#suddenly there are butterflies everywhere in the woods at the back of my room

[eddiemunsonbignaturals]

just a pinch

summer ends way too fast; you and Eddie surprise each other.

includes smut, as in 18+ 6k words somehow lmao? most of it fluff  best friends to lovers, and it gets a little gross in an arguably unsexy but very intimate way. you're not supposed to put anyone's mouth on your new piercing until at least two weeks out don't be dumb listen to your piercer

content: boob fondling, dry humping, jean nutting, some mild threats of violence, mentions of piercings but not piercing play to my understanding

reader is described as fat, dark skinned, and referred to gender neutrally, mostly (tough guy, man, angel, sweetheart).

comments (yes, even short ones,) reblogs all v much appreciated, take care :*

So, the heatwave had been a fake-out. 

You had both expected more swim-days. Just a few more sweaty, sticky nights— sat too close and tangled together sharing a bowl of Moose Tracks by moonlight, in as little fabric as you could manage and with as much ice as one freezer bucket could hold.

But alas, the fall sneaks in one cloudy morning and makes you regret ever even thinking the word “winter.” 

You’re shivering as you shock awake and roll clumsily to the nightstand. Reaching blind for the blaring landline, your hand cringes away from too-cold plastic, and you groan long and low in mourning— it's definitely over.  While you were asleep, Summer had packed up her bag and ducked off in the dark before you could send her off properly. Goodbye, dog days.

Hello, caller. You know it’s Eddie before you pick up; he knows it's you before you speak.

“Can you believe this? Shit fuckin’ sucks,” he croaks, right off the bat and into the receiver.

“And blows—“ you sigh back, punching one satin-covered pillow and your headscarf off the bed. “We couldn’t even get, a like, temperate couple of days? It had to go straight to freeze-my-dick-off immediately?”

“ha! Please. The end is nigh, sweetheart. You know it better than I,” he almost sings. His sleepy lilt catches on the pet name, and that gravelly morning timbre gees up your morning wood like nothing else can. You kiss your teeth, honestly annoyed at how he affects you this early, and when Ed’s answering chuckle rumbles through your ears and down your jaw, it's like you can feel his breath through the phone. 

God, he sounds good. You hum into a long sigh as he talks. It warms you, everywhere, hearing his voice first thing, and if your non-phone hand drags down your chest and reaches lower to rearrange the pillow between your legs, he doesn’t need to know.

You hear Eddie fidget, as he does, and he switches the phone to his other ear. Then, there’s the rattle of the earrings against plastic– a few chunky hoops he got at your suggestion, and one with your first initial that he definitely plucked off of your desk, though he had lazily denied it. You feel a smile fight its way to your face, suddenly giddy about him, about his call. 

A snapshot of him talking himself awake is as clear in your head as the grey in the sky: a grumpy Munson, emerging from the mess of gifted homemade blankets and ancient, flat pillows. Just a pair of doe eyes, framed by a cluster of chocolate curls and a scowl. Picture-perfect.

You’ve been nursing this damn crush forever, and with the effort of punching it off the bed and out of sight with that headscarf, you’re long past exhaustion. But, in the safety of your chilly room, and with the comfort of his voice in your ear, maybe you’ve enough strength for now to entertain a butterfly, or ten.

You had worn his ring to bed— a little bat hugging your ring finger the way it had been hugging his before you’d snatched it off as payment for a dare gone unfulfilled–and you’re twirling it now, like some lovesick sap. You’re written all over each other, and you’ve been itching to do something about it. But, that’s not the issue right now.

Right now,

“I know, life is over, the globe is warming, there are only a few summers left, et cetera. We’ll still have fun.”

(the dare? you had challenged him to snatch some Hawkins PD pig or another’s goofy little ranger hat as he had passed the two of you on the street. Eddie had suggested maybe he couldn’t float past an arrest on boyish charm this deep into his twenties, and acquiesced without a word when you had held out your hand for his own. 

You’d pretended not to notice the blush creeping up his neck; he had let you hold his hand a bit longer than necessary. It had been an even trade, as always.)

Across the line, Eddie’s still snickering at you, voice fathoms deep– all crackly– when he speaks again. 

“Hold on to your dick, angel, I'm pretty sure there’s options. Like, uh, maybe clothes? Clothes usually work for me.”

“Don’t get cute! I'm fat, you clown, I sweat-- I don’t need clothes. And, I belong in the water, Munson. Its beyond fun, its—“

He cuts you off completely, ignores your scoff, and finishes for you.

“—fulfilling, healing, its what and where you were in every past life, the brain sludge is already building back up as we speak, and ‘I’ll die, I'll just about fuckin’ die, Munson,’ once it drops below 40, I know, stop bitching,” he laughs. His tone? Pure fond; your stomach somersaults. 

You hear the smile widen when he goes on to remind you, “but I guess it's fall now. IE, your favourite.”

“Say ‘bitch’ to me again, I’ll shave your peanut head.”

He takes it back, giggling something about his favourite tough guy, but you know he’s got you there. You definitely are bitching, and—

Halloween month, cider season, big soft sweater weather, rain? It is the best, but it's never too early to argue. 

“You’ll love it, angel.”

You give up, melting again at his affection verbalized. You’re humming assent as he keeps the ball rolling, asking what you’d like to do today instead of going for a swim. Come over and take turns reading the new discount novel he found? Start that mead recipe you made last year? Drive over to Stobin’s—see who can sneak in and scare the shit out of them first? 

All great ideas, you assure him, but you decided long ago that the End of Swim also marked the beginning of piercing season. Your safety moratorium on body mods of all kinds has been lifted, now that you can’t dip your fresh wounds into scummy lake water. 

You've been planning a particular pair for some time. You also decided that it would be a surprise. Your Eddie is observant, dialed in, and sure, maybe you like to play the odd game here and there. He notices you, and you notice right back.  How long, do you think, will it take for him to note a new set of nipple piercings if you don’t warn him first? You figure it’s time to test it.

So, you break his heart a little, and decline to hang out today after all. You’ll see him on your next day off, you promise, and make plans for “four days hence, Munson, quit bitching. I just remembered something else I need to do,” before hanging up on his protests and pulling on your first pair of sweats in 4 months. 

ID, water bottle, and a sweet breakfast in tow, you head for the best (note: only) tat shop you know, braced and ready for a world of pain, going boldly into the cold.

—---------

And there had been almost no pain, at first. You had yelped girlishly before the first needle went in, then felt embarrassed about how easy and quick it had been. Before you had even realized, it was over, and you grinned big at the unique beads framing each pert, dark nipple. You loved them. You loved the piercings, and more than ever, loved your tits. Couldn’t wait to go home and check them out from every angle, actually. 

Then, a malicious towel snag, a careless door-jamb bump, and a hateful sweater-thread later, you were fearing for your life. Over the last few days, you had taken to crouching around them a bit, arms wrapped loose around your stomach as a reminder and for protection. Your nipples were insanely sensitive, now more than ever, and you had never understood ‘til now how often you simply walked through and into things instead of just around.  

But, they were calming down, and with each prescribed saltwater soak you breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of visible irritation. The standard piercing boogers notwithstanding, they looked hot, you felt hot, but found yourself nervous for the big reveal. You thought you would hide them well, your mission made easier by the cool weather and baggier shirts it allowed. 

You’re in his room now. Eddie’s ideas had been good, but you had both decided on the usual– you, rocking up to his trailer and spending the day with him throwing food and trading theories, hours whiled away in artistic pursuits and cat-naps, never too far from one another. It’s been a good day– you’re doing such a good job with the piercings, you forget to hide how entranced you are by Eddie's hands. 

“Aren’t you hot?” 

You count the veins and tendons as they flip pencils and drum against whatever surface they encounter, try to guess how long he can go before he bites that right pinky nail too short again, wonder if he’s running hot today. He’s tactile, your Eddie, but you’re sitting on the floor, legs sprawled, and yeah, a little too warm in the hoodie you came in as he lounges on the bed– too far for his idle touches to distract you into admitting anything. 

You love those hands. You want to taste them one day. He’s looking at you.

Fuck, wait, he’s looking, and you haven’t answered him. You cut your eyes away, to the floor, to your nails, like an idiot. That wasn’t at all suspicious, sure. You’re reasonably sure Eddie hadn’t noticed the piercings themselves yet until, as you snack and he chats again about his sketch, he suddenly drops the pink eraser you’ve been watching his square fingers systematically tear apart.

“N...Noooooo.” He takes in your belated answer and eyes you for a second, then starts talking again. You tug your hands gingerly into the hoodie you’re in and slide the thing over your unwrapped cloud of hair without snagging anything, then toss it away, wiping the light sheen of sweat you realize is cooling on your nose.

 Fuck, here we go. You hadn’t considered you’d have to hide in conversation, just that you had to keep him from seeing. You try to keep your cool, but answer too quickly. This wouldn’t last long.

“Have you been eating weird shit again?” Eddie asks, cutting himself off from explaining the lore of his latest campaign villain. He’s sitting up more since you last looked at him– leaning back on one elbow as the other arm drapes comfy across his belly– and watching you fidget in that weird posture you’ve adopted since the piercings. 

“Eat– We–, me? Weird? What’s– What?” Nailed it. Smooth, like butter. Too player. You thank God or Dolly or whoever’s watching that your blush isn’t visible, because you can already feel your face heating up.

He stares, eyes squinted. You watch your plate, then look back at his lovely hands, fingers pale and impatient, thr-r-r-rumming in sequence against his now-closed notebook.

“What’s with the air-head act? And why are you clutching your tummy and moving like you fell down the stairs?” Okay, that one��s easy.

“Cramps.” Your reply is stiff, but reflexive. The pink in his fingertips as he drums is entrancing. Maybe you’ve saved it– you think you sound sure. He’s silent for beat, and you pick up a cracker and look out the window. Maybe you’re a genius. The fuck’s he gonna do? Argue?

“Hm. Bullshit?” You look up to challenge that, and catch him peering behind you to the stuffed possum you had gifted him when his favourite, real, live, wild possum friend stopped her brief shuffle through the fire pit behind his trailer one drizzly day. 

(Eddie had called it the best week of his life, then declared that he’d never love again.)

After another beat, as if the scruffy thing has read the room and confirmed its answer, Eddie nods once, curls bouncing, then swings his neck dramatically back to you to assert, “bullshit.” 

It's panic creeping up your throat now, because he’s going to see you,  see them, this isn’t– well– it is– but you didn’t think it through, and you aren’t a good enough liar to dodge the impending question. You hem for another moment, hands hovering over your torso, and he looks between them and your face before snapping his bulk upright so fast that the bits of pink littering his lap and thin muscle shirt fly up in the flurry.

“What’re you hiding?”

A frown tugs your lips down before you can stop it. You watch Eddie toss the notebook and, with a loud thump, collapse off the bed boneless into your nest of blankets and towards you like a mad slinky before you can finish saying, “nothing! I’m not– hiding–, wait a second!” 

In that second, Eddie has slithered the 4 feet between him and you, kind of flinging himself on top, landing more gently than you expected in a straddle and pinning your now-closed thighs under his seat before you can wiggle back and away in time. 

“Did you get a tattoo without me? You fucking did, didn’t you?” He might be verging on genuinely hurt, by the sound of it. You’d promised after he’d started his stick-n-poke journey that he’d be your first, (tattooer, that is), once he got some training together. Had swore to him–

“Le’me see– what, is it that shitty? Who the hell did you go to? You can’t be–”

“Ow, Eddie, stop!” Your screeching protest belies real pain this time, curling in on yourself and to the side as much as possible. He bumped a piercing in the shuffle, the pain expected but still shocking, and he backs off a bit and coos in sympathy, all his next words coming out in a frantic rush.

“Fuck, oh no, I’m sorry. I’msosorry, Sweetheart? Are you okay?”

You’ve crossed your arms in front of you, breathing deep through the stinging. As it subsides, he ducks his head to meet your eyeline, his paint-stained palms up, promising no contact. He’s still straddling you, most of his weight on his heels. Still locking you under him, where its very warm.

If you looked down and saw your heart itself beating its way out of your chest, you wouldn’t be shocked. You’re almost choking on it, and plotting how to get him off you without knocking the new piercings again. Its enough to spin your head, to think you’ve been found out this soon, that the bravado in your spirit has fled so quickly at the reality, not just the idea, the real life prospect of showing Munson your tits. 

But it's thrilling, him on top of you. It's always thrilling, a dream fulfilling itself, isn't it? Even if the context is off. This isn't the first time a bout of “weird” from one of you or the other has ended up in a fact-finding mission– sometimes wrestling match, or pillow fight, or wild, short chase through the woods. 

But every time he gets this close, it's like the path between your head brain to the other brain is cleared– heat is flooding the thin cotton that separates you from his well-worn denim faster than ever. He has to get up, right now. You have to keep him there forever. 

You relax as the sting subsides, uncurling and groaning a bit as those strong, clever hands fall to bracket your head on either side. Eddie leans down, sounding the creak of floor beneath you,  and scowls, bathing you in his radiating heat. Studying you, taking in your full lips pressed into a thin, nervous line, your brows turned up where they’d meet, betraying distress. 

“What is going on in there, man?" He's really worried now. When did you start keeping secrets?

“It’s…not a tattoo?” You purse your lips and scrunch your nose, and the sweet smile that flows like syrup across his face seems involuntary.

“Then what else– huh?” Eddie is trying to keep eye contact, but the wheels are turning, and his lovely smile drops. He glances at your arms crossed over your chest, and his jaw falls open, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“Not a tattoo. Not ‘a’ anything, actually. Two things.”

“No, you didn’t. No way, not a chance.” Eddie seizes your wrists and ignores your protests, pinning each arm by your ears where his once were, and tries to x-ray inspect you through your shirt. It's dark, but not thick enough to weather this kind of scrutiny. Those telltale bumps are right there in front of him, the middle of each trio hardening as he inspects. So, you give up trying to argue, and shrug, suppressing a smile. 

“With— wha?” Eddie’s looney-tunes double-take makes you hoot a laugh as he swings his head and bouncy curls up and down, looking at you, glancing back at your chest, and up again as he processes what he’s hearing. What the fuck is he hearing? 

Your eyes stay low but your brows arch together as you scoff at him, dork. “You’re really telling me you hadn’t seen them?”

“I’ve– not–wha– I’m sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean–”

But, you had been talking shit. He couldn’t have seen anything in the dark shirt you had been wearing all day unless he’d been staring when you weren’t looking– had he been staring at your tits anyway?

 Did he do that often? Your jaw doesn’t drop so much as glide mischievously open. Surprise dawns and Eddie realizes he has, in fact, given himself away too quickly. Coolest dudes in Hawkins, you two.

He changes tack, slapping the floor by your head, still a little shocked.

“You got your nipples pierced? I don’t believe that. I don’t believe you! You’re full of shit.” His voice is almost petulant in its disbelief, high and tinny.

Your eyeroll is audible, “I mean. I can prove it, Munson.” 

“When?” He gasps, indignant, and slaps the floor with the other hand. 

“You barely have your ears pierced-“ he exaggerates. “Who the hell did ‘em? Was it a guy? You let some guy–”

“Please, some professional? Can you be serious?”

“You can’t take the pain, angel, not without my moral support, there’s no way. You’d have been whining about them being sore all fuckin’ week if you’d gotten your—“ 

He looks at your tits again, jaw slack, but in his shifting sends them undulating with the movement. His whole body goes still, except to inhale very slowly.

You’ve maybe never been this self conscious in your life, but his distraction emboldens you.  

“The idea was ‘surprise’, not ‘ambush’. But,” you drawl, smirking as you twist a wrist easily out of his now slack grip and push yourself up onto your elbows. 

“Do you—well.” Your eyes falter when your voice does. You want to offer proof. You’re not that bold yet, but you’re working up to it. 

He gives you room to sit up completely, hovering over your calves, back almost on his haunches. His heat leeches into your legs, swells in your chest and behind your eyes.

You want to touch him, like you always do. Eddie's deep brown eyes are wider, his mouth slack. His breathing is a little harder too, and you wonder for a second— do you want to un-ring this bell while there’s time?

“No,” he answers. “I mean, yeah, I—“ He rolls his plush lips into his mouth and then parts them, trying to work out how to ask. It’s not a dare anymore, and you feel a shyness completely unfamiliar, laid out in front of your best friend in the world. 

You wilt a little; Eddie finds his courage.

He swallows, and you watch his throat work while he figures out what to say, maybe as nervous as you are.

“Can I see?” He sounds hopeful, gentle, but to soothe you or himself, you can’t tell.

You dont quite answer with, “I’ll have you know, they didn’t hurt. At all, actually. It was...cold. Uncomfy, totally, but not painful— just a bit of a pinch? The last week has been worse than the actual needles were.” 

Eddie seems to realize he’s really staring, and cuts his eyes to the left, almost shy, and he seems to wipe sweat from his palms down the length of his strong thighs.

Your own hands pick at the hem of your shirt, and his gaze is split between your mouth and chest. Then, he shifts his weight, leans back like he’s about to give you space, when you reach for his warm, toned tricep, his skin shifting over muscle as he fidgets, and you’re ready to tell him the rest of the story. You can’t bear to miss his warmth on top of you, you realize. Now or never, you think. 

“I…” you croak, “I thought of you.”

 You hear him choke, like actually choke on his spit, then watch him shake his head like he’s rattling himself out of a haze. Eddie’s locked in on your eyes, searching for even the hint of a joke as you lift the shirt up just your stomach, exposing all the graceful cresting hills of your soft middle to his hungry gaze.

“When I picked them out, I mean.”

“Youf, you– fuc– You did this for me?” He sounds so absolutely incredulous, and breathless, all bravado bled out, or rushing to his reddening cheeks. It's like Eddie opened the next Discworld and found a dedication in his name, like the heavens have opened above him. For him? For him?

“Not for you, you clown, of course not. But like, maybe I wondered which ones you’d say I should get. And maybe... I thought you’d appreciate my pick.” Your crooked smile feels small, and you feel like offering something more substantial. 

So, you do.

“Appreciate..? I. Oh, god, Jesus, I.” You had been lifting your shirt so casually as you spoke, palms sliding up across your skin and dragging cotton with them, a caress so careless it seemed incidental. But you avoid hitting the new bars through each hardening nip, chills putting a mild tremble in your hands that he first catches, and is then distracted from. You watch Eddie’s short-circuit for a bit, feel his thighs tense around yours. You decide then that boldness is the only path forward. 

At the last rounding, you let them hem of the shirt catch on the underside of your bust, and just before its dangerous, lift them up by the hem and then drop them a bit, so they bounce for him, putting on a little show, posture straighter than before in presentation.

You’ve killed him. His plush lips try and fail to form a word, any word, as he lets out another shakey breath and leans back in to you by centimeters.  

“Eddie?” you prompt at his silence, voice quieter now. He’s still a little wide-eyed when he gasps out,

“What. Appreciate? Fuck, you’re beautiful. So, so beautiful. Jesus Christ, I never thought— Are those bats?” He’s moon-eyed and gaping like a dry fish, and you’re too keyed up to even tease him about it. You didn't just think of him, you conspired to match with him, to carry a little bit of him with you.

You know he wants to see you, more than just the piercings, and that teasing smirk is a distant memory, much like your patience. 

“So you hate them, huh?” He’s shocked into laughing before you can finish the question, restoring the quiet to something like normal as he raises his ringed hands to frame the low curve of your breasts. But he takes them in only with his eyes, flitting back and forth between them.

“They look, so so good, so good, god. The color you picked, even,” a warm gold that picks up the warmth in the soft creamy brown of your skin, “it glows, like, perfect. Gold’s your color, Sweetheart. It's all your color.” 

Bravado is fickle. You order him through barely parted lips, like you didn’t mean to say it out loud, then almost slur the hasty backtrack, “touch them. If-you-want, I-mean, if-you—.” 

In Eddie’s mind’s eye, gold falls from the sky; from his mouth tumbles a bewildered, “'If i want?' Are you insane?” 

As he reaches, you nod and sit up a bit straighter, feel heat rise in your cheeks, and take his confession with a crooked smile.

“I dreamt this.”

Here’s you, insufferably coy through a giggle: “Yeah? How’d it go?”

 His own knowing smirk is back, and you shiver, wanting fathoms deep as Eddie's hot hands envelope the heavy mounds of your breasts from below, cupped in the way he had threatened before you granted permission. Eddie seems to weigh them as he holds you, committing to memory how the plush fat of them sits in his palms, how they pebble across with gooseflesh at his very gentle fondling. 

You’re so soft, and warm, and he’s touching you; his mind splits in two. Some of him prays to any god for escalation, the rest could die happy right here.

On contact, you sigh together. Heavy, whispering things— you were both holding your breath— and inhale together, too. Your eyes flutter closed at the the drag of each body-warm ring as they poke into you. His calluses are almost sharp against you where they glide, some of the time ghosting over your skin, but mostly kneading you warmer.

It's your soft little hum of pleasure, how you arch, helpless, into his touch— the indiscreet rub of your knees together, and your thighs into his seat, the way you fight the smile back— these bring him back to himself,  and he checks your face again, watching the small smile grow as your eyes flick up to his. 

“Different,” Eddie intones, low and slow. “We’re out of order.”

You’re watching his pretty mouth again while he feigns serious, but as he moves just one hand to the floor behind you and leans in close, warm Cheez-It-breath tickling your face, setting alight every nerve that wasn’t already screaming for deeper contact. You meet his penetrating gaze and gasp at the pleasure-pain of that ringed thumb finally, finally, swiping up along one pert nipple. 

It's a shocked moan, not a gasp, that opens your mouth as he collides with it, timed perfectly with the upward jolt of your hips into his hardening cock. It's Eddie’s turn to gasp— his rushes out hot and quick, as if from a gut-punch. 

He's fighting for his life trying to steady his voice, act casual. “Usually, I get my mouth on your first.”

With that, he closes the gap again, but this time pulls away with a wet smack, a kiss so brief you’re compelled to chase him and get your licks in.

“Then, my hands,” he says, as he closes his fingers around as much of you as he can grasp with each hand to squeeze. Its at once electrifying and comforting, leaning into him and running from the cold. You want him pressed against you completely, but he's focused on the pillows of supple skin and heat in his hands.

“Promise,” he chokes, “ahhh, promise to tell me if it hurts, angel?”

“Eddie, touch me— I promise— touch me,” you positively beg, and your Eddie, egged on by your fingers now pulling deliciously at the hair on his sensitive nape, recovers fast. He’s on you before he can take his next breath in, and bites down around your bottom lip, pushing you with him gently as he leans forward, mashing your noses together.  

And you kiss Eddie back, hard, sucking his trembling lip between yours and earning yourself a groan that sends a lovely buzz through your jaw where you meet. That fucking noise, and his hand still on you, now not as gentle, sending little shocks of pleasure as he swipes gently along the outer dark ring crowning your nipple. The skin there is tightening, growing impossibly sensitive, and each brush and nudge shocks you between your clamped thighs, makes your body rock a little, sending kinetic energy across you that has him enthralled. So much evidence of his effect on you, the movement anchors him to reality.

"Good?"

"Really good, Eddie, yeah." You squirm under him as he massages one side, then both, then rests his forehead against yours to gaze down, intent on his project. 

“You feel good too, angel,” Eddie groans again, enjoying himself in earnest, crowding you gently together, then letting each breast roll in his hands, rough digits brushing in tandem against beads so taut it almost hurts, so intense its almost too much, but you need more.

“You know what’ll feel even better?” You ask him in a pant, breathless and focused– you need him between your legs too, and desperately, so you nudge one of his, asking to widen so you can rearrange. Eddie obliges, planting one solid knee right against your aching core and letting you fall back, propped up on both elbows. 

Neither of you wastes a second. This kiss is a hot, wet collision of sighs and spit, grinding sloppily into each other through just too many layers of sweet, stiff friction, whining into each other’s open mouths. 

While you nearly lift your hips off the floor, chasing the worn denim between your legs, tension in your lower gut building faster than it ever has alone, Eddie rides your linen-covered thigh just above your bent knee, murmuring between love-bites to your chin, the chubby apple of your grinning cheek, then the crook of your neck, where he finds and then latches onto a spot that makes you seize under his weight, clamping your thighs around the one at the very center of your focus. 

You clasp a hand at the back of his head again, scratching a bit at his neck and forcing a long shaky sigh out of his mouth as the rhythm of his swirling hips grows rough, devolves into a stuttering staccatto race to the finish, and he’s talking himself through it into your shoulder as you barrel him down.

Ed's heaving whines are gorgeous, ragged, as he sighs into your neck about how good you feel under him. He can’t finish a sentence as he groans into your shoulder, all about how good you smell, how he can’t believe you did this for him, how badly he wants to taste them. 

“Taste? I,” you cut yourself off with a near-panicked whine when his leg slinks heavily down, the relief of his wet but still straining crotch-tent another brief sliding kiss against your now soaking cunt, and you resist seizing him by the scalp, to keep him up with you, but only just. You’re both so close; he’s stalling?

No, tasting.

Through your horny fog, your mind starts to process his goal. Eddie works his body down yours urgently, never really breaking contact, and as he slips away all you can do is watch him watch you.

In a thrall, as he draws a scalding trail of open-mouth kisses down the heaving swell of your exposed breasts. The wet kisses cool fast in the chilly air of his room, and it feels so good you don’t care how needy your sighs sound, how obscene and high your breaths echo in your own ears. Then he pauses in his descent to admire you again, breaking eye contact for a few awe-struck moments, dropping a chaste peck just left of the left nip, then resting his forehead on your sternum. When he fully squishes your tits into his cheeks it makes you laugh out loud, and you feel his smile and then chuckle against your stomach.

He seems to paise there for a few moments, content to nuzzle, and your high whine-sigh takes even you off guard. Eddie looks up at the sound but stops himself saying whatevers on his mind. Instead, he double-takes between your mouth and chest once, and again, then and finally asks, “sweetheart?”

He’s got that look like he’s up to something, and you can’t say you mind it. 

Eddie drags his lovely nose across the wide valley between your bust, your shoulders cave a bit with the shiver, and he continues, “can I?”

Taste. Yes, “please, Eddie, yeah,” and he closes his hot mouth over one hard bead, swirling that devilish tongue around and over, knocking it roughly enough to pull a harsh hiss from between your clamped teeth. Your hands are both in his hair again, and in a little pain you pull at his sensitive scalp and feel the buzz of his moaning around you, closing the little pleasure circuit between you.

You feel every wet swipe of tongue like a brand, on your sensitive chest and melting, shocks of heat driving down in your sex, chasing the pressure and pushing your body into his chest where he lays against you. 

One of his hot hands mimics his mouth’s rhythm on the other tit, and the lewd sounds of his deep moans around you are only matched by the obscene slick of his hand finding the soaked core of you under his torso, his fingers tingling over the used cotton.

You nod assent before he can even ask, catching his eyes as he pulls away from your chest to check on you. He finds your open pant, you low lidded attention on only him, and smiles. Then, he grinds his own hips into your leg where he straddles it, lower than before, moaning again around your mound and sucking this time, a new kind of pressure that pulls the neediest cries from you yet. His fingers finally breach your underwear from the side, and the calloused contact jolts you to the precipice, climax just within reach now that your clit has direct, emphatic attention. 

His tongue swirls faster, and Eddie matches that pace with his slick fingers between your cunt lips, circling the trigger and nudging just the top of your gasping hole, pace quickening, just what you're begging him for. Your free leg hitches around his back and pulls him into you, then you clamp up and pull hard at the hair in your grasp, gasping his name over and over as you come shaking, curling around his head, pussy drooling on his rings and wrist, hips frantic in their desperate chase for friction. 

Eddie’s not far behind, rhythm incomprehensible as he’s distracted by his own big finish. He bites down almost too hard around your breast and fucks down onto your trapped leg, groans buzzing through you as he drools and sputters and comes a warm wet mess into the washed-out black. 

The grey light is blinding, you can’t open your eyes at first. But you start to collect yourself when you feel him pull off, sliding his hand slowly out of your panties. You open your eyes to him watching you again, eyes half closed, to him catching his breath, and with no regard for the mess on his hand he gathers your collar in his fist and hauls you forward for another kiss, other hand tucked in the soft folds of your waist, grasping, clutching, pulling you in.

“Ouch.” You say, with no heat at all. 

As he scoffs, Eddie slinks back down again to kiss it better, another gentle peck just to the side of the most sensitive bud of your breast where he sucked and nibbled hard enough to bruise. Just a pinch, indeed.

“Aw, I’m sorry, angel,” he promises, only a little sarcastic, and finally rounds his mouth around your right nipple, which he had neglected until now. 

Then, you hear the slightest crunch. Like crumbs rubbing together.

Eddie smacks his lips a couple times, tasting, considering.

"Salty," he says. No way.

Oh, god, no. No fucking way. He still licking you clean but you freeze, then he does, but Eddie, knowing exactly what he just set you up for, loses it. He buries the cackle in your tummy as it dawns on you, and you do some quick math– you last showered this morning, which means you last soaked your piercing this morning, maybe 10 hours ago.

Eddie crawls back up your body as you wail, “ohhh, my God, Munson, why would you—? I cannot–” and lands eye-level, with you spent and boneless on your back, him in a table-top pose, arms propped by your shoulders. 

He hadn't been neglecting your other side, he had been saving it.

10 hours. More than enough time for new “crusties” to form, so more than enough time to build your own nightmare from natural scratch. And he didn’t hesitate, or mention it at all, that your piercings were clearly crusted over as part of the usual healing process, he just sucked them off anyway like they were in the way.

“You– absolute– freak! Eddie what the fuck! Did you fucking eat it? Are you insane?”

“What? I helped! And it’s probably, like, I don’t know, nutritious somehow. Protein?” He shrugs, smirking in the face of your horror, your embarrassment. You hadn’t thought to look at your own tits when the idea of his eyes on you had been more than enough to deal with.

You punctuate every few words with sharp shoves, which barely register as nudges to him from your angle, still under him, fighting his weight and gravity itself. Little by little, he sinks against them, and you tire yourself out before his chest traps your arms between the two of you.

“You– sicko, I didn’t– give you permission– to snack on me.”

“You even said ‘please,’ sweet heart, no take backs. I believe they’re my boogers now.” His smile is just content now, mischief subsumed by all the love in his eyes. You were in his mouth; now you’re on your way through his system. He thinks its romantic.

He ate it. Like a weird pet left unattended too long, he saw something new and simply put his mouth on it. Your-- friend? hardly, you think-- Eddie Munson just ate the new piercing boogers off you, straight from the source as he came in his jeans. You don’t even know what to do, so bewildered you shove his shoulders and chest as rough as he’ll allow before he seizes your wrists and pins you again, only this time, your tits are still out. 

“Without full knowledge, that’s twisted– you’re sick.” Your smile betrays you. What a weirdo, sure, but who else would full-send like that? You can’t think of anyone you’ve dated– anyone you’ve let touch you– that has ever been so close, and you haven’t even seen his cock yet. 

God, what a freak– your freak, you think with a thrill.

“Yeah yeah, heard it before."

Its quiet for a bit as you stare at each other, smiles crooked and soft.

"Well. Cat’s out of the bag?”

“Seems that way.” So, there's your "what are we" convo' all sorted.

“Good. So you know— " Eddie ducks his head to tap his nose against yours, then pulls back again to hover a little closer than before, "clothes are no longer an option.”

“What. The hell are you saying.”

“I'm saying,” he whispers, suddenly against your ear, dragging out each syllable, and slides his thumb and it's cool bat ring now poking out of a soft fist across your collarbone and up your shoulder, just to see you shiver again, just to watch you shake.

“hu-.. what, Munson, spit it out!” Now, you grab him by both wrists, and the quick movement brings his eyes to your tits again, gold titanium winking in the gray light. The soft wave of your body warms his core. He's half-hard already just watching you move.

“Too late, ha.” You groan, still grossed out, and anticipating this, he groans with you, mocking. You feel it through your own chest, feel it down your pinned leg.

Then, Eddie’s voice is soft too, at once dreamy and deadly serious, when he says, “You,” drops a kiss on one shoulder, “were so, so right,” and another on the other, “you won't need clothes ever again.” 

—--------------—

Its only days later, your next day off, when your favorite metalhead greets you at your front door. You don’t even have time to say hello before he’s flashing you; Eddie yanks his shirt up, fast as he can, to show off two glinting barbells, twin gold angel wings framing each nipple, still red and a little swollen from the piercing.

He beams at you, proud of the shock written all over your face, and before you can recover, cradles your face with one ringed hand and swoops in to plant one on your open mouth, grinning all the while. 

#eddie munson x black reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #mine #every thirsty nasty stupid tag ive ever posted or texted my friends that got me kicked from the GC will become a fic one day cos like what #is the point of this otherwise #this has been edited a little cos the second i post i reread it again and find bits i meant ti switch around #eddie munson x plus size reader

[silverynight]

Grief

The first time is during a mission; he's lying next to Zenitsu and Inosuke who are sleeping in the same room as he is. He wakes up in the middle of the night as the nightmare still stays in his mind for a while; the problem is that it's not just a bad dream, but also a memory of what he saw that morning.

When the omega came back home and found his family dead inside the house.

Tanjirou shakes his head and tries to go back to sleep without waking up his friends, but it's too late for that: Zenitsu has opened his eyes and is looking up at him with worry.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Tanjirou mumbles, shoving the memory aside. He can tell he's not fooling Zenitsu at all (it could be his scent or the sound of his heart what's giving him away) but at least the beta boy doesn't insist.

"Alright... But tell me if you need anything."

"I will. Thanks, Zenitsu."

***

The next time he's alone, he ended up sleeping in the woods during the day so he can't open Nezuko's box to make sure she's still there; he just leans closer and calms down when he identifies her scent; he knows she's alright.

He doesn't fall asleep again, instead the omega chooses to keep moving and think about the way back to the butterfly estate instead of the dream that has been haunting him for a while.

***

It happens a couple of times, Tanjirou is getting tired because he's afraid to fall asleep now, although he has to. He knows it's not okay to keep pushing the memory away from his mind, but he can't help it; there's no time to grieve, he needs to focus on Nezuko and frankly he doesn't want to feel all the emotions attached to that nightmare.

He doesn't want to feel pain.

And yet the sorrow comes to him anyway while he's training; he hasn't slept well the past couple of days so he's not at his best, he's not as fast as before and certainly he's not that focused on what he's doing...

He cuts himself on accident and it's when he sees the thin line of red blood on his arm that he starts crying.

There was blood everywhere that day.

Some of the kakushi in the estate hear his sobs and gather quickly around him, constantly asking if he's alright. Tanjirou nods, but the tears don't stop sliding down his face; his sobs are loud and his hands are shaking.

The kakushi do their best to release a calming scent while one of them takes care of the scratch, but it doesn't quite work.

Tanjirou doesn't know why. He can't even hear the others anymore so he doesn't notice that a couple of them are going back inside to look for the hashira.

When the scent of a powerful alpha hits him, his inner omega relaxes a little bit; Tanjirou stops sobbing so loudly as muscled arms carry him back inside the mansion.

"Is it okay if I scent you?" Shinazugawa asks quietly, as soon as he leaves Tanjirou on the bed. The omega has never seen him acting that soft with anyone before.

He nods because he knows the wind hashira is offering that to help him calm down a bit.

Tomioka, Iguro and Rengoku arrive just as the white haired alpha is nuzzling his neck carefully. The omega feels the connection to him, but it's not enough.

Perhaps it's because the other three alphas smell upset for a moment, before worry spreads all over their scents. His tears have subsided and his heart is beating less painfully inside his chest, but he still needs...

"Let us scent you as well," Tomioka offers and Tanjirou only nods. He doesn't trust his own voice at the moment.

"Do you want to talk about it, darling?" Kanroji asks suddenly; the omega has no idea when she got in the room.

"My... family," his voice breaks right before he shakes his head because he realizes he doesn't want to talk. "I'm sorry, but I–"

"It's alright if you don't want to say anything," Himejima assures him just as Rengoku jumps on the bed next to him to pull him into his arms.

He's warm, Tanjirou likes it. However, there's still something missing...

"Close the curtains, I'm going to bring Nezuko," Kocho says then, making Tanjirou look up as Tokito takes Rengoku's place and starts scenting him as well. He enjoys the feeling of his fingers running through his hair.

Nezuko understands what's going on, she always does; she shrinks until she's the size of a toddler and jumps into the omega's arms.

The only family he has left, he thinks before kissing the girl's forehead.

Tanjirou has thought about it a couple of times, but at the moment it doesn't feel quite right for some reason.

He looks around as worry and love fill his nose; the Pillars are moving around the room (making sure he's comfortable and he has food and water) while Aoi shakes her head in a corner, but Tanjirou can tell she's not actually mad at any of them.

Then, just as Uzui wraps his arms around both Nezuko and Tanjirou and the omega recognizes his wives' scents mixed with his, he realizes that all those people are part of his new family.

They're not alone anymore.

He realizes he has stopped crying just as Nezuko moves closer and Uzui smiles down at him.

"I can tell you're feeling better already," Uzui grins, nuzzling the omega's cheek. "I'm glad."

"Thanks... All of you," he mumbles sincerely.

"It's our pleasure, my boy!"

Kanroji leans to give Tanjirou a couple of kisses on his hair and the omega thinks that all those omegas, betas or alphas who end up with them will be very lucky indeed.

The Pillars are such good alphas, they deserve the best... Although the thought doesn't quite please him; he immediately scolds himself though and smiles at them, Tanjirou needs to be there for them too whenever that happens, because he wants them to be happy.

His eyelids are heavy suddenly, but he's not afraid to fall asleep this time... His new family is there with him and his sister.

"Tanjirou, we want you to consider–"

"Not now, Mitsuri," Kocho cuts her off. "He's falling asleep... He needs to rest. Maybe another day..."

Tanjirou doesn't hear anything else after that, but feels as someone else lies next to him.

His dream is quite peaceful this time.

***

Patreon

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #tanjiro kamado #tengen uzui #nezuko kamado #zenitsu agatsuma #inosuke hashibira #kyojuro rengoku #giyu tomioka #sanemi shinazugawa #shinobu kochou #mitsuri kanroji #obanai iguro #gyomei himejima #muichiro tokito #giyutan #kyotan

[rosewould]

quick and unedited // ljy

(a/n: what was the reason for adding unneeded angst? oh... well.... uh... quick, a distraction hey look! collegeboi!juyeon! fetch!)

"Look, in here." Juyeon guides you by your waist as he twists open the door on his right. Whatever was going on between the two of you didn't stop you from getting butterflies at moments like this. There was a lot of flirting and innuendos, but it was very rare that Juyeon initiated physical contact. Each time it made the looming threat of having each other very real. You swallowed the lump in your throat before nodding and walking through the door. 

The room was a mess, papers were strewn everywhere and the rickety bookcases lining two sides of the room could barely do their job. You almost tripped over the evidence of this, Juyeon's arm around your waist being the only reason you weren't on the floor. 

"Sorry," You breathed, unsure why your voice felt so small. All that big talking you've done over the course of the year felt like it was finally coming to a head. Could you handle it? You weren't sure. Your eyes trailed to the book that attempted to embarrass you and ruin the mood for good. Hamlet was always the catalyst for your problems.

Juyeon's other hand grasping your waist broke you from your random trains of thought. You look up as he pulls you closer with a smirk. You return the look.

"Is there any reason we're in a secluded room, Juyeon?"

He looks around at the disheveled room with a shrug. "It's pretty good for studying, no?"

"No is right," You chuckle, breath hitching in your throat when his face suddenly drew in closer. Despite your dry throat, your big talking came back with a vengeance. "y'know, if you wanted to fuck me you could've just said so..." As you trail off, your eyes flicker toward his lips before being trapped in his gaze once again. 

"I mean... I'm just here to glaze the doughnut you've been complaining about."

"Gross." You deadpan as you lean in closer. He steals your breath, dipping in with only a threat of a kiss. 

"What? You don't want that?"

You swallow, doing little to placate your dry throat. Were you at the point of begging? Being this close to finally having the man you've had wet dreams about was making your vagina throb with need. Still, you weren't done with that mouth of yours.

"I dunno..." You say with a playful smirk, attempting to peel away until he spins the two of you around and pushes you against the bookcase. The books rattle against the aged wood, nearly toppling over right on your heads. You couldn't spare a moment to notice, not when Juyeon captures your lips with a heated kiss that instantly makes you dizzy. He tasted much better than you imagined, the bitter coffee with a hint of mint had you embarrassingly diving in faster and faster. 

"Do you still not want it?" 

"Mm..." He hastily crashes his lips back to yours. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip and you happily accept it. He allows a moment your wet muscles to dance with each other before he pulls away again.

"What was that?"

"Ugh," You throw your head back against the bookshelf, impatient with his antics. "just kiss me already."

"So you do want it?"

"Juyeon!"

"Say you want me inside you and I'm all yours." Suddenly his nose was brushing against yours, voice much deeper than before. The gravel in his voice made you clench your thighs.

"I-I want you Juyeon." Your voice is small again, feeling vulnerable as all hell, but that didn't matter much when you were soiling your panties to this degree. The confession brought a lazy grin to his face, chuckling lightly as his tongue swipes against his perfect teeth. 

"You're constantly making me hard, ___." He admits before his Adam's apple bobs beneath his flawless, firm skin. He leans past your face, lips dancing near your ear. 

"I can't wait to have you bouncing on my cock."

You involuntarily moan at that and if he wasn't confident in himself before, he was now. It must've not been enough, though. Not when he was groaning next to your ear to say it again. 

"I want you Juyeon!" You exclaim as he slams his hips against yours, rattling the bookcase and making books rain down all around you. As his hips thunder into yours you start to see stars. Each and every slap of your skin lights your synapses on fire. "I want you so bad! Ngh-!"

He slams you especially hard into the bookcase, and there's just something about him that makes the pain and chaos heighten the pleasure. When you look into his eyes, it all becomes clear why. Through his squinted, shiny eyes you can see just how much he wants you, too. He's already told you how horny you make him multiple times since he whipped out his hard cock. His words were needless, as the way he looked into your eyes, the way he moaned as your wet cunt tightened around him, the way his lips and hands were all over you said enough. 

"I want you too." He whimpers as he rests his forehead against yours. You didn't need him to do so, but the confirmation lit your heart with a strong flame you feared wouldn't be put out soon. A part of the stupid organ wished it was in ways more than physical. If you thought about how that was implausible, you'd no longer be in the mood. So you pushed it to the back of your brain and focused on his meaty tip plunging into the depths of your pussy. 

You shout out in pleasure as his snapping hips send him barrelling deeper than before. Volume control was regretfully not in the forefront of your brain while you were getting your guts rearranged. 

"Fuck- I'm gonna cum." He grunted after informing you, losing to the overwhelming lust as his eyes roll back. "W-where should I-"

"Cum inside me." 

Juyeon's eyes widen, looking into yours to make sure you're sure. You nod, eyebrows pressed together as your high approaches. You were safe from pregnancy, but something about him cumming inside you still felt special. You wouldn't let just any guy paint your walls with his seed. It must have meant something to him judging by the overflowing adoration present on his face. The thought alone sent you spiraling helplessly into your high, kicking your head back as your legs lock around him tight. 

Your hole clenches around him, milking him dry as he sprayed his semen into you. He kisses you passionately as you both come down and your heart swells. Juyeon lowers you back to the ground gently, caring hands back on your waist when you stumble. You pull away and flash him a genuine smile, but all you're met with was a man still clearly overcome with lust. 

"I want you to keep it inside all day. That'd be so fucking hot." He bites his lip before kissing your forehead and leaving. 

For a reason you didn't want to delve into, it felt like a bullet had blown right through your chest, piercing your swelling heart. 

You did just that anyway. Feeling his seed trickling down your walls was an uncomfortable reminder of your naivety. You felt like a dumb, used fuckdoll, and it was all your fault. You guys joked about fucking for a year and now you think he wants to make you his?

No, it was all the moments you pushed the flirting aside and genuinely talked to each other. Texting for hours until the other fell asleep. You sigh, feeling especially gross after your lunch break. The thought turned you on a bit at first, but now it felt stupid. You were wearing a skirt, and the seed threatened to leak through.

Paranoia made it feel like everyone was staring at you as you walked out of the cafeteria and down the hall. What a fucking idiot, the must be thinking. 

Just as you were beating yourself down, convincing yourself that everyone knew how pathetic you were, you feel a hand on your shoulder. Juyeon maneuvers around you, out of breath. 

"Here," He hands you a white plastic bag, "I didn't know if you needed this but it was eating me up all day so I went home and brought these." He rushes out, eyes anxious like the puppy dog you knew he could be at times. You spread the bag open and peek inside to see a pair of sweatpants.

"It was hot at first but- anyway, I shouldn't have even suggested for you to walk around like that." He clenches his eyes shut as he shakes his head. You snort, covering your mouth in shock when the noise happened. He snaps his eyes open, looking at you in shocked betrayal. 

"Hey! I was really worried!" He threw his arms down at his sides, stomping like a toddler. The look on his face made you think that he was beating himself up way more than you were. It made all the self-deprecation you put yourself through earlier seem ridiculous. 

"No! It's just... you're so cute." You sigh defeatedly before pinching his cheeks. 

#100 #bc industry babies was taking too long #I actually love this #THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS UNNEEDED ANGST! #juyeon #lee juyeon #tbz #the boyz #kpop #smut #juyeon smut #lee juyeon smut #tbz smut #kpop smut #angst #tbz angst #the boyz angst #qau #quick and unedited

[judasofsuburbia]

🔀 for buckingham mayhaps?

oh cry.....crying about this...... (cw: vomiting)

Here we are, no one else We walk to school all by ourselves There's dirt on our uniforms From chasing all the ants and worms

childhood friends! buckingham who walk to the bus stop every morning because they live on the same street. robin who stops to look at every bug. chrissy who is afraid of bugs so tries to tug robin along. robin gets a worm to wiggle across her palm as chrissy squeals. she starts to notice bugs everywhere, admiring them, and starts saving them from being killed by her family. they're best friends, practically inseparable. tell each other everything.

middle school brings new hardships. suddenly, robin wants to be in band and chrissy wants to try cheerleading. they start to run in different circles and barely hang out anymore. they do get the walk to the bus stop though, as short lived as it is. chrissy will try to point out dragonflies and roley poleys to her new friends but they don't care. chrissy's just happy she gets to see robin at the sports games she cheers at. blowing her trumpet in the stands.

the walks to the bus stop in high school get weirder. robin can't find anything really to say to chrissy, feels like she barely knows her anymore. so she just listens to her walkman instead. chrissy does the same. eventually, chrissy starts driving herself to school. their eyes still meet every sports game. a sad, soft smile on their faces.

robin notices chrissy run off one football game, covering her mouth. she asks vickie to watch her trumpet as she chases after her. chrissy is in the woods, puking her guts out. when robin gets closer, chrissy looks at her with tears in her eyes from the excursion.

"bad pre-game snack," chrissy responds weakly. she pats her skirt, realizing she left her bag with her gum in the locker room.

robin nods, unconvinced. she reaches into her pocket and pulls out some peppermint gum. chrissy's and her favorite. hasn't changed since they were kids. robin hands her a stick and chrissy's face lights up.

she chews it happily and they take a seat on the picnic table. hawkins high was losing badly anyway, they're not going to be missed.

"you know..." chrissy starts. "my parents are taking me to paris this summer. i know you're really good at french. maybe you could tutor me a little? show me some sayings so i don't look like a total idiot over there?"

robin pops the bubble of her gum with a wide grin. "i can absolutely do that. make you a little parisian protégée by june."

chrissy lets out a small gasp and tells robin to hold still. she leans closer and reaches her hand up to robin's big marching band hat. robin tries not to get lost in chrissy's beautiful face so close to her own. when chrissy's hand comes back, there's a monarch butterfly on her finger. they both watch in awe as it flaps it's little wings. just like when they were kids. only this time, their faces are inches from each other. peppermint breath filling the air.

when the butterfly flies away, chrissy doesn't move. she blinks her big eyes at robin and whispers, "i've missed you, buckley."

"i've missed you too, cunningham."

send me a 🔀 and a pairing, and i’ll shuffle my playlist and make an au based on the first song that comes up

#THEM!!!! THEY!!!! #buckingham #buckingham au #buckingham ficlet #shuffle song ask game #asks

[anotheranimestan]

Steamy Nights

Shouta Aizawa steaminess + suggestive language

Please note that y/n is obviously of age in this one

wc: 2.4k

Tell me why I got 🦋 when writing this loll. This man is fineee

Stretched out on Aizawa’s couch, you were waiting for him to get home after another long day of teaching. A little while ago he’d given you a key to his place, which was a big surprise since he values his privacy so much. Since you hadn’t been able to see him for a few days, you figured tonight would be the perfect time to use it. Work was really taxing on him lately and you knew he was stressed. Probably over stressed. To make the most of the night, you decided to set the atmosphere.

The apartment already had Shouta’s personality all over it. Lots of dark furniture and wood. Absolutely no harsh lighting, just a few dim lamps. His walls were scattered with some paintings he’d bought on your art show dates together. Old books and blankets everywhere. His sweet cat usually curled up in her corner.

He had a drawer full of scented candles. Your favorite was the cinnamon one but he claims it’s too sweet for him. Although you highly doubted he’d even notice the difference, he just holds random stubborn opinions sometimes without any good reason behind it. Just wanting things to complain about. Most people found his pessimistic grumpy attitude unattractive but...he’s just moody. An exterior shell. Inside was was soft and sweet.

You’d just finished lighting a few of the cinnamon candles and putting on some of his favorite music in the background when you heard the door click open.

He’s always so light on his feet. Sometimes if you weren’t paying close attention he’d come in and scare the life out of you on accident.

You rounded the corner, excited to see him.

“Hey Eraserhead.”

You always called him by is pro name when he’s in his hero costume. People usually assumed it was out of respect or privacy but he knew the real reason. You were teasing him. You disliked his hero name and his hero outfit. Recalling the day Present Mic convinced him to use it, you’d pestered him relentlessly to put more effort into it. Insisting he’d regret it one day. He said he didn’t care...but now look at him.

“Please y/n, when are you going to stop calling me that?” He said rubbing his eyes. He was low energy as usual.

“After you change it.”

“I can’t change it.”

“Exactly.” You whispered smugly.

He sighed. No matter how many times you had this conversation you would always win. Rightfully but he wouldn’t admit it.

You drifted over to greet him properly. Brushing the hair out of his eyes and placing a sweet lingering kiss on his cheek.

And as for his boring, baggy costume...you understood it’s purpose. He wore it to stand out less, aiding in his fight style. But it was still a pain since you couldn’t properly hug him in it. The capture weapon was always in your face and you could hardly feel his body through the layers.

His modest attire duped most people. Making his tastefully well built body underneath a best kept secret. Which you supposed was an upside. Only you (and Present Mic for some reason) had ever really gotten to see him shirtless.

“I’m going to change.” He said kissing your forehead. He knew exactly what you were thinking.

He reemerged from his room a few minutes later. Wearing a droopy black shirt and sweatpants that were loose around his hips. You could see the dipped lines of his V. Just north was his lightly defined six pack. And just south was unfortunately concealed under black briefs and his untied waistband...

He caught you staring.

Feeling red and exposed you quickly redirected your attention to something else. “So are you hungry babe? I could make something?”

He declined.

“Okay...what about grading assignments. Do you want help to make it go faster?”

Declined again. Apparently he worked straight through lunch to finish that already.

You were beginning to feel useless. You’re supposed to be making him de-stress but it’s like he was so self-sufficient there was no room for you.

You sat next to him on the couch, his arm wrapped around you. You brushed some hair behind his ear. His long dark hair was always messy from his constant naps. Plus, you constantly running your fingers in it doesn’t help that situation. He was quiet. Massaging his temples. You could see the tension on his face. It made your heart twinge with pain. Just then you noticed his ear fully. He had at least six piercings on this one but he wasn’t wearing any of his earrings. Usually he’d put them on when he wasn’t at work but he didn’t tonight. And you knew exactly why.

“Babe. I have an idea.”

“And what’s that?” He played along.

He would take them out when he secretly wanted one of your amazing head massages. You always focus on his ears and temples just like he liked so he’d left out his earrings hoping you’d get the hint. This man could never just ask for something in his life. Luckily you could read him like a book.

“Come on.” You purred. Pulling him with both hands off the couch. He complied wearily.

Aizawa didn’t spend much of the money he made from pro hero work on lavish things. The only times he splurged was to buy you nice gifts. However, you did convince him to purchase one nice thing for himself. You knew he wanted it anyways but was just too stubborn to actually buy it.

A jacuzzi tub. He loves hot baths after a day of dealing with his “problem children” students. It was the only thing that could get his muscles to relax. And the moisture from the steam felt nice on his eyes.

Making sure to bring a candle and the speaker with, you lured him into the bathroom.

“Want to take a bath with me?” You asked sweetly.

“I wouldn’t mind that.” A tiny smile spread on his lips. You were too irresistible to deny.

“Okay you run it and I’ll go get the wine.” You sang excitedly. “But don’t make it so hot. You almost burnt my skin off last time.”

“It felt normal to me.” He said casually.

“Yea because you’re a psychopath.” You quipped before springing to the kitchen.

You guys had two types of favorite wine. One was for your long deep discussions about art and literature. Or when asks for your advice on dealing with his students because he knows he’d just lose his temper and expel them without your ideas. And the other, the pricier and far more potent one, was saved for special moments. Just like these. You poured your glass full, of course, but you filled his to the tippy top. Not only did he need it, but Lord knows tipsy Aizawa was sexy.

When you returned, he was crouched over testing the water temperature. His face gently lit from the soft glow of the candle in the dark room.

“I made sure to cool it off. No psychopaths here.” He teased trying to sound bored. But his voice was noticeably happier than when he’d arrived.

You instructed him to take a few sips of wine, desperate to get that show rolling.

“I know what you’re doing.” He said with an amused little smile. He swapped the cups in your hands so you now claimed the full one.

“Good. So then you should know exactly how to play along.” You said as you switched the glasses back with a wink.

He sighed in defeat. But that rare smile was still adorning his cheeks. He took a few y/n-approved size drinks.

His hair was falling into his eyes again. You set your glass down on the tub edge and pulled him into you. He wrapped his arms around your waist while you pushed his hair back and secured it in a clip.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight.” He said softly.

“I know. Now that I have a key I wanted to come bother you a bit.”

His eyebrow raised at the word bother.

You panicked slightly. Hoping he wasn’t actually bothered that you’d come uninvited.

“That does sound like you.” He said as he kissed your nose. “I hope you do it more often.”

Your heart spasmed.

“Really? You do?” Your insecurities ears’ perked up.

“Why wouldn’t I want that?” He said in his deep sleepy voice.

A happy little smile broke its way through. You could only shrug in response.

You slipped your hands under his shirt and pulled it up slowly. Dragging your knuckles along the dips and bumps of his abs as you went. Gently you pulled it over his head. He helped by raising his arms which just made the rest of his muscles flex. Your heart started beating a little faster. No matter how many times you saw him he always made you flustered.

Your eyes were glued on him. His tattoos were now completely visible. Another best kept secret. They trailed around his shoulder, back and half his chest. You placed some honeyed kisses on his collar bones as you pulled down his sweatpants and briefs to leave him fully undressed. He was mouthwatering type sexy. The candlelight was highlighting all his high points in the best possible way. The music was perfectly complimenting your emotions and the sleepy eyes staring at you so lovingly were severely compromising your thought process. There were a lot of things you wanted to do with him suddenly but you focused your eyes on the goal here. A relaxing, hot bath.

Bath bath bath.

Reluctantly containing yourself you pried his hands off your waist and nudged him towards the water.

“Okay okay, go on.”

“You’re coming too right?” He said as he grazed your bottom lip with his thumb.

You nodded, butterflies erupting in your tummy.

He laid down in the water and took some more large swigs of wine. His glass was half empty before you’d even taken your first sip. He watched you undress with intent in his eyes, soaking in every curve and dip of you as well. He reached an arm out to you once you’d fully unclothed. He wanted his hands on you immediately.

But you had a goal here. Bath. Massage. Focus.

You slipped in behind him so that he laid between your legs. His broad shoulders nearly covered your whole body when he leaned back against you.

The tub was huge. Easily fit you both and could probably add another person.

“And now for my favorite part.” You announced as you switched the tub on its low setting. The rumbling under the water sending tiny vibrating waves around the whole tub.

Definitely worth spending his money.

Your hands rubbed every inch of him you could reach. His abs, the thick muscular sides of his waist, his biceps. You alternated between hugging his neck whispering cute things in his ear and massaging him.

Of course he was practically falling asleep as you spent time on his ears and temples. His head was heavy against your chest. It was so cute. You loved when he fell asleep on you.

But you knew he was keeping himself awake. He was rubbing your legs and the backs of your thighs. Squeezing and kneading them gently. Placing kisses on your arms and hands whenever he got the chance.

After about 20 minutes and one refresh of hot water, both your glasses were empty. He’d drank most of it since he’d downed the last few sips of yours too.

Wanting to see his handsome face again you shifted and positioned yourself to sit on his lap, thighs wrapped snuggly around his waist. After making sure you were fully comfortable, he leaned back against the tub and closed his eyes. He pulled you close and trailed circles with his fingertips up and down your back under the warm water. He loved the weight of you on him. You both exhaled a deep stress relieving breath.

The steam was working its magic, the rumbling of the jets felt so good massaging your legs. And his heart beat, you could feel it through his chest. It was slow and steady. Making you drowsy off him.

He noticed you were lost in thought, stroking his hair and tracing your fingers along the lines of his tattoo. He took advantage of this time to soak in all your features, watching you under drooping lashes. The flush of your cheeks, the delicate arrangement of your beauty marks. The far off expression on your face, he knew it well. He loved observing you when you were like this. You were beautiful.

“Relaxed yet?” You purred. Starting to tease him with soft kisses.

“Almost there.” He replied before catching you to deepen the kiss. Your soft skin and body heat was melting him away. He wanted more. Using both hands he pressed your back into it.

He savored your lips for a long while, becoming more and more passionate as the seconds ticked by and the wine hit his bloodstream.

You felt him shifting underneath you. Squirming slightly from the pressure that was building up. More butterflies. His hands clamped down around your hips.

“Okay your plan worked.” He smiled into your kiss. Eyes still closed.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re referring to.”

He tapped his finger against the empty wine glasses.

You started sucking on the sensitive spot under his ear. You knew tipsy Shouta always got turned on by that.

His arms both constricted tightly around your waist. His hips were pressing up into you now with impatience.

“Let’s go to my room.” He concluded. You giggled, causing your lips to vibrate against his sweet spot. You heard the soft moan from deep in his throat.

He stood up keeping you wrapped tightly around him, carrying you with ease.

He half-heartedly patted you both down with a towel, his hand not losing contact with your ass for a second.

Before he could whisk you out of the bathroom you grabbed the speaker and candle again.

The scent wafted into the air around you.

“Mm that smells good.” He said distracted for only a moment before his lips gravitated to your body again.

“Oh really. So you do like it.” You said with the smuggest tone. “You’ll never guess what scent it is Shouta.”

He didn’t reply. Too distracted with kissing your shoulders.

“Cinnamon.” You said with as much sass and emphasis as you could muster.

He paused. Caught. How did you always get him like this?

He pulled back rolling his eyes with a smile. Nose to nose now, you pressed him further with a smirk.

He cocked an eyebrow at you. Looking directly in your eyes he said, “Mhm. Keep this same energy when I take you in there.”

And just like that he’d knocked down your resolve and your whole body started fluttering.

He carried you into his bed and you two “relaxed” for the rest of the night.

~~

😳 the way I want to be y/n.

#aizawa shouta #aizawa imagine #aizawa fluff #aizawa smut #aizawa headcanons #aizawa x you #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x reader #mha aizawa #aizawa sexy #aizawa sensei #aizawa fanart #aizawa fanfiction #aizawa drabble #my hero academia aizawa #aizawa angst #shouta aizawa x reader #mha shouta #shouta fluff

[0ghostwriter0]

It's You

A/N this is part two but part one is here

MASTERLIST

Pairings: Henry Cavill x reader

Word count: 1,638

Warnings: Smut also this is my first time writing smut so ahhh

Summary: You and Henry are finally single do you have a shot?

From the outside, this house looks lavish. It has been built with wood covered in render and has white pine wooden decorations. Tall, squared windows allow enough light to enter the home and have been added to the house in a mostly asymmetric way. The Autumn breeze had scooped a last lake of leaves around the grand front door. Still scooped in Henry’s arms, you nuzzled closer to protect you from the sharp air. As you were carried down the small concrete path, Henry reluctantly let your small frame back on the ground to retrieve a clump of assorted keys.

From the inside, the vast entryway was silent before a bounding bear attacked your shaking knees. Grinning widely, you bent down to pat his fluffy belly. Behind you, Henry admired the new sight before him as he slowly removed a jet black leather jacket. Placing the jacket on the coat hooks to his right, Henry drop his keys on the sideboard. The sudden clink made you jump to stand up straight much to Henry’s disappointment. Swiftly, moving to greet his pal, Henry amused the energetic Akita with hasty cuddles.

“Now Kal, I need to borrow your friend and I’ll get her back to you later” Henry cooed to the bear as he guided him into the living room. Now residing behind Henry, you started to fumble with the hem of your skater skirt. Suddenly panicking, you remembered how press follow you everywhere as well as Henry which meant they could be outside now. Swinging around to face the door, your soft trembling turned into shaking.

Pulling you out of thought, Henry snaked his arms around you from behind and brought his mouth teasingly to your ear. The warm breath sent shivers to your core. You feel safe yet completely exposed at the same time. Bitting your lip gently, your body falls into the deep musk of the burly man. All insecurities flow out of your body like a wave of relief.

“Henry, I… I think I’ve.. urm” your fear of relationships after your ex had only worsened but you needed this. He could tell you had reservations about commencing a relationship more than friends as it could risk all you’d built together. Relinquishing you from his grasp, Henry swirled you around like an eloquent ice skater.

“We can talk and I’ll fix you some breakfast or coffee,” Henry spoke softly while lifting your chin. Fixating on his warm honey eyes, you tried to nod but his warm hand restricted the movement of your chin. He chuckled softly before heading across the vast hallway to a neatly kept kitchen. Being the perfect house guest, you slipped off your dainty ballerina pumps. Carefully and cautiously, you feet followed the ghost of henry’s movements. Along the way you smiled as you spotted his discarded timberland boots.

Allured by the sweet sent of freshly ground coffee, you realised that he must have anticipated that you’d agree to come home with him. He knew how your mind worked and it drove you crazy. Like a mouse you creeped up behind the work of god. Unfortunately, you were caught by a smirking Henry rest beside two freshly made coffees. Mercilessly, the muscular adonis ravished your neck with sweet pecks.

“I need to sa- mmmm” melting into the sensual act, your words were swapped with delightful whimpers. The sweet noise halted as Henry loomed over your clavicle; gracefully, his eager hand was stroking small circles to the small of your back.

“I think that I have feelings for you… urm like not friends…like more int-“ pausing when the graze of Henry’s voluptuous lips were just within reach, your mind was racing- burning like the soft spot that sat between you legs.

“Think or know?” His husky tone sparked an exquisite roaring flame in the depths of your womb. To build up your courage, you pressed your foreheads together like a mating lioness.

“I know… and I need you,” Henry growls in at your answer like a prima mate. Desperately, the husky animal ambushed your pillow lips as your bodies yearn for each other. You hum as his hands pull your body to cling to him. Gasping softly as he sucks on your bottom lip, you moth gapes open allowing a perfect passage for Henry’s wandering tongue. God why did you wait so long? His talented lips steal dirty whimper which distracts your senses from the wandering hand which slips beneath your knitted top. Carefully, exploring the roundness of your perky breasts, Henry growled at meeting your erect nipples. His member grew painful hard. You’d both waited a long time.

“Bed!” You mewled. Of which he hastily complied as he rushed you up the hard oak staircase. With each step of the stairs, you felt the overwhelming bulge of Henry’s desire. Colliding with the closed door, your kissed grew desperate as Henry forcefully broke open the door. This man. The hard tent in his pants jerked into your clothed core. Frantically, Henry threw you on to the quilted four-post bed. When you get back to this moment again, your sure he’ll utilise all four posts. Sensually, Henry hovers over your lower half as he slips down the suede skater skirt. You breath hitches as his warm breath attacks your exposed upper thighs.

Trailing up to your apex, Henry litters you with butterfly kisses while using his soft claws to kneed your breasts. Impatient and aroused, you discard your knitted top and comfy bra. Grinning mischievously, Henry parts your soaked panties and dips the tip of his tongue into the river of arousal between your lower lips. While you moan for him, he plunged deeper to draw out his name from your lips.

Momentarily, Henry removes his experienced tongue to free your tilt from the constraints of your soaking knickers. Rip. The dark lace broke under the needy hands of the roused man but it didn't bother you in the slightest. You needed to replace the overwhelming pleasure that was once captivating your entrance. Henry watched greedily as you slipped you hand down to the dripping folds and dipped your fingers into the searing heat. A growl released as your whimpering grew stronger with self-pleasure but it was nothing compared to the sensation Henry made you feel. Sinking his own fingers into your arousal, Henry added much-needed friction to your aching mound.

“Ahhhh Hennnnry just mmhmm make love to me” you desperately cried out. Harshly, Henry whipped your fingers from your vagina. If anyone would make you come undone then it would be him and only him. Vigorously, the thick fingers were snapping in and out of the pool of arousal making you edge closer to your apex. Determined and ravenous, Henry continued to piston his digits as he drew himself up the bed to capture your face in a hungry attack. You used this new position to drift your hand over his clothed cock. Gasping slightly, Henry allowed you access to delve into his perfect mouth. Smirking softly, you revelled in the sweet taste of your core which had invaded Henry's mouth. Curling inside you, the skilled fingers knocked you off the edge.

“I'm...” you tried to communicate but your orgasm ripped through you like a hurricane which Henry took advantage of as he's tongue won dominance in your mouth. Drawing out your release, Henry slowed his relentless fingers as your warm juices trickled down his thick fingers. Pulling away slowly, lips barely touching, Henry looked down to admire the mess you'd created because of him. Gently, his digits were removed from your swollen mound and placed in his mouth to taste his triumph. You took this moment to plan you strategy for attack.

“So sweet and hot, imagine that all over my length. I'm going to stuff you so full you can feel me through next week. You-” even though Henry's words made your core tingle in the second run of excitement, you cut him off.

“Make love to me” Henry did not need to be told again. Stripping to show all, Henry made sharp and efficient work of discarding every article of clothing left on the two of you. He leaned in and pressed his pillow lips against yours as he shifted his hands to your back; guiding you under his godly frame, Henry clutched your body against his. With urgency, the Adonis drove his tongue between your lips and plunged it into your mouth which earned a soft moan from your occupied mouth. A playful glint arose from your eye as your wandering hand circulated his pulsing member.

A small gasp rendered from your lips due to the hunger emitted from Henry's attack on your lips. You emulated this with light pressure and slow(ish) strokes of his length. Slowly building speed, you heard a low growl emulating from Henry. Drifting, Henry's hands resume their position to massage your breasts as his hips buck into your faster strokes. Breaking away for air, Henry rested his head at your neck leaving small sensual nips in his wake.

“I need to feel your walls around me, ” his breathy growl tickles your ear in delight. As you already use the pill, you moved immediately to place yourself in a prime position. Removing your hand, Henry guided his extremely hard length to tease you slick entrance. Bucking your hips, you couldn't handle the overwhelming sensation.

“Are you sure?” Henry questioned again as he stared deeply into you eyes. His honey orbs melted your heart. Placing you hands on his cheeks, you pushed a delicious kiss onto his plump lips.

“Yes, ” Pulling away, you looked deep into the eyes of each other as Henry dipped his penis into the pool of pleasure. Both moaning simultaneously, you moved like a finely tuned orchestra- in perfect harmony with one another. This was heaven.

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[a-libra-writes]

Salt & Snow - Chapter 6

Ships: Ned Stark x Reader, Brandon Stark x Reader (?)

Summary: Ned finally returns to his childhood home, to the happiness of his siblings and Y/N ... though she’s also beside herself with nerves. As it turns out, the two of them are awkward teenagers.

Use this chrome extension to replace “Y/N” with a different name :)

“That’s the last of it, milord.” The servant tightened the leather straps on the wooden trunk, ensuring they were secure. Once satisfied, he nodded to the guide that would be taking the young Lord Stark down the mountain. The man was withered, but he expertly steered his mules, or so they said. Ned hadn’t realized how many possessions he’d collected in his years in the Eyrie, and felt bad for making the beasts carry so much.

The old mountain guide said it was fine, and it wouldn’t unbalance them. “You worry about stayin’ on that mule, milord. When’s the last time you descended?”

He thought about it. “Four years, mayhaps more.”

“Aye, it’s much the same. It’s still spring, it will warm quickly as we go down.” The old man guided him to one of the mules, a shaggy, dark brown one with long ears. Ned thought it was cute in an ugly way, and climbed up. He kept his eyes forward, ignoring how the Eyrie hung above them. He remembered the first time he climbed up here, terrified he’d fall the entire way, and then afraid the Eyrie would somehow fall from the sky and plummet to the ground.

I’ll be the one doing the plummeting, if this beast missteps. Ned was mostly, probably confident that wouldn’t happen. He wondered what sort of mule they gave Robert, the beast of a man. He couldn’t imagine his friend sitting quietly for the better part of the day. That thought made him smile a little, and sigh. Robert left a month ago, and now it was his turn. It was a bittersweet goodbye to Robert and then to Lord Arryn. The first month I couldn’t stop thinking about Winterfell, how I wanted to go back. It hurts to leave now.

It hurt, but it was time to go. He wanted to see his family again, to see Winterfell, and the godswood, and Wintertown and the forest surrounding them. He’d smell pines and fresh earth again — gods know the Eyrie sorely lacked in both — and the animals that ran through those woods. He wondered what had changed, what was the same.

Suddenly, Ned recalled a letter where Y/N described the repairs on one of the towers, the old one that was slowly crumbling. That made him remember the last one he sent, and he covered his face with a groan.

“Doing well, milord?” The guide asked, looking back. “Don’t look down.”

Ned merely nodded, glad the guide and the other servants were too busy navigating to notice his stupid face. Why had he written that? Why did he send it? She must be think he was an utter fool. She hadn’t even sent anything back yet.

No, letters are slow to the Eyrie, and I’m leaving, besides — perhaps it was lost.

The thought of Lord Arryn receiving it and sending it back was mortifying, even if the man would never read it. For days Ned’s mind had been racing about Robert’s departure, his own journey, and the stupid words he wrote down. He’d repeated them so many times in his head, hoping he was misremembering.

He groaned and laid his head on the neck of the mule. It smelled awful, but he stayed there. Y/N must have thought him a complete fool, how would he face her once he came home? It would be a long, long journey.

What in the seven hells did he mean by that?

Y/N stared at the words, her eyes running over them, which was a pointless act. She’d memorized these lines in particular, able to recall them in spite of her attempts to keep busy. She hadn’t responded, because how could she? Anytime she sat down and began to dab her quill, the butterflies battered against her stomach. She’d set her quill on the page, watching the ink soak into the paper, but Y/N only managed a few sentences before fumbling, misspelling a word, dripping ink everywhere and just giving up. She’d thrown several pages into the fire already.

I’m being ridiculous, I’m overthinking. Aren’t I? Hasn’t he always said kind things to me? Why is this different?

A week ago, Y/N dug through her box of letters saved over the years, hoping to assure herself. That was a mistake. She read through things she’d forgotten, phrases she remembered, looked over the little drawings he attempted, and her butterflies became relentless. She had to put the letters away and spent the entire day flustered and distracted.

She rubbed at her face and sighed heavily. She put the letter out of sight, knowing it wouldn’t be out of mind for a while. She ought to stop procrastinating, to send something back already; it’d been almost three weeks. Or was it four? She’d been procrastinating with everything imaginable — long boring books, needlework, studying maps, playing music, even riding.

I have to answer eventually. I really am thinking too much. Just write something safe! Something boring!

Instead of doing that, Y/N left her room and looked for something to do. Perhaps if she could talk about her feelings it would help, but she couldn’t. Not even to Lyanna. Her friend had stopped reading the letters, preferring to send her own, and Y/N was sure they weren’t as frequent… That, and she couldn’t imagine letting anyone read what she wrote or drew now.

Is it strange, how often we write? Has anyone noticed?  A little voice nagged at Y/N. She and Ned were well past the age of innocent friendly correspondence. She didn’t speak much about it, secretly worried she’d be told to stop. The idea of getting “caught” wasn’t pleasant, but the idea of stopping was worse. The correspondence had become a comfort, a way to raise her spirits, warmth and confidence in her heart. She understood how some would find that emotion improper.

A servant hurried past Y/N, nearly hitting her and knocking her right out of her thoughts. The boy called an apology and kept running. In the great hall, she saw half a dozen men moving boxes, and one of the elder servants giving them orders. Savory smells came from the kitchen, and peaking inside, Y/N saw the cooks and their girls busy chopping and stewing.

She tried to recall the last time Winterfell was this abuzz. The death of Lady Stark cast a dreary curtain over the castle, and while it was gradually lifting, a feast still felt out of place. Brandon was away again, but there was never a big to-do for his return.

“Found you!” Lyanna called to her, and Y/N jumped. It was absurd how much she’d been lost in her head as of late. She was glad Lyanna didn’t tease her; instead, the girl asked, “Why is everyone so restless today?”

“I was just thinking that. Did you see the kitchens? I can’t imagine why we’d need so much sausage and stew.”

“They’re making dessert, too! I’d ask my father, but I can’t find him anywere.” As they talked, Lyanna and Y/N walked outside to one of the many yards inside Winterfell’s walls. Just like inside, there was a flurry of activity, things being moved and cleaned. Lyanna said half the horses had been taken, perhaps on a hunt for fresh stag. A sudden thought struck her, and she turned on her heels to face Y/N, nearly knocking the girl over in the process. “Y/N, what if… what if my father finally decided—?”

“He didn’t,” Y/N replied instantly. “He would tell you, Lyanna. It won’t be a surprise. Maybe something happened and he’s gathering some bannermen on short notice; maybe it’s about Brandon’s wedding. He has been gone for the better part of a month.”

“That’s all true,” Lyanna said, although she didn’t sound comforted. “Perhaps Father is entertaining some ladies for him. Oh, gods, we’ll have to make smalltalk with them…”

They sat on one of the many carts strewn about the yard, following the activity. Predictably, Y/N’s mind wandered to Ned, and she kept her sigh from escaping. She glanced at Lyanna, half-listening to her friend chatter about a hedge knight that visited months ago. He showed off some jousting in the yard for their amusement, and Lyanna was still enamored. Y/N’s thoughts were wholly preoccupied with the terrifying idea of telling her about the letters, the ones that had gradually become far less proper and more personal.

Suddenly Lyanna asked, “Did you have any plans today?”

“I have a feeling if I did, you’d pull me away.” Y/N said. “Why?”

“Do you still have your old brown cloak?”

Those grey eyes were gleaming with some sort of mischief. Perhaps it was the restlessness of the people around them, or her own anxious thoughts… but rather than steer away from trouble, Y/N turned toward it.

There were small collections of cottages directly outside the walls of Winterfell, mostly farmers and butchers who directly served the castle, and offered board to travelers during the large feasts. But if someone really wanted to find something interesting, they’d go to Wintertown. These were the more prosperous smallfolk, the merchants, innkeeps, blacksmiths, and so on. There was even a small sept, although most Northern townspeople had little use for it. Y/N had come here only a dozen times; to go, she and Lyanna would need an escort, and Brandon wasn’t eager to follow two silly girls around.

As far as they were concerned, the matter of an escort was silly now that they were women. Lyanna had no fear as she put on an old cotton dress and her grey cloak, while Y/N wore her brown and black dress she saved for riding and a deep blue cloak. Y/N tucked her pearl and jewelry away, and Lyanna pulled her own dark brown hair out of its braid until it was all around her shoulders, wild and free. The girls snuck quietly out into the yard, avoiding servants and guards, then drew their hoods up once they reached the gates. They waited, then Y/N pointed. Three sworn guards were distracted with a complaining merchant, and they slipped past the gate.

Once outside, they kept their hoods up, but giggled to one another. After walking a mile, they came across a farmer on the way to Wintertown, and asked if they could ride in his cart. The old man squinted at them, trying to focus his gaze.

“Are ye girls the swineherder’s daughters? Jeyne and … Milly, was it?”

“That’s our names. Can you take us to town?” Lyanna asked, putting on a false voice. When the old man agreed, she grinned so broadly, Y/N had to nudge her and give her a warning look. They hopped into the back of the cart and chatted while it swayed and hobbled along. The last time, it was an hour of walking before a cart passed by.

It’s good to see her like this, happy again. Y/N thought, glancing to her friend as Lyanna chatted. It’s been a dreary six moons. Or has it been longer?

Lyanna hadn’t been herself the whole time. Since her mother died, everything was bleaker. For the first moon, she just wanted to stay inside. After that she’d go out riding for hours at a time, and for once, Lord Stark didn’t scold her for it. Sometimes she’d rage, pick fights with Brandon or a guardman’s boy. Sometimes she’d just stay in bed. Those days were always the bad ones, Y/N knew, and she’d stay with her, writing or drawing or doing needlework while Lyanna laid there.

They’d get far worse than a scolding if they were caught at this game, but she just wanted Lyanna to be happy again. Wintertown was in sight, and they thanked the old man and hopped off his cart, too excited to wait for his mules to take them any farther. Y/N took Lyanna’s arm so they’d at least stay together, and they were off.

Just like the last time they visited, the town was buzzing. Thoughts of Ned’s words and Lyanna’s sadness quickly faded in the back of Y/N’s mind as they followed whatever interested them. A girl half their height was herding a group of sheep through the middle of a wide street, a woman was selling bolts of impossibly colorful fabric and thread, a blacksmith was loudly working on a sword. The girls watched all of it.

“Wait!” Y/N patted Lyanna’s arm excitedly, distracting her from the molten-hot red sword and the hammer that was beating down on it. “Do you see that?” She pointed.

Lyanna squinted. “That stall over there?”

“Yes, let’s hurry! Maybe he still has some!”

“What are you talking about?” Lyanna laughed, but followed along. She quickly realized why Y/N was so excited: There was a variety of colorful, fresh vegetables, but more importantly… fruit.

“You buying?” The man asked warily, mistaking them for the lowborn girls they were dressed as. Back in their bedchamber, Y/N had to remind Lyanna to tuck away her direwolf pin. “I’m selling, not giving. You girls got coin?”

Y/N ignored his tone and asked, “Are these from White Harbor? My father worked the docks.”

“That so? He on one of the merman’s ships, or the ray’s?”

“The manta ray, at the Whitetide docks.”

The man grinned, showing some missing teeth. He nodded his head like he was familiar with this mystery sailor. “Aye, with Lord Caspian’s fleet? His ships are good ones. These fruit come all the way from Dorne and the Arbor, but they’re still fresh.”

Y/N could see that. Her heart was racing at the sight of peaches, oranges, limes, figs… of course, Lyanna’s eyes went straight to the lemons. She giggled and shook her head. “They’re better when they’re baked in cakes. Have you had an orange before?”

“Never. Let’s get some. Four, if we could?” Lyanna asked the man, and he handed them over. Four was all he had, and Y/N paid, feeling a little sorry for taking so many. She wondered if the common folk could afford fruits. This cold preserved them well.

They walked around the market idly, more interested in the treats they just acquired. Y/N taught Lyanna how to peel the orange and the wolf-girl was delighted with how sweet and juicy they were. “This is wonderful! Why aren’t we baking these into cakes?”

“I suppose someone tried, and it didn’t work out well,” Y/N mused. “My mother liked to squeeze them into her water, or she’d just drink the juice itself. When you preserve the peels and dry them, you can scatter them amongst your things to make them smell good.” She thought about her mother’s hugs, and her favorite parlor, and the strong smell of citrus and exotic flowers that permeated both. She was a Northern woman, but took to the wonders of Dorne and Essos and the Reach, little treasures brought in on her husband’s ships. It was how her father courted her: With baskets of fruit, tropical flowers, strings of pearls and giant conch shells. Y/N smiled, remembering how her mother lit up when she told her about it.

“I can promise you, my little pearl, one day you will have such kindnesses paid by someone who truly adores you.”

“You know so many things. All I know is passable dancing, and horses.” Lyanna said, breaking Y/N’s reverie, of which she was grateful for. The Stark girl rubbed at her chin where some juices at dribbled, and Y/N handed her a handkerchief.

“You know swords and lances well.”

“Aye, but I’m not allowed to use them.” Lyanna frowned, but it didn’t look like her mood was lowering. She eagerly bit into a second orange instead. Y/N sighed and put the handkerchief back into her reticule.

“Can I have the peels?” She asked.

“Are you going to put them into my riding boots?”

“Gods, I’d need a bushel to mask that scent.”

Lyanna didn’t want to throw her precious orange, so she settled for lunging and chasing Y/N instead. Y/N shrieked and ran, glad for the headstart: Lyanna had to chew and swallow her orange pieces properly before tearing after her. Lyanna’s old dress was short enough that she didn’t have to pull up the skirts, but Y/N had the lighter cloak. She shrieked again as Lyanna grasped for it, but missed. “I’ll get you for that!” The girl hollered. “Come back, Y/N!”

They laughed and chased each other around the town like children, and no one cared. Some older women noticed and scowled, and a few children laughed and followed for a while, but no one stopped them. No one grabbed their ears and admonished them for the messy hair, dirty clothes and sticky orange-flavored fingers. They were little girls again, not proper ladies of five and ten, daughters of Stark and Caspian.

Y/N stopped suddenly, then yelped as Lyanna tackled her to the ground. She squirmed and coughed. “Lyanna! You’ll kill me!”

“Don’t start fights you can’t finish!” Lyanna responded. She realized Y/N was still winded and moved off her. “Oh, are you hurt?”

“No,” Y/N sat up and blinked the dust out of her eyes. Satisfied, Lyanna flicked an orange peel at her. Y/N picked it off her lap and ate it. Lyanna made a face, like Y/N just ate the peel of a lemon — then she remembered she saw her friend do that, too.

“Do you hear that?” Y/N asked. It was the entire reason she stopped. Both girls kept still and listened. They were on the edge of Wintertown, their game taking them to the very end of it. Out here was a few modest homes and small gardens, a crumbling wall, and the road leading to Winterfell.

“Horses,” Lyanna said. She listened. “Several of them, moving at once. It’s probably a retinue.”

“Is it Brandon? I can’t recall when he was supposed to come home.”

“It would be bad for Brandon to find us like this and tell father,” Lyanna said, but she laughed. She was like her old self today. Suddenly, she said, “Oh. We should have saved an orange for Ben.”

“But not Brandon?”

“His Lordliness can get fruit whenever he wants. He can ride to the Reach and pick it himself.” Lyanna scoffed. She stood up, pulled Y/N to her feet and they both dusted their dresses and cloaks off. The horses were closer now, easy to hear without them staying quiet. It had to be Brandon, or a nearby lord. It was too much commotion for farmers bringing food.

The girls walked to the crumbling wall and crouched down, eager to peek at the banners. They weren’t foolish enough to openly stare, even if this was Wintertown, they weren’t entirely safe. Y/N had a vague thought that Lyanna might have a dagger in her boot, but that wasn’t real protection. She kicked herself for not bringing something of her own, even if she had no idea how to use it.

“They’re taking their time,” Lyanna muttered. “Has to be a lord. A lordling wouldn’t bring so many wagons, and a merchant wouldn’t be so slow. If it is Brandon, let’s throw rocks.”

“Let’s not.”

“Fine, a single rock. I won’t hit his horse, she deserves better. It could always be Ser Roderick, or the Pooles. Maybe even Cerwyn —”

Y/N pulled her back, lower against the stone wall. “Shh.”

Two horses passed, carrying modestly protected Northern guards. Then four more guards followed, dressed in different leather and armor. Y/N squinted, not recognizing the arms on their surcoats. It wasn’t anyone sworn to House Stark. Then, what they wanted: The banners.

One man held a direwolf, and another one held a blue falcon. Lyanna shot up, and Y/N stumbled, as she was still holding onto her.

Then she looked up, and jumped to her feet just as Lyanna had. They both stared.

It was Brandon, as they guessed, and someone else. They rode ahead, followed by a few more men, one of them a fully-armored knight who wore the crest of a sky-blue and white falcon.

“Ned!!”

Lyanna was gone. She tore across a small field to the road, and the guards stopped all at once, their hands flying to their hips. That action snapped Y/N to attention, but she could only stand and stare. She watched the boy — no, young man — beside Brandon turn in his saddle, and his grey eyes lit up with surprise and happiness.

Y/N thought someone was sitting on her chest, then something was trying to get out of it. She was choked up, the world was spinning, and she could barely hear the words Lyanna, Ned and Brandon were all saying. Lyanna nearly jumped up on the horse, but Ned swiftly dismounted. He only had a moment before he was being strangled in a hug.

Brandon got down from his horse and said something to the guards. The horses shook their heads at the commotion but Lyanna shouted again, and two of the knights laughed, and Y/N was still.

Then Ned looked up over his sister’s head, and met eyes with her. Y/N took a step forward, then another. She forgot she was wearing an old dress, a cloak that was now dirty from running about, that her hair was out of a normally tamed and styled braid. Ned held out his hand, as though she was close and not ten or fifteen feet away.

Y/N shyly walked down the field to the road, trying not to look at the guards, or Brandon. Lyanna pulled away from Ned and grabbed her arm, pulling her the last two feet. “What are you doing, Y/N? Come over here!”

She was pushed in front of him. He was different in some ways, but not many. Brandon towered above him and Lyanna was just a little shorter. Y/N smiled at that, but quickly looked to her hands, which smelled of oranges and still had a little stickiness on them.

“It’s good to see you again,” Y/N could only say. She thought of all the clever and interesting words she sent before, and how they were failing her horribly now. Her mind scrambled for something to say, something she had written before, something good, but it was all jumbled.

She didn’t look at Ned as he replied, “It’s good to see you too, Y/N.”

It was quiet, like they were the only ones, but that was quickly interrupted. Brandon was beside them, loudly teasing, “It’s Lady Y/N, brother. I thought the South was supposed to teach you all those stuffy manners.”

“She’s always been Y/N to us,” Lyanna rolled her eyes. “More importantly, were you and father keeping this a secret?”

Her brother replied with a small smile. “Yes, it… it was supposed to be a surprise. I never imagined we’d meet you here.”

“And why are you two here?” Brandon crossed his arms. His good humor quickly left, as if he just took in their location and their clothes. He looked at Lyanna, then Y/N, and kept his attention on the latter. “Did you sneak out without a guard? Do you know how dangerous that can be? And why are you dressed like that?”

Y/N self-consciously pulled at her cloak as he questioned them, remembering the state she was in. Brandon’s words didn’t bother her, it was the realization that Ned hadn’t seen her in years, and this is what he saw as soon as he came back. Didn’t I have silly daydreams of him seeing me in the gown I made, or a new one? Why am I even thinking about that?

She was glad Lyanna and Brandon got into a little spat, to hide her embarrassment. She stepped behind Lyanna, half to shield herself, half to put some distance between her and Ned. She was steadily being overcome with an urge to hug him — wouldn’t that be natural? He was home now, but … it wasn’t that simple. So, she kept at Lyanna’s side, redirecting her attention on calming her friend.

“When I tell father about this, he’ll have words to say, especially since tonight he wants to hold a feast —”

“— If you tell him, I’ll tell about all that extra time you spend at the Rills!”

“It’s my job as heir to visit our bannermen and listen to their grievances!”

“Oh, yes, the pretty Ryswell daughters have much to say, I’m sure —”

Brandon went red and was ready to retort hotly, when Ned cleared his throat. He inclined his head to the men around them, all visibly impatient. Ned himself had some of that energy as he said, “Let’s go home.”

The way he said it, how could anyone continue to argue? Brandon stopped at once, knowing it had been years since his little brother had seen Winterfell properly. He patted him affectionately on the back, and Lyanna beamed. Y/N met eyes with Ned again, and they both turned away.

Brandon took his horse’s bridle. “Whose riding with whomst?”

“I’ll ride with Ned!” Lyanna blurted excitedly, and disappointment shot through Y/N so quickly, she felt a little sick. Don’t be stupid. That’s her brother, and she’ll just quarrel with Brandon, besides.

Brandon offered her a hand and easily swept her up on his horse. He asked if she was comfortable before swinging up himself, settling in like it was as easy as sitting in a chair. The problem is he put her in front, so his arms were loosely around her as he gathered his reins. Nervous as she was around these beasts, Y/N almost preferred riding behind him, although that was not always considered proper for a lady. Y/N had to hold onto him, especially with how far up she was. Brandon had a fine old destrier, once a great warhorse, still mighty and tall in her old age. She was perfect for taking him around the North, but Y/N thought she was entirely too big.

Lyanna happily settled in behind Ned instead of in front of him. Again, Y/N met his eyes. He had expressions that said so much, especially since he himself said little. She couldn’t read this one, though. Brandon called out, “Move on!” and the small escort went on the road. Y/N was thankful for the easy pace, and the steady gait of the destrier.

Her nervousness slowly settled as the four of them made conversation, with the Vale knight occasionally speaking up. Before long, the walls of Winterfell appeared before them, the proud white banners flying above. Ned looked up at the direwolf, and Y/N could swear some fatigue just melted right off him. The gates opened, and the guards keeping their station happily called to the boys, not noticing the state Lord Stark’s daughter and his ward were in. By the time their escort entered the yard, several servants, men-at-arms and children had come to see Ned come home.

Benjen pushed through all of them, eagerly running at his older brother. There was no shortage of hugs as Lyanna, Benjen and Ned reunited, while Brandon helped Y/N off the horse. Unlike his oldest brother, Benjen hadn’t developed an avoidance to his sister and her companion. He was only two years younger than them, and looked hurt as he said, “You all met him without me!”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Ned said again. “I crossed Brandon on the road by chance, and then these two—”

“Isn’t it a wonderful coincidence?” Lyanna grinned. She was still standing close to Ned, all but hanging off him. Y/N allowed Benjen to squeeze past her to get to Ned.

While the three chattered, Y/N asked Brandon, “You truly didn’t know? Where were you coming from?”

“Returning from the Karstarks. Father didn’t tell me a thing.”

Lyanna and Benjen began dragging Ned to the great hall, and now servants and guards started gathering, having realized who he was and all were eager to see him. Y/N smiled, pleased he was so missed… and only slightly glad he was moving further from her. She was anxious of what would happen if they were in a small group again, or worse, alone. She almost wanted to stay behind, but Brandon called to her, lingering back so she could catch up.

Being alone happened far sooner than Y/N anticipated.

The next morning, she stepped carefully through the snow, watching for roots just slightly sticking out. The sun was beginning to peak over the stone walls, helping her navigate the quiet yard. This route wasn’t yet familiar to her. She’d only made it recently, and often without Lyanna. Her friend wanted to mourn in quiet.

Y/N descended into the crypts. She shuddered instantly, feeling a far stronger cold take hold of her. Her footsteps echoed off the stone and she walked steadily toward her destination, passing statues of long dead Lord Starks and their sons.

Lady Lyarra did not have a sculpted sepulcher, but she had a beautiful tomb and marker for her bones. Y/N held her reticule close, bringing it to her nose so she could smell the crisp, dried oranges and give herself peace of mind. She hadn’t even visited her own family’s crypt.

She gasped as the shadows shuddered, nearly dropping the dried peels. The torches were scattered about, some not lit, making the shadows grow and recede with every second. She heard something just a few feet away.

Y/N bit down a curse as Ned came into view, the shadows circling around him. He blinked at her, his grey eyes almost looking black in the limited light.

“Y/N?”

“Y-You scared me,” She shuddered. “I didn’t — I didn’t think there would be anyone here.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I…” Y/N paused. She couldn’t seem to steady her heart, not with Ned looking directly at her. He was so much taller than before. She turned away. “I wanted to pay my respects. To give a gift.”

He didn’t respond right away. Y/N thought of the letters, of the reassurances, the kindnesses she sent him when he finally heard the news of his mother’s passing.

Why was it failing her now? She squeezed the fabric bag between her fingers.

“You brought something for her?” Ned asked quietly. “Could I see?”

Y/N nodded. She stepped closer, but not enough to feel any warmth from him. The cold of the crypt was cooling her nerves. “Orange peels. I dried them. They… they smell nice.”

She felt foolish, but he smiled. It was slight, but it was there.

“This way.” He said. He took a torch off the wall and led her deeper in. Y/N forgot how far it truly was. The Starks had been dying for centuries, and soon they would have to dig deeper into the cave to make space for the future generations. Lyarra was buried next to her parents, neither of who had a statue either.

There were fresh blue roses on the grave, and older, smaller blossoms that had begun to dry and decay. Y/N recalled Benjen brought those. She arranged the orange peels neatly, happy with the fragrance they gave off in addition to the roses. Ned must have brought those.

She quietly prayed, and Ned kept quiet beside her, perhaps joining her, perhaps not. When she finished, her hands fell to her side. Her cold, bare fingers brushed with Ned’s, and she felt the soft wool of his gloves. His finger hooked around one of her’s, and she curled it.

“Ned, I don’t presume to know your feelings, but I can only imagine how much you must hurt. If I could only help — if you were only right here, instead of far away —”

“When I home come, I want to see you, and do all the things we said we would do. I want to watch you paint, and dance, and maybe ride a horse — because I know Lyanna will make us — but most of all, I want to hear your voice.”

Y/N felt her throat was dry, but she stayed put, wondering if her heartbeat could be heard bouncing off the walls. She knew if she looked at him, even with a glance, she’d lose all composure and just run away.

She almost did that, when a loud noise made them both jump nearly two feet apart. Ned instantly took her hand back to push her behind him, then touched his sword. He grasped the hilt and lifted it just an inch out of the scabbard.

“Gods!” Y/N let out a hard breath. The skinny orange cat that knocked the unlit brazier over. It didn’t have coal in it, but it still made a terrible racket. The cat hissed and ran back into the shadows.

“I see he’s still here,” Ned mumbled. He set his sword back, and his shoulders were still tight. “Damned creature.”

“He gets lost down here so often. If he were kinder, I’d carry him out.”

“If it’s the same orange cat from when I was a boy, he’d rather freeze to death than be touched for even a moment.”

Silly smiles graced their faces, in spite of where they were, in spite of why they came in the first place. Ned nervously touched the hilt of his sword. “Shall we return?”

As they stepped out of the crypt, Y/N had to lift her skirts to climb the stairs easier. Ned offered his hand, and she took it for the last few steps. He didn’t immediately let go, and she didn’t comment on it. Instead she asked, “Did they make you learn those manners in the South?”

“There’s all sorts of manners and noble bearing they expect. It’s exhausting,” Ned admitted with a shy expression, and Y/N couldn’t help but imagine him trying some sort of silly, formal dance she’d heard about.

“Give me an example.”

He stared at their connected hands, his ears and cheeks slowly growing redder. Y/N didn’t pull away, even if her own body was threatening to explode with nerves and heat.

She expected him to kiss her hand, like she’d hear the other girls gossip about. She felt his warm lips against her fingers, through her thin gloves, and it made her jolt. Some of his brown hair brushed against her arm. I might well and truly die now.

Ned coughed and hastily turned away from her, utterly embarrassed at his own behavior. “Th-that’s what Lord Arryn… what Lord Arryn said to do when … when meeting a lady…”

“Are you kissing other ladies?” She couldn’t help it. She giggled, the warmth in her chest bubbling up to her lips. Her hand felt like it was on fire. “Should I be jealous, Ned?”

Ned covered his face with his hands, and she laughed. She covered her own face to settle her silly, foolish giddiness. “Of course not,” He grumbled. “You’re the only one I ever spoke to, besides.”

“Oh, you must have talked to some in the Eyrie.”

“Some.” Ned’s grey eyes glanced to her. She met his gaze, and they held it as he continued, “Though I kept wishing you were there.”

Y/N had to look away again. She couldn’t giggle, her throat was stuck, her chest hurt and she hated how tongue-tied she was. She never imagined it would be this hard — whatever this was —

“What in the seven hells are you both doing?”

Looking through her fingers, Y/N watched Brandon saunter up to them. The older Stark tilted his head to his brother.

Ned could only manage to suspiciously avoid looking at him. Brandon glanced between them, and Y/N felt like she had done something wrong. She quickly said, “We were visiting the crypt to pay our respects.”

Brandon’s face fell, and he said little else. Y/N understood it would be time for breakfast soon, and the morning sun had long broken over the tall stone walls. The three of them walked back to the keep together, Brandon pointedly putting himself between Y/N and Ned.

#ned stark x reader #game of thrones x reader #got x reader #salt & snow #libra fics

[pendragonsandbuckleys]

Reclaiming that broken youth.

Summary: Michael had made it his mission to relive a small piece of the past with Alex. First he tried with the rings, two chunky black and silver things that he’d claimed had been left at the junkyard during his one of his shifts. Alex had simply joked that they weren’t his style anymore and left it at that.

The eyeliner had been a much harder sell and still Alex had refused.

And now, as he was ambling his way up the driveway, he was starting to think that maybe his third attempt would not be so lucky.

-

aka. Michael convinces Alex to let him dye his hair.

Word Count: 4,949

[Also on AO3] 

Was it embarrassing the number of excuses he’d found to come and see Alex? Yes.

Was he going to stop anytime soon? Not likely.

Nostalgia had been rearing its ugly head again leaving him craving a time long since passed and he’d been coming up with whatever reason he could to justify seeing Alex. Going to his house, or the Project Shepard bunker, or the Crashdown where he just happened to bump into him. 

The photo of the two of them had been moved from the cardboard box to the desk along with the few other pictures he treasured of Max and Isobel - he couldn’t make it too obvious after all. But seeing the two of them together like that often made him miss what they used to have. Things were so much simpler back then, until they weren’t.

The problem with nostalgia though was that the feelings weren’t real. They were an echo of what used to be that tended to leave an uncomfortable emptiness the longer you thought about it.

That time had passed and there was no getting it back. Unless?

Surely they didn’t need to be seventeen again to get that feeling back. That soft, carefree feeling that used to settle on their skin as they kissed in the desert.

That’s why he had made it his mission to relive a small piece of the past with Alex. First he tried with the rings, two chunky black and silver things that he’d claimed had been left at the junkyard during one of his shifts. Alex had simply joked that they weren’t his style anymore and left it at that.

The eyeliner had been a much harder sell and still Alex had refused.

And now, as he was ambling his way up the driveway, he was starting to think that maybe his third attempt would not be so lucky.

Three quick taps on the wood brought Alex to the door and he was so focused on the sight of him that Michael barely noticed the smile it brought to his own face. He was in full casual wear, t-shirt, jogging bottoms, matching bed hair sticking up in a perfect mess.

“Hey.” Alex welcomed him with a bright smile. If he was at all surprised to see Michael on his doorstep on an early Saturday morning with absolutely no warning, he hid it very well. His eyes darted over to see where the truck had been parked comfortably on the driveway, before flitting back to Michael.

“I thought we could have some fun.” Michael spoke with a smirk, forgoing any formal greeting, eyes already glistening with mischief. And oh how differently that sentence would have been taken when they were seventeen.

Alex was about to step aside without hesitation when he noticed the box held gently in Michael’s grip. He eyed it warily, already sensing the reasoning for the visit. “What is that?”

“Fun!”

“Um no, I believe that’s called hair dye.”

“Just hear me out.” Michael grinned as he confidently side-stepped his way through the doorway and into the house. “We haven’t hung out properly in a while and we both have the day off…”

Alex shook his head as he pushed the door closed behind him and followed Michael towards the living room. He never would have denied Michael entry, but there was something about him making himself at home that gave Alex a warm feeling in his chest. “See, you keep saying we but I don’t see a box of dye for your hair anywhere.”

“Yeah, well I never had an emo phase, did I?”

“The important word there being phase.” Alex crossed his arms against his chest as he peered down at Michael’s hands again. It was a white box with a bunch of writing on it, but the guy on the front was very clearly modelling the black dye inside. “You know I never actually used to dye my hair back then, right?”

Michael shrugged and waved his hand in the air as if to say whatever, we’re doing it anyway and handed the box over for Alex to get a better look. “You vetoed my other options so I’m stepping up my game.”

Alex watched him closely, noting how he squirmed slightly under his gaze. At first, when Michael had started dropping by a few weeks ago, always at odd hours, always unannounced, Alex had been worried. The ‘hanging out’ excuse could easily have been a guise, an easy escape from any problems he was avoiding and Alex didn’t know how long was best to let Michael hide from whatever was going on.

But seeing him now, wide eyes filled with an innocent sort of playfulness, it looked like Michael really did just want to spend time with him. Even if he did have the most random idea for a pass time. “Why are you so desperate for me to dress all emo again?”

“For…fun?”

Alex chewed his bottom lip to hide the small smile threatening to emerge. “I’m only off work for a week, you know.”

“That’s why it’s temporary.” Michael turned the box around in Alex’s hand and tapped at the words printed clearly on the back. “Three washes and it’s gone.”

“You’ve got an answer for everything, haven’t you?”

-

Michael wasted no time in getting them set up. He grabbed a spare plastic bowl from the kitchen cupboard, an old towel that Alex didn’t care about dirtying and set Alex’s shower stool in front of the large bathroom mirror. 

He should have been embarrassed by how excited he was getting, but he was far too busy being filled with said excitement to care. Against all odds, Alex had actually agreed to do this with very little persuasion required and there was no way he was letting him change his mind.

Alex didn’t interrupt as Michael rummaged his way around the house, finding what he needed and he certainly didn’t show his bemusement at how Michael seemed to know exactly where everything was. And once everything was ready, he took his place in the designated seat, strangely nervous at the thought of Michael dyeing his hair.

Though maybe it wasn’t nerves. He certainly had butterflies, though it could be from the thought of engaging in this teenage sleepover-esque activity. For the boy he liked to come over to his house and willingly run his fingers through his hair for the next hour? Seventeen year old Alex would have done anything for this.

“Right, tell me what to do.” Michael said as he pulled the instructions from the box and handed them to Alex before emptying the rest of the contents next to the sink. He’d probably end up doing it his own way, but he just wanted to give Alex an excuse to stop staring at him as he worked.

As Alex unravelled the instructions a small packet of gloves fell out onto his lap. They didn’t look the sturdiest but it was better than nothing. “There’s the gloves so make sure you wear them,” he said as he placed them next to the bowl.

He gave a quick skim read of the words to get a general idea of what do. There was a lot of writing and he doubted Michael would be patient for long enough to get through it all. “Oh okay, this sounds pretty easy, literally just brush it evenly through my hair.”

Michael nodded distractedly as he carefully fiddled with the lid of the tube. The room wasn’t exactly big and he’d already elbowed a wall with one arm and knocked the empty bowl to the floor with the other. Tripping over the towel had been an added bonus that Alex had enjoyed far too much. He had no idea where this clumsiness had suddenly come from, but now he was being extra careful with everything.

“Put it in gently. We don’t want it going everywhere.” Alex instructed him as he squeezed the dye into the bowl. The coal-black cream squelched as it left the tube and a small drop splattered onto the white tile wall which Michael hastily wiped with the back of his hand. It smeared across the wall at first until he managed to clean it all off.

With everything set up, he clamped Alex’s towel covered shoulders and beamed at him through the mirror’s reflection. “You ready?”

“Go for it.” Alex rolled his eyes at the enthusiasm radiating off Michael. Yep, he definitely felt like a teenager right now.

Michael started out slow. The dye was cool against his fingers as he scooped a blob into his palm. He knew Alex would be able to wash it out almost instantly if it ended up looking terrible, but still, he didn’t want to get it wrong.

He took a breath before reaching for Alex’s hair. Only now did it click just how intimate this activity was for two people who had barely done more than stand a few feet away from each other recently. He thought it would be a bit of fun, getting Alex to dress up in his old high school persona that they both used to love. But now, with the dye in his hand, he realised that meant running his fingers through Alex’s hair. An action that he used to love whenever they kissed. The smooth strands under his fingertips, pulling him closer when he could no longer control his urges.

But they were friends now. And friends dyed each other’s hair, right? Friends helped each other put on makeup or decided outfits if one was going on a date, so doing each other’s hair was no different from all of that.

The strands of hair slid across his palm easily, turning from dark brown to black with a single touch. It felt just as soft as it did ten years ago.

The room was silent as he worked save for Michael’s movements and the occasional hmm from Alex. Michael wasn’t sure if Alex realised that he was making the little noises but he was just glad he was finding it relaxing. The casual glances over Alex’s head and into the mirror showed that his eyes were closed, his lips curled into a small smile.

Michael was surprised by how much he was enjoying it himself. He was used to working with his hands all day, but this was different. Working on the cars was methodical, a heavy-handed muscle memory from years of experience, but this? This was gentle, personal.

It took about as long as would be expected to cover hair of Alex’s length and as Michael moved to the front so he could finish up the fringe, Alex opened his eyes to watch him work, “So really, what’s with all the emo stuff?”

Michael avoided the eye contact as he concentrated on turning the remaining brown into black. How could he explain that he was feeling nostalgic without it sounding sappy?

“It’s probably just some misguided attempt at reclaiming my youth.” He answered as he scooped more dye onto his fingers.

“Okay, but it seems more like we’re reclaiming my youth.”

“Yeah, well, this part of your youth was the best part of mine.” Michael replied without thinking, feeling the heat instantly rise up his cheeks at the honest answer.

The mortification was written so clear on his face that Alex forced himself to hold back a chuckle. They were still working on getting that openness back to their friendship, so for it to come out so easily every now and then was a nice step in the right direction.

“I actually always wanted to dye my hair back then.” Alex spoke up, steering into a new conversation to save Michael’s embarrassment. “It seemed like the next logical step for my fashion choice.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Getting the eyeliner passed dad was enough of a challenge and even then it was something I could take off pretty instantly if need be. I think the dye would have been too much of a risk.”

Michael felt a pang of sympathy for all Alex had to endure back then, he’d seen it firsthand several times all the way up until Jesse Manes’ death after all. But no. They weren’t going to dwell on that today. If they were reclaiming their youth then all unwanted memories were unwelcome and henceforth banned from all thoughts. 

He nudged Alex’s shoulder playfully as he moved back to the bowl. “And you didn’t have an expert hairdresser to do it for you.”

“That too.” Alex laughed, rolling his eyes as he heard the sound of yet another blob of dye dropping to the floor, “Though I didn’t expect my hairdresser to get it everywhere but my hair.”

Michael gritted his teeth with a frown as he looked down at the small black splatter, a glaringly obvious stain against the white. “Hey, that’s only the third time.”

He ran his hands through Alex’s hair for the last time, being careful to check that every strand was covered. The dye had already started doing its job beautifully and emo Alex was very much taking hold.

It was as he was stepping back to inspect his finished work did he notice just how much of a mess he’d actually made, sheepishly pointing out to Alex that there was some on the edge of the sink, a few blobs in the shower and it was on the wall in about four different places.

“How the hell did it get there, I didn’t even go near that wall.” Michael exclaimed, utterly confounded at the mess he’d managed to create. Had he been in his own head so much that his hands had taken on a life of their own? 

“It’s fine,” Alex laughed fondly as he nudged the bin closer with his foot. “Just put the gloves in there before you touch anything else.”

“…wait, there were gloves?”

Alex turned around this time to look at Michael properly. He hadn’t noticed the lack of gloves on the hands in his hair, but looking at them now he could see they were completely covered not by the plastic, but by a creamy black gunk. Michael had a mischievous look on his face, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek as he tried not to snigger and Alex could feel himself doing the same. “What is the first thing I said to you?”

“Put it in gently?”

They couldn’t hold back their laughter. Scrubbing his hands removed all but the faint grey tint now dyed into his skin, but Michael didn’t care. Maybe it was all the dye fumes, but it felt like he was on a weird kind of high. Here they were, two boys giggling away like they’d been caught making out in the supply closet at school and in that moment everything felt right with the world.

Leaning back against the sink Michael crossed his arms as he admired Alex’s hair from the front. Even slicked back against his head it was looking good but they still had twenty minutes to fill before it was ready. “So, what should we do while we wait?”

Alex slyly leant over to the bowl, still filled a quarter of the way with leftover dye and waggled his eyebrows impishly at the horrified look Michael was now giving him. “Come on Guerin, it washes out.”

It really was quite a small bathroom with nowhere to run so as Alex stood up to get closer, Michael backed away so much he practically fell into the shower. The laughter returned as he tried to hide as much of his hair as he could with his arms. “Nope. These curls are sacred and there’s no way you’re turning them black. The most you’d ever get on me is the eyeliner.”

Alex gasped gleefully, eyes wide with excitement as he watched it dawn on Michael what he’d just said. He opened the bathroom cabinet and there, at the back of the bottom shelf, was Michael’s latest gift to him. Still unused, he’d only kept it for sentimental reasons, a fond reminder of his past self, but now Michael had no excuse.

“Take a seat.” Alex batted his eyelids innocently as he gestured to the stool he had vacated and Michael had no choice but to comply. He always found it hard to deny Alex anything, but right now, he’d do anything to keep that joy in his eyes.

Alex hadn’t used eyeliner in over ten years. At age seventeen it had taken him weeks to perfect the art without smudging it or poking himself in the eye and when he first joined the military he often missed the soothing action of it. But now, a decade on, he still held the pencil with the hands of someone who would never forget how to use it.

Michael looked up at him expectantly from the seat, a slight tingling rushing through him as Alex held his chin to tilt it upwards. He’d never worn any kind of makeup before, never really had the urge to, but there was always a first time for everything.

There was something quite sexy about Alex knowing exactly what to do, telling him when to look up, when to blink, pressing the pencil down just enough to leave the colour on his skin, but not too soft that it tickled. His hands were very gentle as they held Michael’s face and he felt his mind wandering as he let Alex work.

“Guerin, stay still or it’s going in your eye.” Alex admonished lightly, tongue poking out as he concentrated. He was surprised by how steady his hand was being and he didn’t want to mess it up now.

He gave a few more strokes before stepping away, tapping the pencil against his chin as he admired his work with a grin. An eyeliner-wearing Michael was never a look he’d imagined before, but it sure was a look he was appreciating. It was a subtle change, but one that made Alex want to dress him in a leather jacket and start a rock band with him. “All done.”

Mourning the loss of Alex’s touch, Michael sighed as he got to his feet, knees popping as he stood up and leaned in close to the mirror.

He looked…different. Not a bad different, maybe even a good different. It made his eyes seem brighter and his lashes look darker and the longer he looked in the mirror the wider he could see Alex’s smile getting.

“Alright, I’ll give you this one. It doesn’t look too bad.”

“Right!” Alex was practically giddy as he stepped closer to look at Michael’s eyes through the mirror. Their hands brushed lightly as they both leaned against the sink. “I didn’t think it would look this good, but now I’m starting to wish you’d had this look in high school.”

Michael turned to face him then, bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes roamed over Alex’s face. Maybe this whole nostalgia thing wasn’t so bad when you had someone to share it with.

He grabbed the eyeliner from Alex’s hand before he could be stopped and held it above his head with an eager grin as if Alex couldn’t reach it easily. “Your turn.”

-

Michael had been banished to the sofa while Alex washed out the dye. He’d willingly volunteered to help but Alex wanted the finished look to be a surprise. Not that he could blame him. If it looked terrible at least it would give Alex the chance to kick Michael out of the house before he even saw it.

Not that that would actually happen, Michael had done an excellent job and the finished article would prove just that, thank you very much.

The muffled noise of the shower turning on and off filtered through the walls as he peered around the room. He’d seen the inside of Alex’s house enough times now to know the layout but not enough to know its contents. 

The colourful spines of the neat pile of books stood out against the brown of the table they were sitting on. Their titles were too small to read from across the room but it made Michael wonder what kind of books Alex read now. He’d never thought to ask in all the time he’d been back in Roswell. Did he still read fantasy books like the ones Michael used to see him get lost in for hours at a time? Or were they non-fiction, filled with facts about a world that Alex had always longed to explore.

There were a few plants dotted around the room which Michael was nerdy enough to know the names of. They weren’t the type that required much watering though Michael could almost picture a green-thumbed Alex taking care to provide them what they needed.

But taking up most of the space was a whole range of musical items. A turntable alongside a crowded box of records, because of course that’s how Alex liked to listen to his music. A pair of speakers on either of side of his keyboard, a thick black pair of headphones sitting atop the black and white keys. And guitars. So many guitars.

I mean come on, four of them in one room? Alex was practically begging him to pick one up.

Three of them were next to the keyboard, held neatly on their individual stands, but it was the guitar standing alone that caught his attention. It was leaning almost precariously against the wall, looking like it could slide to the floor at the smallest touch but he had a feeling it had been there for a while. It was the one Alex had tried to gift to him all those months ago, after all.

Before he could stop himself, he pushed off the sofa and edged towards the guitar. Its case had been unzipped just enough at the top to show the dark brown wood poking through and Michael didn’t hesitate to unzip it the rest of the way.

Plucking a few of the strings made Michael wonder if maybe Alex had played it recently. It seemed to be perfectly in tune. It had been a little while now since he’d held a guitar, let alone played one, but this one seemed to fit so naturally in his hands.

The faint whirring of the hair dryer could now be heard through the bedroom door and Michael couldn’t help himself. His fingers fell into place effortlessly and played a tune that he once played for Alex all those years ago. It wasn’t hard to remember, it was one of the only songs he actually knew by heart and the muscle memory of the notes hadn’t failed him yet.

As the strings vibrated under his fingertips, the rest of the world fell away, the soft melody filling the room. He’d missed this, the calm that would wash over him whenever he used to play and for a brief moment as his fingers slipped between the C and G chords he wondered why he ever gave the guitar back.

“Suits you.” Alex’s quiet voice interrupted the notes and Michael almost dropped the guitar in his surprise. He hadn’t heard the hairdryer stop, hadn’t heard the door creaking open but the way Alex was smiling at him told him he had nothing to feel embarrassed about.

The smile wasn’t what he was focused on though.  

The inky black hair had turned out so much better than he’d ever imagined. The dark strands contrasted his lightly tanned skin so starkly and Michael could tell that he had taken a few extra minutes to style it a little.

His eyeliner was mismatched and uneven - one eye having been done badly by Michael before Alex, fearing the idea of getting poked in the eye again, had confiscated the pencil and finished the second eye perfectly by himself.

He looked like his innocent seventeen year old self. 

But also not. His features were matured enough to set the illusion off-kilter just slightly.

He looked incredible.

Michael wasn’t sure when his legs had made the decision to stand up, but here he was, two feet away from Alex, staring at him with his mouth half open. Alex took the silence the wrong way though as he gave a nervous laugh, feeling his cheeks redden.

He anxiously rubbed the back of his neck and the movement knocked Michael out of his daze. He slowly dragged his eyes away from Alex’s hair and down to his lips, watching them form the words as he spoke. “It looks terrible, doesn’t it?”

Had Alex even looked in the mirror? Had he not seen what Michael was seeing right now? 

And it’s not even like the hair and makeup changed him that much. He’s looked beautiful the entire time Michael has known him, he just looked beautiful with his old style right this second rather than his new one. 

Maybe Michael just always thought Alex looked most comfortable in his seventeen-year-old style, it was a look he had precisely crafted for himself to best represent the person he was. The black jumpers with bold patterns, the makeup, the piercings. It was the look of a rebellious kid who didn’t want to fit in.

His current style was created through circumstance, through being forced to take on a duty that he never chose but has now made his own. And his style was his own now too, the muted colours much more reserved, but still his choice.

But now standing before him was a beautiful combination of both of those people and oh dear, he’s never really stopped thinking about Alex this way, has he? And more important, how long has he been staring at him without saying a single word?

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his throat had gone strangely dry.

“No.” He whispered in reply as he stepped closer, his feet making their own decisions again and he suddenly couldn’t stop himself. In that moment he couldn’t remember why he had been holding back for all of these months when the person he wanted most in the world was standing right in front of him.

He kissed him before he could stop himself, hands gently grabbing Alex’s face, feeling soft lips against his own. It felt like he was seventeen again, kissing for the first time in the darkened rooms of the UFO Emporium but as his hands crept up into Alex’s hair the sound of a distant car horn through the open kitchen window broke through his dream-filled haze and he realised what he had just done.

“Oh god, I’m sorry.” Michael stuttered out as he pulled away with a gasp, instantly embarrassed at how impulsive he had been. He bit his bottom lip as his eyes stayed trained on Alex’s chest, not daring to lift them any higher. In one tiny moment of weakness he had broken their agreement and he wanted to kick himself for how stupid that had been.

It had been decided that they would just be friends. No drama, no fighting and definitely no sex. The relationship between them would be strictly supportive and platonic and as much as Michael had longed for them to be something, he had agreed for the sake of keeping any kind of connection with Alex. And turns out, he couldn’t even give him that.

If he had looked up he would have seen the surprise on Alex’s face. Surprise that Michael had kissed him - sure - but more the surprise that Michael had pulled away so abruptly. And far too soon for that matter.

Before Alex could talk himself out of it, he took Michael’s face in his hands and kissed him right back. His heart fluttered as Michael instantly pulled him closer, softer this time, as if they both knew in that moment that there was no rush.

Michael’s entire body tingled, heat filling his chest as Alex lips parted with a tiny breath. He was hardly aware of what his own hands were doing, so desperate to never let go, his knees almost giving out as the rest of the world fell away, leaving them in their intimate, almost forbidden, moment.

As his fingers ran through the soft strands of the freshly dyed hair, Michael was reminded of every other time they had performed this same action, how natural this felt, how safe, like coming home.

“I would have let you dye my hair weeks ago if I’d known that’s all it would take.” Alex sighed as they parted, still only inches from Michael’s face, not daring to move any further lest the spell be broken. He hadn’t seen the day going this way when Michael had turned up on his doorstep with his mischievous grin but he wasn’t about to complain.

Michael gave a small huff of laughter at the unexpected comment, his hands itching to pull Alex closer. He had been wanting to do that for a long time, but he’d been good. He’d stuck to their agreement and given Alex the space to move on, no matter how many times he’d wanted to rebuild that abandoned bridge between them. But it seems the long awaited move had now finally been made and he didn’t have to hold back anymore.  

Because here Alex was, black hair, dark eyeliner, standing in front of him with that nervous post-kiss smile that Michael had missed for far too long and now he never wanted to let this moment go.

It seems today had definitely been third time lucky.

Very lucky indeed.

Thank you for reading 💜✨

#roswell new mexico #alex manes fic #michael guerin fic #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #malex #my fic

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

Close Calls- Sirius Black x OC

Sirius Back x Gaia Devereaux

Description: Gaia saves Sirius from being pushed into the Veil during the Battle at the Ministry only to be knocked out later with a terrifying discovery. 

Word Count: 2k

“On my count,” Mad-Eye instructed, his hand on the doorknob to the Death Chamber in the Ministry of Magic building. The others nodded, clutching their wands. Gaia took a deep breath.. She had no idea exactly what led them to where they stood now, but she did understand that her godson was in trouble. And she’d rather die before letting him get hurt anymore. Sirius, who was behind her, agreed with Mad-Eye. His hand found hers and gave it three squeezes. She glanced back at him and gave him a small smile before reciprocating the gesture. Mad-Eye counted down from three before opening the door. From there all of the order ran out and began dueling the Death Eaters surrounding the children.

Gaia stood by Tonks, her arm raised firmly at Antonin Dolohov. Lucius Malfoy turned and raised his wand at her, but Tonks sent a Stunning Spell directly at him. Before Gaia could incapacitate Dolohov however, he sent an Impediment Jinx her way. She attempted to counter the jinx, but she wasn’t quick enough and it still sent her flying backwards, hitting the wall behind her roughly. Falling to the floor with a groan, she attempted to sit up, but Dolohov had made it over to her and kicked her in the gut, telling her to stay down. She gasped for air and attempted to reach for her wand but Dolohov’s foot stepped on her wrist. It felt as if her arm was moments from breaking when the pressure was suddenly relieved by someone shoving him off of her.

“Nice try Antonin, but you’ll have to do better,” Sirius said as Dolohov pushed himself to stand. Mad-Eye, who had been nearby, helped her up and handed her her wand. Once making sure she was okay, he ran off to help Kingsley against Goyle Sr. and Rudolphus Lestrange. Sirius and Dolohov continued to duel and just as Dolohov began to chant the Cruciatus Curse, Gaia raised her wand with hard eyes. 

“Petrificus Totalus!” She yelled, pointing her wand at Dolohov. The man went rigid immediately and fell to the ground with a grunt. 

“That was beautiful, Butterfly, good job!” Sirius exclaimed, kissing the side of her head as he passed her, running towards Bellatrix to duel her. Giving one last nod to him, Gaia ran towards Crabbe Sr. using the Leg-Locker Curse. The two engaged in a duel that ended with Crabbe Sr. hanging upside down in the air by one leg via Levicorpus spell. His wand slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor with a clatter. Crabbe Sr. could only watch in horror as Gaia pointed her wand at his.

“Bombarda Reducio,” she chanted. The wand went up in a miniscule explosion with fragments of wood flying everywhere. 

“NO! YOU CRAZY BITCH!” Crabbe Sr. yelled with a red face. Gaia pointed her wand at him with a sudden dangerous look in her eyes.

“Don’t make me use it on you as well,” she threatened severely. The man covered his face as soon as her wand raised, and he begged for her mercy. She shook her head and her arm dropped to her side.

“Bloody coward,” she scoffed, running off to help the others and leaving the older man dangling in the air. The room suddenly became silent, and Gaia faced Lucius, who now held the prophecy in front of Harry. Her eyes widened at the sight. She didn’t care that Malfoy now possessed the prophecy, she now worried for the safety of her Godson. She watched as Sirius walked up to Malfoy with a calm look. Lucius faced him after hearing his footsteps.

“Get away from my godson,” Sirius demanded. Before anyone could do anything, Sirius reeled back and punched Lucius in the face. Gaia held back her laughter as she watched Lucius fall and the prophecy shatter right in front of him.

Lucius had no time to grieve before the door that the Order had come through opened yet again. Gaia’s mouth dropped open as Albus Dumbledore stepped through the door, his wand aloft and utter fury written plainly on his face. Dumbledore charged right into the middle of the fray, just as Goyle Sr. was the first to realize he was there. It didn’t take long for the others to notice as well. There was a roar of shock, and the Death Eaters instantly attempted to flee out of fear of duelling him. One Death Eater fled up the side of the chamber in such terror, but Dumbledore quickly intercepted him with a simple blocking spell. 

The only one that didn’t flee was Bellatrix, who engaged in another duel against Sirius. They began heavily duelling below next to the chamber archway, with Sirius easily ducking and blocking her spells, all the while taunting her failure to hit him with them. “Is that the best you’ve got Bella? Getting rusty, are we?” He mocked. At that precise moment, Bellatrix fired another spell at Sirius. 

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” She yelled, making a bright white light shoot out of her wand in Sirius’s direction. Without thinking, Gaia raised her wand to Sirius. 

“FLIPENDO!” She screamed. Since Gaia’s incantation was quicker, her spell hit him first. He was knocked to the side as the white beam from Bellatrix’s wand hit the Veil behind him. The Veil didn’t seem to take too kindly to the attack because it sent a force that knocked Bellatrix, Gaia and Sirius against the wall across from it. 

Sirius had been knocked unconscious, but Bellatrix and Gaia were mostly fine. This had been the second time she had hit a wall so roughly, specifically her head, so she was a bit disoriented. She had barely sat up as Bellatrix ran past her in an attempt to escape. Dumbledore immediately turned around and fired a spell at her, but she blocked it. She finally managed to shakily stand and run after the crazed witch.

Harry seemed to be one step ahead of her because she found herself also chasing him as he heavily pursued Bellatrix out of the Department of Mysteries and up to the Ministry's Main Atrium. She then turned to face them, forcing the two to take cover behind the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Filled with hatred at her child-like taunting, Harry raised his wand and hit her with the Cruciatus Curse. 

“Harry!” Gaia exclaimed, staring at the boy in shock. Though the curse knocked Bellatrix off balance, he only caused her a brief moment of pain. However, he seemed unable to summon enough malice to make the Unforgivable Curse successful, much to Gaia’s relief. 

“How interesting Harry,” Bellatrix said, seemingly impressed. “But to rightly perform an Unforgivable Curse, one needs to mean them. If you really want to cause pain and suffering, don’t just act solely in anger. Here, I’ll teach you.” A malicious smile appeared on her face as she attempted to use the same curse on him which blew the head off the statue of the wizard as he and Gaia ducked the curse. They covered each other’s heads, protecting each other from the debris. Harry stood once again and he and Bellatrix began trying to hit each other with Stunning Spells. After dodging another blast from Harry, Bellatrix glared at him.

“Just surrender the prophecy Harry Potter! You cannot win against me, I’m the Dark Lord’s most powerful and loyal servant, he taught me the Dark Arts himself!” Gaia looked at Harry confused. Had she not seen Lucius drop the prophecy? Harry shook his head, realizing he had the upper hand.

“You may know the Dark Arts, but one thing you’ll never know is the prophecy,” he taunted. “The prophecy was destroyed, Lucius Malfoy dropped it!” Right after he said that, he suddenly grabbed his forehead as an agonized yelp escaped his mouth. Bellatrix’s eyes widened.

“No! You’re lying, Potter!” She exclaimed, sounding horrified. Once she realized he wasn’t lying, she fell to her knees and hysterically began begging to the Dark Lord for forgiveness. 

“Don’t waste your breath, Bellatrix. He can’t hear you,” Harry spoke. 

“On the contrary,” a cold and sinister voice cut in. Bellatrix turned quickly and the three of them watched a snake-faced and hooded figure step out of the shadows. Voldemort. Gaia was terrified, but she wouldn’t show it. 

“Harry, get behind me,” she said firmly, stepping in front of him without taking her eyes off of Voldemort. The Dark Lord ignored Bellatrix's pleas for forgiveness as he stepped closer to Gaia and Harry, not even listening when she informed him that Dumbledore was in attendance at the Ministry.

“Oh, how brave, Gaia Devereaux. I bet you must feel proud of yourself, to willingly put yourself in danger to protect Harry Potter.” Her skin crawled when he said her name. Nevertheless she stood straighter and clenched her jaw. 

“Braver than attempting to kill a child more than a decade after he defeated you,” she said defiantly. Voldemort’s snake-like eyes narrowed and he aimed his wand at her. 

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” He shouted, his voice echoing in the walls sinisterly. The white beam shot out of his wand at the same time Gaia raised hers.

“Protego-” The force of the spell hit her before she could say Dou, Horribilis, Totalum or Maxima. Since the charm was okay to protect her on its own (though it was not as powerful), she managed to deflect the Killing Curse. In the process however, the force knocked her back hard enough to fall back into Harry before passing out. 

When she first woke up, Gaia had no idea where she was. She was in a Victorian style bedroom with the curtains and window open. It was dark outside and she could faintly hear crickets chirping. It didn’t take her long to figure out where she was, 12 Grimmauld Place. She’d been there plenty of times once Sirius had escaped. 

Her eyes widened as the previous events ran through her head. Harry. Where was Harry!? Oh Merlin, she’d left him to Voldemort’s wrath at the Ministry alone! She uncovered herself and sprinted downstairs, having to save herself from tripping several times. As she reached the bottom of the stairs she collided with someone. It was hard enough to almost knock both of them down if the other person hadn’t caught them. 

“Wingsong, I was just coming to check on you,” Remus said calmly, one of his arms still around her. She gave him a small smile but didn’t take the time to respond before moving past him and rushing into the dining room, where she heard multiple people talking. She sighed in relief when she locked eyes with Harry.

“Oh Harry I’m so glad you’re okay,” she mumbled, pulling the boy into a tight hug. Harry laughed as he returned the hug.

“I’m fine Gaia, really,” he said as he pulled away. She ruffled his hair before facing Sirius, who Harry had been talking to before she walked in. 

“And you, Sirius,” she spoke, pulling into a hug as well. “Are never going to scare me like that again, understand?” She instructed softly but firmly. 

“Of course, Butterfly. As long as you promise the same,” he gave her a pointed look. The two laughed and Sirius placed a kiss on her forehead. 

“Guess we both had some close calls last night, ay?” He teased her. Gaia playfully rolled her eyes as Molly walked in holding dinner. The group sat down as the dish got passed around. Sirius, who was sitting to the right of Gaia, tapped her left shoulder from behind. When she faced away he stole her bread roll, and when she turned to face him he already had half of it stuffed into his mouth. She smacked his arm with an exaggerated huff.

“Pig,” she muttered.

“Mais tu m'aimes, mon papillon (But you love me, my Butterfly),” he responded through the roll. 

“Stop talking with your mouth full,” was all she said. He laughed and swallowed his food before pulling her closer to him. She couldn’t help but laugh as well and shake her head as she continued eating. 

“Sirius you need to eat up while you can then go straight to bed,” Remus instructed gently, confusing Gaia.

“Yeah,” Arthur added. “You’ve got a big day in the morning. Can’t have you be late now, can we?” Sirius beamed at his words and nodded. Gaia looked around the table. 

“Am I missing something?” She questioned, her gaze finally settling on Sirius. 

“Oh that’s right!” Molly exclaimed from beside her husband. “You were resting when we got the news.” Everyone seemed to remember that fact because they made different noises of agreement. 

“Well I’m awake now, so what is it?” Remus chuckled at her inquiry and set his fork down, clasping his hand together on the table and leaning towards her. 

“Sirius has an appointment at the Ministry of Magic tomorrow at 10:00. Now that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is confirmed to be back, it got them thinking about Sirius’s time in Azkaban. Several witnesses of the Ministry say they saw Peter Pettigrew fleeing the scene behind Lucius Malfoy, also confirming that he was indeed alive.” Gaia’s eyes widened at that, which made Remus grin. 

“With the evidence stacked up against them, the Ministry has ordered that Sirius is to be cleared of all charges and he be set free from Azkaban.” The entire table cheered at that, Gaia being the loudest. Even though the rest of the table had already heard it before, it didn’t stop their excitement, especially Harry’s. Sirius laughed as Gaia threw her arms around him and hugged him so tight he thought that he was about to faint. 

“Oh that’s wonderful Sirius,” she exclaimed, pulling away from him. 

“I know,” the man replied eagerly. “I’ll finally get to leave the house a free man.” The table laughed at that as everyone went back to eating, a more than happier air filling the room as they did so.

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black x oc

[engie-ivy]

Almost World Animal Day, so here's a short Wolfstar dog-related fic!

Nothing but fluff and humour.

Summary:

Remus is sitting outside alone, and Lily comes to talk to him, thinking he might be upset because of his secret feelings for Sirius Black, that only Lily knows about. However, Remus is acting very weird. He really, really seems to not want to talk about it, and even seems embarrassed, while he and Lily have talked about it plenty of times. And what’s going on with that strange-acting, huge black dog, that allegedly just wandered up to Remus?

Not in front of the dog!

Remus clenches his fist around his drink, his knuckles turning white. He takes a sip from his Pumpkin Juice, but the sweet taste does nothing to counter the bitter taste in his mouth.

Gryffindor just defeated Slytherin in a trilling Quidditch match. Team captain James Potter had created a strong team, and was in great shape himself, flying perfectly in sync with his fellow Chaser Sirius Black. Really, there was something captivating about watching those two work together. The ecstatic Gryffindors had gone back to their tower singing and cheering, and were now having drinks, playing music, chatting and laughing in the common room. It was supposed to be a happy occasion, and it probably was, for everyone but Remus.

Remus glares at the other side of the room, where Sirius is standing with Benjy Fenwick, who had wanted to ‘congratulate Black on his great game’. And sure, Sirius had played a great game, and he deserves all the praise he can get, but surely, you don’t need over half an hour to say ‘Oi, Black, great game’. And also, the noise level in the room really isn’t so high that it requires Fenwick to lean in so close, with his lips almost touching Sirius’s ear, for Godric’s sake. And the hand Fenwick has placed on Sirius’s shoulder just seems unnecessary, and his other hand, resting on Sirius’s lower back, is definitely unnecessary, and has absolutely no business slowly sliding down like that!

But what’s even worse than Fenwick’s complete disregard for Sirius’s personal space, is that Sirius seems not to mind at all. And why would he? Sirius is a young, single, incredibly handsome guy, who just played the Quidditch match of his life. Why shouldn’t he be talking and laughing at a party, while boys, who are maybe kind of cute if you like the type, flirt with him?

Remus quickly adverts his eyes when Sirius’s gaze wanders over to him. What Sirius doesn’t deserve is to have this moment, his moment, spoilt by Remus acting all sulky because he was dumb enough to fall in love with a guy miles out of his league, whom he’s lucky to be even friends with. As Sirius’s trademark barking laugh echoes through the common room, because apparently Fenwick is suddenly oh so very funny, Remus has had enough. He smashes his glass down, causing Peter to look up, startled.

“I need some air,” Remus says, and before Peter can even respond, he turns around and heads towards the portrait hole. He vaguely notices Lily giving him a concerned look, before he climbs outside and is free from the crowd.

Remus ends up sitting outside on the grass underneath a tree, which is still illuminated by the last rays of sunlight, so it’s not awfully chilly yet. He tries to put all thought from his mind, but he barely has time to do that before he hears a voice.

“Oi, Moony!”

Remus looks up, although he doesn’t actually have to look to know who that voice belongs to. He sees Sirius making his way over across the field, giving Remus plenty of opportunity to stare while he approaches. Even ploughing through the grass in his dishevelled robes with his hair blowing everywhere, he still looks like a bloody model during a photoshoot.

When Sirius arrives to where Remus is sitting, he immediately flops down next to him on the grass and brushes his long, dark hair back.

“Alright, Moony? You were suddenly gone without saying anything.”

It didn’t seem like Sirius would even notice his absence, but right as Remus thinks it, he realises that it’s not true. Apparently, Sirius did immediately notice his absence, as he immediately came after him. Remus feels a surge of satisfaction as he thinks of Benjy Fenwick, who now has to find somewhere else to put his hands.

Remus manages a small smile. “You know me. I sometimes just have to get away from the crowd.”

Sirius bumps his shoulder against Remus’s. “You could’ve said something! I would’ve gone with you.”

“It’s basically your party! With you being the reason we won that match in the first place. Well, you and Prongs. You should be there enjoying the celebration, not sit out here in the damp grass with me.”

“Our party or not, Prongs and I want our best mate to enjoy himself as well!”

“I’m fine, Padfoot,” Remus reassures him. “Really, just go. You... You looked like you were really having fun.”

Sirius’s grey eyes suddenly become soft as he looks at Remus, and Remus feels like there’s a whole hoard of butterflies fluttering around in his stomach.

“But you have that look on your face,” Sirius says. “I hate seeing that look on your face and I hate leaving you alone with that look on your face.”

Remus feels conflicted. He still feels guilty making Sirius sit here outside, while he could be doing so much more fun things. On the other hand, he can’t deny he feels secretly pleased Sirius is here with him, where Fenwick can’t place his hands where they don’t belong.

Sirius must see the conflict play out on his face, as he suddenly envelops Remus in a tight hug. In Sirius’s arms, caring and protective around him, Remus’s last hope of ever getting over his feelings flies out the door. He just has to accept that he’ll forever be hopelessly pining after Sirius, because he just has to go and be so bloody great.

When Sirius lets him go he has a grin on his face. “Maybe I should cheer you up.”

“I don’t need-” But before Remus can finish his sentence, Sirius shifts smoothly into his dog form, which still leaves Remus in awe, no matter how many times he sees it.

The dog dashes away and starts jumping, running and rolling through piles of leaves, chasing the ones that scatter through the air.

“You’re being ridiculous!” Remus shouts, but he can’t help the corners of his mouth curling upwards, and when the dog starts spinning around chasing his own tail, he lets out an actual laugh.

“Is that a dog?”

The dog freezes mid-spin and Remus whirls his head around to see Lily Evans standing a few feet away.

“Eh... I... Yeah. Yeah, it is,” Remus stammers. “He just... wandered over here, probably from someone in Hogsmeade.”

“What a big boy!” Lily walks over to the dog and starts scratching him behind his ears. “And he’s so handsome! Yes you are, aren’t you? Yes you are! You’re a handsome big boy!”

The dog, however, seems to have forgotten how to dog. He just stares at Lily with a stunned expression. Remus unceremoniously shoves the dog with his foot. The dog blinks at him, and then shakes himself out of his surprised state. He starts wagging his tail, panting and jumping up and down.

Lily chuckles and sits down next to Remus. “I came to see how you’re doing.”

Remus suddenly gets a dreadful feeling in his stomach. While James is still in the hopeless pining-phase (but really, who’s Remus to judge on that?), Remus is actually good friends with Lily. Which means Lily knows things about Remus. Many things. Too many things. Things his other friends don’t know, and aren’t suppose to ever know. Remus honestly trusts Lily with his life, but right now, he really wishes he never told her anything at all.

“I’m fine,” Remus says. “Absolutely fine. Just getting some fresh air. Lovely day today, is it not?”

“Come on, Remus,” Lily says. “You know you can be honest with me. I saw Black with Fenwick.”

The dog stops panting, and tilts his head to the side.

“Yes, they looked like they were having fun.” Remus’s voice sounds almost manic. “Good for them, right? I mean, why shouldn’t they have fun? I want them to have fun. I want them to have so much fun. Not that I care, of course. Why should I care if they’re having fun? It has absolutely nothing to do with me, and it’s absolutely completely unrelated to me sitting outside.”

In his panicked state, Remus picks up a stick and throws it away. “Fetch!” He shouts desperately at the dog.

If the dog had been physically capable of raising one eyebrow, that’s what he would’ve been doing right now. He gives Remus a look that clearly says ‘if you think I’m going to miss the rest of this conversation to retrieve a dirty piece of wood, you’re sorely mistaken’.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Rem,” Lily says. “It’s completely understandable to be upset when you see the guy you’re mad about flirt with someone else.”

Remus groans. “Lily, can we please not talk about this now?”

“Alright, alright.” Lily throws up her hands in defeat. “Just so you know, I heard there’s nothing going on between them. And Fenwick was flirting with him more than he was flirting with Fenwick, if that makes you feel any better.”

Normally it would, but staring at his knees while feeling the dog’s eyes burning on him, Remus just wants the earth to swallow him up whole.

“Even if Sirius was flirting with him, he has every right to do so!” Remus exclaims. “It’s none of my business. He doesn’t owe me anything.” Remus looks up at the dog. “I’d never want to jeopardize our friendship.”

The dog looks back at him with an unreadable expression. Or maybe that’s just Remus’s lack of experience in reading complex emotions on dogs’ faces.

Lily lets out a disbelieving laugh. “That’s a whole different outlook than last time we talked, when you were practically doodling Mr. Remus Black on your parchment! You wouldn’t stop talking about how clever and caring he is, honestly making me wonder if we were talking about the same person. And you were telling me you almost fainted when he came out of the bathroom wearing just a towel, and how you couldn’t focus on anything during Herbology, because you were standing behind Black and couldn’t stop staring at his-”

“Lily!” Remus shouts, hiding his face in his hands.

Lily sighs. “Look Remus, if he’s really so caring, he’s not going to let this ruin your friendship. I admit that I have no idea how he’ll react, but maybe you should just tell him. Then at least the cat is out of the bag!”

Remus huffs a laugh, as that really won’t be necessary anymore. This just proves that, when in the presence of a dog, all cats should be kept securely in their respective bags at all times.

“I’m sorry, Remus,” Lily says as Remus stays quiet. “You’re obviously not in the mood to talk. I didn’t mean to push you.”

“It’s okay,” Remus manages to say, as it really isn’t her fault.

Lily presses a kiss against his cheek. “And let me tell you, you’re smart, witty and kind, and a much better catch than Benjy Fenwick, no offense to him.”

“Thanks, Lils.” Remus gives her a weak smile.

Lily gets up on her feet, and makes her way back to the castle.

Remus peaks through his finger, to see the dog still sitting there. He’s relieved, really. He’d rather look at the dog with some indescribable expression than see the clear emotion of... what? Pity? Fear? Shock? Amusement? On Sirius’s actual face. Right now, Remus wishes he were the Animagus, so he could turn into an animal and never turn human again. Just start a life as an animal. Preferably a bird. Yes, Remus muses. He could live a happy life as a bird.

He’s rudely interrupted in making future plans about building nests and eating worms when the dog suddenly leaps up against him.

“Oef!” Remus falls back on the grass, his hands automatically grabbing the fur. The dog has his paws on Remus’s shoulders and while lying on top of Remus with his huge body.

Before Remus has a chance to process anything, there’s a shift, and suddenly a very human Sirius is lying on top of him with his very, very human body. Sirius is practically beaming at him. He may not be a dog anymore, but Remus can practically see him wagging his tail.

Remus can’t comprehend why, after hearing about his utterly embarrassing infatuation, Sirius would respond by lying on top of him. But Remus’s fingers, that were just moments ago pressing in soft, black fur, are suddenly resting low on Sirius’s hips, and Sirius’s hands have slid into his neck and his face is really, really close, so Remus’s brain capacity is rendered to zero and he’s in no state comprehend anything. He just lies there and blinks up at Sirius.

“So,” Sirius says. “I heard a rumour.”

“Did you now?” Remus mumbles weakly.

Sirius hums. “I did. I heard that this smart, witty and kind boy is really into me. Do you reckon that could be true?”

Remus swallow, his throat suddenly dry. “What if it was?”

“Well,” Sirius says. “Then I think I’d just have to kiss him.”

“Wha-” Remus eyes grow wide and he stares at Sirius in shock. “Why... why would you do that?”

“Because I suppose I have this kind of crush on him.”

“Are you serious?” Remus regrets the words the moment they leave his mouth, and waits for the inevitable pun.

“I’m always-” Sirius stops himself and frowns. “No, actually I’m not,” he says and Remus’s stomach drops. “If I’m really being serious, I can’t call it a kind of crush. Truth is, I’m head over heels in love with him.” He leans in even closer. Remus can see a slight flush on his cheeks, and can feel his breath against his lips. “So, these rumours,” Sirius whispers. “Any truth to them?”

“Yes,” Remus says. “Yes, it’s all-”

He’s cut off by Sirius firmly pressing his lips against his. He wraps his arms around Sirius’s waist and pulls him even closer. Sirius’s hands are now cupping his face, and it’s everything.

When they stop for air, Sirius is smiling against his lips. “One more thing. You don’t get to stand behind me during Herbology anymore. I can’t risk you failing class because of me.”

Remus flushes bright red. “Shut up!”

Sirius grins. “Don’t worry, Moony mine. I’ll make sure you’ll have plenty of other opportunities to stare at my-”

Remus cuts him off with a kiss. “I hate you,” he mumbles against Sirius’s lips.

“Oh?” Sirius quirks one eyebrow. “I’ve heard rumours that say otherwise.”

#wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #marauders era #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #padfoot #lily evans #padfoony

[andie-cake]

for writing prompts, maybe borrower!emma telling paul about some of her adventures?

"It was like, the second biggest bird I'd ever encountered!"

"What was the first then?"

It was a calm night in Paul's apartment. He was in bed, listening to the recently-moved-in Borrower girl- Emma, recall stories from her thirteen years of living in the Witchwood Forest. They had a sort of routine going now. Once he and Emma had upgraded from "friendly passing acquaintances" to "actual friends", Emma started sneaking out at night to visit Paul in his bedroom after her brother-in-law and nephew went to bed.

Her first visit had definitely been a surprise, but a pleasant one. Ever since Paul realized he had Borrowers in his apartment, the whole place felt a little less lonely. And befriending one of them only helped in that regard. So Paul always looked forward to Emma's nightly visits. Something about talking to this tiny, adventurous woman just made him happy. And Emma always had a lot to talk about.

"The first biggest bird I'd ever encountered?" she echoed back to him, absentmindedly kicking her legs back and forth from her seat atop the screen of Paul's open laptop. She smiled eagerly. "Ohhhh, that's a fun one!"

"Fun? Does that mean it didn't try to eat you?" Paul asked incredulously.

"Oh no, it totally did," Emma replied in a casual tone. "But the circumstances surrounding the encounter were fun."

"Care to enlighten me?"

Emma's eyes lit up with an excited nod. God, Paul loved seeing her get all excited like that. "Okay, so," she began as Paul multi-tasked listening to her story and working on his laptop. "It's a nice, sunny day and I'm walking through the woods, as per usual, right? When suddenly, I hear this weird chittering sound coming from the base of a nearby tree."

"Like a chipmunk kinda chittering?" Paul inquired.

"Paul, it's a story about a bird, not a chipmunk, stay focused," Emma snickered. "But yeah, I get to the tree, and I see this massive hawk stuck in a hunter's trap. So at first I thought, 'Good riddance, one less bird for me to worry about'. But then it made eye contact with me."

"So you decided to help it out of guilt?"

Emma sighed. "Yep," she responded. "So I approach this fuck-off huge bird and take out my sharp stone- I told you about that, right?"

"Mhm." Paul replied with a nod.

Back when Emma lived in the woods, she apparently carried around a pebble she'd somehow managed to sharpen as a weapon of sorts. For a time, anyway. At some point, she swapped it out with what she referred to as "her lucky pin", a green-ball-end pin that she used as a makeshift sword. Paul still wasn't sure how she'd acquired it, considering she'd apparently gotten it while still in the forest, but she brings it with her everywhere. Even as she sat atop Paul's laptop, it was hanging off the skirt of her hand-fashioned dress of torn burlap.

"Okay, so anyways," Emma continued. "I slowly cut through the netting of the trap with my stone, avoiding the bird's wings as it thrashed around like a madman. And after like, thirty minutes, I manage to free the damn thing. And you wanna know how this ungrateful dick repays me for saving it's life?"

"Did it try to eat-"

"It tried to fuckin' eat me!"

Paul couldn't help but smile at how huffy she'd suddenly gotten. Emma could be very adorable when she got angry or impassioned over something in her stories, no doubt due to her tiny stature.

"So, I'm running from this stupid-huge bird that's now limping after me, positive that I'd be done in by my own hubris," Emma continued on. She paused, looking like she was pondering something before looking back at Paul. "Is that the right word? Hubris?"

"Um-"

"Well, whatever the case, I'm running for my goddamn life," Emma cut him off. "And who should jump in to save me but that raccoon I told you about yesterday?"

"No shit!" Paul exclaimed, caught off-guard by the twist the story had taken.

"Yes shit!" Emma retorted. "Apparently I'd been closer to her den than I realized, and she heard the commotion!"

Emma then halted her story, pausing to release a yawn and stretch her arms. Again, adorable.

"Tired?" Paul asked.

"Yeah, a little," Emma muttered in reply, rubbing at her eyes. "I should probably head back in a little bit."

Paul hummed nervously, hoping that what he was about to say wouldn't come off as weird. "You could stay here for the night," he suggested. "I-if you want, I mean."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure, Emma."

"Wh-what if I'm still here when Tom and Tim wake up in the morning?"

"Well, what time do they usually wake up?"

Emma tapped her chin in contemplation. "About an hour before you leave for work, I think?"

Paul smiled softly. "Then I'll make sure you get home before then." he assured his tiny guest.

A mischievous grin slowly spread across Emma's face. "Alright, why not?" she decided. "What Tom doesn't know, won't hurt him!"

"Ignorance is bliss!" Paul agreed as Emma dropped down behind his laptop. He could feel her walking on the blanket covering his legs before he shut his computer, and set it on the nightstand beside him. Emma had moved so that she was leaning against his covered leg. "It's probably best you sleep on the nightstand or something, I don't wanna roll over and crush you in my sleep."

"Well, then what am I gonna use as a blanket?"

Paul took a moment to think over her question before getting an idea. "I'll be right back, I'm gonna get my scarf from the closet."

Emma moved aside to let Paul maneuver himself out from under the covers and stand up. As he searched his closet, he couldn't help but feel butterflies in his stomach. She really felt safe enough with Paul to sleep in the same room as him! After retrieving his greenish-gray scarf, he turned around to see that Emma had already hopped from Paul's bed to the nightstand, and was now lying down on his closed laptop. Her lucky pin had been set aside, sitting just beside the laptop. She glanced over at him expectantly.

"Are you sure that'll be a good mattress?" Paul snickered as he began to fold up the scarf.

Emma shrugged. "I mean, it's warm," she said. She giggled and rolled her eyes as Paul continued to struggle to fold up the scarf in a way that would make it a serviceable blanket. "Enough with that folding shit, just plop it down over here, I'll make it work."

With a shrug and a huff of "Alright, if you say so", Paul gently set his scarf on the laptop, curious to see how Emma would make it work. Within minutes, she'd managed to twist it into a nest-like formation, and bundled herself up in it.

"G'night, Paul." she murmured sleepily, snuggling into the soft fabric of the scarf.

"Goodnight, Emma," Paul chuckled softly as he shut the lamp off, shrouding the bedroom in darkness. "Sweet dreams."

#paulkins #within the walls fic

[butgilinsky]

the treehouse // ph

warning; underaged drinking ig, angst

summary; you have to say goodbye to pope, and you don’t know how. 

word count; 3.5k+

not my gif! if it’s yours lmk so i can give you credit!

this is for @popeheywards pope appreciation week! i gotta give my bby all the love he deserves, so here’s day two (angst) of pope week(: 

this was your personal hell. coming to terms with losing the one constant in your life, the one person that had been there through thick and thin. losing pope was the one thing you were convinced you couldn’t handle, and now you were being forced to deal with the one scenario you hoped would never happen. 

you wanted to be happy for him, and part of you was, but there was a part of you that couldn’t let pope go. you couldn’t slap on a smile and send him off with a head full of positive thoughts. you couldn’t handle it. you didn’t know how to say goodbye to the one person that promised to never leave. 

sure, he wasn’t leaving leaving, but he wouldn’t be down the road anymore. pope could move to new york or all the way to russia, in your mind it was all the same. 

being states away meant you wouldn’t be able to walk to pope’s house after a bad day. you wouldn’t be able to show up to the dock on a good day, smile wide and ready to shift into a pout if need be to convince pope’s dad to let you steal him away. you wouldn’t be able to spontaneously invite him to dinner on sundays, or study at his kitchen table past midnight. 

pope was leaving, and you had to come to terms with that. 

and to top it all off, he was leaving at the beginning of the summer. his scholarship covered summer classes, a few of which he would need to obtain at some point, so he figured why not now? his excitement was too bright and bubbly for you to tell him that he couldn’t miss his last summer on the island. summer was the pogues’ time to let everything go, have nothing but the best time, and pope was going to miss that on top of everything else he was already going to miss once he was away at college. 

you shouldn’t have run off, you knew that. you felt a pang of remorse, the guilt clawing its way up into your brain the longer you sat in the old treehouse, knees held to your chest while you rocked back and forth. you hadn’t prepared for this day, and that was your own fault, but it made pope’s send off party harder than you could’ve ever imagined. 

the old pieces of wood had nails sticking up in different directions, the same stack of old books stashed in the corner next to the poor excuse of a bed. the trunk full of toys you gathered from the ages of 2 all the way up to 16 sat in its respective place, right beside the structure that was your makeshift kitchen at the ripe age of six years old. 

this treehouse was your safe space. it was the place that you could always run to when things were less than ideal. when your parents were fighting late at night, you were reading in the treehouse. when your older brother had been especially mean to you, you were hiding in the treehouse. when you failed tests or got into a fight with one of your friends, you could be found up in the treehouse the second after you returned home. 

anyone that knew you would look in the treehouse if you’d ever gone awol. it was your safe haven, your happy place. unfortunately for you, the treehouse was having an opposite effect on you today. 

for every memory you made in this treehouse, you’d made another one with pope. after second grade, pope was in here almost every time you were. you’d gotten in trouble more times than you cared to admit by simply being in the treehouse with pope past sundown. the two of you could hardly ever be pried away from each other, especially if you’d climbed up into the treehouse. 

there were pictures of the two of you everywhere, next to pictures you’d drawn for each other. there were book pages, ripped out and drawn on, all holding its own story and meaning. there were stuffed animals and blankets that one of you would bring up, usually gifting it to the other in a time of need. 

the makeshift bed, that was really just old pillows laid next to one another with a quilt thrown over the top, sat in the corner of the room. you could see yourself propped up in the corner, pope’s head in your lap while you read to him. 

he was fiddling with the rips in your jeans, pulling at the stray threads while your voice filled his ears. he smiled to himself, finding both your voice and the story of the march girls to be quite soothing. 

you’d been reading for upwards of thirty minutes, losing yourself in the words you were rattling off every now and again. you’d occasionally forget that you were reading aloud to pope, too invested in the story to acknowledge the boy fiddling with your jeans. 

pope’s smile was the thing that pulled you out of your makeshift bubble. his bright smile pulled you out of your trance, tearing your eyes away from the thing pages and over to his, the sweetest shade of brown you’d ever seen. 

“what are you smiling at, heyward?” he shrugged, his smile never faltering, ever when he turned his head slightly, enough to nudge your hand out of the way so he had a better view of you. 

“i’m just happy.” it sounded so simple. so mundane that it didn’t deserve any acknowledgement. 

you dropped it then, finding it to match the way that you were feeling. you were happy too, you realized. but that didn’t mean you had to talk about it. 

the pillow propped up in the corner, dressed in a blue case that matched the sheets on pope’s bed back in freshman year was a reminder of him. he had brought the pillow with him on a saturday morning, tucking it behind his back while he read over his biology notes. 

the dress you had on was a stark contrast to your usual choice of clothing. the planks of wood and makeshift furniture had never come in contact with anything above a pair of your dad’s old shirts and your older brother’s sweatpants. 

you were outshined moments later, the ground entrance of the treehouse swinging open to reveal the man of the hour. he had a soft smile tugging at his lips, a slight sense of pride in his eyes at the thought of catching you sulking up here. 

“you ran off.” he lifted himself up into the room, shutting the door behind him before finding his home by your side. “i was looking everywhere.” 

your shoulders slumped, suddenly guilt ridden at the thought of pope searching for you after you fled the scene. you wanted to stay, to be there for him in a moment of celebration for his achievements, but you couldn’t. you couldn’t be in a place where you had to be painfully reminded of pope’s departure every thirty seconds.

“i’m sorry. i should’ve said something.” he shook his head, the soft smile still present as his eyes dropped to his lap.

he bent his knees and pressed his feet into the floor, folding his hands together on the top of his legs. his eyes locked on his thumbs, twirling around one another as he collected his thoughts.

“i shouldn’t have expected you to stay. i should’ve realized you’d end up here at some point.” pope knew how you were handling this situation, and ignoring it was your favorite coping mechanism.

“i’m sorry pope. i couldn’t do it.” he should’ve known it was going to be hard for you, and though he had a rough idea, it wasn’t at all what he originally imagined.

he raised his arm, hooking it behind your neck and over your shoulder. he pulled you gently into him, while also moving towards you. your head tucked into his neck, creating a soft sense of intimacy in the slightly uncomfortable situation.

“the thought of losing you scares me.”

your words tugged at his heart, placing a weight on his shoulders that he couldn’t ignore. he wasn’t sure why it weighed on him so heavily, since it wasn’t anything he didn’t already know.

you’d expressed these feelings before. feelings of attachment, often paired along with a fear of losing said attachment. pope knew you were anxious to see how your friendship beat the odds of long distance.

“i know. i’m sorry i didn’t pick duke.” you raised your head from its place tucked into the boy’s neck, eyes wide with confusion as they looked at the boy.

“don’t apologize for making the best decision for yourself.” he had a sheepish look on his face, slightly embarrassed for apologizing. he knew you wanted the best for him, he just ignore the guilt he felt for not choosing what was the best for the both of you.

“you know that, just because i’m a few states away doesn’t change the way i feel about you.” and that, was the kicker for you.

truth be told, you didn’t know how pope felt. you didn’t know which side of the line he stood on. in your mind, you were in unmarked territory. you weren’t sure if you were going to be friend zoned, or if you were going to be top three on his never list. you were painfully oblivious to the fact that you were ranked at number one on pope heyward’s never list.

“i love you, pope.” your voice was soft, and it was hard to tell if he caught the true meaning of your words.

“i love you too.” it sounded so easy for him to say. almost like he had said it a thousand times over, like it was a common phrase to fall from his lips. it brought butterflies to your stomach, though you couldn’t sense the true meaning in his words.

you were determined to beat the odds with pope. you were going to thrive, despite the multiple states between the two of you, you were sure about it. 

you allowed pope to convince you to walk the short distance back to his house, joking about what his dad would say when the two of you got back. you swung your hands between the two of you, sometimes you’d twirl underneath your interlocked fingers. it was fun, but you mainly did it to see pope smile at you like there was nobody else he’d rather be with right now. 

it was true. pope didn’t want to experience life with anyone else. there’s not another person he would’ve rather spent hours up in a treehouse with, reading books both have you read three times already. he wouldn’t want to attempt to make dinner with, only for the two of you to burn something as easy as broccoli. 

it was you and pope, ‘til the end of it all. 

your arrival back at the heyward residence was anything but quiet, earning the attention of just about everyone in the room as you entered the home. you bit on the inside of your cheek, suddenly nervous that you were becoming a common topic of conversation, something you didn’t deal with all that well. 

“where were the two of you?” kie skated over to the two of you, an eyebrow raised while she placed her palms flat against her hips. 

her light, knowing smile was somehow comforting, and she spent little to no time waiting for an answer before she grabbed your hand and pulled you away from pope. 

“just have fun, okay?” pope said quickly, fully aware of kiara’s ability to pry you out of any situation you found yourself in. 

he leaned forward, after you’d silently promised him with a smile and a nod, and pressed his lips against the side of your head before following the sound of his name across the room. 

kiara’s eyes were locked onto the lazy smile stretched across your lips, though she wasn’t sure if you were aware how much you smiled when pope was around. she had noticed it years ago, picking up on the way that your eyes lit up when pope entered the room, or the way your smile widened every time he’d call out your name. 

pope was your person, anyone could’ve picked up on that. your parents picked up on it when you were too young to know what love was, and your friends picked up on it fairly easily. 

“someone’s smitten over a certain someone.” your eyes floated over to sarah, who held a suggestive smile on her face and two champagne flutes in her hands. 

she handed you one of the flutes, letting a laugh tumble past her lips at the sight of you shooting back the golden liquid. you felt better than you did before, but it was still a bittersweet feeling to be celebrating pope’s anticipated move. 

“someone’s just trying to stay put together until he leaves.” you casted a glance over your shoulder, pushing a smile to the surface when your eyes caught pope’s. 

his wink made your stomach do flips, the familiar feeling of butterflies flying around the enclosed space. you turned back to sarah and kie, noticing the change in their smiles. their once bright, adoring smiles turned to ones of sympathy, trying to mask their hurt brought upon by pope and you ignoring the obvious signs you sent one another. 

“are you going to be okay, hun?” kie’s hand found your shoulder, squeezing it softly in attempt to reassure you that everything would be okay. 

“i don’t think so.” you shook your head from side to side, staring into the bottom of your champagne flute. “it’s going to be ridiculously hard.” 

kie moved forward, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and pulling your face into her neck. to anyone else, it looked like an innocent hug as kie put on a bright smile. 

to pope, though, he knew it was more than a hug shared between friends. his eyebrows knitted together, worry etched into his features as he locked eyes with kie. her lips turned upwards in a thin line, silently telling the boy that you were, for lack of a better word, a mess right now. 

you had fun, as much as you could muster, for the rest of the evening. you smiled and engaged in pope related conversations when approached by someone new. everyone asked how proud you must be, being his best friend and the one that studied opposite of him since you two were children. 

you’d tell them the truth. you were prouder than you ever thought was possible, and you were happy to see him so happy. but you would miss him, that much wa obvious. you’d get an ‘aw’ and a hand that squeezed your shoulder or wrist in momentary sympathy. 

your eyes would lock with pope’s every once in a while, a soft smile tugging at your lips just before your attention was stolen away by another person. pope smiled at you the whole night, even when you weren’t looking at him. even when your head was on kiara’s shoulder and you knocked back champagne while sarah rambled off about her program at NC state. 

you found yourself outside a few hours after you’d come back from the treehouse. the breeze in the air cooled your skin down slightly, a nice contrast from how the sun felt just a few hours earlier. the thin straps on your dress allowed for the breeze to hit the skin of your arm, bringing light goosebumps across your skin. 

you’d emptied your last glass of champagne, setting the flute beside you on the dock. your hands gripped the fabric of your dress, keeping it out of the water while your feet moved the water around gently. 

“running off twice in the same day, y/l/n?” you smiled to yourself, shrugging your shoulders gently before casting a glance over your shoulders. 

he’d lost the jacket of his suit at some point throughout the night, prying his tie off a couple moments after. he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and you were almost certain jj had been the one to pop the first couple of buttons on his shirt. 

“you look a lot more relaxed.” you smiled at the sight of him, seemingly more comfortable than he had been at the start of the day. 

“when you tell the same story over and over again, it starts to feel like you’ve never known how to do anything else.” pope sat beside you, bending his knees and placing his feet flat on the dock instead of over the edge like you had been doing. 

“i’m going to miss you.” your voice was almost lost to the breeze, whisking it away into the night where nobody else would’ve heard the gentle promise. almost. 

“you’re not losing me, you know? i’ll miss you every single day, i don’t think i’d be able to go a single day without hearing your voice.” it was meant to reassure you, honestly, but it didn’t have its desired effect. 

you were scared of the empty promises. you were scared that he would say all of this now, but the second he found a new person to study with, a new person to create lifelong memories, you’d be a distant thought in the back of his head. 

what you didn’t know, is that was physically impossible for pope heyward. there wasn’t a chance that he’d be able to forget about you. you consumed him, and he wouldn’t have had it either way. 

“promise?” you whispered softly, turning to face him with a desperate expression etched into your features. 

he smiled, holding out his pinky and waiting for you to interlock yours with his. when you did, he brought his closed fist up to his mouth, kissing the side of his hand and smiling when you did the same. 

“you couldn’t shake me if you tried.” pope teased gently, nudging his elbow into your side and making you sway in your spot. 

“i’d never try to shake you.” the sincerity weighed heavy in your chest, like you’d just admitted a secret to the boy that he was never meant to hear. 

“good, then we’re on the same page.” he smiled widely, pushing himself onto your feet and stretching his hands out towards you. he smiled at your confused expression, and the way you placed your hands in his anyways and allowed him to pull you up to your feet. “let’s go read about the march sisters.” 

“we don’t have to read little women, again. we can-”

“we’re climbing up into that treehouse, and we’re going to read little women. end of discussion.” you knew he was only suggesting the novel because it was your favorite. he found the story interesting, sure, but he didn’t care for jo or amy as much as you did. the only reason he’d committed some of the dialogue to memory was because it made you happy when he’d read it aloud to you or vice versa. 

so you let him take your hand and made the walk back to your house, climbing up into the dimly lit treehouse. the only light in the room came from an old lantern your dad had given you. you weren’t sure how the light bulb still worked, since you were sure you’d never changed it before. truth be told, pope had changed it a few times if he noticed it flickering or dimming overtime. 

you tucked yourselves into the same corner of the room, your head in pope’s lap while his eyes scanned the thin pages. his right hand held up the book, using his thumb and pinky to turn the pages when it was time. his left hand laid gently on the side of your face, his thumb moving back and forth over the soft skin of your cheek. 

your eyes would flutter shut, a soft smile gracing your lips while you listened to pope’s soothing voice. he’d pause every once in a while, losing himself in a trance when he’d glance over at you. 

neither of you planned on staying up there all night, and pope really should have gone back home at some point, seeing as he only had one more day to pack before he drove across the country with his parents. but when the sun rose and your dad climbed the latter, expecting to see you curled into yourself on the bed of pillows, he caught sight of the two of you.

your head was still in pope’s lap, turned towards him with your knees brought close to your chest. pope was leaning against the wall of the treehouse, his left arm draped over your side while the other held the book open and away from you. 

in your dad’s eyes, along with pretty much everyone else on the island, you and pope heyward were going to be alright. you were going to beat the odds, and distance wouldn’t phase either of you.

you could only hope that held true 

obx taglist: @rafej-cambanks @sportygal55 @diverdcwn @maybankiara​

#pope heyward #pope x reader #pope #obx #the obx #the outer banks #outer banks netflix #outer banks #jonathan daviss #pope angst #angst #popeappreciation

[skinks]

hi your dilfworth fic is amazing and i love baby richie... my favourite is the tidbit about richie eating a worm that eddie gave him 🥺 obviously u don’t have to but if u have any more thoughts/headcanons about baby richie and baby eddie i would melt into a puddle ❤️

thank you, I had so much fun writing that one! and yeah, I couldn’t possibly include baby Richie without Eddie, the little gruesome twosome.

Richie probably does that a lot with stuff Eddie gives him, drawings and little bits of grass he’s braided together, and on one memorable occasion almost the little navy frogman diver that Eddie got in his cornflakes, but Eddie already had one so he gave the second to Richie. Except it’s one of those ones that swells in liquid, uh oh. Luckily Maggie snatched it away before Richie could swallow it lmao, but that’s the thing;

Richie loves the things Eddie gives him so he wants to Consume them. That’s why he was biting Went’s arm in the fic, why he ate the worm and also why he’s always gnawing on Eddie when they’re tiny, or chasing him to try and envelop him in his shirt. And it’s just one of those games, y’know? Like, Eddie can SEE it’s just Richie holding his too-big Sesame Street shirt up and open like a butterfly net or the flapping gilly mouth of a whale shark, and it’s Richie going raaaarr but Eddie still shrieks and runs! He’s giggling but it’s like, in the inbetween clock ticks, when he’s looking forward instead of back over his shoulder at Richie it’s still Pursuit, he believes in the Richiesaurus coming to get him. It always does, too, swamps him up in its flapping gills until they’re two noisy boy-lumps sharing one shirt, because Eddie lets it eat him. Because the Richiesaurus isn’t a mean monster, it’s just hungry, so hungry, and it only eats spaghetti because spaghetti is special.

Sometimes when they’re doing coloring books Richie will ask Eddie to color in his Yoda too if Richie draws some more Richie And Eddie Adventures, because Eddie’s better (not much) at keeping inside the lines. Also because Eddie’s tongue pokes out when he colors and, watching him, Richie gets this happy hungry that’s MY friend feeling that makes him lie flat on Eddie’s back until he can’t get up and give the back of his head a big kiss.

SO many naps together. They just conk out anywhere. The yard, the den, under Richie’s bunk bed, the back seat of the car as Went and Maggie drive them home from the tree farm or the public pool or Chuck E Cheese, sometimes with Stan and Bill too. Just flopped together in a pile. Richie still sucks his thumb while he sleeps and that contributes to his gaptoothed buckteeth, but Eddie carries a grey threadbare rabbit around with him or he can’t sleep. It’s called Foggy. Foggy Bunny.

One day when Eddie’s over to play, Went and Maggie are feeling indulgent and take them to the mall? Because it’s 1981 and the mall is the best? And Sonia always pulls Eddie along by the hand whenever they go, snapping don’t touch that or stay away from bad men like that but Maggie just gently ushers them from storefront to storefront and Eddie can goggle at the displays as long as he likes. Richie’s up on Went’s shoulders, and when he comes parachuting down again he says “Eddie’s turn!” Went asks Eddie if he’d like to ride on his shoulders for a little bit and Eddie nods, still not really sure how to talk to grownups, but then he’s soaring and suddenly he’s the up-highest he’s ever been.

They collect ladybugs in a shoebox one summer’s day after an aphid swarm and are carrying it carefully up the stairs, a little stumped as to what to do with them next, when Richie trips. Ladybugs everywhere, including in Eddie’s hair. Maggie comes up to see what the commotion is and makes them clean it all up, once she’s calmed Eddie down from screaming about how Richie told him ladybugs are harmless unless they go in your ears and lay their eggs.

They trade the same two lunchboxes back and forth every couple of weeks. Wacky Races for Alfred E Neuman, a roaring stock market to rival wall street. Eddie can do the Muttley laugh so easy and Richie HATES it because he can’t do that one.

Richie is the ONLY kid Eddie knows who can tell time but he always tells Eddie the wrong time. Eddie’s not sure how he knows it’s the wrong time, but he’s sure of it, and so he always steps on Richie’s laces. Then Richie just walks around with loose laces because he can’t tie them yet, but also because he just doesn’t CARE and it’s not right so Eddie always makes him sit somewhere so Eddie can tie them again. Calls Richie a butthead, but he also kinda likes it because Richie always karate chops his shoulders and says something like “I knight thee, Sir Eds-A-Lot!” and Eddie feels good and something else be doesn’t know the word for, but the word is chivalrous. He feels like he wants to do the thing in the Tom & Jerry cartoons where he puts his anorak over a puddle so Richie’s trailing laces won’t get wet.

Eddie accidentally knocks one of Richie’s baby teeth out and vice versa. Peak idiots since babiehood.

Sometimes on rainy days Maggie makes treasure hunts for them all, or just for Richie and Eddie if Bill is with his new baby brother, or Stan is at Cub Scouts. She leaves post-its with drawings and clues that lead them all over the house, and Eddie’s better at reading them but Richie’s better at problem solving... teamwork... they win a kinder egg each and Richie does almost eat his toy again by accident this time, and gets chocolate all over his shirt that’s stretched loose from being an Eddie-net so often. So he does it again, gulp, like Pac-Man. Eddie’s hair tufting out his collar and tickly on his chin, Eddie giggling and pawing his way out and hugging back instead. Because it’s not like keeping him prisoner, Richie’s not like the sea monster in Pinocchio, it’s more like a little plant taking sunshine inside it to grow stronger.

Eddie’s better at reading and he’s a fast talker unlike Bill, so he always reads the board at school and whispers what it says to Richie, sitting next to him with glasses that still aren’t quite right for school, make his head hurt and make him noisy just to feel like he’s having an impact in a room he can’t see. Don’t forget me, I’m here, I can’t see you all but I’m here too.

Sometimes on nicer days Went builds them obstacle courses in the garden, planks of wood balanced on buckets etc and Eddie ALWAYS wins once he gets over his trepidation about splinters and nails and falling a few inches onto soft grass, because he’s a nimble lil mountain goat and Richie’s laces were probably untied again. They win tinfoil trophies.

Richie convinces Eddie that a rock they find by the pond in the park one day is a dragon egg, and Eddie cradles it home to keep. Richie convinces Eddie he’s dead all the time, he’ll lie still with his tongue sticking out after a roughhousing and pretend to have little x’s over his eyes until Eddie’s shaking his shoulder with his voice gone high and reedy, and Richie will surprise him every time! Gotcha! I’m alive! Aren’t you glad I’m alive, Eddie! Weren’t you worried? I’m so important to him. And then one day Eddie brings the rock into 2nd grade show-and-tell and is stuttering about his dragon egg to the tittering class, until the teacher tells him to get back to his seat and stop being silly. Eddie stuffs the rock under his desk lid and his eyes are like dark moons with the confused hurt, and Richie feels a nasty spiky heat in his tummy that he will come to know intimately in a few years as guilt.

That day, Richie learns on some level or another how much power there is in pretending, in keeping up pretend games and having people believe you as long as you’re willing to keep it up. The thing is... he pretends so much because Eddie’s always much happier when they’re playing cops and robbers and not when he’s stuck in his stuffy church clothes and being told the whole world’s a mousetrap set just for him. He doesn’t like their teacher telling Eddie to stop being silly, he loves silly, serious, ties-laces-while-singing-bunny-foo-foo Eddie. Richie doesn’t know it, but he loves him even then. What he does know is that he’s good at pretending, and he’s safe from any big sad betrayed eyes as long as he can keep pretending he didn’t want to put a wonky, lopsided heart in Eddie’s Valentines box that year.

Eddie doesn’t talk to him for a WHOLE afternoon but then Richie draws a dragon face and wings on the rock and they’re immediately playing with it.

Eddie doesn’t have rollerskates because Sonia thinks they’re dangerous, but the others always let him borrow theirs, Stan and Richie and Bill. Richie has the closest size that would fit him even though they do have to stuff some crumpled up newspaper in the toes, but it doesn’t matter when they tie a jumprope around Richie’s middle like reins, and Eddie holds the two handles as Richie runs, and suddenly they’re charioteering at breakneck speed down the street. Eddie can feel the wind in his helmet plume as they hurtle towards the giant pile of fall leaves they spent all afternoon raking for this exact purpose, watched over by Went sitting on the porch (Went tidied the pile once they lost interest, easier for him to do since he’s not roughly half the size of the rakes.)

Their crash into the pile is a Ben-Hur epic. Eddie’s borrowed rollerskates hit the sidewalk curb and he’s airborne until he lands on soft dry crunch and Richie’s totalled body, but 6 years isn’t long enough for gravity to wreak its slow pull on your joints that makes every year harder and harder to bounce back up after you fall. They’re practically astronauts, as well as charioteers and knights and cops and robbers and monsters in love. Moonwalkers, squeaky helium laughter lifting them higher, higher than shoulders, up-highest of all.

Richie gives him the wonky Valentine’s heart, eventually. Then eats him

#reddie #baby reddie #ill go back and tag other stuff as baby reddie and tozier fam etc in the morning #anyway... how much of this is gleaned from my own childhood? only i can know 👀 #long post #ficlet

[modernagesomniari]

“When I Waked, I Cried to Dream Again”

Solavellan, 2149 words

R (sexual imagery, brief use of strong language)

An unexpected guest at an Evanuris salon catches the Dread Wolf off-guard. 

Title from William Shakespeare’s ‘The Tempest’, Caliban.

@pikapeppa you did say you were intrigued *hides*

**************************

Solas wondered how many people here wanted him dead.

Probably fewer than he’d like - the upper echelons of society still thought him a joke, an idle amusement that was fun as long as it was happening to someone else.  It was an old annoyance and he brushed it aside - when he returned Tarasyl’an and saw the hope and determination reflected in the faces of those who now lived there, he knew that what he did mattered.  What these flitting butterflies thought of him did not.

That said, the fact that the black and gold of his clothes marked him more of a scandal than a threat here?  Well, he would be lying to himself if he said it didn’t satisfy him.  A wry smile to one lady, a low-lidded sideways glance to a young ward and he could admit the warmth of their appreciative gazes on his back made him preen, just a little.

He took a crystalline goblet from the tray of one of the slaves around him, made sure to smile and voice his thanks.  As was frequent at such places, the woman pretended to take no notice.  It wasn’t worth her hide to show any kind of interest in him.

He took up his place leaning back against the cold stone of the wall, the moonlight pooling on the marble at his feet from outside the window beside him.  Beautiful and pure, he always found it melancholy to see it struggling to find its way into this glittering hall, where jewels sparkled with no light to set them, stars twinkled in the festooned darkness of the ceiling and everywhere was the glow of the wisps, bobbing gently around the perimeter.  What possible chance did the mundane moonlight have against such a throng?  Why could his people not see its beauty as it was meant?

The sweet wine burst ice cold against his tongue and he let his eyelids flutter closed at the pleasure of the sensation.  It wasn’t often he allowed himself these luxuries any more, not if those he served couldn’t have them as well.

As he drank, a starlight owl swooped low to clip the top of his thick hair as it passed.  He did not flinch from it, but conceded to glare at it as it glided around the top of the room, passing others in various colours and constellations.  Falon’Din had not yet deigned to show himself into this particular room and Solas was not about to weep over it.  The man was a boorish, unsubtle, cruel master to his slaves and he didn’t treat anyone else much better.  That he sent his owls out to boast of his power and bully any guest he disapproved of said much about his pettiness.  Solas could not abide pettiness.

“Well, look who decided to grace this hall with his presence?”

He inclined his head slightly at the arrival of his visitor, not feeling the need to speak particularly.  He couldn’t quite bring to mind the man’s name.  He knew he was a scholar of some kind, a powerful one, but couldn’t place his face.  In this light he could barely tell the colour of his eyes.  Strange, because from the distaste pooling like a bad smell in his mouth clearly he didn’t like him very much.  “Too proud to speak to me, eh Wolf?  Such a fucking self-righteous prick you are.”

Well, rare enough that anyone would be so open with him, rarer still that they’d shed their shallow mask this quickly.

“Ever eloquent, good sir.  To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You could just tell me to fuck off in plain words, Mongrel.  Your tone says as much.”

Cruel hands tugged at the twisted hair hanging to Solas’ waist and he jerked his head away, letting his lip curl.  Fade but he hated a bully and this man was flouting protocol in a way that set warning bells off in every fingertip of Solas’ hands.  Why was no one pointing and whispering yet?  They generally enjoyed that.  However, regardless the strange apathy of the crowd, Solas was not about to make a spectacle of himself.

“I find it curious that you’ve sought me out, I’ll admit.”

The man laughed, harsh and drunk in his ear, letting his weight fall over Solas’ shoulders, hand catching at the back of his neck.

“Because I know you’ll let me put hands all over you and call it strength that you don’t strike me for it.  Save we both know it’s cowardice.  I’d spread your teeth over the damn marble.”

This, Solas knew, was highly unlikely given his own recent development of his talents.  It was only the fact that he himself knew this and whoever this jumped-up Lord was didn’t that kept him from proving it.  He clenched his jaw instead and knocked back the rest of the wine, setting the glass delicately down on the windowsill as he heard a low whistle and appreciative cuss from beside him.

Idly wondering what manner of attraction his acquaintance had just spotted Solas turned, nimbly stepping away from the man at the same time now he was apparently distracted.

But oh, what he had been distracted by.

She was small and wearing a black, figure-hugging gown that pooled at her feet like water.  The fashion this season was for whites, but her bare shoulders glowed in the Fade-light above the deep, heavy material like the sun out of a sky heavy with storm.  Bright green eyes the colour of spring leaves after rain were large in her face and looking directly at him.  

He looked back.  Let the moment hang, content to wait for her next move and trying to pretend his heart wasn’t hammering in his chest.  The man was speaking to him, he was vaguely aware of that, but given that it sounded like he was listening through water he couldn’t bring himself to care.  As he watched, the curve of her mouth twitched upwards and she began to glide towards him, utterly silent as the hem of her gown let only the tiniest glimpses of her bare feet peek from under it as she walked.

When she was in front of him, all he could smell was grass and sunshine.  He couldn’t even bring himself to sneer at how silly that sounded.

“Well, I’m glad he’s gone.”

Her voice was deeper than he thought it would be and she was suddenly closer, a small strong hand slipping into his own like it belonged there, that twitch of a smile on her face again.  “Come, dance with me.”

So he did.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She was glorious, this Ellana.  Lithe and strong under his hands as they danced, she made his belly curl in culture-learned scandal as she pressed her body up against his in front of the whole hall, threw her head back and laughed as he spun her, her hair glittering in the lights so it mesmerised him despite himself.  When they were certain they had shocked the entire gathered assembly he took her hand again, glasses of cold sweet wine in the hands that weren’t tight together.  He led her outside the open windows to where the light grew colder and more solemn, watched in helpless wonder as her voice trailed off, face open and smiling as she took in the beauty of the moon.  Just as he had.

He watched that moonlight play off the contours of her cheeks, her nose, her lips.  Led her to the balustrade around the balcony and sat beside her, letting their fingers fall idle and tangled between them.  They spoke of the party and the people there, although he forgot completely to ask where she was from or who she had come with.  Then they were speaking of magical theory, of spirits and wisps and their mutual frustration with narrow-minded academia.  She was fearsome in her knowledge, her ideas embryonic but unfettered by the usual restraints of scholastic tradition.  He adored her.  Immediately and without reservation.  This should frighten him, terrify him.  Solas and romance had not been friends for a very, very long time.  And yet it didn’t scare him, couldn’t in the face of her presence.

He looked up to see her smiling at him gently, a hint of mischief in the corner of her mouth as she raised her glass, once again full, to chink against his own.  The sound seemed to echo, merging into her smooth giggle.

“You are staring into space, my Wolf.  I think perhaps you are a little drunk.”

He let himself smile back, unreserved and bafflingly happy.

“Perhaps, but it is you who has sweet wine upon your lips.”

He raised his hand to her mouth, the droplet of wine at the corner still shockingly cold against his skin.  She was looking at him differently now, quiet and waiting.  Not like some prey, helpless and passive, but as a wolf of her own, content to hold on to herself until he unleashed her.  And, Fade help him, but he had suddenly never wanted anything so badly in his life.

When he kissed her, the taste of the sweet wine mingled with the taste of her mouth.  He wanted so much and so quickly.  In his mind they were alone in his bed in Tarasyl’an, taking hours and days over giving and taking pleasure from each other until they were laughing and spent.  Or they were here, grasping at each other, ripping and pushing fabric aside to take each other on the marble in front of the faceless throng.  He took her to the woods and laid her down on the moss, tender and worshipful, or let her push his bare back into the rough bark of the trees to take him like she’d owned him his whole life.  His mouth was on her lips, her breasts, the skin on the inside of her wrists, her cunt, the arch of her foot and he was drowning in her.  Surely, he must be drowning.  Some low, dull ache of alarm was echoing uselessly in his stomach at how little he cared about this sudden obsession - somehow it all made sense.

When she laughed against his lips it went straight to his cock by way of his heart.  He was lost, somehow.  Utterly lost.

“Solas.”

When had he told her his name?  Had he told her his name?  He didn’t want to think, so he kissed her again.

“Solas.”

He grew desperate now, the sounds of the palace and his people deafening in his ears like they’d take her from him.  His fingers gripped at her waist, was he hurting her?  He must be hurting her!

“Solas!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

His eyes flew open from being clenched shut and, for a moment, he was profoundly confused.  Her face was in front of him but she wasn’t laughing.  And it wasn’t night, he could see sunlight dappling through the trees of the forest they’d camped in.

His stomach dropped and he knew he’d made a sound by the distress he saw flashing across her face before he buried his own in his hands.  Fool.  What an utter fool he was.  He could still feel the wine on his tongue, only of course now it had the ashen, shadowy taste of a mouth kept closed through sleep.  He felt cool fingers touching his own and gripped his forehead to stop her from taking his hands away from his face.  He could not look at her now, not now.  He couldn’t hide the grief from his expression.  Fool, to forget how convincing dreams could be.

He should have known this wasn’t going to stop her.  The hands left his fingers only to slide down his arms and around his shoulders, her body pressed so close he could let his face fall into her chest.  Her arms were small and strong, he could smell the leather of the belt around her robe, the slight tang of sweat from silk worn for a day too long, sweet freshness of her hair.  The Fade was never good at mimicking smell, it was only ever like a shadow.  He could hear the mumblings of their companions somewhere else, but in the dark, warm place within her arms and his own grief-stricken hands he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“It’s all right, Solas.  Whatever it is, it’s all right.”

It wasn’t.  It wasn’t.  Her hand came to smooth along the back of his scalp, dragging one last breath of grief from him before he relaxed into her embrace, content that he could contain himself for just a little longer.  It wasn’t all right, but just for now he selfishly, selfishly decided to pretend it was enough.  She hummed low in a smile when he snuck his arms around her waist and he hated himself for it.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #solas #solavellan #solavellan hell #somni #mywriting #really quite nervous about this one folks #but I would love to hear what you think