#the bottom right one is for sending him a letter & the bottom middle is to go to the top of the pg

[justagirlwholikesadam]

Missing My Werewolf Husband

A/N: David Thewlis has taken over my mind lol. Enjoy - L

Summary: After two weeks of Remus leaving to teach Hogwarts. He finally comes back.

WARNING: Being married, smut, breeding, NSFW, SFW, angst

Word Count: 2.7K

═ ≪ ❈ ≫ ═

Remus was happy when he got an offer to teach in Hogwarts. The money would help a lot, that’s what he told you as you helped him pack. He notices your quiet demeanor as you fold his dress robes neatly to avoid any wrinkles. You had even patch a few holes on them in the morning.

He calls out your name as he sits on the edge of bed. His heart breaks into two when he notices how red your eyes are. You were trying your hardest not to cry. You were happy for him, yes. The money would be nice, yes but you didn’t care about that. As long as you had him with you everything worked out.

Both of you had settled in his little cottage after graduating Hogwarts and after the war. The cottage was small but it was everything to both of you, making it into your home and using magic for a few repairs. It was paradise and it was a place where Remus could transform every full moon.

“I’m sorry.” You cried softly and he goes close to you in the middle of the bed wrapping an arm around you so you can lean against him.

“Don’t cry, love.” He tells you as he kisses your forehead and hugs you. You hug him back, laying your head on his chest.

“We can send letters. I’ll see you every two weeks when I'm settled down in school and you can use the floo too. Dumbledore was kind enough to add it to my chambers, he said he will connect it with the one in the living room.”

Remus cups your face with his hands, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. You look up at your husband, his blue eyes are filled with his own tears. You pushed his sandy brown hair away from his face so you could kiss him.

Remus was the first to pull away and leans his forehead against yours, his hands going down to touch your arms. “You’re scaring me. You’re not going to leave me if I go, right?” He asks. You shake your head before answering him.

“No, I’m not. I'm not going to leave you not after all the work and time I spent trying to convince you that I love you.”

Remus lets out a chuckle as he kisses you again. You were right, you were in love with him since you were children in school. He knew he was in love with you the moment he saw you on the train to Hogwarts. As he grew he believed that he didn’t deserve to be loved. He didn’t deserve to have friends because of what he is. He didn’t deserve to have someone so beautiful and kind hearted like you but you managed to change his stubborn mind.

“Sometimes I think it’s a dream being married to you. I'm scared of waking up one day and finding out you're not mine. I don't deserve someone like you.” He confesses as he thinks about how you manage his moods when a full moon is near. Helping him clean and dressing his wounds for him after a full moon.

He thinks about the late night you wait outside for him. His chest fills with warmth as he remembers how you learned to make homemade chocolate for him.

When the day comes for him to go to Hogwarts, both of you couldn’t stop from crying. Remus didn’t sleep the night before. He watched as you slept after an eventful night. He traces the love bites marked on your skin, your eyes are shut but your lips are a bit open. He uses his thumb to pull your bottom lip before touching your face again.

Giving you a last kiss before boarding the train he looks out the window to wave at you. He finds an empty cart and places his luggage and suitcase above the seat. He watches out the window as he sits down, with his head against the window. He sniffs before wiping his tears with the back of his hand. There were so many memories about this train, his friends, his life in Hogwarts when he was younger. He can hear Lily and you talking about Charms while Sirius and James planned their next prank. He smiles at the thought of you cuddling with him on the train after graduating from Hogwarts. He feels his eyes grow heavy and he enters into a dreamless sleep.

It was two weeks later and Remus was filled with anxiety. He had sent you a letter on his first day of Hogwarts, telling you all about his position and about the students he is teaching. He wrote to you the next day that he couldn’t sleep the first day there because you weren’t there next to him. You weren’t there to cuddle him and scratch his back. You weren't there to run your fingers through his hair to help him fall asleep.

He found himself daydreaming about you during his breaks and meal times. To make matters worse, Moony missed you too. He can feel it, the wolf needed to be with his mate. Two weeks felt so long, he hasn’t touched you, he hasn’t smelled you. He hasn’t tasted you.

He graciously thanked Dumbledore and the elves for properly connecting the fireplace in his chambers to the fireplace to his little cottage. He quickly used it when they left.

Remus calls your name when he walks into the living room of the cottage. It’s quiet and he calls your name again. Looking in the kitchen and finding nothing he decided to go check the bedroom. The door is open and he can hear you humming. Calling your name again, he looks inside to see you on the bed.

He smiles wide when he notices you. You’re wearing one of his dark gray cardigans. It’s big on you, all of his cardigans are oversized. He saw your bare legs and saw the cardigan was half zip up, showing your cleavage.

You’re holding a book in your lap and he notices the Walkman near you. You’re wearing headphones and now he knows why you couldn’t hear him. He’s surprised you still haven’t seen him, especially when he walks into the room. He slowly starts to make his way up the bed and crawl to you. Feeling the bed dip, you looked ahead and you let out a yelp. Ripping the headphones off your head and pushing the book to the other side of the bed, you throw yourself onto Remus making him laugh as he lays flat on his back on the bed. You had crawled on him, sitting on his lap and kissing him.

Remus moans as he opens his mouth to deepen the kisses. He cups your face, tugging you closer to him as he turns his head to the side to slip his tongue in your mouth.

He looks up at you when you pull away. “Hi.” He says making you smile.

“Hello, Professor Lupin.” You said in a teasing tone as you looked down at him. He smiles at you before puckering his lips at you so you can give him another kiss. His hands find their way onto your legs and rub them up to your hips. He hears you squeal when he pulls the thong before releasing it, making it snap back against your skin. He grows hard at the thought of you home wearing only his cardigans and a thong on.

“Remus.” You whisper to him as you grind yourself against his crotch.

His eyes harden when you sit up straight, staring intensely at him as you bring a hand to the zipper of the cardigan. Pulling it completely down, Remus helps you, pushing the cardigan off of your shoulders showing him your bare chest. You hear him whine before pulling you toward him. He latches on one of your nipples as he uses his hand to pull the other one.

You moaned as he licked and sucked your nipple. Your moans turns into a giggle when his mustache tickles your nipple as he makes out with your breasts.

You can hear Moony growl as he licks the valley between your breasts all the way up to your neck. Remus pulls away to kiss your mark. Nuzzling in your neck, he quickly turns around making you laid down on your back. He spreads your legs wide open for his frame.

Remus doesn’t wait, he’s always been impatient when it comes to touching you. He feels you pulling his tie as he kisses your neck, his eyes roll in the back of his head when he feels you cup him though his trousers.

“Take this off, baby.” You tell him and he obeys you in a hurry. Removing his tie, throwing it over his shoulders with his shirt and sweater. Your eyes watched the scars on his rib cage expand as he took a deep breath. Remus’ body was a work of art to you. His fair skin was a canvas, some of his scars were pink, some were red and others were darker color. You love all of it, you kissed every one of him, even the ones on his back and legs.

You have kissed the ones of his handsome face. You watched as Remus kicked his shoes off and took his trouser off. You bite your bottom lip as your eyes wander down to his light brown happy trail, it disappears under his pitch tent boxer.

Wanting to taste him so bad, you felt his hands grab a hold of your ankle tugging you to the edge of the bed. You call out his name, laughing as you see him with a grin. He knelt down between your legs, his nose bumps with your cunt. He kisses it over the small fabric of the thong.

“Remus!” You moan when you feel his tongue licking your slit, he nips the fabric and uses one of his hands to pull it to the side. He latches on to your clit as he slowly slid two fingers in you.

Throwing your head back when you felt Remus hitting that sweet spot in you. You can’t help yourself and grab a hold of his hair, pulling him closer to your cunt. He moans at your action and eats your cunt messy. You don’t say anything when Remus rips the thong off your body. Another pair down the drain, you joke to yourself but you should have known better. Remus doesn’t like it when your sweet pretty cunt is covered. You blush as you remember what he told you. “Prettiest fucking cunt. You smell so good. Don’t cover up.”

Remus watches you as he comes back up, leaning over you. He kissed you and you moaned at the taste of your cunt on his tongue. He pulls away and signals you to get in the middle of the bed with his head. You quickly do and whine when you feel him slap your ass. Remus is quick to remove his boxer and follows you into the bed. Your head hits the pillow as he gets on top of you. Remus tells you how much he missed you as he kisses your neck. His hands go under, behind your knee and push them up to your chest.

“Let me..” Remus knew what you were going to ask. He would have loved your mouth on him but not right now. Two weeks without you, he needed you now. He needed to be inside of you.

“I’m so hard for you, already.” He tells you and you follow his right hand. He's jerking himself off. His cock looks so pretty and pink, he’s uncut and you can see the precum dripping out of his slit.

“You haven't cum in these two weeks?” You ask him and Remus shakes his head, pouting at you as he continues to touch himself.

You reach out for his cock. Going under to cup his balls making him moan. “Balls are heavy with cum, baby.” You whispered.

“You're going to give it to me right? You're going to give me all that cum you store for two weeks?” You asked him and Remus’ face turns red from your words.

You had a habit of making him blush red from your dirty words. “Yes, please.” He whines as you gently give his sack a squeeze.

Removing your hand, Remus gets closer to you, your legs are draped over his thighs as his cock hovers over your wet cunt. You moan softly when you feel him playing your clit with the fat head of his cock. He gives it a few slaps against your clit and pussy lips.

“Remus.” You cry his name out feeling impatient. He gives you a smirk at your plea to hurry up.

He quickly leans down to capture your lips as he slides himself in until the hilt. You cry out in his mouth at sudden movement. Remus fucks you as he's on top of you. His arm is behind you, your head is laying on his forearm as he watches your pretty face. He holds the edge of the mattress with his other hand, gripping it tightly as he thrusts in and out of you.

“Baby.” Remus whines as he looks down to see his cock going in and out of your pussy. What a lovely sight, a sight he missed so much. Letting go of the mattress he goes to your left breast fondling it as he continues.

You can't help but cry as he fucks you. Remus looking at you, his pretty blue eyes staring down. You feel him so deep in you in this position, his heavy balls are slapping your behind while rutting into you wild. The growl he gives you doesn't scare you one bit, it makes you clench around. Remus pants your name, you feel him tremble as you grab a hold of his thighs to help you stay in place. Remus' harsh thrust makes the box spring of bed squeak loudly. Your toes curl up when you feel his thumb on your throbbing clit. Remus leans back to see you come undone on his cock as he keeps fucking you. His hand becomes drench when you cum.

“Oh fuck-fuck.” Remus whines as he releases your clit and quickly leans back over you, his arms go under you to hold you close to his chest. He hides his sweaty face in your neck. You hold on to him for dear life as he catches up to his own release. Remus shouts your name and he gives you one harsh thrust and holds himself deep inside of you.

Remus is breathing heavily, he whines to you when he feels you stroking his back with both hands. He can hear you calling his name out softly trying to catch his attention. He moans as he feels his legs start to ache from holding this position but he ignores it. He lifts his head up from your neck and looks down at you. Your cheeks are flushed and your hair is tousled. He hums when you bring your hand to brush his own hair out of his face not minding how damp it was from his sweat.

“I missed you.” Remus hears you whisper.

“Me too. Me too, Y/n.” He croaks out to you before giving you a kiss on the lips. After a few moments, he’s off of you. He keeps kissing you softly, enjoying your warmth and your presence. He wipes you clean, carefully to not hurt you. Remus tries to push back Moony but the wolf inside of him is satisfied with the sight of your wet puffy cunt, blobs of his cum dripping out and wetting the blanket under you. With a warm damp cloth he wipes you with it, he gives your mound a kiss when he finishes.

You listen as Remus tells you about being back to school as you lay with him on the bed. He has his right arm around you as you laid on his chest. You trace the scars on his chest as he spoke. You catch sight of his left hand when he touches his lower stomach. The golden wedding band shines in the light and it makes you smile, you were so happy he was back. Oh merlin, how you missed your werewolf husband.

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin is hot #harry potter fanfiction #david thewlis #remus lupin being the best husband #remus lupin angst #remus lupin married life #remus lupin smut #remus lupin x reader smut #remus lupin x you

[hidansdarling]

𝕊𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖

Pairing: Mammon (Obey Me!)  x afab reader

Content warnings: nsfw 18+ content, verbal teasing, mutual masturbation.

Word count: ~1.3 k

Notes: no editing just vibes

ℝ𝕖𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕠 𝕡𝕝𝕤 𝕓𝕖 𝕟𝕚𝕔𝕖, 𝕀 𝕙𝕠𝕡𝕖 𝕦 𝕖𝕟𝕛𝕠𝕪<𝟛𝟛  

The soft morning light gently woke you from your slumber. 

You groaned, rolling over and expecting to find your boyfriend but were met instead with an empty spot where he once slept. You furrowed your eyebrows, opening an eye to inspect the scene.

Looking around the room, your eyes settled on a sticky note directly in the middle of the mirror, with five more around. Each note had one letter, spelling out “R E A D” followed by an arrow, pointing to the original message. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you rolled out of bed. 

Mammon was undoubtedly an idiot, but he was your idiot. 

Taking the note in your hand, you read it. 

“Had to get up early, had a last-minute modeling shoot. Be back soon. - Mammon”

There was an arrow pointing to the other side, so you turned it over. 

“Don’t miss me too much. ;)” 

The truth was, you were already missing Mammon. You settled back into bed, inhaling the scent of his cologne off the bedsheets. You’d only been awake without him a few minutes, but you already wished he’d come back.

You closed your eyes, trying to fall back to sleep to no avail. Your mind began to wander, thinking of Mammon at his shoot, and how damn good he looked every time they called him in. Your thoughts ran with thoughts of Mammon in tight, short boxers and swimsuits that fit him just right, heat beginning to pool at your core at simply the memory.

Unsure of how long he’d be gone, or when he’d get back, you figured you’d take advantage of this alone time.

You rid yourself of the oversized t-shirt and panties you wore, relaxing back onto the soft blankets of your bed. 

You shut your eyes, your mind wandering to your favorite sexy memories of your boyfriend. You began caressing your hips, your waist, your thighs, thinking of all the times Mammon had done the same.

A heat runs through your body, settling between your legs as you cup your tits, your thumbs running over your nipples teasingly, making you sigh. One hand stays on your chest, cupping your breasts and playing with your nipples, pinching the sensitive nub and rolling it gently between two fingers. The other travels down your torso, beginning to caress your inner thighs, the feather-light touch of the soft pads of your fingers already making you feel needier. 

Although your clit ached for your attention, alone time was rare in the House of Lamentation, and you were going to take advantage of it. Your hand finally settles where you need it most, your fingers gently running across the sensitive skin teasingly, coating your fingers in your slick, sending a weak wave of pleasure through your body. Beginning to rub the soft nub harder, you bit down on your bottom lip, attempting to muffle the moans that threatened to fill the room. Soon, you gave yourself over to the pleasure, unaware that your boyfriend had finished up his shoot and was on his way back to you.

Mammon walks down the hallway only minutes after your solo session began, heading straight to your room. As he stands outside your door, he can just barely hear soft moans of his name, giving him a good idea of what’s going on inside.

 He grins to himself before entering your room, standing at the end of your bed with his arms crossed.

“You can’t help but play with that needy little cunt when I’m not around to please you, huh?” He teases, an eyebrow raised as a smirk settles on his face. You open your eyes, stunned at the sudden presence of your boyfriend. Too lost in your own pleasure, you didn’t even hear him enter.

“O-oh, Mammon, I-I didn’t expect….” You stammer, an embarrassed heat rising to your cheeks.

Mammon cuts you off, his smirk growing wider.

“Well? Go ahead.” He settles in a chair, making sure he has a full view of your beautiful body. “Put on a show for me.” 

A smirk grew on your own face as you began teasing yourself slowly, watching as Mammon began to squirm and blush, his dominant façade fading as he watched your fingers slip in and out of your soaked cunt, wishing it was his cock instead. 

Mammon’s mouth practically watered as he took in every movement, every expression, every sound you made as you pleasured yourself for him, his cock aching more and more with every passing moment. He palmed himself through his pants, beginning to become restless with his growing need for friction. 

“Let me see you stroke that pretty cock.” You purred, your eyes hungry as you took in his form, wanting nothing more than to watch him fall apart under his own touch, just as you were for him. 

He was quick to oblige, pulling off his belt and releasing his hardened cock from his pants faster than you’d ever seen. You certainly did not have to as Mammon twice. 

He ran his hand up his shaft, ghosting his thumb over his tip. He gave his cock a couple teasing pumps before settling into a steady pace, matching yours as your fingers circled your clit.

Soft whines and moans left Mammon as the pleasure of the whole situation overwhelmed him, the idea of watching you as you watched him much too intense, but yet he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

The scene was intense for you as well. The pretty sounds he made as he pleasured himself to the sight of you heightening the ecstasy that flowed through your body that much more. Knowing that seeing you vulnerable like this was such a turn on for Mammon made you feel impossibly good. It was a different kind of pleasure than you normally brought each other, but still absolutely delicious.

Your thighs shook as you quickened your pace, your free hand moving down to rub fast circles around your clit. Mammon followed suit, keeping pace with you, a groan falling from his lips. 

“F-fuck baby, you’re  gonna be the death of me, ya naughty thing.” He mumbled, a hint of desperation in his voice.

Hearing him talk to you like this pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm built hard and fast, causing your whole body to tremble as you cried out his name as if it was the only word you knew. Your back arched as you continued you coaxed yourself through your own orgasm, your eyes rolling back before shutting tightly.

His own followed shortly after, practically taking the air from his lungs as the intense pleasure flowed through his body, his eyes fixed on your face as he watched you ride out your own orgasm. 

It was silent as you two caught your breath, Mammon beginning to squirm under his own touch as he ran a thumb over his tip, the stimulation simultaneously too much and not enough. He rid himself of his messy clothes, crawling onto the bed, settling himself between your thighs before catching your lips in a kiss. Gently, he began to grind against you, his hardening cock moving between your slick folds, catching your clit. He pulled away, shooting you a mischievous grin, his gaze dripping with lust. 

“Gonna make those pretty noises again for me, baby? You just look too good like that, once ain’t enough.”

You couldn’t hide the grin that settled on your face as he spoke. If it meant you’d be lucky like this, maybe you’d have to get caught more often.

#maddie writes: after hours #obey me #omswd #obey me shall we date #mammon obey me #obey me mammon #om! mammon #mammon avatar of greed #obey me x reader #obey me x you #obey me x mc #obey me x y/n #mammon x reader #mammon x you #mammon x mc #mammon x y/n #mammon smut #obey me smut #omswd smut #omswd fanfic #obey me fanfic #obey me shall we date smut #obey me shall we date fanfic

[millie-multifics]

Though I Yearn • Part 1

Masters of the Air

Secret Admirer x Reader

A string of anonymous letters causes a stir at Thorpe Abbotts. Who could be the author of the tender correspondence you have been receiving?

Warnings: Secret Admirer (could be cute, could be creepy, depends on how you see it.), Reader is part of the Red Cross Girls, Spoilers, possible mentions of injuries, death and warcrimes.

Word Count: ~1.2k

Masterlist Next Part

x x x

Thorpe Abbotts was abuzz before the sun peeked above the horizon. Many of the personnel had been busy throughout the night while the men who would be in the planes got as much rest as their minds and bodies would allow. You were amongst those who had been working through the early morning hours, preparing the Clubmobile to serve fresh donuts and hot coffee that were intended to carry the men through their dangerous and lengthy mission.

Helen stepped into the truck, a small stack of letters piled on top of the supply box in her grip. She set the box down on the chair in the corner, seperating the letters adressed to you from the ones adressed to the few other Red Cross ladies. “Early mail delivery.”

“Must be for morale, first combat mission for many of the men today.” You easily recognized the printing on the first envelope, a letter from back home just like the ones you had recieved every week since arriving to Thorpe Abbotts. The second envelope was unusual, void of a return adress and stamp, only your name was scrawled across the front. You gently peeled open the envelope, unfolding the sheet of paper to read the message inside.

“During our first encounter your presence washed over me like the English rain, soothing and all consuming. You have captured my attention and selfishly, I must admit that I don’t want you to ever let it go.”

The letter had no siganture or name to identify who had written it, only a creased bottom corner and a small coffee stain in the middle of the mostly empty sheet. You didn’t recognize the handwritting but admittedly, you had not seen the writing of the majority of personnel at Thorpe Abbotts. Your brain spun, shuffling through as many first encounters as your mind would allow but it was overwhelming, there were so many possibilites… too many possibilities.

“Everything alright?” Helen asked, her eyes glancing to the letter clutched tightly in your hands, worry creasing her brows. She hoped everything was okay at home, it was everyones nightmare to recieve bad news from home while being on a whole other continent, so close to a raging war.

“Oh,” You quickly folded the letter, tucking it back into its envelope. “Yes, everything is fine.”

You were sure Helen was skeptical, feeling her eyes following your movements as you tucked both letters into your coat. The men trickling out from their quarters was enough to distract both of you from the coffee stained paper.

“I don’t recall such a welcoming committee when I arrived.”

The sudden voice behind you had been startling, you turned to find the handsome Major leaning against the open window of the truck.

“I do recall being in this very spot while you rushed right passed, Major.” You sent the man a polite smile, adding to the stack of paper coffee cups, “Surely you were focused on the business at hand.”

“That must have been it, I’d like to think I would have introduced myself otherwise.“

You were thankful for the roar of planes flying overheard, the arrival of his men drew his attention away from the heat pooling in your cheeks. “That is my cue. Enjoy your day, ma’am.”

The soldiers came in waves, stumbling across the clubmobile on their way to settle in. Many men lined up for the provisions you offered; hot coffee, fresh donuts, cigarettes, the newspaper and even the occasional magazine.

You sent the next in line a smile, one nearly tripping over his own boots as his friend nudged him forward. “Gentlemen, what may I offer you today?”

The dark haired soldier leaned on the window ledge that seperated you, sending you what you could only assume to be intended as a charming smirk. “If a ‘gentle’ man is what you are looking for, then that is what I shall be.”

It certainly had not been the first attempt at flirting you had experienced in the day, but generally the men had kept it tame, calling you pretty in some way or asking to take you for a harmless drink. You let your distaste for the comment show on your face, choosing to adress the amused man at his side.

“May I offer you anything?”

“Just two cups of coffee and cigarettes, thank you.”

You placed only one cup of black coffee on the ledge along with the requested cigarettes, offering a polite smile. “When your friend learns how to speak to women respectfully then he may make requests. Welcome to Thorpe Abbotts.”

Your eyes briefly found those of the dark haired man, his mouth slightly agap with your words before he was pulled out of the line by his now laughing friend.

The line faded quickly, the men moving along to find their Quarters to settle in as soon as they were served. The coffee urns were empty, only a single cup of black coffee leftover from the gallons that had been brewed. Helen had just began to clean when the last few men to arrive wandered through. You had heard through whispers that one plane had been seperated from formation, missing in the clouds. It had flown overhead a short time ago and you assumed these were those lost men. Most passed without stopping for a treat, settling in on the forefront of their minds but one staggered up to the open window.

“Anything left?”

“I’ve always got extra cigarettes or the newspaper on hand, one last cup of coffee if thats what you’re looking for.”

The solider accepted the lone paper cup, sniffing the bitter liquid before taking a large gulp. The boldness helped relieve the putrid smell of vomit from his nostrils. It was fragrent on the plane because his navigator was unable to control his air sickness, but the scent seemed to stuck in his nose as it was still the only thing he could smell, until the coffee anyway.

“You got any gum?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder at two men who were busy chatting amongst themelves. You slide a small package of mint gum across the ledge, watching as stalked toward the two soldiers, throwing the gum to the dark haired one without more than a simple ‘Heads up’.

Your first encounters with many of the men circled your mind as you lay on your bed, the letter once again clutched between your fingers. Major Egan, Douglass and Blakely, Hambone, Crosby and Bubbles, Curt and Dickie. Your first interactions with many of the soldiers were friendly introductions, none had stuck out to you as anything other than kind or mildly flirty.

He had never intended on you reading the letter, it had been written in a futile attempt to rid you from the forefront of his mind. He surely wasn’t a fool, you were far too good for a man like him but he had been completely taken by your warm presence. Unable to ease the yearn he felt for you, anchoring deeper every morning when you happily served what the military had insisted to be coffee.

It may have been a presumptious move on his part but he just couldn’t help himself.

He had snuck the letter into the mail carriers bag when he was delivering letters to the men as they ate was being labelled as ‘breakfast’.

x x x

Tags: @canyousmelltheflowers

#masters of the air #mota fanfic #mota #mota spoilers #curtis biddick #major john bucky egan #major gale cleven #james douglass #everett blakely #hambone hamilton #harry crosby #bubbles payne #john brady #benny demarco #apple tv #hbo war #major john egan #bucky egan #john egan #callum turner #mota x reader

[roci-wolf]

[22:29]

lee know x f.reader

word count: 1,2k

genre: fluff, established relationship

warnings: slightly suggestive jokes, mentions of food, "witch" used as an endearment. please do tell if i missed anything!

a/n: had this in my drafts for a while now and i decided to finally finish it so i hope the ending doesn't sound a little too rushed. anywayz, tooth rooting fluff bcs i need it.

It had been a very exhausting day. Actually, exhausting was not enough to encapsulate the plethora of emotions boiling inside you or the way your body was feeling — your arms were aching so hard you almost dropped your bag on the way home more than three times, your legs were trembling like jelly and your eyelids were so heavy they were threatening to close against your will. But you had to at least get home first and collapsing in the middle of the street as cars were passing by wasn't on your to do list that day.

But there was something you haven't done yet. One last bullet point that desperately needed to get checked. You wouldn't relax unless you were completing that last task. That's why you were now almost running towards your apartment, high heels echoing in the silent and chilly night. The light in front of the apartment building was slightly flickering again, the buzz of the lightbulb giving its last breath filling your ears as you were fishing for your keys in your purse. You cursed under your breath — where were those damn keys?!

Everything seemed to be running in slow motion. The only thing engulfing your head was the image of the last task of the day needing to be tackled. Your blood was pumping furiously in your veins as if you had been fighting with a lion and a bunch of pirates before arriving home. A tiny moth flew in front of you, entering the building through an open window, as if it was mocking you for being a human who needed a keypad in order to enter their own home. You huffed and puffed, getting more and more agitated.

Finally, you found the keys hidden right at the bottom of your purse. It was as if the whole world wanted to piss you off by keeping you away from your task.

You couldn't even remember how you got in the elevator and then unlocked the apartment door. Everything happened so fast.

A smell of freshly heated food with a tint of male cologne filled your nostrils. Soft music notes carassed your cheeks, dim warm light kissed your eyelids and the fluffy carpet hugged your toes, inviting you in. You smiled to yourself like an idiot, taking a deep breath.

Your heart was on the brink of exploding. But not yet, you wouldn't allow it.

You dropped your purse on the ground, threw your jacket in the hanger carelessly and started running. Nothing could have made you run like that in that moment apart from what was waiting for you on the couch of your living room in a dark blue hoodie and sweatpants with a cat in his lap.

"'Night, Y/n, how was toda- OOF"

Dori was smart enough to predict the disaster that was to follow and quickly left her spot from Minho's lap when you decided to throw your body like a sack of potatoes towards him. You landed with half of your body on the expandable couch and with the other half on your boyfriend. Your hands crawled on his chest and reached his cheeks. He stared at you, blinking like a confused cat with puckered lips because you were gently pushing on his cheeks.

"I'm guessing you'le bely tiled?" he tried to speak with lips like a fish's and you giggled, tucking your nose in his chest and releasing his face.

"That hurt, honey", he whined as you scooted closer to him, wrapping your leg around his figure. Your skirt slightly rose up your leg, so he covered your lower half with the blanket that had been previously warmed up by him. You hummed as the crazy demons that were trampling in your mind burned in the cozy feeling and slowly perished.

"I could die happy now" you mumbled with your face hidden in his hoodie.

"Go ahead", Minho said, surrounding your shoulders with his arm. "Send me a letter from hell".

You gently punched his stomach with your fist.

"How rude! How could you know I'd end up in hell and not in heaven?!"

"With your demon-like behaviour and bewitching being? Darling, you're a walking sin."

You raised your head to glance at his face, chills traveling across your body like a gang of dancing mariachi.

"Wow", you said. "You got me there, Mr Darcy."

The corner of his lips lifted in a smug smirk upon perceiving your reaction.

"What, has my compliment vanished all your braveness? You were so determined to fight me a second ago."

"You're talking as if you didn't just admit I have bewitched you", you scoffed, placing your head on his shoulder so you could look at the side of his face better.

"Well, you do it everyday. I'm not ashamed of speaking about it. How could I not?"

Oh, he did not.

You felt his hand sneak up around you, his fingers traveling across your spine. You rolled around above him before his hand could find your bottom.

"Auch! Witch, what have I done to you?!"

"Keep those grabby hands to yourself, mister", you pushed his chest with your index finger. "Or I'll have to cast a spell and transform those fingers of yours in spaghetti."

"Babe, I don't think that you'd like that", he raised his eyebrow, looking you dead in the eyes. You couldn't believe he was so blunt that night.

"Are you trying to imply something?"

"I don't know, am I?"

Your faces were inches apart, your lips almost touching his.

"Hm. Maybe that tongue needs to disappear as well."

"Oh, honey, you make bad decisions upon bad decisions. You know, it's your loss, not mine. "

"Are you so sure about that?"

His long eyelashes were tickling your face.

"I know you, baby. You wouldn't resist two days."

"Oho, cocky, are we?"

"Hm, just like you like it, my witch."

You didn't push his hands away this time. He grabbed your waist with his hands and gently pushed your body up so that your lips could finally touch. You were fully draped over him now, with your hands on his chest. His fingers tangled in your hair, softly massaging the scalp, making you hum into the kiss. You felt him smile as his other hand placed itself on your back, pushing you closer. You pulled away from his face and let him intertwine his legs with yours as your bodies mingled together, almost becoming one.

You would have fallen asleep there if only your annoying stomach didn't start making weird sounds. Minho giggled, cooing at you.

"Aw, is honey hungry? Why didn't you say so from the beginning?"

You mumbled, feeling your face heat up.

He turned his head with his ear towards your mouth, mockingly.

"What? I didn't heaaar youuu", he trailed off, amusement clear in his voice.

"I said", you spoke up, "I wanted to cuddle first!"

You smirked seeing his face contort because you spoke too loudly in his ear. He frowned, blinking repeatedly and slowly.

"Well, your belly doesn't want cuddles."

"Then my belly is a loser."

"Hey", he retorted, patting your lower back. "Your belly is cute. Don't insult it."

"But it's standing in the way."

He laughed, a series of giggles ending in an "ah", almost like a sigh, while he was carefully prying away from you. You pouted, but he quickly pecked you on the lips before disappearing in the kitchen.

"I know something both you and your stomach would love", his voice floated to your ears. "Pancakes and cuddles?"

You smiled, hugging the blanket and your knees closer to your chest, hiding your nose in it, inhaling Minho's familiar scent.

My final task is about to be completed.

#lee know imagines #stray kids imagines #lee know x reader #stray kids x reader #lee know fluff #lee know drabble #stray kids fluff #stray kids drabble #stray kids fanfic #lee know fanfic #skz fluff #skz drabble #skz fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #stray kids headcanons

[elf-punk]

A Moment of Sympathy (Simm!Master x Reader)

Pairing: Simm!Master x Fem!Reader

Summary: Work sucks and your relationship is falling apart. As you’re walking home from a rough day, you come across a disheveled, blonde man in a black hoodie. His words are erratic and his mannerisms give you the chills, but you’re drawn to him. He is unambiguously and criminally insane, but you can’t help but stop and listen to his tales.

Tales of red pastures, orange skies, and travels through time and space.

Chapter List Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 1 Chapter Word Count: 2.3k

You’d never considered yourself a workaholic, but the last few weeks had seen you holed up in your office, tapping away at a keyboard with coffee cups stacked up to your eyes virtually every evening.

It won’t be like this for long, you naively promised yourself as you texted yet another apologetic “No can do, way too busy tonight” to your partner’s dinner invitation.

You loved them, but life just kept getting in the way.

Dreading the look of resigned frustration that would fill their eyes at your next meeting (and God knew when that would be), you re-oriented yourself onto the final task of the evening: a string of emails which ran away from you during the day. Your fingers blazed across your workspace as you opened, composed, and sent one reply after another, far past the point of checking for politeness. After clicking Send on one final, mind-numbingly dull reimbursement request for your latest conference, you breathed a sigh of relief and exhaustion.

Done for now.

Forcing yourself not to think about the prospect of going home only to wake up and do it all over again tomorrow, you shuffled on your coat and slipped your phone in your pocket, relegating the several texts and missed calls from your partner to the bottom of your parka. You also grabbed the still-packaged fruit and nut bar which lay untouched on your desk, balking at the realisation that seven hours had passed since your last meal or snack. Stepping out of the door, you adjusted to the darkness which now coated your city.

You set a heavy, fast-paced stride away from your building, allowing brief flashes of the day to drift through your mind like waves against a river bank. The endless meetings, reviews, and reports, the idle chatter with your co-workers over a drab sandwich in the staff kitchen appeared as a hazy smudge in your mind’s eye. It was as though you were already asleep, already dreaming. You picked up the pace, descending into a near-jog as your mind focused razor sharp on the prospect of sleep.

That was, until you heard a rustle in the blackness.

You froze dead in your tracks and whipped your head over your shoulder. Your eyes scanned precisely for the source of the sound, but you couldn't see a thing. All that lay in front of you was endless dark stretching out along the path, broken up only by a few flickering streetlights dotted across the horizon.

Probably just a fox, you told yourself, desperately trying to ignore the part of your brain that was screaming danger in big, bright, red letters. You continued to walk down the path, this time with your key wedged firmly between your index and middle finger.

On you walked, relief building the longer you went without being clobbered to your death. Just as you were about to turn a corner towards a busier strip of road and put your key back in your pocket, you heard another sound. Scuttling footsteps to your right—wait no, your left! No, there they were to your right again! Your heart raced as you flicked your eyes between the shadowy garages either side of you, cursing your inability to see a thing in the blackness of the night.

There was definitely someone or something there, but it was impossible to tell what. If it was a person, they would need to be moving inhumanly fast to cross the path so quickly. You scrunched your eyes shut, pinched your arm, and prayed that it would be moments before the world dissolved and you woke up in your bed. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. Your veins turned to ice as you were denied the relief of this being a simple nightmare from which you could jolt awake.

The scuttling stopped, and was replaced with the unmistakable sound of heavy, ragged breathing squarely behind you. The source of the breathing moved closer, and closer still, until it stopped about two meters away from your shivering frame. It was close enough to ascertain that whoever was behind you was male, slim, and about a head taller than you.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you fumbled around for your key and wedged it between your fingers once again. The figure’s breaths began to take on a rasping, wheezing quality, and in one swift motion, you turned.

A thin, hooded figure stood before you, a man so wraith-like in physique and disposition that you wondered if you'd walked onto the set of Ghostbusters. He was clothed in rugged, black clothes and you squinted in the dark as you tried to discern where the blackness of your surroundings ended, and he began. The only fragment of colour you could see was a deep, burgundy t-shirt poking out from underneath his sweatshirt and a sharp jawline dotted with blond stubble which bobbed underneath his hood as he spoke.

“Can you help me?” The figure rasped. “I am so hungry.”

The voice was ravenous, possessing a desperate and carnal quality that curdled your blood. A distinct lack of humanity emanated from the figure. He possessed a human-like stature, yes, two legs, two arms, and a head, but he inspired a cosmic dread that surpassed any horrors the Earth could possibly concoct.

You shook from head to toe, barely registering his words.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you whispered.

The figure grinned, hungrily, mirthlessly and took a step towards you.

“Oh not yet, primate.” A ghostly hand slipped out from under his sleeve and scratched his stubble. “The hurting is yet to come. But for now, I am so very hungry.” The grin split across his face as he advanced towards you.

You felt as though every organ in your body was being stretched, squeezed, and turned inside out all at once. Your stomach tensed and sweat began to bead on your forehead as your baser instincts sprang forth. You were ready to run. The images flashed in your head; you would bolt past the figure, key-in-hand, and hurtle towards the high street, screaming so loud that the Prime Minister would hear. You balled up your fists, took a laboured breath and readied yourself. But then-

“Oh don’t even think about running, my dear,” the figure chuckled darkly. “I see your mind, and you will obey me.”

And in an instant, you sank.

All thoughts of clawing out the man’s eyes with your key and sprinting to the nearest bus stop dissolved into a soft, hazy glow as your thoughts ran quiet. There was no fear, no anticipation, just calm and contentment wrapped around the idle realisation that you would likely die tonight.

“That’s a girl,” he crooned, taking a gentle step forwards.

The “man” who had mere seconds ago, struck deathly fear into every fibre of your very vulnerable and exposed being, now inspired a sense of calm and adoration. You weren’t sure what he had done, but his machinations were such that you no longer feared him—not in the way you previously had.

He was your master, and you would obey him.

Satisfied with the success of his hypnotism, he flicked his hand over his head and his hood came tumbling down, revealing a patch of dirty blond hair and a youthful face—less horrifying than you had anticipated, but unsettling nonetheless. The eyes were sharp and bottomless, the lips perpetually curved into a deranged, lopsided grin.

Mild surprise crept upon you as you realised that the face was familiar.

It couldn’t be!

The man sensed your recognition, and an irritated glare passed over his round face.

“Yes, alright. Get it out of the way! It’s me, your old Prime Minister!” He spat, throwing his arms out theatrically. “Now get me something to eat, ape!”

Finally, at the third time of asking, you realised what he had been saying to you.

Food.

Your hand slammed against your pocket and you produced one untouched Eat Natural bar.

Saxon’s eyebrows raised curiously, and a playful smile tugged at his mouth as he took the bar from your hands and turned it around in his own, as if inspecting a new gadget.

“I would rather something more… substantial,” he quipped, narrow-eyed. “But this will do.”

His nimble fingers tore at the wrapping, shredding and ripping. He shoved the bar against his open mouth and devoured it obnoxiously, barely stopping to chew as if it could be snatched from him at any moment. He spent only a few moments eating—if you could even call it that, before practically licking his hands clean and picking at his nails as if to surrender any last residue of food into his ever-wanting mouth. The sight was monstrous, and bore more resemblance to a ghoul savaging its prey rather than the actions of a sentient being, but in your subdued haze, you merely stood and watched with a soft frown on your face.

“I hope you aren’t allergic to peanuts,” you muttered. You suddenly wondered how you could be calm enough to crack jokes with this abomination, who as it turned out, was the former Prime Minister—the very one who had decimated the President of the United States live on television.

“Mmmph. I hippohhye choo,” he mumbled between licks of his fingers. “Ijjot.”

“What?”

The stranger rolled his eyes in agitation.

“I hypnotised you, idiot,” he said flatly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s why you’re so calm. Think of it as charity,” he said, scowling darkly and swallowing the final morsels of the bar. “your primitive human minds are a disgrace, always darting back and forth between the past, present, and future, like a dog chasing its tail. I’ve—how can I put this—refined it.”

So he could read your thoughts?

“As if it’s that simple,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “The mind isn’t a book that one can simply read at will. I can, however, extract and interpret neural signals from one as primitive as yourself. Think of it like catching stones as they flow along the universe’s dullest river.” he continued boredly.

“That sounds a lot like mind-reading to me.”

The next few moments flashed by in an instant. One second you were standing in the middle of the alley, the next you were backed up against a garage door, held with inhuman strength. Stars exploded behind your eyes and a splitting pain coursed through your head. The calm was gone and you were once again, shaking and crying in fear as your assailant closed in on you, blocking any possibility of escape.

“Look at me,” he growled.

You could barely hear him, but you felt a vague tugging in your mind; a soft force which compelled your eyes upwards.

You opened your mouth to scream.

In the place of the once sharp, but youthful face was a ghoulish and skeletal head from which a harsh, white light radiated. Insanity was chiselled across his features: it had always been there, bubbling and simmering under the surface, but it now stood bare in the unfathomable depths of his sunken eyes.

This was not a rugged trickster who you could talk circles around. It wasn't the dashing and amicable politician who had visited cat shelters, shook hands with the Royal Family, and so smoothly woven his way through the journalists' questions on prime time television.

This was a being who had shed the blood of billions.

You tried to force your eyes away from the mind-bending sight, but to no avail. He kept you fixed upon him, seemingly intent on driving you to the brink of madness.

“You think this is a joke?” The creature spat in a roaring, distorted growl. “Were you under the impression that this was a conversation of equals?”

Finally managing to squeeze your eyes shut, you babbled incoherently, and pleaded for your life through ragged sobs and gasps.

“N-No, please!” You wailed, dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t kill me!”

Silence.

Seconds ticked by as the killing blow failed to land.

Minutes.

A wild thought rushed through your head: maybe he was gone?

It could have been hours since you’d heard that infernal voice, seen that grotesque face. Moment by moment, you relaxed your eyes, which had been squeezed shut so tightly that the dull throb of a migrane was beginning to set into your left temple. You fluttered your eyes open, and the pit in your stomach opened up again, at the sight of Saxon—no longer an eldritch monstrosity, but still very much there—boredly, and perhaps concernedly gazing down at you.

You choked out a barely intelligible “What are you?” before descending into a babbling fit of trembles and tears.

Saxon pouted.

“Don’t be like that,” he said flatly. “Thought I’d have a bit of fun: this body is burning off my life force faster than I can replenish it. Will probably expire in a few hours, why not scare a few apes to death in my final moments?” He finished, sighing dramatically.

His hypnotism returned in full force, and you sank back into the soft, woolly haze that had characterised your previous encounter. A thin, but strong hand grabbed the fabric of your parka and gracefully lifted you to your feet. You were now standing eye-to-eye, and you didn’t skip a beat before gazing into his eyes, desperate to channel more and more of the calm serenity that his hypnotism brought about. You clawed at it with your mind as though it could disappear at any moment. He noticed, and grinned slyly.

“It is nice, isn’t it? To relinquish your mind to another.” he said softly.

You nodded in response.

“Now, why don’t we get something more substantial to eat?”

#the master #simm!master #simm!master x reader #doctor who #the master x reader #dhawan!master #missy #john simm #sacha dhawan #michelle gomez #fanfic #my writing #dr who #reader insert

[hyuuukais]

.・゜-: ✧ :- FICTIONAL REALITY .・゜-: ✧ :-

pairing • bang chan x fem reader

synopsis • fiction or reality? y/n preferred the former, escaping into another world, escaping her problems. so what happens when reality takes that away from her; wiping her own story-in-progress off both her laptop and beloved usb? and what happens when she opens the door in the middle of a crisis to none other then the love interest of her novel... and he's holding her usb?

warnings • general,

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CHAPTER FOUR • OLD CONNECTIONS (1.3k)

It had been just over a year since you last saw Minho; on what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life.

"Minho?" You choke out. "How... how did you find me?"

He lifts a hand, and in it is a letter addressed to him, from you. It's worn, as if he's read it a million times, and soaked from the rain. The look on his face is unreadable with the streams of water going down it, but you think he almost looks sad.

"I never thought you'd reach out," Minho says loudly, challenging the storm. Finally, you step aside to let him in, closing the door slowly behind him. "I almost threw this out- I thought it was some sort of sick joke. That maybe one of the boys was behind it-"

Slowly, he looks around your house, at the barren living space and blank walls. Nothing like the lively home you used to call yours, not even close. His eyes settle on a photo resting on the coffee table; it's of the two of you, smiling, happy. It was taken three days before you left and if you look close enough, you can spot the tear stains left by you before framing it. A heavy weight sits on your chest as Minho picks the photo up carefully, like it could shatter any moment.

Outside there's another clap of thunder and you flinch. Minho looks up, instinctively going over to you, photo forgotten. He tries to wrap his arm around you, but you step back, once, twice. It's too much, having him here.

"I can handle it," is all you say before turning away, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Min... I didn't send that letter to you."

"If you didn't, who did?" He says slowly, confused. "Does someone here know about Y-"

You cut him off with a hand in the air. "Don't."

"Y/n-"

"I said don't," you grit out. "And no. No one does. I don't know what the fuck is going on lately, but I can assure you I never sent that letter. I never planned to see you again."

He breathes in deeply, and you can feel his irritation, turning back around to face him. You're right, his irritation is well hidden, but you know him well enough to spot it.

"You have no right to be upset with me-"

"Oh screw you, yes I do!" He nearly shouts. When you shrink back, his expression softens ever so slightly. "You left me. I needed you, and you left me. Yes, that's selfish given the circumstances, but there were other options and you refused to see them."

"Other options?" You say, disbelief written all over your face. "Like what, living with you?" He nods stiffly. "We both know that wouldn't have worked."

Sitting down at the bottom of your staircase, head in your hands, he leans against the door across from you. The two of you sit in silence for what feels like forever, not wanting to give in to each other. Eventually, Minho slides his coat off, draping it onto a hook next to him, then walks to your left and out of view. You can hear him opening the fridge, picture him shaking his head at your lack of proper food. About half an hour later he's calling you in to eat.

"It's not much," he says, watching you stare at the omelet he's made you. "We need to get groceries tomorrow. The rain seems to be settling down now."

And he's right- you haven't heard any thunder rumbling since before your argument. You silently eat, the only sounds being your chewing and the scrape of your fork against the plate. Once you're done, he gently takes the plate away, but stops before stepping away from you. His hand rests on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze, and it's almost enough for you to come undone.

"Min, I didn't send that letter."

"I know."

"I don't know what's going on."

"I know."

"Am I going crazy?"

"No," he places the plate back down, sitting in the chair next to you. The table is small and circular, not leaving much room between your legs, knees bumping. "But if you are, so am I, but I'm not, so."

"Sure," you snort, surprising Minho.

Shaking his head, he gets up to wash the plate, and you catch a glimpse of the small smile on his face. All of tonight's excitement catches up to you, your body tired and limbs weary. As if sensing this, Minho finishes up and helps you out of the chair and up the stairs.

"Which is your bedroom?" You point. "Okay, just a bit further then you can collapse. Don't you dare take me with you or I'll make you sleep on the porch."

"This is my house, you can't do that," you pout.

"Yes I can, don't test me," he says, but it's an empty threat. "Here we go."

He lowers you gently into bed, pulling the sheets up to your chin.

"You don't need to tuck me in, I'm not five."

"Really? I had no idea!" He rolls his eyes. "Just let me do this so you don't complain in the morning."

Now you roll your eyes. "Shut up, ugh. Go away so I can sleep."

"I'll be downstairs if you need me." He begins to walk away but you stop him with a wait.

"There's a couch in my office that's a lot comfier than that one," you wave him off. "Sleep there."

"Yes ma'am."

-

Weird dreams stir you. First, you're in your old apartment, alone and unable to tear your eyes away from the closet by the front door. It's opened just a crack, some kind of black goo oozing out. Sharp claw marks cover the front door.

Next, you're atop a high building in a very busy city. You look down, leaning over the edge just a bit too much, barely catching yourself. Your breath races, imagining what could have happened--

And someone pushes you, right into reality. You wake in a cold sweat, sitting up quickly and making sure you still have all your limbs. The sky is a deep blue, so it must be early morning now. Everything that happened comes back to you; the rain, Chan, Minho, the letter... it's too much.

Wait... Minho... the letter. You jump out of bed and speed walk down the hall. Not caring if he's asleep, you whip open the door, but he's laying there on his phone wide awake.

"Let me see the letter again. Now."

"It's in my coat pocket downstairs." He looks at you strangely, groaning as he sits up.

You sit down next to him. "Listen, I need to tell you something. I've been getting these weird messages from my USB ever since I met Chan and I was thinking-"

"Woah, woah, woah. You're on first name basis with that guy?"

"Not the point," you glare at him. He smirks.

"Fine, yes, you were thinking? Did it hurt?" He laughs at you a bit.

"Shut up," You poke him in the side and he grumbles. "I was thinking they might be connected. By the way, what was up with you acting like a weird cryptid? You could have, I don't know, acted normal. Like, what was I supposed to do? Sense it was you? C'mon-"

Something across the room comes to life, catching your eye; your laptop. You watch as it logs itself in, opening a blank document. Grabbing Minho's arm, you pull him towards it. You've never seen this happen before. The words type out before you, only five words.

Tell him about that night.

You freeze.

"What the hell was that?" Minho takes his arm away from your loosening grip. "Who? What night?"

"It wants me to..." you take a shaky breath. "To tell you about the night I left."

-

notes • sooo minho is a good guy ! slay ! but why was he acting like that ... like dude ...

taglist • @yongbbokkie @chaeryred @tenebrisirae @toplinelix @chansdoll @amaranth-writing @3rachachoo @linosjureumi @thebrownemo

TAGLIST CLOSED ^^^blue means i can't tag you

#.・゜-: ✧ :- FICTIONAL REALITY .・゜-: ✧ :- #skz #stray kids #bang chan x fem reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids au #skz au #skz series #stray kids series #bang chan series #bang chan fanfic

[zablife]

So happy to have stumbled upon this magnificent opportunity! May I request:

(I absolutely didn't choose this because it gives me authority/commanding vibes, not at all... 👀❤️)

Thanks! 🤩

The Letter

"Come in, pet. We've got business to discuss you and I," Alfie said lowly as he brought his glasses to rest on his nose.

He furrowed his brow, squinting slightly as he read a document held in his right hand, silently to himself at first, until he reached the part he was looking for. "Ah, here we are," he said, clearing his throat before continuing on. "I have reason to believe the girl who works in your bakery and calls herself, Y/n, is my beloved daughter. She ran away from home one year ago and I have been looking for my child, Sarah, ever since," Alfie stopped, letting his words hang in the air.

You deflated instantly, falling into the chair opposite Alfie, unsure what he might do to you if he knew where you'd really come from before residing in Camden Town.

"Is it true?" Alfie asked you matter-of-factly, turning the paper around so you might see for yourself. Your eyes grew wide when you spied a familiar signature at the bottom.

"Which part?" you asked, eyes darting to the floor.

"Look, I ain't about to get in the middle of a family squabble, 'specially if someone is accusing me of kidnapping their child," Alfie growled at you.

"It's not like that, Alfie," you tried to explain. "I'm old enough to make my own decisions," you asserted firmly.

"Oh, yeah? How old are ya, Y/n?" he asked, leaning forward to study you. Raising his eyebrows at you, he added smugly, "Or should I say, Sarah?"

"Eighteen," you lied unconvincingly.

"Cut the shit before I throw you out on your ear, Sarah!" Alfie warned you, pointing a ringed finger in your direction with a menacing stare.

You rolled your eyes up to the ceiling, anger building at the mention of your former life. "Don't call me that!" you hissed before deciding to back down and tell him the truth. You'd need him on your side in a minute. Softening your tone you begrudgingly replied, "Fine...sixteen."

Alfie let out a deep sigh, running a hand over his face. "Well that's it then, you can't stay here," he pronounced, standing from his desk and beginning to walk out.

"No, wait!" you implored, rushing after him.

"Look, kid, your father's lookin' for ya," he said, gesturing back to his desk.

"He's not my father," you blurted out and Alfie stopped, suddenly curious to hear what else you had to say.

You swallowed harshly before continuing. "He's an awful, evil man, Mr. Solomons. You don't know the things he made me do before I came here," you tearfully confided. Willing your voice not to falter you begged, "Please don't send me back to him." You clutched onto Alfie's arm with a wild, desperate look in your eye that told Alfie you were being honest with him.

Looking down at your hand locked tightly onto his forearm, a protective instinct came over him. He slowly nodded his head in understanding. "In that case, I'll do what I can to keep ya safe, dove," he promised.

You hugged him tightly to show your appreciation and he ran a hand over your hair to soothe you as he whispered, "S alright, ain't nobody gonna hurt ya here."

#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Alfie Solomons fanfic #Alfie Solomons imagine #Alfie Solomons x you #Alfie Solomons x y/n #Alfie Solomons x reader #Alfie Solomons

[madman479r]

Prompt:

“oh god! PETER!” Felicia moaned, as the boy fingered the older female. “Am I b being too rough, c Cat?”

Tonight, Felicia was feeling extra mischievous as she and Peter done their nightly patrol around New York. It was subtle things she did, like the extra sway of her hips, lowering the zipper of her cat suit, sending flirtatious winks and kisses through the air.

Even posing for him, showing off her hourglass body, sticking out her ass, revealing more of her cleavage, running her hands over her body and making erotic moans as she did so.

Now they finished the night by heading to her pent House home. Felicia entered through the window and was prepared to turn to her boyfriend and rock his world but before she could even take off her suit, she was surprised by a pair of firm hands holding up her arms and her hands were webbed together, and was tethered to the ceiling.

Before she could question this, Felicia felt the same pair of hands cup her breasts from behind. Felicia's breathe hitched, feeling her tits be touched by Peter. He gently kneaded her breasts and used his index and middle finger to tease her nipples through the fabric of the suit, she never wore anything under the suit, completely nude and it excited her. She squirmed, arching her back, feeling Peter's hands fondle her tits and play with her sensitive nubs.

"Mmmm, fuck," Felicia mewled. "Oh my god, Peter, you're really into it tonight."

Peter was uncharacteristically quiet, focused only on Felicia's pleasure.

As though he had enough of playing with her body through leather, Peter snaked his hand under the suit and flesh met flesh

Felicia gasped at the feel of Peter's hands on her soft skin and she whimpered in anticipation as his fingers teased her sensitive pink bud, now squirming and writhing as Peter toyed with her tits.

As much as Felicia loved having her tits be played with, another part of her body demanded attention. Felicia bucked her hips forward, rubbing her ass against his groin feeling his hard erection through their suits.

The low groan Peter gave made Felicia feel a sense of victory, but her smug smile melted into a face of want and need, biting her bottom lip after Peter gave her right tit a firm squeeze.

Felicia could feel her thighs grow wet by her own love juices, she was soaked by this point and Peter hadn't even touched her cunt yet!

Even if Peter couldn't see it, Felicia knew his senses were strong enough to smell her arousal, as evidenced by the deep breathe Peter took though his nose, inhaling and filling his lungs with her aroma.

Felicia knew what she was doing to Peter and felt her cunt twitch, wondering when Peter would tear off her suit and stick his aching cock inside her, thinking it would be any second now.

But Peter did no such thing, instead he continued to tease and touch her breasts, his fingers and palms kneading the pliable flesh.

Felicia gave a needy whine, thrusting her hips forward again, especially when she felt Peter's mouth along her neck. Felicia loved the feel of his lips on her skin, and arched her neck, wanting to feel his teeth bite her flesh.

The loss of Peter's right hand on her breast made Felicia whimper but she realised the hand was now slowly moving down her body. Peter's hand felt like hot coal against her slim stomach, it moved past her naval, over her pelvis and she felt it just over her crotch, only one inch away from her itching clit.

Felicia could feel her legs quiver with anticipation, she needed his touch, craved it!

"Peter, please!" she mewled.

Felicia's begging was silenced by another firm squeeze of her left tit, making her give a moan, muffled by her own lips. Peter continued to play with her body, tracing shapes and letters across her crotch, not letting his fingers stray to her sacred spot.

And, much to Felicia's chagrin, Peter moved his hand to the side of her hips, still under her suit and moved toward her right thigh. Another weak spot of hers.

Felicia gasped, her knees almost gave way, a weak 'Oh God' escaped her lips when Peter's hand caressed her inner thigh. She knew his hand was now slick with her wetness, the same wetness that leaked down her thighs just by his molesting of her body.

Peter continued to fondle her left tit and toy with her right thigh, teasing her sensitive areas, giving them strong grasps and soft rubs. The fingers along her thigh then started moving in a way, almost like he was drawing letters, forming a name on her skin.

"What did I write?" Peter's whispered question wafted over her ear and the meaning was lost to the withering cat burglar.

"W-what?" Felicia stuttered. Fucking stuttered! Felicia Hardy does not stut-

A sharp pinch on her nipple reminded Felicia that she wasn't in charge at the moment. "What did I write?" Peter repeated, voice holding more authority now.

Felicia groaned and whispered. "I don't know."

Felicia felt her breath hitch when Peter's finger started moving again.

It was hard concentrating on what he was spelling out, especially with his other hand and mouth distracting her. He continued to tease and pinch her nipple as he drew the name across her thigh, his touch made her weak and her breath quicken. It was slow, torturous, and she loved every fucking minute of it.

The first letter was 'P'.

Followed by 'E'

'T'

'E'

'R'

'S'

And then his finger stopped, silently telling Felicia she could now answer. "Peter's" She answered and gasped when she felt the tip of Peter's finger at the lips of her pussy, running his digit along them . She nearly came right then and there, but just as quickly as it came, it went away, once again pressing her inner thigh.

"Now you know what your reward is." Peter said against the flesh of her neck. "What am I writing now?" He asked again and moved his finger.

This one was easier because it was shorter.

"Cum." Felicia breathed and screamed in pleasure as she felt her clit be flicked

"And now?" Peter asked, as he drew the last word.

Felicia squeezed her thighs together but felt the word be spelt along her skin. "Dump." She breathed.

"And together that says?" Peter teasingly asked.

Felicia moaned out. "Peter's cum dump."

With that answer, Peter dug his middle and ring fingers deep into her pussy

Felicia felt her body go rigid and her muscles tensed, her mouth was left open in a silent scream as the pressure that had built up over the past few minutes was released and Felicias juices gushed all over Peter's hand, coating his fingers. Her body jerked with every squirt.

If the white haired sex icon thought it was over, she was dead wrong. Peter started to jackhammer his fingers into Felicia's quim, going deep and fast, making the floor wet with her orgasm. Felicia cried out at the onslaught, her muscles tightening around his fingers as her body tensed, unable to move from the web holding her to the ceiling.

"Oh God! Peter!"Felicia moaned as the hero fingered the older woman.

A bite along her neck made her cry out and her cunt gush again, even though her body was already numb from her previous orgasm. The white haired woman couldn't believe how much her body was writhing.

As though he couldn't get enough, Peter dug his fingers deeper into Felicia's cunt.

Felicia gasped, feeling the digits thrust into her and her mouth opened to let out a silent scream. Suddenly she felt her pussy become empty as the fingers exited her pussy.

"N-no. Please, Peter! Don't sto-" Felicia's begging was cut off by the same fingers being inserted into her open mouth and his left hand switched from her breast to her cunt, his fingers running up and down her dripping slit.

Felicia wanted to beg him not to stop, but she was given no time to. Peter pressed his finger against her tongue, as though wanting to forever stained her taste buds with her juices and the fingers in her cunt started moving again, starting slow at first, then quickening until his fingers were jackhammering into her once again.

Felicia's moans were muffled by Peter's finger and her mind was swimming. The cat burglar couldn't believe how much she was loving this, she had never had someone play her body like that before, but she felt so hot, so dirty, so turned on. She felt like a complete slut. Helpless against her hero's molestation of her.

The fingers in her mouth pulled out, but her mouth stayed open, silently begging for something to fill it, a whimper escaping her lips.

With one last deep plunge of his fingers, Peter made Felicia climax once more, the older woman screamed and her cunt gushed again, this orgasm making her whole body convulse and shake. Her knees buckled but the web holding her was the only thing keeping her from dropping to her knees.

Felicia then felt the web holding her loosen and she was being held in Peter's strong arms, her body leaning heavily against him. "Was I being too rough, Cat?" Peter asked gently, his nervous tone back once again, hoping he hadn't pushed her boundaries.

Felicia managed to use all her remaining strength to stand on wobbly legs. She shakingly removed her suit, the leather pooling at her feet as her naked, twitching form moved over to the bed. She fell just before reaching the mattress, her knees dropping onto the white fur rug but leaned on the foot of the bed.

"Felicia!" Peter's worried voice came but before he could move to help her, the platinum-blonde lifted her hips into the air and used her hands to spread he'd cheeks apart, presenting her soaking, twitching pussy and puckered asshole.

"Peter... please..." Felicia looked her her shoulder, looking Peter dead in the eyes, her lust filled orbs meeting his. "Fuck me."

The nervous look fell from Peter's features, replaced with a confident face, one that made Felicia bite her lip once more.

The sight of Peter striding towards her, taking off his suit from his muscular body and his hard cock springing out, pointed right at her was enough to give her an orgasm.

And certainly not the last one she'd have that night either.

#marvel #spiderman #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #earth 199999 #peter parker #peter #felicia hardy #felicia #spider-man #black cat #spider man x black cat #spideycat #peter x felicia #peter parker x felicia hardy #peter and felicia #peter parker and felicia hardy #spider man and black cat #spidercat #mcu spider man #mcu peter parker #tom holland #peterfel #peterfelicia #prompt answer #answer #ask

[sovereign-skyy]

So was the cypher just a 22 shift cypher with + at the end of the alphabet or did you do something special beyond that? Bc while I know what the correct translation should be I can't quite put together why an answer with just the 22-shift would be close if the decoder is just using the regular alphabet but completely off when using a 27 letter alphabet of A through +. I know the paragraph before is supposed to have all the clues but there's definitely something I am missing and I gotta know what. Sorry to just pop up randomly and ask you this but I saw Amity reblog another question about it and just like zeroed on your blog in bc cryptography and flirting is so fucking cool and your rules do say to send you an ask.

First of all, don't apologise for popping up out of nowhere I love this! I have it in my bio for a reason lol

For anyone who didn't see the cipher in question (which I expect to be almost everyone who sees this) here's the link to @k1nky-r0b0t-g1rl's post (I'll also be quoting the relevant stuff but if you wanna try to kinda still solve it for yourself start there, I'll be explaining it in detail here):

I'll make this a more comprehensive explanation for anyone who wants it so it's probably gonna contain quite some stuff you already know, if you want to skip it just scroll until you see 'NOW FOR THE GOOD STUFF' in big text!

SO

Here we have the original message:

E sxjp pk ejopxhh x oqynkqpeja ejpk ukqn ouopaio pdxp ixgao ukq osepzd ejpk dknju ik+a sdajaran E oxu "Kd Xiepu gjkso sxuu ikna xykqp pdxp," ok pdxp E zxj ixga ukq atlhxej atpnaiahu zkilhezxpa+ pklezo sdeha ukq'na oq++ajhu qjyaxnxyhu dknju xj+ pnuejc +aolxnxpahu pk de+a ep.

And this is the hint I gave:

There's three important parts to this so I'll go through them in order

Firstly, the hint is about Julius Caesar, hinting at the fact that the later text is encoded by a Caesar cipher. This is a cryptographic method where you move all the letters forward a certain amount (called the shift) of letters in the alphabet. So a caesar cipher with a right shift of 1 shifts all the letters one space forward, eg. A -> B, X -> Y. Generally the right shift is the default so I left it at that. A better hint would have also incorporated the right part but eh I'm not perfect.

Secondly, I talk about 23 people stabbing him, which indicates a shift of 23, giving us the following conversion table:

where the top row is the original letters and the bottom is the shifted letter values. If we left it at this and tried to decode the message we'd get:

H vams sn hmrsakk a rtbqntshmd hmsn xntq rxrsdlr sgas lajdr xnt rvhscg hmsn gnqmx ln+d vgdmdudq H rax "Ng Alhsx jmnvr vaxx lnqd abnts sgas," rn sgas H cam lajd xnt dwokahm dwsqdldkx cnlokhcasd+ snohcr vghkd xnt'qd rt++dmkx tmbdaqabkx gnqmx am+ sqxhmf +droaqasdkx sn gh+d hs.

Which is very much not correct. Now, we can cheat a little and change this to a 22-shift cipher (which is not correct) and get the following:

I wbnt to instbll b sucroutine into your systems thbt mbkes you switdh into horny mo+e whenever I sby "Oh Bmity knows wbyy more bcout thbt," so thbt I dbn mbke you explbin extremely domplidbte+ topids while you're su++enly uncebrbcly horny bn+ trying +espbrbtely to hi+e it.

Then we see something comprehensible, but not quite correct: there's some random B's, C's and D's in there and still some plusses in the middle of words. Regardless, you can make out from this wrong result what the message was supposed to be (an oversight on my part, and something I will take into account if/when I do it again)

And now comes the spicy part!

Thirdly, I say "a little (+) at the end" which (as you correctly identified in your ask) refers to the fact that I didn't use the default 26-letter alphabet, but instead used a slightly modified 27-letter alphabet with a + at the end, so we'd have the following letter order (I'll be referring to this as alphabet+ for brevity)

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ+

If we try to decode the message as a 23-rightshift caesar cipher with alphabet+, we get the following conversion table and message:

I want to install a subroutine into your systems that makes you switch into horny mode whenever I say "Oh Amity knows wayy more about that," so that I can make you explain extremely complicated topics while you're suddenly unbearably horny and trying desparately to hide it.

Which is finally correct! Yay, we have the original message!

NOW FOR THE GOOD STUFF

But now we finally get to your question: why does the regular 22-shift almost work if it's totally wrong for alphabet+?

For that, we can consider the equivalent left-shift operations of our right-shift decodings:

For any standard alphabet caesar cipher, the 26-shift (left or right) operation is the same as the unencoded version (because A + 26 spaces is once again A), which means that we can also express our right-shift operations as a left-shift operation of shift 26 - R where R is the shift of our right-shift (if this doesn't make sense to anyone I'm happy to try to expand on it btw).

For the alphabet cipher, that means a 23 right-shift is equivalent to a 3 left-shift, and a 22 right-shift is equivalent to a 4 left-shift.

However, for alphabet+, it doesn't take 26 shifts to get back to normal, but 27 (since there's 27 characters in alphabet+). This means that a 23 right-shift alphabet+ operation is equivalent to a 4 left-shift and NOT a 3 left-shift.

Now, since they're not the same set of characters, an alphabet 4 left-shift is not the same as an alphabet+ 4 left-shift. However, it's good to take into account that the solution in alphabet+ is also very similar to our almost-solution in the regular alphabet.

If you'll look at Table 1 and 2 again, you'll see that while A, B and C translate to X, Y and Z for both 23 right-shifts, the + in the middle for alphabet+ messes everything up and leaves us with an icky leftover left-shift of 1 (which is close, but still incomprehensible to humans since it's such a big portion of letters)

However, if we create a conversion table for the 22 right-shift of the alphabet we get the following:

If we compare this to Table 2, we see that A, B, C & D are not the same for both. However, from E on, these two are EXACTLY the same. The part left of the + just has a right-shift of 1 (which is symmetrical to the left-shift of 1 we saw in Table 1).

So, in conclusion: because of the difference in amount of characters, both the 22 and 23 right-shift alphabet decodings are not EXACTLY the same as the 23 right-shift alphabet+ decoding. However, due to the similarity of the lower 4 left-shift, the 22 has more correct characters and is therefore more comprehensible.

I hope that helps a little and I didn't make it more confusing lmao, this is longer (and also took longer) than I thought it would be but it was fun to write, so thanks for asking! If anything is still unclear feel free to reblog with a question or send me an ask (that counts for anyone reading this btw)! Also, since you said you're a fan of flirting + cryptography, how about I unleash the next cipher on you? ;)

#ask joanne

[cock-holliday]

Here’s another FicTober thing to have fun with: Margaret Scully always remembers Mulder’s birthday and sends him cards then, on his birthday, for Easter, super fun ones at Halloween, etc. It’s her way of letting him know she cares about him because she learns from Dana and/or has some kind of psychic? sense that his parents are not exactly stand-up. It’s also her way of thanking him for looking out for her third-born especially after the abduction. And maybe the first time he gets a card is on his birthday the same year the abduction happens.

You did so wonderful with the fish story. Maybe you can also do something with this one? 👀💕 Good luck 🍀

Aiight, disclaimer cause I'm at the end of season 7, haven't seen 8-9, IWTB or the revival. I know snippets but don’t have the timetable locked down. I am taking some liberty here. Set post-IWTB, pre-pre-revival breakup. This got out of hand.

WC: 1748

Scully shoved another box aside with a groan. Spring cleaning was shaping up to be a more tedious task than she had expected. Scully preferred to condense. She was nostalgic, certainly, when finding old keepsakes, but things that were no longer serving a purpose, or of a high sentimental value needed to be thrown out.

Mulder was the opposite.

It seemed that every little item carried the weight of Mulder’s entire life and being. She saw junk, Mulder saw his most prized treasures. It was how their office was arranged. It was how their home was now too.

Now that Mulder was able to enjoy a bit of freedom and venture from the house, Scully had suggested that he take a trip. He insisted she accompany him, but she had work to do here. In his absence she decided to sort the various items into a few groups: keep, ask Mulder, and throw out no matter what Mulder says.

There wasn’t as much as she expected for the last category, but there was certainly more in the middle one than she had anticipated.

What is this for? Why is he keeping this?

There were countless items in folders and boxes and wrapped with bubble wrap and tape. Old magazines. Coins. Very old t-shirts. A snowglobe here, a baseball cap there. They were turning a new leaf in their lives. Much as Scully wanted to shed the shackles of their old life, she didn’t want to abandon anything precious to Mulder.

Lifting an old globe, Scully turned, her elbow knocking into a shoebox and sending it and its contents flying.

Scully sighed, putting down the globe before kneeling and beginning to gather up the cards that were strewn about. It appeared to be cards for every holiday and occasion. Some funny. Some heartfelt and delicate. Others somber.

A ‘My Condolences’ card caught Scully’s eye, and she opened it, recognizing the hand that scrawled a long note inside the card. Her eyes widened as she looked at the bottom.

It was signed by Scully’s mother.

Scully grabbed another card. This one for a birthday. The same script was inside.

Scully grabbed another: a little cat wishing a Happy Halloween. In that card too was a note from her mother.

At the top of each card was the same two words: Dear Fox.

-----

The first card had been a complete surprise.

Mulder walked into the office and there it was, a right red envelope on the desk catching his eye. He walked over quickly, intrigued by the mail. Inside was a simple card, containing a lengthy folded letter thanking him for not giving up on ‘Dana.’

Mulder smiled at the warm compliments and tender language of the Scully matriarch, and was tickled so see that before her signature, she included her phone number.

Scully had only been back among the living for a few days, she hadn’t even returned to work yet. Mrs. Scully had to have sent the letter immediately, if not dropping it off herself. The letter lamented not having Mulder’s address, a sentiment that suggested the possibility of future correspondence.

Mulder called Mrs. Scully that night, thanking her for the letter and the card. She was delighted to hear from him, and reported that her visit to Scully had gone well. Mulder was going to go to the hospital next, and Mrs. Scully reminded him to give his address.

He laughed, insisting there was no need, but ‘Dana’ was evidently not the only stubborn Scully woman.

He relinquished his contact information, but didn’t expect anything further.

He was mistaken.

As the holidays approached, Mulder found a letter with familiar handwriting in his mailbox. The card wished him a Merry Christmas. The note extended an invitation to dinner, and a prompt to call. He called her later in the week, passing up on dinner, but thanking her regardless. She wished him a Merry Christmas. He offered the same back.

The cards kept coming after that. It seemed like any excuse. Christmas, New Years, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Easter. One year he received a card for Valentine’s Day, expressing that she hoped he was taking care of himself, and then spoke at length about Scully and frequently mentioned her upcoming Birthday.

Where Scully could be enigmatic, her mother was less subtle in her suggestions.

Some cards would reference their previous phone calls or visits, others shared details from her family’s lives. All extended offers into the future.

The first card to arrive for his birthday came as a bit of a shock. First, he was surprised that Scully had relayed the information to her mother. Second, as he stared at the little balloons on the card, he struggled to recall the last time someone sent him a birthday card in the mail. It had to have been as a child. Maybe cards from family friends. Perhaps a stray card from his dentist, wishing him a toothy birthday or whatever it had said.

The card was warm–all Mrs. Scully’s cards were. But the sentimentality on his birthdays struck him each time, and did not lessen as the years went by.

She would shower him with compliments, make a joke here or there, wish him a bright and happy future, and then invite him to an engagement of some sort. A family dinner. A cookout. Once or twice, without Scully’s knowledge (unless Mrs. Scully divulged), the pair had lunch. But usually Mulder would pass up, instead opting for a phone call.

Not long after their return from New Mexico, a card offering condolences for the death of his father showed up in his mailbox. For the first time since the death of his dad, he cried.

When his mother was in the hospital, more cards found their way into his inbox. First of condolences, then of prayers in his mother’s name, and then of comfort when she recovered. Each time extended offers for support. He did not take her up on them, but he called her to thank her each time. After his third decline, she bullied him into visiting a park with her one weekend.

He was reluctant, but went all the same. She had been right. The fresh air would help. His mother had pulled through. He could breathe again.

When his mother passed, there was no card. He didn’t know why it bothered him to not receive one. He never expected them to come, but they came for every and all occasion, that it was only when one didn’t come did he realize he had come to anticipate them. 

When a card did eventually arrive, it contained a long letter, like the first card.

In the letter, it expressed condolences for the loss of his mother, but also, he was surprised to see, for the loss of his sister.

Mrs. Scully spoke about her own struggles with losing her husband and daughter, and she talked openly and candidly about grief and finding meaning. In the letter, she gave encouragement, and hope, and expressed that she hoped herself that now he could find peace. He hadn’t cried after finding his answers for Samantha. He didn’t cry the rest of their time in California, or the trip home. When he read Mrs. Scully’s letter, he clutched the paper to his chest and wept, feeling the grief that had been building fully release, and acceptance of everything washed over him.

Mulder kept that letter where he kept all the other cards from Mrs. Scully: in a little shoebox in his room. He’d occasionally read them, reminiscing about the times that surrounded those holidays and special occasions. But mostly he just liked to see the pile get larger. The weight that the stack of cards held was physically minuscule, but they landed heavily in his chest. 

Mulder thought about how lucky Scully was to have this woman as her mother, and with each card he added to the pile, he came to realize how much she treated him like a son. 

Or what being treated like a son could look like.

-----

Scully’s eyes welled with tears as she read her mother’s cards. The sound of the front door startled her from her thoughts, and she hastily wiped her eyes, sniffing and shutting the lid on the box.

Scully could hear Mulder settle into the house, presumably taking off his jacket and shoes, hanging up his keys, before looking around for her. He found her quickly enough, beaming at Scully when he entered the room.

“You’re back early,” Scully told him with a smile, swallowing the lump that had built in her throat.

“Missed you,” Mulder shrugged, leaning against the door frame.

His face fell as he took in her appearance, and his brow furrowed in concern, “You okay?”

Scully smiled and nodded, feeling tears building again. Mulder stepped closer to her, clearly not buying it, and Scully let out a huff of a laugh.

“Come here,” she told Mulder, crossing the room and pulling him into a tight hug.

She held on for dear life, and Mulder returned the hug with a squeeze, still stiff with tension.

Scully pulled back, leaning up to press a kiss to Mulder’s lips, and as she shut her eyes, she felt a tear escape down her cheek.

She sniffed again when they broke apart and she licked her lips, walking over to the shoebox, “I found the box with my mom’s cards to you,” Scully explained.

Mulder’s scrunched brow softened, “Oh.”

“You kept them?”

Mulder nodded gently.

Scully smiled, swallowing and getting her tears under control, “Since the very beginning,” she added, shaking her head in disbelief, “Since my abduction, all the way through.”

“She is very thorough,” Mulder laughed.

“And you kept them? All of them?” Scully asked, her voice quiet.

Mulder nodded again.

“She loves you,” Scully added with a shaky laugh, wiping her eyes, “Always has.”

Mulder smiled sadly, crossing the room and wrapping his arms around Scully. He nuzzled into her neck, prompting Scully to wrap her arms around him back.

“Know who I love?” he asked.

Scully snorted, “Who?”

“Oh–your mother,” Mulder replied, pulling back and pretending to grow serious, “Isn’t that who we were talking about?”

Scully rolled her eyes, pressing another kiss to Mulder’s lips.

Mulder grinned against her lips, and Scully pulled him in closer, “Well I love you, Mulder.”

It was mumbled against her mouth, as she deepened the kiss, but she heard it clear as day.

 “Love you too.”

#txf #txf fanfic #xf fanfic #fictober22 #day 20 #this was supposed to be short! lol oops #Maggie Scully my beloved #thank you for sending this! spent literally all day at work thinking about it

[jabbage]

#Letters from Watson #lettersfromwatson

[wildcard47]

WIP meme

@what-alchemy tagged me

RULES: post the names of the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Can't tag as many people as I have WIPs because that means I'm tagging like 10-50 people and that's insane, I'm sorry, I'm just not doing it.

I'll post a few terror snippets and 2 non-terror ones:

Current WIPs:

The Fitzier soulmates AU I was blagging about on twitter. James's words are in Inuktitut (he thinks, after finally getting a snippet of recognition at Disko Bay) and he's now within the canon timeline, trying to find out what they mean.

....“Mikigaq,” Silence said. 

The corner of her lip quirked up in what appeared to be genuine amusement.

“Meekee—” James thumbed over the letters on his chest as his tongue stumbled over the phrase. It was similar to what the man in Disko Bay had said, but not exact. He was certain it sounded different, before. “What is that?”

“Mikigaq,” she repeated, smiling more broadly.

“All right,” James huffed, cheeks reddening. He thought very suddenly of Francis’s hands, and how flushed the backs of his palms got in the middle of a tumble. A mercy he and Silence were alone, and no one else was here to witness him pinking up from stomach to ears with embarrassment. She was the only other person on this ship to have seen him in a half-state of undress, apart from Francis or Mr. Bridgens. “You have one over on me, clearly.”

Not to mention you do speak when you wish to do so, he did not say. 

Silence’s mouth twitched again as he fastened the buttons on his shirt, tucked the tails away, then started in on his jacket. He’d gotten all but the bottom one fastened when the door to the hold slung open.

2. The Fitzier banshees of inisherin AU I've also mentioned on twitter. It's probably the closest to being finished out of anything I'm posting.

....Francis was already sitting near the door, by the fireplace. James saw that the second he entered, but decided to let the joke play out a little longer. He talked to Jopson for a couple of minutes, asked about his brother. Waved at Ned and George and Graham, clustered in the corner. And when he finally got his pint, he took it over to Francis’s table and gave the man his most winning smile.

“Very funny,” he said first.

Francis peered at him in an owlish way. “What’s that?”

“It’s April second.”

“Aye, it is.”

“Meaning yesterday was the first. So, to my point, very funny.”

“What are you on about?”

Instead of grinning at him in turn, Francis looked mystified.

“You played an April Fool’s trick on me, with all of the—” James waved his hand “—pretending not to hear me nonsense.”

“No.”

James had been prepared to hear something like oh or aye, well, it worked, yes? So when the word reached his ears, he came up short.

“What—sorry. What do you mean, no?”

Francis furrowed his brow like James was the stupidest person ever to have walked the earth. Worse than Billy Gibson who lived down past the Coningham house. “I mean, I’m not joking you. So if you’re going to sit there, I’ll just take mine outside. Sun’s nice enough.”

3. The banshees fic set in the OG universe, because I can't leave well enough alone:

....Silence had always bothered Pádraic the most.

So, even though Pádraic was sitting at Mrs. O’Riordan’s, waiting for her to get tired of lording it over the whole place, he breathed easier when the little bell tinkled overhead and Colm Doherty pushed open the door.

Mrs. O’Riordan fixed Colm with one of her beady eyes, glancing him up and down like he shouldn’t be showin’ his face in public. “Colm Doherty. Ain’t seen you in for nearly ten days, I haven’t. Thought you’d taken a fall off them cliffs yourself.”

“Not just yet, Mrs. O’Riordan,” Colm told her. He didn’t look well at all. His voice was thin, and his jowled face paler than usual. “I’ll take the rashers, half pound flour, and a bottle of milk.”

“Ah.” She clicked her tongue, casting him the scowl Pádraic knew right well. “Got any news for me, do you?”

“No.”

Pádraic looked down at the ground to hide a smile. When Colm got to answering questions with a single word, like, not with ‘no, but you just go on now’ or ‘no, and let me tell you something else’—then he might as well be saying shut the feck up.

“Men,” huffed Mrs. O’Riordan, as she wrapped the rashers in brown paper and tied the string, shoving the bundle across the counter to Colm. “You’ve got no news.” She fixed her eye on Pádraic. “‘E’s got no news.”

Colm grunted, and glanced left, down at the floor. Pádraic said nothing.

“What’s a poor soul to do without one word to ease her constant suffering?”

“I’m sure you’ll feel easier in the morning, so you will,” Pádraic offered.

4. The little sequel/epilogue to the Fitzier ship's marriage fic:

Breathing ragged, they clung to each other for a few moments, wordless, before James let out a deep breath, now nudging Francis’s shoulder with his forehead. “Excellent’s adage was hit first, hit hard, but I daresay….Christ. I daresay I….”

Francis soothed a hand down the soft silk at James’s upper back, already damp with sweat. “Now we’ll recover a few of our senses.”

James groaned out a laugh.

“Daresay I’ll need it after the way you teased me,” Francis offered in a low voice, squeezing James’s shoulder.

Lifting his head, James gave him a small, grateful smile that made Francis’s chest seize in delight, and wish to voice a sudden, reckless question.

“Did you really think about all that when….?”

“Mm,” James flexed his leg, still draped across Francis’s lap. “Not always, but on the long nights. When you’d drop off, I kept an eye out. Imagined all the ways I might wake you, apart from kicking you in the heels.”

Francis’s spent cock twitched in a pathetic way at these words. He must have made some noise of surprise, or shuddered in his chair, because when he next glanced over at James, his husband was staring at him.

“If I’m to continue hearing this sort of talk,” Francis offered, rubbing small circles on James’s knee with the flat of his palm, “let it be in a room with a bed and a door.”

5. A mikejimmy fic set in season 2-3ish of BCS, where Mike tosses out a quick lie about Jimmy in order to keep the girls happy. As always, things escalate:

“Kaylee, honey,” Stacey gave Mike an apologetic look, like she’d done something as embarrassing as fling her plate onto the ground. “Making friends is a little different when you’re an adult. You don’t—Pop-Pop just moved here, right? He might not have had time to get to know people.”

Mike was struck by the realization that Stacey was covering for him, not because she thought the question was weird, or because Kaylee needed some long explanation, but because she didn’t think Mike had a friend in the whole city. Hell, maybe not in the world—and he’d lived in New Mexico nearly twelve months. Christ, she must pity him.

“Mommy, everyone has a best friend.” Kaylee scoffed in a way that reminded him of Matty. “Mine’s Anna. Yours is…..um. What’s her name again?”

“Auntie Erin. You saw her yesterday.”

“Yeah! So who’s yours, Pop-Pop?”

Stacey’s cheeks had reddened. Kaylee was watching him, expectant. And the only name Mike could think of was reflected back at him from the brochure stand at the front of the restaurant, with a big cartoony grin on his face and that idiotic Miami Vice suit.

“Well, his name’s Jimmy,” Mike said gruffly, watching Kaylee’s clear-eyed stare dissolve into a pleased smile. “He’s a lawyer.”

Stacey looked relieved, too. Made Mike feel better about lying straight to their faces.

6. And we'll round it out with a romangerri devil wears prada AU i've had in the works forever:

....When he found the elevator, he went to the forty-seventh floor. When he pushed open the glass door to Kellman/Avery, a skyscraper of a woman was waiting for him, blonde curls puffing around her head like a cotton candy halo, wearing a green and gold dress that reminded him of snakeskin.

“Uh, so,” he said, figuring she’d been sent to find him. Maybe she was his assistant or something. “I’m Roman. Guess you’re helping me find the ol’ corporate dog crate, huh?”

She gave him a withering stare. “I wouldn’t lead with that in the interview.”

Then she turned on her heel, motioning him to follow. Roman was too busy trying to stop gears from grinding in his brain that he walked after her without another word.

“Okay. Let me give you a little context here. We are an international firm specializing in high corporate finance, and if you don’t know what that means, tell me now so I don’t have to waste my time any more than I already have.” 

She gave him a significant look.

“Ten-four. Uh. Yay, corporate finance.”

“I’m Tabitha, Gerri’s first assistant. And we are hoping to find our second. Gerri has fired the last four girls after only a few weeks, and I cannot deal with any more sobbing co-eds fleeing through the hallways. So, you not only need to be competent at your job, but you also need to be able to survive here.”

“Okay,” Roman answered, glancing into glass-fronted conference rooms and private offices as they whizzed past. Posters. Sculptures. No wood paneling anywhere. “And Gerri is….?”

Tabitha stopped walking, flinging out her arm to stop him from moving. She looked like she wanted to grab his wrist and shake him like a wet dog. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask me that. Not only is she our chief executive, and the most senior partner in this office, but she is a legend in the world of trial lawyers. CFOs worship her. Politicians fear her. Work a year as her assistant, and every door in corporate America will open to you.”

I'm tagging @icicaille-fic @adreadfulidea @soft-october-night @titleleaf @terribleoldwhitemen @priestly @itsevidentvery and anyone else who wants to play along!

#fic meme #the terror #romangerri #fitzier

[mymisfitsbabe]

Fatal Things

My Fatal frame/Stranger things Fic that I was too excited for.... this part is mostly just for back story and the description of Punk Steve!

“I haven't seen my sister in two years…” Billy let the silence stretch chewing on his bottom lip while trying to gather the words to continue. “We’ve always had a pretty shitty relationship, but when our parents died we got close. We were all we had, you know.”

Licking his lips Billy shifted in his seat as they took a wide turn onto a dirt path.

“A few years back she decided to change her whole life, switched majors, dumped her boyfriend and moved to a whole new continent. I tried to talk to her about it, but she shut me out and I lost track of her overseas… Last I knew she was living somewhere in Japan.”

“That's why you're going to the Crimson Butterfly village? You know that place is abandoned, right?”

Billy swallowed hard, he pulled a folded envelope from his backpack. “She wrote me a letter…”

The man side eyed Billy, he licked his lips nervously and cleared his throat. “When she send it?”

“The post mark is from six days ago.” Billy answered quietly.

“And she said she was there? Your sister said she was in the village?” The man asked, his hair falling into one half of his face as he turned to look at Billy, then back at the road. 

“She asked me to meet her there, said she would get there this morning.” Billy answered.

“Why there? What's so important about the Crimson Butterfly?” The man sounded far away and Billy turned to face him as the driver tucked his hair back behind his ear.

“I don't know. Her letter only said to meet her, said she was ready to tell me what changed.” 

Billy looked at the man, really looked at him. The sides of the man’s head were shaved and the thick stripe of hair going down the middle of his head was shoulder length and a lovely auburn shade in the dying sunlight. The man was white, and he spoke with an accent that Billy couldn't place.

The driver’s face was soft, big honey brown eyes outlined in black, full lips, a square shaped face with a hard jawline and a nose that had been broken a few times. His ears were pierced at least six times, he used safety pins and thick silver loops in the cartilage and nails in the lobes. His left eyebrow, septum and bottom lip were all pierced with silver rings.  

The man wore a leather choker around his neck, several rings on his fingers with painted black nails. He was sporting a ratty old long sleeved Misfits band tee with holes dotted around his neck line, his thumbs stuck out of large holes in the bottom of the sleeves. Well worn black jeans with ripped up knees, a red plaid shirt tied around his waist and shin high wine red doc martens completed his outfit. 

The punk aesthetic didn't match the worried look on his face and Billy frowned at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

The driver licked his lips nervously and swallowed hard, Billy watched the man's throat bob as it worked.. 

"That place is evil. It's cursed, there are things in that place that feed off of the life force of anything that goes near it… There are legends in my village.”

"My sister is there. Haunted, cursed, it doesn't matter, that place could be a hole in time and space and I'd still go if it means I get to see her again." Billy answered, cutting off the other man.

The driver chewed at the middle of his bottom lip, the double piercing in the corner of his right lip stretched and strained against the torment and Billy almost felt bad for the guy.

“Have you lived in Japan long?” Billy asked, trying to change the subject.

The driver laughed, making Billy frown in response.

“I’m actually Japanese, I was born in the Village you met me in.” The punk said with a shrug and a soft smile.

Billy laughed this time and the driver looked over at him with an amused smile on his face.

“No, it's true! My dad was born there too, his parents came to the village back in the 1920s. They ran away together after my great grandma’s parents said she couldn't marry my great granddad. It's a whole big thing for my family.”

“But uh, you uh, don’t…” Billy shrugged, shaking his head and gesturing to the other man. 

“Look or sound asain?” The punk laughed. “Yeah, I’m Stephen Harrington the third. My grandparents are from Italy and my dad met my mom when his parents were visiting my other great grandparents in -you guessed it- Italy.” Steve smiled brightly.

“So, you’re Italian?”  

“No, I'm Japanese.” Steve laughed loudly. “My nationality is Japanese, but my race or genealogy or whatever, is technically Italian cause all my ancestors are all Italian. It's a big running joke in the village, but unless you wanna get hit with a cane I wouldn't insist I’m not Japanese to anyone older than 50.”

“So your family runs a cab company?” Billy asked, feeling a little awkward in the conversation.

“Huh?” The punk asked confused, his face scrunching together as he tried to understand Billy. “Oh! No, my parents own a grocery, we have farmland and my granddad built a monstrous green house to help feed the village during the war. It's a lot to explain but basically we grow produce for the village and my mom runs a connecting restaurant.” 

Billy looked at Steve a little dumbfounded. “Okay, so… why do you own a truck with a taxi sign on it?”

“Oh! Shit, right, yeah. Again, it's kind of a joke in our town. We don't have very many vehicles in our village and some of our older customers just can't make the walk to our grocery anymore, so I drive them. It started off as just driving people to the shop and home, but then I started making deliveries and then I started taking them to their doctors appointments. Now I'm the village taxi.”

Again the punk shrugged and smiled. “As for you, well, I'm one of the only people in our village that can speak English. It's me, the shipment coordinator, my mom and the elderly innkeeper where you’re staying. She’s the one that asked me to give you a ride.” 

“Oh…so you’re just some random dude that people take advantage of.” Billy huffed out in a humorless laugh.

“That about sums it up, yeah.” Steve nodded, his hair falling off his ear and sweeping into his face as he did so. “I don't mind being taken advantage of, it hasn't killed me yet.” Steve smiled.

Billy chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling the urge to say something more, but thinking better of it since he didn't want to end up on his ass in the middle of nowhere. The punk man tucked his hair back behind his ear then glanced over at Billy.

The rest of the long drive was spent in relative silence, Billy stared out his window and did his best to ignore the worried glances from Steve the good Samaritan non taxi driver. When they pulled onto the old overgrown road Billy’s stomach flopped. It was dusk and the road had turned from a glorified dirt path into a wide paved brick road almost too pretty to be an actual street. Steve started muttering something in Italian, repeating it over and over, the sound unnerving Billy.

“What are you saying?” Billy snapped.

“I’m trying to remember a protection prayer my mother taught me.” Steve muttered.

“Well cut it out, you’re giving me the heebie-jeebies, man.”

“Fuck off, I'm not getting murdered because you’re scared of a little Itilian” Steve added an extra emphasis on the last word and Billy rolled his eyes.

“Fuck y-” Billy started then stopped. 

The place was eerie as hell, huge bamboo stalks grew along either side of the road absorbing the light and tunneling it forward toward a huge traditional Japanese gate. The gate had clearly been neglected for a while, the bright crimson paint chipping to reveal rotting wood underneath, delicate golden embroidery was almost all worn away. Beyond the entrance Billy could see several wooden shrines with beautiful angular roofs. 

Steve pulled the truck about 100 feet from the entrance and Billy started to open the door when the driver grabbed his shoulder. Confused, Billy turned back, Steve’s face was sheet white, his eyes wide and startled.

“Don't touch the balls of light. Don’t acknowledge them, even if they come straight for you, you look right through them and keep on walking. If they start to manifest, get out, run for the bamboo, they can't follow you there.” Steve yanked Billy in close and whispered into his ear. “Do not let them latch onto you, they will leech your life away.”

Fear pooled in the pit of Billy’s stomach, he looked out toward the wooden shrine's goose bumps rising all over his skin.  

“Billy, don't give them power over you. Don't believe. The torii will always stay in the same place, but the shrines will move to confuse you, let it guide you.” 

Billy pulled away just enough to look into Steve’s eye, the driver swallowed hard and reluctantly let Billy go. There was a long pause, Billy staring into Steve’s worried eyes, while Steve silently pleaded, they each wanted to say more, but neither of them managed to. Pulling away Billy climbed out of the cab slinging his backpack over his shoulder and slamming the truck door behind him.

“Where are you Max?” Billy muttered to himself as he pulled his flashlight from the side pocket in his backpack.

#Fatal frame #stranger things #stranger things au #Billy Hargrove #steve harrington #punk steve harrington #Harringrove #Horror #I WAS EXCITED #THIS IS A FIRST DRAFT #DONT COME AT ME FOR IT BEING SHITTY IM SORRY

[hostilecityshowdown]

REALLY excited to post this! lovely bryan @hoarr of @wcwworldwide sent me an awesome package recently, including that one sting shirt everyone was excited about. [pre-orders for the new sting shirt close tonight!] a product i previously bought from the wrassleshop is the toy nWo championship pin, which has faithfully hung onto my wheelchair even when the chair itself suffered damages, and was designed by the talented marj. the pin i received from bryan was also designed by marj, who i can't put over enough

thank you so much bryan! i'm in love with how soft this shirt is and excited to slap one of the stickers on my new chair when it comes, and i can't get over how kind it was to send me all of this.

image descriptions below and in ALT text!

the post contains seven images.

image one: a slightly overexposed photo of an indigenous man seated in his wheelchair, wearing leather pants, a black mask with dangling chains, and a black t-shirt from the wrassleshop. the shirt has "Sting" written in light blue text, the "i" dotted in light pink. to the lower left is a light pink scorpion. beside the scorpion and beneath the word "sting" is "fatal encounter" written in light blue. the shirt gives off an 80's vibe.

image two: a slightly overexposed photo of an indigenous man seated in his wheelchair, wearing leather pants and a black t-shirt from the wrassleshop. this photo is taken from a higher angle than the first image was, and one of the man's hands is in his pocket. the shirt has "Sting" written in light blue text, the "i" dotted in light pink. to the lower left is a light pink scorpion. beside the scorpion and beneath the word "sting" is "fatal encounter" written in light blue. the shirt gives off an 80's vibe.

image three: a magnet of vampiro and the misfits. the stage behind them is black and gold.

image four: three collectable trading cards in a horizontal line. the first card reads "WCW" at the top in gold and features an in-ring photograph of surfer sting wearing the heavyweight belt, standing on a turnbuckle and facing the audience. he's removing his jacket and wearing bright pink. the second card reads "nWo" at the top left in white and features an in-ring photograph of scott steiner. steiner has backed his opponent into the corner and is poised to reign blows down upon him. steiner is wearing a white singlet. the third card reads "WCW" at the top right in gold and features an in-ring photograph of hugh norris. he has his opponent in a headlock, hugh's right arm looped between the top and middle rope, allowing him to push his opponent's neck against the top rope. hugh is wearing blue trunks and has a tattoo of the biohazard symbol on his right arm.

image five: an enamel pin is beside two identical stickers. the pin is on a white backing card with red blood splatters and "season's beatings" written in script at the top, and "WCW WORLDWIDE x [marj's luchadore mask logo]" at the bottom. the pin design depicts santa's slay, a gimmick portrayed by bill goldberg dressed as santa claus. he's clutching a bloody icicle, poised to attack. the two stickers are light blue circles with light yellow crosshairs surrounding the letters "WCW".

image six: a darker photo than the first two images of an indigenous man seated in his wheelchair, wearing leather pants, a black mask with dangling chains, and a black t-shirt from the wrassleshop. this photo is taken from a high up angle to the left hand side of the man. the shirt's sleeves are rolled up to show how loose they are, and the purple undertaker logo tattoo on the man's arm is visible. the shirt has "Sting" written in light blue text, the "i" dotted in light pink. to the lower left is a light pink scorpion. beside the scorpion and beneath the word "sting" is "fatal encounter" written in light blue. the shirt gives off an 80's vibe.

image seven: a darker photo than the first two images of an indigenous man seated in his wheelchair, wearing leather pants, a black mask, and a black t-shirt from the wrassleshop. this photo is taken from a high up angle to the left hand side of the man. the shirt's sleeves are rolled up to show how loose they are, and the purple undertaker logo tattoo on the man's arm is visible. the shirt has "Sting" written in light blue text, the "i" dotted in light pink. to the lower left is a light pink scorpion. beside the scorpion and beneath the word "sting" is "fatal encounter" written in light blue. the shirt gives off an 80's vibe.

#long post #[ colour commentary ] #wcwworldwide #i am so sorry this took so long to post ;; the package came in the mail last week but things have been hectic #i can't overstate how kind and thoughtful it was for bryan to send me all this merch for free and how grateful and excited i am!!!! #sting #wcw

[messrsbyler]

lovely @foodiewithdahoodie tagged me in this WIP game and... don't mind if i do

rules:

post up to five (5) file names of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post.

after you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. you must then write 3 sentences in that file

that’s it! you can invite others to join in or just post

wips!

An Ordinary World (Stonathan prompt 5)

may this memories break our fall (byler memory loss)

mike wheeler's guide to being a good best friend (byler)

restaurant wip (byler modern au strangers to lovers)

learning curve (stonathan jonathan teaches steve how to cook)

snippet! (for mike wheeler's guide to being a good best friend)

It should be noted that Will didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He just, you know, happened to find himself in a wrong-place and wrong-time type of situation, which, being completely fair and honest, was out of his control.

It’s also absolutely not his fault that these shelves packed with books of all sizes, most of which are barely holding onto their cracked spines, offer an amazing hiding spot—Not that Will is hiding. He is not. But the point remains. It’s easy to go unnoticed behind one of these, especially if you are crouched all the way to the bottom shelf. Again, not because Will is hiding. He actually needs a title from this section, one he can’t for the life of him find even though he is in the right row and down to the letter W.

A string of curses that would for sure gain him a deep scowl from the librarian had she heard him, slips through his mouth, followed by a groan. His legs burn under the strain of his weight and his back throbs at the base because of this clunky position he is in. Will has to reconsider how badly he actually needs a good grade on his stupid history paper. Then he quickly remembers his mom’s tight lip and frown the last time Will returned with a C-. That’s enough to keep him thumbing through the spines for the umpteenth time, knowing well enough that the book he needs is nowhere to be found. At least he’ll have the grounds to tell his mom he tried to get a good grade in Hoffman’s class.

It’s in the middle of all of this that Will first hears them. It, in fact, takes him a second to pick the voices apart from the background noise, but at some point Will’s friends walk right by the other side of the bookshelf and from there there’s no missing Max’s voice and the usual  bite  of her tone.

“Just talk to him!” She says, and something about the way she says it gives away that this isn’t the first time she repeats those words.

“I can’t do that,” Mike’s voice comes next, much more hushed. “Now drop it, will you?”

“You are being an idiot. You know that, right?”

“No, I’m not? I’m just… trying a more tactical approach.”

(spoiler alert, max and mike are talking about will)

no pressure tags: @mayahawkins @willelfanpage @strangeswift @andiwriteordie @wiseatom @astrobei @bottomlessabyssposts @mlchaelwheeler @parkitaco @perexcri and anyone else who would like to do it!

#wips #wip game #nic posts #my wips #byler #miwip #stonathan

[tawaifeddiediaz]

I am an actual idiot, and I thought this was a prompt for an ask game that I reblogged ajdksdjada i'm so sorry. I love you most <3

anyway I wrote this for you by accident, so have a free fic <3

[the lovers, the dreamers (and me) — AO3 Link]

Word Count: 1514 words

There’s a frog staring at him.

Eddie blinks twice, thrice, four times — nope, it’s still sitting there.

(It’s not a real frog, which is good, because last time Buck and Chris brought a real frog into the house, Eddie unequivocally banned all wild creatures from the house.

He doesn’t need another afternoon of running after a frog bounding through the halls, only to find it smack in the middle of his kitchen, staring at its ceramic counterpart on the sink.

And he definitely doesn't need another afternoon of scrubbing and disinfecting the entire house from top to bottom because Buck and Christopher felt bad for the small reptile — apparently enough to take it out of its own home into their own.)

It’s a thick plush animal, about ten inches tall, the fabric soft and bright green against the dark brown wood of the dresser. The arms look vaguely flat where they’re crossed across its chest and there’s a white banner balanced on top of them that reads, “I <3 you.”

Those ping-pong ball eyes and the triangular-shaped collar are familiar, though, and Eddie can’t stop the laughter from slipping from his lips as he recognizes it.

“It’s Kermit the Frog,” Eddie tells his boyfriend, sparing a glance over his shoulder to where Buck’s leaning against the door frame, grinning widely.

“Sophia told me he was your favorite Muppet.” Buck thinks for a second, then tacks on, “and Winnie the Pooh but they were sold out of that one. Not in stock for another six months, because I guess you're not the only fan of the Hundred Acre Woods.”

“And I’m the only fan of the Muppets?” Eddie laughs, tilting his head back into his boyfriend as Buck’s arms come to wrap around his waist, his hands resting flat against Eddie’s stomach, fingers sweeping patterns across his skin. He can feel the pads of Buck's fingers even through his shirt, and it sends warm sparks down his spine. “What made you buy it in the first place?”

Eddie can’t remember the last time he saw a stuffed animal in his room that wasn’t Christopher’s, but he can feel Buck’s smile against his skin where they sway lightly, wrapped up together, and figures he doesn’t really care why as long as Buck’s still holding him like that. He’s comfortable here, leaning back into the broadness of Buck’s chest despite the minimal height difference between them 

(He’s not even sure Buck’s conscious that he does it every time he wraps his arms around Eddie, moving them lightly to some invisible beat only he can hear and Eddie can feel, but he never wants him to stop — ever.)

“It’s microwaveable!” Buck exclaims, forgetting that his mouth is right against Eddie’s ear. 

And…that doesn’t track, and leaves him more confused than before. Eddie’s pretty sure if he tried to microwave that, he’d set the whole house on fire.

“What?”

Buck, regrettably, lets go of him to cross over to the dresser, picking up the plushie to show Eddie the zipper on the back. He pulls out a pouch of something from inside instead of traditional cotton stuffing, leaving the stuffed animal little more than an empty bag. He holds the pouch up to Eddie, tossing it up in his hands. “This. You microwave this, and put it back into the stuffed animal.”

“A heating pad,” Eddie guesses, taking Kermit’s fleece covering from him. With a thumb, he traces the stitched letters on the sign, embroidered with black thread. It reminds him of one of those memes he learned about during his stint on Twitter, and Eddie can’t help but smile. “You remembered.”

“The Kermit memes? Yeah, they make you laugh every time, why wouldn’t I? But this one should help your shoulder, too, since it’s a heating pad. It’s also pretty heavy so you can use it on the nights I’m not here to lay on top of you.”

Eddie looks up, to where Buck’s eyes are sparkling with mirth, but also something else. Something that’s taken Eddie a long time to accept is for him. Something that he’s tried so hard to accept that he deserves.

“Here, wait, let me go warm it up so you can see.” Buck takes the sleeve from Eddie’s loose fingers and darts out of the room, leaving him with thoughts that swell in his chest and curl into his throat.

Eddie watches his boyfriend go, hearing the familiar pitter-pattering of his feet on the wood, then on the kitchen tile. He can count the seconds it’ll take for Buck to use the microwave that he’d convinced Eddie to buy — another new gadget that sits on the counter, symbolic of the changes Buck’s brought into his life. He can count the number of seconds it’ll take for Buck to come back to him, too.

Of all the countless acts of service, as Buck would label them from his love languages book, that Eddie’s been a recipient of, something about this one hits him straight in the solar plexus, knocking the air out of his lungs in one swoop.

Buck had remembered Eddie’s griping about how empty the bed was on the rare nights Buck isn’t here, had remembered the pain that still shot through Eddie’s right shoulder at random, and had remembered something Eddie’s sister had said. Possibly, probably , he was the one who reached out to Sophia about it. And he even remembers which memes Eddie likes the most, which in this time and age, feels like the equivalent of being tossed an apple in Ancient Greece.

In the very back of his closet, hidden in a bunch of old sweaters, is a box that holds a ring that had sent Eddie rocking back on his heels when he’d first pictured it on Buck’s finger. It was like it was made for him, and after that, there were no other rings to look at. He’d bought it on the spot, even though he and Buck hadn't been dating for more than six weeks.

It took the three month mark for Eddie to approach Christopher about the possibility of proposing, but last minute, they’d talked about an intermediate step. Eddie had known that rushing this would do no good for any of them, and he’d wanted to give the stages of their relationship the respect each of them deserve.

But then, Buck does things like buy Eddie a plush toy to help with the pain, loneliness and nostalgia, while still making him laugh, and all Eddie wants to do is drag him straight to the courthouse, taking things slow be damned.

Suddenly, he really, really doesn’t want to wait.

“Move in with me,” he blurts out, as soon as his boyfriend crosses the threshold of the bedroom. 

And…that was not how he’d planned it, but for the wide-eyed look that passes over Buck’s startled face, he can’t bring himself to regret the hasty words.

“Move in with me,” he says more calmly, more sure of himself. It’s not a new decision by far, and Eddie needs to make sure that Buck knows that. “Christopher and I were supposed to ask you together, but…I couldn’t wait.”

“You want me to move in?” Buck whispers, his voice hushed as if Eddie’s going to take it back. His feet are frozen in the door, not daring to come any closer.

Which is unacceptable to Eddie, who isn’t the least bit ashamed of how much he likes when Buck’s pressed right into his space — something he can really only tolerate from two people in his life without feeling the need to pull away. 

He walks over to his boyfriend and pulls the now assembled and warm stuffed animal from his slack hands, reaching out to tangle their fingers together. His thumb finds the familiar grooves of Buck’s knuckles, stroking over them in a way that hopefully conveys what his words never could. “Yeah. I want you here with us, with me . Always, Buck.”

Buck’s eyes look suspiciously wet, his lips parted, and Eddie can’t resist pulling him into a kiss, holding him close, waiting him out. 

“Is it because of Kermit?”

“Is it because — what, Buck, no!” Eddie laughs, shaking his head at the wet amusement in Buck’s voice. “Chris and I talked about it way before you brought Kermit into our lives. You’re here so often anyway that sometimes I forget that you don’t officially live here — and it’s…honestly it’s one of the worst things to watch you walk out the door even though I never want you to leave. So…move in with us?”

Buck kisses him, tasting suspiciously of salt but always of love and Eddie smiles against his mouth, knowing the answer. His other thumb traces the black lettering on the stuffed animal still held tight in his hands, and when Buck pulls away, his eyes sparkling with more than playful mischief this time, Eddie knows what he’s going to say.

“Yes.”

(Two months later, Eddie will ask him another question.

Buck will smile again as he repeats, “Yes.”)

#zee writes #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buck x eddie #buddie #911fic #buddiefic #buddie fanfic #911 on fox #911 fic #i am an idiot no one look at me #you can take this as crack or fluff whatever #oneawkwardcookie #userisha #userdahlias #tusercourty #janielook #ajlook #laurenlook #novatracks