suddenly uncomfortable.

He began cautiously, “I mean… would that really be such a bad thing?”

You whipped your head to look at him, “I ain’t got nowhere else to live right now. I been savin’ up for a year to move out but it ain’t enough to buy a place of my own yet.”

“How much you got?”

That number was in your head immediately, one that you kept a running total of with every paycheck. “$4,317.” It wasn’t enough, though, and you knew it. Even the old run down houses around town cost $12,000, which meant you weren’t even halfway to the fixer-uppers, not that you minded buying a fixer upper. “I don’t need a mansion or nothin’ but it ain’t nearly enough for even something small.”

Arvin chewed his lip, thinking about the box of cash he’d been stashing away with each of his paychecks as well. He knew exactly what it was like in your position, struggling to save up the money to get on your own feet. He hated relying on others and, even though he really liked you, he hated depending on your and your father for shelter. “You ain’t gonna be stuck in this ol’ town forever,” he promised you and it came out just like that. A promise. “You’re too good for this place.”

Another smile forced its way onto your face at his words of hope, “I’ll get outta here eventually…”

Suddenly, a familiar male voice yelled your name and you flinched. You turned towards the voice to see your boss, Harold, standing at the backdoor of the diner with his hands on his hips. He gave you a stern look and tapped the watch on his wrist before pointing at you then jabbing his thumb over his shoulder towards the door.

“Shit! I totally lost track of time!” You scrambled to gather up the trash from lunch and stuffed it into the paper bag you’d brought it out in. “I’m sorry, I have to run!”

Arvin had nearly jumped out of his skin when your name had been yelled, the only person he’d ever heard calling you that way being your father. He crumbled up the paper wrapper for his burger and stuffed it in the paper bag for you. “‘M sorry. Didn’t mean to get you in trouble with your boss.”

“Nah, he’s fine,” you waved off the worry dismissively, “He acts all tough but he ain’t nothin’ but a softy.” You opened up the door and began to slide out when you stopped and took a quick glance around. Nobody was in the parking lot, or really anywhere in sight for that matter. In an impulsive swift action, you grabbed Arvin by the collar of his greasy shirt and pulled his lips to yours quickly before pushing him before anyone could see.

He looked stunned, big brown eyes wide and shocked by your courageous kiss. Your heart raced and your cheeks flushed with the exhilaration of actually sneaking a kiss to Arvin in public. It was a dangerous move but your dad was at work and there was nobody else around to see. You tried to hide your excited smile by chewing your bottom lip but it didn’t work. “Thanks for lunch, Arv.”

“Uh - y-yeah. Thank you for the burger.” Arvin stumbled over his words while you slid out of the car and closed the door behind you, leaving the poor boy struggling to make his brain catch up to reality.

“See you at home!” You waved one last time before turning. Arvin watched as you jogged back to the entrance of the diner, your little dress bouncing with every movement. You turned to give him one last glance before you disappeared behind the door.

Work had passed rather uneventfully for you. You put in the last few hours of your shift, went to the grocery store, and then headed home to start on dinner.

Arvin, on the other hand, the rest of his day at work had shaken the good feeling he’d had since his lunch break with you. He had found himself with a wrench in hand, trying to bolt back in the engine he’d been rebuilding for the last few hours. Grease smeared across his shirt, pants, and face despite how hard he tried to keep his dirty hands from ruining his clothes. Even if they were work clothes, he didn’t have that many sets of outfits nor the money to go out and buy more.

“My cousin lives o’er there with his wife. Said the sheriff up and disappeared for a while but they found him dead in the woods.”

Arvin’s head nearly hit the hood of the car that was propped up when he heard those words. He looked over his shoulder to see Davis and Fred, two of the other guys that worked at the mechanics shop, talking over two cans of beer.

“You hear anythin’ ‘bout that, Arvin?” Davis asked, sipping his can.

Arvin’s heart twisted in panic but he shook his head like hadn’t heard what they were talking about, “Hear ‘bout what?”

“Few months back, the sheriff in my cousin’s hometown turned up dead. Someone shot ‘im in the woods outside o’ some small town nearby. His name was like Lodeck or Bodecker or somethin’ like that.” Davis explained the story to both of the guys.

“Eh, pro’lly had it comin’,” Your dad came entered from the storage room with a handful of bolts, “I know I’ve met some sheriffs that deserved a bullet between the eyes.”

Fred rolled his eyes, “Yeah well you’re an angry drunk so I’m sure you’d say that ‘bout anyone who took a drink from you. I’m sure this guy wasn’t that bad. What kinda sick fuck you gotta be to shoot a sheriff? This ain’t no wild west movie where you go gunnin’ down the law.”

“Nah, I heard he was a no good son o’ a bitch. Guess his sister and her husband got murdered the day before. Found tons of pictures o’ them kissin’ on some dead guys. Some real sick shit, Fred. Sheriff might have been in on it too. Regardless, my cousin said he ran into ‘im one time with his wife and the sheriff really was a bastard,'' Davis shrugged off Fred’s comment, refuting the tragedy Fred was trying to make Bodecker’s death by tarnishing his name.

Arvin’s heart was racing and he began to feel dizzy. The images of those few days had haunted him since they had happened but he had found himself thinking about it less and less as the days passed.

“Arvin?”

Arvin shook his head out of the clouds and snapped back into reality, “What?”

“You came into town ‘round the same time all this happened. Did you hear anythin’ about it?” Fred questioned, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans.

The young man just shook his head, “Nah, I ain’t heard nothin’ ‘bout it till now. I heard ‘bout the sister though. Sounds like she and her boyfriend were no good.”

“You know what I think?” Your dad began, picking up a wrench and pointing it in Arvin’s direction, “I think our man Arvin here did the sheriff in!”

Arvin stiffened up, “What? Why would you think that?”

“You come strollin’ along through town with nothin’ but a backpack and no backstory ‘bout the same time four people turn up murdered. Mighty suspicious.” Arvin tried his hardest to stand tall and not allow his fear to show but the tension in his jaw was bordering of painful now.

Davis swatted at your dad, “C’mon, leave the boy alone. There’s gotta be thousands of people in that area that coulda murdered them. Can’t imagine Arvin doin’ such a thing.”

Arvin was grateful for Davis’s trust. If only he deserved it.

“I’m only jokin’! Y’all a bunch of whiny little girls, can’t take a fuckin’ joke.” Your dad grumbled to himself, swatting his hand towards his coworkers.

“Ah, shut up.” Fred stood up from the table he’d been sitting at and laid back down on the dolley before sliding under the jacked up Chevy he had been tasked with. “Ain’t nobody ‘round here takes you seriously.”

Arvin watched as your dad walked past Fred, kicking him in the leg and earning a loud exclamation of annoyance, but it was as if he were disconnected from the whole scene. He had tried so hard to forget what had happened back in Knockemstiff and Coal Creek, though it seemed damn near impossible considering it had uprooted his entire life. This tiny town a few hours away was his safe haven, his new beginning. He never would have imagined that anyone this far away would have heard about the murders.

Hearing Davis and Fred bring up Bodecker’s name made Arvin’s blood turn to ice in his veins. What kinda sick fuck you gotta be to shoot a sheriff? Fred’s words played over and over in Arvin’s head. This was just what he was worried about. This was why he ran. Nobody would believe Bodecker was trying to kill him first. Self defense didn’t mean shit when it was against the law. The same with Reverend Teagarden. A man of the word? Arvin didn’t stand a chance if anyone found out what he’d done.

“Hey son,” Davis’s soft voice made Arvin nearly jump out of his skin, “Don’t take nothin’ that ol’ man says to heart. I’m sure you know since you been livin’ with him that he’s just a cranky ol’ drunk who don’t know when to shut up. You’re a good kid, Arvin. Ain’t none of us actually think you did it.”

Arvin looked down at where Davis’s hand rested on his shoulder, the same way his dad used to touch his shoulder when he was reassuring him. He forced a small appreciative nod and a strained appearance of being unbothered, “It’s alright, Davis. I know he’s just kiddin’ ‘round. I ‘ppreciate it though.”

_

Your father arrived at home before Arvin, much to your dismay. Elvis Presley’s Blue Hawaii album was spinning on the record player when he came into the kitchen, kicking his boots off by the door.

“Hey, daddy! How was work?” You asked, mashing a bowl of potatoes for dinner.

He made a line directly to the fridge, grabbing a beer and popping the tab off with no effort, “It was alright. Damn Gilligan blew out the transmission on his truck so I been stuck fixin’ that up all day. Lookin’ forward to this right here.” Your father lifted up the beer bottle and sipped it with satisfaction. Yeah, I’m sure you were, you thought, rolling your eyes with your back turned to your dad.

“Well, if you wanna get cleaned up, dinner should be ready in about twenty minutes. More than enough time for a shower,” you offered with a cheerful voice. Lunch with Arvin today had made your day good in a way that was hard to ruin.

“Yeah, I might go do that. What’s for dinner?” Your father walked over and peeked over your shoulder to see what you had cooking on the stove.

“Mashed potatoes, green beans, and chicken.” You cut in a few slices of butter and added them to the bowl of mashed potatoes, sprinkling some salt, pepper, and garlic powder to taste.

Expecting some words of discouragement like you usually earned from your father, he just nodded contently and disappeared out of the kitchen towards the bathroom. You turned to watch him walk away, your mouth fallen open in pleased surprise at the fact that you just had a semi-pleasant interaction with your father for the first time in several weeks. You turned back to mixing in the now melted butter into the mashed potatoes when the front door opened yet again.

You looked back to see Arvin walking in through the living room, “Hey, Arv!”

His hands were shoved deep in his pockets and judging by the way his eyes shot up to you, as if he hadn’t expected your greeting, he had been staring at the ground when he walked in. “Hi,” he answered low and short with no emotion one way or the other.

Your brows furrowed, “Everythin’ alright?” Leaving the food on the counter and wiping your hands on your apron, you walked out into the living room towards him.

Arvin visibly took a step back and his eyes widened a little, his shoulders squaring up, “Yeah, ‘m good. Just wanna take a shower.”

Before you could get the words out, he had already begun walking away. “My dad’s already in the bathroom,” you called out after him, finally getting him to stop.

Arvin didn’t turn back to you though, only half glanced over his shoulder, “Oh, alright.” He turned back to continue his walk back to his room.

“Dinner will be ready soon!” You attempted to add, only earning a small thanks in response and the sound of Arvin’s door closing. “O-oh… okay.” You stood alone in the living room, the sound of running water coming from the bathroom and Elvis Presley’s voice filling the room but not loud enough to drown out your concern.

Dinner went by just as uncomfortably. You poked at your mashed potatoes, keeping your gaze stuck down at the food on your plate except for when you glanced over at Arvin who seemed to be actively looking anywhere except for you. This only made you roll your eyes out of frustration and stare back down at your food.

Your dad talked about his day, mostly grumbled complaints, “I don’t get nearly ‘nough respect ‘round here. Damn Fred and Davis callin’ me a drunk. What? A man can’t enjoy a damn beer without being called a drunk! Damn prudes.” When you didn’t respond, he reached over and tapped your arm, “Hey? You even listenin’?”

“Hm?” You tried to make yourself focus on what he was saying this time, “Sorry, long day. What happened?”

“See? I ain’t get no respect at work and I can’t even get no respect at my own damn house from my own damn daughter!” He grumbled, the feet of the wooden chair scraping against the ground as he stood up forcefully, swaying a little side to side but bracing himself on the wall to walk out of the room.

You didn’t even possess the mental capacity to care about his little tantrum. Your mind was swimming with confusion and, honestly, anger, at Arvin’s little unexplained silent treatment. “Okay, what’s wrong?” You asked, leaning towards Arvin.

“Nothin’.” He answered simply, taking a sip of his water. His voice was low and he still refused to make eye contact, despite nothin’ being wrong.

“That’s a lie. Everythin’ was fine this mornin’ and now you’re suddenly not talkin’ to me. Won’t even look at me! What the hell, Arvin? Did I say somethin’ wrong?” Thinking back, there wasn’t anything you had said earlier that you could imagine warranting such a negative response from Arvin so your confusion and concern had quickly turned to frustration.

Arvin shook his head, “No, no, you ain’t did nothin’ wrong.”

“Then what is it?” You practically begged him to tell you. You hated being upset at him when clearly something was bothering him but this felt like he was just playing some broody guessing game with you, something you got enough of from your dad.

Stress shone through Arvin’s eyes and he met your gaze finally, if only for a second, before looking away again. You could see there was a flicker of something you hadn’t seen in him before but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Whatever it was, it was really bothering him and you felt guilty for being upset. You just couldn’t understand why you suddenly were being ignored for something that apparently had nothing to do with you.

“I can’t tell you.”

Arvin’s admittal just made you more upset. “So you’re not mad at me but you’re ignoring me and can’t tell me why?”

Arvin hadn’t seen you look at him this way. At your father, yes, but he was unaccustomed to that raised eyebrow and frustratedly desperate crack in your voice being directed towards him. He hated it. He hated knowing that he was causing you to feel upset and helpless when he was supposed to be your escape from those exact feelings.

But he couldn’t bring himself to tell you the truth. You’d think he was a monster. You’d hate him. He’d lose the one good thing he had in his life because-

Arvin shook his head, “‘M sorry.” He looked anywhere but at you because he couldn’t stand to see the way your face fell, though he could practically feel your heart fall from across the table. He didn’t need to see it. He knew.

“Fine.” You stood up and grabbed your plate, scraping the rest in the garbage and setting the plate in the sink. Your appetite was gone and your patience had snapped, not that you had been the most patient thus far anyways.

Arvin watched as you stormed out of the kitchen, grabbed your coat off the coat rack by the front door, and walked out of the house. His head hit his hands. No matter how hard he tried to protect those he cared about, he only seemed to hurt them more.

-

You hadn’t expected Arvin to find you here so when the door opened to the old barn, you turned around in surprise. You were curled up in your coat, sitting on an old wooden crate that had been untouched in this unused barn for God knows how long. A large window looked out over the large field that had once been the family farm but was now practically a glorified dirt lot. Your coat was wrapped tightly around your body, held in place with one hand while you held a lit cigarette with the other.

“Didn’t know you smoked,” Arvin took a few steps in, his hands shoved guiltily in the pocket of his denim jacket.

You blew out a large plume of smoke that you had been holding in and looked away, “I don’t too often.”

Arvin closed the barn door behind him as he approached you and you had to fight the urge to get up and leave but you knew that made you no less immature than the way you felt he was acting.

“‘M sorry. I really am.”

You took another drag and turned to him, the moonlight illuminating his features - somehow so boy-like but so rugged - and it was hard to stay mad at him. “I am too. I don’t mean to be dramatic but I just… I don’t understand, Arv. If somethin’s wrong, you can tell me. This whole silent treatment BS with zero explanation doesn’t cut it.”

Arvin let out a heavy breath. While doing the dishes from dinner for you after you stormed off, he had had time to contemplate what to do. And he had decided. “If I tell you, it’s gonna change how you look at me.”

Your head tilted up at his cryptic opener but you said nothing, only urged him to continue with your eyes.

With a deep shaky inhale, he started his story, “I ain’t a bad man but I’ve done some bad things. Things that I thought I could run away from. I been livin’ a lie for a long time, actin’ like I ain’t hurt nobody, but it ain’t true.” Arvin paused for a moment to gauge your reaction and all he saw was fear in your eyes, just as he had feared.

A million thoughts of terrible things people were capable of ran through your head as you tried to figure out which one Arvin could possibly be guilty of, though they all felt so out of character for him. Was it murder? Assault? Rape? Thievery? The man you had come to care for so deeply now swam in a murky pool of doubt and distrust. Arvin saw all this and more in your deep, worried eyes.

“What did you do?” Your voice was weaker than you wanted it to be, cracking with fear. Until today, you hadn’t imagined Arvin capable of doing anything that could real harm to anyone, maybe aside from a stupid fight in high school or something along those lines, but you could see it in his eyes that whatever it was he was trying to confess to really was that bad.

Arvin lost his ability to speak for a moment. He had resolved to tell you everything before even coming out here to talk to you but the fear shining in your eyes already had his heart breaking. It was as if every new line of moonlight reflecting off the growing whites of your eyes was a new stain that he managed to tarnish your view of him with. Arvin had to look away because he couldn’t bear to look at you when he finally admitted his crimes, couldn’t stand to watch your face contort in fear when you realized what a monster he was.

“Y-you remember that preacher I told you ‘bout? The one that hurt my sister?”

You nodded, “Y-yeah…”

Arvin swallowed hard and he gripped his thigh tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “Well few weeks after we buried Lenora, a police officer came up ‘n told me the coroner had found out she was havin’ a baby. None of us knew before. I don’t know how but I just knew it was that no good preacher. I didn’t have any proof though so I started followin’ ‘im ‘n found out he was worse than I thought. He was no good to his wife ‘n I saw him out takin' advantage of another girl in town who was even younger than my Lenora was. He was doin’ nothin’ but hurtin’ people ‘n I… I killed im.”

Your mouth fell open, “You- You killed him?”

Arvin looked down at his feet, “I shot him.”

It was silent as you processed the information. This preacher sounded like a terrible man, abusing young girls and leading one to commit suicide. The infidelity to his wife was a moot point against his other indiscretions and even that was unacceptable. It honestly sounded like Arvin had done a service to the world, taking this monster out of it, but it was still difficult to look at him the same after knowing that he had actually shot someone.

When you didn’t respond, Arvin had decided to continue, not thinking he could cause much more damage, “I ran. Left a note for my grandma and uncle and disappeared. I tried hitchhiking my way out of town when I got picked by this couple. They seemed nice ‘nough at first but the husband, he started actin’ real weird. They pulled us way off the road. Said he wanted to take some pictures but then I saw him pull out a gun and then he tried pullin’ me outta the car. I-I panicked and I kicked the door into him ‘n I shot ‘im before he could get me.”

Arvin’s voice was cracking as tears began to fall down his face. It was one thing to replay the memories in his own head but it was another thing entirely to actually confess his sins to someone he cared so deeply about, knowing the truth would most likely hurt you. “The wife, she pulled out a gun and pointed it at me ‘n I pointed mine at her. I begged her to put the gun down. I-I didn’t wanna shoot her. I really didn’t. I was so tired of killin’ but then she apologized ‘n I knew she was gonna pull the trigger. We both shot at the same time. I got no clue how she didn’t shoot me. I fell out the car without a scratch but I when I got up, I realized I got her through the neck 'n she was gone. I panicked ‘n searched the car. Found all these pictures of her all naked and huggin’ up on some naked dead guy ‘n I knew… I knew I was gonna be next.”

Your brain sprinted a mile a minute to try and keep up with the trauma Arvin was confessing and you didn’t know whether to hug him and let him cry on you or run as far away as possible.

“Then-”

“There’s more?” You wanted to beg him to stop talking, to stop telling you about the blood on his hands, to stop telling you about all the suffering he had been through. You sounded shocked and heartbroken and yet none of these tragedies were yours.

Arvin hiccuped and sniffled in a failed attempt to hide a sob. Red had taken over his features, both physically and metaphorically. Obviously distraught by his past and now your reaction, he felt like he was beginning to spiral down that hole of darkness that he had tried so hard to claw his way out of. There were nothing but snakes down there, ready to bite him and poison his mind with the words he had fought so desperately to keep out. Murderer. Stalker. Liar. Sinner. All of these and so many more.

Yet, he nodded, feeling as if he’d still be lying if he didn’t finish telling you everything. When he nodded, you made a small squeak of disbelief.

“I-I ran,” He sniffled out, “I hitchhiked my way back to my old hometown. I didn’t know why at first but I just needed to go home. Felt like maybe I could fix what had been broken there. Went there to find it all burnt down but then this sheriff came lookin’ after me. Turns out he was that lady’s brother - the one who shot at me and had the pictures of the cut up dead guys. He was all angry and wanted to kill me for shootin’ his sister. I tried… I tried to tell ‘im that she was no good and that she was gonna kill me but he didn’t wanna listen. He was shootin’ at me and… and… I ain’t had no choice.”

It was silent, aside from the ambient bugs chirping outside. You had tried so hard to focus on Arvin’s face but you had long since zoned out visually, only able to focus on the words he was saying. How could he have gone through all of this? How could your wonderful, amazing, beautiful Arvin Russell have survived so much suffering and been forced to murder people? Murder.

“Please say somethin’.”

Your lips quivered as your vision came back into view and all you saw was a tearful, fearful, remorseful boy before you on the brink of falling apart. Arvin’s hair was messy from having run his hands through it, his eyes were red and puffy from the tears, his breathing was shaky from remembering. There were no words.

You threw your arms around his neck and held him tightly to you. You didn’t know what else to do. How does someone respond to information like this? There was so much trust that Arvin needed to put in you to tell you - you couldn’t freak out.

“You don’t hate me?” His hands flew to your arms, prying them off his neck so he could see your face.

Your head shook, “How could I hate you for what you did?”

“I murdered four people.”

“You took out a disgusting predator who practically killed your sister and was harming who knows how many other girls. Then you killed a couple of murderers who pulled guns on you first in self defense. And then, yet again, you were put in a life or death situation with a sheriff who was shootin’ at you for killin’ his murderin’ sister. Three of those were self defense and I’d dare say that first one was a public service. You have nothin’ to be sorry for. You have nothin’ to regret. You did what you had to do to survive.” You squeezed Arvin’s hands tightly, running your soft thumbs over the lightly calloused skin of his knuckles.

Arvin looked down at your hands on his, hands that were so much smaller than his own but right now felt so encompassing and comforting, as if they wrapped his own in a blanket of protection. He couldn’t believe you were okay with this. He was barely okay with it. “I don’t regret it but I didn’t wanna have to do it. If I coulda let that lady go, if she only woulda listened to me ‘n put the gun down I wouldn’t o’ had to pull the trigger. I coulda let the cops deal with it. Same with the sheriff. If only he woulda listened… I only wanted to shoot the preacher. I was okay with havin’ that on my conscience. But I had no idea how outta control that day was gonna get. All those cold dead eyes starin’ up at you, watchin’ the life drain from someone’s face ‘n knowin’ you’re the one who caused that... Even if they were real fucked up people, it ain’t a sight that’s easy to see.”

“I can’t even imagine what it must’ve been like, Arvin.” Your hand slid up his arm to rest on his bicep and you leaned your forehead onto his shoulder. His arm snaked around your body and held you close but cautious, like he was scared if he held you too tightly that you’d be scared he’d hurt you too. Of course, you weren’t. The thought did cross your mind that perhaps it was unwise to trust a man who just admitted to killing four people but that wasn’t Arvin and you knew it. “You may have killed people but that does not make you a killer. You’re just someone who was put in some really hard situations and had to make some tough choices.”

You pulled back and put your hand on his cheek, slightly scratchy from not shaving that day, and you spoke gently, “You are wonderful, Arvin. You are caring and hard working and loyal and willing to stand up for what is right. You are everything good in this world-”

“I hurt people-”

“You protect people,” you corrected, “‘N if some bad people had to get hurt to keep the good ones safe, well maybe they shouldn’t have been such bad people.”

Arvin could have melted into a puddle at your feet, and likely would have if you hadn’t been holding him. Never had he expected to tell anyone his terrible deeds and in every imagined scenario in which he did, it had never ended well. He had imagined you running for the hills, screaming at him to get out, maybe even threatening him physically out of fear that he’d hurt you now (which he’d never dream of doing).

But you didn’t do any of that. Gentleness and understanding were far from the reaction he’d expected or even felt like he deserved but nevertheless here you were holding him and reassuring him that he wasn’t the monster he’d called himself for so many months.

“I love you.”

His admission surprised you but Arvin felt fully confident in his words. He had never known what love felt like - romantic love at least - but this was damn near the closest thing he could imagine to it. You occupied his thoughts every waking moment, your face and your voice swimming around his imagination in a beautiful ocean of warmth and kindness and goodness that he would gladly drown in. You were strong and responsible and understanding and oh so beautiful. Much like him, you’d been handed a shit hand by life and struggled each day to make the best of it. Arvin cared about you so much it scared him because he had not felt this compulsion towards anyone since Lenora had passed. After losing everything he’d ever loved, he was scared that if he admitted that he loved you, life would take you away from him as well. If there was one thing that you did, though, it was take away Arvin’s fear.

“I love you too, Arvin.” He pulled your body flush against his when you responded, a heavy sigh of relief leaving his chest. Much like Arvin, you hadn’t known what real love felt like. You’d even started believing that maybe you weren’t meant for such a luxury.

Now you and Arvin felt like the richest people in the world, despite having almost nothing to your names. As long as you were in each others’ arms, you had everything. You were each others’ trust, honesty, comfort, compassion, and protection.

_______

Taglist:

@peterswebshooters

@thisisparadisemylove

@justapurrcat

@tomsirishgirlx

@peterswebshooters

@femmme-xxx-fatale

@kittyformannn

@aidinniram

@minejungwoo

@mathletemadison

#arvin #arvin russell #arvin russel imagine #arvin russel imagines #arvin russel x reader #arvin russel x y/n #arvin russel x you #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader #the devil all the time #tdatt smut #tdatt fanfiction #tdatt imagine #tdatt x reader #hayloft

[little-fairy-forest]

hi, I was wondering if you could please do 9, and 29 with shouto for the Valentine’s Day event?

" I wish this night could last forever" + "you truly are somthing out of a fairytale" "then be in my happy ending"

The gardens were quiet, not many people ventured this far away from the ball currently going on in the castle. You and your new found friend had been talking for what seems like forever, but you were enjoying his company.

You and prince Shouto had awkwardly seen eachother in the gardens as it seemed you both had the same idea to get away from the packed party and to find somewhere quiet.

Shouto had been telling you stories of his kingdom in the south, his father was here with him as Shouto needed to "get use to big events once he's king". Shouto could care less for formal events but if you were at them then maybe he could attend them more frequently.

As the stars shine above you both as you share another round of gentle laughter, you take in the moment incase its your last with the two-toned boy.

"I wish this night could last forever" you say as you wipe your tears away, oh how you'll miss this boys company since you live so far away. Not to mention your families specialise in different exports so it's not like you'll see eachtoher frequently. Shouto's kingdom exports top tier medicine and mecial supplies, whilst your kingdom exports fabrics and textiles.

Shouto smiles and looks up at the stars, they were twinkling and shining bright, much like the feeling inside shouto right how,, maybe if he looked hard enough he could see if the stars made up a constellation of you and shoutos future–

"Do you see any constellations up there?" You ask looking up at the sky. Shouto was embarrassed he was looking at them for too long. He tried his best to find some but he was unfortunate.

"Oh, theres one" you point up at the constellation. "What's it called?" Shouto asked since it seemed like you knew alot about astrology. "It's just the big dipper, one of the easiest ones to see" you say as you look around for more.

"Oh! Over there we have Orion, thats the hunter constellation" you continued to show off more constellations to Shouto "here we have Lyra, it's a small constellation, it represents an instrument" you look over at Shouto who seemed to have an awe–struck expression on his face.

"Your so intelligent, I never knew the stars had so much meaning behind them" he says, he is quick to continue "you truly are something out of a fairytale" he says as he takes your hands in his.

You couldn't believe what was happening right now, this man you only met hours prior is looking at you as if you hung the stars and moon yourself. Now it's your turn to make the prince feel special  "then be in my happy ending".

Maybe somewhere in the stars above, they have aligned for you both to meet and fall in love,

-> event

-> prompt list

#fairy's valentine event 💌👑 #bnha #bnha imagines #little fairy forest #mha headcanons #mha fluff #mha x y/n #bnha headcanons #todoroki shouto x reader #prince shouto #fantasy bnha #todoroki shouto x you #todoroki shouto

[weelittleweasley]

one more night (g.w.)

prompt: after a bad breakup, george comes back to y/n’s flat to pick up some leftover things he missed. one of these missing things was a proper goodbye.

pairings: george weasley x fem! reader

warnings: 18+ sexual content MDI (break up sex, soft sex, unprotected sex), super angsty, language, emotional break up, crying

word count: 3.7k

author’s note: something about break up sex really does it for me. like...it’s so hot and for why? anyway, here’s wonderwall. flashbacks are conveyed through italics. 

taglist: @rosaliepostsstuff @harrysweasleys @gcdric @lumos-barnes @whizboingies @lumosandnoxwriting @pxroxide-prinxcesss @c-t-h​ @lol-idk-oops @another-lonely-heart-blog @starlightweasley @parseltongueswriting @shilohpug @peachypotter​ @spacexcowgirl​ @vogueweasley​​

The small cardboard box that sat next to the door was completely pathetic, sitting there in shame. The cardboard could barely hold the boxes contents, wanting to burst at its seams as it held every shred of George Weasley that was in your flat. You wanted your flat to be a George Weasley free space, but a part of you wanted to keep the magic of your relationship alive. He couldn’t miss his quidditch jumper from Hogwarts, could he? It had been years since you graduated, he wouldn’t remember that you had it, right? So, his jumper hung proudly in your closet like the status of your relationship hadn’t changed.

As you leaned against your kitchen island, sipping quietly from your coffee mug, you stared at the cardboard box, hoping that the intensity of your gaze would make the box combust into flames. But it stayed still. Unaffected. George’s things teemed out of the box, miscellaneous shirts and jumpers and trinkets piled high. You caught yourself smiling as you shook it off, reminding yourself of the status of your relationship, cringing as you did so. 

The night of your break up played on a constant loop, like a movie trailer. When you woke up, it was the first thing on your mind. When your head hit the pillow, it was the last thing you thought of when you closed your eyes. It was a sick cycle.

“I can’t change my work schedule to fit yours, George. I’ve done it in the past so often and I can’t anymore. I’m finally on my own two feet and I need to keep the ball rolling,” you explain to George as you sit at his kitchen table as George paces the living room, back and forth, pulling at his red roots, trying to formulate a response. “Admit it, George. We can’t m-”

“Don’t you say what you’re going to say, (Y/N). Don’t you bloody dare,” he speaks as you sigh, rubbing your face with your hands. You didn’t want to have this conversation with George, but it was unavoidable at this point. You had just gotten a job as a full-time Healer, working in St. Mungo’s, your dream job. But the busy work schedule that you had was failing to align with George’s schedule working the joke shoppe that just seemed to do better and better every day. “We can work this out. We can’t just give up at the first sign of hardship,” George laughs as you give him a knowing look. You had been trying to make it work for a month, but things simply weren’t working. When you did see him, it would be for two hours and the two of you would be so exhausted that you would talk for five minutes before going to bed. “(Y/N), I don’t want to be the one to suggest this, but I can support us. The both of us. The joke shoppe is doing so well and with the booming business, I have enough money for me to sell this flat and we can buy a home together. Start a family. What we’ve always wanted to do!”

You rise from your chair at the thought of quitting your job. Something you had worked years and years towards and George dared to bring up the suggestion of you quitting a month and a half in. “I am not quitting,” you say very sternly, making George sigh, knowing he shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. “I have worked my ass off to get where I am right now and I’m not going to sacrifice that for the sake of our relationship!” you exclaim.

But that was wrong of you to say; it just put wood on the fire. “So how far would you go for our relationship?” George challenges, folding his arms across his chest as you gulp. “Because Godric knows everything I have done for the sake of us.”

And he was right. George shifted employees and his own work schedule so he could have an extra hour with you some nights. He would close the shops on holiday weekends, which was prime for sales, so he could take you on romantic getaways. George told you to move in with him when you struggled to find a flat of your own. He helped get you through Healer school. George put you before him in the relationship and you knew that. You felt guilty now. You shouldn’t have said what you did.

“I didn’t mean it like that, George,” you sigh, admitting defeat as George scoffs. “I meant that I can’t give up my dream. Just when I finally got it. And I don’t want you to give up yours. It’s not fair for the both of us,” you try to tell him as he shakes his head, knowing the direction the conversation has turned and he doesn’t like it one bit. So much so that you can see his eyes become glassy as he turns his head away from you so you didn’t have to watch him break down. “George, I love you. The life you have given us has been nothing short of wonderful.”

“Stop it, please,” he manages to croak out, turning towards you, his chocolate brown eyes pooling with hot tears. The sight makes your heart shatter as you suck in a shaky breath, swallowing the lump in your throat. Tears were impending. “I don’t want to let you go. I can’t let you go. Not like this,” George holds your face in his hands, brushing your cheeks with his thumbs, gazing into your eyes with so much love he could burst. You let go of a shaky sigh as you lean into his touch and close your eyes, savoring the way his large hands held your face with such ease. “I’m not letting you go, (Y/N). I’m going to love you forever and ever and there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

You open your eyes and give George a sad smile as he sniffles. You reach up and press your lips to his, your kiss mixing with both of your salty tears. This love that you possessed for each other was greater than anything you have ever known. But the universe was trying to tell you that this wasn’t working. For the both of you to live the lives you always dreamed out you had to let the other go. No matter how hard it was going to be. 

The two of you pull away from your sweet kiss before you speak, “I’m never going to stop loving you, George. Nothing will change that. But for now, we need to let go. For both of our sake’s.”

The memory is interrupted by the buzzer going off in your flat. “Shit,” you huff as you scurry over to the intercom. You buzzed him in as you writhed your hands in anticipation, pacing your living room floor. Your eyes dart to the box. Should you move it? Keep it close to the door? If you keep it next to the door does it say you want him out for good? What if you put it on the table? Is that more of a welcome in? Should you let him come in? 

Too many thoughts clouded your mind before a gentle knock sounded on the door. Your heart froze and you stopped in the living room. “Bloody hell,” you breathe out as you look at yourself in the mirror, checking your hair and smiling to see if anything was in your teeth. “It’s just goodbye, (Y/N). Just goodbye,” you tell yourself before you walk over to the door, undoing the latches and locks.

When you swing it open, George stands there, fresh from a shower it looks like. His hair is slightly damp, hanging on his head rather than spiked up and slicked back like it usually was. Like you loved it. A gray t-shirt hung on his body, clinging on his arms, the front tucked into dark wash jeans. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he huffs with a small smile. “Work was crazy and I had to take a shower before I came over. I hope you don’t mind,” he speaks.

You gulp, trying not to blurt out how good he looked right now, the scent of his cologne making your body tingle as if it was some sick love potion. “Not at all,” you manage to say instead, thankfully. “Uh,” you tremble before looking down on the other side of the door to the box that taunted you. Picking it up from the floor, you extend it out to him. “This should be everything.”

George takes it from your arms and huffs, “Great.” He holds it in one of his arms with ease, his biceps flexing under his gray shirt as you watch, eyes hungry. This was some kind of sick joke, wasn’t it? With his other hand, he rummages through the piles, making sure he had everything. “Uh, my quidditch jumper is not in here?” he asks, but it was more of a matter of fact. 

Damn it. You had been caught. You had to come up with something, quickly. “Oh! Yeah! I forgot!” you try to act surprised. “It’s, uh, I washed it. Yeah, um, it’s in my room,” you close your eyes and shake your head. “One minute. You can come in if you want,” you open the door wider as George smiles and makes his way in your flat as if it were his first time here when in reality, he did have his own set of keys. You shut the door and watch him awkwardly stand into the living room, watching you. “Alright then.”

You scurry into your bedroom and push open your closet door, shuffling through the hangers, finding George’s quidditch jumper proudly hanging in the back in it’s crimson and gold glory. Plucking it from the hanger, you sigh in defeat. So much for that endeavor. You flip around to run back into the kitchen where George was waiting, but you were startled to see that he had followed you into your bedroom. “Oh,” you jump.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckles. “I didn’t know if I should have followed you or...” he trails off, awkwardly as you gulp and nod your head. “Seems like you found it.”

“Yeah, here it is,” you hand it to him, trying to savor the feeling of the knit material in your fingertips. It would be the last time you felt that material for a while. “Sorry about this mix up,” you tuck your hands into your sweatpants pockets, rocking back and forth on your heels.

George smiles and shakes his head, “No need to apologize. Honest mistake,” he speaks as you nod your head with an awkward chuckle. Yeah, honest mistake... “I’ll, uh, I’ll head out then, yeah?” he asks with raised brows.

You nod, “Sure. Yeah. Yeah.”

The two of you start to make your way out of your room, but George stops in his tracks when something catches his eye. You stop and follow his line of sight that landed on a framed picture of the two of you from one of your first holidays together. In the photograph, George held up the camera at the two of you, his arm wrapped around you tightly as you leaned into his chest, cuddling into his tall figure. The both of you were mid-laughter, the beautiful beach behind you, the sun fading the back. George smiled softly at the photo as you watched his face shift, your heart fluttering at his reaction. “That was a good holiday, wasn’t it?” he chuckles, walking towards your dresser where the frame stood proudly. It had been two weeks since the break up, but you didn’t bother taking any photos out of the frames yet. You couldn’t bare it. That would mean George was gone for good. 

You smile softly and walk next to him as he gazes at the photograph, all the memories resurfacing of the beautiful beach and the small cabana George had gotten for the two of you with the graduation money he had saved up. “It was,” you recall. “It was like a dream, honestly. We were so young back then,” you say in disbelief. It was true. You were both just eighteen in that picture and now here you were, twenty two, post-break up. The two of you had grown up so much since that holiday. You wish you could jump through the picture and tell your younger self to relish in every moment you had with George because each moment was beautiful. 

George laughs, “We look so young. Merlin...” The two of you chuckle at the photo. “We were so happy,” he sighs before looking at you. You don’t dare peel your eyes from the photograph, knowing that if you look at him right now, you’d melt and give into him. “Look at me please,” he speaks just above a whisper.

Shaking your head, you speak, “I can’t, Georgie. I can’t bear it.”

His heart flutters at your nickname for him. “I want to take a look at your eyes. A good look. One last time and I promise I’ll go.” George reaches out and touches your hand gently, as if you were made of glass and the slightest touch would break you. “(Y/N).”

With a gulp and mustering up all your courage, you turn your gaze to his and your heart melts at the sight. If a look could speak. His eyes were so sad, but filled with so much longing and love and adoration. The face you loved so much, full of so much tenderness, staring down at you. He made you feel like you were the only person who mattered. Because to George, you were. 

The two of you are just looking at each other, absorbing each other’s features as much as possible before one of you dares to speak up. Slowly, George reaches up and cups your face, like you were so used to. “George,” you sigh out breathlessly as you lean into his touch, tears welling up in your eyes. You can’t believe you had to let him go. “I just want to be happy again. With you.”

George gives you a sad smile, “I do too, angel. More than anything. It’s my only wish. Even if it’s just for another day.”

His words make the wheels start churning in your head as you lick your lips before saying, “Then let us have one more day. One more night together. I don’t care if it’s temporary. I just want one last memory with you, Georgie.”

George’s eyes search yours as you desperately hold onto him, needing him, wanting him, yearning for him. George brings your face to his, connecting your lips in a kiss that was unlike any other kiss you’ve ever had. It made the hair on your neck stand up. Your arms wrap around his neck as his wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him. The kiss is full of urgency and desire, as if you didn’t take each other right now, there wouldn’t be another opportunity for this. 

You break apart from the kiss to pull George’s shirt over his head as he does the same to you only to reconnect your kiss. His lips move against yours, hungrily, passionately as you moan gently into his mouth. George grabs your thighs and hoists you up as you wrap your legs around his torso as he walks over to the bed, laying you down gently, kissing your lips, neck, and collarbones. His lips leave trails of wet kisses as you run your finger through his still damp hair, tugging on it gently. “Please, George, please,” you whine as he kisses the valley between your breasts.

He pulls himself away from your chest to kiss your lips again. “Anything you want, angel. Say the word and I’m all yours,” he tells you, brushing your hair gently. You grab his face and pull him down to connect your lips again, his tongue slipping into your mouth as you arch your back, pushing your chest into his. His tongue massages yours as his hands unclasp your bra, throwing it to the floor. 

“I want you to make love to me,” you mumble against his mouth as George smiles softly, his heart fluttering. “I want you to make love to me, Georgie. I want to remember this night for the rest of my life.”

“Anything, angel. Anything you want,” he repeats himself as you both breathily laugh, reconnecting your lips, stripping the other of their remaining clothes. Soon enough, the two of you are naked and George breathes out, “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You connect your lips again before you place kisses along George’s jawline as he hovers over you, lining himself up to your entrance, pulling your legs farther open as you wrap them around his torso. George runs the tip of his hard dick up your wet pussy as you bite down on your lip with a sharp inhale. “Please, baby, please,” you beg him which only makes George obey you, pushing his whole length into your aching core as you both moan out in satisfaction. He fills you up in a way that is so familiar and delightful as you dig your nails into his biceps. “Shit,” you moan out as George starts to move, thrusting in and out of you slowly.

“Fucking hell,” George groans out. “You feel fucking incredible,” he breathes out, his hips moving smoothly against yours, pumping his hard cock in and out as your walls tighten around him. “You like that, baby?”

With a whimper, you moan out, “I love it, baby. Keep going, don’t stop. I love the way you fuck me. Fuck, George.” George continues to thrust in and out, picking up his pace, going in deeper as your eyes flutter shut. Your nails dig deeper into his shoulder as you groan, “Right there, baby, right there. Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

Your praise makes George push your legs open wider so he can push impossibly deeper into you, before hoisting one of your legs over his shoulder, making the both of you cry out in euphoria. “Shit, I love the way you feel wrapped around me. Say my name, baby,” George groans.

“Oh, George, fuck, baby,” you moan out louder, head tossed back against your sheets as George buries his face in your neck as you hold onto him. He pounds into you deeper as you are panting in a state of nirvana. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” you dig your nails into George’s flesh as he presses love bites into your neck.

He looks at you and speaks, “Look at me, angel. I want you to cum looking into my eyes, baby.” You peel your eyes open and look into his brown eyes, dark with a mixture of lust and love. “I love you, angel.”

As he continues to thrust, you feel the familiar knotting feeling in your stomach as your jaw drops. “I love you,” you breathe out, looking deep into George’s eyes. “I love you so much, baby. I love you, I love you.”

“I love you, I love you,” George repeats as you reach your climax, crying out his name in pleasure, head rolling back as you clutch the sheets, coming all over his dick. Shortly after, George finishes, moaning out your name, the both of you a symphony of moans and heavy breathing. 

The two of you come down from your highs as he pulls out and lays on the bed next to you, chests heavy with the rise and fall of incoming and outgoing breaths. You run your fingers through your hair before rolling onto your side to face George who stares at the ceiling. A small smile is on your lips as you place a hand on George’s chest. He turn his gaze to you and a toothy grin is on your face as you giggle, George pulling you close to him with a breathy chuckle. He places a kiss to your temple. The two of you cuddle next to each other, naked underneath your sheets, happy to be resting in each other’s arms. 

That is until George speaks, “You didn’t really wash my jumper did you? You were trying to keep it in hopes I didn’t notice, weren’t you?” You can hear the smile in his voice as you roll your eyes. “You were!”

You sit up, “I was not!”

George laughs, “You cheeky little thing! You were trying to steal my clothes from me after we broke up!”

The two of you are in a fit of laughs, laying next to each other, enjoying the feeling of skin on skin next to each other. You rest your head on George’s chest as he rubs your back. “I wish we could be this happy all the time,” you confess as George sighs, wishing the same thing. But the two of you knew that this wasn’t working anymore. The break up was for the best. 

“I do too, my love,” he agrees. “But I don’t want to focus on what we wish could happen. Let’s just enjoy tonight while we have it, okay?” he speaks as you nod, cuddling further into his touch. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Minutes later, the two of you had fallen asleep, entangled in each others arms, the last words on your lips being confessions of love. 

The morning comes as quickly as you fell asleep. You stretch your arms out and pat the area of the bed next to you, searching for George. But you quickly realize that your George wasn’t there. 

In his place was a piece of parchment that had scribbled onto it, I didn’t want to leave before you woke up, but work calls sadly. Thank you for last night. It was the best night of my life. I love you, (Y/N). I always have and I always will. That will never change. You are my angel. Love always, Your George. P.S. You can keep the jumper. It looked better on you anyway.

A few feet away from the note was the jumper on the edge of the bed, laid out in it’s glory as a small smile made its way onto your face. You reach over and pull the jumper onto your naked body, inhaling the fabric that smelt so much of George, making your heart flutter. “Maybe someday,” you whisper. “Maybe someday, my love.”

#Fred and George #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagine #george weasley #george weasley x #george weasley x reader #george weasley x reader imagine #george weasley x you #george weasley x y/n #george wealsey x fem #george weasley x fem #george weasley x fem! reader #george weasley x fem reader #Harry Potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfic #Harry Potter Smut #harry imagine #george weasley smut

[anabsolutetrainwreck]

for your eyes only || h. styles

warnings: swearing, references to drugs

word count: 2.5k

summary: harry is feeling the pressure of making his new album...

You were already in bed by the time Harry got home. Though still awake, your eyes were heavy and your body ached for rest. But you’d never been able to sleep without knowing Harry was safe at home. 

The slamming of the front door echoed through your house. You listened silently as he hung up his coat and kicked off his shoes. You heard him wander into the kitchen, turn on the tap and pour himself a glass of water. After a couple of minutes, he ventured upstairs, heading straight into the bathroom. He began brushing his teeth. 

All the while, you stared out the window of your bedroom. It looked out onto the London streets, dimly lit by the street lights. The bedroom was dark, only illuminated slightly by the outside sky and all of its stars and the moon. 

Harry had been at the studio all day. He’d been stressing about writing his new album. He had started coming home late and leaving early. You barely saw him anymore. You always left him some leftovers in the fridge for him to eat when he got in or take for his lunch. Every time you tried to ask him if he was okay or if he needed to take a break, he’d just shrug you off and tell you he was fine. 

You’d seen a similar thing when he was making his first album, but it was never as bad as this. You’d seen it when he was trying to finish Watermelon Sugar, but it was never as bad as this. 

You felt the bed sink beside you, which consequently woke your cat, who was sleeping at the bottom of your bed. His name was Podge. Rolling over to face Harry, you smiled softly at him. You wanted to be angry at him for never telling you where he was anymore or prioritising his album over your relationship, but you just couldn’t be. You always knew where he was. He went to the studio all day and then would go back to Sarah and Mitch’s for a bit during the evening. “How are you?” he whispered, wrapping his arm around your body.

“Tired,” you replied, squeezing him tightly.

He pressed his lips lazily to the top of your head. You smiled at the feeling of his touch. “Go to sleep then,” he mumbled. 

“But I haven’t seen you today. And I won’t see you tomorrow,” you sighed. “I just miss you. And I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, love. You know I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

You sat up, turning back to him. He frowned, propping himself up against the headboard. “That’s the thing. I don’t think you would tell me.”

“What? Where did you get that idea?” 

“Well, you never told me when you were making your first album. You never told me when you were trying to finish Watermelon Sugar. You don’t have a great track record of being transparent when it comes to telling me when you’re not okay,” you explained. “Instead, all you do is come home and go to sleep. Then you wake up before me to get to the studio early. And even when you finish at the studio, you go back to Sarah and Mitch’s. She’s fucking pregnant, Harry, give them some time alone.”

He sat there and took it like a small child being scolded by his mother. He played with his fingers as you tried not to shout. You both knew it would only be a matter of time before you broke and all your feelings would come pouring out. 

The sound of Podge whining at the bottom of the bed interrupted your heated rant. He plodded his way up to the two of you, settling in between you both. He often did that. He’d clamber up to the top of the bed to sleep between your bodies when everyone was comfortable.

Harry reached down to run his hand along Podge’s soft back. You sighed, throwing the covers off your legs. “I’m going to get a drink,” you told him as you left him alone in the bedroom. 

He watched you leave. He didn’t call out or beg for your forgiveness. That was never how arguments were handled in your relationship. He sighed, getting comfortable in bed again, waiting for your return. The sound of Podge purring was enough to calm his nerves as he listened to you pour yourself a glass of water in the kitchen. He listened carefully as you walked around a bit, before he heard the back door open and close. 

You often went outside to take a moment to collect your thoughts whenever you and Harry got into an argument. Harry knew this. 

You set your glass down as you sat down on the bench against the wall. The fabric was cold against your thighs. You looked up at the bedroom window, wondering whether Harry was contemplating everything you’d said or if he was comfortably falling asleep. 

Harry waited for you to return. You never did. You’d gone to sleep in the spare bedroom. The two of you were too tired to take it too further tonight. So, you both slept, knowing tomorrow would either be full of shouting and tears of frustration or pettiness. 

However, when Harry woke in the morning, he climbed out of bed to apologise to you. Podge followed after him, his claws loud on the floor. But you were gone. The bed in the spare bedroom was made. He slowly made his way down to the kitchen, his nerves getting the better of him. Had you really left? 

There was a note on the kitchen counter by the bowl of fruit. ‘GONE OUT FOR BREAKFAST WITH GEM’. Harry looked over at the clock on the wall. It was thirteen minutes past nine. But he didn’t know when you’d written the note. He quietly poured himself a glass of orange juice and buttered some toast. He went out into the back garden, sitting down in the very spot you’d sat in a few hours earlier. 

The weather was nice. The sky was blue and there was a moderate breeze in the air. His phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up to reveal the picture of you he had set as his lock screen. Your slightly pixelated smile was electric through the screen as you cradled Podge in your arms when he was just a kitten. 

The notification was from Mitch. He couldn’t make it to the studio. Harry replied quickly, telling him it wasn’t a problem. It was Saturday anyway. Granted, Harry could probably do with a day off. But, even when he lay in bed all day doing absolutely nothing, he was still working.

That was the trouble with making an album: it plays on your mind until it’s finally out in the hands of the public. More so, Harry noticed, with his solo albums. And that was why Harry seemed to spend every waking moment in the studio. He figured that he might as well be in an environment where he can turn his epiphanies into harmonies.

He heard the front door open and close. You were home. Harry finished the remnants of his orange juice. Podge appeared in the doorway, rubbing his head along on the edge of the threshold. Shortly after, you followed. You were standing in the doorway, shuffling awkwardly. “Not going to the studio today?” you asked, sitting down opposite him. 

He shrugged, “Might do. It’s still early yet.”

You nodded. There was no pettiness. There was no shouting. There was just silence with intervals of small talk. Harry watched you as you fiddled with your fingers, your knee bouncing. You were nervous, he could tell. “How was Gemma?” he asked. 

“She was great,” you replied. “Asked how you were.”

“Yeah? What did you tell her?”

“I said you were fine,” you shrugged. “Just busy with the album.”

He nodded slowly, “Right.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, sitting up straight. You felt Podge run his body along your leg beneath the table. “What? Was I wrong to say that?” you asked, worrying that you’d done something wrong. 

He shook his head quickly, “No, no.”

Harry didn’t say anything more. He was closed off. There was something he wasn’t telling you. You’d been with Harry long enough to know this. Usually, he was quite open with you. He told you what felt like everything. But this never applied to his music. His job. You and his job were two separate things. He made that explicitly clear from the very beginning. You were never to get mixed up with his music and his music was never to get mixed up with you. The line between the two was never blurred. 

But this meant he hardly ever told you when he was struggling or when he felt like he needed a break from it all. You only ever heard songs when they were finished. You only ever saw music videos when they were complete. You had only ever been to one awards show with him - the 2020 Brits. You had never even seen the inside of the studio. You had only met his band on a handful of occasions, all of which had been on nights out or for celebratory dinners, never when they were rehearsing. 

It was like he was leading two lives. 

“You are okay, aren’t you?”

He nodded, “Sure. Just a bit stressed.”

You sighed, exasperated, “You always say that! Every time I ask if you’re doing alright, you just shrug and tell me you’re ‘a bit stressed’. Harry, ‘a bit stressed’ isn’t spending every day at the studio. It isn’t spending all night at the piano, trying to get a song just right. It isn’t constantly comparing yourself to other artists, trying to work out what worked for them and what didn’t. It isn’t getting high every time you fuck something up. It isn’t acting like you have no life outside of the music you make.”

“I don’t! I don’t have a life outside of the music I make. Don’t you get it? I’ve dreamed of this my entire life. I reached the top with the band. And once you’ve had a taste of what it’s like to own the fucking world, everything you do becomes about trying to get there again. It’s like a fucking drug. When it’s been in your system once, it lives there forever and you can’t stop thinking about it. You crave it,” he snapped. You winced as you watched him become so worked up, tears of frustration falling down his cheeks. He dragged his fingers through his hair, tugging on the strands harshly. 

It took you a moment to absorb everything Harry had said. Last night, it had only been a matter of time before you’d broken. Today, it had only been a matter of time since Harry broke. You were sick of it. Harry was sick of it. You let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly as his words registered, “I don’t know if you need to hear this from me. I don’t know if anyone has ever actually said this to you. But you’ll never be as big as the band.”

Harry looked up, his eyebrows knitted together. He looked offended. As anyone would be, you supposed. “What?” he squeaked out. 

“I know it’s brutal. And I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but you’re never going to be as big as the band. And it’s shit, Harry, I know. But you’re a fifth of that band. Some fans left with Liam, and some left with Zayn, and some left with Louis, and some left with Niall. And some left with you. And some left with all five of you. But the point is you’re missing four of the components you had when you owned the world. That band was fucking massive, Harry.”

He didn’t say anything for a while. You didn’t expect him to. You’d said all you felt you needed to say to him. And, while you knew you’d never be able to relate to exactly how Harry was feeling, you’d seen the devastating consequences stardom has on a person. You pressed on, “You owned the fucking world, Harry. But you owned it with four other guys. And I don’t think you could do it on your own.”

He sighed, nodding, “It’s just hard.”

“I know, baby. But it won’t get easier if you just don’t stop. You need to step back from this toxic mindset you’ve got yourself into. You literally just won a Grammy, give yourself a break,” you said. 

“That’s the point. I won a Grammy for Watermelon Sugar. What if I can’t make that again?” he sighed.

“Harry, you’ll never be able to make it again. Surely that’s the beauty of it all, right? Nobody wants to hear you put out another Watermelon Sugar. I can guarantee your fans would be happy to listen to what you want to make,” you said. 

It felt so foreign to be talking to Harry about these kinds of things. You’d reassured him and given him advice on all sorts, but never about the music industry. That was his area of expertise. But spending time with Gemma always put you in some sort of healthy frame of mind.

You reached across the table to squeeze his hand. There was no way you could still be angry at Harry for spending so much time away from the house. He wiped away the stray tears that clung to his cheeks. He reached down to cuddle Podge, who’d jumped up onto the bench at some point or another. “Thanks,” he said quietly, finally looking you in the eyes. “I’m sorry for getting so worked up over this. It’s so pathetic.”

“Don’t apologise, H. I love you and I’m always gonna be here for you. Please don’t be embarrassed about these things. I’ll never judge you for being emotional,” you smiled softly. 

“You’re too good for me,” he said, grinning across at you. 

You leaned back in your chair, shrugging, “Probably. I do think of this relationship as more of charity work.”

He laughed, “You’re so selfless!”

“I know! What can I say, some heroes don’t wear capes,” you smirked. 

It was moments like these, with the sun beaming down at the two of you, that you’d missed. Harry was smiling again. It felt like something you hadn’t seen for weeks. 

The truth was, Harry had always found it easier to express his feelings through the art of music. And, while this posed many benefits for him, it meant that, when he was trapped with writer’s block, he found it difficult to free himself of the burdening stresses of his industry. 

You got to your feet, extending your hand to Harry, “Come on, you’ve not had a shower for days. You stink.”

#harry fanfic #harry fanfiction #harry imagine #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry x you #harry x y/n #harry x reader #harry imagines #harry styles imagines

[the-last-kenobi]

I... don’t have a reason for this one. it’s been sitting in my drafts for months so here we go.

_-_-_

Pale tiled floors, shining from regular cleanings and scattered with a few mismatched rugs in warm, rustic tones, each one made from different fibers and threads, each one showing signs of wear.

A long window, curtained over with sheer fabric that still permitted the light of dawn to suffuse the room. It filtered lazily over the furniture, just as mismatched and well-loved as the rugs, and the less tidy kitchen, a grey pot still spattered with an orange sauce left absent-mindedly on the stovetop.

A pair of boots discarded sloppily in the small space before the entry door. Large, mud-spotted, scuffed — Qui-Gon’s, abandoned in a fit of sarcastic humor when he kicked them off the afternoon before, returning at last from a months-long mission.

A book, an actual paperbacked edition with edges made soft by use, by fingers lovingly and unthinkingly caressing the ridges and the binding, lying on the side table next to the coziest chair — Obi-Wan’s, deliberately set aside late last night when he realized he’d been reading much longer than he’d meant to.

Now, just after dawn, it was not surprising that the Master was the first to wake.

Qui-Gon exited his own room and paused in the common area, drinking in the familiarity, eyeing the book with knowing amusement. He went to the window and with what some of the crankier Masters would have called flagrant laziness, waved his hand and let the Force gently part the curtains.

It was not much brighter without them; they were sheer as it was and the smoggy vista this morning did not allow for much sun.

Still, sunshine was sunshine, polluted or not, and Qui-Gon relaxed as it washed over him, barefoot and still wearing his nightclothes under an old robe that had grown so ratty he had cleaned it and resigned it to the realm of comfort clothing.

He looked at the book again and smirked, shaking his head; as he walked past it towards the other door in the room, he ran a finger over the cover, feeling the ridges of the embossed title. Still, he thought, no excuses. I warned him we’d begin today with meditation. He can sleep in tomorrow.

“Obi-Wan,” he said, and opened the door to the boy’s room, a smaller and more cramped version of his own.

The light was greyer, here; the sunlight didn’t quite cross the threshold, and the solar-lamp on the desk was unlit. Shadows played with his eyes for a moment, and then Qui-Gon focused on the form on the bed, folded messily in the soft white sheets, curled on one side with one arm tucked beneath the pillow and the other dangling off the side of the bed.

“Obi-Wan,” he said again, cheerfully speaking with totally unnecessary volume. “Good morning.”

No response.

Snorting quietly, Qui-Gon approached the bed, reaching down to ignite the lamp as he did.

Golden light spilled out, and Obi-Wan’s soft golden-red hair burned like fire in response. Still, he slept on, his face turned towards his pillow and the sheets half-covering his cheek and nose.

“Padawan,” Qui-Gon said, exasperated now. “Good morning.”

He tugged on the braid that he had helped retie less than twelve hours ago, and Obi-Wan’s head twitched on the pillow as he was pulled, but the boy didn’t even blink.

“Star’s sake,” mumbled Qui-Gon, and pulled harder.

Obi-Wan’s whole head turned, his neck limp and unresisting at that mild tug, and the stark white face with its closed eyes and slack lips stared upwards, completely still.

Qui-Gon’s soul felt like it had lurched right out of his body.

He collapsed on his knees on the bed, kneeling over his apprentice, hands moving to frame the pale face and finding cool, stiff skin without a trace of the grouchy blush the poorly rested teenager would have given him any other day.

Frantic, Qui-Gon’s hands searched for a puff of warm breath from the open lips, for a heartbeat from the chest, for a pulse in the limp wrist that still dangled inches from the floor.

But there was nothing.

Qui-Gon shook his head wildly, lifting Obi-Wan’s head from the pillow, trying to make him sit up. The boy rolled limply in his arms and hung there like a rag doll, his face pressed against his Master’s overly worn robe, unknowing and uncaring of how awkwardly he was being held.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon tried to say again, but this time it came out stretched and broken, wavering like a child’s uncertain attempt at handwriting. More of a moan than spoken word. “Obi...Obi-Wan? No, no, no no no...” Begging, denying.

He’d do anything—

Obi-Wan was twenty. Twenty. Young, healthy, a few years at most from Knighthood, which was only the beginning. He was strong and well-trained and he had laughed when Qui-Gon left his boots on the floor last night and shaken his head, saying he was going to stay up and read and have to deal with that eyesore in his peripherals all evening, and he’d smiled when Qui-Gon reached over to tug on the Padawan braid and added a casual, paternal caress of the thumb across the freckled cheek as he did, and —

“Obi-Wan, wake up,” he begged his Padawan, pulling the boy closer, bowing his own head down to touch the slumped shoulder. “Please come back. I don’t understand. I don’t — Obi-Wan. Please.”

The words devolved into hyperventilating breaths, which turned into ragged sobs, which turned into... a blur.

A comm call. Someone asking him to breathe. Hands separating him from his Padawan. Someone he didn’t know casually moving the boots out of the way, as if they didn’t matter, as if they weren’t there so Obi-Wan could laugh at them again. Being led to the Halls. Questions being asked of him. Condolences being offered. Again and again. And again.

“A heart problem,” a distant voice saying. “Insignificant enough that it wasn’t picked up on. We think he had a startling vision, or a bad dream, and his heart-rate spiked but his breathing didn’t match it.”

“A small heart problem,” they said.

“Rare,” they said.

“Might never have caused problems, except...” they said.

“I’m so sorry,” they said.

But nothing they said was making anything make more sense, nothing they said was making reality any less nightmarish.

Obi-Wan was twenty.

He was supposed to wake up grumpy and meditate with him, he was supposed to make the tea because he liked to make the tea, and he was supposed to laugh about the boots while Qui-Gon teased him about his book.

He was not supposed to go into cardiac arrest in his sleep because his heart and his lungs weren’t working together as they should have.

He was not supposed to die.

“I would have felt it,” he heard himself say weakly. “I would have sensed it.”

“We’re not all-knowing,” Mace’s voice said heavily. Had he been talking to Mace? He supposed he must have been, but then he stopped caring and tuned the rest of the conversation out.

Then Qui-Gon was standing in the common area again, fixated on the book, well-loved, gently used, waiting patiently on the side table next to the coziest chair — because Qui-Gon preferred the sofa or the floor cushions, and because Obi-Wan liked to cross his legs and dangle them over the arm and he had been doing that since he was thirteen and lonely and still bearing bruises from when he’d been kidnapped and enslaved when he should have had a Master to protect him, and so that chair was Obi-Wan’s, really, just his — and the book was waiting and waiting and it was going to wait forever.

And that did it.

The boots, shoved aside, unremarked.

The book, waiting innocently on the table.

Obi-Wan was gone, and wouldn’t be coming back. Despite the dawn, despite the chair that was understood silently to be his, despite the promises of early meditation, despite the affection in the touch across his cheek, despite the boots waiting to be smiled at, despite the book waiting to be read again, despite a Master’s protection — a Master’s love —

Obi-Wan had been stolen away again, this time for good, and everything, everything was as ashes.

Qui-Gon stood rooted to the spot and watched the night pass and a new dawn creep up on its heels, hoping for golden light that would chase away some of the cold.

But the light was grey this morning, and he was alone.

Qui-Gon blinked aching eyes, feeling dried tears across the lids as he did. The lights hurt, and he groaned, turning away.

A face slid into view above him as at the same time two gentle hands held his head still, examining his face, and Qui-Gon froze, staring up at the person holding him.

He tried to speak, but he couldn’t, his throat swollen and throbbing from abuse.

“Shhhh,” said Obi-Wan, his face pinched with concern. “Go back to sleep, Master. You’ve been drugged. It’s almost over. I’ve got you. The Healers say you’ll be all right. Go back to sleep.”

Qui-Gon reached up, straining impossibly just to make his shaking hand obey him, and felt his callused fingers glide across the young, sun-freckled cheek, felt warmth and saw a dimple appear as Obi-Wan smiled down at him.

“Shhh,” said Obi-Wan again. “You’ve been dreaming something awful, I think. Nobody has hurt you, Master, you’re all right.”

“So...are you,” Qui-Gon rasped, his voice thin and unfamiliar to his own ears.

A strange look crossed the boy’s face, like realization and confusion all at once. Still, he nodded, and lowered his head down to rest his forehead briefly against his teacher’s. “I’m all right, Master. It was only a dream.”

_-_-_

#star wars #my writing #tw major character death #tw corpse #tw drugs #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #master & padawan #angst basically #I don’t know I wanted the pain but without the lasting consequences #that’s what we all want #right? #did i almost get you #it’s not like I haven’t killed this poor boy before #my poor boy #poor obi wan #my baby #so handsome #so kind #so killable #tw heart condition #tw medical

[confused-as-all-hell]

"i know we broke up, i know we don't talk anymore, but I still miss you"

@wesper-week i'm sincerely sorry for this chaos

Jesper Fahey's trade was humor.

His clothes were the colour of too much attention, his laugh limned in shimmering gold. He drew gazes and wistful stares like a lighthouse beacon called for drifting ships. The lines of his body were sharp, elegant, sprawling. When the corners of his mouth lifted in a grin, stars gleamed in his eyes.

He was so achingly beautiful, all tousled dark hair and broad shoulders and warm hands.

Girls and boys fell over themselves for one kiss, one little smile, one whispered word in their ear. How could they not?

Jesper was young and handsome and heady as a cup of evening wine, clever with his graceful fingers, wicked with his soft lips. His GPA was polished, his manners immaculate.

They hung on to his words, the cadence of them, the amused lilt that drenched every sentence.

Jesper had fallen in love with so many, men with rough laughs and kind smiles, women with curling hair and bright eyes. He had taken them over the world, to parks and monuments and cafes, kissed them in the shadow of history.

For every one of his lovers, he bought a ring.

Amethyst for the young lady who carried the scent of lavender.

Gold for the pretty girl whose lips tasted of joy.

Sapphire for the boy who kissed like a fucking god.

Ruby for the trickster woman who loved to laugh.

Copper for the handsome man who had a smile like late summer.

Jesper had cared for each of them in turn. He gifted flowers and jewelry and handwritten letters in his untidy scrawl. He had told them stupid jokes and held their hands and read to them in his unmade bed.

But one by one, they left him, and soon all that was left of their love were those glinting rings.

"Is there something wrong with me?" he whispered once, face shining with tears, head thrown back against the wall.

Nina rested her head against his chest, wrapping her arms around him awkwardly. "Of course not, darling."

He patted her cheek clumsily. "Then why does everyone keep leaving, Nina? Why does nobody stay?"

"Wylan—" she began, but shut her mouth instantly.

"Wylan is different."

And he was.

Beautiful, quiet, sweet Wylan Van Eck with his slender hands and paint-splattered face. He was everywhere, everywhere, everywhere, sketching the stars as they lay intertwined in bed, smiling over his cup of morning tea, dressed in his oversized shirts and plaid trousers.

His kisses were soft and tentative and tasted of tea leaves. His grins were slow and mischievous and bright as the damned sun. When he sprinted along the rim of a fountain, laughing and arms aloft, Jesper thought love might kill him.

He still dreamt about that day, Wylan leaping across the broad rim, his face upturned, sunlight brightening his hair to flame and gold. Wylan, paint smudged across his lower lip, hands stained with red acrylic. Wylan, pretty blue eyes bright with mirth, his panicked yelp as he nearly toppled sideways.

Wylan, Wylan, Wylan.

Sometimes, when Jesper was laying on the floor of someone else's bathroom, watching the ceiling spin and spin, he could still hear Wylan whispering, "And if I said I am yours, and there is no greater honor, what then Jesper?"

They had been so fucking happy, happier than Jesper deserved, all sticky orange juice kisses and skinny dipping in the ocean and opulent restaurants of ivory and gold.

And then Wylan had mentioned the gambling.

They had argued for days and weeks and then months, furious and bitter. Jesper used to live for the clink of coins and soft rush of the wheel and the elation that flooded into his eyes, ears, mouth, fingers. He loved the hum and chaos of the nightclubs, the frenzy of congratulations and drunken kisses and the retreat into those shadowed alcoves.

The scent of alcohol, the sounds of triumph, the press of hands on his body, the pleasure and ecstasy and joy.

But on their hundredth argument, tears were running down Wylan's face, distorting his freckles and widening those fucking blue eyes. He'd whispered he wouldn't stand for it, and Jesper had woken alone the next morning.

His bed was too empty, his kitchen was too quiet, the room where Wylan painted was too fucking much. All that remained was the hole in Jesper's heart and a sketch of the water fountain Wylan had drawn so lovingly, each detail of the scene preserved forever within charcoal. The ice cream parlor. The sunlight. Wylan, laughing and trying to keep his balance, eyes bright bright bright. Jesper, staring at Wylan as if he had never seen another quite so magical.

The memory of those eyes haunted him, every damn day.

He found himself writing essays on Wylan's long, copper lashes. His eyes, the blue of tranquil oceans, of the clear winter sky, of salvation. The glints of silver shining within, a quiet intelligence that so few had glimpsed. The way he would shyly glance away whenever Jesper grinned at him.

How many times had he stared into those eyes, while the two of them lay bare and exhausted among his own silk sheets?

How many times had he looked up after a kiss to find Wylan smiling back at him?

How many times had he nearly drowned within Wylan's gaze, steady and thoughtful and really fucking hot?

But slowly, agonizingly, bitterly, he grew used to the silence.

He stopped texting Wylan in the middle of the day, face damp with tears, hands shaking with misery.

He stopped accidently brewing a second cup of coffee at breakfast.

He stopped glancing to his left, searching for a glint of red hair in crowded spaces.

He stopped seeing Wylan when another was beneath him.

But sometimes Jesper wondered if anything could make him stop loving the boy with pretty blue eyes and a heart of gold.

And if sometimes he glimpsed Wylan in the halls, or at a nightclub, or sketching with those fucking charcoal pencils, he could wave. Smile. Pretend he wasn't going to take another home just to ease the day's pain.

'Why won't you go back to him?" Kaz asked once, barely glancing up from his phone.

"He doesn't want me," Jesper said quietly.

He raised his eyebrows as if in disbelief. "Jes, I have it on good authority that Wylan Van Eck hasn't dated a single soul after your breakup."

"Who told you that?"

"Nobody," Kaz said airily.

"Nina?"

"Nina."

Jesper attempted a loose smile, but it drifted aside easily as a gauzy veil twitching in the wind.

Wylan Van Eck, kind and brave and good.

Wylan, with his inquisitive eyes and thoughtful conversation.

Wylan, lonely and miserable because one stupid fucking boy had broken his heart.

He could barely stand it.

In some hidden chamber of his mind, he had locked away Wylan’s laughter, the tide of his amusement, inexplicably bright and wondrous. It felt like gazing at one of his softest paintings, a lush blend of ivory and blue and gold, like glimpsing something raw and beautiful and secret.

A burning star.

A miracle, spinning through the galaxy, leaving nothing but light in its wake.

A memory, and no more.

Wylan had once laughed so freely, snickering over an amusing quip, or stifling his smile when Jesper read to him late at night.

That sound of joy and delight. . . it was the brightest damn thing in the world.

And Jesper wanted to know that somewhere, in some other softly lit room with a man looking up at Wy like he was the sun, that laugh was sounding again.

He wanted to know that even if Wylan didn’t shine for him, he shone nevertheless.

The next morning dawned piercing and cold, a bright jewel in the crown of winter. Jesper chose his clothes with unusual care, knotting the laces of his boots twice, cleaning his dozens of rings before slipping them on.

Once he had hoped Wylan would give him the last of the collection—the wedding ring.

Now, as he finished with the last of them, he left his fourth finger bare, a final shrine to the ghosts of their past.

The cafe where he had asked, begged, pleaded for Wylan to meet him was nearly empty, but for a handful of people. His gaze lingered on a young woman with curling brown hair who might have been Nina in a hat, and a man with his leg propped up that was almost certainly Kaz.

Even though he made a mental note to strangle them later, the gesture eased the pressure within his chest ever so slightly.

And there was Wylan, a cup of tea clutched between his slender hands, huddled in a soft brown sweater. He was staring out of the window, those damned blue eyes vague and empty.

Jesper slid soundlessly into the booth, holding his breath as if he could force the longing from his lungs. “Hello, Wylan,” he said softly.

When he glanced up, something in his gaze shifted.

A blossoming flower.

An easing rainfall.

Something wonderful and exquisite and otherworldly.

Hope, hope, hope.

“Jes,” he returned with a little smile.

And Jesper leaned forwards. He couldn’t help it, not when Wylan was there before him and his lips were curved so slightly and his fingers were wrapped around his mug like—

“Wy,” he said, clearing his throat, “I wanted to talk.”

He straightened slightly, that quiet peace dissolving. “Had I not wanted to talk to you, I wouldn’t have answered your text.”

They stared at each other silently, waiting; it felt like sitting in the living room together, huddled over a game of chess, Jesper grinning as he slid the first pawn two squares up.

But he was not nearly so confident about his play now.

“I’ve been talking to Kaz,” he began awkwardly, the words clumsy in his mouth. “He told me you haven’t been seeing anyone.”

“And I’ve been speaking with Inej,” returned Wylan, utterly refined and elegant in his simplicity. “She tells me you’ve been seeing everyone.”

Jesper felt like a child again, clutching a rifle in his inexperienced hands, brows drawn together in concentration as he replayed his mother’s instruction in his mind. His father was playing target again, brown eyes gentle with encouragement. He didn’t know what to do, he was going to shoot his father, he was going to harm harm harm.

The words in his hands, his throat, were constricted and awful and stumbling. He didn’t know how to shoot without hurting anyone he loved.

Wylan was still gazing at him, blue eyes dark, for the first time in memory. “Jes,” he said, “was I so easy to forget?”

“Forget?” Jesper croaked. “Like a stupid song or piece of information on the study guide? Like you didn’t shine brighter than the damned sun? Like there were days when I didn’t wish to capture the stars and give them to you?”

There was a strange, crackling rush in Jesper’s ears, as if the ocean had swelled too high and now he was drowning, drowning, drowned.

If Wylan wanted him back, if Wylan loved him still—

He could wake up every morning with soft limbs tangled in his own. He could kiss Wylan again, taste tea and sugar cookies and mint. He could marry him, live out a life with him, die on the bed beside his own, fingers interlocked tight.

The future was there, tangled and messy and uncertain, but there all the same.

But Wylan was shifting in his seat, almost anxiously. “Jes,” he said softly. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

His eyes, his lovely blue eyes, were beginning to shine. “I know that look,” he said, almost bitterly. “I know that look damn well.”

Jesper’s giddy excitement was beginning to wither, and he clung to it desperately, a final shield against the darkness. “What look?”

Wylan reached out, fingertips stained blue with paint, hands still slim and delicate, a work of art. “If you think I want to… to get back together, I don’t. You and I, it was so much fun, and sometimes I wonder if everything was more than a college romance.”

He retracted his shaking hands, and ran them through his copper hair. “I wonder if another Jesper, who loved himself as much as his friends love him, and another Wylan, who was just a little bit of a better boyfriend, might have had their future together.”

Jesper could only stare

Wylan whispered, “Don’t you see it, Jes? We were stupid fucking collage kids who fell in love, but it was never supposed to carry on. I told you, that night in the club, I just wanted sex.”

He remembered.

Just sex, do you understand? No more, Jes.

But then, I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you just once.

And it kept going, spiraling, until one morning they were laying in bed and Wylan was wearing Jesper’s shirt, and Jesper was stroking Wylan’s hair, and it was much more than just sex.

One date, Wy. Give me a chance.

I love you, I love you, I love you, dumbass.

I want you to move in with me. I want you in my bed, my kitchen, my clothes. I want to see you tired and angry and miserable and I want to tell you you’re still the best fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

Jesper had imagined their wedding, every so often, a blazing pillar of hope lighting the path to the future. He had dreamt tailored suits and blue eyes and the final ring. He had planned every detail of his speech, his vows, his oath to live and die with Wylan Van Eck.

“Just sex,” he said at last. “We fucked it up, didn’t we, Wy?”

Wylan extended his hand once more. “I loved you, Jes, I won’t pretend. But I’m with someone else now, and I care for him, and I promised I would sort out the ghosts of my past.”

Jesper slid his palm over his, reveling in the soft skin, the gentle touch he would never feel again. “You’re happy?” he said softly. “He makes you laugh?”

He smiled, a secret, lovely smile. “Yeah. Yeah, he makes me laugh.”

And the sudden truth of it, the fact Wylan was someone else’s now, and he was laughing in another’s arms, hit Jesper. It sent ice through his veins, his mind, the final shattered shard of his heart, tearing through memories.

Wylan, brave and wonderful, laying on his bed. His hands were aloft, describing a particularly clear night sky, the shapes he traced in the stars. He had named one for Jesper, and he said it was shaped like love.

Jesper, doubled up in laughter as he flipped a pancake, listening to yet another one of Wylan’s rambling stories. He never tired of them. Those recollections, the happy lilt to his voice, the giddy, “There’s more, though!” were treasured beyond gold.

Wylan, working on some assignment or another, sprawled on the grass of a dewy meadow. His head was pillowed on Jesper’s hoodie as he wrote, filling the page with his elegant script. Every so often, he would glance over and point out a butterfly or shaped cloud with a smile.

Jesper, watching as Wylan leapt across the fountain. His copper head was upturned, sunlight streaming down onto the angles of his face, joy etched in his brilliant grin. He looked like a god for that one moment, frozen forever in a snapshot of peace.

“I will love you if the entire fucking world tells me not to,” Jesper had whispered once. “I will love you if the entire fucking world tells me to. I will love you, because I am yours, and there has never been such an honor.”

When the years whiled past, when the bone-deep sorrow lightened at last, did Jesper still love him?

That was the question he asked himself every morning over a cup of bitter coffee.

Twenty-four years old, and Jesper still loved him.

Thirty-one years old, and Jesper still loved him.

Forty-five years old, and Jesper still loved him.

Fifty-seven years old, and Jesper still loved him.

An old man, dying in his bed, and the laugh ringing through his head belonged to a boy with pretty blue eyes and a heart of gold.

A dead man, and Jesper loved him from the grave.

Love bowed to no one, and least of all death.

A collage romance was theirs, but their love was not that of two foolish young men, out for a kiss and in for a good fuck. It was carefree, happy, bright as the sun. It was etched in the stars, and it was doomed from the start.

Love bowed to no one, but perhaps it inclined its head towards Jesper Fahey and Wylan Van Eck.

#jesper fahey #wylan van eck #wesper au #wesper fic #wesper #six of crows #soc #crooked kingdom #ck #rule of wolves #row #my bestfriend loved this but shes biased as fuck #so here goes #im nervous ngl #please done hate this- #im so tired like excuse me

[missymurphy1985]

The Massage (Cillian Murphy One Shot)

Request? Yep!

Warning - SMUT!!!

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone

"He was such an asshole!! Barking orders at me like I'm his fucking SLAVE!!" You cried, flopping onto Cillian's sofa dramatically. He came through from the kitchen with a bottle of wine and two glasses, pouring you a glass and sitting next to you on the sofa.

You quickly sunk the first glass without stopping, making Cillian nearly choke on his first sip. You'd left the pub fifteen minutes earlier, already well on your way to incoherent.

"Fucking hell y/n, you'll need carrying home at this rate!"

"I don't care. This week can go to hell! First I end up on the WORST blind date of my life, no thanks to YOU and your god awful taste in men - "

"Hey now, first off I don't have a 'taste in men', and secondly I thought you'd be a good match!"

"He had to be escorted out of the restaurant after threatening to have the waiter beaten up for overcooking his steak, Cillian."

"Yeah... Okay fair comment and my bad..."

"I'm staying single FOREVER. Then my new boss decides that I like doing the work of THREE people, including him, and working through my lunch breaks, just so he can reap the credit for the whole fucking thing!! My feet are agony!!"

"I told you to come work for me, didn't I? I need someone to manage my appointments and affairs, you'd be perfect at it!"

"I don't mix business with friendship Cillian, you know that." Another glass of wine, very quickly taking a gulp from it. The alcohol hitting your empty stomach and the drunk feeling it came with feeling utterly blissful after the hellish week you'd had.

Without speaking, he lifted your feet onto his legs and took your heels off, resting his hands on your ankles.

"All done now - time to relax, although you seem pretty relaxed right now!" He squeezed your ankles gently, emitting a groan from you.

"Fuck... Do that again, please?" You asked, as he raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"I've been on my feet for hours running round after that stuck up prick..." You wiggled your aching feet in his lap and he chuckled, taking your left foot in his hands and massaging it softly, easing the tension in you instantly.

Your right foot rested on his thigh as he worked magic on your heel and toes of the left one. You moved to lie against the arm of the sofa, relaxing into the large cushions with your refilled wine in one hand. The other resting on your stomach.

"That... Feels... Amazing...." You sighed as he got to work a little harder on the balls of your feet.

"You leaving any of that wine for me or shall I grab another bottle?" He laughed, glancing at the near empty bottle on the coffee table.

"Don't even think about moving Cill," you glared. Closing your eyes again, you couldn't help but let out a deep groan as his hands massaged you perfectly. You didn't notice him clearing his throat and shifting his body underneath your left leg.

"Feels so good... Don't stop..." You couldn't hear his breathing becoming shallow. Your eyes closed, you didn't see him biting his lip and looking up to the ceiling trying to distract himself. You suddenly switched your feet, your right one coming up to meet his hands and tried to bring your left one down to his lap but he held them both in place, trying to massage them both at the same time.

"Cill, one at a time is so much better.." you rolled your eyes watching him try and massage both and stifled a giggle when he dropped your left foot into his lap.

"Ah... Fuck..." He gasped, jumping slightly. You gasped too when you realised what your left foot had landed on.

"Cillian?" Your eyes widened as he moved your feet and oulled a cushion over his lap, holding his eyes closed with his fingers.

"Fuck sake... I'm sorry okay, it's just.. it's been a while and you were making those noises and... Fucking hell..." You bit your lip as you considered your options.

Yes, he was your best friend.

Yes, you'd been his best friend since his early days in theatre.

Yes, he was impossibly attractive.

Yes, you wanted to fuck him.

Deal done.

You moved quickly, pushing the cushion off his lap and kneeling next to him, your face inches away from his and your eyes locked together.

"I can help you with that, if you like?" You smiled, running a hand over the significant bulge in his trousers. He pulled your hand away.

"I don't think that's a good idea, do you?"

"Why not?"

"You're drunk, for a start!"

"Come on Cillian, it's just a friend helping a friend in need, yeah? And you're clearly in need..." You returned your hand to his erection and squeezed it through the fabric making him hiss.

"Friends aren't supposed to..."

"Aren't supposed to, what?" Your lips at his ear as you pulled the button and zip down on his trousers, his hips as you pulled them down to just above his bent knees.

"Turn each other on..."

"Well you've been turning me on for years Cillian." Grasping his thick cock in your hand, squeezing the tip and the base gently, he groaned, closing his eyes and giving in to the feeling of your hand wrapped around him. His right arm hung over your shoulders, his left hand on top of your on his hardness, guiding you to what he needed.

"So you like it being squeezed, do you?" You whispered. He nodded, his eyes watching your hand move on its own now, his mouth open, breathing heavily.

It wasn't long before his orgasm built - your hand clamped around him sending him soaring to the edge. You pumped your hand quicker, squeezed tighter.

"That's it... Fuck that's exactly it... Holy shit y/n...." His words coming out in gasps, his hips thrusting up into your hand as he gripped your hair, pulling your head back and latching onto your lips with his own. You pulled away.

"Don't hide those moans from me, I wanna hear them all..." You smiled, pumping him harder and faster, milking him as he groaned, and the first few spurts left his cock, his body jerking as he came over his stomach and your hand.

You slowed your movements as he came down from his high, his head resting back on the sofa. You felt a sudden gurgle in the pit of your stomach, and before he had time to react you ran to the bathroom - the alcoholic contents of the evenings beverages violently leaving your body into Cillian's downstairs toilet.

************************************************************

You woke the next morning in his spare room - your head was pounding. You made a silent vow, promising to all that was holy that you would never touch another cocktail, glass of wine, or spirit ever again. The night before was hazy - you remembered stumbling into Cillian's Dublin townhouse with a bottle of wine... And that was it.

The smell of bacon downstairs lured you, and you slowly edged out of bed, throwing on the dressing gown you always kept at his house and headed downstairs. A coffee, paracetamol and pint of water waited for you on the kitchen table, followed by a bacon sandwich.

"You passed out in the toilet - I cleaned you up as best I could but you were, erm, yeah you were a mess y/n. Showering you wasn't easy." He chuckled, before taking a sip of his coffee and eyeing you weirdly.

"Thanks for this Cill... I'm so sorry about last night..."

"Don't be, it's fine - we can just put it behind us yeah?" He cleared his throat awkwardly and looked to the floor.

"It's not like it's the first time it's happened Cill?"

"Well I certainly don't remember it happening before y/n?"

"You're kidding me, right? It happened three weeks ago!"

"I think I'd remember my best friend giving me a handjob three weeks ago y/n?"

Your eyes widened - what the fuck did he just say? He caught your expression and his mouth dropped.

"Fuck... You don't remember do you..." He asked. You scrunched your eyes closed, trying to think back to the night before... The memory was cloudy... But...

"Oh my god.... Oh Cillian... Shit... I'm sorry!!!" You stood up, your hangover however getting the better of you and you quickly sat back down. You could see the cogs turning in Cillian's mind, almost like he was having some kind of internal debate with himself.

"Do you remember what you said to me?"

"Bits of it..." He moved closer, leaning on the table next to you.

"Drunken rambling? Or did you mean it?" You looked up at him, knowing exactly what he was talking about and looking to the floor, your cheeks changing from grey to a deep crimson. He nodded, and lifted you up slowly to stand in front of him.

"I know an incredible hangover cure, if you need one. Just call it one friend helping another... In need. Yeah?" He smirked, his hands on your waist pulling you into the hallway and up the stairs.

"Cillian..."

"Shh... Just trust me..." He opened his bedroom door and walked you over to the bed. Backing you up til your knees hit it, he untied your dressing gown and threw it aside, his eyes admiring your now naked body.

"You put me to bed with no clothes on..."

"I had to wrestle you in the shower washing your fucking hair y/n, I'd lost the will to live at that point," he smiled, pushing you onto the bed and opening your legs.

"Cillian what are you doing?" Your mind was whirring at 100miles per hour.

"I'm about to make you scream my name while my tongue is pressed against your clit, my fingers are going to push you over the edge, and then I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk straight." You mouth hung open at his deadpan statement and before you had time to react his mouth went to work - no build up, no foreplay, straight onto your clit making you cry out from the shock and extreme pleasure coursing through your body.

The man had skills - his tongue rolled your clit around, sucking and occasionally nibbling at it, as he pushed a finger inside you, immediately finding that small bundle of nerves and pressing against it.

"Fuck!! Shit... Cillian there... God don't stop... Please!" You felt him chuckle against your core, his eyes looking up at your arched body through his long eyelashes. You were gripping the bed sheets for dear life, his tongue ripping sensations from you that you'd never experienced before.

His mouth never left your core once, you found yourself writhing against him like a woman possessed.

"You taste incredible... You gonna cum for me, riding my face like that?" He returned to his work, eating at you like you were his last meal.

"Cillian... Fuck I'm coming... Oh god yes..." Your back arched again as you came over his tongue, his fingers fucking your g spot hard and fast, prolonging your pleasure as much as possible. His fingers removed briefly as he pulled his clothes off, you heard a drawer slide open, and a foil packet being ripped. Before you had time to refocus, you felt him enter you, your legs being lifted up to your sides as he rested his body on top of yours, starting a slow rhythm thrusting into you.

"So fucking tight y/n... So fucking good...." Your legs wrapped around his waist as he eased in and out, his forehead resting on top of yours as your eyes locked together. You could lose yourself in those eyes. Reaching up to cup his cheeks, you leaned forward and captured his lips in yours. Your lips molding together, he slipped his tongue into your mouth, both of your groaning against each other as his thrusts picked up in speed and force.

"Rail me into this bed, Cillian...." You groaned. He raised his body off you and lifted your hips, his knees underneath them giving you leverage. Your legs raised in the air, held in place by his arms as he pounded into you, the angle catching your still sensitive spot deep inside with expert precision.

"Y/n... I need you to cum..." He panted, your hand quickly moving to your clit where you massaged it hard, desperate for another release.

His facial expressions as he fucked you were perfection - the way his eyes scrunched closed... The silent O of his mouth hanging open, the breathy pants and moans coming from him... You came hard and quickly over him, your legs shaking from the new force he fucked you with.

"Gonna cum... Fuck... fuck... fuck..." Three hard thrusts into you and he shot his load into the condom, releasing your legs and falling onto you, both of you panting from the exertion.

He pulled out slowly, discarding the condom, and pulled you under the duvet with him, holding you close under his arm. You wrapped your body as close as you could to his, your legs tangled together.

"Explain something to me y/n..." He asked, kissing the top of your head.

"Mhmm..." You sighed, snuggled into his chest as you eyelids grew heavier.

"Why's it taken us so long to do this, huh?"

"I have no idea... But we ARE doing it again, right?"

"Every day for the rest of our fucking lives baby." He linked his hand in yours as you both drifted off into a deep sleep, both of you knowing this was only the beginning for you both.

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