#so there's just this limbo that I'm stuck between | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

powderblueblood · 5 months

Note

🎵 + Steve or Eddie please :)

send me 🎵+ character name and i’ll write a lil blurb inspired by a song from their playlist (you can also request songs and i will do my level best. god is a dj and i'm god)

▶ IN MY BED - AMY WINEHOUSE

yours is a familiar face, but that don't make your place safe or you're fucking both steve and eddie on a casual basis and they're kinda clingy and jealous like peanut and butter

an: OH SHE'S SMUTTY. is this on either of the playlists i've made for steve or eddie. technically no. did i just hear it on shuffle and get inspired to write about having a hawkins slut era. technically yes. but the best part is you asked for steve or eddie and you got both, anon!!

MINORS FUCK OFF - warnings: heavy smut from the get-go; unprotected p-in-v, allusions to cunnilingus and fellatio, public sex, semi-mean!reader, leaving steve with blue balls, forceful!eddie, some mild degradation (use of the word slut, etc), hope u enjoy and hope we can coerce them into a threesome some day. it would save reader so much time

word count: 3.6k

You can't keep playing with boys like that, y'know. Somebody's going to get hurt.

As long as that somebody isn't you, you're pretty far past the point of giving a fuck.

You had emerged from the painful chrysalis of Hawkins adolescence with a great rack and a huge fucking chip on your shoulder. So much time wasted, lingering in the limbo of awkwardness and timidity, not even with the credit of being humiliated by your peers. You were glossed over, completely unnoticed by the opposite sex (and even the same sex that you'd daringly fantasize about in the dark of night).

You spent so much time sitting with your hands stuck shyly between your legs that it was only right that King Steve Harrington is now pleadingly prying them apart.

"What time did you say you had to leave, again?" he says, voice strained against the shell of your ear. Steve's fingers are making dents in the softness of your inner thighs as he spreads your legs further and futher away from one another. You're sitting pretty on his kitchen table, a place you'd chosen on purpose because from there, you could flash him the bright blue of your panties under your short, short work skirt.

Work skirt was a loose term, but you found you made better tips at the Hideout when you dressed more scantily than you'd like. Something something clientele, something something dinner and a show.

Something your co-worker had said.

All you knew was whenever you showed up at Steve's dressed for a bar shift, it drove him crazy. It drew him right to you, moth to flame, fly to spider's web, turning him all desperate and whining and eager to please. Like a dog.

"Mmm," you hum, glancing at your watch, "'bout fifteen."

You loved driving Steve crazy. Thrived on it– and part of it was a private revenge fantasy. All those years gone by using him as shower nozzle masturbation material, and now you were the one he couldn't get enough of.

His nose teases at your lips as he continues to massage into your thighs. And you admit, he's good with his hands– deliberate pressure, making the wetness at your core spread.

"Call off. Say you're sick," and his right hand is pulling at the gusset of your panties. Your hips keen toward him, an automatic response, and he strokes a knuckle down the glistening slit of your lips.

"Sick how," you ask, not really desiring an answer, talking just to talk as you web your fingers into his hair. You've noticed that the only time he's not precious about it is when you're about to fuck. Then, you can muss up his hairdo all you want.

"I couuuld," he murmurs, "make you scream my name so loud--"

The middle and ring fingers on Steve's right hand sinks inside you, down to the knuckle. You swallow a little moan, but it strangles itself out anyway.

"--that they think you have laryngitis."

You skitter out a snort, despite the fact that he's stroking you real nice with his fingers. It's so silly; it's exactly the kind of thing you'd come to expect from Steve. You used to overhear Nancy Wheeler in the hallways being all, you're an idiot, Steve Harrington. Tone dripping in affection. And you got it now, you did.

"Come on," he says, tongue ghosting at your neck as the pad of a finger circles that drop of nerves between your legs, "Take the day." He swallows. "Stay with me."

But you weren't his fuckin' girlfriend.

To be completely straight, you'd been skirting around this thing for a while– the moony-eyed way Steve would look at you after he'd cum, the trapping you in the bedsheets with peppered kisses, the recreational sports games he'd keep inviting you to and you'd keep bailing on. You couldn't even remember if he played baseball or basketball. And you didn't... care.

"I just don't know why you work in that dump," Steve says, attempting to stick a little edge on that moment of softness. But his fingers had stopped moving inside you, which quite simply would not do.

"Because," you say, you with the hard edge, you with the steeliness he can't seem to get enough of, "some of us," your hand reaches down to clamp onto his, "don't have a choice what dumps we work in," and you begin to rut onto his hand, grinding into his palm. In order to get this show on the road, you add in one pretty little groan. "... your highness."

Your slickness makes an obscene squelch and Steve's jaw cocks open, his blown-out pupils meeting yours. "Fuckin'... shit. I'd pay to keep you here if you promised to do that all day."

And you know he'd love that, to make you a kept woman. But Hawkins rich isn't kept woman rich, and you've got bills to pay.

"That can be arranged," you whisper, biting at his finely sculpted jaw, "but if you wanna put your cock in me today, you better make it fast. Those beers ain’t gonna sling themselves."

“Yeah—yeah.” Steve fumbles, aiding you in pulling off your panties. You wrap them around his wrist for safekeeping, because this skirt is way too tiny to go commando in. Flash your ass at your co-worker and you’d never live it down.

Steve unbuckles and yanks his khakis down his thighs, a remarkably unsexy clothing choice on anyone else but him. You like him the most like this— pliable, willing to do whatever you say.

You hitch your knees up, bracing the heels of your tennis shoes against the edge of the table. Steve moves to hitch your skirt up, set his hands at ten and two on your hips, but his fingers travel upward to your shirt. It’s this threadbare Janis Joplin thing, another strategic choice. It’s tight enough that you needn’t bother with a bra and also tight enough that any passing wind chill makes your nipples stand to attention. It’s hot in here, so the way they strain against the material is all Steve’s doing.

“Take this off?” It’s a request. Sometimes you wish it’d be a demand. Anyway. You pull it over your head and the way he kneads at your tits makes up for it completely. His tongue, hot and strong and ready, laves over a nipple and you shiver.

“Steve, babe,” you whine, “tick tock.”

You reach down and grab his cock, sprung free from his boxers like a jailbreak, and guide it inside you.

His dick is long and lithe like the rest of him, with this perfectly bulbous tip that caresses that pretty spot, that one that makes you open-mouth moan into his shoulder, right on entrance.

Steve rocks his hips into yours, one of his big hands cupping at your jaw. “So nice, right?” he says, licking into your mouth.

“So fucking nice.” But now is not the time for one of Steve Harrington’s classic slow jams, a drawn-out fuckfest that would ordinarily leave you rosy and blissed out. Now, you need him—

“Harder,” you breathe, “fuck me harder. Faster, baby, please. I need— I have to get you off before I leave.”

Steve is a giver, but talk like that makes him feral. He'll rarely ever take control with you, rather wait for your permission to let him take control. Which is nice, you guess, consent and all that but it kind of snuffs the fire out for you sometimes. The process takes a little longer than it needs to.

But god, when he gets into a rhythm, there's no stopping him. He guides you (when he could have shoved you) back onto your elbows as his length drills in and out of you. He bears over you with that slyly muscular frame, face buried in your breasts, keeping up a relentless pace that almost, almost has your legs seizing, almost–

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

“Fuck!” and it’s too sharp a curse to be one of pleasure. Steve is lost in you entirely, so much so that you have to tug at the hairs at the nape of his neck to get his focused attention. “Stevie, I gotta go.”

“No–fuck, come on, I’m so close.” You’ve fucked Steve Harrington enough times to know that he’s nowhere near close, that he’s got a position or two left in him before knockout. Your square stare communicates this perfectly; but he doesn’t stop, his pace just slows. Achingly slows, the way he loves to do when you’re right at the apex of an orgasm and he wants to hear the extended version of your desperate pleading. “You can be late.”

“No, I can’t,” you grumble, palming around for your discarded shirt. “I’m opening. Drunks are--mmm--lining up around the block to see me.” And my goddamn co-opener is always late. “Down, boy.”

“Fii-ii-iine,” he groans, voice cracking as his heartbeat slows in his chest. You can just about feel it thumping from here. He eases himself out of you, but doesn’t make any swift movements away from you. Pink lips, so pink that you’d once hornily remarked they were almost the same color as your pussy, pout as he stares up at you from beneath his bushy brows. God, he looks pathetic.

He’s so fucking hot.

You unwind your bright blue underwear from his wrist slowly. “You mad at me?”

“Little bit,” he murmurs, “Leaving someone with blue balls is like, a serious health hazard. You know that, don’t you?”

“Forgot you were pre-med, Steve.” Oh, that man is not pre-anything other than pre-cumming.

“If you get back here and I don’t answer the door because I’m dead from unfulfilled horniness, you’ve only got yourself to blame.”

“That is, assuming I’ll be back?” This little exercise in reminding Steve of the fluidity of your relationship earns you the most heartbreaking little scoff. You can’t help but hold his hand to your now-reclothed chest and peck a kiss to his lips. “Kidding. I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“I’ll be thinking about finishing you off for my whole shift, if that helps,” you hum against his mouth, which is already hungrily looking for more of you.

“How ‘bout I pick you up after?”

“Mmm, I don’t know.” Look, as much as you like Steve, and you do, you like him lots, you really need a night to recharge your social battery after the shift you’re about to have.

Especially when your co-worker comes sneaking in the door a whole 15 minutes late.

“Hey!” he whispers, making a whole pantomime of shiftily stepping inside, eyes darting around underneath his curly bangs, “Bev around?”

“You know as well as I do that she’s still on that cruise, Eddie.”

“And thank fuck for that, am I right?!” A ringed hand comes down hard on the bartop, making your glass of off-brand cola rattle. Something inside you clenches as Eddie Munson beams down at you. “God bless the Indiana Sweepstakes.”

You chuckle out a little mm-hmm! and return to the crossword book someone had abandoned here months ago. When it’s slow, you and Eddie try and fail to figure out the clues, which has lead to interspersed shittalking, which has led to flirting. Which has led to… other things. On the clock and off.

The natural course of which a river flows.

Speaking of wet things, you cross one leg over the other. You hadn’t, as it happened, stopped thinking about Steve’s absence between your thighs since you’d gunned your shitty car out of his building’s driveway. Though, the closer you got to The Hideout, the less that absence became about Steve and more became about… well, anyone.

What? You’re a red-blooded American woman with a healthy sex drive.

And you’ve seen how Eddie Munson handles the wheel of a car. Forceful. Relentless. Wild.

“Figured out where I know you from, by the way,” he says, snatching the bar towel from your shoulder and throwing it over his own.

“Hey! Those things are in short supply, asshole, get your own.”

“Finders keepers,” Eddie smirks, “And– Spanish class, sophomore year.”

Cringing falsely, you toss your hands up in surrender. “Ay papi. You got me.”

“You told me you were from Oregon, you little liar.”

“And you believed me, right?” you shrug. “Not surprising that you didn’t clock me right away. I was kind of unremarkable.”

Eddie squidges past you in the narrow space behind the bar, leaning around you for something– for what, you don’t really register, because he lingers there a little longer than he needs to. You can feel his breath on your neck. “Certainly not unremarkable now, huh?” His fingers ghost at your waist. “Nice shirt.”

See, the thing you’ve found with Eddie is he doesn’t waste any time.

He’s a lifer at The Hideout, worked here all through high school, right up to now. After your first couple of shifts, you locked yourselves in the bar for what he called a peer review. It only took a couple of shots of whiskey between you before he was on his knees, eating you out from your seat on the barstool. You ground yourself onto the slope of his nose, the tip making imperfect but workable contact with your clit as his tongue dove past your lips. Eddie had gripped onto you like a man possessed, determined to make you choke out his name through your orgasm.

But Eddie had never fucked you. He’d eaten you like a last meal, sure. He’d fingered you against the rough brick exterior of the bar, yep. You’d even given him road head the couple of times he’d given you a ride home after work, dawn breaking over Hawkins and Eddie struggling to drive in a straight line toward your apartment block. But he’d never fucked you.

“Thanks,” you respond, tilting your head upwards to look at him. “Guy I was fucking before I came in sure seemed to think so.”

Eddie’s mouth curls up into this devilish little grin. “You tryin’ to make me jealous, telling me you’re gettin’ dicked down before work?”

“To his credit, dicked down is,” you sigh, “a little bit of an understatement.”

“Couldn’t finish the job?”

“Not his fault. My alarm went off.”

“And you’re so punctual.”

“Always.”

Eddie’s hand tightens around its place on your waist, dimpling into the soft flesh. “So you’re left all… wanting, is the conclusion I’m coming to.”

“Yeah…” and your teeth sink into your bottom lip. From behind you, he angles his hips against your ass, a suggestion of a push upward. The material of your skirt catches, gathers and shifts against him so you can just about feel the swell of him on your almost bare ass.

“Oh, you little slut,” he says, and fuck, if you don’t love the way he says it. The hardness on the letter ‘t’. “Coming in here all dick-hungry. You’re asking me for a favor, then?”

“Least you could do,” you say lowly, “for leaving me hanging in here all the time.”

“Right,” Eddie nods, his hand travelling toward the hem of your skirt, “The opening rush is crazy around here.”

Ain’t a sinner in the bar but the two of you.

Eddie’s fingers crawl onto your thigh, reaching higher and higher, and you nearly let out a pitiful little moan in anticipation. All you want, all you want is to plant your hands on the bar and have him drive his cock into you, ringed fingers bruising the soft flesh of your hips. Chained jeans rattling.

So you move his hand to the waistband of your panties, not that it’s far off. A suggestion of pull these fucking things down.

Eddie’s eyes flare wide. Anybody could come in. Are you sure about this?

But you’re so fucking wet that a job like this isn’t going to take long. He might not cum, but you sure will. You sure fucking will, if he keeps looking at you like that. Like he wants to wrap a ringed hand around your throat and fuck you so good, you’ll forget even the regulars’ orders.

“Eddie,” you say, purposely wiggling against him as your panties fall to the floor, “C’mon. You’re telling me you’ll let me jerk you off in the keg room but you haven’t thought about how wet it makes me? How much I want you to just–!”

“Shut up,” he says, “Fuckin’ shut up. Bend over.”

Your pulse quickens, mouth popping open.

“I said,” Eddie starts, hands going to his silver belt, “bend over, slut.”

And boy, do you ever comply– Jesus. You’ve never seen him like this before, half-mad and fully hard. Usually, Eddie’s the kind of guy who’ll joke his way through a hookup. There’ll be flashes here and there, sure. He’s got no problem telling you where to put it and when. But this…

You bend at the waist, leaning against the bar for support and scoot your legs apart. A great idea on your part, you toss a look over your shoulder– Eddie’s pumping the length of himself, his free hand roaming over the curve of your ass. He notices you looking and gives it a solid smack!, fat jiggling on the recoil. The sight of that makes his eyes keen back in his head a little, a smile dancing at his lips.

“You better be ready to dance,” he says, fingers teasing at your slit before he enters you in one slow, slow, stretching movement. “We got customers coming in, any minute now.”

Eddie breathes out a little oh god! in response to feeling just how tight you are around him. He feels exactly as you expected him to– you knew he was big from taking him in your mouth but the girth of him makes you wince a little. Once he’s moving against your honeyed walls, you’re in fucking heaven. He’s thick and solid and this close to throbbing; he’d been waiting for this as long as you had.

“Don’t worry,” he strains reassuringly, palm coming in harsh contact with your ass cheek again, “You’re cummin’ first, sweetheart.”

The brazen moan, the sound all jittery from Eddie’s rutting into your pussy, seemed to echo in the empty bar.

God, the acoustics really were great in here.

The sound of his balls slapping against your gorgeous, plush ass joins the symphony and the sting of his force hitting your soft spot makes your eyes water. You want to look at him again– you have to. Your eyes go over your shoulder and Eddie’s there, fucking beautiful under the bar light’s glow and transfixed on the way your body’s moving against him. He doesn’t need any encouraging. His hand reaches for your throat, holding your chin in place so you can watch him fuck you, so he can watch your pretty face contort as you crest your orgasm.

Your cunt tightens around him and the sounds he starts making are nothing short of obscene– guttural, growling, snarling. “Fucking getting what you want now, aren’t you, baby girl? All you needed–uhnh–was my fucking–fat cock to cum all over–”

And it’s hitting you in waves you’d gladly drown in, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. You reach down to flick at your swollen clit, half-regretting you’re not drawing out the contractions of your pussy a little bit longer. “Good fucking girl, give me everything you got–”

“Cum inside me, Eddie, fucking please–” you cry, right over the crest of your orgasm.

“Huh?” He barely registers what you’ve said, talking you through the arresting drown of your orgasm. But then he gets it, and his eyes do that siren flare thing that they do. “Really? Yeah?”

“Yeah, fucking– yeah!” you yell, a little louder than you mean to, “Fill me, please, I want you drippin’ out of me all night–”

That’s enough for him to jerk and shudder, his noises becoming tauter, his thrusts becoming shorter, bottoming out inside you in a warm gush.

Fuck. Fuck.

“Fuck,” you blink, moving Eddie’s hand from your throat as he eases himself out of you.

“Yeah,” he breathes, pulling the bar towel from his shoulder to wipe himself off. “Fu-uuck.”

You turn back to face him and snatch the towel, patting between your own legs.

“Gross,” he chides.

“Finders keepers, asshole,” you giggle, breathless. And satisfied. That giggle bubbling out of you is contagious, because now Eddie’s giggling too. Peals and peals of silly laughter, fizzing out of you both like phosphate. That was fun. Eddie’s fun.

“Might wanna put those back on,” he points to the ground once he’s caught his breath. Oh right. Your panties.

“Yeah, I–”

But then the bar door swings open, your name called out through the entrance. Wait, is that–

“--fuckin’ Steve Harrington?” Eddie mutters, leaning over the bar to get a better look.

“Babe,” Steve says, catching sight of you with a little slip of red leather in his hand. “You forgot your…”

He pauses, Maybe he catches that you and Eddie are in a state of post-coital undoneness. I mean, the pink cheeks, the ruffled hair, Eddie’s half-secured belt may be a tip off, but…

“...wallet.”

But where a guilty feeling ought to have settled in, there’s no boats in your damn harbor. Steve Harrington, while lovely, was not your fuckin’ boyfriend. You pluck the wallet out of his hand as his eyes narrow, looking toward Eddie. Eddie, for his part, is putting the puzzle pieces together.

So it was Steve’s place you were running off to after shifts, Steve’s new car you were jumping out of when you arrived sometimes.

And he looks a little… jealous.

“Thanks, Stevie,” you say, blowing him a little kiss with the wallet. “You wanna drink while you’re here?”

“Nah, I– I gotta… I’m jettin’. So. Later? Later.” Steve Harrington, still struggling to be the epitome of cool. And failing miserably.

You give him a little wave and watch him, fondly, as he leaves. God bless Banana Republic and everything those should-be-fuck-ugly khakis have done for you. In your peripheral vision, Eddie appears next to you. Leaning on the bar. Glaring.

“What’s the matter, Munson?” you simper. “Cat got your dick?”

#powder room talk #Anonymous

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hearts4hughes · 8 months

Text

lacy | mark estapa

( mark estapa x fem!reader )

a/n: i know i should be working on my bday celly, but this song has been stuck in my head since i first heard it. olivia so perfectly captured the feeling of insecurities within girls and others. this is sooo short and it’s devastating writing mark angst, but i had to write something for this song!

warnings: mentions of being insecure, being led on, no part two!

Lacy, oh, Lacy

Skin like puff pastry

Aren't you the sweetest thing on this side of Hell?

Dear angel Lacy

Eyes white as daisies

Did I ever tell you that I’m not doin' well?

the bar was loud- so loud it hurt your head. then again, maybe it was also the result of the countless drinks you’d lost track of, each one seemingly going down easier than the last.

why had you agreed to go there? why had you agreed to torture yourself?

just a week ago mark had his arm around you. he was whispering sweet nothings into your ear, giving you the impression he wanted more than to just be best friends. yet he never acted on it, never followed through. so you waited on this confusing limbo. you didn’t know what you were waiting for- perhaps for your crush on your best friend to magically disappear or for him to finally act on all those mixed signals.

now, mere days later, he had his arm around her- treating her as he had just treated you. his arm rested comfortably around her waist. their height difference made him have to lean down to whisper in her ear, just as he had done with you. and he looked at her with those unmistakable heart eyes. you wanted to believe that she had lured him in with some siren song, or maybe cast a spell on him, but you didn’t believe in magic. that��s why lacy almost didn’t seem real. she was impossibly perfect.

her long, blonde hair was tied back with delicate pink ribbons, matching with her adorable slip dress. but when you wore pink, it washed out all of your features, leaving you feeling less then feminine. with lacy, it was different. pink accentuated her plump red lips and those piercing blue eyes of hers. she embodied femininity in every way.

why couldn’t you look like that?

Smart, sexy Lacy

I'm losin’ it lately

I feel your compliments like bullеts on skin

Dazzling starlet

Bardot reincarnate

Wеll, aren't you the greatest thing to ever exist?

you were jolted as she gracefully moved away from mark and headed in your direction. she sent you the sweetest smile, showing off her pearly white teeth. it was the kind of smile that could uplift anyone that was lucky enough to see it.

“oh my goodness, you look like an actual goddess!” she complimented, her eyes filled with sincerity and awe. there was no devilish undertone or hidden agenda in her words, so why did it feel like bullets against your skin?

you smiled in return, yet it didn’t reach your eyes. “speaking of looking like a goddess, darling, that’s you.” you replied with sincerity, even though the gnawing feeling in your stomach hinted otherwise.

“thank you so much, cutie! i channeled my inner bardot with this look.” she said, though she didn’t need to channel anyone. she was a modern-day brigitte bardot herself. “anyways, catch you later; i’m going to get drinks for mark and me.” she beamed, planted a sweet kiss on your cheek, and strutted off to the bar.

you wanted so desperately to find a flaw, to mock her in some way, but it was impossibly- she was genuinely one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met, and it left you conflicted, torn between admiration and insecurity.

you couldn’t do this. you couldn’t sit here praying on the downfall of her and mark’s relationship. it was time to accept the painful truth: you were just a pawn in his game, leading him to her- his queen. your trembling fingers found their way to the heart pendant necklace around your neck, and with a determined tug, you broke the clasp. gazing at it in your palm, you remembered how mark got it for you for your one year ‘friendiversary’. what once was such a special piece of jewelry, was now a mockery of your failed relationship.

tears welled up in your eyes as you stomped over to mark. he didn’t notice you were next to him until you shoved his shoulder. he looked at you with confusion as you opened his hand, shoving the golden pendant within it.

“what’s going on?” he asked, peering down at the necklace. “why are you giving this to me?” foolish was the only word that could describe him.

“i can’t be friends with you anymore, mark. you’re tearing me apart and i don’t even think you notice it.” you confessed, tears streaming down your face. his eyes were laced with hurt. what had he done to lose his best friend?

“y/n-”

“no, don’t say anything!” you snapped, your breath hitching in your throat. “you don’t get to say anything after what you did to our friendship. you ruined it! you’re the one who ruined it.” your words were slurred, fueled by the alcohol coursing through your veins.

he didn’t respond or ask for clarification; you both knew exactly what had been done to ruin such a solid connection.

as the weight of your confession hung in the air, you turned away from who once was your world, leaving him behind with the heart pendant in his open palm. there was a whirlwind of emotions coursing through you- pain, anger, and an overwhelming sense of betrayal.

pushing through the crowd, you made your way to the exit. lacy waved you bye, clueless of what had just happened.

you stepped out of the bar into the darkness. tears clung to your lashes, but you didn’t let them fall. your phone vibrated in your pocket, but you ignored it- too nervous that you’d see mark’s contact picture staring back at you.

and you left, leaving everything you once cared about behind you; leaving that cruel chapter of your life in the darkness of the open night.

Lacy, oh, Lacy

It's like you're out to get me

You poison every little thing that I do

Lacy, oh, Lacy

I just loathe you lately

And I despise my jealous eyes and how hard they fell for you

Yeah, I despise my rotten mind and how much it worships you

#hearts4hughes #nora’s writings 💐#mark estapa #mark estapa imagine #mark estapa x reader #mark estapa blurb #umich hockey #nhl x reader #nhl blurb #nhl imagine

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obsessive-valentine · 2 months

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Just suddenly thought of it, but I'm imagining your Yan!Fae wants to increase the love between them and their lover (the lover will probably be colder after the kidnapping) and he started thinking of a way, What would it be like for a lover who wants to read books but the books in the library are written in a language they cannot read (I think every race or country would have their own form of writing). I think he will take advantage of that to get closer, like teaching them the words and then praising them (he intentionally kisses their cheeks).

Yandere!Childhood-Friend-Fae x Kidnapped-GN!Reader

Fae 100% have their own language and many variations so it can be difficult for a human to grasp, love this idea. He just wants closeness and to recreate the love he had from reader in his childhood but went about it the wrong way lol -let him try win your favour again ❤️

You wanted to hate him but you knew the person he used to be was still in there, you grew up with those eyes and that smile and a part of you missed him.

But his voice is different and hes dauntingly tall, he’s colder even if it’s unintentionally he’s not as relaxed and innocent as he used to be. You can’t bring yourself to think of him like you used to, he’s now your kidnapper who slightly resembles your beloved childhood friend.

Stuck in the limbo of not hating but not liking his presence, a indifference badly masking your fear and mourning for your old life. He could tell you were troubled and expected it from such a fragile human, you always were so empathetic and emotional as a kid.

Before he could begin recounting those memories he snapped himself out of it. “Not getting any damn work done” he huffed to himself before standing up from his desk making the dark wood chair scrape against the floors and closing the ink pot for his pen before leaving the room.

He found you sitting comfortably in one of the various lounge rooms of the house, this one you’d taken to most. The sofas were plush and the room wasn’t to big, the carpet and fireplace made it somewhat homely. He lingered in the door way watching you with amusement as you sprawled out on the sofa dramatically, staring at the carved details on the ceiling.

He wondered what you were thinking, you hardly talked to him anymore and tried to slip away from his company any chance you’d get. “Hello love” he started with his knuckles grazing gently on the door like a quiet knock in an attempt to not spook you. Your head tilted awkwardly to look at him with an expecting face “what are you doing in here?” He continues while inviting himself in.

“Nothing, there’s nothing to do. I can’t go outside without you, no sane person to talk to nor books to read” you ranted turning away from him once again, he let the jab about his sanity slide “Ive got a whole library” he replied plainly. You sent him a nasty glare but he stood unmoving just now with a slight grin sneaking on his face.

The smile made it blantantly obvious he was messing with you, you huffed and went back to looking at the ceiling. “Yes I know you can’t read those books but what I’m suggesting is I teach you” you didn’t bother look at him this time instead answering with silent rejection, you rather not be stuck in a room with your captor for hours.

“Suit yourself” his hand gently ran over your hair “I’ll be downstairs if you change your mind” he mentioned rather softly before taking his hand back and leaving the room.

...

That offer was sounding really nice after another boring hour passed, every evening he’d take you for a walk around his gardens but that was hours away and it felt weird and lonely that he was bothering you much less than usual. You knew deep down that he was playing yet another game with your head, making you come to him but you stopped caring about your dignity when the silence became deafening.

Slowly you tiptoed down the lush carpeted stairs and peaked over the banister during a moment of doubt, ultimately you decide to walk to the door. You didn’t knock, you became to nervous, instead you stood and peered into the crack of the door. Before you could turn around “you okay out there love?”

You pushed the door open fully, the book he occupied himself with was already closed in his lap and he sat expectingly. “Come here” he demanded calmly, when you were close enough he gently pulled you down into his lap “change your mind?”

“I’ll go mad if I can’t read” you replied bluntly. You are glad he didn’t push further, instead he sat back comfortably dragging you with him “The books I read are more academic, probably bore you to death”

He reached over to another book laying on the side table “-this book is probably easier to read, a fantasy” there were no other books in the room, you realised that he’d picked that out for you and was waiting for you to come to him. He’d predicted this and it made heat rise to your cheeks in embarrassment, it was frustrating that he’s always right and knows it.

He pulled it in front of you and began teaching you letter by letter and word by word. The whole time not letting you off his lap, it had been maybe 2 hours of repeating sentences after him, but it went by fast. You were so focused and quite comfortable.

So focused you you wouldn’t question it when his hands began wandering down your sides, or tracing your thighs followed by hums of approval. And it would only get worse as days went on quicks kisses on your shoulders then your nape, cheek and eventually grabbing you cheeks to kiss you on the lips.

That night after a walk and dinner he took you to pick out your own book from the library, and instead of going to bed and read his own book as you drift to sleep you both slowly read the first chapter together at candle light. He even rummaged through his draws to find a delicate metal book mark once you both decide to get to sleep.

...

At some point you’d gotten the hang of reading, but he wouldn’t stop there. No, he enjoyed having you in his lap while he taught you what each word meant or correcting your speech. Instead, one morning he calls you into his study and pulls you into his lap.

“You’re getting much better at reading, you’re going to learn to write it now” he left no room argument and handed you the expensive looking dip pen. He liked this activity much more because he had yet another excuse to touch you, for most of it his hand gently hovered over yours, correcting any mistakes. He would lean close over your shoulder so he could read what you were writing but really he’s just pressing himself gains you as close as he can.

You signed up for more than you realised.

#yandere oc #yandere #x reader #yandere fae #fae childhood friend

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butmakeitgayblog · 2 months

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Omg the first time they held each other was so sweet 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 I love starlet au musings so much. Now I HAVE to ask…. First kiss?

The first kiss is appropriately dramatic, given the fact they're both rather talented actresses. It's in their blood. It's in their DNA. Of course it had to be dramatic.

A couple of months after the night Lexa spent the night on Clarke's couch, holding her close and feeling her weight as she slept, they find themselves in this weird state of limbo. They've kind of given up on all pretenses of pretending to not want to be in contact at all times, but at the same time... they fall back into this habit of keeping each other at a vague arm's length.

It's not nearly as bad as before. Not after Clarke had woken up alone on her couch to only a post-it stuck on the table next to her head that read,

"Thanks for letting me lead. Even if I do have two left feet...

L."

in neat, looping script.

She'd spent the next 7 hours of the day mentally berating herself for having not only crossed such an intimate line, but having basically made such a fool of herself in front of her not-crush right after. Not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things when her extensively thought out and painstakingly crafted text of, "Hey, so, sorry for getting pathetic on you last night. Yikes," is met with a simple, "Nothing to worry about, Clarke. I'm much more pathetic than that when I'm just hungry for lunch." Followed immediately by another, "If helps, you're actually kind of pretty when you cry. You should put that on your resume 👀"

And it does help.

It helps because it lets Clarke breathe a little more easy; lets her feel like she can laugh at that white flag of confirmation that she hadn't gone and ruined absolutely everything.

So yes, after that night things change between them. But not in any kind of earth shattering way. They still text everyday, but the calls become longer. More frequent. Good morning texts and bids for good nights and sweet dreams, all peppering the tail ends of too-deep conversations for people who are supposed to be just friends. All the flights and the downtime, and all the hurry up and waiting of their lives, is set to the backdrop of a new message's chime. Lexa now saved in Clarke's phone as Fred Astaire (which earns her a very nonplussed selfie)

Neither mention that Clarke was saved in Lexa's as Rosemary...

It's not until Lexa's birthday that the house of cards they've been building for all those months finally came tumbling down.

Because Lexa had to work.

She had to work - out of town - for the entire goddamn week, and there's nothing at all she can do about it. Which was how she found herself sitting in the Primeclass lounge of the airport, head in her hands, quietly sobbing.

Because of course Clarke had called her at exactly the stroke of midnight just to wish her a happy birthday before her red eye was scheduled to take off. Because of course Clarke had insisted on singing that stupid song right into her ear, all syrupy words and husky voice slightly off-key, which meant she'd set an alarm just to make sure she wouldn't miss it for something as trivial as sleep.

Lexa had barely held it together long enough to get her off the phone - to lie and say they were almost done boarding and that she had hurry and go. It'd taken everything in her just to not let her voice wobble, whispering her thank you's and a gentle urging for Clarke to go back to bed.

Because of course the second the call ended Lexa finally, finally, let herself break.

Very, very messily.

And she didn't care if people looked or took pictures or made up ridiculous theories, because it was just too goddamn much to keep buried inside. She'd been strong about this for so long it felt like she was suffocating under its weight. As though all the good pieces of herself were slowly dying.

Because she loved Clarke. She loved Clarke with her entire broken heart, and there was not one single thing she could do to stop it.

She had tried.

And so she held her head in her hands and hiccuped through a hundred silent sobs until a nice woman eased her way over and said as gently as she possibly could that it was her last chance for boarding.

The next week flew by in a haze of early call times and late night reshoots that had Lexa almost too busy to wallow. Almost. But between her own internal revelations and a set of extremely poorly timed publicity shots being posted of a certain blonde on the arm of her leading man, both enjoying a carefree and flirty looking night out on the town, Lexa cobbled together a rough draft of a plan. A smart plan. A logical plan. A plan to ask Clarke to meet her somewhere and just talk this crazy whole thing through.

A plan that went right out the window about an hour after she had landed back home, and somehow had found herself on Clarke's apartment building's front stoop.

And the truth was that even though she apparently couldn't wait, she had every intention of just going there to talk. To knock on Clarke's door and explain her feelings like a perfectly rational adult. Except then there was Clarke, with those piercing blue eyes and all that beautiful, curly blonde hair. With those lips dropping open and that unfairly attractive beauty mark perfectly dotting her sudden smile.

So their first kiss was dramatic. All relieved sighs and gasps of surpise when Lexa stepped into her a d threaded her fingers through Clarke's hair, cupped her face and pulled her close, and kissed her right there in the darkened doorway of Clarke's apartment. She kissed her through Clarke's initial startle and the slow relaxing of her bones. Kissed her harder when hands found her hips as Clarke melted into her and moaned.

For all the passion she poured into it, Lexa took her time with the kiss, stretching the moment and making every brush of lips and sweep tongue achingly slow. Because if this moment of weakness was all they would ever allow themselves... then Lexa was going to savor it.

#anon #starlet au #gay that's gay they're so lame and gay #i love them

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base-and-co · 7 months

Text

i'm basically racing time at this point just to post this before 7th ep of Ahsoka is out because i LOVE my rebel children and want to express this love.

i've shipped SabEzra since i was 13-14, so now when i'm kinda grown, i can finally show it and give it what it deserves.

so here's my little exploration of this ship (and subtle depression/PTSD hints in Ezra's behavior because OF COURSE HE'D HAVE THEM)

it can be interpret both platonicaly and romantically

Can you do something with my hair?

Standing in front of the mirror, Ezra carefully pulled his skin, examining his beard and face. He had done his best maintaining his apperance back in his time out of the galaxy, but there were far more important things to think about.

Ezra sighed, looking in the mirror in front of him, and pointed every detail he could find. What he was not prepared for is how much he reminded himself of his father. It was weird. He had to say "This is me. I am Ezra." for it to sink in, but it was still wrong. It felt like he was looking in the past. The past was long time ago - ten years ago - and today was still new and unfamiliar. Ezra felt like he was stuck in this bizarre limbo between times and the way his face looked didn't really help.

Door slid open. Ezra looked at his guest (or was he a guest in these quarters? he didn't know yet) and was met by Sabine's eyes and smile.

"I brought you clothes to choose from," she said, putting her small cargo on the table. Ezra smiled and thanked her, but Sabine didn't seem like she was going to leave. Ezra was good with it. "Are you not gonna see?"

Ezra shrugged, turning back to the mirror.

"A bit later, I guess."

"Those're new."

"Clothes?"

"No. Scars."

Ezra looked back at Sabine and blinked, confused. She was looking at him closely, and it was this moment Ezra realized he was half-naked.

"Oh," he breathed, looking at his torso and arms like he was seeing them for the first time in his life. "Yeah. They're not really new. Some are ten years old."

"Which ones?" Sabine asked, pushing herself from the table and closer to Ezra. He let out a thoughtful hum, looking for something on his body.

"Oh, there it is." Sabine tilted her head, watching as Ezra rose his left arm up. There was a long thin line from his armpit to his ribs. "This one's from the hyperspace jump. Y'know, glass broke and cut me up a bit."

"When you left Lothal?.. That jump?.." Sabine's fingers traced the scar, making Ezra shiver - it tickled. He smiled, lowering his arm back down.

"Well, I haven't been jumping much since then," he laughed a bit, and Sabine gave him a little smile.

"I've got some new ones too," she said, lifting up her shirt to show her torso too. Ezra looked at her, surprised and a bit bashful, and then she pointed to the round scar on her right side.

All shyness faded away, changed by concern, when Ezra saw it. He lowered a bit, furrowed and touched the scar, and Sabine didn't even flinch.

"A burn?.." he said in low voice, trying to understand what he was looking at. "A blaster?"

"A lightsaber." Ezra's eyes flicked up and Sabine could see horror in his gaze. She shrugged. "Not a big deal."

"It is!" Ezra protested, straightening up. "How did you even..."

"Doctors said I got lucky and it didn't really touch anything important, and the bleeding was stopped almost immediately, 'cause y'know. Those things're hot."

Ezra let out a nervous laugh and shook his head.

"Unbelievable."

"Hey," Sabine smiled and pointed at him. "If you can survive the hyperspace jump and ten years in another galaxy, why can't I take a little lightsaber to the gut?"

Ezra lifted his hands, surrendering to her reasoning.

"It wasn't MY lightsaber, I hope?" he turned back to mirror and the reflection took him aback once more. The only thing he was sure was his were his eyes and scars.

"Nah, some pretentious girl's", Sabine said, and then she furrowed a bit. "You good?"

"Dunno," Ezra answered honestly. He touched his chin and turned his head from side to side. "Don't you think I look a bit too much like my dad?"

"Wow, I wonder where this resemblance came from. Like you're blood related or something," she crossed her arms with a smile. But there was something in Ezra's voice, something a bit too serious, that couldn't let her relax. "Does it bother you?"

Ezra lowered his arms and turned to Sabine, a bit bashful once more.

"Can you..." he hesitated a bit, like he was too embarrassed to ask. Sabine arched her eyebrow. "Can you do something with my hair?"

Sabine blinked in surprise and took a few steps towards him.

"Something?" she echoed, raising her hands up and touching his dark locks. Ezra was surprisingly comfortable with it. He shrugged.

"I trust your artistic vision." Sabine smiled slyly, looking into his eyes.

"Does it mean I can dye it?"

Ezra closed his eyes and raised his hands in surrender once more.

"Do your worst."

It took Sabine about ten minutes to go get what she needed and then she put Ezra down on a chair and started doing her magic. Ezra relaxed, lulled by movement of her hands and the feeling of her focus. His state was close to meditation, like he was sitting there, and could feel Force move and swirl around them, in the room and the building, he could feel so many living creatures it was a bit overwhelming.

"You tensed," Sabine's voice was quiet yet for Ezra it sounded like thunder. It was hard not to flinch, but he managed to keep his peace. Who knows, what would she chop off with those scissors in her hands...

"Meditating," he answered simply.

"Aren't you supposed to be relaxed then?" she asked, pulling his hair slightly to detangle a couple of little knots.

"Ideally, yeah," Ezra smiled. "But it's been a while since I had so many distractions around me."

"Distractions?" Sabine echoed, looking in the mirror to see Ezra's face expression. His eyes were still closed and he looked peaceful, but she could feel that slight tension he bore in his posture and mimics. His lashes quivered for a moment, when he began his explaining.

"It's the Force," he said, flapping his hand on his lap lightly, gesturing around, "It was different out there. Muted, I think. Or just... Distant."

Sabine froze for a moment, but then continued grooming Ezra's hair without saying anything.

"It's way more present here," Ezra continued, tilting his head slightly, following movement of Sabine's hands. "I feel like I can touch every single thread that connects everyone and everything around me. Like I can tap into Force without even thinking about it."

"Thought you could do that before," Sabine said quietly. She could see Ezra chuckle silently.

"Yeah, well... I had to meditate my ass off just to feel someone around me back there," Sabine swallowed a bit. The thought of Ezra spending days straight on meditation out of pure hope to not be alone was very uncomfortable. "I'm a pro now."

"Oh, well I'm very flattered to tend to your holy hair, oh master-jedi," Sabine spoke so dramatically it inevitably made Ezra laugh.

"Come on," he said, choking on laughter, "Right now you have much more power over me than I have over you. It's not me holding the scissors."

She clicked said scissors loudly and Ezra chuckled again.

"What're doing, by the way?" he said, looking at Sabine's face in the mirror.

"Trying to align that wavy bush you got up here," she said calmly. "Then I'm gonna braid or gather it, I think. Not sure yet."

"So, no dye?"

"You said do my worst, not my best," she raised her gaze and met Ezra's eyes in the mirror. He was looking at her, and was so calm and relaxed, Sabine felt a quick pick of guilt in her stomach. He trusted her to do his hair, but she knew it meant so much more. She knew, Ezra would trust her his own life without hesitation. He already did, in fact. And it took her ten years to finally get him home. She should've realized sooner, found him sooner.

"Sabine?"

She shivered, clicking on air. Nervous smile crawled on Ezra's face.

"You good?"

"Yeah, yeah," Sabine quickly shook her head, regaining her composure. "I think we're done with cutting for now."

Ezra blinked slowly, like he was falling back into his meditative state while Sabine was taking care of his hair. She hoped he couldn't feel slight shiver in her hands while she brushed his hair with her fingers, but chances that Ezra didn't notice were slim. He would always point details quickly and now, after so much time spent in hiding and surviving, he must've been even more perceptive.

However, Ezra was silent, lost in motions of Sabine's hands and feel of being cared of. It felt nice and Ezra remembered how a long time ago Kanan would help him with his hair when it got too long, how he would teach him to shave, couple months before Malachor. Memories washed Ezra, like a gentle tide, and he could not help but snort from laughter, making Sabine hum, questioning what was on his mind.

"I used to have a buzzcut," he explained, raising his hand to cover his eyes and dumb smile. Sabine chuckled.

"It suited you," she said, tying his hair in a knot of the back of his nead. "But it doesn't go with your beard."

She lowered from behind him, looking at his face closely. Ezra looked up at her, watching her eyes inspect him.

"Wanna make me shave? 'Cause I haven't done it in, like, ten years," he chuckled nervously, but then Sabine straightened and for some reason Ezra felt in danger.

"I'll do it," she said, rubbing her hands and smiling with such sly Ezra thought she would make some crazy design on his face. Well, he told her to do her worst...

So Ezra just gulped, braced himself up and trusted Sabine's vision. They were silent for a bit, while Sabine lathered his face and beard and started to shave him little by little. She was still behind him, and Ezra was looking in the mirror, watching movement of her hands and the focused expression on her face. It was this moment when he started to recognise himself in the reflection. It took him a good couple of seconds to realize that he was looking at his own face. It was no longer the past, it was something else - it was HIM. Not that boy, who survived in Lothal's sewers, not the kid from Ghost's crew or a young officer of Rebellion, no, this was all a long-long time ago. But it was him, Ezra, he could see it. He could see how his eyes burned a bit brighter upon this realisation.

"Wow," he breathed out, making Sabine stop.

"What is it?" she said, concerned.

"Nothing, I just," he chuckled nervously. "I recognised myself."

Sabine blinked, confused.

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking at him through the mirror. He hesitated a bit, feeling like saying his thoughts out loud would be foolish.

"It's a bit dumb," he confessed, but Sabine only rolled her eyes.

"Go on, stop mushing around," she said, picking up the wet towel to wash lather off of his face.

"It's just," he looked up, raising his chin so Sabine could wipe his neck with the towel, "back then, when I took Thrawn away, I was completely out of the fight. I could not do anything. Literally, I had no ability to help you guys or even to know what was going on."

Sabine's jaw line tensed, but she was silent, still taking care of Ezra's face. His gaze was distant and she was thankful for that.

"I spent ten years, living by hope," he said quietly. "When I thought that I might end up stranded forever or that I might die without ever coming home, I simply assured myself that wasn't the case. I was waiting, and making myself useful in the process. Meditating, helping locals, learning their language and making sure Thrawn would stay there with me."

Sabine put the towel down and put her hands on Ezra's shoulders, watching his face in the mirror. He was speaking quietly, yet for her it was the most important thing in the world, so she listened like her life depended on it.

"I used to entertain myself," he continued, "thinking about what would I do when I get back. I wanted to go fly with Hera, wanted to spar with you, wanted to chill with Zeb and Chopper, as we used to do back in the old days. Wanted to find Ahsoka and finally find out where the heck I was when I pulled her out. Wanted to go back to Lothal and watch it rebuild. But now I feel like..."

Sabine clenched her fingers a bit, watching as Ezra look away and furrow in confusion.

"I feel like I missed so much I don't even know where am I anymore. I know I'm home and I'm happy, I really am," he looked up to the mirror, and Sabine didn't know if he tried to convince her or himself. "But I don't know what to do."

He looked back down.

"I think, I'm scared."

Sabine took a deep breath and moved, sitting down in front of Ezra. He looked at her, still lost, and it felt like guilt and sorrow gripped her heart with its cold claws. She couldn't bear seeing him like this.

"Hey," she whispered, putting her hand on his cheek. "It's okay. It's been a long time, I know. It's okay to feel a bit confused."

Ezra looked her straight in the eyes, like there were answers, and Sabine only smiled. He opened up to her. It was only fair to open up back.

"You know, I was so afraid, that I would be late," she said, brushing her thumb over his face. Tears stung her eyes, but they were still hidden. "But even more so, I was afraid to find you and realise that you were gone."

Ezra blinked, not understanding what she was talking about. Sabine chuckled. Even after all these years, he looked like a silly pup of lotho-wolf, when his eyes had this questioning look in them.

"I was afraid," she gulped, still caressing his cheek. "That the boy I grew up with was gone, but his body would still be alive. I was afraid that all those horrors and unknowns would've done to you."

Ezra furrowed and out his hand on hers, catching her attention.

"I was afraid I would find you and not recognise," she whispered in strangled voice.

"But you did," Ezra whispered back, caressing the back of her hand with his palm. "And I'm so happy you did. I knew you would."

Sabine shook her head slightly and pressed her forehead to Ezra's. It was so important for her to feel him, to know that he was around and to show him she was as well.

"We'll figure it out," she promised, still gripping his face. Ezra watched her, but Sabine's eyes were closed. "We will figure it out, 'cause you're alive and you're here. Everything else will come around. We'll get you fly with Hera and Jacen, we'll spar, we'll get you to Lothal and you'll see the memorial and your home. I'll go catch some lotho-cat for you to talk to, we'll go anywhere you want, do whatever you want."

"Sabine," Ezra called quietly. "I can't make everything about me."

"You should."

"What do you want?" he asked, nugding to her head, gently petting the back of her head with his free hand.

"I want to make sure you're never alone again," she said and her voice was so full of pain and guilt. Ezra smiled gently, letting her snuggle even closer.

"I'm not. I never was." he whispered, touching her nose with his own. "I always felt you. We're connected. Force unites all of us. All of us who cross the galaxy and who stays low. All of us who's breathing and who's not."

"Since when did you become so wise," Sabine smiled, ignorring a tear running down her cheek.

"Dunno," Ezra smiled back. "Somewhen between learning how to ask for water and using woodstick as a weapon to spook howlers."

They laughed quietly, still sitting close, forehead to forehead, hands of back of each others heads. And it felt right.

"Okay," Sabine whispered, pulling back from Ezra. His eyes followed her movement, yet he looked calm and relaxed. She wiped the tear from her face and shiffed, and looked like she was completely okay with the fact of Ezra still holding her hand. "Let's see that you think."

She moved aside and let Ezra look in the mirror. He blinked in surprise, when he realised that she was done.

Turning his head from side to side, Ezra smiled in awe.

"Wait," he squinted, looking back at Sabine. "Did you copy Kanan's goatee?"

Sabine chuckled.

"It looks good!" she protested, taking his chin and making him look back in the mirror. "Looks like you."

Sabine was right. Of course, she was right. Ezra huffed a laugh. He could try to argue, but she would always win. And yeah, the reflection looked like him.

A tapestry, carefully weaved from memories of old and hopes of future. It suited him.

"Thank you, Sabine."

She smiled.

"Anytime. Now, lets get you dressed."

Ezra blinked and looked down, once again realising he had only his pants on.

"Yes, please..."

#ahsoka series #ezra bridger #sabine wren #sabezra #star wars rebels #fanfiction #i love them so much my heart's dying #this i want this in my life #hurt/comfort

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xxacademy · 1 year

Note

Hello!

Love your work!

Can you do headcanon of Leon and the first * I love you * said with his So ? I always wondered how'd he'd say it. Or if he'd even say it first ? I'm torn lol

thank you so much anon,, it means a lot !!♥️ but truly i’m gushing over the thought of leon saying i love you for the first time. i decided to write more of a one-shot for this one because im obsessed. might make a legit head-cannon post alongside this though.

literally smiling and kicking my feet writing this agggh <3 hope you enjoy !!

she/her reader. pure fluff, only a little nsfw.

head over heals in love is the only way to describe the way you feel for his stunning blue eyes and gentle soul. leon, the man you’ve been seeing for a few months *formally* asked you to be his girlfriend. he was rather reserved at first, and opened up to you slowly. gradually letting you into the beautifully strung web of his heart. it wasn’t a question of if you loved him, but rather if you should even tell him how you felt. it was nerve racking- the man of your dreams fell into your lap and the last thing you wanted was to throw it all away to a premature confession of your love.

so, you gave it the time you felt it deserved.

all the while leon treated you like a princess. he would pick you up on his motorcycle and drive you around the city. your arms encircled tightly around his waist, getting lost in the dream-like glimmer of the nighttime skyline. he would serenade you with his thoughts, telling you the most unbelievable stories imaginable. often while snuggled up on a park bench overlooking the horizon.

leon was unbelievably romantic, he spared no expense to shower you with little compliments. “my gorgeous girl” he often said, his eyes always fixed on you.

he made love to you in a way you have never experienced before. it was overflowing with passion. he touched your body like a work of art; a work of art that solely belonged to him. between his whimpers he would let out little love swept praises. “my girl, my beautiful girl, all mine.”

but what made you fall even deeper for him were the heart-melting moments of domesticity you shared. he comes over to your house after work and you always greet him at the door with a kiss. one that usually turned into him pinning you against the wall, his hands resting low on your hips. only to break it off by saying you prepared him dinner. he will insist that you didn’t have to. but, you always assure him that it was no trouble at all. just another bespoke limb of your affection.

at the dinner table he will go on in great detail about his day. little moments like these made you feel like his wife, and my god, you wanted to be his wife.

and in every one of these moments those god forsaken word’s were begging to come out. plagued by your own insecurity, you were stuck in the limbo of two soul mate’s afraid to say to “L” word.

…

it’s about 11pm and you’re getting settled into bed. you’re wearing nothing but the t-shirt leon had “accidentally” left at your house. it smelled irresistible, his sent lingering strongly in the black cotton. you mindlessly scrolled your phone, constantly switching back to leon’s messages. impatiently waiting for the just got home, are you having good night, baby? text he normally sends you.

knock knock knock

abruptly you get up, running to the door. confused and racking your mind as to who could be knocking. you chalk it up to being a neighbor- because who the hell else would show up unannounced at nearly midnight.

you open the door; just a crack, careful not to expose your lack of dress.

“hey pretty girl.” of course it’s leon, wearing all black, dangling a helmet in his hand.

“leon! oh my god! what are you doing here? i’m sorry, i’m not really dressed” you fumble.

“is that my shirt?” he asks with a smirk.

you blush, whispering a shy “yes..”

“i mean who wouldn’t wanna come home to their girl wearing his shirt?” he embraces you, resting his head in the nook of your shoulder. he whispers “i missed you.”

“is that why you’re here?” you tease.

“well, i wanted to talk to you.”

your heart skips a beat, for whatever reason feeling a sense of dread. is he going away for work? is going to break up with me? it’s not really rational to think that way, but leon isn’t exactly predictable.

“no need to get nervous, it’s good- i think”

“what’s good?” you ask, trying not to jump to any conclusions.

“here c’mere, let’s sit”

you sit in the couch comfortably under leon’s arm. he diverts the subject and tells you about his day, like he usually does. and you tell him about yours. leon’s a sweet talker, his deep and calming voice relaxing you. and without intending, he allows you to be yourself, you feel safe.

“i’ve been thinking about you, about us.” leon says, running his hands lazily along your exposed legs.

“yeah?”

“you occupy so much of mind, and i—uh— i really dunno how to put it, you just mean so much to me.” he pauses, shyness apparent on his blushed cheeks.

“honestly… and i really mean it— i love you”

leon looks nervous, anticipating your reaction. hoping that if rejection comes it’s quick and over with.

“i love you, leon.” with no hesitation you say the words he was always hoping you’d say. leon’s smile is bright, one of true happiness. he kisses you with fervor, pulling you closely to his chest.

“you’re all mine, my love” he says into the kiss.

“delightfully so.” you reply.

your heart is filled to the brim. swept off your feet by your charming boyfriend, truly in love.

#academy headcannons ☁️#academy drabbles 🫧#this is so fluffy and cute im <333 #leon kennedy #resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil fanfiction #leon x you #leon kennedy x you

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echo-rambles · 8 months

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you got me feeling butterflies

words: 770 tags: fluff, suggestive content, pet-names (baby/puppy), light sub!chan, praise kink notes: I don't really have an excuse or explanation. this is probably the closest to smut I'll ever actually get. if I missed any warnings/tags, please let me know?

-o0o-

being with chan is a lesson in patience. not because he's a difficult man, but because he's a busy one. he's constantly doing something, whether it's packing his schedules as full as he legally can, or using his 'free time' to get more work done. you've learned that some days he needs a reminder to just breathe. to exist without worrying about the next project.

today is one of those days, as you gently tug his chair away from his desk, and he protests for a minute. his hands are still glued to his keyboard and his arms outstretched, but then you sigh. "chris." your tone leaving no room for argument so he knows you're being serious.

"it must be important if you government named me." chan jokes, finally letting you spin him around.

"you know I love your- frankly frightening, work ethic. but I think it's time you took a break." you tell him softly, as you cup his cheeks in your hands.

"I'm almost done."

"baby, you were almost done two hours ago. at this rate you'll be stuck in a constant limbo of almost but not quite."

the huffy little pout he gives you is actually kind of adorable. "five more minutes?"

you make a show of thinking about it, giving his cheeks a squeeze as you do, before finally leaning down to kiss him. "I'll give you long enough to save your work and shut the whole thing down, but no longer than that. understand?"

chan presses his hands to your hips, even as he begins to scoot his chair back towards his desk. "on it, boss."

"that's what I like to hear." you let him pull you along, watching with a keen eye as he goes through the process of saving all of his work properly and turning off his computer. mostly one handed because he struggles with letting you go for long. "see, was that so hard?"

"absolutely." there's a bit of reluctance in his eyes, as he glances at his computer, but just as quickly he's completely turning to face you, giving you his attention. looking up at you with those big brown eyes. you have to stay strong, soldier.

humming, you lean down again, planting one of your knees on the chair between his legs to stabilize yourself as you give him a much deeper kiss than before. "you'll get over it."

it's an affirmation as much as it is an order. chan mumbles something like fucking hell, and then he's nodding. eager and wide eyed. your thumb swipes along the edge of his jaw, tilting his head just so.

"you've been working really hard," you tell him, curling even farther into him so you can place kisses along the arch of his neck. "you've done such a good job." you smile into the next kiss, feeling the way he swallows heavily at your words.

"but it's not finished." chan counters, trying his hardest to sound disappointed as he drags in a shaky breath.

"that's ok. puppy doesn't have to overwork himself to still be amazing, mm?" the way his fingers dig into the skin of your waist feels like a victory.

the goal for this evening wasn't exactly to get chan all breathy and whining, but you're not going to complain.

you kiss his chin, and then both of his cheek, moving your hands so they're settled in the slope where his neck meets his shoulders. you kiss all over his face until he's making little noises in the back of his throat and tugging at your hips. wanting you closer.

"does my puppy want something?" you ask, hovering over him and smiling. he's just so pretty. you're kind of stupidly in love with him.

chan blinks, some of the haze lifting from his eyes, and then he's swiftly pulling you fully into his lap. "can you stop being a tease?"

"isn't there a magic word you forgot to use?" you press a kiss to the hinge of his jaw, and then the highest point of his cheek. then down, to the very corner of his mouth. the whole time you keep your hands on him, thumb softly swiping along his collarbone.

"please." he breathes, trying his best to capture your mouth in a kiss.

well, you can't really keep denying him. not when he's being so good. he deserves to be rewarded. not only for how hardworking he is, but also because he's such a good listener.

being with chan is a lesson in patience, and you enjoy being the teacher as much, if not more, than being the student.

#stray kids #skz #bang chan x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #bang chan smut #echo writes #is it smut though?? does it deserve the smut tag??#or am I just trying to reach the correct audience #spreading my babygirl bang chan agenda

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vitaminseetarot · 6 months

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PAC: 11/11 Self-Care Messages 🍊🌚🦂

Hey y'all. I'm here to take a brief break from NaNoWriMo (I've been making big progress, I swear!). I've heard from some astrologers that this new moon is going to be rather strong, similar to the energy of the full moon.

After some scouring through the web to find horoscopes that weren't all doom and gloom, I figured now would be a good time to draw some cards for a few wellness messages. This was done to check current mood and energy and suggest healing or wellness methods mainly for stress relief.

I emphasize that if you have a real medical issue, best to take it to a doctor, even if you're thinking it's possibly a psychic thing.

Please choose your pile based on palette color below:

Pile 1 - Tropics Pile 2 - Pinkadelic Pile 3 - Mysterious Night Pile 4 - Solar Energy

Take care~☼

Pile 1: Tropics

The World, Peace, Surrender, Salt Bath, Receive, King of Cups, Knight of Swords, Seven of Coins

So you've done it, or it's been done. You've checked the items off your list. You've asked others if there was more to do only to be met with shaking heads saying "no, but thanks." So what to do now? It's easy to get used to this position of needing to be the big helper all the time. A king of cups taking on the world wants to solve every problem and won't rest until everyone is satisfied. But what would all of that take? Is it worth draining your cup, especially when others are learning to rely on it so much?

Your cards are suggesting a much needed rest time. If it's not a salt bath, then try just resting in bed, a brief sunbath, or a massage therapy session. It's not just resting your body, but your mind. You got two color cards which fell out. Surrender the mind for peace within the body. They're linked in this case. Knight of Swords says whatever happens to one will quickly affect the other. Recovery may take some time so please give yourself space to breathe.

This could be a specific message for some out there. I felt a brief pang in my chest that went away as soon as your reading was finished. I don't usually interpret this Salt Bath card in such a literal way, but… please watch your salt intake, more or less, make sure you're getting iodized salt. Some of you may be worried about doctor's visits? Just make sure you're drinking enough water in between salty meals. Keep your stress levels down, above all.

Take care of your heart health and try not to run yourself ragged with too many assignments and crisis alerts going off (what the heck there's a random phone alarm going off in my house now JUST as I'm typing this! And then it stopped as soon as I got up! Crazy). The message is to not respond to every single call and alarm that goes off okay! You definitely need time to rest, and boundaries for said rest. I mean deeply rest and clear your mind, let yourself suspend from the schedule with some suds. You can't get away to paradise forever, but you can create for yourself a moment in time.

Pile 2: Pinkadelic

Five of Coins, Trust, Bodega Cat, Acceptance, VI The Lovers, XVII Star, Ace of Cups

Tick tock, you've been waiting a while for this to come around in your life. I feel this is strongly a love related reading but let's see. If it's not a romantic partner you're attracting, it's a fresh start at life or spiritual awakening, the feeling of falling in love again with life. You've likely been waiting for a while, stuck in a limbo state, learning how to remain comfortable or at least steady in the unknown. Yet you're eager for that "more" or "other" kind of experience. The type of manifestation that makes life feel magical and new.

You need a quick pep talk. I might get a little cheesy with the message, but here goes: For anyone who has yet to meet you, you are that magic spark in their life. You're radiating the energy of wish making and affection and that has an effect on others around you. You're already on the way to attracting the one who will properly recognize that for you. I'm picking up on a lot of artists in this pile. Your magic seeps through to your art, your aura or energy rubs off onto what you make, and somebody special will see the talent in your work. You have way more talent in the arts than you think.

With that said, the Bodega Cat is a lucky cat here to remind you of your independence. You ultimately don't need anyone to come along and remind you of how amazing your work is. Once you see it for yourself, they will come. Once you see it as done, they will show. Perhaps more than it may seem right now. Just like the cat can be itself and people will show up to pet it and take pictures, whatever you bring forth will carry that same unique charm naturally.

You may be in the mood to go on a shopping spree. Treat yourself to something small and nice, like candy or a new t-shirt, it doesn't have to be extravagant. I recommend affirmations specifically on self-love for you, pile 2. Take a mirror marker and write nice things on your mirror. Pet a lucky cat when one stops by, as well! Sweeten your water with some fresh fruit for a sensual touch. Trust and believe. All of this beautiful magical energy is bursting outwards from you! Accept the wish that's there out in front of you.

Pile 3: Mysterious Night

Three of Swords, Growth, Dandelion, Perspective, XII Hanged Man, King of Swords, X Wheel of Fortune

I can tell that whatever has happened in the last few months, you've taken on a hurdle of challenges to get to where you are now. You've had to learn some harsh lessons, some of which may have felt like they were coming out of nowhere. The word 'Disappointment' was clear and capitalized. It seemed like you took many chances or opportunities on, only to be spun around and left in the dark to figure things out on your own. This last cycle was a particular struggle to build resilience while maintaining the motivation to keep moving toward your goals.

But look, you got both the Growth and Dandelion card in your reading! This is truly signifying how much you've really fought back and continued to nurture yourself in spite of the circumstances thrown in your face over and over. There's a spirit of not giving up even when you let yourself have the chance to process the feeling otherwise. Determination isn't about pretending to be happy in spite of comebacks. Disappointments happen; it's a chance to cry it out before smiling again, it's an umbrella and rain coat to let the day rain from time to time instead of expecting the skies to always stay clear.

You've weathered so much and gained an abundance of wisdom this past season, it's like at this point you're gearing up to be ready for whatever comes next. I don't know if you are necessarily expecting good things to come your way, however. Those might be the very things to sweep you off your feet. Or you may still be too on guard to notice the good luck. It's like the dandelion has gotten acclimated to the cracks, but is it ready for the wheel to turn and for the water to flow in between?

I feel like this whole reading is about being ready for a level up. If you need 999 XP to do so, then right now you're at 900. You're getting to the finish line. But instead of getting too worked up about the end result, however, you've mastered the art of hanging back and waiting for when the time is right. Your new perspective allows you to lay back and take a breather between these strong growth spurts. Remember to stay grounded to your toughened roots, pile 3. Try out grounding exercises and meditations. Spend time out in nature when considering the next moves you're going to make in life. No need to rush this kind of growth.

Pile 4: Solar Energy

Two of Swords, Fear, What You Seek is Seeking You, Change, XV The Devil, Ten of Swords, Seven of Pentacles, Six of Pentacles

I always forget how terrifying the devil card is in this deck lol! In fact I'm seeing and sensing a LOT of fear and anxiety in this pile which is why I went and added an extra tarot card. Six is pentacles on top of the deck is good as it shows help is on the way soon. Remember to stay centered and calm at this time, your chance to heal is coming for you, but you may need to yield some of the resistance behind allowing the change necessary to make way for that healing to occur.

It seems as though your pile conjures images of wanting to see daylight at the end of the tunnel. You feel that change is coming very soon and you're not sure if you're able to handle the next cycle after the one that you've been through. Quite the wringer you've been in for some time… I think a lot of y'all have done some shadow work recently, and it has not been the easiest. It's not always about meditating and journaling. Sometimes it's about seeing how simple, basic fears that are universal to humankind can get distorted and become something much more twisted. When you work past the scary parts, you can see the fear for what it really is. 10 of Swords is Sun in Gemini, learning that sometimes overthinking isn't going to solve the problem, especially when the worst is already past you.

A lot of good things seem to be underway for you even if they're not present at the moment. You've done a fair share of rummaging in the attic and going through all the old, little things. You're going through an extensive clearing out phase. Give yourself the opportunity to put the swords of caution down and accept a gentle wave of positive changes to restructure your life piece by piece.

I'm also getting that this pile may be particularly affected by seasonal affective disorder. Make sure to go out and get some sunlight outside, through windows, or UV lamps. I don't know for sure how Vitamin D supplements would help and you'll want to be careful with St John's Wort if you're on medication, but John's Wort is a good supplement I use for my tea to combat the winter blues. If you sense that your mental state may be getting triggered by lack of sunlight, please look into it.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2023, @VitaminseeTarot ™

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lewkwoodnco · 1 month

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and I hope it gets to you on some Pacific wind - Lockwood x Reader

will you love me like you loved me in the January rain? will you love me like you loved me and I'll never ask for more.

and I never minded being on my own, then something broke in me and I wanted to go home to be where you are but even closer to you, you seem so very far and now I'm reaching out with every note I sing and I hope it gets to you on some Pacific wind wraps itself around you and whispers in your ear tells you that I miss you and I wish that you were here

I didn't choose this town. I dream of getting out. There's just one who could make me stay...all my days.

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST part 1: I Can See You

a/n: WOOOO almost a month since my last fic (tl;dr got terribly sick, got my a level results, scholarship apps, trying to decide what I wanted to do with my life until I remembered, oh, right, I hate doing that, so now its back to fic writing) anywaysss watched miss peregrines home for peculiar children while i was sick and omg. the end credits song??? deCEASED. anyways heres a fic inspired by that song which you should definitely listen to and i definitely wont cry if you dont cbnjvfkjva bye going to get chocolate cakee

warnings/tropes: reader (unexpectedly) missing lockwood desperately after moving away, pining for someone w every fiber of your being, handling grief (NO major character death tho), angst, no happy ending :/// but some snippets of humour!

word count: 6.3k! (my longest fic yet!)

"You won't believe what they're doing at Fittes."

She slid into a seat at Portland Row's kitchen table, oblivious to the fact that she had just stolen George's seat. George glared at Lockwood for a minute, who looked appropriately sympathetic yet slightly distracted, before picking another seat.

"Hi Y/N, how nice to see you. Again. For the third time this week. Please, make yourself at home."

"Oh, Georgie, you're so sweet." She was too distraught to pick up on George's sarcastic tone or his eye roll, though Lockwood spared him an apologetic glance. She slammed a letter onto the table, upsetting the salt and pepper shakers, which Lockwood started curiously scanning. "Unlike my daft supervisors."

There was always a flurry of activity whenever she visited Portland Row. She somehow always had so much to say, and she had to say it within the first five minutes of her being there. That usually meant Portland Row's own activities would come to a brief halt, but her news was more often than not too entertaining to incite many grievances from the inhabitants.

After their joint case involving Winkman, Lucy and George had felt the air shift between them, in a way they couldn't quite put their finger on. Something had obviously happened, especially since she had started stopping by Portland Row. They'd exchange a few obligatory insults, share the highlights of their week, and somehow not bite each other's faces off. Over time, the insults faded into the background, but they still threw in the occasional jab when things started seeming too friendly. Why they were still pretending to get into tiffs when Lockwood had slipped her a spare key was completely lost on George and Lucy.

One unfortunate consequence was they became stuck in this weird limbo. Neither friends nor enemies, but something more rather than in between. And yet, some part of them always hesitated, and so they remained as the two singular, lonely entities they had always been. That wasn't to say they didn't have it in their hearts to feel appropriately outraged for the other when the circumstances called for it.

"Layoffs?”

"Layoffs!"

"What the hell are they laying you off for?"

"Exactly! Never mind that my team has the lowest mortality rate, or that we've never caused destruction worth any more than 500 pounds - no offence, Lockwood."

"Er, yes. At least they're giving you a decent severance package."

Apparently, that wasn't the right thing to say, and this time the egg cups went down as well.

"Overrated ass agency with fuck ass headquarters in the middle of London that I never wanted to spend the rest of my career at anyway, fuck Fittes bitch fucking Rotwell's wannabe-“

"What about Kipps?"

Her face twisted and the others braced for impact a third time. "If they don't put his head on the chopping block, I will-"

After a few cups of tea and a few more rounds of nonsensically excessive swearing, she had finally gotten her disappointment under control.

"Maybe a little rapier practice will take your mind off things?"

She pulled a face. "But my shoulder's so tired."

"Your shoulder's been tired for three weeks now. If your break goes on any longer you'll forget everything I've taught you about grips."

"Aw. Oh no."

"Yes, yes, you're very funny."

"What a tragedy."

"You could at least try to pretend like you care."

"I care! I so care. Of course I care. I've got the hottest instructor this side of the Thames."

"Only on this side of the Thames?"

"Yeah, 'cause he's also a dork ass loser who wears confetti-coloured socks."

Still, she joined him in the basement for a little bit of practice, just to refresh her memory. After that, they tried to venture into some basic lunges, which was where things started going downhill again.

"It's no use." She drove her rapier into the stand and started pulling her wrist brace off, despite Lockwood's deflating encouragement. She sat propped up against the wall, frustratedly combing through her sticky hair. "I'm hopeless at this. Maybe Fittes did know what they were doing when they laid me off."

Lockwood sighed. He put away his own rapier and joined her on the floor. "You're not the only employee they've dismissed. You just got...unlucky."

"Now I feel worse."

"My point is, things will start looking up once you move on." He fiddled with her wrist brace. hesitating. "You do know what to do next, don't you?"

She sighed. "I'll start sending out applications tomorrow. There's this agency in Canterbury I've worked with before. Maybe they'll consider having me full-time."

If she notices Lockwood being mildly taken aback, she doesn't remark on it. He manages some strangled response of approval, and their rapier practice session ends there. It's too late for her to return home by then, so they wash up and get ready for bed. It's clear the day has taken a sizeable chunk out of her when she almost immediately falls half-asleep. Lockwood worries over their conversation in the basement. He glances at her relaxed face. Yeah, she was probably still awake.

"Y/N. Y/N."

"Mm."

"You awake?"

"Mhm."

"I just wanted to tell you that...I was perfectly serious that time. When I said you could come work for me. In case you were wondering. Y/N?"

She doesn't respond, and after a few minutes, her breathing evens out again. He isn't sure if she's heard her, and is even less sure why she's doing everything in her power to stay away from Lockwood & Co.

One cold, January morning, she had been at the Archives with Lockwood & Co. where they were doing some research on their latest joint case. By the time that January morning had turned into a chilly January afternoon, George was telling Lockwood off for leaving one of the maps behind at Portland Row. Naturally, Lockwood was sent to fetch the missing materials, who, not-so-naturally, enlisted her help.

As reluctant as she may have appeared to join Lockwood on this errand, she rested her buzzing head against the soothing, cold glass of the cab gratefully. She had been a little distracted all morning; working at a slower pace, fiddling with the large volumes disinterestedly, staring off into space. She was simultaneously irritated and relieved that Lockwood had noticed. She stared out at the foggy streets of London with her own foggy eyes, trying to make sense of the day.

She had decided to wait on their front porch while Lockwood nipped in to get the papers. While waiting, a sharp rap on their tin awning startled her. Peering up at the sky, she watched the first raindrops of that January shower land in Portland Row's garden. Soon enough, it started to pour generously. The delicate, almost curious winter daffodils drooped their heads under the violent force that was the rain coming down in sheets. In the grey of the clouds and the streets, their yellow petals made her dream of something half-happy.

Tentatively, she walked down the path and stepped into the garden. And then another step. And then another. She was frolicking in the rain for the first time in her life, and there was no one around to stop her.

She felt the rain pause, and turned to see Lockwood holding an umbrella over the two of them. She wrapped her fingers around his on the handle and, with a bit of difficulty, closed the umbrella over their heads. It was only a matter of seconds before the heavy raindrops started weighing his coat down and flattening his otherwise perfectly coiffed hair. She watched the hues of curiosity and amusement shift in his eyes, all of them tinged with the mauve of love. She watched him love her wholly, unabashedly, asking for nothing.

She felt sorry for ruining Lockwood's nice clothes only for a moment, before throwing her arms around his neck, clutching him a little stronger than what was strictly necessary. Papers forgotten, rain soaken, daffodils smitten…she never wanted it to end.

And that was when her life started to fall apart. Being laid off by Fittes had drastically changed their dynamic, and hardly for the better. It was no longer banter from one agent to another - it was one agent and the bad habit he had picked up over the months, one he didn't seem too keen on kicking anytime soon. She didn't ask to stay, and he didn't ask her to leave. And so she spent the rest of her days of unemployment at Portland Row, helping out however she could, filling out and mailing her applications.

Which brought her to her next problem - letters of recommendation.

She was sitting at the kitchen table, reading through the advertisements in the newspaper while nervously shredding its bottom corner. She didn't even look up when Lockwood placed her mug of tea in front of her. He shifted it right on top of the ad she was picking apart.

"Oh. Thanks."

"How's the job search going?"

"Not good." She sighed. "A lot of them require a letter of recommendation."

He slid into the seat next to hers, resting his chin on the back of the chair. "I'll write you a letter of recommendation."

"From my previous employer."

"So? Go over to Fittes and ask for one."

"I don't know," she said, disintegrating the final scraps of newspaper. "Seems a little awkward to go back there after they laid me off."

Lockwood took a look at his watch. "I've got a client meeting at 2, so we should leave after breakfast."

He was already climbing out of his chair and talking to George about the stove misbehaving again by the time her brain caught up. "Hang on, we?"

Lockwood seemed to very conveniently not hear her. "Y/N, if you're not going to drink your tea, we should leave now."

She crammed the last of her toast into her mouth while shrugging her coat on, and joined him outside where he was counting out some coins in his hand.

"Should be just enough for the two of us."

"Just enough for what?"

"The bus. Lovely day, isn't it?"

The trip to Fittes was one of the worst she'd had in her life. She almost felt ashamed for getting laid off and was driving herself crazy obsessing over it. Halfway through she felt a warmth settle over her hand, and glanced down to see Lockwood's palm covering her own. He was looking out the window as if nothing had even happened, and she was looking at him. She couldn't quite tear her eyes away from the sight.

When they reached, she went up to the customer service counter while Lockwood hung back. He looked around the first-floor lobby languidly, watching everyone hurry about their da- hang on, was that Barnes coming out of a conference room?

Lockwood smiled at him while Barnes averted his gaze and started walking out a little faster. Yes, that was most definitely Barnes. He started walking towards him and was just about to call out when he was interrupted by a slightly heated voice coming from the customer service counter.

"What do you mean you don't offer letters of recommendation?!"

A few days after they were almost-but-not-really kicked out of the Fittes headquarters, she and Lockwood were in the library reshelving some books a little before lunchtime. George and Lucy were in the kitchen, so for a while all that could be heard was the smooth sounds of books being pulled off and being put onto the shelves. Lockwood glanced at her and cleared his throat, forcefully injecting a certain nonchalance into his voice.

"I was talking to Barnes the other day."

"Hmm?"

"I think I managed to convince him that we're a big enough agency now to need health insurance."

"Health insurance? Well, don't tell George, or he'll fling himself off the roof at the first chance."

Lockwood stifled a laugh, turning it into a cough though his voice was still comically strained. "Don't go giving him any ideas, now."

They continued rearranging the books in silence until he steeled himself enough to pick up the conversation again.

"So, what I wanted to say was...if you wanted to join Lockwood & Co... you wouldn't have to worry about your mother. Not anymore."

She paused her shelving and frowned at him. "Why do you want me to join Lockwood & Co. so badly?"

"I think you'd be...a valuable member of our team."

So close, yet so far from the few words she wanted to hear. Please join us, Y/N. Forget about all these other agencies. I'd miss you more than I could bear if you left. Go on. Say it.

"Is that all?"

"I...I suppose."

She turned back to their task, disappointed. "I've been wanting to leave London for a while now. To get out, explore...see what's out there."

He stilled for a moment, before bowing his head regretfully. "I see."

Ask me to stay. Please.

They were sitting cross-legged in the garden on Lockwood's coat, the winter daffodils now resting their tired heads on their knees. She squinted up at the sky, now that the rain had come down to a light drizzle.

"My mum never let me go out in the rain." She smiled bitterly at him. "The rest of my friends would go out into the street in their...raincoats...wellingtons...and I'd watch them from the kitchen window. She always said I'd fall sick. And I'd always think...how terrible would it really be if I did?"

She stared at the ground and tried very hard not to cry. "I was a kid. I just...I just wanted a bit of fun." She pressed a shaky hand to her eyes, then dragged it up to her forehead. "And now, all I want..."

The silence filled in for the words she didn't say.

"I never thought I'd miss that."

She glanced at his face anxiously, trying to gauge his reaction. In a way, she mused, Lockwood, and whatever this was, was not all that dissimilar from the rain. It was some wish for a sickness for a fleeting moment of peace. A fleeting moment of being wanted.

He blinked away the raindrops weighing on his eyelashes. "You won't have to. She'll be alright."

"How do you know?"

He stared at a limp daffodil, whose head was being cradled by the bend of his knee, and sighed. "I don't. But some things you just have to...believe."

"I'm sick of believing."

"Then I'll believe for you."

She never knew what it was like to have someone hold onto faith when she couldn't. To have someone hold her up when her knees were buckling under her, to do what she wasn't strong enough to do herself. She cleared her throat, suddenly embarrassed.

"You don't have to do that."

"Someone's got to do it. I'll do it for you."

It was around this point that Lockwood suddenly started getting a lot busier. He somehow never had the time to stay in the same room as her for longer than a minute, and any short passing conversations they shared felt stunted. Other than a cursory smile when they passed each other in the hallways, Lockwood seemed further to her than ever, with his cool demeanour that was somehow forever occupied with matters greater and more important than her.

After a few days of struggling with her applications on her own, Lucy suggested that she pay a visit to DEPRAC for a letter of recommendation. Thankfully, her request for the letter was successful, but her joy was short-lived, barely lasting the bus ride home.

She watched the hopelessly in love couples on the bus whisper to each other, hold hands or even just enjoy each other's company in silence. There was a guy with his hair styled in an unnervingly familiar way. It triggered a sick image of Lockwood sitting on this very bus, next to a girl with lazily attractive eyes and hair prettier than hers could ever be. It made her feel nauseous.

When she returned to Portland Row, she walked around the seemingly empty house, perplexed, until she finally found the three of them pouring over a large book in the library. Lockwood was fiddling with the shirt sleeves folded at his elbows and was the first to glance up as she gently pushed the door open.

"Hey," she smiled at them faintly, avoiding Lockwood's gaze, trying to keep the worry gnawing at her synapses at bay. She stepped inside,

leaning over the huge book, tracing the letters with her eyes interestedly.

"Is that the -"

Lockwood slammed the book shut, cutting her off and sending Lucy into a coughing fit over the dust it released.

"Y/N! Find your way to DEPRAC alright?"

It was a heavy book, she kept repeating to herself, of course it was going to take quite an effort to close it. However, from the way his forearms flexed aggressively as he stuffed the book back into its cloth cover, she wasn't entirely convinced.

"...yes. I took the bus."

"Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?" The three of them exchanged a look while Lockwood firmly tucked the book in. The grey skies peeking through the curtains looked hardly lovely. George finally caved, glaring at Lockwood.

"We were just finalising our plan for next week's case."

"I used to draw up mission plans for my team at Fittes. Maybe I could -"

"I think we're fine." Lockwood crossed his arms, his expression unnaturally surly and his jaw set in a way that gave her a sinking feeling. George threw the book at him, who only barely managed to catch it at the last second.

"Told you we should have waited for her."

Unfortunately, matters refused to ease up over the next week. And so she somehow learned to live without him. One morning, she decided to get an early start to the day since she was going to be accompanying Lucy to the DEPRAC headquarters to submit some company paperwork. She paused at the foot of the stairs when she heard a bit of a ruckus in the kitchen, followed by some soft swearing. She crept towards the kitchen to see Lockwood scrambling to gather up an upturned first aid kit while a dark red patch swelled on his socks, still in the same attire as when he left for a solo case the previous evening.

He looked at her furiously, trying to hide his injured ankle behind the kitchen table. He seemed to become further incensed by her helping to set the first aid kit right. "Leave it. I can do it on my own."

"I'm only trying to help! Don't look at me like that, you got yourself hurt in the first place."

He spoke emphatically through gritted teeth. "I don't need your help."

"Lockwood, your sock is nearly soaked through with blood. So shut up."

Maybe the blood loss was starting to catch up to him, but for once, Lockwood did as he was told. He certainly wasn't happy about it, but he allowed her to peel back his sock and wince at the sight of the wound. As she cleaned and dressed the injury, she couldn't help but be reminded of old times when they would snap at each other, her more than him, whenever they were within ten feet of the other. It was almost nostalgic but slightly worrying to be back to square one.

When he could hold himself back no longer, he pried the bandage roll out of her hands with an unexpected gentleness, shakily winding it messily around his ankle. When he was done, she put it away with the first aid kit, and when she returned, his nose was buried in the day's paper, once again as distant as an island.

Soon after that, George and Lucy joined them for breakfast, and George almost immediately picked up on

"Lucy, George won't leave me alone!"

"Lockwood's a pent-up git that never says what he feels!"

Lucy gave them a sidelong glance. "...right. Y/N, ready to -?"

Eyes watering, she chugged the last of her tea and clambered out of her chair, but Lockwood beat her to it. He folded the newspaper sharply, and straightened from his seat, albeit a tad unsteadily.

"No need. I'll come with you, Luce." She and Lucy exchanged a glance, and she slowly sunk back down into her seat. Lucy took in the ectoplasm on his trainers, his slightly charred shirt and the purple under his eyes.

"Are you sure? You look a little...tired."

"I've been out all night. One more trip isn't going to kill me." He patted Lucy firmly on the shoulder, his grip looking a little painful as he swayed imperceptibly, voice trailing off as he started shuffling towards the door.

His limp was unmistakable now, but the three of them knew better than to question him when he was in a mood like this, with his uneven voice and rough words dangerously close to becoming slurred. "Come now," he was saying, "let's not bother Y/N with Lockwood & Co. matters." His shifty eyes finally settled on her for the first time that morning, but she didn't like the brooding spite behind them. "Not when she has all these important applications to fill out."

The silence that followed prickled uncomfortably. Lucy scoffed and stepped out, Lockwood following her determinedly. There was some muffled argument in the hallway, then the sound of the front door opening and closing, and then silence once more. She stared at the dregs of her tea stonily, hating the way her face burned with shame. When she finally looked up, George had left, but there was a sympathy jammy dodger within reach.

It was getting dangerously close to half an hour in the rain, yet still the heavens beat down on them ruthlessly. They had retired to the front steps just outside the awning, now almost completely drenched. She shuffled her feet nervously, trying to scrounge up some warmth, while the rain flowed down Lockwood's nose freely. He was staring at the rich dark earth at his feet, like he had forgotten where he was, his coat long forgotten. She stood up and jabbed him between the shoulder blades sharply, making him snap his head up.

"It's getting cold. I'm going inside." Lockwood blinked, raindrops decorating an eyelash or two, and nodded after a moment. She sighed impatiently.

"Don't you want to come inside too?"

"...I'm not cold."

"No, but you'll fall sick if you stay out any longer."

He rubbed his face wearily, his back muscles shifting mechanically under his translucent shirt. "I'll be alright."

She bristled instinctively. The raindrops somehow got even louder as they pelted the tin awning. "I'm serious, Lockwood."

"So am I."

"Then come inside before you catch something awful."

"I'll come inside when I want to."

The torrential downpour continued unabated, viciously attacking their home's exterior. The rapping of the raindrops against the tin rung in her ears like anger.

"Why must you be so stubborn?"

He finally looked up to meet her eyes, his own filled with a despair she had rarely seen. "I want to be alone."

It was the night of the big case that Lockwood & Co. had been preparing for for a week now, but two of its three members had come down with the most awful stomach bug she had seen. Apparently, there was something off with Arif's doughnuts that day, and now Lucy and George were down with food poisoning. She was in her room, listening to Lockwood wear down the floorboards outside her room with all his pacing. Finally, he stopped in front of her door, and after a moment, gave a short knock.

"Come in."

He opened the door to reveal a fully decked-out Lockwood extensively decorated with flares and lavender. She raised her eyebrows.

"Wow. That is...wow."

"George and Lucy are down with food poisoning," he began impatiently, "and I could really use an extra pair of eyes." He softened his stance at the critical look in her eye, taking on a more apologetic demeanour. "...please."

"But I don't even know how to use a rapier."

"Not much room for one, anyway. It's a two-room cottage."

She toyed with the idea of saying no. The idea of watching the hope in his eyes flicker out, of watching him go do the job...alone...without anyone's help...without anyone to help him if he got injured, or worse-

"Fine. I'll meet you downstairs in two minutes."

The cab was waiting for them by the time she was hurrying down the stairs, and she flipped through the summarised research report on the way there. She winced at the circled deduction that the Visitor was likely a Fetch, which Lockwood picked up on.

"Is something wrong?"

"...no." With some difficulty, she tore her eyes away from the report and closed the file. In all her years of experience, Fetches were the one Visitor that she still struggled with. It didn't help that her encounters with them had been few and far between. She glanced at Lockwood, who was staring out the window coolly as if barely nonplussed by the anticipation of coming face-to-face with one of the most dangerous Visitor types.

The taxi driver was quite a bit intimidated by Lockwood's superfluous attire, and so refused to go any further than the foot of the hill at the top of which the cottage was located. As they lugged their equipment up the hill, she felt her frustration towards Lockwood swell and swell until it finally reached a breaking point. She dropped the duffel bag she was carrying with a clatter, making Lockwood stop and turn around to face her.

"What's wrong?"

"Why have you been so off lately?"

His features hardened and his jaw set like it had so many times before. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing. Obviously."

He stared at her hard, before dropping his own duffel bag. The tension over the past two weeks had clearly come to a head and it was happening right there on the hill in near-darkness. "I thought we were a team."

"We are."

"Well, it sure as hell doesn't feel like it."

"I just want to be independent."

"No, you don’t. You want to be alone."

“That's not true!” She hesitated. "That's not fair." At that moment, she felt so terribly small and insignificant, in a way she hadn't felt since having a particularly cruel supervisor in her first year of being an agent. Her eyes prickled unpleasantly, and she was suddenly engulfed with memories about that January shower. Oh, no, she thought. He was never going to hold her like that again.

She shook her head as if trying to shake some sense into herself. "I don't...I don't want to be a burden. I can do this on my own."

"You want to do this on your own."

"How could you possibly think that?"

“All I see is someone too scared to stick their neck out for something real for once in their life."

“What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't think you know what you're running from!"

She looked around in despair as if searching for some way to make him understand. "I'm not running from anything."

He stepped closer to her, and it was all she could manage to not burst into tears with his face twisted something ugly with hurt.

"You're running from me."

I'm not, she wants to say, but the words get caught in her throat. The silence rings out harshly between the two of them until Lockwood picks up his bag and resumes the trek uphill. After a moment or two, she follows him.

When they reach inside, they go through the motions of setting up their chains and investigating the areas of the Visitor's appearance, the way they've done hundreds of times before. Eventually, they split up and pace their corresponding rooms, the malaise growing stronger in the air by the minute.

After an hour or so, she felt it. A prickling in the hairs at the back of her neck. Waves of nausea washed over her and she felt paralysed by fear. She knew that when she turned, she'd be faced with something too terrible to comprehend. But she's too weak to brave seeing something so terrible, and so she doesn't turn. At that moment, she unravelled, and covered her eyes with her hands like a child, gasping with sobs that she struggled to suppress.

Suddenly, the cold breathing down her neck was replaced by intense heat as the hiss of a flare eating through a Visitor filled her ears. She felt rough hands desperately clutching her wrists and peeked through her fingers to meet Lockwood's panic-stricken gaze. Panic-stricken over her. His eyes shifted to the Visitor behind her and lobbed another flare at it in the nick of time.

She started creeping along the walls, running her hands over every nook and cranny until she came across a picture frame radiating strong feelings of anxiety. She scrambled for the iron still folded in her pocket and threw it over the frame. The Visitor instantly evaporated, leaving Lockwood staring at the corner it had just been occupying with a haunted look in his eyes. When he had regained proper control of his senses, he turned to her.

"I didn't know-"

"I thought I'd be able to manage it, okay?" She avoided his gaze. "I'm sorry. Can we just go h- go back now?"

The ride back was somehow even quieter than the ride there, both of them burdened by thoughts that would clearly never see the light of day. He paused at the hat stand near the front door while she shrugged her coat off.

"Y/N-"

"I think I'll go to bed now. Goodnight, Lockwood."

She cut past him brusquely, heading straight for her room, though it would be many hours before the buzzing in her head quieted enough for her to fall asleep. As she got undressed, her mind drifted back to when Lockwood was standing right in front of her, holding her wrists with a long-forgotten gentleness, and the close shave with the Fetch. Too close of a shave. Tonight could never happen again. She had to make sure of it.

Over the next few days, their relationship returned to being suspiciously amicable. Perhaps it wasn't as glaringly obvious to the others with the distraction of their stomach bug, but George's squint at her when she handed him a glass of water was enough to see that he was onto them.

She had been in the basement polishing their iron chains when Lockwood knocked on the door. She put the chains down for a moment as he pulled out a minimalistic envelope.

"This just came for you in the mail."

It had the address of one of the agencies she had applied to written on it. She nervously ripped it open and started scanning the contents before she remembered where she was. She looked at Lockwood, who had a cool expression of polite curiosity.

"So? Did you get it?"

"They want me to start next week." Lockwood's lips curved into a half-smile, and it was the first smile he'd given her in weeks that reached his eyes.

"That's...that's amazing. You deserve it. That is, if you're going to accept it."

"It's a rather decent offer. Think it would be quite a shame to pass it up. Don't you?"

He gave a slight pause. "Of course. Yes."

"...but?"

He shook his head and gave a short laugh. "It's...it's silly." He was staring at a patch of grease on the floor which he was very focused on rubbing out with his shoe. "I've known you for...for as long as Lockwood & Co.'s been around." He looked up from the floor to meet her gaze, his eyes open and honest.

"I don't know if I can do this without you."

She looks into his flighty brown eyes and drinks in as much as she can of him. Next week, she'll be in a different town, at a new job, meeting new people until he becomes just a distant memory, some dream she had once upon a time, and she'd be freed from her shackles of longing. But now, in his eyes she sees the two of them spinning round and round, forever together in a January shower in some universe.

"I should start packing."

Her goodbyes were fairly uneventful. They exchanged promises to write, to keep in touch. Lucy and George waved her off from their front door. Lockwood didn't come down from his room. Now she was in her new home, miles away from any feelings that may have tethered her from Portland Row, and all that was left to do was sit and wait and try to forget.

Except. Except.

Here she was, lying on her bed with an all too familiar weight on her chest. Those feelings she had promised to bury with the winter daffodils were here - travelled miles to plague her mind with restless thoughts of which nothing could ever come. How was it that all this distance only made her crave Lockwood even more? He stained her mind and hung from her lips like a broken promise, like an unheard prayer. It was there when she woke up, it was there when she went to sleep, it laid next to her and embraced her like a lover till she couldn't breathe.

Three months later, she still hasn't moved on and has almost entirely given up on any hope for sleep. She replays her memories of him like a tired VCR, and every night the image grows fainter and fainter. What, exactly, did his voice sound like? Did he have dimples? He had a scar on his collarbone, she was fairly sure. But how did he get it? She waits for the sky to light up for those few short hours after her work for the day, but be it day or night, the sadness remains.

For years she had been so strong, so tough, so ready to do anything and to do it alone. Too independent to even work properly with his agency. But after meeting Lockwood, it all felt like a farce, like she had just been pretending and hoping and closing her eyes through as many horrors as she could handle until she finally reached her breaking point. Something had snapped in her soul - some ill-gotten desire to fasten herself to him from the moment she had kissed him after Winkman's. To have him be her home.

Even so, she still had a job to do, so she carried these feelings around with her. There was this one particular case where her team was tasked by the city council to clear out an old, abandoned mansion of any Visitors. She had been creeping through the third floor when she saw him standing there, in the shard of moonlight peeking through the rafters. Lockwood was standing mere feet in front of her, sleeves rolled up to his elbows without his coat, whole and uninjured.

"Lockwood!" She closed the distance between them. "What are you doing here?"

He turned to face her, smiling mildly as if she had done nothing more than greet her. Y/N, he was saying. His voice reverberated differently than what she was used to, but she put it down to the weird acoustics of the mansion.

Why did you leave me?

"...what?"

Why did you go away? You've made me sick with worry.

"I...I have?"

Day in, day out, you're all I think about.

"No...no, that can't be right. That's me, not you."

Are you sure? Think harder. What do you remember about me?

"I don't know, I don't know. Why are you doing this, Lockwood?" Something was very, very wrong. What was he of all people doing here, and why weren't his lips moving when he talked?

How can you be so in love with me if you can't even remember me?

I do! I do remember you! Please don't say I don't.

Why'd you leave me, Y/N?

"Wha...what? I didn't - no - I didn't mean to leave you-"

I wanted you to stay.

"Then you should have TOLD ME!"

But I did tell you.

It still hadn't fully clicked in her brain, but she gleaned enough to tell that this wasn't Lockwood. Some obscene bastardisation of him, perhaps, but nothing of any real substance. She walked back a few steps, keeping her eyes trained on him, and against her better judgement threw a flare at him. It hit the centre of his chest, which began to fizzle up and corrode away at the figment until there was nothing left but the dying embers reflected in her misty eyes. He had looked...so solid. So real. Real enough for her to believe. Oh god, how badly she wanted to believe.

That night, she had barely pulled off much of her excess gear before slumping into bed, which she did not leave for the next three days. Obviously, that hadn't been Lockwood, it was a Fetch. But it only had her memories to work off of. What was it that had happened that made her feel like he had told her to stay? She drove herself mad picking apart every interaction she had had with him since she was 13. What did she miss? Where was the mistake?

Maybe she was just hoping for a mistake.

I miss you. I wish you were here - not miles away in London, here, beside me. I wish it was you lodged in my chest instead of this acrid longing. I'm the one who can't do this without you. Please come back to me. I'm so tired of being strong. Please come save me. I need you here. I wish you were here. I wish you were here. I wish you were here.

TAGLIST: @mitskiswift99 @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @ahead-fullofdreams @neewtmas @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

P.S. until I changed my mind at the very last minute this WAS going to have a happy ending I wrote it out and everything but then deleted and Grammarly won't let me ctrl z my way out of this :(((

#lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood netflix #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood angst #anthony lockwood x reader #florence and the machine #wish that you were here

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flowersforchoso · 7 months

Text

Phosphorus ✧

syzoth x f.reader; a morning after ficlet (suggestive)

streaks of sunlight poured into the room, bathing it golden with warmth which signified that dawn had come.

mornings were for arising. so you stirred, still stuck in the limbo between sleep & wakefulness, not quite there at either.

a brief wet sensation had momentarily roused you into consciousness, which was incomprehensible to an all too tired mind and body

it continued and seemed to intensify with succession. a feeling that could no longer be ignored, making your eyes flutter open to make sense of the perturbation.

you let out a pleased sigh when you discovered syzoth's mouth rested on your cheek, his retracted tongue dancing on the skin—a little twirl and swirl, tracing patterns around the smooth surface and leaving a trail of wetness.

your head tilted to his direction, halting the ministrations he doled out on your cheek to meet penetrating green eyes that held a variety of emotions: shyness? arousal? shame? eternal adoration?—couldn't really pinpoint which made you break into a lazy smile. the words 'good morning' rolling off your tongue, to which he mirrored, though in a much raspier tone.

his hand traversed the curve of your body, settling on the pad of your hip and gently pulled you closer to him.

he buried his face in the crook of your neck and murmured an apology against your skin, acknowledging he was being needlessly selfish by not allowing you get adequate rest since the entire night was defined by coition. he couldn't help it. couldn't stop himself; by not exercising enough patience for you to recover from an energy depleting activity. not considering you were only human, while he wasn't; possessing a stamina and strength that outlasted and outmatched yours. he really should be more thoughtful and put your needs above his.

your graceful fingers snaked into the tufts of dark hair, massaging his scalp. how could you ever be mad at him? this big baby of a man... or zaterran, in the sense of softness and lovability. syzoth was too needy. helplessly so. he clinged to you in a way that rationality absconded, that at times, felt like he would merge into you; become a part and parcel if he could. so encapsulating was the passionate outpouring of his love for you. not that there were complaints—you would never. you just felt overwhelmed with a joy that could rupture the heart. and you could tell it was the same for him.

syzoth shifted in position allowing him peer into your tired eyes. it was obvious you hadn't gotten enough sleep and expressed how terrible he felt for being the cause through another apology. this time much vocal

"syzoth i'm okay. you needn't worry" you reassured to mitigate the self-flagellation.

"i love you. i always will" a proclamation which made his heart soar and mindlessly crashed his lips into yours with fervour. an entwining of tongues that would soon leave you both breathless.

breaking the kiss, your eyes met his tail—scaly and long—which appeared whenever he was too happy or too excited. at first, it freaked you out but you've gotten quite used to it—as with all things that pertained to zaterrans.

the grogginess took over in an instant and your breathing slowed. you began to drift into the familiar black space as the satisfaction of being limp against the muscular build that pressed into your form; the smothering love that awash your senses; the pleasurable soreness of your body lulled you. sleep had come and who were you to deny it?

you awoke later in the morning. letting out a yawn as your eyes began to adjust to the muted auriferous glow flooding the room, then stretched to stave off whatever weariness that might creep in.

you sat up. realized you were alone and briefly wondered where your reptilian lover might be, but it didn't take long—a little over a few minutes—before your prayers got answered

and there he was! walking past the door. his footsteps a pitter-patter against the wooden floor, a contrast to his tall and broad physique. holding a... bouquet of wild roses? his cheeks crimson as he sauntered towards the bed

"i wanted to drop this before you woke up but i guess my luck ran out" he awkwardly confessed. there was no way you could love this man any less. he was always so eager to impress. often got self-conscious as well, whenever he noted your reactions. always feeling that he might do the wrong thing, a lovable clumsiness that made your heart swell at his thoughtfulness and care.

"oh syzoth" you cooed before wasting no second to jump on him. his strong arms catching and keeping you steady when you planted a kiss conveying your adoration and gratitude.

and he reciprocated. with a passion amplifying his primal desires which had been shelved earlier on, that tinged every touch, and caress of your body. the bouquet now long forgotten

the day had just begun but it was already the end for you.

#mortal kombat 1 #syzoth x reader #syzoth x you #mk1 syzoth x you #mk1 reptile #mk1 syzoth #morning after #ficlet

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training4theapocalypse · 3 months

Text

Finders Keepers Ch 17. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: SMUT, PIV, a little bit rough but, like, in a romantic way, author once again refusing to acknowledge she has a hand covering mouth during sex kink

Summary: At Seafarer's Beacon you feel stuck in limbo. McLaggen is determined to do something to give you purpose again.

A/N: I'm sorry I teased a little subby moment with McLaggen at the end of the last chapter but this chapter took so many rewrites because it turns out I don't have a dominant bone in my body so you'll need to pretend it happened off-screen. Anyway...

Masterlist

Tag list: @countlambula, @ratsys, @aweidlich, @navs-bhat, @stainedpomegranatelips, @chiaraanatra, @xxvelvetxxxx, @ohnoitsrosie, @dracosisteer, @daisydark, @intense-sneezing, @lipstickandloveletters, @ichorai, @marmie-noir, @lolitstiana, @evabellasworld, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @xyzstar, (let me know if you want removed at any point btw!)

Chapter 17: Purpose

You spot a tiny white spatter on the t-shirt you’re wearing as you finish brushing your teeth before bed in the bathroom. It’s clean. Or at least was until your spearmint toothpaste marked it. Freshly laundered so it doesn’t smell like him in the way you’d prefer. The shoulders are too broad. The seams hang loosely around your arms. But the old Gryffindor Qudditch training top fits you like you’re wearing a piece of his soul.

“I’ve got toothpaste on your top,” you remark absently to McLaggen next door in the bedroom.

It’s not like you’ve said something profound but when McLaggen doesn’t reply it sticks out like a splinter. You often bat snippets of unremarkable things to each other, like two beaters at bludger practice. If he finds something useful from a book from his uncle’s collection, he just reads it aloud and says “I should remember that,” instead of writing it down. As if imprinting the words on you means he’ll commit it to memory.

But when he doesn’t fire something back, you open the bathroom door. He’s sitting shirtless in his plaid pyjama bottoms. Even though it’s the coldest Christmas Eve that you ever remember experiencing, your bedroom at the top of the lighthouse is warm. Heat from the hearth in the kitchen on the bottom floor rises the whole way through Seafarers Beacon, making everything feel warm and cosy. You tilt your head, waiting for him to lower the copy of this morning’s Daily Prophet but he doesn’t notice you standing in the doorway - he’s holding it so high that it’s covering his face.

“Are you still reading that?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

You glance at the white, frosty landscape outside the window as you wander over and climb into bed beside him, reading over his shoulder. The development he’s reading about isn’t significant - a short paragraph assuring the wizarding community that repairs to Azkaban are ongoing - but there’s a tiny quote from his dad that he read out to you this morning. And he’s been reading and re-reading all day, ever since his eyes first landed on it on the kitchen table while the rest of you were talking and buttering toast.

“I’m sorry you can’t see your mum and dad tomorrow.”

It’s not that you’ve been having an unpleasant time at Seafarer’s Beacon. But Christmas here has felt like a strained effort to replicate Christmas at home, or even, to some extent, Christmas at Hogwarts. Marietta has spent the past few days decorating the kitchen at the bottom landing of the lighthouse. Paper snowflakes whirl around the empty space in the middle of the empty space between the staircase spiralling around the outer walls and up the seven floors.

“It’s fine,” McLaggen says and clears his throat. “I’m okay.”

“It’s not fine.” You rest your hand on his arm and he lets the Daily Prophet fall to his lap, still staring at the small paragraph with his dad’s words. “I wish I could see my mum and dad too - it’s okay for us to be sad about it.”

He nods. “I know - I miss them. Especially after reading about Dad today. But this time of year makes me… I - I dunno. It’s complicated. I still haven’t really forgiven him for handing you over.”

“Cormac -” you hesitate. “- your dad… he did what he had to do. I forgive him for choosing to save you and your family over me - someone who’s practically a stranger. I mean, if I was in his position…?”

He presses his palms hard into his eyes. Usually so bright and green, tonight they’re bloodshot. “You’d really make a choice like that?”

“All I know is that right now, I’d do whatever it takes to keep us safe.”

“All of us,” he affirms, sitting up properly.

“Well… yes -” You say slowly. “But if it comes to it, what I meant was you and I.”

“Don’t talk like that. We’re all in this together.”

“Cormac, you had to choose between me and Eddie when you had to get one of us out of Azkaban -”

“That was different.”

“Every single time we’re faced with a difficult decision it’s different. It was different for you. Different for your dad. We’re in the middle of a war and that’s how war is.”

McLaggen tosses the newspaper aside. “I just wish we could do something. Something to win the war. I feel useless stuck in here.”

“I don’t think there is.”

Because you’ve already racked your brains. You and McLaggen have had this conversation several times already.

Both breakouts from Azkaban have rendered you almost completely isolated from the outside world. Now that Marietta and McLaggen are both assumed kidnapped, your insider knowledge of the Ministry has been shut off. With Krum and Davies here, you’ve got no idea what’s happening internationally. The only real source of information you have that isn’t Ministry propaganda is Potterwatch, and aside from reporting deaths and other swathes of bad news, they don’t seem to have much more information than you do holed up here.

“What about the snatchers they mentioned on Potterwatch? Couldn’t we go after them?” he asks.

“And what are we supposed to do with them? We can’t hand them in to the aurors. It’s not like they’re doing anything illegally - this is all Ministry sanctioned,” you remind him.

“I was more thinking along the lines of teaching them a lesson.”

“What? Like, kill them?” you raise an eyebrow.

“Nah just scare them - rough them up a little.”

“Cormac, we’re not gonna start dealing out vigilante justice. And especially not when half of us are Undesirables. It could go seriously wrong.” You tilt your head, feeling slightly worried that being so cooped up, being away from his parents and the rest of the outside world is making him want to behave recklessly. “And you’re supposed to be kidnapped, remember? If you’re seen outside again people will get suspicious. All we can do is wait,” you say softly, touching your lips against his bare shoulder. “Wait here and stay safe.”

He shakes his head. “We should be training. Like when Potter was in charge of Dumbledore’s Army. Duelling. Practising defensive spells. If we’re prepared then maybe, just maybe, none of us will have to make a difficult choice about who to save.”

You nod and rest your head on your white down pillow, looking at him as you lie on your side. “Let’s start the day after tomorrow. First thing on Boxing Day.”

“Yeah?” He cocks an eyebrow as if he was worried you’d think it was another bad idea.

“Yeah, it’ll give us something useful to do - I’m kind of sick of doing nothing.” You sigh. “Being here has made me realise how slowly time passes without Quidditch… I wish there was enough room to fly properly.”

Cormac rests his head on the pillow too, lying on his back and looking up at the curved, coral ceiling thoughtfully. His brow is slightly furrowed in concentration.

“I could try to work out how to extend the perimeter of the Fidelius Charm?”

“You can do that?” You blink. Your heart soars at the idea that you might be able to feel the wind in your hair again.

“I mean, it definitely won’t be easy but - yeah, I think so. I’ll get it sorted if it’d make you happy. Who knows how long this war will last? You might as well have someplace to fly.”

God, he’s so sweet.

You don’t say anything else. You don’t need to. Instead you curl into the crook of his arm and you both drift off. You, wrapped in his arms as your dreams take you to the sky once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Training breathes new life into Seafarer’s Beacon. Everyone is invigorated by the opportunity to do something that isn’t just lounging around, existing. You’re Dumbledore’s Army, after all. You’re part of the resistance.

McLaggen and Eddie spend days working out how to do an extremely complex piece of magic to extend the perimeter of the Fideleus charm so you have space to fly. You think you could cry when you get onto your broom and fly properly for the first time since your mission to Azkaban.

Marietta gets to work transfiguring a scarecrow into a working duelling dummy and creating so many duplicates you feel like you’re facing a small army when you step into the garden one spring afternoon.

Cho scours the Daily Prophet - her curious intellect and keen eye for detail help her read between the lines to make sense of what’s really happening. She sends coded letters with her theories to Lee Jordan so he can confirm them with his contacts and inform Potterwatch listeners. You all huddle around the radio every other night and you squeeze her hand when Lee’s reporting follows her leads.

Katie and Leanne find that there’s more than just fiction in McLaggen’s uncle’s old bookcase and find an extensive collection of defensive spells and healing potions that can be used in combat. They forage herbs in the lighthouse’s magical garden and order rarer potion ingredients by owl post.

You, Krum and Davies, put everyone through flying drills until even Marietta is confident on a broom. Everyone practises casting curses while flying - it’s much harder to keep balance than it looks. When Krum finds out just how talented a Seeker Cho is, you can practically see little hearts forming in his eyes. When you toss an apple her way one day in the kitchen and she catches it one-handed without even looking, you think Krum might propose to her then and there.

Even as the months slip by, the Ministry is taking your threat about breaking into Azkaban again seriously. There have been no more Muggleborns sent to prison. And you tell yourself that as long as you’re here, and the Ministry knows you’ll retaliate, you’re doing something to help win this war.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“See anything?” asks McLaggen, one late May evening as the two of you finish clearing up the garden after duelling practice. You can hear the others in the kitchen having final cups of tea before bed except for Cho who had to run upstairs to wash her hair after you sent such a powerful disarming spell your way that she’d ended up flat on her back in the rather muddy vegetable patch.

“I think something might have cracked a window pane on the greenhouse?” You suggest as you wave your wand over a heavily battered and burned duelling dummy. “Reparo!”

“On it,” says McLaggen, wandering over to assess the damage. “...I can’t see anything” He calls from behind the greenhouse.

“I definitely heard something smash,” you say, frowning at a slightly squashed courgette in the vegetable patch and making a mental note to cast a protective charm over them next time you’re practising in the garden. “I hope it’s not one of the lighthouse windows.”

You follow the garden path around past the greenhouse to find McLaggen standing at the other side of Seafarer’s Beacon, pointing his wand at a window. Beautiful, warm light cascades across his handsome face. It’s late evening but the sun still hasn’t set.

“Found it. It was a window. Easily fixed though,” he says, lowering his wand and turning to face you. “You’re getting much better at duelling by the way. That last one with Cho was pretty evenly matched.”

“I’m just glad I’m not the worst anymore. I think I’m better than Marietta now. Maybe Eddie too - on a good day.”

“Not everything has to be a competition,” laughs McLaggen before kissing the top of your head and pulling you into his chest.

“That’s easy for you to say when you’re winning. You’re the best at duelling,” you grumble, although you’re not jealous. The thought is a comforting one, you think as you close your eyes and inhale his dark, spicy scent.

“No, I think Krum is probably the best,” says McLaggen thoughtfully.

You look up at him. “Y’know when I first met you, I don’t think you’d ever have admitted someone was better than you at something,” you tease.

He chuckles softly. The garden hums with the sounds of nature as McLaggen holds you to his chest and stares out at the amber sky as the sun sets over the sea, interrupted only by the distant echo of laughter from the kitchen from inside - the unmistakable noises of the others joking together before they retire to bed.

“Thank you for doing all this,” you tell him. Just being on a broom has - ironically - grounded you. It’s made everything feel alright again. And now that you’re spending every day outside in the fresh air and every night insight surrounded by your new found family, the shadows of Azkaban have long left your face.

“It wasn’t just me. Eddie helped with the Fidelius Charm -”

“Not just the Fidelius Charm. For giving us all purpose again. And somewhere safe to stay.”

“It’s my Uncle’s house -”

"You know -" you cut across him, " - when you volunteered to apparate home with Mary Cattermole, I was furious with you because I was scared." Your eyes meet his green ones, finding the warmth and strength that’s become so familiar. "But I should have expected it from you. You always go way beyond what any ordinary person would do in that sort of situation. And I mean, for goodness sake, who else out there can say their boyfriend got them out of Azkaban?"

McLaggen exhales in an embarrassed sort of way and turns his head back from the window. “It’s not - I mean when you say it like that it sounds much more impressive than it is. I’m just doing what anyone else would do. ”

"Most people would save their own skin.” You put your hand directly above his heart, feeling it beating through his chest. "That fact we’re all still alive isn’t because of this lighthouse. It's because of who you are,” you tell him fiercely.

You look up at him, bathed in the warm light from the sun against the backdrop of the whitewashed lighthouse. He looks down at you with an oddly reminiscent look on his face.

“You’re more like yourself again.”

You nod. The past few months have made you feel like you’re the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain again. You love getting to fly with Cho and Davies again. It’s just like old times. But you never dreamed you’d be flying with Viktor Krum, never mind have him actually take direction from you when you yell mid-air about flying formations for combat.

Cormac curls a finger under your chin and kisses you. You link your arms around his neck, pulling yourself close to him. Everything slots together perfectly. Well, almost perfectly - you need to stand on your tiptoes but to you, that just makes him more perfect. Like he’s your missing piece of a puzzle.

He parts his lips and your tongue finds his. Your fingers become entwined in Cormac’s messy curls as you press your hips into his. The world outside the Fidelius Charm might be chaotic, fraught with fear and devastation and death but in this pretty, seaside garden where the evening light warms your back as you kiss Cormac, you have the sanctuary of each other.

Cormac’s large hands roam the curve of your waist under your t-shirt and you feel callouses on his palms and fingertips from so much flying and duelling. And you know he believes if you all train enough none of you will ever fall in the war. He trains so hard because he thinks that if he does when the time comes, he can protect everyone. Save everyone.

And you hope beyond hope that you’ll never need to put your training to use. But you’ve been listening to Potterwatch every night. The tone has been subtly shifting since your giggled huddling and listening back before Christmas. You know things are getting worse out there. Something in the air tells you that you’re going to have to act - and soon.

But not right now.

Right now all you want to think about is each other.

“You know, you don’t have to be so selfless all the time,” you say, unfastening Cormac’s belt and getting to your knees on the grass in front of him. Fuck, he looks even taller like this.

He wastes no time helping you and pulls his cock out from his boxers. You blink up at him, taking a shuddering breath when you see him - already thick and hard and ready for you. Even after all this time together, your stomach flips when you’re reminded that his cock is just as beautiful as he is. You take him in your hands and place tiny kisses along the underside of his length.

“You can let me do things too,” you whisper, his tip just brushing your lips as you breathe the words. Cormac leans his head back against the curved exterior wall.

You can’t take your eyes off him as you slowly wrap your lips around his head and circle it with your warm, hot tongue. The light makes every hair visible on the small strip of skin on his lower abdomen, shining and golden. The tiny freckles on his arms are getting darker now the early summer sun has been cascading down on you while you’ve been training in the garden.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he tells you, threading his hands through your hair. He’s messing it up but the ache between your legs is pulsing too pleasantly for you to care. It would almost be distracting if you weren’t so preoccupied with sucking and swirling your tongue around him. “My pretty girl.”

You stare up at him with wide eyes as he swallows thickly and leans his head back. His adam’s apple is visible as he swallows back a steadying breath. Just seeing him enjoying the feel of your hot, wet mouth makes you moan around him. The vibrations make his eyes snap back towards you just in time for him to watch you swallow his entire length down your throat. His grip tightens in your hair when he bottoms out and lets out a groan.

You don’t hold back. You press your head down as much as you can, blocking your own airways and feeling saliva dripping down your chin as his cock fills your mouth up. Cormac gently pulls back, letting you briefly take a gulp of air but the way you eagerly take him again makes him pant harder, his shoulders rising and falling with his breathing as you work your mouth.

“Fuck, let me fuck you.” You detach from him with a gasp and shake your head, blinking back tears. His grip tightens. “I don’t want to cum. Not yet.”

“Be selfish for once. Finish here. Please,” you say through laboured pants as you jerk him off in your hand and present your tongue. You go to take him in your mouth again but he grabs your upper arm.

“I am being selfish.” Cormac hoists you to your feet. Before you know it, you’re being spun around and pressed up against the wall. You feel the bumpy whitewash paint under your palms when he whispers in your ear from behind. “You think I want to fuck you as a favour to you or something?”

His hands unbutton your jeans and he pulls them and your underwear down over your ass. You’re able to turn your head just enough to see him casting his eyes over your body with that appraising smirk that makes you fold every fucking time you see it. It’s been over a year and a half since that stupidly gorgeous dimpled smile made you feel butterflies in a way you hadn’t expected. Just that look is still enough to make you feel like you’ve been knocked off your broom.

And to him, the way you look right this second - dishevelled and pouting because you’re not getting your own way - is equally captivating. Everyone thinks you’re the loud, domineering one in the relationship and that it’s him who goes along with whatever you say. But Cormac doesn’t care what they think because he knows the truth of it. Even when you take the reins, climbing on top of him or setting the pace, all it takes is a single whispered word from him, or his hand gently guiding you at your lower back that keeps your dynamic exactly how he likes it.

And here you are once again, as malleable as if he’s used a softening charm on you.

Before you realise what’s happening Cormac’s tongue sucks your earlobe as he presses your body between his and the wall. You open your mouth to argue but instead take a sharp inhale when he slaps your ass, followed quickly by his hands groping and massaging all over your body - going from squeezing your backside to groping your tits and back again like he doesn’t have enough hands to touch you everywhere he wants to at once.

“I - I wanted to make you cum with my mouth,” you complain as he pushes your bra up to pinch your nipple between two fingers but you don’t protest any further - you’re too turned on to care. From how flush he’s pressed against you, you can feel his hard cock pressed up against your backside, wet with your saliva and his precum.

You’d think after a hard day of training, Cormac would be exhausted - that he’d have no testosterone left in his body. But you know from experience over the past few months that this isn’t the case. You’re not sure whether it’s seeing you fight that turns him on or if his ego is slightly bruised from having Krum as fierce duelling competition - either way, he comes to bed most evenings murmuring sweet things in your ear and slipping his Gryffindor training tshirt off our your body before you’ve barely had a chance to wear it.

This evening is only different because he can’t wait until you’re back in your bedroom to have you. He kisses your neck and draws the tips of his fingers along your slit, dragging your wetness over your clit.

“I couldn’t let that happen. Not when all I can think about is how wet this cunt is for me,”

You let out a low, shaky breath. Fuck, you love it when he gets in this mood. He’s so filthy. Talking to you like how you sort of expected he would when you first met him. Before you found out how sweet and soft he is.

Usually.

Fuck.

Your legs twitch involuntarily when Cormac drags the pad of his middle finger across your clit and dips it through your sopping-wet folds. You can’t move much but you can’t stop your hips from grinding with his fingers, chasing the feeling of him toying with you.

“Yes. Ah fuck - yes,” you squeal as he draws the words from you with his touch.

“Shh, shh, shh…” He soothes, tutting gently. He pulls his wet fingers back over your clit, swirling in circles around the throbbing clutch of nerves. “The others are through the wall. You need to be quiet.”

As if testing you, his wet strokes over your clit pick up pace - his calloused fingers feel so deliciously wet and rough all at once. You whine pathetically.

“Can’t you - oh, god, can’t you cast a sound-dampening charm?” you whimper, your fingers searching for something to grip. Your palms just claw helplessly against the surface of the exterior wall as his chest presses into your back.

“I don’t think so. I think you need to show me you can be good.”

You squirm but there’s nowhere you can move while you’re pressed between him and the wall. “I will. I’ll do whatever you say,” you pant. The pads of Cormac’s fingers continue pressing circles the pressure building inside you as your walls clamp around nothing. You need him - you need his fingers, his cock - fuck, anything inside you. “Just fuck me. Please, Cormac.”

You know the drill. You know he loves hearing his name. Having you beg for his cock. And you’re running out of time - your twitching and convulsing is picking up pace. “Q-q-quick, please, I want to cum on your cock.”

Cormac’s hands leave your body so he can take his cock and tease you between your folds. You feel the tip of his cock at your entrance and whine. Fuck, you need to cum. You bring your hand between your legs to start rubbing yourself in his absence but he moves your hand out of the way.

“Keep your hands where they were.”

You place your palms flat against the wall, splaying your fingers, and feel your knees buckle when Cormac sheathes himself into you with one forceful roll of his hips.

He curls one arm around your chest and the other slips down your body to play with your clit as he jerks his hips up, each thrust sends his hips smacking against your skin.

The burning ache in your pelvis crackles and fizzes inside you while Cormac fucks you. Your hands scrabble against the wall and you feel chalky, white paint crumbling under your fingernails as the walls of your cunt spasm, grateful for Cormac’s long, thick cock to grip onto.

“Fuckfuckfuck-” The curse tumbles from your lips. You’re so boxed in that your cheek presses against the rough surface of the wall. All you can do is close your eyes and fucking take the way that Cormac is brutally slamming himself into your tight heat while his hand dances perfect, rhythmic circles over your clit.

You seize up and cry out and the arm that Cormac had wrapped around your chest claps over your mouth, pulling your head back and dampening your wailing. “Let it all out for me - quietly,” he growls in your ear.

There’s a drop like when you descend in the air on your broom too quickly - your body reacting after your brain. Your core plummets and everything implodes as you sob against his palm, melting into his touch.

“Good - that’s it, baby,” he says, more softly this time as your orgasm, blinding hot, makes your cunt convulse and clamp around him.

You cum so hard that you think your legs give way - you can’t tell because his strong body pushing yours against the wall keeps you upright. Tingles spasm from your core right down the backs of your thighs.

Cormac groans too. He moves his hand from your mouth so he can push his hips against your ass and shove his twitching cock as far as it can go inside you. When you whisper his name shakily and tell him you love him, he’s done for. Warmth floods your insides as he cums, filling you up as he grunts into the column of your throat against your racing pulse.

Even as you’re pressed up against the wall with his cum leaking out of you, you feel like he belongs here with you. Not in the lighthouse - or against the lighthouse - necessarily. Just here. Inside you. With nothing but the sounds of your heaving breathing and waves crashing against the cliffs in the distance to interrupt you.

Eventually, his mouth breaks into a smile against your skin and his laugh tickles your neck.

“What’s so funny?” you ask.

“We’ve got a perfectly good bed upstairs and we’re still sneaking around like we used to do under the Quidditch stands at school.”

He pulls out of you carefully and offers you his t-shirt to clean up the mess. You decide it’d be less conspicuous to wash your jeans and underwear in the laundry tomorrow morning than for McLaggen to return back inside suddenly missing a t-shirt.

“We never did that under the Quidditch stands,” you say, turning around and leaning your back against the wall so you can button up your jeans. “We’d have been expelled if we were caught.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure Madam Hooch would have been totally fine if she caught us just doing hand stuff,” he grins.

“Well, we were stupid back then,” you laugh.

“It was fun though. I kind of miss those Quidditch stands.”

“Even when we’re old and married and I’m winning the Quidditch World Cup. I’ll want to meet you under the stands afterwards to celebrate.”

“Yeah, right. If I wait for Scotland to win the Quidditch World Cup for our next fumble under the stands, I’ll die without ever doing it again.”

“You really think I won’t go out of my way to win the Quidditch World Cup just to prove you wrong?”

“Anyone else? No. But you? I’m counting on it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you quietly come back inside the back door to the empty kitchen, you insist on making a cup of tea for yourself and a cup of coffee for McLaggen while he goes upstairs - you insisted that he needs to let you do something for him for once. That beautiful post-sex warmth nestles into your chest and makes between your legs ache pleasantly. Nothing can go wrong when you feel like this. You boil the kettle and set to finding yours and McLaggen’s favourite mugs in the cupboard when a yell from upstairs makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Cho?!” It’s McLaggen’s voice. The urgency in his voice makes the hair stand up on the back of your arms.

You run to the bottom of the spiral staircase and skid to a halt, looking up at all the seven floors winding above you. You crane your neck upwards to see McLaggen on the topmost floor looking over the bannister - a small, gold something glints in his hand. A galleon?

“Cormac? Did you see?” Katie’s head appears diagonally across from McLaggen on the floor below. She looks down at you standing in the middle of the kitchen and then up to McLaggen at the top of the lighthouse.

“Whazgoin’on?” yawns Davies, coming out of his bedroom opposite Katie’s. “Are the others back from Puddlemere?”

“Not yet. But they’re about to be.” Leanne pads out onto the landing directly above you in her pyjamas, closely examining a galleon in the palm of her hand. “Merlin’s pants…”

“Mine just came through too!” Marietta too appears outside her bedroom door, followed by a bleary-eyed Carmichael. She looks up at Katie, Davies and McLaggen.

“Guys, this is it,” says Cho leaning over the bannister across from McLaggen. Krum curiously joins her, looking equally as puzzled as you are.

“Can someone please explain what is going on!?” you bellow from the bottom of the staircase as if calling everyone to attention in Quidditch practice.

“It’s our coins from when we were in the D.A. The old D.A., I mean,” says Marietta. “It’s what we used to find out when the next meetings were.”

“And? What do they say?”

“It’s Neville Longbottom. He says they’re getting ready to fight at Hogwarts and that we’ve to join them,” says Cho.

“Fight?” Your stomach drops. “Fight who? Why?”

“Only one way to find out,” McLaggen replies as you look up at him in disbelief.

He nods at you reassuringly and you take a deep breath. This is what you’ve been preparing for after all, right? It’s not just pretend. You’re simultaneously more and less prepared than when you broke into Azkaban. You’re much better in combat now but god, you need a plan. More details. Something you can control.

You nod. “Alright. Well, we’ll get some rest and meet up first thing tomorrow with Wood and the others so we can come up with -”

“No,” says McLaggen. “Now. They’re fighting now. We need to leave. Right now.”

You look up at him. Absurdly, all you can think now is that you really need to change your jeans.

Chapter 18: Calling

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