#that was the only desire point i got out of the whole 2 chapters and it was an accident rip

[smusherina]

yard work - chapter 5 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

warnings(s): homophobia is still a theme. another dead relative mentioned. smoking cigarettes.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 6

You'd decided to do nothing about Cady's infiltration for now. Or, well, Regina had told you she'd figure it out and given firm instruction to not do anything.

You didn't exactly like that. Then again, you didn't have any better ideas. Obviously, you wanted her to not be around Regina. It was wrong that she was friends with her under the pretence that she was looking for reasons to stab her in the back. Then again, she didn't need reasons. Regina had provided plenty already.

As September dragged along and eventually turned to October, it felt as if day by day your mind split into an exponentially growing number of pieces. Your desire to protect Regina battled with the fact that she had been wrong so many times, had really hurt people. Didn't they deserve some reparation? Didn't Regina deserve forgiveness? Was any of that for you to decide?

You would have to pick a side and make your stance known, eventually. You'd have to plant your feet firmly on the territory you really believed in. Only, you dreaded that you didn't have as much agency as you'd have liked.

Were you weak or strong for always sticking by someone? What would become of you if you didn't stand up for what you thought was right and wrong? Where was the line?

You didn't want to side with Janis and her lackeys. The more you looked at it, the parallel between them—Janis and Regina—started to become obvious. Janis and Regina weren't that different at all.

What did you even want? What could you want? You didn't have answers to those questions.

The weather was getting colder, so you'd shuffled your wardrobe quite a bit. Short-sleeved flannels and tee shirts were replaced by cotton undershirts and grandpa sweaters. Literal grandpa sweaters. You'd gotten the majority of them from your grandfather's closet, which he had left for you in his will. It was a joke you two had shared, that you looked better in his clothes than he did.

Regina certainly didn't think so.

"Those sweaters are fucking ugly." She put it bluntly, chewing on some gum as she surfed channels on your TV. She'd taken to spending a lot of time at yours recently. You guessed it had to do with her dad being home and her friends no longer being trustworthy.

"They were my gramps'." You pouted and slumped onto the couch next to her. Since your first sleepover, the distance between your bodies had gotten smaller each time. Your knees almost touched.

"The emotional baggage makes them even frumpier." She glanced at you before looking back at the TV. "You'd be better off framing them."

"I like them, Reg." You settled back and turned your attention to the screen as well. "I don't tell you what to wear."

"If you did we wouldn't be friends." She quipped, finally settling on just shutting the thing off. "Now, what's up with you?"

"Nothing." You didn't want to talk about it. You doubted you could talk about something like that and both remain calm. You hated shouting. It always made you cry, no matter the situation. You could've been the angriest you'd ever been, not sad at all, and still cry.

"Fine. Be stubborn." She huffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I'm going to Aaron's Halloween Party."

"Are you?" You turned and blinked at her. "Cool, I guess."

"You know how everybody, like, dresses sexy? It's like the whole point of Halloween, yeah? Cady's from Kenya. She doesn't know that. She thinks Halloween's supposed to be scary."

"Isn't it, though?"

"Ugh, for kids it is. We're practically adults. Halloween is the one night a year when a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it." Regina recited as if from a book. "Karen's words."

"She's very wise, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is." Regina mused.

"You ever told her that?"

"No, she'd get a big head."

"Karen Shetty would get a big head." You said, disbelieving.

"They want what I have so bad," Regina said. "I have to keep them on their toes."

"Are they even your friends? Or do you keep them close to control them?" You sat up straighter, some dots connecting. "Is that why you got Cady to join you? Because she was too pretty to go unchecked?"

"So you think she's pretty." Regina shifted closer, your knees really touching now. You tried to contain your excitement.

"I feel that's pretty obvious." You leaned in also, almost without noticing yourself. She was like a magnet.

"She had potential. If she were to realize it, who knows what she would've gotten up to."

"You made her realize that. That's a self-fulfilling prophecy if I've ever heard one."

"What do you know about prophecies?"

"I know that if I scoped a threat, I wouldn't make them stronger." You licked your lips nervously. "Keeping an eye on her is one thing, but you've made her an enemy."

"Fine, sure, whatever. Now, I'm gonna bring her down. She's gonna humiliate herself by showing up to the party all scary-looking, and then I'm gonna kiss Aaron Samuels." She grinned and blew a bubble. The thin pink of the bubblegum complimented her eyes.

"Why? To make her jealous? Because she wants something you had?"

"To establish dominance."

"I dunno, Reg." You sighed, rubbing a hand down your face. "You're making an enemy."

"It's what I do best, jorts. Just watch." She got up and headed for the kitchen. Hated to see her leave, loved to watch her go.

So, you watched. You watched her hatch her plans, how she deliberately kept Karen from talking to Cady about high school Halloween party etiquette, which seemed like a challenging task indeed, and how her leash on Gretchen tightened to an impossible degree.

You sat alone in the computer room the night of the party, trying to build a profitable amusement park and failing miserably. Your heart wasn't in it. Not even gaming could take your mind off of Regina.

She was probably kissing Aaron Samuels right now. Right now, their lips were sealed together in a nasty French kiss that surely repulsed anybody close enough to hear the slurping and suckling that came from the union. Aaron was probably on her, touching her everywhere he could get his grubby paws, shamelessly licking at the roof of her mouth like a dog.

While the thought of the jock being a bad kisser soothed you somewhat, it didn't cure the clenching in your chest. Fuck, it was stupid that this hurt you. It wasn't even real, she was using him to get to Cady, but the mere thought of them like that made you want to puke.

You watched the chaos unfold the next morning. At lunch, Janis herded you to their table near the back. You were barely listening, too busy glowering in the general direction of the jock table. Cady was officially on board now, you were told. Regina had officially gone too far for her and now their real plans could commence.

"Hey, dude, are you even listening?" Janis punched you on the shoulder. You glared and punched back.

"No. Yes, I- what did you say? Something about Homecoming."

"Yes!" Janis practically hissed, looking a little manic. You looked at Damien, who was eyeing you suspiciously. "We're spraying water on her when she's inevitably crowned Homecoming queen. Cady's also replacing her moisturizer with lard. Can you think of anything?"

What, you were supposed to contribute to bringing Regina down? She was kidding, right? She continued to stare holes in you.

"Uh..." You swallowed. "I'm not really an ideas guy. I can help in other ways?" You squeaked, desperately wanting out of this whole thing.

"Ugh, you're boring." Janis groaned, slumping against Damien.

"Good talk." You said hastily as you got up. "I'm going to smoke a cigarette now." So acutely uncomfortable, you talked like a robot.

"Can you gimme one?" Janis perked up.

"No, she can't." Damien cast a look at Janis. "We agreed, remember? Smoking only at the garage."

You took that opportunity to skedaddle. They bickered like an old married couple. Though there was no romantic chemistry between them, they were obviously a solid duo.

Janis didn't seem so bitter when she was with Damien. Sure, now that they were planning revenge their focus was on Regina, but they often strayed off track. Why couldn't she just let go? She was clearly doing better now.

As you rounded the building and made it across the lawn towards the bleachers, you spotted a couple making out. The boy had the girl pinned to the wall. You were quite far away and you could hear their lips smacking.

You didn't want to look too close, because gross, but the varsity jacket and pink ensemble were hard to ignore.

You gritted your teeth and pulled out the pack of Marlboros you had on hand. Regina and Aaron fucking Samuels. You lit up and inhaled before you were even properly concealed under the bleachers.

God, you were such a hypocrite. If you weren't over what Regina did to you in middle school, then why should she be? She'd had it worse, too. You couldn't even imagine the consequences of something like that.

If people knew you liked girls, it'd be over. Even if it was sort of like an open secret, because nobody ever asked you about boys or stuff like that, to have it confirmed would ruin you beyond repair.

If people knew you liked Regina, it'd be even worse.

"Hey, why're you sulking under there?"

"Regina, I'm not in the mood to talk."

"Uh, grumpy much?"

"Leave me alone."

You leaned your head back against the steel, looking up at Regina as she stood over you. She was in all pink. A pink, fuzzy sweater, white skinnies, and Uggs. You had a blue, old Carhartt jacket, denim jeans and scuffed Converse.

You matched with her way better than Aaron. You could probably kiss better too. Not that you'd had any practice. But you'd at least have the sense to not slobber all over the one you were kissing.

Unless Regina liked sloppy kisses. As if you'd get to find out.

"Not until you tell me what's wrong."

I like you. I like you too much and it's hard to think. I can't tell wrong from right.

"It's nothing." You took another drag. "Janis and Damien are plotting. It just makes me mad." Not entirely untrue. You were lying by omission, though.

"What kinda plots?"

You hesitated. How could you? "Nothing concrete yet." Now you were really lying. It sunk like a stone down your gullet, hitting your heart on the way down, and dropped heavily into your stomach. It nearly punched a hole clean through.

"Keep me updated." She lingered and you kept looking at her. What would she look like as Homecoming queen, soaked down to her bones up on a stage? What would she look like after smearing lard on her face?

Not ethereal in the sunlight like this, probably. Though you reckoned ruined mascara and pimples wouldn't do anything to shake off this stupid crush.

"For sure." You just nodded and looked down. You couldn't keep your eyes on her when guilt gnawed at your insides.

"Can I have one?" She hopped over your legs and sat down on the grass next to you.

"A cigarette?" You baulked. "A cigarette for Regina George?"

"Yes, you doof." She laughed and reached for your pockets. "Where's the pack?" She kept patting down your body. Your heart sped up, your palms sweated, and a stupid grin split your face.

"Only one." You turned your face as stern as you could make it. "I'm not ruining your beautiful singing voice."

"You think my voice is beautiful?" When she asked questions like that and looked so small waiting for your answer, you didn't quite know what to do with yourself.

"Yeah," You breathed, sounding a little too sincere, too reverent. "You sang at the talent show in middle school that one year. I think it was a Celine Dion song? Captivating."

"That was so embarrassing. I had such shit breath control." She rested her hand on your thigh, casually, and the other behind your back. Your faces were so close. "C'mon, jorts. Now."

"Nobody complained. Everybody loved it." You reached into your pocket and handed her a cig. She put it between her lips and looked at you expectantly.

If you'd been feeling bold, you would've touched the tip of your lit one to hers. Yours was more than halfway done, so you'd have gotten real close. Maybe in your dreams.

You flicked the lighter to life and held the fire for her. "Suck. Yup, you got it."

She inhaled and let the smoke out of her mouth. You took a drag to keep from laughing. "When you've got the smoke in your mouth, inhale it."

She did as you told and started coughing violently. This time, you couldn't keep the laughter in. She shoved you and you laughed harder.

Taglist: @autorasexy, @wedfan2, @unadulterated-moron, @modernsapphicism, @9unknown0, @sage-rose2000, @massive-honkas, @nattys-swiftie, @likefirenrain, @luz-enjoyer, @dandelions4us, @natashamaximoff-69

(if you want to be added to the taglist, reply to this post :))

#mean girls #mean girls 2024 #mean girls 2004 #regina george #regina george x reader #regina george x you #regina george x oc #regina george x ofc #lesbian regina george #mean girls x reader #wlw #wlw yearning #no use of y/n #fic: yard work

[tossawary]

A quote and thoughts regarding Shen Yuan's opinions on Liu Mingyan and the "sexiness" of the Liu Mingyan versus Sha Hualing setup. He knows what he should be feeling in this situation as a "normal straight guy", but I don't think he's actually feeling it.

"Shen Qingqiu was very fond of this female lead, and it wasn't only because Liu Mingya's beauty points were the highest. It was also because she had great poise. She always understood the big picture and grasped the general situation, and her conduct was fair and honest. Even in Luo Binghe's gigantic harem, a wife with both intelligence and moral character was rare.

There was one more appeal factor. Liu Mingyan was the only female character for whom Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky didn't write detailed sex scenes. Many readers had been highly dissatisfied with this arrangement, to the point that they spammed the comments with their ranting, but this had given Liu Mingyan something no other female lead had: an image as clear as ice and pure as jade!

Can't be helped, the unobtainable ones are always the best.

[Sweatdropping shrug kaomoji that I can't type out.]

This was what made the second match worth watching. An evil demoness naturally demanded a righteous saintess as a rival. Every man dreamed of being caught between an angel and a devil. To watch them jealously vie with each other over him one moment, then risk life and limb for his sake in the next - that was the highest, most sacred, perverted fantasy of every male organism. He could drunk off the wild, untamed charm of the wicked seductress, and at the same time his heart would ache for the austere taste of the pure saintess who kept pulling him closer only to push him away!

One had to admit, "Great Master" Airplane was genuinely good at nailing what people found satisfying. Shen Qingqiu couldn't help giving Luo Binghe another glance.

Luo Binghe found it very hard to not care about that gaze. Why exactly did Shen Qingqiu keep looking at him? Was it possible that Shizun... really had an interest in him?"

Volume 1, Chapter 2, pages 111-112.

I'm not sure where to start with this! It's a lot! I'll just work backwards: it is very funny to have Shen Qingqiu repeatedly looking towards Luo Binghe, trying to see Binghe's reactions to Sha Hualing and Liu Mingyan, and Binghe's just like, "Shizun is looking at me???" I think "interest" in this case just means interest in Binghe as a disciple with potential, rather than anything else. Binghe is not paying any real attention to Sha Hualing or Liu Mingyan's attractiveness.

Oh! A rare compliment towards "Great Master" Airplane! Shen Yuan, don't strain those rarely used muscles!

I do find it amusing that Shen Yuan refers to Liu Mingyan as "moral" and "righteous" and "pure" here. The vibe I got with Liu Mingyan is that she sided with Luo Binghe to take down her brother's murderer, which I would agree is righteous and abides by a set of morals. But the first few pages of SVSSS inform us that PIDW Luo Binghe viciously destroyed the great cultivation sects, which means that PIDW wife Liu Mingyan either helped or stepped aside when a whole bunch of murder happened.

And the "my favorite wife is the one with no (or limited) sex scenes" is a classic Shen Yuan moment and one of the reasons he reads as being strongly on the asexuality spectrum to me. The way that he talks about heterosexual "male" desire gives me the same vibe. Like he's separated from it. Like he knows this is what he's "supposed" to feel and he just... doesn't... and it's possibly hard for him to recognize what sexual desire feels like (as opposed to, say, general sexual arousal that doesn't necessarily have a target) if he's never actually experienced it himself. He knows what he should be feeling if he was the "every man" reader of PIDW.

Even when he talks about Sha Hualing and Liu Mingyan's appeal, he says "wild, untamed charm" and "pulling him closer only to push him away" as the key components of the fantasy. Like, "being flirted with" and "being fought over and fought for" and "appreciating a distant beauty" are more important than "having sex". "The most appealing thing about Liu Mingyan is that she wouldn't actually go through with trying to have sex with me," says Shen Yuan.

He's like, "Oh, I can recognize that Liu Mingyan and Sha Hualing are physically attractive, that probably means I'm an Ordinary Straight Man." Even though the way that he talked about Liu Qingge's looks in the Ling Xi Caves was... not very heterosexual... and here, he mostly seems excited just to see one of his favorite characters.

Admittedly, Sha Hualing appears 15-16 here and I think Liu Mingyan is around the same age (she doesn't have her spiritual sword yet), so Shen Yuan is probably also not attracted to them just because they're teenagers. (I do not interpret him as sexually or romantically interested in Binghe at all at this point in time.) I headcanon Shen Yuan being 20-ish at this point in time, so he's probably not that much older than SHL or LMY, but they're probably around his younger sister's age (Shen Yuan's younger sister was old enough to be reading non-con, gay, BDSM erotica.) Sha Hualing shows up half-naked and Shen Yuan is just like, "Where are your shoes? Did you walk here like this? Wasn't that painful?"

In my opinion, Shen Yuan seems a little... relieved... to think that no one could be sexually or romantically interested in the scum villain. He does lament that it's hard to get a girlfriend like this, sure. He does think that he's going to die and that he'd eventually lose any woman to Binghe, so there's no point in trying. But he really, really does not try. "Oh, I can't pursue anyone because they'd never be interested in me! How frustrating! ...Anyway! Moving on to enjoy the many other little pleasures of life! Like food and monsters!" I think the closest he comes to flirting with anyone is when speaking to Liu Qingge in the Ling Xi Caves, while Liu Qingge is coughing up blood, and that did not seem intentional.

I think if he had transmigrated into any other character, who wasn't an "unappealing" villain, Shen Yuan still wouldn't pursue women. I think he'd be like, "Well, I want a beautiful woman, because I have standards! But all beautiful women belong to the protagonist, and no one is better than Binghe, there's no way I'd win that competition, so there's no point in trying!" At which point, it's just like, "Shen Yuan, anyone becomes beautiful when you love or like them; I don't think you actually want to fuck women."

I think if Shen Yuan had transmigrated in as Luo Binghe, he still wouldn't try to pursue women. He'd be like, "I'm just raising my standards for the harem! Some of those wives were not very intelligent or in possession of good moral character! Nearly three-digits is disrespectful to the better wives! I'm only interested in especially beautiful and skilled women, like Liu Mingyan, who's perfect! (And also won't try to have sex with me.)"

Like, I am not against a bisexual Shen Yuan. I am willing to be persuaded to go along with many different interpretations! But he does read to me generally as a gay asexual / demisexual who hasn't yet realized that a desire to be fawned over and an ability to recognize beauty is not necessarily the same thing as sexual attraction. (I do think he is attracted to Binghe after Binghe gets back from the Endless Abyss, but his feelings there are tied up in his very real, reasonable fear of murder and mutilation.)

#tossawary svsss #tossawary rereads svsss #sha hualing #shen yuan #shen qingqiu #liu mingyan #luo binghe #bingqiu #liu qingge #spoilers #shen yuan versus asexuality fic

[zenkindoflove]

"I want what Elain wants and she wants Azriel"

Is a claim I often see e/riels use to claim why they are "pro Elain" and implying that if you ship Elain with her mate because "she clearly doesn't want him" then you are anti Elain.

So yeah this whole post is why that's bullshit.

First let's get some things straight that we all can agree are facts.

1. Elain had a crush on Azriel. It's clear by their looks and touches and her showing body language that she wanted to kiss him in the bonus chapter. It's unclear whether that crush survived post her tears over his rejection and giving the necklace back as they had no canonical interactions post solstice.

2. Elain does not want to address the bond right now and avoids Lucien. Her feelings about Lucien specifically and what she thinks about the bond are unclear.

Now that we got that out of the way, the assertion that you are the most pro Elain because you ship her with Azriel is quite a stretch. I'm sure you like Elain, as do I, but you do not hold some moral high ground because of who you ship her with.

First, let's discuss the idea that you have to support who Elain wants. People can want all kinds of people who are not right for them for a lot of reasons. It's a common experience for many to want the wrong guy. To have a crush and think they're the best and it'll all work out only to have your heart smashed by the cruel reality that they were wrong for you or didn't want you the way you did. It's also common to hate your friends' boyfriends and husbands because they're assholes despite how much they "want" them.

People's feelings change. Feelings are fickle.

In SJM's canonical world, mating bonds are not.

It makes sense that Elain, after going through her horrible rejection by the man she actually wanted and loved, Graysen, would not be ready to face what having a mate means. I'm sure it felt like infidelity to her, especially if she does desire and feel a pull towards Lucien like every other female with a mating bond has in this series. Her avoidance of Lucien can mean a lot of things, including that she wants him even if she mentally isn't ready or feels she shouldn't.

It also makes sense that she would seek out and find herself in a rebound crush with someone who is in her proximity and is low risk. Azriel doesn't come with the pressure of being her fated soulmate. He's just a dude. A dude who is pretty and paid some attention to her.

So yeah, I get why she wants him. Doesn't mean I think he is right for her.

Why isn't he right for her? To make a long post short, Azriel often undermines Elain. He diminishes her need for help when she's clearly depressed (ACOWAR), and he speaks for her and directly contradicts her wants (ACOSF, scrying). He is entitled to her without merit (the third sister line, bonus). He ignores her wishes to avoid violence and wants to kill people who are important to her (wanting Graysen killed, saying he'd kill Lucien in a blood duel - we know canonically if a mate dies it is like losing half of your soul). He thinks very little of her past his lustful fantasies (bonus chapter) and even to the point of projecting his own self-hatred when he looks at her skin (bonus chapter). Elain is symbolic for him of the thing he covets most (a mate), and his crush on her is a manifestation of his psychological need to pursue unavailable females because of his self worth (friends who will never romantically love him or a female with a mating bond). Basically they are a recipe for a toxic relationship full of avoiding real personal healing.

So yeah sorry, even if Elain wants to kiss him I'm not shipping her with someone like that just because she "wants" it. I would rather see her have a story where she discovers who she is and what being Fae means to her, which means directly addressing not only her powers (hello let her scry) but also addressing her mating bond head on by getting to know the male that she will always have a pull to, no matter if she rejects the bond or not. Elain is a fictional character with a narrative arc. Her wants now will not always stay static.

For me, as someone pro Elain, I want her to give herself a chance at a forever kind of love, one with a soul to soul connection and an eternal devotion. I want her to experience that unconditional love she so desperately craves. I don't want to read her choosing just some regular dude who will probably drop her the second his mating bond snaps anyways. She deserves a mate. Even if she doesn't know or understand that yet.

And quite frankly, I think once Elain does learn not only who Lucien is but the way he thinks about her and how devoted he is to her and only her, she will want him soon enough. I don't ship for characters' frivolous crushes in the now. I ship for their potential with the right person. The person who will see them starving and depressed and worry about their well being rather than what their powers can provide them. Who will hear their vision and cross an ocean because they believe in it. Who will fight across a battlefield just to make sure they're okay. Who will even push down their own needs and wants to give them space because that's what they want right now.

You know what that means though. If you're pro-Elain for wanting what Elain wants, then Lucien is the most pro-Elain person there is. And why wouldn't he be? He is her mate after all, and he will do anything for her.

So yeah, that's who I want for Elain, and I think that makes me pretty pro-Elain too.

#elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #pro elain #pro elain archeron #anti e/riel #anti azriel #pro elucien #elain x lucien

[eddies-house]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Twelve - The Holiday Season Begins

W/C: 8.7K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

"I've got my eye on you."

Say Yes To Heaven - L.D.R

A/N: Wow I think this is the longest I've gone without posting a chapter. I really hope you guys enjoy this one. I wrote it in bits and pieces and read it over several times. I would really really really love to know what you think, this one is so special and personal to me.

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Sugary apple goo.

You think back to Thanksgiving back home, a ruckus constant in the kitchen as dinner is prepared, more than enough food to feed an entire village.  Pots and pans clank together, trays create an echo as they are not-so-carefully placed atop the counter.  Dinner rolls are burned but still enjoyed with warm cinnamon butter.  The potatoes are a touch too lumpy but still desirable with notes of rosemary and an ungodly amount of garlic.  Various smells, both sweet and savory flood the house, your poor, stressed out mother churning out dish after dish, siblings all engaged in some kind of ball game out in the street just after watching the Thanksgiving Day parade.  

You tend to the green bean casserole, an easy dish that you couldn’t screw up even with your limited attention span.  Cream of Mushroom soup from a can seemed so repulsive in itself although it brought the whole dish together.  It didn’t matter that seconds prior it slumped against the green beans still in the shape of the can, nearly gelatinous.  Once stirred in and baked with crispy onions layered over the top, it was a masterpiece.  A five star dish in your book.

It would only be a matter of time before grandma showed up with her famously delicious apple pie, the crust coated in extra amounts of grainy sugar, the dish still piping hot.  And the “sugary apple goo” as you used to call it at the age of three already had your mouth watering just thinking about it, crispy apples so fresh and topped with syrupy caramelized sauce topped off with cinnamon and nutmeg, all wrapped up in a flaky, buttery crust.  

You sigh, piling the apple mixture on top of the homemade graham cracker crust.  It wasn’t clear to you just how lonely Thanksgiving morning would be without anyone around.  Sure, you had Donnie’s to look forward to this evening but until then, you were on your own, the parade quietly playing on the TV though you hadn’t been very impressed with the floats this year.  Holiday depression was kicking in, a kind you hadn’t experienced yet.  They were usually always a happy time, family surrounding you and distracting you from the lonesome thoughts you usually had.  This year it started feeling more like a ton of bricks was sitting on your chest, no one able to aid in providing you with some kind of task such as the honor of making the green bean casserole to ease the pressure.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t just make the controversially delicious dish, you had everything stashed in the pantry.  It just didn’t feel right.  It went unnoticed by you that tears were slowly sliding down your cheeks until a fat one landed on your wrist as you finished spooning the apple filling.  

Again?

In that moment you swear you looked the most pitiful you had ever looked in your entire life, tears trailing down your face silently, all alone, homesick.  You should be in your pajamas playing some kind of a board game on the coffee table in the living room, surrounded by your siblings.  Not throwing yourself a pity party while spreading apple goo.  To top it off, your hands had gotten completely covered, the sauce making your fingers undesirably sticky.  You hadn’t quite reached the point of sobs yet though you suppose if you let the goo linger on your hands any longer you would.

Some comforting folk music your grandpa used to play religiously rang through the house though you felt no such comfort.  Not as much as you’d hoped anyway.  It brought a familiar sense of his essence to you, his passing three years ago not settling right in your heart.  It only made you more homesick.

But you weren’t going to let yourself soak in salty tears and sticky apples.  No, you washed your hands in soothing warm water, the sludge sliding right off and into the metal of the sink, eyes puffy and red but void of tears for the time being.  You’d sucked them back and changed the music to something more upbeat, some Elvis that your grandpa had also engrained deeply into your brain though you hoped the faster tempo would brighten your spirits and ignite the happy memories.

Only, it landed you on the couch in a whole new sea of sobs this time as Unchained Melody lingered in the lonely room.  There was no getting a grip on the gut-wrenching, stomach-aching isolation you were feeling, sanity was long gone.  You were supposed to be trimming the dough that was meant to create the criss cross pattern for the pie, you were supposed to be enjoying your glass of wine as you sang under your breath to familiar tunes, you were supposed to be okay.  

It was you, after all, who had made the decision to move, right?  It was you who picked up your entire life and plopped it right in the middle of some unknown mountain town in search of yourself.  You feared that you were just losing yourself instead, forgetting just after a few months what it felt like to be surrounded by loved ones, forgetting how it felt to come home to a full house after a grueling shift at the local Denny’s.  You smelled of burnt coffee and dry eggs, your hair greasier than the literal grease trap, but none of that mattered the second you stepped into the coziness of the living room, all family dysfunction left at the door.

The tears wouldn’t stop though you still managed to force yourself off of the couch, wiping snot away with the back of your hand as you stared at the messy kitchen in despair.  Everything suddenly seemed so…impossible.  How were you meant to do anything while simultaneously questioning your entire existence, your entire meaning of life?

You had been in such disarray that cleaning up as you went didn’t even seem close to an option, nearly every pot and pan either set on top of the stove or thrown in the sink, whisks and spatulas scattered among the mess, and apple skins littering the floor.  Now you were taking in the aftermath, not even having the finished product to show as an excuse for the complete disaster, even the dough still rolled out on the cutting board.  You had hours left to prepare though it felt like seconds ticking by to inevitable disappointment.  

The end of the world felt like it weighed down on your shoulders yet you did what you did best each time.  You set it aside and pressed on.  It was never simple, weak hands grasping the dull knife, slicing through the dough to create uniform strips.  Motivation was running dry, the desire to grace everyone with the most delicious apple pie they’d ever tasted was out the window, you could only do what your body allowed.

And like every other time you had to pull yourself out of the gutter.  Life began to bleed back into your eyes as your creation came back to life.  Puffiness still remained throughout your face, eyes still droopy but slowly your drive kicked back into gear.  Sniffles from previous snotty tears continued but nothing felt better than laying down the last layer of dough over the apple filling, a quest conquered.  

Finishing off your cheap red wine, you reward yourself by licking off the spoon you’d used for the filling.  The kitchen still required a good scrub down but you could live with the mess a little while longer as you indulged in the sweetness.  Something well deserved.  You didn’t even want to think about the nightmare that Christmas was about to become, decorating your tree with only the company of your dreaded thoughts.  That was a scenario you were not willing to wander into, at least not until it would actually happen.  There was no sense in making yourself live through it twice, your brain longing to torture you with irrational possibilities.

Elvis’s voice continues to carry through the living room, a second glass of wine being poured in hopes of easing your homesickness, attempting to neglect thoughts of what you would usually be doing right now.  It was barely working, only leaving you feeling slightly lazy with a good layer of sadness still looming over you like a storm cloud.  There was no extinguishing the sorrows you felt for familiarity and the comfort the holidays were supposed to bring you.

Sudden knocking sends you into a brief panic, unexpected guests were not in the cards for your lonesome morning that had only served to encourage your crybaby tendencies.  At the very least you got a pie out of it.

The knocking persists as you scramble up from your depressing divot on the couch, a certain urgency waving over you at the speed of the knocks.  They were rapid, quick pecks at the wood, a worrisome speed that usually constituted an emergency in the end.  

Why today, why now?

With a heavy sigh, you swing the door open, glass of half-finished wine in one hand while the other runs down your drained face.  You expect some kind of eviction notice; god knows why since you own the place.  Maybe the check hadn’t reached the mortgage company, maybe it had been intercepted in transit.  The last thing you expect on your doorstep is a wide-eyed Eddie cradling a large bowl in one arm.  His gray sweatpants swallow his legs and hang low on his hips, a sliver of his tummy on display in between his t-shirt and pants.

It’s conflicting.  Do you act concerned and start begging the questions:  Did something happen?  Who’s injured?  Or do you exhale in relief as a tiny smile tugs at the corners of his mouth even in his somewhat distressed state?  It can’t be that bad if he still finds it in himself to smile, right?

“I, uh, I need help.”  He says sheepishly.

Ever since the night of the hoedown, he’d been a new kind of shy with you.  You couldn’t lie and say you didn’t adore it because truth be told, big bad Eddie Munson who previously chewed you out for being so bashful was now getting a taste of his own medicine.  Except you had been much kinder than he initially was, though it was fun to tease him and force his face to turn a vibrant tomato red.  

“Help?”  You smirk, swirling your wine as if you were some kind of connoisseur.  “My, my, how the tables have turned.”

“Bambi.”  He groans, still maintaining focused eye contact with the wood planks of your porch.

“Eddie.”  

It’s said so softly, in a way that reduces him to a puddle, his knees could give out at any moment if you so much as looked at him a certain way which had been why he refused to catch your gaze.  He internally curses himself for automatically counting under his breath, unable to stop himself: one, two, three, one, two, three.

In an instant your face falls, he only ever counted when he was stressed from what you could gather.  It was a learning curve, navigating Eddie’s quirks.

“Hey.”  You soothe, gingerly grabbing his wrist with your free hand.  “Hey, what’s wrong?”  

His curls bounce with a shake of his head, his eyes fluttering shut.  The counting stops but he still comes across as fuzzy.  Disoriented.  

“Come inside.”  You whisper, gently tugging him through the door, your wine abandoned at the entry table in the process.  “It’s freezing out.”

Instinctually he hands you the bowl he’d been cradling close to his body with a wooden spoon sticking out.  Upon further inspection, a mountain of mashed potatoes-or should you say lumps of potatoes are piled up within the bowl.  The skins are still intact, way too many if he intended to make smooth and creamy potatoes.  They’d be much less than enjoyable in the state they were currently in.

“I fucked them up.”  He whispers.

The sight you’re met with is that of a small child in a grown man’s body, his large eyes pleading.  You’re forced to realize that today may very well be much worse for him than it is for you.  He’d warned you that he didn’t do holidays and here he was, a nervous wreck turning up on your doorstep in a panic with lumpy potatoes.  And suddenly you felt so selfish.

“That’s okay.”  You assure him, tracing a tender thumb over his bicep.  He looked so lost.  “Eddie, it’s okay.”  You repeat with a nod.

“I just, I was gonna buy something from the store, and then, I just thought–I dunno maybe I’d at least try.”  He tugs on his curls, a bit too harshly for your liking.  “I don’t know why I even tried.”  He sighs in defeat.

It’s enough to break your heart.

“Eddie.”  

Turmoil flashes in his eyes, stress apparent in the way his brows furrow and his frown lines grow deeper.  His lips are red, most likely bitten, and he can’t stop twisting one of his rings around his finger.  He looks to be as much of a wreck as you felt although the symptoms seem to be much more apparent in his appearance than yours.  Your slightly swollen eyes were nothing compared to his tousled curls, anxieties littered across his face and trembling hands unable to be subtly hidden without the crutch of sleeves.

“I, uh, I-I shouldn’t have bothered.”  He mutters, reaching for the door.

You intercept him, your hand wrapping around his elbow while you attempt to meet his eyes.  He freezes in his escape, your touch rendering him paralyzed, your fingers suddenly too determined in digging into the meat of his arm.  Not meanly.  Never meanly.  More concerned.  Concerned for the way he cowers away the second he’s offered any fraction of help.  Perhaps it’s hypocritical of you to regard him with such worry when you yourself present the same behaviors under the same circumstances and expect no such treatment.

Your expression offers a certain softness that he’s come across one too many times since you’d barged into his life and taken his heart hostage.  You’d never know you committed such a crime.  And he’d never outright tell you of the ache that sat deep in his chest that he had no clue how to satiate.  All he knew was that he could not jeopardize this.  If he could get through the holidays, if he could get to January and you were still around, then, and only then would he be convinced that he had finally lifted whatever fucked up, out-of-this-world curse that had haunted him all his life.

“It’s okay.”  Barely above a whisper, you assure him.

Eddie doesn’t remember making his way into your kitchen, he can’t recall your delicate hand pulling him along until you let go to discard his potato concoction onto the counter and he realizes he’s taken the warmth for granted in a haze of existential dread.  Like a lost puppy, he stares at your fingertips as they linger on the counter while you lean over to reach for an empty casserole dish.  The entirety of your kitchen cabinets had thrown up all over the counters, a reflection of the way his brain felt.  Scattered.  

“Potatoes are actually super complicated.”  

His ears perk up, unsure of how to conjure up a response.  Instead, he raises his eyebrows, fearful of how dumb he could make himself look with just a few syllables.  It wasn’t like him to care so deeply what others thought of him.

“That’s why I avoid them.  Instead–”  You turn around only to pull out a can of green beans and a can of cream of mushroom.  “-work smarter, not harder.”

Eddie knows he should be hanging onto every word you say and usually he would be, he knows.  Except he can’t help but tune into the melody of Blue Christmas that had been echoing off the kitchen walls from your record player across the room.

The damn record player.  And the records.

He didn’t realize how much the records still affected him.  He had his own collection now, sure.  But anything that resembled the essence of his Mama, lived safely and soundly on its dedicated shelf in his room, untouched.  It took him years to rebuild Mama’s collection.

“Sorry can we-”  He makes his way toward the record player, his face contorted nearly painfully before lifting the needle.  “I just-I can’t think.”

Your motions were paused, can opener halfway through the can of beans as your eyes meet him with questions splayed across your face.  You don’t ask them.  An understanding smile works its way across your lips and god, he doesn’t know why you’re so patient with him after he stepped into your house and suddenly had the uncontrollable urge to shut off your music.  As he strides back into the kitchen, a series of apologies haven't even left his mouth and yet-

“So…Green Bean Casserole.”  You state, fingers tapping against the tin of each can.  “And Sugary Apple Goo.”  A vague gesture toward the uncooked pie.  “Kind of a…weird duo.  Or it will be if I actually get it in the oven-”

“Sorry, what?”  

“Apple pie.  The apple pie.  At home we just call it sugary apple goo, don’t ask why it’s just–it’s just a thing we do.”  You clarify, shoving the dessert into the comforting warmth of the oven, shivering at the sensation as goosebumps begin to prick your skin.

“Apple goo.”  He repeats.  A raised brow disappearing beyond his messy bangs.

Eddie almost forgets the reason why he’d been in such disarray, almost forgets why he even bothered knocking on your door in the first place, only remembers the fact that he was in a panicked state.

“Yeah.”  You sigh.

You busy yourself with slopping the now drained green beans into a nearby glass bowl.  Your blotchy skin and puffy eyes catch in the stream of sunlight, the kitchen window betraying you as it showcases your true state.  Avoiding those large brown eyes is the best you can do, the theory that if you can’t see him he can’t see you dumbly being put to use no matter how aware you are that it makes no sense.  Maybe if you act “okay enough”, he’ll chalk it up to the common cold, placing the responsibility for your rudolph-like nose on the yearly infection.

What you fail to realize is that by this point, he’s become too familiar with your teary eyes and sad worry lines that only seemed prominent in your times of distress.  Times that he had regretfully been the cause of previously.  Words can’t escape his practically sewn-shut-mouth, all sounds dying long before forming on his tongue.  It’s impossible to create comfort when he himself has trouble doing so for himself.  How could he possibly offer such comfort to someone who deserved kinder words from someone of a higher regard?

“Here, dump this in and mix.”  You instruct, forcing a can of cream of mushroom and a wooden spoon in his hands, yanking him out of his mind.

There’s no room for protest, not that he even intended to.  Not when you’re standing there with the ghost of tear tracks down your cheeks.  Not when you’re this kind.  Not when you’re you.  

“Okay.”  He mutters, a disgusting sound filling his ears from the lumpy soup falling into the bowl.

“After that, pour it in here.”  You place a ceramic casserole dish to his right, the dish nearly too large to fit on the cluttered counter though you’re too occupied with tidying up other parts of the kitchen to bother.

“Got it.”

Eddie Munson absolutely hates Thanksgiving.  But he doesn’t mind it so much when you’re rustling around behind him, a silent conversation hanging in the air that neither of you are alone in your holiday sorrows, whatever they may be.

You don’t ask why he continues counting under his breath behind you or why his hands are shaking.

And he doesn’t ask why tears linger in your eyes or why you pause to regain your composure after dropping a pan a bit too loudly for your liking, your lip wobbling.

Because the collective understanding is that neither of you is okay.  And maybe that’s okay.

–

“Careful, the bottom is–”

“Shit!”

“-hot.”

A ringed hand waves around in an effort to rid it of the burning sensation caused by the bottom of the piping hot casserole dish.  Eddie releases a series of curses, the side of the dish pushed against his chest as he balances it between his body and his single arm protected by one of your generously donated dish rags.  Your wide eyes caution him in his balancing act, a perfectly crafted green bean casserole at risk due to his negligence as he had taken the liberty of knocking on the door.

“What the fuck, how can fuckin’ beans be so goddamn hot?”  Brown eyes nearly roll into the back of his head, his fingertips more than likely singed an angry red.

It’s no laughing matter, not according to the scowl that makes its way across his handsome features but you can’t stop the pull of your lips from forming a large grin, giggles caught in the back of your throat.  His irritation disappears just as quickly as it came, harsh edges blurring into softness at the sight of your puffed out cheeks, inflated due to the humor just dying to crawl out of your mouth.

“Oh, shut up.”  A nudge of his shoulder against yours has you shaking your head, laughter finally escaping your perfectly glossed lips.

He could write paragraphs about them if it didn’t seem so creepy and stalkerish.  So he allowed himself the tiniest of glances, only hoping to paint the full picture in his head ever since you’d quickly puckered your lips in front of your mirror at home to complete your finishing touches while he viewed from the porch where he waited in his black button up and nicest pair of jeans.  He’d never been so jealous over a tube of lipgloss.  In fact, he’d never in his life been jealous of a tube of lipgloss and he never felt like more of a loser than in that moment.

“I told you.”  You mutter, an endearing side eye delivered right into his line of sight.  It was something almost child-like, something innocent and not at all like what he’d ever really been on the receiving end of.  Maybe because there was a certain flirtiness you were hinting at although he was no expert and had no right to assume.

“I told you.”  He mumbles back with a higher pitch, mocking you.

You turn toward him, a comeback on the tip of your tongue when his own tongue interrupts with a taunt, peeking out between his lips swiftly, his nose scrunching up meanly before his full attention is back on the door as it creaks open.  And then, a quick wink that only you yourself were a witness to, only creating a stir in your brain as you decipher that no one else would be able to confirm the action.

“Hey!”  Donnie greets, arms flung up in excitement as she ushers you into her welcoming home, smells infiltrating your nose, sweet and savory galore.

Before either you or Eddie can even get a simple “hello” in, she’s talking your ear off, something about who all is already in the living room, how far along the turkey is, where the bathroom is, all while guiding you into the spacious dining room.  She must have set out her fine china, the gorgeous dishes set all around the table lined with champagne colored silver on the edges of the plates.  Two tables had been pushed together, creating enough space for the large number of guests expected.  In the center sat an exquisite arrangement of various orange-hued flowers and some greenery.  

The house was comforting; not too large and not too small, a two story dream that no doubt had acres of backyard.  The Christmas tree had already been set up and decorated, the branches and lights hinting at you from the other room where men roared with laughter, a football game blaring from the TV that contrasted with the familiar voice of Frank Sinatra coming from the stereo.  Combined turkey and Santa decorations adorned the interior everywhere you glanced, surfaces that would usually be empty year around were occupied with tacky little figurines that were more endearing than anything.  Plastic garland traced the rails of the stairs, littered in fake plastic cranberries, the front room being far more grand than your entire home as you inspected it through the archway of the dining room.

Suddenly your nerves were simmering down, a familiar feeling nestling into the bottom of your chest as your shoulders fell from their tensed position, your fingers letting up on their grip on the pie tin you clutched so desperately.  Women squealed from the kitchen, a series of “oh my god”s erupting into the rest of the house, some kind of juicy gossip initiating several gasps as well as some laughter.  Your homesickness began to lie dormant, warmth overtaking you as Donnie went on and on about her family members, which ones to avoid sitting next to at all costs and warning you of the aunties that would corner you and beg for details on your love life.

“Just pretend I’m calling you and run as fast as you can in the other direction.”  She advises.  “And if that doesn’t work, tell ‘em you had too much wine and that it’s making a reappearance.  They’ll scatter like flies.”

You laugh along, taking mental notes as she grabs the pie from you, complimenting the smell as she sets it among several other desserts, a whole table dedicated only to sweets.  When she goes to grab the green bean casserole from Eddie, you can’t help but pause and watch as his doe eyes trace his surroundings, a clearly unfamiliar environment to him.  There’s uncertainty dripping from his demeanor, his single finger tapping against the dish:  One, two, three.  One, two, three.  One, two, three.

“Green bean casserole-Eddie, do you know how many green bean casserole we’ve got?  Like you all read each other’s mind, I swear.”  Donnie jokes.

“It’s-um, it’s hot.”  He cautions her.

Sauntering toward the main table, Donnie proudly sets it on top of a place mat to protect the wood from the heat.  Eddie doesn’t budge, seemingly glued to the carpet, his hands still lingering in the air like he had still been holding the dish.

“You okay?”  You mouth to him, looking up into his worried eyes, only hoping to soothe the crease in between his eyebrows.

He nods though you suspect he’s being a bit dishonest.  

“Oh, c’mon Eddie!  You know I’m just pullin’ your leg.”  Donnie reassures, a heavy hand falling against his shoulder.  “Shoot, I have to go check on the oven.  Yell for me if you need anything, both of you, okay?”  

“Sure.”  You mumble.  “Thank you.”

“There’s a fully stocked bar right over there, help yourselves.”  She calls as she backs herself up toward the kitchen.  “But don’t go too crazy.”  She sends a knowing glance, recalling both of your tendencies to take on more than you can handle.

“Why don’t we get some air?”  You suggest, unable to comprehend exactly just what was happening in Eddie’s mind although you knew enough to understand that he was miles outside of his comfort zone.

“No, no.  I’m good.”  A cleared throat doesn’t reassure you enough but you let it go for the time being.  Prying wasn’t going to help.  “”M gonna get a beer.”  He murmurs, chain jingling from his belt as he makes his way toward what you can only assume is the kitchen where Donnie had just disappeared to.

As pathetic as it seemed, you weren’t going to allow yourself to wander around alone, vulnerable to various conversations trapping you in small talk with strangers: an absolute nightmare.  Timidly, you follow behind Eddie at a safe distance, holding your breath as you take in the new room full of busy women and many glasses of wine.  The smell of gravy heavily lingers, a tinge of the sourly sweet alcohol peeking through as you release your breath and inhale finally.  

And then-they were all over him.  Sweet older women, ranging from around fifty plus years, all doting on him, cooing at him while complimenting how tall he is and his handsome features.  It only forces you to lean your hip against the counter and take in the most captivating scene you’d ever witnessed.  His cheeks redden, his entire face matching shortly after as he nods in response, small “thank you”s sneaking past his lips with a sheepish grin threatening to spread across his face, dimples prominent.  It’s clear he doesn’t know what to do with the attention, has no recognition of the power he currently holds.

“Is this one yours?!”  One woman shrieks, taking your hands in her bony ones.

“Oh-”

“You’re so lucky, he’s such a looker!”  Another chimes in.

“We’re not-”

“You better hope he holds onto all that hair throughout the years.”  A third nods.

Eddie’s face has never been redder, crimson painting his usually pale skin, a beer pinched in between his fingers as he avoids every single eye in the room.  You can only imagine the look on your own face, maybe slightly mortified with a hint of pink pulling at your cheeks due to the unnecessary attention.

“Alright, alright.”  Donnie interjects.  “Enough, you’re gonna scare ‘em away before they’ve even had a bite to eat!”  She waves her hands around, dramatics on full display as she shoos them away like pigeons.

“Thank you.”  You whisper, eyes large and surprised.

“Run, run.”  Donnie displays wide eyes, gently shoving you both out of the kitchen.

–

Throughout the evening, you kept Eddie in your peripheral.  Sure, he was grown and fully capable of taking care of himself but it didn’t worry you any less when holidays weren’t necessarily his favorite thing.  Anxieties lurked in the back of your mind the second he started counting earlier, never once fading away no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that he was fine, now bantering back and forth with Sam.

“That Steve kid really can’t dance.”  Nathan laughs, pulling you back into the initial conversation you were having, perched on the couch with a glass of wine set in front of you on the coffee table courtesy of Donnie’s excellent hosting skills.

“Well that’s why he excused himself off the dancefloor.”  You softly smile, earning another hearty laugh from the man.

“Hey, but Eddie’s no better.”  He jokes, taking a swig of his beer.  “Looked like a damn giraffe stumbling over his own legs.”

“I wasn’t very coordinated either!”  You defend.  “We were a hot mess.”  You bury your face in your hands.

“Yeah, I bet Eddie thought you were hot.”

The recliner adjacent to you creaks beneath Jett as he makes himself comfortable, slouching with a beer in his hand.

“Whoa.”  Nathan leans forward, ready to reprimand him.  “What-”

“That’s okay.”  You speak softly, your hand covering the older man’s as an act of keeping the peace, something you did best.  Several seconds of contemplation and a glance across the room toward Eddie change your mind.  

“Actually-it’s not.”  You turn your body toward Jett, a man–child before your eyes that refused to even look at you after his comment.  Your hands shake and your cheeks heat with embarrassment, chalking your sudden confidence up to the glass and a half of wine you indulged in.  

“What?”  Jett furrows his brows, examining his beer far too aggressively as a means to avoid you.

“It’s not okay.”  You whisper, a wimpy excuse of a defense.

“What’s gotten into you, boy?”  Nathan scolds through gritted teeth.

Jett’s nearly-black eyes resemble something opposite in comparison to the warmth in those across the room currently harboring a twinkle in an engaged conversation.  The boy is unable to get a word in as you quietly begin to address him.

“Look, I’m sorry if I did something wrong.”  You regret the tremble in your tone, confrontation was well out of your comfort zone, especially with someone who had been so hostile for no reason.  It wasn’t in your DNA to be the “bad guy” even when it would benefit your wellbeing.

Something in your words softens Jett’s eyes, pulls a piece of him back into reality.  You weren’t terrorizing him and he couldn’t seem to grasp that ever since that night you had argued with Eddie behind the bar.  And you hadn’t spoken a word out of line but you weren’t clueless.  Clearly he had an agenda against you and Eddie, it never left your mind since Eddie mentioned that Jett got all over-protective suddenly that night and took it out on him.  But what could you do when all he did was puff out his chest rather than have a decent conversation?  His frayed emotions were not your responsibility, you owed him nothing if he was going to insist on acting like a toddler in adult situations.  You suppose some of it could be due to his lack of years behind yourself and Eddie, Jett still a teenager, almost twenty whereas you had been in your twenties for a few years now.  It wasn’t an excuse, just your brain attempting to work out his logic.

“You didn’t–you didn’t do anything wrong.”  He sighs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

You don’t offer any words.  Only an expectant look.  Expecting of some kind of explanation as to why he’d been acting so cruel.  And as if the universe decided you didn’t live in enough anguish with your homesickness that morning paired with the current unwanted confrontation, Eddie’s eyes met yours for a brief moment before darting away, a deep sigh and suddenly slouching shoulders clearly indicating some kind of defeat before he quietly stepped out of the room.

“Can we get into this another time?”

You don’t wait for a response, excusing yourself to slip out of the room and follow the trail of cold out the front door, the chill seeping into your bones as your cradle your arms close to yourself.  The porch is spacious, something you hadn’t taken notice of earlier when arriving.  To your left, Eddie sits on a wooden bench with the family name “Scott” carved into it.  A cigarette takes its place between his fingers, his lighter flickering while he lets out a frustrated groan.  He places the stick between his lips and cups the flame to hide it from the wind, finally succeeding in lighting it, puffs of smoke escaping through the corners of his mouth.

“I’m not fragile, Bambi.  Stop following me around.”  He mutters, pulling the cigarette from his lips.  There’s no malice detected in his words, just something lacking hope as he stares straight ahead.

Carefully, you sit at the very edge of the bench, your skirt a tad too short to allow you to fully sit back due to the cold surface.  You catch a wave of his warmth as he rests his arm on his thigh.  It hurts, how far away he feels even being inches from you; his mind might as well be on Jupiter.  A momentary glance over at you causes him to sigh deeply, his head dipping down while he shakes it in disappointment.

“And dammit!”  Eddie snaps, face twitching in aggravation.  “I don’t have a jacket for you this time.  Learn how to dress for the cold.”  He gestures to your posture, your arms wrapped around your middle in an attempt to savor any warmth, and your jaw clenched shut as a means to keep your teeth from chattering though you can’t seem to contain the shivers nearly rattling your bones.

“I don’t need one.”

He scoffs, disbelief evident in his movements, a fidgeting hand reaching up to scratch the barely-there stubble at his jaw.  

“I don’t!”  You lie.

You were never one to willingly be dishonest but a little white lie in this case didn’t seem like the end of the world.  Not when Eddie’s fragile state of mind seemed to gnaw away at him.  You wouldn’t leave him out for the wolves to feed on him; wolves being his never ending thoughts that always without fail, won him over and forced him to crawl back into his comfort zone of isolation.  You suppose you weren’t so innocent either, always succumbing to the very same habits.

“Go back inside.”  A flick of his cigarette ash towards the ground ignites in the thin layer of snow barely coating the porch before extinguishing.

You can’t help the furrow in your brows, staring at him as if to figure him out, attempting to glance into his large coffee colored irises, to no avail.  His shiny eyes dodge your attempts, the windows of his soul closed off, even from you.  Not that you were immediately entitled, though you figure with each trauma he had shared with you, he’d at least be able to look you in the eye.

“Come with me.”  You chirp.  “We’ll taste all the wines.  C’mon, and then we’ll be nice and hungry.  Drunk eating is the best.”  You extend a hand out toward him, your freshly painted nails perfectly imperfect in his peripheral.

“I’m not in the mood, Bambi.”

His gravelly voice has a certain effect on you, one you find not appropriate to dissect right now.  He lifts the cigarette back up to his lips, the chance to take one more drag stolen from him as you pluck it from his fingers, tossing it into the snow without regret, stomping your foot on it for good measure.

“Well, get in the mood.  Let’s go.”  

Boldly, you tug at his arm, unable to move him by yourself, you know.  But he willingly melts into your touch, allowing you to pull him up despite his protesting frown.  Though he follows you to stand, he doesn’t budge much further than that as you try to drag him back into the cozy warmth of the house.  The rounded tip of his nose glows red, the threat of a cold only pushing you to tug on his sleeve with no success in ushering him inside.

“I think ‘m just gonna head home.  You think someone else could give you a ride back?”  The question is hesitant, no longer wanting to participate in the festivities but still concerned for your well-being, especially if you were going to continue to drink.  

Your track record with alcohol wasn’t exactly great and he’d never forgive himself if something happened and he wasn’t there just because the sight of you talking to Jett had left a bad taste in his mouth.  But he couldn’t stand it any longer, watching you act so graceful all the time, especially to someone you didn’t particularly like, and then having to pretend that a simple kiss on the cheek didn’t absolutely wreck him.  A kiss that you hadn’t since mentioned, and he wasn’t going to humiliate himself by insinuating that you wanted him in that way.  No one wanted him in that way.

“What?”  You breathe, face shifting into a sadness Eddie wanted to kick himself for.  “No, you can’t go–”

“I’m sure Jett is ready and willing to entertain you.”

Low blow.  He could always count on himself to deliver a low blow at the worst of times.

Eddie knew now that you had a distaste for Jett, he knew that.  And yet he was stupid enough to continue using Jett as ammo against you for no reason other than his own insecurity.  If he continued to push you away then it wouldn’t hurt so bad when you realized he was scum of the earth.  Trailer trash.  A nobody.  That’s what he kept telling himself.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  You fume, crossing your arms.

“I don’t know, Bambi.  You tell me cause I can’t figure you out.”

The use of his nickname for you stitched together with words of anguish only further confused you.  You couldn’t seem to win.

“Can’t–can’t figure me out?!”  You widen your eyes at him, only hoping to convey how ridiculous of a statement it is.  “Can’t figure me out.  What about you?!  You’re the one no one can figure out!”  

You’re on the verge of whining, begging in a sense.  Pleading with the most stubborn man in the world and god only knows what you’ll do if he doesn’t stand down.

“Maybe there’s a reason for that.”  He states simply, monotone.  It makes you want to yank your hair out by the roots and offer it to him, asking him if it’s enough.  If it’s enough to shut up the voices in his head.

“Yeah?  Because you don’t wanna let people in?!”  Uncharacteristically, you jab a finger into his chest, frustration making itself known across your face and you only know because his eyes ever so slightly soften.  “Eddie, all you do is give me mixed signals!  How many times do I have to tell you I want nothing to do with Jett?!  What do I have to do to get that through your thick fucking head?!”  He tries to get a word in but you don’t give him an opportunity.  “No, seriously!  I need an instruction manual or something because I’m trying!  I have been trying-”

“-I didn’t ask you to!”  He finally interrupts, sorrow filling his eyes.

With a deep breath, you calm your heaving chest.  It’s apparent you’re no longer cold, your skin hot from working yourself up.  Steam may as well be coming from your ears though it wasn’t your intention to get so irritated with him.  

“I wanted to.  I want to.”  Your voice comes out softer, a gentler approach to his sudden internal conflict.

“No.”

Turning away, he doesn’t quite move to leave but there’s no mistaking the fact that he’s trying to shut you out.  He’s trying to escape like some kind of feral animal but you refuse to give in.  You refuse to let him.  

“Yes.  Eddie–look at me!”  You demand with a small pull of his arm.

“No.”

He goes to turn his body even further away from you but the firm hold you have on his bicep stops him.  He keeps his gaze on the floorboards below, his nose twitching and eyes burning with the threat of tears.  You only know because you’re all too familiar with the mandatory frown that comes with holding them back.

“Stop doing that.  Please.”  You beg.

“I can’t be here right now–”

“What makes you think I can?”

He’s silent.  The world instantly feels so quiet, tiny snow flurries fluttering around you, making you feel as if you’re the only two people on Earth.  Echoes of the celebrating and hollering inside are faint although they don’t do much to pop the bubble you find yourselves in.  Then he breaks the silence, daring to plead with you this time.

“Bambi, please.”  He croaks.

Your initial thought is, please what?  You’d been pleading with him back and forth for god knows how many minutes straight and here he was doing it right back to you.  And for what?  It wasn’t a good enough plea, not for you.  You weren’t ready to let it go, if you even knew what “it” was.

“No, you’re coming inside and you don’t have to associate with me if you don’t want to but you’re coming inside.”

Your demand only seems to irritate him, his brows knitting together while he pinches the bridge of his nose in between his fingers.  If he was agitated then you were about to become enraged.  And that is not something you wanted.  You never wanted to display that kind of emotion toward him but he was practically pulling it out of you and you had to fight against it.  No one had ever been able to pull such a reaction out of you, not ever.  Even if you had gotten pretty close, you swallowed it down and hid it.

“Why?!”  Eddie seethes.

His outburst takes you back, though with the aggravation boiling within you, you were able to contain any reaction he was seeking, if any.  That wasn’t the case for long though as you then launch yourself into another tantrum after staring for a second too long at his snarled lip.

“Because believe it or not, I care, Eddie!”  You practically wail, your voice becoming hoarse.  “If you leave I’m coming with you because I’m not leaving you alone.  Not on Thanksgiving.”  Your head shakes in denial.

Against your own will, a single tear trails down your cheek and the moment you feel it, you’re rapidly wiping it away, hoping he never even saw it when you knew damn well his umber eyes followed it all the way down your face.  He only pulls his gaze away.

“I’m leaving.  You’re staying here.”  He decides, regret etched into his features.

In a final attempt to escape your grasp, he succeeds, feeling your fingertips linger for one last second before drifting away as he turns and makes his way down the porch steps, wood protesting beneath him.  The noise is the only proof you have that he’s actually leaving, that he actually feels he’s not worthy enough to stay.  

You refuse to give up so easily.

Your feet are already on a mission, nearly sprinting down the stairs even with the threat of slipping on the minimal amount of ice beginning to freeze over.  Eddie pays no mind to the fast paced footsteps crunching against the gravel behind him, making his way over to Sugar with his head hung low.  Your heart is racing, not just because you suddenly decided to sprint a few yards but because a healthy dose of dopamine has started coursing throughout your body, a good amount of anxiety accompanying it but not deferring you any longer.

Eddie makes it to Sugar, his hand reaching for the door only for it to be forced shut with a self-manicured hand.  If he didn’t know who the hand belonged to he’d be chewing the owner out for daring to touch his beloved truck.  Instead he rolls his eyes and turns as he prepares to reprimand you in a much more gentle manner than he would anyone else.

Except he doesn’t even have the chance when your lips are suddenly pressed to the corner of his mouth, your body pushing him against Sugar.  His hands freeze mid air, his eyes wide open.  Your hands are resting on his chest and–he can’t breathe.  You pull away, inches from him and he can’t breathe, he can’t speak, he can’t move.  As far as he’s concerned he isn’t even human anymore.  

“Stay.”  You whisper, your breath fanning over slightly chapped lips.

His lips won’t stop tingling, he can’t grasp the concept of what just occurred.  He refuses to even touch you for fear that you might disappear right before him.  Hell, he’s not even sure he’s allowed to.

It’s difficult to gauge his reaction, his heavy breath lingering with the smell of his cigarette that would probably gross you out had it been anyone else but for some reason, because it’s him, you don’t mind very much.  You must smell strongly of wine which isn’t always pleasant so you figure you’re even.

“Please stay.”   You repeat, nudging your nose into his.

It’s like he’s in a trance, his eyelids becoming lazy and his body relaxing when you reach up to trace your thumb ever so slightly over his jaw.  His forehead rests against yours, his eyes squeezing shut, and you can hear a gulp in his throat.  With his eyes still shut, he nods and before you can process it, he launches himself into your arms in a tight embrace, wrapping himself around you, his face buried in your neck.  A wetness catches against your skin catches your attention, Eddie’s body heaving slightly and you just know.

You know that the tear stains on your skin mean more to him than you could ever imagine.

Slowly, your fingers tangle in his hair, threading into the curls at the nape of his neck to lightly scratch his scalp soothingly.  The way he grips onto you tighter, his body shaking, only confirms that physical touch and affection was not a luxury he was allowed in his lifetime.  If he let you, you’d spend thousands of hours holding him, even in the cold.  Whatever he needed.

But the snow flurries began to grow larger and the wind started to pick up.  And you’d be damned if you allowed yourself and Eddie to catch a nasty cold when you could be doing the same thing inside next to the fire.  Though, as you thought about it, Eddie would probably shy away from your touch in front of everyone.  And that didn’t anger you in the way it normally would.  Because you couldn’t blame him, someone so touch starved that he began to sob the second he was willingly kissed and told he was wanted, for shying away from showers of physical affection in front of peers that only know him to be big, bad, Eddie Munson.  It would be too much of a change and you weren’t willing to force that upon him.

So as the cold grew more unforgiving, you continued to hold him.  He would be the one to decide when he felt he wanted to part from you.  And if you both got sick, so be it.  A stupid cold would be worth the price if you were able to provide him the touch he went so long without and so badly craved, even if he didn’t quite know it at first.

Eddie parted from you far sooner than anticipated.  His cheeks were rosy, his rounded nose matching, endearingly so.  His eyelashes were dotted with a few lingering tears, his eyes rimmed with red but sadness was absent from his features.  Instead there was a fondness dripping from his expression and though he parted from the embrace to gaze down at you, he still clung to you like his life depended on it. 

“Can I–can I kiss you?”  He whispers shakily.

You want to laugh, only because he’s acting as if you didn’t kiss him in the first place.  But you bury it deep down and only let a smile blossom.  

“Please.”  You whisper back.

This time, you’re more than happy to beg.  

Hesitantly, his shaky hand cups your jaw, the warmth from his skin more than welcome as he gently slots his lips against yours.  He’s slow with it, taking his time.  As you move in rhythm with him, you encourage him, moving his arms to circle your waist, pressing yourself closer and letting your hands travel up his chest to lock behind his neck.  

“I can’t stop.”  He laughs quietly, continuously pecking your lips like he can’t get enough.

“Don’t.”  You giggle into his mouth.

Teeth clash against teeth and though he hasn’t quite graduated to using tongue yet, you have the urge to introduce him.  Before you can pass your tongue along his plump bottom lip, he curses under his breath as he pulls away, only causing worry to spread across your face.

“You’re freezing.”  His hands rub up and down your arms to somewhat heat you up and only then do you realize your face feels completely numb.

“No, I’m fine.”  You protest against your better judgment.  It wasn’t exactly fitting to be in tights while one of the first snow falls of the year ensued.

“You’ll be a popsicle in like three seconds.”

Eddie softly smiles, reaching for your hand and tugging you with him toward the house.  A whine escapes you, a pathetic whimper but you manage to shuffle yourself along with him.  Before entering the realm of reality beyond the front door, Eddie turns to you, stars in his eyes, something glimmering.

“How’s my nose?  Snotty?”  He grins, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

~end~

Masterlist

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea @dashingdeb16

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #smoke signals #eddie munson au #stranger things fic #stranger things au #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic

[narcissarina]

Darkened Desires

Prologue and Chapter 1: The sun || Chapter 2: The moon || Chapter 3: The moon || Chapter 4: The sun || Chapter 5: The sun || Chapter 6: The moon || Chapter 7: The moon || Chapter 8: The sun || Chapter 9: The sun || Chapter 10: The outsider || Chapter 11: The moon || Chapter 12: The sun || Chapter 13: The sun

Pairings: Mafia!Scaramouche × Barista!Reader

Word count: 1,363

Warning: Trauma, deaths, seeking professional help. Slight smut, praise. Cock warming, pet name?

Thank you for enjoying this series. Slight smut at the end. Next chapter will be only smut and probably a plot. Thank you for getting this far in the series:)

Chapter 14:

THE MOON

I fought my way from these degenerates, dead bodies on the ground. Blood splatter from the enemies smeared to my expensive tux, my only mission here to get my beloved sunshine home and safe.

The Tsaritsa has been demanding her whereabouts and sending off an unrealistic number of men to investigate and look for traces off of her. Her Majesty has been getting panic attacks these past few days—Ajax couldn’t get a wink of sleep as he was trying to calm the Tsaritsa. She’s been sobbing violently.

I could only stood there, as vulnerable as Her Majesty is. I’m not there to protect her, to stop them from taking her away from me. I failed. But it’ll be different this time, it has to.

I barged in a room after shooting the man who bought her.

And there she is, curled into a ball—shivering from fear and coldness. “Sunshine?” I called, my voice low and soft. I step inside the room, slowly making my way to her—not making any sound as she’s sounds asleep.

God, she looks… horrible, but still beautiful. But in a horrible shape, she had nightmares. My poor baby.

Her lips quivering, she’s sobbing in her sleep—I took her in my embrace. Rocking her body back and forth as if she’s a little scared toddler, I carried her out the room. Covered her ears to cancel out the noise of gunshot and screams.

She weep and try rolling over in my arms but she couldn’t, gotta shop and give her new clothes, this shit looks uncomfortable to sleep in but I kept wondering how she did it.

We got back in the car, her whole body had been lie down completely and make her use my thigh as her pillow.

“Scara?” I heard her call out with a sob, but she still has her eyes shut and still sobbing in her sleep.

I could only hold her hand tightly, brushing off a strand of her from her face—that’s the only way I could think of to assure her that she’s safe and that I’m here. “The monsters gone, and I’m here.” I whisper, loud enough for her to hear as I feel her breathing slow in a steady pace.

The whole ride was quiet, she rolls over and keeps nuzzling close to me to the point that she’ll squeeze me to death. I only laugh and hugged her close as I knew she’s seeking comfort and warmth, that the shitty place she’s been sold to can’t even provide her something more thick of a clothing so she couldn’t catch a cold.

We arrived back at Her Majesty’s place, I gently pull myself away from her—making sure that she didn’t wake up. The Tsaritsa on the other hand, noticed that we finally got back and she came out stomping with only bare feet.

“Her Majesty! The ground is too dirty, please wear a slipper or something!” one of the guards shouts with worry.

“Is she safe?” The Tsaritsa shouts with worry and stops right on my track, I sigh and nodded, “no need to worry, she’s face. I reckon that she had experience something traumatic.” I spoke, gently taking her out of the car and carrying her bridal-style.

“my poor girl.” The Tsaritsa sobs as she caress the top of her head. I nod and she nodded back, agreeing that we should put her in a room where it’s warm then ask the maid to change her to something comfortable and warm to wear.

I sat at the edge of the bed, my eyes still staring at her sleeping form. I lean to kiss her cheeks, eyes, her warm tears and the side of her lips. “I won’t leave you out of my sight ever again.” I promise, got up and left the room.

She had always been staring off to space, disassociate herself from reality and weep in her sleep. I consult her to a therapist—hoping that she’ll get better in no time, she needed help and I am there every time she needs me.

She’d stare at me and I would smile at her, hoping that it’ll give her comfort and that every thing is going to be all right, no one will catch and hunt her. And that I am sure of it.

I can’t even imagine how she endure those pass few days, but all I knew that she didn’t get hurt or got force something against her will.

Every time I leave the room to give her space, she would stare at me by the door. Then whines as she tries to make me come back and sit against the edge of the bed, she said it doesn’t matter if this is still safe—she felt like she could still be potentially in danger.

I could only chuckle at her silly little words, but also understood why she say something like that. She’d gone through so much trauma and been expose to something she shouldn’t be seeing.

Every time I visit her room, I’d bring any stuff animal and plush of her favorite characters to give her more company when I’m away at work, I also asked Ajax to look after her in my absence. Ajax told me they had a stare-off for an hour as she couldn’t pry her eyes away from that guy.

Ajax was creeped out but shrug it off and decides to have a little play with her, to make her trust him and that he wouldn’t hurt her.

When I get back, she’d welcome me in bed and put the stuff animals and plush away and invite me over. I rest up on her bed, my legs stretched as I feel a little rustling to my side. She’s trying to snuggle against me without trying to interrupt my nap.

She had become clingy and vocal, and then.

She’s finally getting back to her normal self, more alive—cheerful, vocal, and eating much more food. But the thing is, she’d cling to me as if she’s indirectly hinting that she’s now mine.

We lie in bed and she’s in my sweater, snuggling and keeps me close to her embrace. I didn’t budge but I smiled and wrap my right arm over her shoulder and connect my lips to her temple as she takes a little nap, “getting more comfortable, Sunshine?” I softly asked, she nodded and looked up at me.

“thank you.”

“For what?”

“for finding me and staying with me even when I got difficult to handle.”

I chuckle at her statement, “that’s not true.” I object her words, “if you’re difficult then the Tsaritsa won’t be wasting her time stressing out and constantly getting worried. Ajax wouldn’t accompanied you when I told him to.” I hum against her temple and caress her cheeks.

“Are you going to confess your love to me?” I teased and boop her nose, she covered her face against my chest which made me yelp.

“mhm.”

I laugh at how adorable she’s being right now, “fuck, baby. You’re gonna give me a boner. Will you blow me if I got hard?” I tease again.

She nodded and look up at me with those gorgeous god damn doe eyes, I’d roll those eyes at the back of her head again. Making her cum harder than the last time I fucked her when I’m injured.

I lean my head back at the headboard and laugh at her, I feel her leave my chest. Thinking that she’s gonna get herself some drink, but no. I hiss and frown my bros as I saw her got down to my belt and unbuckle it then unzip my pants.

She pulled my boxer down and let my cock free, it wasn’t that hard yet—she held it with her cute hand and pumps it a few times, her mouth open and tongue out.

“Damn baby, cock warming me up?” I hiss and try to reach out to her but she slap my hand away and let her do her job.

I chuckle and tie her hair up to a bun, “careful, hun. Don’t bite my dick off now.”

“Open wide.”

Link:

Chapter 15: THE SUN

#genshin impact #dark romance #darkened desires series #genshin smut #tysm for enjoying this series😭😭🙏 #scara x reader #scaramouche smut #scaramouche fanfic #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #genshin scara #Chaoter 15 will be smut #probably #i need sleep rn #help #still got school hahahaha I'm fcking dyinggg

[v3nusxsky]

OMG YES PLEASE! Beauty Bar chapter 2! 🥺❤️

Pretty please? I don’t want to make a specific request, bc I really wanna see what you planned for it!

Beautiful| nsfw

*Authors note~ a long awaited part two for Bar Beauty, I love this so much and I hope you guys love it just as much as I do*

Triggers warnings~ KNIFE KINK (don't read If it isn't your thing) mistress kink, dom Leo sub r sex slave? R is a stripper sorry not sorry Humiliation degrading praise strap on, oral, sex toys, semi public sex blindfold kink biting kink? Breeding kink safe words

Prompt~ see ask^^^^

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~previously~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were left to rock slightly until you naturally stopped. Then she lowered you to the sofa before scooping up your body and taking you into a private room. There she cleaned you up and got you food and water before sitting down to give you whatever physical attention you needed. The start of a beautiful relationship, bloomed from that one night at Happy Hours.

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

From that night on, you became her submissive. She explained how she wasn't truly looking for anything but a way to blow off steam and that was fine for you. A recent rough break up meant you weren't ready to give your heart to another when you were still trying to undo what hurt you. With Leonora being in charge of one of the houses at her boarding school, she had long work hours, which is mainly where she'd call you too. The staff in charge of the houses had their own apartment next to the school but far enough away to provide them with privacy. They were staff not slaves. The contact she had you sign meant you'd be at her beck and call no matter what you were doing. Even your job would be put on hold if she desired you to. In fact your job was something Leo wasn't truly thrilled about but you had every right to strip as you weren't taken. You weren't hers.

At first she was content like that, simple encounters in her apartment and into her office, where you'd be knelt under her desk eating all her stress away or perhaps she would have you spread on her desk as she absolutely ruined your cunt with her cum filled strap on. Taunting you about how vocal you are, "god your such a whore, bet you want everyone out their to hear how good your mistress fucks you huh? I know you do. Nothing more than my little slutty slave." Truly, you look so innocent until she gets you in her office and your nothing more than a desperate whore. It's one of the many things she loves, no she likes, about you.

She let this whole song and dance go on for months, you'd be called to see her excited but anxious for what lay in store, and you'd leave covered in marks and bruises by her. She reminded you often, she did it to mark what was hers. You are hers even if you don't know it yet. Marking you before you would head to the club and strip for money. Again only adding to her point, you like to whore yourself out so you would need constant reminders of who you belong to. Little did she know, you would hide a few with makeup to appease your boss. And the ones that could be hidden by the little clothing that you wore was for your eyes and hers only.

The night it happened you were truly were having an awful night, your last client had gotten pretty handsy. Immediately making you uncomfortable resulting in him being thrown out spewing hateful words. It wasn't hidden that you were a lesbian who didn't mind stripping for males to look but touching was a no go. Practically a tease, apart from the women you'd allow back for a private session which would end up leaving you rather satisfied. Well before you met Leonora at happy hours. In fact you hadn't heard from your domains in a few days and you desperately wanted to get the fell of his hands off you. You had one last set to do before you could leave for the night, which meant you could find the best way to get rid of the feeling. Perhaps she'd call you tonight.

Half way through your set you noticed the fiery curls. The beat dropped allowing you to lean forward exposing more of your cleavage to the prying eyes, when you saw her piercing stormy eyes and you knew, that was how you'd be getting out of her safely. Shooting her a wink you continued and collect your tips before sauntering off the stage where she was waiting to drag you with her. Which she did and you truly had no complaints about it.

It's all hazy how she took you to one of the private back rooms, but you do remember the feeling of her slamming your back to the wall roughly as her lips made their home on your slender neck. A kind of animalistic growl sounded against your neck when she realised you'd covered her big purple mark that resided over your pulse point. Her pearly white teeth nipped at the sensitive skin just enough to give the pleasure mixed with pain that she knew you craved so much. "What a fucking whore, covering mistresses mark on you so those men out there think your a free agent" she growled, "you aren't. You're my slave, my fuck toy, my whore to use and abuse. And you'll remember that by the time I'm done with you."

"I'm sorry mistress, I'm yours please, whatever you need" you whimpered causing the red head to lash out and grab a fistful of your hair and drag you to the sofa in the room before she took her tie and wrapped it round your head to cover your eyes. "Oh I will, and you'll take everything I give you, no complaints. All I wanna hear is those slutty moans you do as I ruin you again and again" she murmured into your ear before nipping the lobe and shoving you away from her body so you lay flat on your back now.

You could hear every article of clothing she took off, drop to the floor with a thud. An innate whine left your being as you realised she'd be on full display now, however all it got you was a smack t the face, "quit your whining you little bitch, that's all you are is a dumb bitch in head that Mistress can use" tears pricked lay your covered eyes at her words, but the waterfall between your legs showed a different story. "Dirty girl, enjoying when I put you down, practically leaking out of that pathetic hole." She whispered before lightly tapping your clit just enough to drive you insane and clambered onto your face.

There is no better smell than her. Instantly you began to eat her out in the way she loves, not too soft but not too rough either. You made sure to give attention to her clit and when she was ready you plunged your tongue into her cunt to scoop out all the juices she made for you only. "God yes! Right there slut! Yes yes yes, don't stop! Don't fucking stop. I don't care if you can't breathe make me cum now!" Her demands faltering slightly due to her hips bucking at just the right angle to cause your nose to bump her clit.  Her legs quivered with how hard she came all over your face, yet you still greedily drank everything she offered you and cleaned her up as good as you could possibly do. Only then when she was sure her legs wouldn't give out did she reach into her pocket.

"What the fuck?" You yelped out in surprise and fear of the unknown, all you knew was the sensation of cold metal pressed against your bare thigh. A quick slap to your thigh with the knife had you gasping in shock once more. "Shut up slut, you want to hide my bruises, even when they look so pretty on your skin, then I'll give you something you can't hide." You knew by her tone she wasn't joking but you also knew you could safe word out of this. It was something you wanted to try yes, but never did you think she would do this to you now and here. She teasingly trailed the point of the knife along your skin for a little while, loving the little gasps you were so poorly trying to hide from her now.

Only when your tears were flowing nicely, did she throw the knife away, "oh don't cry doll, you look so beautiful all smeared im crimson and crying for me love."  Light overwhelmed you for a second as she ripped the tie from your head, rapidly blinking you could see your own blood smeared over your thighs causing you to drop your head back a little dizzily. "Now you fucking stay there or else I will not be responsible for what happens to this slutty body of mine."

A simple nod of understanding had your thong being torn from your absolutely soaked cunt and stuffed into your mouth. "Non verbal cue whore" was all she offered before reaching into her pocket to pull a litre vibrating toy out to attach it to your poor clit. Despite everything you had some fight still left in you, causing you to spit the thong out and bite back, "is that how you give detentions Leonora?" You knew it was risky but you didn't know just how badly

That one comment would affect the red headed woman.

Calmly she picked up the discarded underwear and shoved it back into your mouth, adding more pressure than before causing you to gag around them. "Don't you ever fucking try that stunt again, dumb girl, now I'm gonna have to fuck you with that little friend over there" she nodded to her discarded knife causing your eyes to go wide in fear. That was gonna hurt you. It was an empty threat, you knew that. Yet it was still effective and you immediately stilled your body as you tried to remind yourself of your position, gagging prettily round the make shift gag, "I'll be good! I'm msorry please" over and over until she took pitty on you inserting two of her slender fingers into your eager cunt.

From there she brought you over the edge time and time again until suddenly it was all too much causing you to make a fist and shove it in her line of sight. The older woman recognising it instantly and immediately stopping what she was doing and gently removing her fingers from you and your gag. There you lay on the sofa, eyes rolled back your head and blood poured from some gashed Leonora didn't even remember making. Water poured over her inferno of jealousy allowed her to see the marks from her but also the man earlier in the evening. "Oh I'm sorry y/n, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to go to far. Wake up my darling, wake up" she pleaded with your unconscious body. Guilt now eating her up as she instantly looked around the room for items to tend to your wounds. Thankfully there was just that, and she patched you up murmuring words of praise and reassurance.

When you groggily came back around from the blackness you immediately called out for the red head. "Shh I'm here sweetheart, I've got you. I'm sorry my darling." Her gaze once again finding the new marks that aren't hers, "who did that?" You explained how it wasn't your fault, you didn't want him touching you and that you got him thrown out, but still Leo's heart clenched. "Quit" was all she offered you, "but I- I can't just quit I have bills to play and-" she shook her head taking her hands in yours, "quit y/n and come be with me?" A silence fell over you both before you said no, "not as a sex slave y/n as my partner" she clarified for you. "Like together? A relationship?"

"Yes, with me, I don't want to share you, I don't want you being hurt, when I saw you in Happy Hours I knew I wanted you to be mine. I just wasn't ready to admit it until now, I do really love you darling, and you're all I want." She allowed you moments to collect your thoughts. "A date first?, if all goes well I quit and we give it a go" you concluded causing the redhead to nod and shuffle to cuddle behind you. "Rest here, when your ready I'll drop you home, be ready 7 pm tomorrow for our date my dove." Happy Hours really was the start of something beautiful here, even if it took her too long to realise it.

Word count~ 2186

#anon answered #v3nusxsky answers #fanfic #anon requested #lady lesso #sfgae #leonora lesso #lady lesso x reader #lesso x reader #lady leonora lesso #leonora lesso x reader #lady leonora lesso x reader #lesso x reader smut #lady lesso x you #lesso smutt #dean of evil smut #dean of evil x reader #Tsfgae au #bar beauty part 2

[punchliiine]

the future

firstly, i do apologize for not listening to the results of the poll, this post was the easiest to make and i've been tired lately so i went with it + i'm still gonna post the storytime i just need some time to perfect it!1!!

anyway let's just get to the point, the future and reality shifting, is it possible? can it be precise down to every silly little detail? and what are it's impacts?

so, ofc it's possible!!!! it's reality shifting we're talking about people, how can it not be possible? when shifters or anyone tells you that the universe is absolutely infinite, they mean it. therefore when you apply that knowledge to shifting; it means there are infinite realities where the future of this reality exists.

now, it is true that the future can be changed and it isn't set in stone. despite that, you can still shift to it (i'll explain further in the example)

when it comes to it's impacts, there are really no impacts? at least any that stick out to me other than it being a stress reliever and stress maker at times?

- for ex.

let's say you're in your dr, and you have a crucial decision to make, a life or death one to be specific. and you have plenty of options to choose from:

get the job done by yourself

delay it till an authority arrives

hand it to your friends

you can shift to a reality where you can find out which option is the 'best' one, you can also see the impacts of each decision (stress reliever) and you can also see the impacts of the decision YOU chose to go with prior to shifting to this reality (stress maker)

again, true, the future isn't set in stone but it is still possible to see it, and in case you're worried; you can always manifest things going your way despite choosing to go with the 'worse'' options.

i hear a lot of people talking about how it's not possible and that it could never be super accurate to your cr? they always say 'you can't shift to the future of this reality and have everything accurate, there will always be a small change' but apparently 'you can shift to the future of other realities and have it accurate, even the smallest of changes' which is WRONGGGG!!!!!

this reality is just like any other reality, it's not special, nor the 'realest', nor the 'truest' one. and just because it's not your 'desired' reality, doesn't mean it isn't possible to shift to its future.

so, that being said let me tell you about MY experience that proves my point:

there have been many occasions where i needed to shift to see my favorite manga's leaks. and so i shifted to read the 'leaked-leaks' ^^. and it was accurate down to the very smallest of details.. like even air particles, slits in pages and stuff like that.

so when the leaks came out in my cr i was speechless.. when i tell you it was 100% the same thing i saw in my dr, i promise this. also, i focused on one page only and memorized everything in it just to prove the whole thing for myself. bro. IT WAS ACCURATE!!! EVERY FUCKING LINE IN THAT PAGE WAS ACCURATE TO THE ONE IN MY CR!!!!!!!

you may think that 'i didn't really shift to the future, i only shifted to find out something that ALREADY exists' so allow me to eleborate

put in perspective that this ^ whole thing lasted for 3 weeks.

so on the 1st week leaks came out, i read them when i got to the last page, to my surprise, it ended on a cliffhanger. AND to top it off, the next week, which is the 2nd week, was a break week so i'd have to wait 2 weeks to see the next chapter. i could not sit in my skin. i had to shift to find out what happened next so i shifted the same day i read the leaks.

while i was there i found out what happened in the next chapter. and i kinda wanted to prove it for myself more than anything so i took one page, memorized it completely, shifted back and waited till the leaks came out.

now, here comes my point, since i shifted 2 weeks before the leaks came out, that means the editors were STILL working on those pages, and when i shifted those pages were FINISHED, like publish-ready. and i'm pretty sure the 2 weeks that i 'fake-waited' to see the next chapter, they were still DRAWING. meaning they didn't even exist in my cr. (perhaps as an idea only, not the full execution)

so do with that information what you will!!

the possibilities of shifting to the future are quite literally endless, you can also shift to the future to see the end of your favorite movies, series, animes.. etc. and have them disgustingly precise to your cr version "if they were to continue"

ig this is a sort of 'duh' post, but it's a topic i see TONS of shiters saying it's impossible so i wanted to create this post as a major correction and fuck you post for spreading misinformation :3

#shifting #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting realities #shifters #reality shift #shifting community #quantum jumping #desired reality #desired life #desired self #scripting #shift #shifter #reality shifter #shifting motivation #shifting advice #shifting Information #shifting blog #realityshifting #shiftinconsciousness #shifting diary #shifting antis dni #multiverse #current reality

[rascal-xo]

Goddamn Unspoken love tugged my heart

Would love to see a pt.2 where Konig comes in to tell her he loves her too after finding out she was hurt

Not sure how it will turn out but feel free to ignore this 🫣

Spoken Happiness | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader |

A/N: This is the second part to Unspoken Love :))

Chapter Summary: Before a new chapter begins, you must finish the last.

Warnings: cursing, fluff, NSFW topics, mentions of, death, and violence, making out

Word Count: 668

You kneel between Simons legs and carefully thread the needle, your fingers steady as you work to stitch up the cut above Simon eyebrow.

He sits on the edge of the bed and you can feel his piercing gaze on you as you work, but you try to ignore it, not wanting to mess up and accidentally poke him in the eye.

As you stitch, memories flood your mind of the moments leading up to this point. You can’t help but feel guilty that he took a bullet for you. Who wouldn’t?

You glance up at Simon and catch his eye. The intensity of his gaze takes your breath away, and you feel your cheeks heat up under his scrutiny.

You look away quickly, trying to focus on your work once again. But the silence between you is comfortable, deep down you feel like this is where you belong.

Finally, Simon speaks up, his voice low and husky.

"You're the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen, you kill me.” Without thinking, you lean forward and press your lips to his.

He responds eagerly yet gently, his hands finding their way to your waist as he deepens the kiss. You feel a shiver run down your spine as his lips move against yours, his touch igniting a fire within you.

When you finally pull away, both of you panting softly for breath, Simon looks at you with a mixture of admiration and desire.

You lean in towards him again lips again just barely almost touching, “I love you, Simon.” Your words come out as a whisper against his lips, like a sweet prayer only for his ears.

In the buzz of the moment you forget about the world outside his room. Resting your head against his forehead you decide it’s probably best to show your face to the team before they start to get suspicious. “I should go out there.” You say, not wanting to leave his space.

You finish up the stitching, the silence between you now content. He gives a kiss to the top of your head, impossible to even think of getting enough of you. “You should take it easy, Y/N.” He says, as you reach the door to leave.

“You just got shot in the gut Si, and you’re worrying about a cut on my thigh.” You answer, raising an eyebrow of concern.

“Like I said, you kill me.”

Coming out of the room you catch Konïg in your peripheral vision. His face still covered and his gear intact, he stands in the main hall cleaning off a gun of his.

His eyes dart between You and the door you had just come out of. “You feeling okay, Maus?” He questions, looking you over for any broken bones or scratches but the only bandage you have is hidden under your lounge pants.

“Yes i’m okay. Konïg listen I-“ You start to explain your feelings when he puts up a soft hand.

“You were the first person he asked about on the Evac.” Your heart pings hearing his words. You never intended to hurt a man like him, he had just been caught in the crossfire. “I see the way he looks at you, Y/N. I wouldn’t live with myself If i stopped you from being happy.”

You feel a weight lift off your shoulders at Konïg's words, grateful for his understanding. “Thank you, Ko. I mean it.” You smile, getting a nod of solitude in return.

“Go rest Maus, we all need you back on the team in tip top shape.” He explains, his voice kind.

Finding yourself back in your room for the first time since yesterday, feels like a whole new world. You make your way to the bed and lay down on the covers, feeling the exhaustion of the past day finally catching up with you.

Closing your eyes, you let out a deep breath, and allow yourself to drift off to sleep, your mind keeping stuck on one thing; Simon.

A/N: Soft!Simon is quite literally the best thing to ever happen

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty smut #fanfic #simon ghost riley #konig x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #ghost x female reader #simon riley x reader #mw2 x reader #cod mw2

[ffcrazy15]

"Just Write For Yourself"

I think the thing that gets to me the most about the whole "just write for yourself!" response to writers complaining the lack of engagement in fanfic, is that it makes me realize that there's a fundamental misunderstanding between writers and readers of how much work writing fic is.

Like, there are 2-3 scenes in any given oneshot or chapter that I want to write. I usually write those first. They'll take me a couple of, very enjoyable, hours at most.

And then I have to go back and write the whole rest of the fic. Which is work. And it's usually not immediately enjoyable.

For example, one of my best fics on AO3 is a Star Trek fanfic called Rascal'ed. This was one of the fics that was easiest for me to write, one of the ones that just possesses you until it's done. It took me less than five days to create.

And I still had to go back in and fill in blank spots and cut bad prose and revise the dialogue.

If you want to see what a difficult fic to write looks like, like my fic Leap of Faith, here's what I do for my stories that I actually plan out:

And that's just the planning. I still have to write the damn thing. And there are things in the above layout—which is just for Chapter 1, mind—that got changed between this and the final published version of the chapter. You can see that the title of the story itself was changed at some point.

So when people say, "write for yourself, not for engagement!" What I personally hear is: "I as a reader do not understand how much work writers put into getting a story into a publishable form, and I also do not realize how easy it would be for them to write the couple of scenes they enjoyed writing and then to let it sit forever in their drafts."

(Of these eight fics—averaging more than 20 pages each—only two of them ever made it to AO3. The rest remain unfinished and unpublished.)

And for the record: I, personally, have wonderful readers. Kind, attentive readers who leave me comments engaging with the work. And it's because of them that I continue to publish stories! Like, I don't want to sound like sour grapes here, because I know that I get way more comments than many great writers out there.

But I've seen, across the board, writers trying to express that they are just not getting the engagement that they desire and expect for the work they put in, and people responding with "you shouldn't expect engagement; just write for yourself."

And the thing is, I know they're not trying to be rude. I know that! Of course they don't know how hard we work, who would have ever told them? We can't blame them for not knowing what they've never been told. Which is why I just felt the need to get out here and say:

Writing fics takes a lot of work. A lot of work. Hours upon hours of unpaid labor. Any fic that you see on AO3 or Fanfiction.net or Wattpad, is not something someone wrote solely for themselves. They could have just daydreamed about it, or written a couple of scenes and then left it unfinished. But they chose to put in the hard work it took to finish it. Because they wanted other people to read and engage with it.

Please engage with it.

Because if all fic writers ever hear is "you should just write for yourself"—we might start believing it.

#fanfic writers #ao3 #writing #fanfic writing #fanfiction #fanfic #write for yourself #the mortifying ordeal of showing your fic writing process to strangers on the internet

[roxygen22]

Still Here

Chapter 2

Summary: Flashback to your breakup with Timothée your senior year

C/W: Breakup

A/N: I have nothing against stay-at-home parents and homemakers. Both are their own noble full-time jobs. This is just a story about a young girl wanting to break free. And yes, the irony is not lost on me that the reader ultimately ends up in the exact situation she was running from in the first place.

Catch up on the previous chapter here.

<><><><><>

Life was stagnant in your small hometown in Tennessee. There was nothing to do, nothing to see except trees and buildings that had been around since the 1800s. The height of entertainment for teens like you was pasture parties or meeting your friends up at the Sonic drive-in for "happy hour." After high school, the boys usually either worked for the local steel mill or lumber yard. They may opt to continue their education through the area trade schools, but that was the exception, not the rule. The girls...well, the girls typically got married and had babies.

The townspeople were closed-minded traditionalists and stuck in old habits. Families, including yours, had lived there for generations. You were lucky to even find someone to date who you weren't related to by blood or marriage, and that was only because Timothée's family was a more recent addition to the town census.

You yearned for more. You were made for more. You felt it in your bones. You had no desire to be a doctor or a nurse, but you were fascinated by biology classes and a whiz in physics. And you wanted to help people. The school counselor fanned the flames by introducing you to biomedical engineering as a potential degree program.

You wore a groove in your dirt driveway with the number of times you walked to and from the mailbox every day, multiple times a day. The response letters from your numerous college applications were due in any time now. Your efforts usually yielded nothing except for bills or ads for your parents. But today, there was white envelope with your name, along with a blue and gold logo in the return address: UCLA.

Your hands shook. Your heart was about to pound its way out of your chest. The world silenced around you as your tunnel vision bore into the paper in your hands. You plunged a finger under the lip of the envelope to break the seal. You took a shuddering breath as you drew the paper out.

"Dear [Y/N] [L/N], we are happy to inform you..."

You didn't even finish reading before you started screaming and dancing in the driveway. Then you took off running back to the house to share the news with your mother.

<><><><><>

Your parents were proud of you, but of course, they were not eager to see you pack up and move across the country. You tuned them out until they said something about being in for a rude awakening because you didn't know what life was like out there, to which you said, "That's the whole point."

You grabbed your car keys and stormed out the door. You were determined not to let them kill your excitement. They just couldn't picture a life for you outside of their bubble. You drove around the backroads with your windows down and music loud, trying to drown out the replay of your parents' conversation. Without much thought, you eventually found yourself driving around the town square. You saw Timothée's truck outside of the hardware store. You checked the time - he should be finished with his evening shift soon. So you parked and walked over, lowering the tailgate to sit.

The two of you had been friends as long as you could remember and sweet on each other for years. You became an official item when you were sophomores and had been joined at the hip since.

Seeing the store's door open shook you from your thoughts. You saw him exit, head down and hands in his pockets. Right on time. You loved how his face lit up when he saw you across the street. He checked for traffic, then jogged over.

"Hey, baby! I wasn't expecting to see you tonight." He pecked your lips with his and placed his hands on your knees.

"Hopefully, it's a pleasant surprise," you replied with a raised eyebrow and a playful smirk.

"Oh, very. The highlight of my day." He kissed you once more, deeper this time, and flashed that crooked grin you loved so much. "Though my curiosity is piqued by this unusual visit on a school night."

You held out the envelope for him to see. "I got in, Timmy. And they are awarding me a full ride! My parents won't have to worry about how to finance things and I won't have to take out student loans."

Timothée took the envelope in hand and brushed his thumb over the logo. "California, huh?" he asked quietly.

"Last I checked, that's where Los Angeles is located," you chuckled.

"You're serious about this, aren't you?" His brows were furrowed, and his typically full lips pressed into a thin line.

Your mouth fell open in shock. Why couldn't anyone just be happy and excited for you today? "Of course I'm serious. That shouldn't be a surprise. You even encouraged me to apply to out-of-state schools!"

Timothee held a hand to his forehead and stepped back. "Yes, because I didn't want you to wonder if you could get in. But, I didn't think you would seriously consider packing up and moving across the country if they accepted you!" he shouted and threw his hands in the air.

Your voice seemed like a whisper compared to his current tone. "If I don't leave now, I will never get out of here. I HAVE to get out of here. This place is a black hole. It eats your hopes, your dreams, your ambition. I have a lot to offer the world, and I can't do that from here. I don't want to be stuck, like our older friends, my cousins, my PARENTS. I'll just end up with a baby on my hip playing Suzie Homemaker and making nothing of myself."

"Starting and taking care of a family isn't nothing, [Y/N]. I thought...I thought we would be together forever. That WE would have that family."

"One doesn't preclude the other, Timmy. Come with me."

Timothée quietly scoffed as his eyes fell. "I have no prospects in California."

"And there's nothing for me here."

His head shot up in shock. The hurt was evident on his face. "Nothing? NOTHING?! Wow, [Y/N]."

"Timmy, that's not-"

"Just go, [Y/N]." His lip wobbled. "Obviously you think you are too good for this town. Too good for me. It's better that we call off...whatever this is...now so you can completely start over."

<><><><><>

Chapter 3

Masterlist

<><><><><>

Tag List: @croatianprincess

#timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet x you #timothee x reader #timothée x reader #timothée chalamet imagine #single mom #single parenting #angst #eventual happy ending #single parent #divorce #high school sweethearts #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee fanfic #whump #female reader #mom reader #reader insert

[riverxsong-ao3]

So, since I got several comments on the latest chapter of Vitae Redux re: 16-year-old Voldemort trying to seduce 13-year-old Tom when he comes out of the ring Horcrux and possesses Harry, here were my thoughts when writing it.

First of all, it was meant to be dark and disturbing. Full stop. Once Tom began his journey down the path of making Horcruxes, I can't imagine he did anything less than throw any semblance of morals out the window, therefore, anything goes.

But, more to the point: I've always seen Voldemort as being, at once, both very self-indulgent and self-loathing. We can point to the creation of multiple Horcruxes as an example of this; most witches or wizards, upon finding themselves afraid of death, would likely make one Horcrux, if they knew how, or otherwise resign themself to becoming a ghost after dying. In splitting his soul intentionally six times (not counting the accidental split that created a Horcrux in Harry), this was not an act of self-care or self-love, though it would be incredibly self-indulgent. In this, he feels guaranteed that he will live into perpetuity, albeit with a mangled soul, allowing himself to live out the pleasures of life for eons whilst simultaneously being incredibly cruel to himself.

As a teenager, I imagine this trait would manifest as well in his dalliances with his classmates -- i.e. he would be an incredibly selfish lover, using his good looks and charm to take people to his bed -- Abraxas Malfoy, however many unnamed pure blood Slytherin girls, whom so ever he could use to boost his own power by leaving them wanting whilst also indulging in his own pleasure, hence the bit where ring!Tom comments that he never used to kiss the pretty boys and girls he seduced. There is little pleasure in kissing unless you actually desire the other party in some way, be it romantically or sexually, or just because you care about them. Tom of the past would have felt none of this, simply using sex to chase his own pleasure and power.

Coupled with this, there is the intense desire of the soul shards to make their way back to completion with the whole. We know this as extended canon from a very old interview with the author -- wherein she stated that the pain in Harry's scar when near Voldemort is that piece of soul trying desperately to escape and be reunited with himself. So, when ring!Tom wakes up by possessing Harry, and finds himself close to modern-day Tom, the most healed piece of his own self, naturally he wants to be close. I also think that the idea of being intimate with another part of himself would appeal deeply at that point in his life, given that no one else could know on such a perfect level how to please him. Of course, what he doesn't understand is that this new version of himself has learned how to love -- and yes, he's only capable of loving Harry, no one and nothing else, but it's enough to put new Tom off the idea of pure self-indulgence, wanting only for the real Harry to come back -- and hence is past Tom's downfall.

So. Yeah. There's my basic thought process I went through when writing that particular scene. It's gross. It's meant to be gross. I honestly made myself a bit sick when writing it, and feel a bit sick again now thinking back over it, but such is life when writing awful villains who do awful things. =D

(Link added for context)

#harry potter #tom riddle #tomarry #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harrymort #vitae redux

[celesteheartsjey]

~Call On Me~Chapter 1

"Bloodline you're on in 5.. 4..3..2..1" the director said not even above a whisper.

"Now.." The director says right on cue.

Roman turns his head from the tv backstage in the bloodlines locker room, slowly , with sort of a smirk on his face, yet a confused look at the same time.

"I don't get it .. Wiseman.." Roman spoke, turning his body to Paul, not all the way , but just enough to know that he's talking to him.

"Yes my tribal chief ?" Paul's says quickly leaning into Roman's frame, listening to his voice of concern.

"Why are they on my show?" he says referring to Randy and Matt Riddle whom had just had a match with Sami Zayn, as both men in the end had stood tall with their raw tag team champions. "I mean we already smashed RK-Bro, we done with them man , they must be desperate.."

"I mean we already whooped them at backlash uce, and they out here still talking Trash !" Jey chimed in with a hint of aggravation in his voice.

"Yeah, they not just talking trash about the tribal chief uce" Jimmy joining in also. "They not only doing that , but they disrespect the usos too !" He said looking back and forth between his twin brother and older cousin. "Saying we can't do nothing on our own.. saying we need you to do everything for us" he says , with his eyes on Roman's. "Man.." he countinued. "We the longest reigning smackdown tag team champions nearly 300 days for a reason !"

"No cap" jey says agreeing with his brother.

"But it's all good uce ! We do this for the bloodline, and most of all we doin this for family ! Tonight uce ..the whole world will acknowledge the tribal chief ."

The camera pin points on Roman as he looks on with a serious expression, clearly taking in everything the brothers just said, nodding his head, he was satisfied with what he heard.

"Tonight ..we gone give them an answer" Roman says.

The odd silence fell from the room when the director had yelled "cut !". Everyone had got up from the nice cushions they were sitting on, making their way outside of the locker room, to prepare for the events that would happen later that night , involving a in ring segment with Riddle and Randy.

_____

Outside the locker room, was where she stood waiting for Roman. Ever heard of the catchphrase "behind every successful man there is a woman"?

She in this case , was definitely that woman. Olivia Ouelett was her name. She and Roman had been married for quite some time now , and it was very evident that these two were so in love with each other , even now with the wave that Roman and his cousins are on , she's extremely proud of him . He's worked hard to get to where he is now, and it first it was a struggle , but that's apart of life .

All people tend to go through struggles, but that makes them who they are, and if anything that ought to make a person stronger , fueling the passion deep within one's heart.

Roman embraces his beautiful wife, closing the now gone distance, between them.

Olivia smiled as she took in her husbands warmeth against her body. He then pulls away, looking at her up and down , observing the very short red dress that had a low cut , enough to reveal her breasts, hugging her tight frame ,with her blonde loose curls, flowing down her back beautifully.

Olivia, to simply put it was just that girl.

A smirk forms at his lips, As his eyes still can her amazing features.

"I don't know what it is ..but it's something about this dress that's taking everything in me to not rip it off of you right now" he says suddenly. This time with more of a serious, thus far desirable look.

Olivia giggled at her husbands words.

"Mm, eh bien, si cela ne tanait qu'a moi, je te ramenerais dans ce vestiaire tout de suite" she said, speaking in her very strong French Canadian accent.

"English ?" He asks, his hands moving down to her waist.

"I said , if it were up to me I would take you in that locker room, right there..now." she says pointing over at the locker room door that he as well as his cousins had just came out of.

He bit his lip , turned on by her words. "Well how about we -"

"Ay yall chill on the pda. We know yall married but damn, do everybody gotta know?" Jimmy says , interrupting the moment like he always does.

Joe sighs at yet another moment being ruined. Meanwhile Olivia just laughs.

"Uce why you always gotta say something" Jey says tapping his brothers arm, causing him to flinch.

"What you mean ?! I ain't even do nothing , all I asked was a damn question! I can't ask questions now ?? and secondly what the hell you hit me for ??"

"Cause of yo damn foolishness that's why, now come on so we can go to get us a quick bite to eat at catering before this segment tonight" jey says walking off.

Jimmy rubs the back of his head and just looks at his brother walking away, then he looks between Roman and Olivia.

"Ay uh, I'll catch you later then big uce" he says dapping Roman up , and walking off behind his brother.

Roman shakes his head and looks back at Olivia. " I can't stand them sometimes" he says with a bit of a chuckle.

Olivia laughs.

_____

Later That Following Night

The Bloodline had cut their in ring segment for the night , and were currently walking backstage.

By that point everyone was ready to load and get ready to go. Hoping that they all could get a good nights rest , and just like that be on to the next city..

Roman and Olivia walked hand in hand as they went back into the locker room, having faith that they would get some kind of alone time tonight.

As soon as the door is opened Roman goes to plop down on the couches soft cushions, instantaneously letting out a loud groan. Olivia joins in, sitting beside him.

He lies his head back, gazing up at the rooms lights. Olivia comes into him closer, closing the space between the cushions.

Her hand begins to fidget with the zipper on his jacket that he was wearing , the other one was playing with the likes of his hair that was slicked back into a man bun.

He looked over at Olivia , adoringly as she toyed with his hair . He pulled her in , only for him to place a light kiss on her lips.

She swooned at the touch of his lips, already missing the feeling of them. Without saying another word she leans her head down to give him a smother of pecks on his lips, grabbing a hold of his thick beard she begins to stroke it lightly.

A slight moan falls from Olivia's lips as the kiss gets sloppier. Their tongues dancing like no other, feeling the heat of the moment.

Just like that Olivia lifts her right leg up to put it over Roman's lap , practically straddling him, with their lips not once leaving each other. Olivia's dress rises up by the minute as Roman starts to rub his gigantic hands in circles over her ass.

Her moans intensify as he tugs at the back of her dress , pulling it over, to reveal her bare, but perfectly rounded butt.

He places a hard smack against her sensitive skin. She moans In return, his lips leaving her mouth to then only attack her neck.

His hands roamed her back , tugging at the back of her dress once more.

"Take this off" he growled against her skin, unzipping the back of her red fitted dress.

She did just as he said, sliding her dress down over her shoulders, revealing her black laced bra, with the panties to match. Pulling her dress all the way off, she throws it to the floor.

His hands immediately fall to her breast, groping them, liking the feel. Her hands lay on top of his, rubbing his hands against her breasts.

Suddenly he stops, lifting himself up , with her weight still on him , as he began to unzip his jacket and take it off of himself, along with his shirt, showing his toned body that was both tatted and Muscular.

He positioned himself back to where he was at first, just gazing at her and her beautiful adolescense.

"You're so perfect" he softly spoke, pulling up to Kiss her lips again.

She giggles. "Thank you"

Before saying another word, they find themselves kissing each other nonstop , his hand caressing her back , soon coming down the front of her. His hands went down her stomach , pulling at her black laced panties.

Looking down he notices how wet she is, so he takes his finger and slowly inserts it inside of her.

"Oh, oh my god" she spoke.

"Feels good don't it ?" He whispered against her ear.

"Yes.." she whined to him.

While he was pumping his finger in and out of her , his free hand went to her bra, pulling it down, unveiling her double d's .

His mouth watered at the sight of them, quickly attaching his lips to her left breast.

He took his time working on her left nipple , soon going over to latch his lips on the other one. She moaned, looking up at the lights, laying her head back as far as she could, only to bring her head back down again to look at his finger as he slid in and out of her wet folds.

"Mmm.." she moaned moved her hips back and forth against him, as he fingers worked her, picking up his pace.

Her hands went around his head , as he had finally unattached his lips from her nipple. He pumps in to her more as she feels herself starting to come of an extremely high orgasm, her moans more vocal than ever.

"Mhmm, tell your tribal chief what you want" he moans.

" Je veux que tu me baises, I want you to fuck me" she said with a pleading tone.

Hearing those 6 words, he took his fingers from her sticky folds and put it up to her mouth, allowing her to get a taste of herself.

Taking his finger from her mouth, he pulls his joggers down along with his underwear, to see his 7 inch shaft , spring out , rock hard against her slickness.

He picks her up, cupping both of her cheeks , and placing them on his dick. She moans at the feel of him inside of her.

His thrusts started slow as she mosned to him , fulfilling her every desire in that moment, that pleased the both of them, as they had moaned together in unison.

"I can feel how wet you are for me .."

A moan was all that feel from her tounge, until he planted a hard smack on her ass.

"Uhh yes ! I'm so wet for you !" She loudly moaned.

He countinued to slap her ass, rolling her hips into his , riding the waves of ecstasy , watching her body go back and forth.

"Tell daddy what you want again" he says, placing a tight grip on her hips.

"I-I .. I want daddy to fuck Me!"

And that he did as he had moved with a quickness, his balls slapping against her skin, his mouth widening at the pleasure he was giving , as they fucked each other in pure bliss.

"You love this dick huh?" He says cupping her ass checks, to go down harder on his member.

"Yes! I Love it !"

"Then you gone cum for me right?" He whispered against her ear.

"Uht, yes-"

"What you say, I can't hear you baby" he said pounding into her much faster.

"Y-Y-Yesssss! I'm cumming! I'm cumming!" She moaned, feeling her walls closing in.

"Fu-"

That's when their was a twist on the door knob, and with Olivia and Roman not paying to much attention, they hadn't even noticed that the door had opened.

"Ay, Uce-" jey said stopping dead in his tracks, as his voice echoed throughout the room , causing Olivia to jump up within a matter of seconds, gathering her clothes to cover her, running into the bathroom.

" shit, shit ! My fault uce !" He said quickly going back outside the lockeroom, in absolute embarrassment, knowing that he had just walked in on his cousin and his wife 'doing it'.

Once Jey had gotten out of there sight, Olivia peaked her head in from the bathroom.

"Relax baby he's gone, you can come out of hiding now" Roman said dropping his hand down over his face.

She came out of the bathroom , looking straight at Roman like he was crazy.

"What?" He asked looking over to her, adjusting his joggers.

"Why didn't you lock the door !?!" She shrilled at him.

"Why didn't I lock the door ?? What do you mean , you came in last following behind me, why is it me, that was supposed to lock the door!?!"

She rolled her eyes at the thought of their carelessness for fucking in their locker room, and not only that it was the bloodlines lockeroom.

"Whatever" she shot back at him, going back in the bathroom.

" Are we finishing this back at the hotel though ?!" He asked.

"No! Since you thought it was you that wasn't supposed to lock the door!" She shouted from the bathroom.

"What - Olivia I did not say that !"

"Didn't have too !" She hissed.

"But you came in last" Roman said still trying to defend himself.

"Whatever Roman!" She says in annoyance at the topic.

He didn't bother to say anything else, because he personally saw no point if she was going to shut him down everytime. But he still needed the reassurance.

" wait so you really not gone give me no more at the ho-"

"NO."

"Damn" he muttered to himself , wishing that he could've went back and locked that door.

Y’all this is my first fic on here I hope yall enjoy it , and this is also posted on my wattpad , Celeste798 in case yall wanna check it out ! But anyways here yall go ! And y’all’s comments and votes would be very much appreciated 🌞❤️..

#jey uso #wwe superstars #the usos #jey uso smut #jimmy uso #roman reigns

[bluelancess]

Midnight Blooms | Elriel AU chapter 2/?

Sports romance, college AU.

Summary: When Elain is told by her father, a ruthless politician, that she is to marry the son of one of his closest friends, Lucien Vanserra, to assure her father’s win on the next election, she has no other choice but to agree. What she never expected was her convictions being tested by a tall, devastatingly beautiful black-haired hockey player who moved in right next door. And if there was one thing Elain was certain of, was that Azriel posed a dangerous threat to the previously dormant desires roaming inside her. And she needed to stay far, far away from him.

Tags: forbidden love, arranged marriage, forced proximity, modern setting, slow burn

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Read on AO3.

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Chapter 2

I notice everything you do or don't do

AZRIEL 

Cassian hits my shoulder hard with one of his huge hands as soon as the main door to the girl’s house closes, and none of them are looking at us anymore. He has probably been waiting to punch me since the invite for the party escaped my lips. 

Good thing he didn’t aim for the jaw or cheekbone, although we do have a no-face-punching rule, but Cassian tends to forget it pretty often. Or at least that’s how he excuses himself every fucking time. 

“What the fuck was that, Az?” He grunts my way. “You want to kill our party before it even starts?” 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” I tell him, taking a couple steps back, I’m holding my third bottle of beer in my right hand, it’s almost over, the liquid pretty much room temperature. 

Last semester, when we lived in that awful one bedroom apartment near campus, parties were one hundred percent off limits. We didn’t even have a living room, for fuck’s sake. The kitchen consisted of the tiniest little oven ever, and a sink that barely fit two plates and a mug. Granted, the rent was cheap. So cheap, we could spend the rest of our money on take-out, liquor and WiFi, which is pretty much all you need to survive college. 

But a couple weeks before finals, the whole building was infested with the fattest, and ugliest rats I’ve ever seen, Cassian even made a sport out of getting the little fuckers out of the apartment, and I guess it was a silent agreement that we couldn’t stay there for another year. No fucking way. 

So I saved every penny I got from all the jobs my boss assigned me during the summer. Yes, maybe not all of them were entirely legal, but they payed generously and in cash, how was I supposed to pass the opportunity when it got us this amazing house? It is only a bonus that we have three, hot as fuck neighbors. Almost like the universe is rewarding us for all the shit it made us go through when we were children. 

About fucking time. 

“Dramatic? I’ve been planning this thing for weeks,” Cassian says, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand. “It’s the last time I can get properly drunk before practice starts. Coach is a pain in the ass with his no-drinking-during-the-season-or-get-the-fuck-out rule, and you know it.” 

“Let’s go inside,” Rhys says, leaving the end of the sentence hanging unsaid in the air, but I imagine it would go as something like: you uncivilized brutes. 

“You’re just proving my point, Cass,” I say, hiding a smile, looking over my shoulder one last time at the house on the other side of the street, I stop on my tracks when I see the curtain of the kitchen window rustle. Are they still watching us? 

Is she still watching us?

The pretty, quiet one. Fuck, I couldn’t look away from those big, sweet eyes and those full, pink lips. I’d die to just give them a little taste, a tiny bite until she’s melting and moaning against me. I remember her from last year. We took a class together, I’m pretty sure she never really noticed me. She sat at the front, I sat on the back. She was quiet, so shy, did all the group assignments on her own, and always got the highest grade. The professor used to be a jerk and tease her because she was so smart, but so damn quiet she never showed how fucking intelligent she was to the rest of the class. I had to fight the urge to kick his ugly ass whenever he started his shit with her. 

It made the whole class laugh at her expense, the fucking asshole. 

I admit my reasons for inviting them to the party were completely selfish. I saw an opportunity and took it. Now, the real surprise would be if she actually shows up tomorrow night. 

“I also think it is a good idea to have them over for the party,” Rhysand says, putting one hand on my left shoulder, and the other on Cassian’s, guiding us inside the house. “They won’t call the cops if they’re having a good time. Right, Az?” 

I shrug. “Sure.”

“Oh, come on, you two,” Cassian shakes his head like his disappointed. “Always thinking with your dicks.” 

“Not my problem that girl is giving you blue balls.” I say, walking a bit faster to get away from him before he decides to punch something other than my shoulder. 

Cassian grunts. 

“Is that why you’ve been so moody all summer?” Rhys asks lifting a brow, and Cass shoots him a death glare. “Wait, don’t tell me you fell in love with this girl after just one night, Cassian. We’re not fifteen anymore” 

“Shut up, asshole.” 

“I’m just saying.” Rhys lifts both hands in the air, innocently. 

I smile, watching them. We’ve been together, the three of us, since we were little kids. Pretty much fending for ourselves in a world that doesn’t like people like us. Alone, but never really lonely. From foster home to foster home. By some miracle, we were always placed together in different families. Five to be exact. Most kicked us out after a couple months, claimed we were too much to handle, or whatever the fuck that means. 

We were children, noisy, curious, maybe a little too energetic, but they wanted us to behave like robots, follow orders to a tee, never complain, and of course, they wanted the government’s money. Turns out, dealing with us wasn’t worth the little compensation they were receiving, so ultimately all of them ended up throwing us back into the black whole we came from. 

Everything changed when we got to Gramps and Nana’s house. Recently retired, house empty after their biological kids were all grown up and left, they decided to take us in. Treated us like their own. It was so unlike every single other house we’d been at, the we contemplated running away the first two weeks. It felt too good to be true. Almost like a trap. 

Nana won us over with her killer brownies and Gramps taught us everything he knew about hockey. 

We wouldn’t be here without them. 

“Well, don’t ask,” Cassian starts walking up the stairs, like the subject actually bothers him, which is completely unusual for him. “I’m telling you guys, those girls are going to be nothing but trouble.” 

Rhys eyes gleam like he’s visualizing exactly what Cassian is referring to, and he’s up for the challenge. 

“Isn’t that the fun of it, Cass?” Rhys teases him. 

“When you’re the one walking around with blue balls over that girl, Rhys, we’ll talk.” 

“Oh, but I won’t.” Rhys’ voice is laced in arrogant confidence. 

“She has a boyfriend,” I remind him, nearing our brand new couch in the living room. It’s dark blue, almost black, and it’s huge. It had to be, if it wants to fit the three of us at the same time. Gramps gifted it to us before we moved here, said he couldn’t bare the thought of us sitting on the floor on such a big house. Is pretty much the only piece of decent furniture we own. 

“Not for long.” Rhys shrugs, opening the fridge we have in the living room and grabbing another beer. It seemed like a better place than the kitchen, considering that if we’re watching sports we don’t have to walk all the way there to grab something to drink. 

Cassian barks a laugh. “You’re too cocky, is going to bite you in the ass.” 

“I happen to enjoy ass bites.” Rhys laughs again, and I’m silently glad we’re not fighting. 

We hardly ever do. 

We’ve been through so much already, always sticking together, and having each other’s back, that there doesn’t seem to be anything that would be important enough for us to fight over. 

Cassian shakes his head, and climbs the stairs like he has so much pent up energy he’d like to release. A couple seconds later, he’s blasting music in his bedroom and to probably hide the annoying noise his rusty-ass treadmill makes. It’s so old the damn thing is practically falling apart by just looking at it. 

“If I’d known those three lived here, I would’ve moved out from that rat hell a lot sooner,” Rhys says, sitting next to me, and turning on the television, none of us really pay attention to it. I don’t have to look at my brother to know his eyes are also glued to the window right beside the screen, the one that gives us a front row seat to the house in front. 

“They moved in last year,” I tell him, taking the beer from his grip to steal a sip.

“You know them?” He asks me, a curious look in his eyes. I know almost everyone. I like to watch people. Listen when they think I’m not paying attention. I happened to learn at a very young age, that information is the real currency of the world. It can get you pretty much anywhere you want to go if you know how to use it correctly.

“Just two of them.” I tell him, giving his beer back. “The third one is probably a freshman. I’d never seen her around here before.” 

“I hadn’t seen any of them around here before.” 

“Nesta’s pre-law,” I begin to explain. “Has every loser in campus either shitting their pants on her presence or trying to get into her pants.” 

“That’s Cassian’s?” Rhys asks, as if it needs confirmation. 

“Yup,” I nod. “And Elain… No idea what her major is. She’s pretty reserved, keeps to herself, doesn’t go out much.” I shrug, pretending she doesn’t pique my interest in the slightest, which couldn’t be further from the truth. “I took a class with her last year, I’m guessing she’s maybe an art major.” 

Rhys takes a big gulp from his beer. “That leaves us the third sister.” 

“Right, the one with the boyfriend.” 

“Love it that you keep reminding me,” Rhys shoots me a not so friendly glare. 

“There’s a thousand girls on campus that would pretty much give up their first born to sleep with you, Rhys,” I remind him. “No need to want one that’s unavailable.”  

“I happen to like challenges.” His shoulders go tense when the door of the house in front of ours opens, and the girl whose name we don’t know yet walks out, some cash on her hand. There’s a bike in the street, some skinny guy pulling handing her two boxes of pizza. 

She thanks him with a wide smile, and Rhys takes a long gulp from his beer. 

“Yeah, but you’re a sore loser.” 

He smiles wickedly at me. “Which only means I have to make sure I don’t lose.” 

I roll my eyes, and he simply lets out a dark chuckle. I’m not joking when I say any of us could get literally any girl on campus we wanted. They’re practically drooling at our feet, mostly after games, and the quota of girls drastically increases if we win it. But, after a couple years playing for the Night Beasts, and getting used to the attention, it has only made it… boring. Predictable. 

Too easy. 

Rhysand grabs the keys of his pick-up truck that were laying on top of the fridge and hands me his half empty beer bottle.

“Where are you going?” 

“To buy the best fucking wine I can get my hands on.” 

He leaves before I can stop him, and I’m left on my own in the big, dark first floor of the house, surrounded by nothing but shadows, peeking trough the window like a complete stalker, at the way they’re sitting in the kitchen table, eating pizza and laughing. My eyes glued to one of the sisters in particular, her soft smiles, the curve of her neck, her lips wrapping around the straw of her drink, putting such filthy images in my head I force myself to look away, adjust the bulge on my pants and go take a cold shower. 

Fuck. 

It’s going to be a long year. 

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in honor of time magazine softlaunching elriel i decided to post another chapter! I actually never thought people would read it so i'm glad you guys are liking it<333

#elriel #pro elriel #elain x azriel #pro elain #azriel x elain #acotar #azriel #elain archeron #elriel AU #elriel fanfiction

[amyyythestarry]

Oblivious hypocrisy?

This post is about supposed hypocrisy within Tsukasa. Theory.

To start off, let’s go over his general beliefs that have been shown throughout the manga since day one.

Tsukasa belives supernatural and humans should be whoever they want to be, they should be together if they desire to. And if that’s enough to end the world, then it’s a done deal.

I find it interesting, out of everything that interesting about Tsukasa, that he thinks people should get whatever they desire. Within reason, authenticity, and if they’re willing to pay the price. With those things, it really doesn’t matter what your wish is, or who you hurt to get it. He’ll forgive everything.

No.1: He wants people to have whatever wish they want, whatever desire they have.

This really plays into his part on Sakura’s team as well, as her assistant. She’s selfish for wanting to wipe out everyone, every living/existing being just so she could go ‘outside’ and be free. But that’s what she wants, and she’s sure she’s truthful about it, that she’s truly happy.

So in Tsukasa’s eyes, that’s ok.

No.2 is: That he believes wishes and desires and wants are endless.

A human, a supernatural, existing beings don’t stop wanting. They’re always going to want something, we are always going to have desires and wishes.

He’s known this ever since he was 4 years old, when he got trapped in the Red House. In the Red House, we can see that Kou got put through many trials of his wants projecting at him. And they didn’t stop until they got to Nene and he refused all of them.

They are even things he didn’t even realized he wanted.

That’s because they’re coming from the heart, where the authenticity lies.

Tsukasa has seen person from person walk into the house wanting their wishes to come true. He knows how this works. A wish for a price, no matter how many wishes there are, they’ll have to be payed for.

But there is no end it, no boundaries to what they can wish and what they can’t. As long as it comes from the heart, maybe even portrays in front of them like with Kou.

So, two clear beliefs. People should have whatever they want, beings don’t stop wishing.

Now let’s see how those two things are shown by Tsukasa himself. Let’s see if he fits his own expectations.

Tsukasa replies with a chapter long explanation on why and how his wish already got granted.

Kou asks Tsukasa what his wish is, why hasn’t his wishes been projected like his has. Tsukasa says he had no other wishes then what he’s already got granted, with the cost of sacrificing himself, and having to stay in the Red House.

He has no other wishes, supposedly. By his own words. He’s saying he’s never wanted anything more, he’s never even thought of anything more.

To Tsukasa, he really just hasn’t thought of anything more, what more could he possibly want.

Being in the Red House for so long, having to see people come to get a wish granted with their prices as well. He’s been busy peering into other people’s wants and desires. Almost noisily, as this has become his new interest, fixation. Wishes, wants, desires. Impulses, and inclinations too.

But he’s so busy with that, he can’t even think to peer into himself. Figure himself out.

You could think this was his only want, but then we see later that that’s incorrect.

Tsukasa says he knew how to get back home, he just didn’t go because he thought it was for the best. He mentions ‘holding back’, which just brings me back to the whole concept of that in TBHK, and Tsukasa’s obvious interest in it.

So I find it wondrous how he’s saying he himself stopped holding back at some point.

Stopped holding himself back from being with the people he loves most, with Amane and his parents. Now just acknowledging that he’s had the desire to go back. And he even invites the Red House Darkness ( Is that what we’re calling it? ) to come with him.

Though, despite him letting go of his swear of not wanting more, this isn’t reaching his expectations at all. This was, for all we now, one occurrence.

Supernaturals and humans should be however they want to be? Has he ever abstained that from himself?

He’s always wanting people like Mitsuba, Shijima, Sakura, Amane to embrace their aspirations, no matter how selfish or fantastical they may be. He’s always pestering about wishes, this and that, to whoever.

But, he’s never once thought about himself, has he? Just once? It seems so, cause currently ( In the chapter 110 ), here he goes again. Trying to make two wishes come true, Sakura and Amane’s both. At the same time.

And something I’ve also noticed about him is that, he may be truthful, but there are times where he isn’t willing to share. I can point out occasions, but I think this is implying more.

He can shy away from things, questions, topics. Involving his own feelings? Like his feelings about thunder?

He can get quiet, wide eyed, looking everywhere else?

Well, that’s ironic, giving he always wants to know the feelings of others.

Amane, grabbing his face, trying to see his expression, because I think to Tsukasa that’s a way to read people. Just through the face they’re making? Hmm..

With Sakura too, like shown in the other imagine above.

Mitsuba as well.

But.. Then he hides his face when it comes to some situations? I wonder.

That exes all of his beliefs/expectations out.

He doesn’t even make it close to meeting them.

Tsukasa’s all too selfless, and with his overbearing appeal to wishes, wants, desires, selfishness, aspirations, etc etc. It clouds his brain from focusing on nothing more than other’s.

And I’m always so confused when people call him selfish. They may be thinking of his twin. Their almost complete opposites, after all.

I feel like this shows a sort of oblivious hypocritical behavior. His behavior contrasts his beliefs and feelings.

I don’t think anyone would have took him for the hypocrite. Even though I don’t think he himself even has a clue.

#anime #tbhk #jshk #manga #jshk tsukasa #tbhk tsukasa #jshk character analysis #tbhk character playlists #tsukasa character analysis #character introspection #jshk theory #tbhk theory #jshk red house #tbhk red house #jshk chapter 77 #tbhk chapter #random thoughts #tsukasa’s selflessness #yugi tsukasa #tsukasa yugi

[daimyosprincess]

EX LIBRIS V

PART V: PREFACE

—PAIRING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—SUMMARY: You make sure Professor Fett knows just how much he means to you.

—WORD COUNT: 8.6k

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, age gap (reader is mid-twenties, Boba is late forties), reader described as having enough hair to grab, little bit of Mando'a used (translations at the end), bdsm elements, dom/sub power dynamics, dom!Boba/sub!reader, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl) (also I’ve decided this AU includes safe, effective birth control since we’re fantasizing anyways), use of restraints (reader's hands are bound), creampie, lots of petnames, praise kink, dirty talk, choking, use of a vibrator, pussy spanking, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, tiniest bit of breeding kink, Daddy kink 🤭, lil bit of angst when Boba has some bad dreams

We've got some new chapter warnings this time, so be sure to mind them. As always, let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged!

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: We're back baybee and better than ever! Part V will conclude Volume I of Ex Libris, but fear not: your fav professor/librarian duo will be back for more sexy escapades (and fEeLiNgS) in the future in Volume 2 💚🖤

A big thank you to @agirlnamejacq and @rexxdjarin for betaing this series, and thank you my beautiful readers for your all support and feedback 💖

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

<Part IV

Boba Fett is a man of exquisite extremes: a simple man when it comes to himself, his personal effects minimal but well made, but quite the opposite when it comes to you. After he had a taste of spoiling you rotten on your date to the poppy fields, he couldn’t get enough, no matter how many times you told him he didn’t have to spend any money on you. You so much as glanced at something for too long and you’d find it tucked away somewhere for you to find, wrapped in a ribbon. You didn’t mind, not one bit, but you don’t want him to think that he had to keep doing it to keep you happy—just him by himself is enough to last you till the end of your days.

“Boba, you don’t have to keep doing this, really, I-”

“Princess, what’s the point of all my money sitting in the bank if I can’t spend it how I like?”

“But… I love you without all that.”

“I know you do, cyar’ika, I know. Now that we’ve got that established, let me spoil you like I want to, like you deserve.”

You gave in willingly after that conversation, allowing him to buy you all the little trinkets and sparkly jewelry your heart desired. One of his favorite things to do, you’d found, was to tuck his black credit card in your purse and send you to the mall with Selena, placing a kiss on your forehead and a slap on the ass as you went out the door. In return, you’d put on a little fashion show for him when you returned, ending with you in whatever risque lingerie you purchased for him to rip off and devour you whole. 

You currently have on one of the sets he hadn’t gotten the chance to tear off your body, a blush rose pair of elegant satin and lace that’s delightfully comfortable and smooth against your skin. As you consider your dress choices for the evening ahead, you can feel the way Boba is admiring you from across his bedroom while he’s buttoning up his cream-colored shirt. “Which one do you think,” you ask, turning and holding up the two choices, “the green or the blue one?”

Adjusting his collar down flat with practiced skill, he smirks. “Which one will be easier to get into later tonight?”

Even after all the filth that’s come out of his mouth, his flirting can still make you flush like a schoolgirl. “Boba!”

“What?” he shrugs with a rakish smile, “I’m asking for… research purposes.”

You can’t help but laugh, the man did have a sense of humor when he wanted to. “Well if you bend me over and pull them up, they should be about the same,” you respond, biting your lip and wiggling your eyebrows. You picked these dresses precisely because they provided easy access: what Boba doesn’t yet know is that you have a little surprise that has nothing to do with your dress, and everything to do with him. 

He crosses the room in a few strides and stops in front of you, letting his gaze travel down your body with lush attention before flicking between the two options you held. “Hmm, the green one, I think. Green looks good on you,” he hums, leaning in to press a slow kiss to your lips.

“Looks good on you, too,” you mumble, deepening the kiss. Boba had shown you his father’s armor, now his, that he carefully unpacked and mounted on a stand in his study. The reverence with which he handled each piece was a poignant reminder of the grief buried deep within his ribs and the pride he took in being his father’s son. You felt honored that he trusted you to share that part of himself; even in the short time you’ve known him, it’s readily apparent that he is a private person when it comes to his past. 

When his roughened hands slide down to grab your ass, you reluctantly break the kiss. “We’re gonna be late if you keep that up…”

“Oh, I can make it quick, princess. Promise.” He trails kisses down the thin skin of your throat and kneads the plushness of your ass. “You know I’m a man of my word.”

Stepping back out of his reach, you give him a scolding smile. “I know you are. Now, help me with this thing.” Boba huffs, more as a show rather than actual annoyance, and does as you request, dutifully lacing up the ties of the sage green garment across your back. Once done, he sits in the armchair to put on his shoes while you slip on your jewelry—including the piece you’re going to surprise him with.

As you secure the anklet around your leg, you admire how the interlinking chain twinkles in the light. The jewelry soaks up the heat of your body quickly, sitting heavier and warmer as you imagine what the professor’s reaction will be; you know he has that protective streak in him, that desire to care for and nurture you in a way you suspect he never received himself. That, combined with the claim he so enjoys laying on you, filling you full of him and marking your skin with his mouth, hands, and hips, leaves no doubt in your mind that your little surprise will drive him wonderfully and perfectly insane.

Now that the time has come to set your plot in motion, it takes everything in you to school your giddy expression. Sinking onto the end of the bed, you lean back on your hands and lift your leg to wiggle your foot in his direction so he gets a look up your dress—which he takes, of course. “Can you help me with my shoes, handsome?” you simper, batting your lashes for extra effect.

Boba rolls his eyes, muttering how you’re spoiled rotten as he scoops up your heels and slides on the first one, balancing the ball of your foot on his abdomen. He fastens the straps with deft fingers, then takes the opportunity to press slow kisses up your calf, keeping his deep eyes locked on yours. It’s surprisingly sensual, warmth feathering out from your core and fluttering in your stomach. You bite your lip, enjoying his slow touches and he winks. Fuck, he’s so kriffing hot.

He sets your leg down and braces the other against him, this time trailing his lips down from your thigh to just above the straps of your shoe. Securing the straps, nods at your anklet. “Mmm, what have we here?” 

The gold piece looks even daintier against his thick fingers as he runs them across it.

You tilt your chin up just a bit as you watch his expression through heavy-lidded eyes. “Just a little something that reminded me of you. Thought I would wear it tonight.” Boba adjusts the jewelry around your ankle so he can examine the stylized letters adorning it. The anticipation of him seeing “Daddy’s Girl” dangling off you for anyone to see has restless energy lighting up your nerves.

A second later, Boba gasps, sucking in a sharp, sudden breath and his face snaps up to look at you; you’re as licentious and dusky as an old Hollywood star as you peer back at him. His grip becomes almost unbearably tight, but it feels so good that you hope it leaves a bruise to remember it by. His lips part but no sound comes out, every muscle in his body rigid. Something has come over him, something so visceral it strikes him to the core of his being. 

This you know you’ll remember for the rest of your days, until the end of time even—you know you will. The time you made Boba Fett, the strongest, most unshakeable man you’ve ever met, break. Not crease or fold. Not snap. Break. 

“Say it.” The words fall from his lip hoarse and cracked. A wild energy crackles and grows behind his glossy eyes.

You drag your hands closer to your body to push yourself up higher, and your heart rate picks up. You almost want to make this last forever. “Say… what?” you drawl, blinking at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

One of his hands drops to your thigh, his fingers digging into the pillowy flesh there. A sizzle of air rushes from behind his teeth. “Say it. Say it right now.” 

Heat is radiating off him so hot you can feel it, like a star burning itself into creation. The primal rawness of his desire, its baseness, permeates into your skin and makes his feverish desire become your own. You can’t deny him, not when it feels like his scalding becoming will remake you anew, too.

Blistering heat fills you from the inside out as his eyes bore into you. You lick your lips, savoring the last of the moment before this man shatters your whole world from the inside out in a glorious passion. “I’m… I’m Daddy’s girl.”

Tossing your adorned leg over his shoulder, Boba crashes into you, his lips searing a kiss onto your mouth that’s so hot your mind leaves your body for a few breathless seconds. You’re effectively folded in half by his crushing weight and it makes your muscles scream in the most delicious way. Boba curses into your open mouth as his hips grind what has to be a painfully hard erection into your ass.

“Fuck, ner cyare, tell me that’s what you want, tell me you want me to be-”

“I want you, want you to be my Daddy, Boba, please.” Hands balled in his shirt behind his neck, you gasp your answer with the breath from his lungs. 

A string of coarse curses pour from his mouth. “Gedet’ye, sweet girl, let me have you. Let me show you just how good Daddy can make his babygirl feel.”

He’s a paradox of pleasure, impossibly dominant yet unbearably vulnerable in his need for you in this moment. He can see all of you and you can see all of him; it’s the most intimate thing you’ve ever experienced, a culmination of the trust the two of you had been building between your hearts and in his bed. Hearing him say those words in that voice has you breaking into a million needy pieces, ready for him to put you back together again.

Fuck, how could I say no to that?

Looking directly into his blown out eyes, you give him the permission he needs. “Fuck me.”

You want to sear the sound that he makes at your confirmation into your brain forever. He shifts back, lowering your leg off him to quickly work himself out of his pants. Propped up on your elbows now, you can see how his thick cock is weeping and dripping with need, the velvety skin of his shaft so red it’s almost purple. You curse under your breath, your mouth and your pussy filling with moisture at the sight of him. He pumps himself a few times, a snarl tearing from his chest when you moan from watching.

Grabbing both your ankles, he yanks you down the bed, pushing the hem of your dress over your stomach and hitching your legs over his hips. “Shit, you’ve soaked right through those pretty little panties,” he groans, curling his fingers around the satin material and ripping it clean off your body, the stretch and snap of the fabric making you hiss. A deep moan escapes him at the vision of your glistening womanhood now on full display, and Boba pushes your thighs up to get an even better view.

You feel like you’re in the middle of a supernova, melting into his star; your every thought runs into the next and sensations bleed into one another—you’re totally lost to the pleasure of the moment. Boba bends to lick up a taste of your arousal when the words come rushing out of your mouth. “Fuck me, don’t wait, just fuck me. Split me open on your cock, Daddy, please.” You want to feel the size of him, so much of him that it’s all you can comprehend.

He stiffens, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths. “Princess,” he grits out, his restraint taking visible effort for the first time, “d-don’t say things like that, not when… you know I have to prep you.”

You don’t care—you want him in you now, forcing himself through your tight walls and making you feel every kriffing inch of his cock. Slotting your hands under your knees, you spread yourself even wider in an open invitation to take what’s rightfully his and only his. “Pleaseeeee, please, sir, it’s all yours, please fuck me, give me your co-”

Boba’s hand slaps across your pussy, tearing a sharp moan from your chest and making you gush. “Enough!” he barks, “You know the rules. Or do you need to be reminded across my knee?”

The lasting sting radiating out from your clit and his imperious tone has your mind scrambling to right itself; you’re so kriffing turned on you can barely think. Apparently you take too long, because Boba’s left hand shoots around your neck and squeezes the thoughts right out of your head. “With behavior like this, I think you do need to be reminded of Daddy’s rules, little brat.” 

Your eyes widen, his absolute authority has you trembling in anticipation. You hang on his every word even as your brain struggles to form a complete thought. 

Boba lightens the pressure around your throat to allow you to speak. “Tell me the rules, and keep those legs open. Number one,” he commands, smacking your pussy, making you yelp.

“Honesty!”

He gives you another slap across your clit. This time you moan, the stinging sensation quickly turning into pleasure. “Number two.”

“Respect!”

After the third strike, he leaves his hand sitting on top of your searing lips. “Number three.” You answer correctly and he rubs his fingers over your clit, sending sparks shooting up your spine. “Four, last rule.” 

Boba fingers begin to rub faster over your slick, swollen clit and you drag your mind to the answer, gasping, “No coming… without… permission!” 

A pleased look settles on his handsome face and he releases your throat to caress your cheek with his knuckles. “That’s my good girl, so smart, did so well for me,” he praises in a tone sweeter than golden honey, “Daddy rewards his princess when she’s good, even more now that she’s his little girl. How do you like that, sweetheart? Come on, talk to me.” His fingers slow to a halt between your open thighs and he eases your legs back down on the bed.

You feel at an immediate loss without his touch, like everything is suddenly too much.

Rule number two, make sure your needs are met. “Can you hold me while we talk? Need to feel you, please.”

Boba’s eyes widen, concern flickering over his features as he scans for any additional discomfort. “Of course, babygirl. Wanna get undressed, too?” he asks, his hands rubbing your thighs to give you a point of contact as you consider his question.

Your unease stops rising enough for you to crack a smile. “We’re really not going to that play, are we?”

Chuckling, he smiles down at you. “No, princess, we are absolutely not.” 

That established, Boba helps undo all the work of getting you into your evening attire—spending extra time kissing down your legs to remove your heels, his fingers playing with the anklet that led to the evening’s fun—and gets out of his. Tucking you into his side, skin to glorious skin, he pulls the covers over the both of you and begins rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. “That better now?”

“Mmm hmm, so much better,” you confirm, burying your face into his warm chest. The rising tension in your own abates and your heartbeat slows back to normal.

“You want to keep going, princess? We can call it a night if you want to.”

You start kissing up his neck in answer, yours hand roaming up the inside of his thigh. “Yes, Daddy, I want to keep going. I wanna keep going until you’re coming dry,” you tease, biting down on his shoulder.

He gives your ass a swat. “Behave.”

“Yes, sir,” you giggle, resting your head back down on him and reigning in your wandering hands.

Boba strokes his thumb over your hip bone and you can tell he’s trying to find the words to say whatever he’s thinking about. After a couple moments, he asks in a low voice, “So you… really want that from me?”

You trace over the tattoos swirling over his pectoral with your fingertip. “Want what?”

“Your anklet… do you really want to be my girl?”

“I am your girl.” You smile to yourself at his sudden sheepishness; you know what he’s trying to ask but you want to hear him say it in that luscious voice of his. Is it selfish? Maybe, but you think you’re entitled to a little fun at his expense every now and again, especially when you’re about to let him fuck you into oblivion.

Boba grumbles at your insistence on being difficult, exhaling a long breath. “I mean, you want me to be… Daddy?”

As cute as it is to see your big bad dominant boyfriend have any doubt about your wish when you’re literally wearing jewelry that says so, the coals of your desire are starting to glow hot and ready in your belly. And he makes it sound even better than it already is with that voice. “Yes, Boba. I want you to be my Daddy,” you smile up at him with a peck to his jaw. The professor is a deeply caring man under the thick armor of his exterior. He craves an outlet for the tenderness the universe never allowed him just as you long for the safety the world so rarely afforded you.   

“Oh babygirl,” he groans, pulling you into lap so you’re straddling him. He cups the back of your head, slotting your lips against his in a passionate kiss. “I’m… you’re… what made you want this?” he gasps into your mouth, his lips never leaving yours.

His growing desperation and the hard length of his cock twitching against your thigh has your hips rocking over his. “Well… when I first saw the anklet… I thought it would be a funny way… to rile you up. So I bought it… with your money of course.”

He chuckles, peppering kisses down your jaw to your neck. “I would hope so, princess.”

You pull him farther into you with a hand on the back of his head. “But the more I thought about it… the more I liked the idea-fuck, just like that.” Boba has taken your pebbled nipples between his fingers and is rolling them just perfectly. “I read some stuff about those kinds of relationships online and it just seemed right. You take such good care of me and I trust you with every bone in my body. And you’re just so… you. Knew it was what I wanted ahh-” He had pinched your nipples, making you keel into him with your back arched. 

He grabs two handfuls of your hips and presses you flush against him, his lips seeking yours once more. When you’re sufficiently breathless, Boba pulls back with a soft smile. “Thank you, princess,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “That kind of trust you have in me, it… it means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you hug him close, breathing in his scent feeling the beat of his heart against your own. Who knew love could be like this? Powerful and sweet; intense, yet soft. Unplanned but perfectly balanced.  

“Now what do you want for your reward, pretty girl?”

It had seemed like a wonderful idea to ask Boba to tie you up and use the new vibrator you’d bought before he fucked you into next week, but now that you’re strung out and openly sobbing after your third orgasm of the night, you’re not sure so sure. Every nerve in your body is raw and burning, and you’re consumed by even the slightest physical sensation, down to Boba’s breath on your damp skin.

“Aww, look at you taking it so well, sweetheart,” he coos proudly, slowly dragging the toy up and down your folds, “You look so good like this, you know that, my pretty girl? I wish I could see you like this all the time. You’re so beautiful.”

All his sugary words only add to the thick haze of overstimulation shrouding your mind; you can’t do anything but whimper and moan as you convulse at the incessant vibrations buzzing on your clit. Even though he’s lowered the power several notches, you’re so kriffing sensitive that you’re crying from the overwhelming sensation of your unabating pleasure. 

“Little princesses should be taken care of, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” he promises, “Gotta make sure you’re nice and sensitive so you can feel every single inch of Daddy’s cock when he’s fucking you.”

His words cause the frayed string of your remaining sanity to snap. You wail at the thought of having him inside and out, rocking through your sopping cunt. “Oh, fuck, oh ffffuuuuck! I’m gonna-I’m-” you choke, desperately trying to get the words to form on your tongue that feels too big for your mouth, “P-please can I come? Wanna-wanna be good but it’s too f-fucking much, please!”

“That’s my good girl, go ahead, go ahead and come for Daddy,” he permits, “I wanna hear you scream.” He pushes the vibrator more firmly against you so no matter how much you shake and squirm you can’t escape its boundless energy.

Too much, too much, feels so good, too much, FUCK! You explode with ragged pleasure, your nerves raked to shreds, the overbearing sensation ripping through your wound-up insides like some sort of demon of desire. 

When Boba removes the toy from your clit it almost makes you scream again, the sudden loss of contact shocking your senses like you’d been dunked in ice-cold water. “Shh shh shh,” he soothes, the tender pride in his voice caressing over your harsh angles, “I’ve got you, that’s a good girl, there you go.” He continues to coo over you, rubbing your overwrought muscles loose from their tensed state. He doesn’t untie you though.

“You did so good for me, little one, I’m so proud of you,” he praises, ”coming four times for me. That’s a new record, isn’t it, sweetheart?” Parting your lower lips, he brushes his fingers through the unbelievable amount of wetness there. You shudder and whimper as you press your thighs together in an attempt to stop the agonizing friction of his fingers against your aching clit. Boba tsks, slapping his free hand down on the meat of your thigh, making you squeal and jump at the stinging strike. “Ah ah ah, you don’t decide when you’re done, princess, you don’t get that choice. Only I decide when you’ve had enough.”

“B-but it’s s-so m-much,” you sniffle, fresh tears sliding down your cheeks as you pull against the restraints that have your hands fastened to the headboard—the only thing tethering you to this universe.

He rubs his large, warm hands up and down your ribcage in slow strokes. “Aww, I know, pretty baby, but you want to be good for Daddy, don’t you?” Dipping down, Boba plants soft kisses up the valley of your breasts and neck and over your chin, finally landing on your quivering lips. You bob your head, a broken hum from your throat confirming your sentiment. “That’s my girl, my sweet little angel. Now open up those legs nice and wide for me, let me see that pretty pussy.”

With another sniffle, you crack your legs apart against your body’s instincts, feeling so exposed yet totally safe with him. You know down to the depths of your soul that he would only ever care for you. That in his bed, you’re perfect, adored, and safe, you’re the center of his universe. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you if you asked and no amount of pleasure he wouldn’t bring you.

Humming in enjoyment of what his work wrought, Boba shifts down the bed to layer wet kisses over the expanse of your slicked thighs and puffy folds. He stops to lick and suck your arousal up with his tongue while he mumbles about how delicious you taste just for him. The fog of your orgasms clears just enough for desire to start to spark again between your thighs at his wet tongue and salacious praise.

You want him inside you, no, need him inside you, painting your insides with his mark and sweating curses into your skin. You crave the way he’s stripped bare by your body and the pleasure it brings him, those precious few moments where he can shed the weight of his pain and be lost in you. “Daddy, please, want you inside me, want you to fuck me,” you whine, arching up with an offer of your body, “Wanna make you feel good, too.”

Boba groans at your request, his dark eyes fluttering shut as he bites down into your thigh. “You’re so good to me, cyare, so, so good to me…” He rests his forehead on your soft belly for a moment, looping his arms around you and holding you close for a handful of heartbeats. He then slides up your body to release you from your bindings. “Let Daddy hear you beg for his cock one more time, pretty baby. Let me hear it one more time and give you just what you want, just what you need.”

You do as you’re told, pleading and simpering while you watch how Boba begins to crack under his desire, his arousal glowing through his fissures like magma beneath a volcano. Maker, how you want to feel the tectonic power of him, the unforgiving slate of his hips and the obsidian points of his lust-blown eyes, to drown in his primordial pleasure. Digging your nails into his back you tell him so, panting your desires into his ear until he finally erupts. 

Snarling, he tosses your legs over his shoulders and buries himself into you in one smooth, frictionless motion. He sets a harried pace that has your anklet swinging right next to his face with every thrust of his powerful hips. And true to his word, you can feel every single goddamn inch of him pounding into you; you swear you can see the brink of ecstasy’s insanity on the horizon, brought closer by every ridge and vein of his thick cock sliding in and out of you.

Boba’s fucking you straight through the mattress, pinning you underneath his massive bulk and forcing the air from your lungs with every stroke—it’s almost violent and you fucking love it. Seeing him lose control, burn through his restraint, has you clenching around his length as it pumps inside of you.

 “Fuck, princess, baby, I’m not going to last long,” he growls, pressing his lips into you calf, “You’re so karking hot and wet and tight. I’ll never get tired of-shit-of fucking this perfect cunt.” His fierce pace of his snapping hips begins to falter and you know he’s close, your swollen walls sucking him into your velvet heat over and over as your own mind begins to dissolve. 

You feel too hot for your own skin in the best possible way. Boba’s a wreck and it’s making you insane. “D-don’t,” you plead, ragged and fucked out, “j-just come in me, please.” The wet sound of skin slapping and his dick shucking into your soaked pussy is all you can hear.

“N-no, want you to… fuck, I want you to come too, you’re so perfect… so fucking good to me, I want you t-to come with me-”

“Daddy, please,” you whimper, what’s left of your mind knowing it would shatter the remainder of his restraint, “Oh, please, Daddy! Daddy please come inside me, I want you so bad. Want to ache and feel you dripping out me all fucking night!”

Boba makes a primal sound that has to be both a curse and prayer, his face contorting in the shape of pure pleasure as his muscles ripple and lock, his hot release pumping into your insides with a sweet heat. He bites into your ankle, just below where your jewelry hangs and his fingers carve bruises into your soft flesh. 

You’re marked with him in every conceivable way—the thought of truly being his inside and out has another orgasm slamming into your chest, knocking the breath from your lungs as you cry out in unexpected ecstasy. You can feel his spend spilling out around his cock as he continues fucking into you. It ratchets you even higher, making your pleasure feel like an epoch of its own, unending and rapturous as it burns you alive. “F-fuck, Boba, I can’t stop-I can’t stop coming!”

“D-don’t you dare stop, don’t you fucking dare… ner mesh’la cyare you feel so karking good I’m going to lose my fucking mind…” Boba’s rough rasp is utterly wrecked and only prolongs your pleasure; so long you’re afraid you won’t be able to make your mind fit back in your body it’s so full of him.

His hips don’t stop rutting into you as his head drops to your shoulder, moving on their own accord. You shiver and moan into one another as the pulsing waves of overstimulation wash though you. “C-can’t s-stop, babygirl, can’t stop. You feel s-so good,” he pants in a thin, strained voice, his hands running over every piece of you that they can.

In your blissed out existence, your only marker for the passage of time is the feeling of his length beginning to swell and harden inside you, the erotic sensation making your fluttering hole clench tight around him. He groans and starts rubbing your clit with shaking fingers and you contort with the overwhelming pleasure, pulling his hardened cock even deeper into your ruined cunt. Boba begins to push deeper and faster inside you, the very idea of him fucking you again making you throb around him. You know you’re too far gone to come again, but you want nothing more in the whole galaxy than to feel him fill you up when he’s already dripping out of your pussy.

Weakly moving your hips to match his thrusts, you mewl into his ear, intent on giving him all the pretty sounds you can to push him over the edge. You could break him like this, but all you want to do is heal him in whatever way you can, to give him everything he has given you. So when you get your next idea, you don't think twice about it: slinging your arm around his neck, you beg him to fuck you like he’s gonna be a real daddy, beg him to fuck his load so deep that it takes. 

A groan rips out of his chest like his spirit is tearing free and he snaps his hips so far into you he might have ended up in your guts if he hadn’t knocked into your cervix first. The sharp pain doesn’t even matter, intense and harsh as it is, because Boba is fucking coming. Inside. You. Again. The wet sound of him pounding a second load of his seed into you to the point of overstimulation for both of you is sin itself, nearly drowning out the sound of his ragged curses, your broken moans, and both your haggard breathing.  

When he finally collapses on top of you heaving and sweat-slicked, you’re smiling, your face soaked with the tears running down your cheeks and temples from the intensity of the night’s pleasure. Eventually, he pulls you on top of him, careful to slot your legs between his own instead of straddling his hips so you’re comfortable. He kisses the tears from your lashes and whispers how kriffing naughty and dirty you are for begging him to knock you up; you just giggle and praise the Maker for birth control.

After a quick shower that’s more or less the two of you wrapped in one another under the hot water, you’re curled into him under crisp sheets with him just as the sun finishes setting, painting the walls in carmine light. You’re both out before the moon even rises.

The next day you’re sore, incredibly sore, as in every-damn-step-you-take sore. You don’t mind, not really, not when the previous night’s pleasure and its reminder make you dizzy to think about. You do, however, milk it for all it’s worth, insisting that your handsome professor baby and coddle you to the point of ridiculousness. Your plans for a day out quickly turn into a day in, snuggled under blankets with him and take-out food. 

Boba himself is utterly infatuated by you and the entire situation, the pride of fucking you so deep and good that you nest the next day—in addition to setting his own personal record in recovery time—mixed with the almost bashful remorse of causing you a lasting discomfort. You don’t think there’s been a second where he wasn’t massaging or rubbing out some muscle in your body the entire day. Maybe heaven really is a place on earth.

No one calls at 1:27 in the morning unless there’s a problem. Ragged anxiety scratches down your nerves, pricking your skin and pumping awful heat into your blood. Boba’s name stares up at you from your phone screen as it continues to ring, its light too harsh for your sleep-adjusted eyes. Forcing a path through your thorny dread, you yank your phone off its charger and drag your finger across the screen to answer the call. “B-boba? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You don’t mean for your voice to come out as distressed as it does. But no one calls at 1:27 unless there’s a problem.

The familiar deep voice of your professor on the other end attempts to assure you. “Easy, princess. Everything’s alright.” There’s a long pause that keeps your heart from settling back down from your throat to its place in your chest. “I’m sorry to wake you, I just… I needed to hear your voice.”

  The uncharacteristic hesitancy and tightness in his tone makes your stomach churn; things are definitely not alright. Spiked adrenaline starts to flood your system, making sweat bead across your skin as you stumble out of the bed towards your closet to find real clothes. I have to be ready to help him, go to him. “Boba, baby, tell me what’s wrong,” you coax, yanking a hoodie on while you consciously attempt to keep him from clamming up, even as your own anxiety claws up your ribs.

There’s a couple breath’s worth of leaden silence that is far too heavy for the few seconds it lasts. “I-I shouldn’t have bothered you so late, princess, I’m sorry…” He sounds ragged, like he’s still trying to catch his breath after losing it.

“No, no, it’s okay.” You’re doing your best to keep your voice calm despite the fact every alarm bell in your head is screaming at full volume. “Just tell me what’s wrong, Boba, tell me, baby.” You’ve never called him that before—baby—but it feels right, feels soft and comforting in this moment. You might not know what’s wrong, but you do know he needs comfort.

A heavy sigh crackles through your phone speaker; you can almost imagine how Boba’s brows are furrowed together, his handsome face creased in a stormy expression as he searches his depths for the right words to say. You know you have to be patient, give him the time he needs, but you’re so anxious you’re pacing the distance between your bed and closet, chewing your lip.

When he finally speaks again it’s like it’s been ages since you last heard his voice, its sound like a balm on your mind. “The dreams are back, and I don’t always sleep well… you always make it better, I just needed to hear your voice, know that you’re safe.” The torment in his beautiful voice is like a vice around your heart; it makes you ache all the way down to the dust in your bones at the prospect of him suffering so greatly. You know he has his demons, the ghosts of his past that you sometimes catch flashes of like haints in the mirror of his eyes. He hadn’t yet acknowledged them and you haven’t pressed, aware that he needs a wide berth around his inner self. 

But now? He’s reaching out a hand and you’re going to do everything in power to pull him from the rapids roiling inside him. “I’m safe, baby, I’m okay,” you soothe, chucking your phone between your face and shoulder so you can pull on a pair of leggings, “Tell me what you need.”

“I’m fine now, cyar’ika, really. I’m sorry for waking you up, just get some rest for me, babygirl.” Boba’s voice is beginning to steel over and you can tell he’s closing in around himself.

I can’t help him if I don’t know what’s wrong. You have to take a firmer approach.

“Oh, no you don’t!” you declare sternly, planting a hand on your hip even though he can’t see you, “No one calls at 1:30 in the morning if everything’s ‘fine.’ I’m coming over. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” You’re wide awake and your body is itching for action: you can’t rest knowing the man you love is in so much pain he actually allowed it to be seen.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls, “I don’t want you on the roads at this hour.”

You already have your purse in hand. “Then you better start talking, or I’ll be knocking on your door.” You shake your keys loudly so he can hear—sometimes you have to threaten the man for his own good. 

He groans and falls silent and you can tell he’s reached his limit for words—you have to tread very carefully to keep him from shutting down completely. He needs action, touch, something physical to soothe his soul, immaterial words did very little for him. “Hey,” you try gently, your voice softening, “Why don’t you come over here. You always sleep better with me, yeah? And that way you can make sure I stay put.” 

After a moment of consideration, Boba grunts out an affirmative. “I do sleep better with you…”

“Then get over here,” you urge, “the light’s on.”

“I’ve already disturbed you enough, little one, it’s-”

“Boba Fett, since when have I ever passed up the chance to have you in my bed?” you interrupt. The nerve of this man, I swear. 

Your exasperated question garners you a weary chuckle from the professor. “I’ll give you that, princess.” He sighs and you can hear that he runs a hand over his face. “Are you sure it won’t be too much trouble?”

Your heart clenches at the genuine concern in his voice. If only he would care for his own wellbeing as much as he does for mine. “It will be the exact opposite of trouble,” you promise, “I sleep better with you, too.” It’s the truth, his solid warmth next to permitted you a sleep you didn’t even know people could get.

Boba finally acquiesces at your assurances and says he’ll be over as soon as he packs some clothes. Satisfied, you flick on a lamp and wrap yourself in a blanket on your couch to wait for him. Now that relief is starting to cool off your shock, your eyelids begin to droop at the late hour. You’re determined to stay awake until he arrives, however; you open one of the games on your phone and half-play it until a message notification pings with Boba letting you know he’s pulled up. A minute later, there’s a knock on your door and you pick up your blanketed self to let him in.

You’re greeted with the sight of your boyfriend in gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt that fits snug across his broad chest. As good as he looks though, it’s all overshadowed by the slump in his proud shoulders, the darkness shadowed under his deep eyes, and the weariness creased in his face. He manages a tired smile when he sees you. “Hey, princess.”

Relief rolls through you when you see him whole and breathing on your doorstep. Wrapping your arms around his thick frame, you just hold him close for a moment. He sags just the slightest bit under your touch, leaning into you and inhaling in your scent. You would carry the weight of a mountain for him if it meant he could find some solace in your arms. “Let’s get you to bed, professor,” you whisper with a chaste kiss on his lips.

Whether it’s the dark hour of night or the promise of your body beside him, Boba is pliant, allowing you to pull him over the threshold and down the hall into your bedroom. You take his shirt for the next day and hang it up and stow his bag away for the morning. He’s practically carved from stone the way he stiffly stands, his only movement coming from his fists clenching and uncurling at his sides as he watches you with a fraught, lost expression.  

Catching the tumult in his eyes, you reach out and snag his hand, pulling him down to the bed beside you. You can see the tension held in his shoulders and corded in his neck, the amount of vulnerability he’s allowing beginning to take its toll. You don’t overwhelm him with words, you just quietly pull the blankets over his body and him into your chest. For being built like a brick wall, Boba is surprisingly pliable underneath your hands as you guide his head under your chin. His arms wrap around you after a moment, tightly pressing him to you as if you are the only thing keeping his head above the water. 

You find yourself humming some nonsense tune you remember from your childhood as you stroke over the back of his head and neck with gentle fingers. One by one, you feel his muscles start to relax where he’s pressed against the line of your body; his breathing slows and evens and his strong heartbeat thumps easier against your chest. You don’t know how long you stay like this, in the warm and peaceful dark, and it doesn’t matter. This is a turning point, a moment of revelation in your relationship with the Mandalorian professor, that happens in silence. Words are unnecessary when the understanding itself is so palpable. 

You are not alone Boba Fett, you care for me and I care for you. Your strength is commendable, impossible even, but that is not what binds me to you. No, it is your heart, that thing you claim is just a scarred-over place between your ribs. I will hold it close to mine, protect it in my own chest as you clear the past out of the spot where yours belongs. There is no rush, no time too long for me, my love. You are mine and I am yours.

You aren’t sure if Boba is even still awake until you feel his lips move against your collarbone in a hushed tone. “I love you.”

It’s a whisper of a thing, wrapped in the safety of the night between the warmth of your bodies—he hadn’t said those words since that first night you were together. You never needed him to, although it’s music to your ears, when his actions spoke far louder than his words.

“I know,” you sigh, brushing your lips over his scarred skin, “I love you, too. All of you.” 

His admission and your affirmation seem to unhook the last of the pain from his chest and he settles into your body, content to melt back into your shared slumber. Looking at him before you shut your eyes, you wonder if the sun ever gets to appreciate its own light and warmth, or if it’s doomed to the cold vacuum of space without ever knowing the life it gives.

It might have been all a dream were it not for the gentle hand caressing your cheek the next morning, waking you to the world of the living. Haloed by the sun beginning to peek through your windows is the man you held in arms through his storm, radiant and beautiful as ever as he rumbles out your name. “Time to wake up, cyar’ika.”

He truly is a sight he is to behold as the morning sun lights up his brown eyes like warm honey and skates across his bronze skin… Maker, you wouldn’t mind waking up like this everyday. “‘Morning,” you mumble back, smiling sleepily up at him as you rub the haze from your eyes. The aroma of fresh bread and savory cheese wafts golden and delightful under your nose. “What smells so good?”

“Breakfast, of course.” Boba flashes you a smile that might as well be liquid sunlight with the way it beams and he reaches down to retrieve a box loaded with pastries from the Cuban bakery down the street. Squealing with happy surprise, you nearly crush the box between your bodies and you lurch forward to throw your arms around his neck. “Careful, princess,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss onto your cheek, “Got some coffee, too.”

You accept the travel up he presses into your hand and the strong smell of the island roast floods your senses. Savoring the first sip, you make a sound of delight at the rich flavor. “How’d you know how I like my coffee?” you tease.

He smirks at you. “You informed me quite early on exactly how you like your coffee.”

“Yeah,” you giggle, “it’s just how I like my men.” When Boba cocks a brow, you grin with the joke on your lips. “Strong, sweet, and full of cream.”

Boba groans at your words, shaking his head with chagrin written across his face. “What am I going to do with you, my little princess?”

Checking the time on your phone, you pat the spot next to you. “Well, you can come back to bed and eat these with me. We have time.”

He obliges you, slipping back under the covers and letting you snuggle up against him as the pair of you tuck into the delicious pastries. After you both have had your fill of the savory danishes, Boba moves to get out of the bed to start getting ready for the work day ahead.

“Wait,” you call out to him. He stops, turning back to face you and tilting his head as he waits for you to speak. “I need you to promise me something.” 

You know he needs things said plainly. You can’t assume he understands you’ll care for him just as he cares for you, that he’ll acknowledge his feelings and let you be the support he needs when everything comes crashing down.

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “Name it, princess.”

You take his face gently between your palms, pulling him back close. Brushing your thumbs over his lips, you search his deep brown eyes. “I know last night was not a one-time occurance. You don’t have to tell me everything or even anything, really, but I do need you to reach out when you’re hurting. You don’t have to face your pain alone. Not anymore.”

His expression clouds over, his walls threatening to go up. “Sweetheart, it’s fi-”

“If you say ‘it’s fine’ I won’t let you near my pussy until after the school year ends.” Boba groans and clicks his jaw shut. “Imagine if I didn’t let you take care of me when I’m hurting or if I didn’t let you help me when I needed it.” Seeing his displeasure with the thought, you continue, “That’s what it’s like for me when you bottle everything up and pretend it’s all ‘fine.’ I need you to promise you’ll tell me when you need help. We don’t have to talk, you don’t have to explain yourself, just tell me what you need in the moment.”

For the first time in your life since you’ve known him, Boba Fett looks afraid. As painful and wrong as it feels, you’re immeasurably grateful that he’s allowing you in to help. “What if… I don’t know what that is,” he finally croaks, unable to meet your eyes.

It breaks your heart to see him like this, so lost in his own mind that he can’t see a way out. “Then just tell me that, my love, and we’ll figure it out together. You’re not alone, Boba. Not now and not every again,” you murmur, brushing a kiss on his lips. You give your words time to sink down through the depths of him, past all his doubts and uncertainty to settle into his heart. “Can you promise me that?”

The rise and fall of his chest is his only movement as he mulls over your words—shifting one’s universe takes time. Eventually, Boba lays his hand over yours and turns his face to the side to press a kiss into your palm. “For you, ner kar’ta, I will try.”

“And that’s all I’ll ever ask of you,” you promise.

The morning eventually carries on, both of you going about your routines in pleasant harmony. Boba takes great joy in picking just what bra and panties you’ll wear for the day when you ask him to, and even greater joy in putting them on you. You yourself quite enjoy buttoning up his crisp blue shirt across his wide chest, especially when he lifts you on your dresser as he kisses the breath from your lungs. You don’t know if it’s the new layer of your relationship or the air of domesticity surrounding the morning, but you swear you’ve never been more in love with Boba than you are right now.

“We’re gonna be late, professor,” you gasp as he kisses down the column of your neck.

“Mmm, they won’t miss us…” he rumbles, grabbing the meat of your ass and pulling you to the edge of the dresser so you can wrap your legs around his torso, “My first class isn’t until ten o’clock.”

Biting down hard on your lip in an attempt to focus your restraint, you shoot back, “Yes, but my first meeting is at 9:30 and I need to answer emails first.”

Grumbling, Boba shakes his head. “Tsk tsk tsk, when did you get so responsible?”

“When you started calling me your good girl,” you answer with a cheeky grin, “Gotta live up to my name.”

“Oh now she wants to be good,” he chuffs, leaning back to look at you with a smile turning up his mouth.

You nip at his plush bottom lip, wiggling in his embrace. “I’m your babygirl, your sweet little angel, remember?”

He snorts. “When you want to be.” Running a hand down your leg, he pulls your knee over his hip so he can feel that your anklet is on. “Still Daddy’s girl?”

Linking your arms around his neck you pull him flush with your chest, you ghost your lips over his. He is yours and you are his, forever.

“Always.”

MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS

(ner) cyare - (my) beloved, love

cyar’ika - sweetheart, darling, (a diminutive of cyare)

gedet’ye - please

(ner) kar'ta - (my) heart

osik - Mando'a curse akin to "shit"

<Part IV

#well folks it's been a wild ride and i enjoyed every minute of it with y'all!! #i am truly grateful for all the enthusiasm and support everyone has for this series 😭 #please feel free to send me ex libris thots/thoughts 💕 #zwei writes #fanfic #ex libris fic #boba fett #boba fett x reader #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett x fem!reader #boba fett x you #boba fett fanfic #boba fett smut #boba fett fanfiction #professor!boba fett #professor boba fett #professor au #star wars fanfiction

[ramrage]

ghost’s ghost

chapter 5: the funeral

work rating: T

chapter rating: T

relationship: John “Soap” MacTavish x Simon “Ghost” Riley”

characters: John “Soap” MacTavish, Simon “Ghost” Riley”, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick cameo, John Price cameo

tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Body Horror, Main Character Death, Not Really Character Death, Ghost John “Soap” MacTavish, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Crack, Dark Crack, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Changing Tenses, Not (always) chronological

ao3 link

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

They were awake at daybreak the following morning, mainly because the uneasy silence blanketing the mattress, blanketing the whole room, made it difficult to sleep. The little psychological progress they’d made the night prior was just that: little. 

 

“We need to get ready,” Simon said after checking the clock again, and not for the last time. 

 

Johnny stayed put, thinking. After a moment, he heaved himself up. “I suppose you’re right.”

 

“‘Course. I tend to be.”

 

Johnny watched as Simon straightened out the finishing bits and bobs of his dress uniform. He’d wash up if he could, show up to his own funeral looking sharp, but the best he could manage with the limitations was stripping off his bulkier bits of kit and, with his spit and shirt as a washrag, scrape away some of the blood caked to the side of his head. 

 

He glanced over his shoulder as he gave a particularly nasty bit of persuasion, and snorted a laugh. “Lookin’ like a knob, Lt.”

 

Simon rolled his eyes. “What can I say? You inspired me, Johnny.”

 

“Haud yer—“ Johnny began, and then laughed the hardest he had since everything went to shit the night before. “Hey.”

 

Simon stilled his hands and met the meaningful look in Johnny’s eyes. Not that he had much a choice to do otherwise since the wiseass decided to stand between him and the mirror. 

 

“Thank you,” Johnny said, nodding solidly to put feeling to the statement that words and intonation alone couldn’t. Even that fell short.

 

“For indirectly calling you a knob?” Simon asked, seeing as clearly as he ever had. 

 

The clarity crept free from the mire, like sun from behind the dying overcast.

 

“Yeah.”

 

The exchange felt related, somehow, to the loaded glances they used to share, and to the unambiguously-worded conversations they never did and never would bother with. Struck through the very center by a common thread. Understanding in code.

 

Several minutes into the funeral mass, Simon was wondering if something got lost in translation somehow.

 

They’d proceeded into the church nice and easy, measured. No more cocky jokes, or rather, not quite as many. After all, Johnny had an apparent allergy to shutting the fuck up. The levity would be welcomed if it didn’t have Simon fighting laughter throughout his lover’s (?) funeral mass.

 

Everyone would be fighting laughter, too, if only they could hear Johnny’s ongoing commentary on his own funeral. But they couldn’t, for better or for worse. 

 

“Ah, pack it in, Aunt Midge,” Johnny groaned, and then adding in a whispered aside, as if any unwelcome ears could be listening in, “Insufferable old cunt. I’m sure she’s upset and all, but more than anything, the rocket’s glad to have the attention.” 

 

He then cups his hands around his mouth to shout “too bad no one fucken cares!”

 

Simon couldn’t help but burst out laughing. How fucking absurd and awful everything was. What a fucking joke. He caught it quickly, but it was still too late. The whole parish had its eyes on him. The man next to him looked particularly perturbed—and pissed—and maybe out of real concern or plain desire to show everyone they weren’t associated, he hissed to Simon “now, the hell is wrong with you, lad?”

 

Simon ignored Johnny as he phantasmically pointed and laughed. He deadpanned, “I’ve gone mad with grief”

 

The man sobered pretty quickly at that. “Uh, awright then. Sorry, lad”

 

Simon spent the rest of the mass muttering into his hands as if in prayer, telling Johnny to shut the hell up in the only way they could manage. It was funny, but then the organist started up on a rousing rendition of Ave Maria.

 

“It fucking gets me every time, damn,” Johnny laughed, but also cried. Simon wanted to hold him, make it better, but there wasn’t much point in trying. The best they had by way of physical comfort was Johnny taking Simon’s outstretched and empty hand as the parish joined to recite The Lord’s Prayer. 

 

Their hands passed through the others’ just as their bodies had on that first day, but the thought was comfort enough. But comfort enough could grow to become excruciating, given time.

 

But that time hadn’t happened yet, and when it did, they’d handle it then. They’d decided it, though they hadn’t said the words.

 

“Give us this day our daily bread”

One day at a time, darling.

”And forgive us our trespasses”

And when we fuck it up—

“as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

and we will, we can fix it together.


“And lead us not into temptation;”

So quit your fucking worrying—


“but deliver us from evil.”

Worrying won’t get us anywhere.


“For thine is the kingdom,”

You’re too pretty to be worrying like that, anyhow.


“the power and the glory,”

Shut the fuck up.


“for ever and ever.”

Aw, c’mon, you love it.

“Amen.”

No, I love you.

#mine #my writing #ghost’s ghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #soapghost #soap x ghost #ghoap #simon riley x soap mactavish #simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x simon ghost riley #soap mactavish x simon riley #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #simon riley x john mactavish #simon riley #simon ghost riley