#who give him the idea of divorcing his ex by literally ending the world

[liauditore]

Hi, I love your art and ive been really enjoying reading all your rambling about characters. Do you have any thoughts about pearl? I dont think she gets talked about nearly enough.

Also, shipping bingo for pearl and cleo?

anon i have so many thoughts about pearl u have no idea

ok uhhhh first off HI UR TOO SWEET???? 😭😭😭😭😭 i never thought so many of you would actually read my unhinged rambles let alone enjoy them LMAO plus my art ok sometimes too ig

i feel like ppl actually give pearl a decent chunk of attention (i would say she gets way more than cleo does) but no amount is too much of pearl for me tbh i always want more so

pearls like uh. the most ever. babygirl. i think scarlet pearl was a bit of a turning point for her but i think she was always.. a little bit messed up. we talk about martyn essentially turning himself into ren's sword in 3L and i think LL pearl and scott have a somewhat similar dynamic, just less in your face about it. <-- thinking about her killing joel for scott multiple times, her essentially donating all her lives to him, etc.

she's a very lonely character i feel like. so the people who she does end up close to she will go insane for, literally being ready for give up her life for them.

if u want me to get hot take-y about it i think that read is why i've never been a big fan of her getting characterized as the crazy ex-girlfriend in fics and such. i always took scott calling her that as his version of events (and slandering her to get the rest of the server on his side), pearl i feel has such a pure devotion and need for love that i cant see her ever really considering romance.

ANYWAY THE SHIP BINGO

soz im a misogynist on this one 😔😔

like every other divorce quartet dynamic i go crazy about it but i don't really "see" anything between these two i guess.

they've always felt kind of detached from eachother to me. like they just can't fundamentally understand one another. pearl is naive but capable of feats way beyond regular people. cleo is all too familiar with the world and endlessly haunted by their own insecurities.

the whole mean girl energy directed at pearl during DL def didn't help their relationship. i like to think that LimL cleo did feel kinda bad about how she treated her? a lot of what cleo does in DL i feel was kind of influenced by scott's behaviour -- i don't think she even really hates pearl (they might even pity her) but she's not gonna be extending a hand out anytime soon either.

but yeah even in another universe where either of them knows how to be normal about their emotions i don't see the possibility for anything more. an apology and return to normal is as good as it's gonna get imo. they're just not close enough.

i also kinda feel that.. idk it's just kind of obligatory? like ppl are clawing and desperate and starving to get some toxic yuri and Trust Me i understand. but idk uh. the ship has to find me yknow. not the other way around. 🙏

#asks #ask games #trafficshipping #pearl/cleo #but yeah talk to me about pearl anytime i love pearl i love pearl i love pearl #trust when i say i wanna like this so bad cus pearlo rlly does feel like a yuri protag to me 😔😔

[mooncrvmbs]

here's one thing i have wanted to put out since the beginning of the colleen hoover fever on bookstagram and booktok. i hate colleen hoover. and i have legitimate reasons to do so. and now that we can all agree that her and her fans are the absolute worst, here, let me list them down for you:

the very first thing that throws me off about her is the fact that she's against putting trigger warnings in her books because "they give away the story". as an author who writes about such triggering topics like assault and abuse, putting a trigger warning is possibly the bare minimum you can do for your readers who may find such topics triggering. not putting them doesn't make your story any better, it just makes you an asshole.

her books are targeted towards young adults. let me explain. i am all for dark romances with morally grey protagonists. but only when they're targeted towards an adult audience, who know how to differentiate their fantasies from real life and not let a mere book sway their morals or beliefs. but her audience is a mostly a group of teenagers who have no idea about the real world. making them read about such blatant romanticization of abuse is so fucked up. which brings me to the next point.

she glorifies abuse. and before you tell me that i have not understood her point, try to look at it this way. her male protagonists are immensely toxic. which is fine. for most part. i have read and enjoyed dark romances with pretty fucked up protagonists. i am not against it, if it's done well and done so for an adult audience. not 13 year old girls. let me elaborate, yeah?

it ends with us, her most popular novel, ends with the female protagonist lily forgiving her abusive husband ryle and divorcing him, all the while pressing no charges against him. he literally tried to kill her, in case you're wondering.

in november 9, her female protagonist ends up with the male protagonist who has been stalking her for years. there's also a scene in the book where he literally thinks about physically tackling her to the ground because she was leaving him. sorry? what?

and then there's ugly love. if i could put my hatred for this book in words, i would. trust me. the male protagonist literally is hung up over his ex for like 85% of the book. he says his ex's name in bed, while having sex with the female protagonist. and she continues to pine for him and expect him to reciprocate her feelings after all he's done to hurt her.

would i hate these as much if they were targeted towards adults? maybe not. they know better than to let these influence their lives. kids don't. and her target audience is kids. literally. somewhere, some kid rn is reading her books and thinking that this is what love is like. that love is supposed to be abusive and pining after the person who hurt you. as an author, one should know about their impact and influence. they should know how much media affects kids. but clearly, hoover doesn't. and i am not surprised.

when you write these, you're telling an entire generation of kids that it's okay to accept abuse as a form of love and forgive their culprits and that's not okay. you're not only fucking up an entire generation of kids, you're invalidating the trauma and sufferings of victims who actually took actions against their abusers.

you're teaching kids to not report their abusers and instead fall for them? sorry? this is what we've come to?

there's this particular line in her newest novel 'it starts with us', the sequel to her novel 'it ends with us' that shook me to the core:

when ryle hurts lily again and lily runs to the love interest atlas, he tells her to report her ex husband. and this is the conversation

you let your abuser go without any reports against him and now that he's back to doing what he always does, you're surprised? honey?

this man could go and repeat the same shit with some other woman after you. how would you deal with that? and you know whose fault it will be? yours. cause you never took any actions against him.

and that's not even the worst of it. this story is inspired by hoover's own mother. there's so much more hoover could've done with this trope. been a voice for domestic abuse survivors. but instead, she chose to do this.

if you are a victim who's in a toxic relationship, please seek help. you do not need to romanticize the worst parts of someone. it's okay to accept that some people will never change and it is not your duty to change them. if they wanted to, they would. you're not a rehabilitation centre.

and i am not even gonna point out the fact that she writes like a 15 year old on wattpad or that she's under fire for silencing the person whom her son assaulted.

i was here to point out her wrong beliefs and morals that she's propagating only cause she has been given a platform by kids and now i am done. so i will leave lol.

and before you come at me for writing this, i hope you never have to go through the horrors of abuse.

here's a video that i found on youtube that gave me the urge to finally write this:

thank you for reading!

#book quotes #books #bookaholic #book store #colleen hoover #it ends with us #it starts with us #verity #ugly love #november 9 #reminders of him #bookblr #bookstagram #booktok #chaotic academia #desiblr #studyblr #desi tumblr #desi academia #bisexuality #booklr #desi chaotic academia #Youtube #zlib #zlibrary #rip zlib

[janeeyreheresy]

Reader, She Married Him

This is why I like Bertha better. Her story would have ended with "reader, I murdered him". Or "reader I divorced him", depending on how dark you want it to get. 

This may sound like I'm contradicting everything I talk about on this blog, but I'm not actually against Jane and Rochester getting together at the end. Let them be happy for all I care. I just want happiness for Bertha. First of all, I want her to escape from the fire and get to safety and second, I want her to get a divorce from Rochester. Sir George Lynn would be able to arrange for that. The only difference is when Jane waltzes back into Edward's life, he's divorced instead of widowed, but that doesn't make one iota of difference. All you need to do is discard the portion of innkeeper's testimony about her jumping off the roof. That's all. 

Yup, that's literally all. 

Have you not noticed?

Neither Jane nor Edward ever mention Bertha. Or the burned down Thornfield. 

Jane narrates her experiences after she ran away, but he's quiet. It's reversed from how it used to be with the two of them, when he always talked about himself. Not this time. No long paragraphs anymore--apart from the one I copied in the previous post. He doesn't even ask how she knew he was at Ferndean. Also, like, she saw a ruined Thornfield in her dream once? A dream she told Rochester she had? And neither one of them makes any reference to it? "Oh hey, Jane, ain't you a prophetess!" He mentions the chestnut tree struck down by the storm, but not her dream. Both are gothic elements. 

Stranger yet, Jane makes no reference to him rescuing the servants from Thornfield. Surely that was a heroic act? "You couldn't go without being a hero and now look at yourself, tsk tsk." Instead they talk about how ugly he is because that is, of course, of the upmost importance.

But nope, nothing from him this time. The guy who at length talked about how the world wronged him has nothing to say about his old family seat having burned down and him being the hero rescuing everyone, including the wife he hated. "I tried to save her, Jane, despite everything." It would have added some tenderness and it would have been the perfect closure on the past. Instead--zilch.

Which suits me perfectly. I don't have to twist the canon into a pretzel to have Bertha survive, so no complaints from me.

The wedding was a quiet one, only the happy couple, the parson and the clerk were present. So exactly how it was with their first attempt at a wedding. Richard and Briggs were not guests.

"And I coveted that wedding invitation so much!" said no one ever. But still I'm entertained at the thought of Bertha, Blanche, Richard and Lord Ingram making their way to the church epic walk-style and sitting down in the front pew. The lovebirds almost suffer a joint heart attack but the uninvited guests are like: "go on, we're just here to wish you good luck" and they leave before the groom kisses the bride. This is not a fanfic idea--they all have better things to do with their time than attend the wedding of such nonentities. Besides, Bertha won't go near her ex-husband. It's just funny to imagine.

Jane comes home from church and informs Mary and John that she married Mr Rochester. She makes a point of the couple reacting to it very quietly, but they probably weren't surprised. Why else would she come to Ferndean if not to marry him now that he was free? I don't know why Jane assumes everyone is as stupid as her. She gives them a five pound note and later overhears Mary telling John that she (Jane) will be better for Rochester than any of the grand ladies. (Boss: "here's your bonus, employee." Employee later: "best boss ever!")

Oh, Jane Jane Jane Jane JANE. Who cares what a servant thinks? What does Mary know of grand ladies? Who cares? Seriously, who cares???

Look, Mary's right. But not for the reasons Jane thinks she is. Grand ladies have a lot going on. Jane is better for Rochester because her whole self is dedicated to him. 

I wrote to Moor House and to Cambridge immediately, to say what I had done: fully explaining also why I had thus acted. Diana and Mary approved the step unreservedly. Diana announced that she would just give me time to get over the honeymoon, and then she would come and see me.

(St John was in Cambridge.)

Give me Diana's email, I want to ask her myself.

No but like, what difference would it have made whether they "approved" or not??? The marriage was legal. It didn't need any approval from the relatives. Besides, I don't see them giving too many fucks. They probably just shrugged, like okay. Jane flaked on them and didn't even invite them to the wedding. She could have waited a few days for them to arrive. What was the rush?

Seriously, what was the rush? This is what Rochester says in the previous (penultimate) chapter:

“The case being so, we have nothing in the world to wait for: we must be married instantly.”

He looked and spoke with eagerness: his old impetuosity was rising.

“We must become one flesh without any delay, Jane: there is but the licence to get—then we marry.”

Jane remarks that it's getting late and they should get back inside (they're in the garden) and eat and he says: 

“The third day from this must be our wedding-day, Jane. Never mind fine clothes and jewels, now: all that is not worth a fillip.”

I thought the licence would have taken more than three days? Maybe it didn't at the time it's supposed be set in. But why this insistence? I repeat yet again, neither of them is going anywhere. If he's afraid she'll do another runner, then he doesn't trust her. She has no reason to do a runner, he's free now. Unless there's, you know, something else going on.

We must be married instantly, we must become one flesh without delay, three days from now it must be our wedding day. You must choke yourself, Edward. Jane gets no say. She changes the subject!

Wait, I think I've just figured it out. "Become one flesh", he wants to fuck her asap. He's been going without for--how long? Too long for a philanderer like him. Assuming John is not bringing him peasant girls to bed. 

I want to also point out the line about the fine clothes and jewels. He says never mind them, they're not worth a fillip, so the reader is to think he's changed. But has he? Jane never had anything but contempt for fine clothes and jewels. These things should not matter for their wedding, because they don't matter to Jane. Not because they're "not worth a fillip". (Also because he can't get them now and also because he can't see so it makes no difference to him what Jane is wearing.) It's like he's not learned that Jane has no need for fine clothes and jewels. He makes it all about himself. If he had said "you'll marry me as you are now because I know you don't give a damn about dresses and jewels." Or heck, even have some dialogue about it. Roch: "I would like us to marry asap, but you might want to get a nice dress?" Jane: "No, Edward, I'll marry you as I am now because no dress matters to me as much as becoming your wife." Give her some agency about it. The day of their first wedding, he rushed her to the church, holding her hand, until she was out of breath. Let her be the boss this time. At least have one nice thing, for example flowers. Once again, Charlotte, I'm begging you, you're not a bimbo for liking nice things. 

Remember that pearl necklace? Rochester has been wearing it underneath his clothes all this time. 

At least someone appreciates it.

Just wondering, what would he have said if Jane wanted to invite Diana and Mary to their wedding? "Can you chill out for a week longer, Ed, it matters to me that they come." 

St John never responded to her letter, but wrote to her six months later, not mentioning her marriage at all. (Okay but how did he addressed it? Miss Eyre? Mrs Rochester?) They write to each other occasionally.

#jane eyre #edward rochester #rochester is a villain #stupid stupid STUPID girl #jane eyre meta

[tropes-and-tales]

A One Time Thing

Colonel Horacio Carrillo x F!Reader

AN:  From the fic idea file and requested by the always lovely, always supportive @thesandbeneathmytoes​.  🌻

CW:  Angst; enemies to lovers trope; smut (PiV; unprotected); 18+ only.

Word Count:  6127

There are many words that can describe Colonel Horacio Carrillo.  Menacing.  Effective.  Driven.  

The word that best describes him, in his own estimation, is meticulous.

To the casual outsider, that meticulousness may seem the result of being in the national police.  Army men tended to that sort of rigid mindset:  perfectly pressed uniforms, painfully neat grooming.  But Carrillo has always been like this, even as a child.  Where other boys were haphazard and messy, he was orderly.  His plastic army men in a perfect straight line on his desk, his books flush with the edge of his bookshelf.

His older brother used to tease him, call him abuelita, until the younger Carrillo socked him and bloodied his nose to stop the teasing.

Carrillo’s ex-wife was cut from the same cloth:  a quiet, meticulously neat woman.  Always perfectly groomed, kept a perfectly appointed home.  Attended embassy events with Carrillo from time to time, and was always a stalwart supporter for her husband….right until the moment she filed for divorce.

It’s unfortunate, but it’s in the midst of his divorce that Carrillo meets you—the newest DEA agent that the United States is lobbing at the war against Escobar.  Mid-morning, a migraine already throbbing in his temple, and you come strolling into the room with a box full of folders and a few personal effects for your desk.  You nod at him; you turn to Peña and Murphy and nod at them.

“Alright, boys,” you say, “the cavalry has arrived.”

Normally, Carrillo would roll his eyes in secret—the particular American-brand of brashness isn’t new to him, though it does irritate.  Normally, he’d grit his teeth and shake your hand and introduce himself, because playing nice with the DEA means that he is that much closer to catching Escobar.  

But he’s got a killer headache.  His wife, who he loves dearly and who has blindsided him with divorce papers, moved out of their home to return to her family.  And here’s you, the opposite of meticulous:  loud-mouthed, hair up in a messy ponytail, eye makeup a little smeared around your eyes from the humidity, carrying a box of paperwork.  When you bend down to set the box on the empty desk near Peña’s, your shirt rides up in the back and exposes a sliver of bare skin that draws Carrillo’s eye and makes his irritation flare up even more.

Sometimes men are hit with love at first sight, but the opposite can be true too:  sometimes a single glance, a first meeting, can inspire utter loathing.

-----

In the months that pass, Carrillo doesn’t warm up to you.

His divorce is finalized.  He keeps the house, but it’s a lonely, half-empty thing now.  Just as well that Escobar is a slippery little fuck—Carrillo has an easy excuse to work long hours and sleep over in his office.

You?  You settle in like it’s nothing, and it should make Carrillo happy to see another DEA agent who can play nice with his men, but everything you do fucking irritates him.  

The way you joke around with Peña and Murphy and his men, cracking jokes about the coffee in the office being so shockingly bad when it’s literally Colombia, the coffee capital of the world.

The way you charm his men with your shitty American Spanish, how you use the formal Usted for everyone because you claim to want to be polite—while Carrillo just thinks it’s the only Spanish you know and that you’re too lazy to learn the informal.  

The way you scrub your hands over your face when you are frustrated, smearing your eye makeup so that you look like a hollow-eyed wraith by the end of each day, but how you refuse to give up the vanity of the effort.  The way you sometimes pair it with a ridiculous red lipstick that blurs around the edges, making you look like you’ve been kissing someone all day.

The way you lose papers, lose reports, lose CIA-plane photos.  Your desk is somewhere under a pile of papers, handwritten notes in your slanting scrawl, little reminders that don’t work because you lose them almost as soon as you write them.

The way you are constantly eating hard candy, sucking on it, clicking it against your teeth.  You claim that it helps you stay off of cigarettes (one year clean, you tell him once, even though he didn’t ask).  The constant crinkling of cellophane, the crunching between your teeth.

The way you jog around the beaten-dirt track inside the complex each morning, an idiot’s errand.  The humidity makes your ponytail stick to you, causes dark rings of sweat to form around the neckline of your t-shirt, the small of your back, under your arms.  The way you stop afterwards, chest heaving as you catch your breath.  The way you wipe your face with the hem of your shirt, revealing your bared stomach and a fraction of your sports bra to anyone who may be watching.  Carrillo, for example.  His men.  

You’re messy, disordered.  You have a chaotic energy that sets his teeth on edge.  It doesn’t help that you’re good at what you do, despite not being organized and meticulous like him.  You seem to have a prodigious memory for details, and a preternatural sense for what drives a person.  

That’s what infuriates Carrillo the most about you, he realizes late one night when he’s thinking over the problem of you:  you’re a messy fucking disaster, but you’re still too good to let go.  He thinks you—more than Peña, more than Murphy, more than any other asshole the Americans may throw his way—may be the one to help nail Escobar.

-----

More months pass.  Escobar dodges every snare and trap that the DEA and Search Bloc set up.  It feels like one step forward, two steps back to Carrillo.

You settle into life in Colombia, life with the DEA.  Carrillo goes out for a drink one night with Peña and Murphy—you are blessedly missing, but it doesn’t stop your fellow agents from talking about you.  About your impressive credentials and successes in Turkey, where you worked to help run down heroin smugglers.

Carrillo can’t quite believe the lavish praise they have for you—just that morning, you misplaced a roll of film from a stake-out, delaying intel by hours before you found it and had it processed.  He rolls his eyes at the men, and Murphy catches the motion.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Carrillo, two drinks in, states the obvious.  “She’s a disaster,” he replies.

“How so?” asks Murphy.

More of the obvious.  He mentions the lost film.  He mentions the mess of your desk, like a cyclone came through and dumped a mountain of papers on it.  He mentions the wire-tap transcript you reviewed and then returned to him with a ring of a coffee stain on it.  He mentions your terrible Spanish.

“She speaks it better than this one here,” Peña points out mildly, jerking a thumb at Murphy.  “Besides, she was in the Middle East for years.  She speaks Turkish and Armenian pretty fluently.”

“Should have stayed in Turkey then,” Carrillo grouses, and Peña arches an eyebrow at that.

-----

The first fight, the opening salvo comes the next day.

Talking about you all evening meant that Carrillo went home and dreamt of you.  Uneasy dreams that he can’t quite remember when he wakes—all he can remember is that you were in them.  It sets him up to have a terrible morning.  He cuts himself shaving; he feels a migraine brewing behind his left eye.

When he strides into the bullpen outside of his office, you’re there.  Chatting with one of his men, a young soldier named Hernandez.  You’re sitting on the edge of Hernandez’s desk, arms crossed but smiling, and the man is laughing at whatever you said before Carrillo came in.

When Hernandez sees his commanding officer, the jovial cast to his face cedes to a serious one.  You turn with a smile and start to wish him a good morning, but Carrillo cuts you off before the first word is even out of your mouth.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he says.  “Instead of flirting and distracting my men?”

You stand up and uncross your arms.  Put your hands on your hips and give him a withering look.

“Excuse me?” you ask.

Carrillo isn’t feeling well anyway, and you’ve been vexing him for months now, like a toothache throbbing in his jaw.  The migraine is already blooming behind his eye, a big red flower of pain that makes the world hazy and sickly pinkish in hue.  It isn’t his finest hour, but for fuck’s sake….you’re keeping Hernandez from important work…

“Get the fuck out of here,” he snaps.  “And go do some actual fucking work.”

You give him one last searching glare, eyes narrowed, but you do just as he says.  You leave.  But if Carrillo thinks he has cowed you, he is sorely mistaken.

*****

You miss Ankara.  The Turkish police and gendarmes had been incredibly helpful and, moreover, friendly.  Your head contact had been an older man named Çelik.  He smoked strong Turkish cigarettes, drank strong Turkish coffee with cardamom, and when he wasn’t helping catch drug runners, he was an unofficial ambassador to his country.  He loved nothing more than introducing you to new restaurants, hole-in-the-wall bars, ornate mosques set like little jewels in the streets of the city.

It’s the opposite of the cold welcome you’ve received in Colombia.  Part of you hopes that Escobar is caught quickly so that you can return to Ankara.

It’s been months and Colonel Carrillo still presents an icy façade to you.  At first, you think it is just the formal reserve of a man of his position.  Then you think it a cultural thing; you think, maybe, that he dislikes Americans.  But he gets along fine with Peña and Murphy, sometimes goes out for drinks with them, so it isn’t that.

Maybe it is regular ol’ sexism.  The Colonel wouldn’t be the first man in your line of work to have an issue working with a woman.  The flirting comment hints at that, especially since you were just chatting with Hernandez about American music—the young soldier has a taste for Tom Petty and Bruce Springsteen.  Hardly a seductive conversation, chatting about blue-collar rock.

Who knows what goes on behind that stern face of Carrillo’s?  You don’t care, honestly.  If he had just stayed reserved and icy, you might have tried to charm him, win him over.  But that flirting comment, especially in front of a room full of his men, crosses a line.  It undermines you as an agent, and it makes you look foolish.

Well, if Carrillo is going to be a prick, might as well match him in his dickish behavior.

It’s childish, of course, but it’s just like when you used to plead your case to your mother after you and your brother got into a fight.  If anyone complains, you’ll just say the truth:  Carrillo started it.

*****

If it’s said that Carrillo has a hobby, it’s that he enjoys history.  Specifically military history, a fact that made his wife (his ex-wife, now) shake her head sadly and remark that the misery of his job shouldn’t be augmented by the misery of history’s wars.

If there’s one lesson in history, it’s that one should never engage in a war on two fronts.

Carrillo has blundered.  He’s fighting Escobar, and now he’s fighting you.

It’s just mild skirmishes with you at first.  His temper now vented at your chatting with Hernandez, it opens a deluge of open dislike for you.  He doesn’t bother to hide it now:  he snaps at you in front of your fellow agents.  Berates you for losing things, implies that you are why they’re losing the war against the cartel, even if no one buys it, including him.

“Where’s the CIA photos of the highlands?” he barks one afternoon, and you shrug in that infuriating way you have.

“I don’t have them.”

“They aren’t in that mess of a desk?  You haven’t misplaced them somewhere?  Taken them home, maybe, by accident?”

You cross your arms and glare at him.  “No, Colonel.”  You spit out his title like it tastes bad in your mouth.  “I did not take the CIA highland photos to my apartment, accidentally or on purpose.”

“Then where the fuck are they?”

Murphy stands up, takes a tentative step towards where the two of you are squaring off.  “They aren’t developed yet.  The lab is working on them now,” he offers.  Peña only sits with his cigarette, those deep brown eyes of his missing nothing as he watches the two of you.

Carrillo refuses to apologize.  He nods curtly at Murphy and then leaves, and he hears your huff of frustration as he does.

-----

Two days later, a form crosses his desk.  It’s a procurement form, standard Search Bloc stuff to request equipment or guns, but it’s not filled out in Spanish.

He recognizes the slanting scrawl, and it’s legible enough that he can read what it says.

Item requested:  Some sort of specialized extraction equipment.  Maybe from the mining sector?

Purpose:  To pull the massive stick out of Colonel Carrillo’s ass

Due by:  As soon as fucking possible

It was dated and signed by you.  You had even taken the time to get it stamped with the official DEA seal.  

If it were anyone but you, he’d laugh.  

Instead, he gives a low growl of frustration.  

-----

Another time, he sees you getting ready to leave for the night.  It’s just you and him in the building; it’s dark except for his office and the pool of light over your desk.  He watches askance as you stand up and stretch.  You pull on your jacket and grab your messenger bag, slinging it across your chest.

You feel eyes on you, and you look up to see him watching you.  If he were anyone else, you’d probably smile at him, give him a wave.  Call out for him to have a good night.

Instead, you reach into your bag and pretend to rummage around.  You pretend to pull something out to show him, but it’s just your empty hand, your middle finger raised for him to see.

-----

An evening out with Peña and Murphy for drinks, and this time you show up.  Late, as usual, and it ruins Carrillo’s entire evening.

The men had been talking about the start of their careers:  Murphy in Florida, Peña in Texas, Carrillo in Bogota.  There is an easy camaraderie between the three of them, and just as Carrillo is relaxing, you walk through the door and settle into the chair across from him, beside Peña.

It takes all of a moment for Carrillo’s good mood to dissipate.  Another moment for the usual bickering to start.  Carrillo takes exception to the fact that you can’t translate the wire-taps on your own.  You point out that Murphy can’t either, so why is the Colonel singling you out?  

You insinuate that maybe he’s sexist.  He doesn’t have issues with anyone but you.  Ergo…

“Because I don’t like you,” he retorts.  “I wouldn’t like you if you were a man either.”

“That’s enough,” Peña says, and he reaches an arm across you because you are rising out of your chair like you finally want to hit Carrillo.  

Instead, you pivot on your heel and stalk over to the bar.  You settle in a stool there, glaring at him from across the room.  Carrillo throws back the rest of his drink and stands up.  He wishes the men a good night and leaves, and he doesn’t hear their commentary when he does.  

You, on the other side of the room, don’t hear it either.

“They’re going to kill each other,” Murphy says.  “I don’t know why it’s so bad between them, but it’s getting ugly.”

Peña only sighs and studies Carrillo’s empty seat for a long beat.  He takes a deep drag of his cigarette, and smoke plumes out of his nose before he answers.

“They just need to fuck and get it out of their system,” he finally says.  “But they’re both too stubborn, so yeah….they may kill each other first.”

*****

You can avoid Carrillo, for the most part.  The level of your interaction with him is up to you:  you can either work with him directly, or you can work with Trujillo.  

You usually work with Trujillo.

Like tonight:  you leave work early in the afternoon to grab a quick nap at your apartment, and then you return to HQ.  You and Trujillo have a stake-out that night.  Originally, it was supposed to be Murphy’s turn, but the man is married.  He deserves to spend as many nights at home with his wife as he can, and you had cajoled him until he agreed to let you take over the assignment.

When you enter the darkened office, though, it’s not Trujillo waiting for you.

It’s Carrillo.

“Fuck me,” you breathe out.  The man is in plain clothes, khakis and a polo shirt under a jacket, and he still manages to look like a fucking cop.  Shirt tucked in tight, belted khakis.  Señor Stick-up-the-Ass.  

Even in the low light you can see his glower.

“I thought Murphy was on tonight,” he says without preamble.

“Murphy is at home with his wife.  This job takes enough of a toll.”  A beat.  “I was supposed to be with Trujillo.”

“He’s also married with a wife.”

The retort is right there, served up to the Colonel.  He can say something biting about you being single, something devastatingly rude in his soft, low voice.  But he doesn’t say anything.  He just sighs and jerks his head at you to follow him, so you do.

-----

The stake-out is tense.  It’s a cool night, by Colombian standards, but the tension is so thick that you can barely breathe.

Carrillo barely speaks.  He keeps it to single words.  Yes.  No.

You match him and barely speak too.  The night passes in near silence.  At one point, a man exits the warehouse, and something about his gait stirs a recent memory.  When you move your arm to point him out, you accidentally brush against Carrillo’s arm.  He jerks away as if you’ve burned him, and you bite back the urge to yell at him for it.  He’s rude, but there’s something about how careful he is to avoid touching you.  Like you are disgusting to him.  Like you’re lower than low, and it bothers you more than you’d like to admit.

“That one there,” you say instead, keeping your voice steady.  “I’ve seen him somewhere.”  

“It’s too dark to make out his face.  How can you tell?”

“From the way he walks.”

Carrillo sighs.  “Where have you seen him, agent?”

You hum and think it over.  You sift through the files in your mind:  the other stake-outs, the questionings….no, not even work-related.  The man exiting the warehouse….he walked the same way as the man at the bakery near your house, where you get your breakfast and coffee every morning.  The same forward pitch, the slight drag to the left foot, as if the leg is a little shorter than the right leg….

You tell Carrillo.  “He works at a bakery near where I live.  His parents own it.  He’s usually out front, sweeping the walk.”

The Colonel snorts.  “Not helpful.”

Your temper goes up a degree.  “Might be worth checking out anyway.”

Carrillo shakes his head and doesn’t answer.  He only turns the ignition and starts the car, and he drives back to headquarters in the same tense silence.

-----

Carrillo refuses to approve any resources to check out the bakery.  For one thing, you live in a quiet part of Medellín.  A safer part where there’s little cartel activity.  For another thing….Carrillo hates you so much that you could probably have Escobar in cuffs in your apartment and the Colonel wouldn’t send a detail to haul the man away.

So you investigate it yourself.  The more you think about it, the more it makes sense:  a bakery gets routine deliveries.  No one would blink at a van or truck backing up to a bakery late at night or early in the morning.  No one would blink at late night activity in the building—that’s when they did their baking for the next day, when the humidity was low and wouldn’t affect any leavening dough.

To an unwary eye, flour and cocaine look much the same.

Sure enough, there’s plenty of night time movement.  More than a small neighbor bakery run by an old man and woman should have.  

You make notes of everything, and you go back to Carrillo to plead your case.

*****

He doesn’t want to hear your flimsy case about the bakery.  He doesn’t want to hear the way you whine, like a child, or how you insinuate heavily that if you weren’t a woman, he’d take you more seriously…

“Stop,” he says.  He holds up a palm to you.  He’s behind his desk and you are on the other side, and it’s late.  It happens all the time, these moments with you.  Murphy goes home at a reasonable hour to be with his wife.  Peña goes off to run down his own unorthodox leads.  Carrillo’s men leave to be with their families, and that leaves just you and him.

He wishes it were literally anyone else from the Search Bloc or the DEA.  Hell, he’d take any random asshole from the U.S. embassy.

But you put in the hours, he begrudgingly admits.  First to arrive, last to leave.  And now, apparently, off-the-books recon too.

“I promise there’s something there,” you tell him, ignoring his silencing hand.  There’s a pleading edge to your voice now.

“We are short men and funds,” he counters.  “I will not authorize a raid on a whim.”

“It’s not a whim!”

“Where’s the proof then?  Am I supposed to risk my men’s lives on your say-so?”

You glare at him from across the desk.  “You take Peña’s word on things all the time.  All that sterling intel he gets from fucking around.”

“I trust Agent Peña.”

“And you don’t trust me, is that it?”

Carrillo studies you a long moment; his cold, silent stare usually unnerves the person on the receiving end, but you only glare back at him.  Equally silent.

You interpret his silence as its own answer.  You nod, as if to yourself, and then stand and leave.

-----

It shouldn’t surprise him when you do an end-run around him, calling in a pile of favors with the embassy.  Word goes up the chain, then comes back down to him, and Carrillo finds himself planning a raid on a bakery in one of the sleepier Medellín neighborhoods.

It does surprise him when the raid proves you right:  it’s a front for Escobar, and in one single night, they round up an embarrassing amount of cocaine and a lot of narcos.  When the last one is loaded into a waiting police vehicle, Carrillo catches sight of you in your DEA vest and sloppy ponytail, looking pleased with yourself.  

*****

You’re too keyed up to go home, and too anxious to join Steve and Javi for a drink, so you do what you always do:  you go to the office.  There’s always leads to follow up on, reports to type out, and the sooner you catch Escobar, the better.

Carrillo is there.  Like always.  You roll your eyes and try to ignore him, but he glances up and sees you.  He gets that fucking look on his face that he does when he sees you, and your temper is sparked.

You’re keyed up, sure, but you’re never too keyed up to not fight.

You saunter over to his office, and you don’t bother to knock because the door is open.  You lean in the doorway and cross your arms.

“Good operation tonight,” you offer casually.  You can see the way Carrillo’s jaw flexes at your words.  His dental bills must be expensive for how much he clenches his jaw and grinds his teeth.

“Who would have thought that a simple bakery would be a front for the narcos?” you continue.  “Who could have made that connection?”

“You here to gloat?”  His voice is low.  A warning.

You shake your head and step into his office.  “No, gloating is childish, Colonel.  I’m here to accept your apology.”

“I’m not apologizing.”  He stands up, and while Carrillo isn’t that much taller than you, he’s much bigger:  broad, solid.  Built like a brick shithouse, as your grandma used to say.  

He stalks from behind his desk and comes to stand in front of you, and you are distinctly aware that he’s trying to intimidate you.  He never gets this close to you—he usually gives you a wide berth.

“If you ever go over my head again, I’ll see that you don’t even go back to Turkey.  You’ll be pushing paper in some regional office in Colorado,” he says.  His voice, usually soft, goes even softer.  He’s trying to be menacing.

You snort.  “Can you even place Colorado on a map?  It’s a beautiful state.  Skiing country.  Not much of a threat, Col—”

He moves at you so fast that you flinch.  He raises a hand to you, and you think, this is it.  Months and months of simmering misogyny and now he’s going to hit me, and you raise your own arm to block the coming blow, but you misread the entire moment.

You’ve misread a lot of things, apparently.  Colonel Carrillo doesn’t hit you:  he hooks that big hand of his around the back of your neck.  He hauls you to him and lays a punishing kiss on you that steals your words and your breath alike.

*****

There are many words that can describe Colonel Horacio Carrillo.  

The word that best describes him, in his own estimation, is meticulous, and that includes being meticulous in his own inner world.

He may be stone-faced to the outside world, but he’s no fool.  Army work, police work can pull a man down.  He recognizes the importance of examining his own feelings, the things that drive him.  Of understanding his own inner workings.

He knows, at the surface, why you irritate him so much.  You’re a fucking mess, a fly-by-night tornado of chaos, and you’re still good.  This sting at the bakery?  A half-assed hunch, and yet it yields more results than months of his own careful police work.

You irritate him because you have some innate knack for this work, and it comes to you so effortlessly.

That’s not all of it, though.  Carrillo has turned over his thoughts, paged through them like a well-worn book. Months and months of it, but it occurs to him all at once the night of the fruitless stake-out with you.

Carrillo wants you.

He didn’t even realize it until he dreamt it.  That night, he had followed you out of the building in his car, followed you for a few blocks until you turned left and he turned right.  An idle thought, what it would be like to follow you home.  To go home with you.  A thought so brief he barely remembered it, but it burrowed into his head.

That night, he had dreamt of you.  And worse, he had remembered the dream when he woke up.

His ex-wife and the few women before her were all of a type:  quiet women who held their strength in their quietude.  Neat women, placid ones.  You are none of those things, and yet…he wants you.

His control is already frayed.  Seeing you at the bakery, the sensuous way you walk even when you’re striding around a raid.  Seeing you brush the hair from your loose ponytail aside, seeing the pleased smile you offer Trujillo and your fellow DEA agents.  

Knowing that if he’d been less of an exacting—meticulous—asshole, you’d smile at him like that.

When his control finally snaps in his office, Carrillo feels inward relief.  He can get you out of his system, he believes.  You’ll either slap him and tell him to fuck off, or you’ll…not, but either way, you will be out of his system.

He catches the surprise on your face when he reaches for you.  You flinch, you raise your arm.  It shames Carrillo—you think he’s going to hit you, and he would never, but that’s how badly he’s done with you…

Your mouth opens in a gasp the moment he kisses you, and he doesn’t give any quarter—he takes advantage and shoves his tongue into your mouth.  He can taste you; he can taste the hard candy you eat all day.  You must have been eating cinnamon candies during the raid.

He can feel your hands on his chest, and he thinks this is it.  She’s going to shove me away.

You do push him away from you, just a little.  Not a shove—just enough to break the kiss and to look at him.  Your face is pure puzzlement, your eyebrows knit together and a frown on your lips.  Your eyes fix on his, like you’re trying to read whatever madness drove him to this point.

But your eyes slip down to his mouth, and then you surprise him:  your hands on his chest twist into fists, the fabric of his shirt gripped as you pull him back to you.  As you kiss him back this time, your tongue meeting his when he resumes his invasion of your mouth.  The feel of you kissing him back, the way you bite his lower lip, the way you groan against him….Carrillo realizes his blunder too late.

This isn’t going to get you out of his system.  He was an idiot to even think so.

Especially given how ardently you are responding to him.  You’ve gotten to him, and maybe he’s gotten to you in a way he hadn’t considered.

There’s no romancing it.  No gentleness.  Barely any foreplay, though Carrillo tries to slow down enough to gauge what you need.  He doesn’t want to just take; there’s a stubborn pride in him wanting to make you enjoy this.  There’s a fantasy there of you wanting more and him denying you, but it’s an idle thought at this point.

One hand on the back of your neck.  The other arm around your waist, and he turns you.  Pushes you back to his desk, and you reach back to shove off the neat stack of files.  Fucking messy, you are, but something thrills in him to see all that paper on the floor of his usually immaculate office.

He shifts the arm around your waist, fumbles with your jeans.  You reach down to help him, your fingers tangling with his.  He’s tried so hard to avoid touching you and now it’s nothing but touching—your soft belly under the hem of your rucked up shirt, your warm curves as he pushes you jeans down, your panties, his hands smoothing over your hips and ass as he hoists you onto the edge of his desk.  

Another moment to free himself, to grip himself and press against your entrance.  He chances a look up at you, the question on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t need to ask it.  You’re gazing back at him with eyes so dark they’re almost black, and you whisper your plea.

“Carrillo, please,” you say, and it’s your same usual whine but it sounds so fucking pretty when you’re using it to beg for his cock.

Any other time, Carrillo’s mind would be clear.  His thoughts would be orderly, step one, step two, next and next.  His mind is hazy now, though, like a windstorm rushing in his ears.  His blood a roar, his heartbeat in his ears and his cock as he leans forward and pushes into you, the wet, tight grip of you, and he growls as he bottoms out in you.

There’s no romancing it.  He’s been celibate for almost a year now.  You are nothing like his ex-wife, and this is nothing like his marital bed.  Love-making with his ex-wife had been a quiet, tender thing with the lights off.  This is carnal and feral.  Not love-making but fucking.

He keeps his arm around your waist, forces you to arch up underneath him as he drives into you.  His other hand on your hair, gathering up the loose strands that have worked free.  Pulls your hair hard to make you bare your throat to him, and Carrillo bends his own head to put his mouth on your pulse point.  To bite you, to make you whine and tangle your fingers in his hair, mussing it.  To steer his head back to you so that you can kiss him.

You feel so good.  He pants out the filthiest words in Spanish, feels his orgasm approaching like a train.  He fucks you harder, punctuates each punishing thrust with a growl, and he’s hammering you so hard that his desk moves a bit each time.  But you take it…and you wrap your legs around his own, spurring him on for more.

Carrillo comes hard, quick.  It takes no time at all for the tension low in his gut to tighten and then snap.  His vision goes white at the force of it, the sharp crackling of pleasure from the core of him and outward.  He remembers where he is, who he’s with, just at the last moment—he pulls out with a second to spare.  He drops his head against your shoulder and groans as he comes against you, his release painting your bared stomach.

-----

The shame floods him as soon as the pleasure fades.  The regret.  He pulls away from you without a word, and he turns away and reassembles himself.

He’s not a complete asshole though.  He turns back to you and helps you off of his desk.  Reaches into a drawer for a handful of tissues, hands them to you to clean up.  Turns his back while you retrieve your discarded clothing from the floor and dress again.  Turns back once you’re dressed.

It’s awkward.  You, usually so assured and confident, can’t seem to think of anything to say.  

Neither can he.

His eyes drift to your neck, and he winces to see the mark he’s left.  A huge red mark that’s already purpling.  

“Did I hurt you?” he asks.  He gestures at your throat, but then he gestures at you in general.  Maybe he was too rough.  He’s never given in to any impulse like that before.  Like a fucking animal.

You shake your head.  Clear your throat like you want to say something but words still don’t come to you.  It occurs to him, suddenly, that despite your assent, that maybe he forced you.  The thought makes him sick, and he asks that question too.

That conjures the words that had been eluding you.  “Oh no,” you assure him.  “Not at all.  You didn’t force anything.”

He nods, sighs in relief.  “We should keep this between us.”

You mirror his nod with your own.  “I won’t tell anyone.”

“A one-time thing.”

“A moment of insanity,” you agree.  “Late night raids can make a person…well, it can mess with judgement.”

“Exactly.”  He agrees with you, but that stings a little.  You didn’t shove him away...was that your own impaired judgement?  

It doesn’t matter.  He nods at you again, tells you to drive home safely.  Watches as you walk out of his office.  You gather your jacket and bag, and you turn to offer him a half-wave from the shadows before you leave.  

It’s a one-time thing.  A bit of madness, as you said.  He’s overworked and stressed and needed a release, and he found it with you.  But it’s over now and he won’t do it again.  It’s out of his system.

That’s what he tells himself, anyway.  When he drives home, when he showers, when he slides between the sheets of his lonely, too-large bed.  When he starts to drift to sleep and his brain slips back to that moment with you, how you felt and how you tasted when he kissed you.  How you whined out his name.  How he didn’t make you come, he doesn’t think, and how that prickles at his pride as a man who always does a thorough job.  Not that he can help it now.  You’re out of his system.

A one-time thing, he promises himself.  He almost believes it.

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas  @massivecolorspygiant​   @imspillingcoffee​   @amneris21​   @paintballkid711​   @mad-girl-without-a-box​   @bestattempt​   @rosiefridayrogersunday​   @strawberrydragon​   @hoeforthefictional​   @greeneyedblondie44​  @leannawithacapitala​   @stardust-galaxies​  @buckybarneshairpullingkink​   @melaniecraig80​   @thesandbeneathmytoes​

#horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo imagine #horacio carrillo x reader #colonel horacio carrillo #colonel horacio carrillo x reader #colonel Carrillo #narcos

[randomluck-ofthe-universe]

Far from me the idea of ​​the conspiracy theory but when we analyze the facts:

- Armie and Timmy turned Cmbyn, fell in love and love each other from a crazy love.

- The career of T takes off, he becomes the actor of all the projects, for his first big role he is nominated to the Oscars at 22 years, everyone wants him, his only name is guarantor of success ...

- Army is white, rich, sublime, married and father. Despite his work in CMBYN, he is not nominated for the Oscar, all the chances that were worn on Timmy. Some think it's his name that got his roles and not his immense talent, and that he does not need to work in this industry.

- For several years after the promo, they continued to click on each other on the social networks , on red carpets, in the talk shows. To be "by chance" in the same cities at the same moment.

- Their agents and PR asked them to stop these manifestations on the pretext that it will harm their respective careers and for Armie in his image as father and husband model.

- A and T are so in love that they can not give up their love and that despite their efforts they lack discretion a few times

- In the summer of 2020, Armie announces its divorce.

- The global pandemic weighs on Armie that gives a troubled image from him to the media and the public. He recognizes problems during an interview for GQ.

In January 2021, the 1st allegations arrive on the social networks followed in March of the accusation of rape ...

All this does not look like a shot mounted?

The divorce announcement may have been the beginning of the end for some, with the risk of the announcement of their coming out and the desire to live their love in front of the world ... which for Hollywood is unacceptable, in this world dominated by the appearances and money. In order to try to separate them definitively and preserve the aura of the young actor who reports money to the industry, who today ramps large roles, and sign of large contracts.

It is not possible that what happens has been organized when Armie was in a state of weakness? Have not been pushed influencers in the arms of Armie within the framework of PR who have hadtened to denounce sexual manners and unacceptable fantasies and then has not been found an old unbalanced liaison to accuse it from rape all this with the blessing of the ex wife who can take revenge for being left? With the hope that Armie is eliminated from the equation definitively ... Even if no rumor has never been released against him.

I love these two men deeply, I love their love and I hope it will end well ...

How to explain this tire on Armie ?

Does it seem plausible to you?

".. but when we analyze the facts.. "

YES.

"All this does not look like a shot mounted?"

YES, again.

"Does it seem plausible to you?"

YES. With a few minor disagreements, but yes.

All this could not happened just by accident, nor could it have happened EXACTLY when they were slowly coming back to interact publicly and being close again, even if they were starting through small details.

There's no way for me that this situation is disconnected from them and their love relationship. The timing has been too timely for being just by chance.

And based on the assumption, the only one we know for sure it’s real, that Armie is innocent and that he’s literally been swamped with this fake shit, one has to wonder WHY.

#anons

[sunaswife]

Summary: It’s been five years since you’ve seen your ex, Rin. He’s still not over you and you’re not over him. When he finds out you have children he thought he didn’t have a chance. Then he finds out they’re his? All of a sudden you’re teaching Suna how to be a single dad.

note from denise: hi hii 🥺 I’m so happy and i love this chapter even though it’s all over the place so I’m sorry plz forgive me 🙇‍♀️

Warnings: Fluff, angst I guess, drama, and cuteness twin overload

Previously Up Next Masterlist

Chapter eight

You heard Hana and Jamie bickering in the living room as you took the burnt part off of the bell peppers you roasted. You were looking out the window in front of the sink every once in a while to check up on the kids. They were having fun playing with their father and uncles. You’ve never seen them smile brighter.

You were happy that they finally had their father, Tobio was a good figure but obviously not their real father. Earlier Rin gave his first scolding to your son for shoving Akira and he also told Akira that calling people idiot wasn’t nice. You couldn’t help but snicker behind your cardigan since he was obviously nervous and a bit awkward but it all worked out in the end. The twins and your best friends were peering through the door at the scene and they were in awe.

It just looked so natural. You, Rin and the kids. All that’s missing is a pet dog or cat. Jamie thought if you and Rin really try then you both could fall in love again and be a nice family all together. She grew up with divorced parents so she knew how tough it could be. She doesn’t want to hear you and Rin fighting in the future about upcoming holidays. Or maybe eventually having to separate the twins.

“Hana do you think you could ask the guys if they want to stay for dinner?” You said from the kitchen. “Oka-“ “No y/n, I think you should do it.” Jamie popped in. “Huh? I’m literally cooking.” You said as you reached into the bag of roasted peppers. Your fingers were stuck onto the black crisps. “You’re trying to avoid them.” She squinted and you rolled your eyes. “No I’m not.” You defended yourself. “Yes you are.” She deadpanned. “You never say no to setting for your kids. Even if you’re busy you tell them to give you five or ten minutes but when Rini asked you straight up said no since you needed to cook. I think that stung him a bit. He probably wanted to show off his skills to his dad.” She said and you frowned slightly. “I mean it’s fine, she’s probably uncomfortable which makes sense. The worst people in the world are just chilling in her house. It makes sense that she’s on edge.” The familiar voice said and you turned to see Atsumu leaning against the breakfast bar between your kitchen and living room. You didn’t want to say he’s right..but I mean..he’s right.

“...would you like to stay for dinner?” You asked awkwardly as Jaime sighed and walked away. “Mmm depends, what are you making?” He teased to try to help you ease up. “Food, either take it or leave it.” You said plainly as you flipped the pepper on the stove. “I miss your cooking so I think I’ll stay. Let me call Osamu so he can help.” He said and you immediately protested. “No it’s fine, you guys are the guests. I’ll feel bad.” You said and he chuckled. “Y/N-Chan..” he started, “Osamu owns his own restaurant, all he does is eat, cook, and work out. He would want nothing more than to help you cook. It’s in his DNA.” He said and you rolled your eyes. “Fine ask Rin if he wants to stay too.” You said. “Oh he’ll want to stay, plus we all carpooled together.” He said and you nodded and he left.

“Yo, we gotta go.” Jamie said from the doorway. “Did you say bye to the kids?” You asked and she nodded. “Sorry Y/N, we have a doctors appointment.” Jamie frowned slightly. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll call you later.” You smiled and she nodded sadly. After a quick goodbye hug they were out the door and Osamu was waiting in the kitchen to help you cook.

“Alright boss, let’s get started.” He said as he washed his hands and you chuckled.

Dinner went good, the kids mainly talked and were the stars of the show. After dinner they wanted to show their uncles and dad their Minecraft worlds on their tablets, courtesy of Tobio.

Suna offered to help clean up but you insisted it was fine and to spend as much time with the kids and he reluctantly agreed and you were left alone.

Your phone buzz after you sat on the breakfast bar to enjoy yet another cup of tea and you almost spilled it when you saw who was calling. “Holy shit, holy shit.” You muttered and the guys immediately turned to you from their spots on the couch. “I’m going to take this phone call I’ll be right back.” You said leaving Rin in charge and you answered while you made your way down the hall.

“Hello?” “Hi is this Y/N? This is Natsuo, the songwriter and director for the soundtrack for Kimetsu No Yaiba. From my understanding you are voicing Nezuko and Shinobu, correct?” “That is correct, sir.” You replied, “Well I stumbled across your portfolio and resume and I phone called your old vocal coach and he said some things about you.” He said. “Well I hope they’re all good.” You chuckled nervously.

“Yes they’re more than good actually and I wanted to offer you the opportunity of singing the opening for the anime, if not then maybe the outro. Would you be interested? Of course you’d have to come to the studio and sing for us and we’ll decide but I wanted to ask first since I know you also work as a volleyball commentator as well.” He said and you gasped.

“Yes sir of course, I would be honored...” you said happily. “Great! I see that you come in the studio on Monday for the read through of the script. Can you come earlier to audition?” He asked and you agreed and set up a time.

Normally any other person would want to audition after but if it’s singing, you can’t eat or drink sweet stuff before because it messes up your throat and you can accidentally burp and embarrass yourself. So you’d rather do the singing audition before and eat whatever is at the snack bar during the read through.

When you hung up the phone you squealed and did a little happy dance. You quickly took a deep breath and you made your way out of your office back to the living room. “Um...where are the twins? The Miya’s I mean.” You asked when you saw that only Suna was chilling with a kid on each side of him. “Osamu needed to check up on his shop and Atsumu had to go to the gym. I decided to stay behind because I didn’t know how long you would take.” He replied.

“But didn’t you all carpool?” You asked and he nodded. “I can Uber. Don’t worry.” He said and you nodded and sat next to Rini. “Kids guess what.” You said happily and they both looked up from their tablets. “I go to the studio on monday—“ “THE STUDIO CAN WE GO?!” They immediately asked with bright eyes. “Uh—I don’t know guys, I’m working and Jamie has work too i don’t know if someone can watch you guys at the studio.” You said. “What time and I’ll go. I can keep them entertained.” Suna spoke up.

“I’m gonna be there for a few hours..I’ll have a read through of the script and a song audition before that..” you told him. “Wait what do you do anyways?” He asked curiously and the kids gasped. “You don’t know what mommy does for a living?! She’s the coolest mom in the world.” Rini exclaimed with extended arms to emphasize the world. “Listen to the voice of the narrator.“ Akira said and shoved the tablet in his hands. It was Peppa pig. Honestly they couldn’t find a cooler role you played in? Even the side characters were fine, but Akira had to choose peppa pig.

Rin listened to peppa as she scolded her little brother Georgie. And finally he heard your voice narrate what happened and his eyes widened. “No way, you’re a voice actor?” He asked and you nodded. “Wow imagine that. You were always so shy and now your voice is heard by millions across the world.” He teased and your face tinted.

“Well when you put it like that it freaks me out!” You snatched the tablet from his hands and the kids looked at each other with raised brows. “I’m only kidding. But it’s pretty amazing that you do that. Any big roles you’re playing soon?” He asked. “I may or may not be acting in Kimetsu No Yaiba.” You said which was a manga series you both were obsessed with when you were together. “Say sike right now.” He gasped and you gave him that I’m serious face.

“Congrats Y/N. That’s freaking amazing. May i ask who you’re voicing?” He asked and you shook your head. “That’s a secret.” You said and he sighed. “Man got my hopes up for nothing.” He muttered causing your kids to giggle.

“Momma we invited dad to the field trip tomorrow he said yes.” Akira spoke up and your eyes widened. “Wait what—“ “I didn’t necessarily say yes. I wanted to make sure it was cool with you, first. They told me that they were homeschooled and you take them to different places for field trips all the time.” He tried to correct Akira and you nodded.

“Well...I mean..if you want to go then it’s fine. We’re going to an aquarium.” You said and the kids gave him puppy dog eyes. “Alright I’ll go then. It’ll be fun and you guys can show me what you’ve learned.” He smiled softly and the kids cheered. Is this really a good idea? You don’t know. But if your kids are happy, then you’re happy.

“Rin It’s getting late they have bath time and then they need to sleep.” You told him as the kids ran up and down the hall racing with Rini’s toy cars. “Alright then I’ll leave.” “I’m not kicking you out of anything-“ “No it’s fine I get it. I’ve intruded in your territory long enough.” He chuckled and you nodded. “Children of the corn! I’m leaving.” He called and immediately the kids emerged from the hallway and began whining and protesting. “You need to take a bath then go to bed. It’s late. I’m seeing you tomorrow anyways.” He knelt down on his knee to be of eye level with the kids.

“But we don’t want you to leave. I won’t sleep if you don’t read me a story.” Rini pouted and Akira nodded and you both sighed. “Fine, I’ll read you a bed time story and you will go sleep.” He told them and they nodded.

You rounded up the kids for a bubble bath and Rin was sitting on the counter as you explained what kind of kids soap you use and such. But he was mostly watching the kids play with the bubbles. “Hey Akira do you think I’ll look cool with my hair like this?” Rini asked with his messy wannable mohawk, he looked more like the grinch. Akira looked at her brother and snorted. “You look like a troll.” She muttered causing Rini to pout. “You’re so mean.” He mumbled. You got the shower head and told Akira to close her eyes as you finished washing her hair and body and she was finished. “Do you wanna try to finish Rini while I change Akira?” You asked Suna and his eyes widened. “I only know how to bathe my dog, I don’t know how to bathe a kid.” He protested. “Weren’t you watching me?” You asked. “I was distracted with the bubbles, okay.” He deadpanned and you sighed. “Rini help your dad.” You said plainly and left despite Suna’s protests.

“Alright princess, let’s get you dried up and ready for bed, yeah?” You asked the shivering girl in your arms and she nodded. You placed her on the bed and dried her hair a bit and you began to put on her lotion. You helped her into her underwear and she wanted to wear her fox onzie so you began helping her feet in when Rini stumbled in naked with Rin chasing after him with a towel. They were both soaking wet.

“Oh my god.” You sighed. “Boys.” Akira mumbled and you nodded. “You’re worse than washing a dog.” He said as he held him and dried his hair. “Woof.” Rini snickered and Suna flicked his forehead. “I’m soaking wet now.” He deadpanned to his son. You zipped up Akira after successfully placing her in her onzie and you moved on to your son. “Stop giving your dad such a hard time, he’s new to this whole parenting thing ya know?” You told him as you began to rub his face with lotion. “Akira go brush your teeth.” You told her and she pulled her dad along with her. “What do you want to wear to sleep?” You asked. “Can I wear my Fox onzie too?” He asked and you nodded. “Of course.” You replied and helped him into it too.

Rini went on his way to brush his teeth and you were met with the view of Rin helping his daughter floss and you just wanted to melt. This was so freaking cute. You don’t know if your heart could handle the cuteness. “Alrighty next victim!” Rin said and picked up Rini. He began to help him brush his teeth. You helped Akira down from the counter and she went off to look for a good book. You decided it was best to get one of Tobio’s shirts and shorts he had lying around for Rin so he wouldn’t get sick.

When Rini finished brushing his teeth, he went out to help Akira search for a book. “Are you still soaked?” You asked and Suna nodded. “Here wear this so you won’t get sick.” You tossed him some gym shorts and a random T-shirt. He gave a small thanks and you closed the bathroom door to leave him to change. “Alright where are my little foxes?” You hummed and you found your little demons kids jumping on your bed and patiently waiting to read. “Why aren’t you both in bed?” You asked and they stopped jumping and turned to you. “We wanna sleep here with you and daddy!” Rini said and you almost choked on air.

WITH RIN?! ARE THEY CRAZY OR CRAZY?

“Baby he’s not spending the night. He’s only going to read you a bedtime story then leave. You’ll see him tomorrow when you wake up.” You told them and they both had the saddest look on their faces. “But we wanna sleep with you and daddy. Please can he spend the night. Please please please!” Akira begged.

“I don’t mind if you don’t. It’s only for the night.” Rin almost whispered in your ear and you turned your head to him. “Are you sure? What about tomorrow? What are you going to wear?” You asked, “We can stop by my apartment in the morning before we head out.” He said and you raised a brow and turned back to your kids they were already comfy on the middle of your bed and you released your nth sigh of the day. “Fine, one night.” You answered and grabbed your pajamas and left to the bathroom to change.

When you returned Rin was on the left side of the bed with Rini right next to him. Akira patted your spot on the right side and you sat against the headboard of the bed. The twins had two books they wanted you both to read but they all fell asleep while you read the second one. You looked to see Rin, Rini and Akira sleeping and you can never get over how similar they looked like Rin. You quietly hopped out of bed and put the books away and turned off the lights.

You woke up to the sun shining on your face and arms around your waist. You felt a weight on your chest and you sighed and opened your eyes. You blinked a few times to make sure you weren’t seeing things but sure enough, Rin was sleeping on your chest. Just like old times and you tried to control your breathing. You don’t want to be the type of ex who yells and they fall off the bed. You realized the kids were not on the bed too and if Rin was cuddling you, then they must have been gone for a while.

“Rintarou—the kids—WAKE UP!” You quickly shook him and he opened his eyes and quickly moved away. He felt around him and he noticed the kids weren’t there. You both paused in silence to see if you can hear them but when you didn’t you quickly yeeted yourself off the bed with Rin following right at your tail. You opened the door to the twins room and you saw them in their own bed hugging their plushies. You held a hand over your chest and you leaned against the doorframe. “My heart literally dropped.” You turned to Rin.

“Mine did too. Do they usually do that?” He asked. “No, never.” You sighed and closed the door.

The twins opened their eyes and they looked at eachother from across the room. “I told you mom would get a heart attack. We’re lucky she didn’t cry.” Akira whispered. “Whatever at least they cuddled together like a nice married couple.” Rini whispered back and Akira nodded. “I hope mommy and daddy get back together.” Akira said. “They will, our plan is perfect.” Rini whispered mischievously and Akira smiled.

TAGLIST IS CLOSED

🏷: @therealwalmartjesus @differentballooncollection @aaesuki @atsunflower @dope-squish @prettysetterboiss @june-phantom @tomo-uwu @austriasmariazelle @xrnia @katsulia @aprettyfruit @shut-your-eyes-kiss-me-goodbye @tvbiio @sun-daddy-yoriichi @kamenoyaki @ppangiiroo @loeyprivvv @kmskj92 @lovinnoya @sarahvvictoria @tris-does-stuff @mokkeguts @sunaluvr6969 @bara-rose-would @sempiternal-amour @volleybloop @leykyuu @bokutoichigo @stfucanunot @iloveanime69 @tpwkatsumu @ohshirabu @shoutosimp @mqrinqcele @bokutosdivineass @anngelllla @toworuu @hidden-otaku-stuff @seijohiselite @caxsthetic @aquariarose @hhwanggu @bakuhoetoedoroki @yoozuku @osamus-onigiri @akaashi-todorki @donica95 @kakaokenma @airheadpillar

#haikyuu suna #miya atsumu #suna rintarou fluff #suna rintarō #suna x reader #haikyuu x you #miya osamu #suna imagines #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! x reader

[spade-snax]

Alright! Here goes my Bugsnax Grumpus last name headcanon!

(This ended up being way longer than I thought it would've been, oh god-)

I think we all can agree that the headcanon where a Grumpus child has their parent's combined last names as their own last name is a very common headcanon people share. It's a good one! Even I like it a lot. And when applied to OCs or fankids it makes for some hilarious names.

It'd make sense in-canon and I feel like it gives the Grumpus world more depth as their own little tradition. (Honestly give me ANY culture/tradition headcanon for Grumpuses PLEASE THOSE ARE MY FAVORITEEEE I even had one for teeth a while ago that I may share publicly one day!!)

But I've been thinking about this, especially because of Cromdo and my own OCs - Neddy and Rason Honeyfidget. With Rason being Neddy's dad, if we only used this headcanon then Neddy shouldn't have this last name... Well, there's a lore reason why he doesnt and that is that his mother has died while he was still an egg, a while before hatching. Rason made him take on "Honeyfidget" only.

But that's just the backstory that got me thinking at the name traditions as a whole, so I'll try to avoid OC talk any further to make this friendlier for others who do not know about my OCs and are just interested in reading this headcanon.

Another headcanon I want to mention as I apply it to my own is the headcanon that Triffany changed her last name to Bronica's last name as a way to honor her. You can definitely change your name to anything you want in the Grumpus world, but changing your last name to a relative's like your grandparent's last name is possibly quite common!

And now I want to bring up Cromdo and the fact he is divorced. It has been confirmed that Cromdo is divorced and that his name may reflect that. (Though originally it was answered in the AMA that "Cromdo Face" just sounded funny at first and that it is possible that he did loose a half of his last name this way!)

Also I want to say that he wasn't abusive to the child mentioned! I remember there was a small confusion and drama about that. And I believe one of the devs on the YH discord mentioned that the 1# tie was a reference to Octodad. I do not remember if that confirmed that he is a father or if this answer by Sage was possibly wrong. He cannot see the child because he lost custody of them and lost in court. I do not have screenshot evidence of this. On a side-note I believe this could be one of the reasons he grew to be so money hungry. He didn't have enough money back then to keep his child. Again I want to say it could be ONE of the reasons and not the exact reason why he is this way.

This is more so of an ramble about my headcanon and what I want to say rather than some comprehensive thing, I am so sorry dfwergeg it's just how I write and explain things and I gotta mention it ALL (Great addition to "Guzma, your ADHD is showing")

Anyways, back on track with my HC.

But in this/my headcanon - Cromdo is divorced, he has had a child, and lost a part of his last name because of the divorce. I do not know how human marriage last name and stuff works properly so uh, see this as just speculation about a fictional species' culture rather than a carbon copy of our own. Which it clearly isn't LOL

I personally think that you can do multiple things with your last name when you get married! (And how it can affect the child's last name!)

Let's use Chandlo and Snorpy as examples, because I think they make great last name combinations. (And Snorplo is HELLA !!/pos)

- You can change your last name to your partner's last name, like we do commonly. (At least, with all the cultures I'm aware of and how marriage works for us.) Examples: Snorpy Funkbun, Chandlo Fizzlebean

(This one isn't very common to do!)

- You can change one half of your last name to a half from your partner's last name. Examples: Snorpy/Chandlo Funkbun/Fizzlebun

(Not as common either, but it still happens. It is actually more common than the first example. This was the case for Cromdo. I'll get back to this later. Grumps usually reserve this for their childen, which is the most common way of naming your children!)

- You keep your last name after marriage! Example: Snorpy Fizzlebean. Chandlo Funkbun. Canon examples would be Wambus and Triffany as well!

(Most common one to do as many wear their last names with pride or for other reasons - such as Trifanny when she changed her last name to Bronica's last name in this headcanon.)

Before we get to the kids again, I'm gonna go back to Cromdo and what can happen during divorce.

During divorce you can simply change your name back if you changed it, or keep the last name you took from your partner. Many simply change their last names back to what they were originally. Some, if they went by the half/half method, take away the half from their ex-partner only. This leaves some Grumpuses with one worded last names, such as Cromdo.

I think he changed a half of his last name during marriage. After the divorce, he didn't want to "wear" his partner's name anymore and changed his name to Cromdo Face only as Face was a part of his last name he was given at birth. This is most often the default for Grumpuses who have been divorced and took only half of their partner's last name.

If Cromdo - (or any Grumpus with a one-word last name! There's certainly rare cases of Grumpuses who have one word that didn't go through divorce. Possibly Grumpuses with bad attachment to one of their parents - so they change or remove that half of the last name they got from said parent. If their last name was a combination.) - were to re-marry he could take one half of his new partner's last name, or not change his name at all.

I want to get onto how naming a child would work with this situation, so I will talk about ways of naming children before I get back to this! And by naming I of course mean the last names only, lol.

(One rule is that, unless you change your name later in real life for any reason, it's gonna have to be one of these otherwise! Your Grump parent cannot make you up a new last name. It is just a part of the tradition they have. Though re-naming isn't looked upon in any way by the majority of Grumpuses as there are many reasons to do so!! Unless you're a jerk or you value your last name TOO much.) (Also when I say "you" I don't mean YOU as the reader literally. I mean a hypothetical Grumpus child!! It's just how I like wording things.

(...I've been writing for almost an hour, brain scrampled eg)

- Your last name is the combined name of your parent's last names. Examples: Fizzlebun, Funkbean

(VERY COMMON! Most Grumpuses will do this when first naming their child!)

- Your keep one of your parent's last name! Fizzlebean or Funkbun.

(This all works if you have multiple parents btw! Can make for SUPER crazy long and funny last names. This *all* applies to marriage, too! I hope it is easily applicable. I do not want to go in depth on that. Feel free to hit me an ask about this if you want me to explain it more in depth!! I wouldn't want to exclude polyamorous relationships ^^ )

(Also yes, last names that are just the same word repeated twice/multiple times are possible too. Fizzlefizzle, Funkfunk... How fun are these to say? Gives me Grumpus OC name ideas already.)

But yes! Back to Cromdo! Or any Grumpus in the same situation, but as I've stater earlier, Cromdo is just an example here. If he were to re-marry and NOT change his name, there's two posibilities:

His new partner has a full last name.

In this situation, if they have a child they can keep the full last name from Cromdo's partner. Or they can have one word from his partner + Face. For reasons stated below the child cannot have "Face" as their only last name.

His new partner has a one-worded, short last name like he does.

In this situation, if they have a child they have to name it a combination of their last name's. No exception. Having a short last name is a sign of something happening in your life, and it is traditionally not put onto a child, unless they are adopted with no last name. That still counts as something that happened in their life, as their birth parents possibly just gave them away with no care in the world.

------------------------------------------

At this point I am almost completely off track, so please do ask me questions as I am not sure where I completely left off - Or rather if there is something I forgot that I wanted to mention.

By the way, for combining last names and such, you can also mis-match! Doesn't even have to be combinations. This applies to everything, even for (Full last name + one-word last names) where it makes sense the most. Examples: Beanfizzle, Bunfunk, Bunbean, Bunfizzle, Beanbun, Beanfunk. I'm personally a big fan of Bunfunk and Beanbun :P)

And this applies to siblings, too! It isn't uncommon for parents naming their children mis-matched last name combinations if they have multiple ones. (This ties into my headcanon for Filbo's many siblings and that he isn't a single child. He's in a big household and has at least 2 siblings. ONE OF WHICH I want to make into an OC! This requires me to make the parents, too, but I am not so bothered about that :P)

I'm out for now, all my brain power has left me a few paragraphs ago and I've got to go eat lunch

But again I encourage people to ask me questions (If anyone was brave enough to read through this!!)

And if I got anything wrong, do let me know! I am not all-knowing and I could've missed some VERY OBVIOUS mistakes.

And sorry if the writing is wonky at times! Sometimes it is done on purpose but sometimes the fact I only pretend I know how to write + the fact English is my second language IS SHOWING

(Also I sometimes just write how I think, without much thought put into the sentence if I don't proof read, so HSDFWERGRGT)

#bugsnax #longpost #long post #long #bugsnax hc #bugsnax headcanons #bugsnax headcanon #i wanna make sure i tag this right edfwerg #brain scrampled eg.....

[snackhobi]

pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

--

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

--

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn. 

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision. 

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

--

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better. 

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting. 

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time. 

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze. 

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne  glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter  (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would. 

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer. 

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp. 

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before. 

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth. 

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away. 

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic. 

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say. 

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

--

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later. 

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast. 

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you. 

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting. 

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter. 

“That’s for certain,” she says. 

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty. 

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again. 

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too. 

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps. 

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob. 

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

#yoonji x reader #min yoonji #yoonji smut #cypherwritersnet #bts smut #bts oneshot #one day I'll learn how to efficiently use tags... one day #joy.masterlist

[jawritter]

Where The Green Grass Grows

Chapter 3

Summary: Life changes, nothing ever stays the same. With most change comes with some degree of pain, that’s how we grow.

Jensen thought he had his whole life planned out, written for him in the bright lights of Hollywood. One failed marriage later, and a lifetime of lessons learned, lead him home to a place he thought he’d left behind him when he was only a teenager.

He thought his life was over. He felt like he’d lost everything, but who knew one little trip to the local diner that had just opened up outside of town would turn his whole world upside down. All because he met you. Maybe a little slower pace of life isn’t such a bad idea after all…

Warnings:  Language, Angst, mention of past OC character death, mention of grief, fear of moving on.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word  Count: 1652

Dividers: @firefly-graphics​

A/N: This fic is unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work. Feedback is golden! I hope you all enjoy this one!!

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“Ugh! Is this day ever going to end!” you groan as you flop down onto the unoccupied stool that was sitting in front of the bar. Old country music was blaring overhead and the chatter of customers filled the room. The smell of fast food was always so thick in this place that sometimes you felt it was suffocating, and today was one of those days. 

You wanted nothing more than to go home and sink into a hot bath with a glass of wine and a book. You only had one more hour, if you could just make it one more hour, then you could go home. 

“You��re getting out of here before closing at least,” Jess said as she came to drop some ones and fives into the cash register beside you. “I’m stuck here until closing tonight.” 

You were just about to point out how she would at least get good tips with it being a Saturday, but the sound of the door chiming alerted you both to the incoming customer, and you could tell by the grin on her face who had just walked in without even having to turn around. 

Jensen had been coming in every day since he’d come in that Sunday after church with his family. At first, he would come in and not say a lot, just sit at the bar or back corner booth and order his meal. He would try and make light conversation with you, nothing too alarming or out of the ordinary of what any other regular does. 

Then about a week in he started to try and make more in-depth conversations with you as you worked around him, either cleaning tables or waiting on him specifically. 

Jess had been running around you for days now insisting that Jensen had a crush on you. You yourself were not as convinced as she was. Sure, he was devastatingly attractive, and sure, he was an absolute sweetheart; but that didn’t change the fact that no matter how attractive you found him you were not in his league. 

“Hey ladies,” he said, flopping down next to you, and giving you a soft smile that seemed to make your knees weak every time he did that. 

“Well, well, look who’s back already,” Jess quips to him with a smirk of her own. Jensen laughs a little and shakes his head before taking the drink that she was handing him from across the counter. He’d been in here so much that you both could just about guess his order before he even got around to telling it. 

“I had to see my favorite girls,” he said, throwing his arm around you playfully, and causing a blush to burn deep in your cheeks. You were slightly thankful for the bell ringing that told you table three’s order was ready. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Jensen, and if he saw you blushing you were sure you would literally die on the spot. 

You could feel Jensen’s eyes on you as you grabbed the tray of burgers and fries, and made your way over to the table where your customers were waiting. You were hoping that it would give you enough of a moment to collect your nerves before making your way back over to the bar where Jensen and Jess were still sitting. 

You had been doing some research on Jensen since you’d met him that day he’d left you the note and the large tip. Some things he’d already told you. Like his long-running show ending, the divorce he’d recently gone through, he’d told you about his three kids. The thing that bothered you the most, aside from why the hell he was hanging out here with you, was why they divorced?

He had still not told you that much, and you didn’t want to just out and out ask him, but the tabloids seemed to think it was because he was a cheater, and then some think it was because she cheated, which leads to a whole new set of rumors that go from Jensen being an abusive husband, to Danneel being a whore, and it was impossible to tell what was true and what was false. 

You knew it shouldn’t bother you, and you were in no way going to ask him what happened with his last marriage, but you wanted to know all the same. Your eyes drifted up to meet his piercing gaze as you grabbed the empty napkin holder from the table to replace it with a fresh one, and he sent you that same soft smile.

He was so contradictory to everything you had ever heard about celebrity men. He seemed so kind. He listened when you talked to him, and seemed legitimately to care about what you were saying. He was so self-sacrificing in everything he seemed to be involved in, and whatever he was doing, he seemed to put his all into it. He was passionate and caring, and everything any girl ever dreamed of getting when she was grew up.

The only problem you had was the fear that these feelings were one-sided and that you were mistaking his kind personality for something more, even though you knew you were nowhere near this man’s type. 

You had seen the pictures of his ex-wife, and you knew there was no way you’d ever be able to measure up to someone as beautiful as she was. So you knew that you had to get these emotions, this crush, under control before he comes in one day with another pretty girl on his arm, and it was all over for your heart. 

Why did you have to have a crush on someone so completely perfect, and at the same time so completely out of reach as soon as you decided to try and put yourself back out there? It was unfair at best, and tragic at it’s worse.  

Taking a deep breath you make your way back over to your current seat, and look up at the clock. Jensen didn’t miss the small glance and turned on his seat to face you fully, his gorgeous bowed legs spread and his knee touching yours, but he didn’t seem to mind or at least notice. You, on the other hand, you noticed, and it took a lot to concentrate because of the small contact his body was making with your own. 

“So, when do you get off today?” Jensen asked, grabbing a fry and shoving it in his mouth as a plate of food was placed in front of him.

“In about thirty minutes,” you tell him with a deep sigh, it had been a long shift. 10 am to 7 pm was the worst because it took up most of your day, and you got the bad end of both shifts, lunch and then dinner rush. 

“Oh,” he said, his handsome face falling a bit. “I was hoping I’d have a little longer to talk to you before you got off. I would have come in sooner, but I was on a Zoom call with my agency,” he said, some stress returning to his shoulders as he busied himself with his fries again. 

“Well, I’m here for a little bit,” you tell him, giving his knee a playful nudge with yours and earning a cheeky chuckle from him. “Are you getting ready to go back to California anytime soon?” you asked him, more than a little afraid of what the answer was going to be. 

You had gotten used to him coming in every day, and you didn’t like the thought that he might be leaving again. 

“No, not now anyway. That was just check-in and updates, more a waste of time than anything.”

You hoped the amount of relief you felt didn't show on your face as much as you thought it must have, and you had to bite down on your lip to stop the smile that started to creep up there. When you looked up at him you wondered how it was possible that his eyes could sparkle like that all the time.

“Well, what are you going to be doing then Mr. Ackles. You’re going to get tired of being here every day after a while. Texas doesn’t have as much to offer as L.A. I’m sure.” 

Jensen hummed and you could have sworn that his eyes traveled down to your lips before looking back up to meet your eyes again. 

“That’s a matter of perspective sweetheart.” 

You thought that you heard his voice dropped a whole octave, and you had to suppress the shudder that wanted to roll through your body. You hadn’t noticed that the two of you had been gravitating closer to one another while you were talking until Jess came and cleared her throat loudly from behind the bar. 

“You two love birds better be careful now, Y/N is still on the clock, and table six needs a refill.” 

Jensen clears his throat and sits up quickly, grabbing his drink as if his life depended on it, and you turned towards the counter as if you had been shot. 

“I’ll just go get that,” you mumble as Jensen chuckles and watches you run off to refill the drinks.

“Keep trying Jensen, she’ll come around,” Jess told him, and Jensen gave her a tight smile in return. 

“Oh, I don’t give up so easily on something I want,” Jensen said as he took a healthy bite from his burger, his eyes still trained to you as you talked to your customers. 

He didn’t know how, but he had to get you to open up to him. He thought he’d never feel this way about someone again after his world fell apart, but you were just the breath of fresh air that would keep him from drowning.

@deandreamernp

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#jawritter #jensen ackles #dean winchester #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #jensen ackles x reader #spn #jensen ackles x you #jensen x reader #jensen x you #x reader inserts #where the green grass grows

[dewitty1]

Fic Recs Wrap Up  -  August 2020 (੭ˊ͈ ꒵ˋ͈)･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

A Convenient Impracticality by firethesound @firethesound

Somehow Harry ends up agreeing to a fake relationship with his ex-nemesis-turned-friendly-acquaintance-with-benefits, except for some reason it involves an awful lot of actual dating and, sadly, not much sex. Confused? Harry is too, but when has anything with Draco Malfoy ever been as straightforward as it seems? Rec Post

A Series of Neighbourly Epistles by slytherco @slytherco

Harry finds himself in a very awkward spot when he calls the Aurors on his neighbour… having very loud sex. As in not actually killing anyone. He writes him a disgruntled note and thus begins a very interesting exchange. When they finally decide to meet, Harry’s not quite prepared to find out who his mystery neighbour turns out to be. Or for everything that happens next, for that matter. Rec Post

Cassiopeia Lily Malfoy by GallaPlacidia

In eighth year, Harry had a toxic fling with Draco Malfoy. Ten years later, a little girl shows up, begging for Harry's help. Could the two be connected? And did Harry misunderstand what Draco was trying to tell him, the last time they spoke?

Feat. angry 8th year Harry being truly horrible to Draco, Draco writing a lot of letters he never sends Harry, and the most Gryffindor-Slytherin hybrid ten-year-old you've ever seen. Rec Post

Sex, Lies, and Veritaserum by lettered @letteredlettered

This entire fic is one long conversation about sex. Rec Post

Will you be my daddy? by SasuNarufan13

After Draco divorced from Daphne, Scorpius is set on finding a second daddy, because Draco told him he only loves men. He has even made a list. Then he meets Harry and he's dead set on getting him as a second daddy. Will he succeed? Rec Post

As Souls From Bodies Steal by Femme (femmequixotic) @femmequixotic

Hope may be found in the oddest of places, even in the bleakness of winter. Rec Post

Gravity by _Melodic_ (Sae)

Harry hasn't seen Malfoy in nearly two years--not since that thwarted kiss during Eighth year. When he stumbles across him working at a bookshop, his whole world is turned upside down. How does he deal with all these feelings that have come rushing back to the surface? And what about the pesky matter of Malfoy's new boyfriend? Rec Post

IDK My BFF Hermione? By lettered @letteredlettered

Draco's a hot mess. Harry's lovin' it (hell yes). Rec Post

₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡ Here are some other fics you might enjoy-

It Gets Better by kaikim  @thoroughlycollected

As much as the big picture matters, it only comes together if the details are all right.

Ten years after The Second Wizarding War there's a mysterious curse plaguing Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Ron, Hermione, and Harry come together again to save the school. When the evidence starts to point towards Draco Malfoy as the only one who can break the curse before it's too late, the three friends agree to convince him to help. But first, they're going to have to find him, and no one has seen or heard from Malfoy in five years. (note- I have not read this at this time, but it’s on my MFL)  Art post by @zigster-ao3

Running on Air by eleventy7 @tinyhistory

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects. Art post by @saleiba-tu Art post by @bluebutter-art

Where I Feel Safest by Ladderofyears @clemandben

Draco has a mild phobia of thunderstorms. His boyfriend Harry comforts him. Art post by @miakagrewup

A Different Kind of Meaning by p1013 @p1013

The ceiling doesn't hold any answers, but there are cobwebs scattered across the corners with shadows tangled in their threads. The rug against his back is rough and scratchy, threadbare and devoid of colours other than various shades of brown. Harry takes it all in, absorbs the dingy and depressed state of his home. There's a pointed moment of decision, a note about to be played, a silence about to end, and then he rolls to his feet and sets to cleaning. 

It's the first constructive thing he's done in years. Fic Claim Post

Modern Love by tackytiger @tackytigerfic

Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is.

And it really doesn’t seem fair that Draco Malfoy is back in Harry’s life, all of a sudden, and even though he’s wandless, and living with Muggles, and making his mother cry with his lifestyle choices, he’s happy. So what's he doing right, that Harry isn’t?

Because things don’t really change, do they? And if Harry can’t be happy, he’ll settle for a good night’s sleep, some posh antiques, and the opportunity to find out what Malfoy has been up to for all these years. Fic Claim Post

Returning Tides by Zigster @zigster-ao3

Is my timing that flawed? Our respect run so dry? Yet there's still this appeal That we've kept through our lives Art claim post by @zigster-ao3

Keep Holding On by gnarf & MaesterChill @gnarf @maesterchill

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry and Draco both fall into their own battles with their mental states. Draco is sent to Azkaban, and Harry turns to drinking, hoping to forget.

Months later, Harry visits St Mungo’s new ward on the request of a friend, only to find Draco in a deep vegetative state.

Not willing to give him up, Harry stays by his side, while simultaneously dealing with the Ministry's newest grand idea to make everything worse.

Making new allies, and losing old ones along the way, will hopefully be worth it in the end. Fic Claim Post

In Love With the Ferret by Pineau_noir @pineau-noir

Harry has never been the most observant bloke. Sometimes to the point of him not realising his feelings for a particular pointy, pale git. And it's not his fault if literally everyone else knows about said feelings except for Harry and the git in question. So it's really not his fault, when faced with the scope of his feelings, he suddenly has a hard time talking to one Draco Malfoy. Or looking him in the eye. Or not being a total weirdo around him.

There's nothing to do but take the advice of his friends and try to woo Draco over dinners with friends, Ministry cases, and an unfortunately named Italian restaurant.

Harry just can't stop the flutter in his chest when he sees Draco smile. Art Post by @caroll-in

That’s all I’ve got for you at the moment, my lovelies! I hope you enjoy these! I’ll see you soon with more recs. As always, Thank You for reading, following, liking, & reblogging!

Love Y’all! (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*。 xoxoxo Carey  💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖

#Fic Rec Wrap up August 2020 #Drarry fic recs #fic recs #Drarry #Drarry fanfiction #Drarry squad #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #Drarry smut #Drarry fanart #Carey's bookmark fic recs #Carey's personal bookmarks

[cheershalo]

By request, here are some of my favorite angsty fics in order longest to shortest. Some of these are angstier than others but I wanted to give a good range!

*note: make sure to read the tags because some of these deal with heavier topics! take care of yourself!

*also: most of these are b!L because that’s what i like to read! smut or no-smut is marked as well as the basic tags!

Remember to leave kudos and comment on all these lovely fics if you decide to read!!

💔 pray for some sweet simplicity by @eeveelou​ | E | 237k | abo | b!L - (motorcycles, racer louis, journalist harry, slow burn, a classic)

An AU where motorcycle racing is the biggest sport in a heavily divided world, Louis is trying to take control of his own destiny, and Harry is in for more than he bargained for.

💔 Collision by @tequiladimples​ | E | 225k | b!L - (mythology/fantasy, fairy louis, dark harry, enemies to lovers, slow burn, love love love)

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

💔 And I Wait for Paradise by You_Just_Mightx3 | NR | 209k | abo | b!L - (addiction, ptsd, pining, best friends to lovers, eventual mpreg, so heartbreaking and heart-wrenchingly beautiful)

The one where it’s not the Harry who touched Louis’ heart that comes home, but an addict thought to be hopeless. A paradise above addiction when Louis wins so does Harry.

💔 Don’t Let It (Me) Break by @falsegoodnight​ | E | 169k | b!L - (exes to lovers, slow burn, grief, panic attacks, healing/therapy, sad louis, def read tags, a fav of all time)

The one where Harry is oblivious, Louis is broken, Zayn and Liam are in love, Gemma and Lottie are lovely, and Niall is just waiting for everyone to get their shit together.

Oh, and it's all Malcolm's fault.

💔 Saving Symphony Hall by @helloamhere​ | E | 125k | abo | b!L - (touch depri, businessman louis, hurt/comfort, a fav)

“I think I have an idea,” Louis said. Slowly, and reluctantly, but with a growing sense of the inevitable. “God damnit, I think I have a really good idea.”

“Oh christ, that's the problem-solving face,” Babs said. “Last time we saw that face, he sold a company.”

“Wait, what?” Zayn asked.

“Right place, right time,” Louis said. “Also, fuck my life,”

“What?” Zayn repeated. Niall patted his hand.

“I usually just roll with whatever Louis is about to do,” he said. “It’s better for us all.”

“That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

💔 The Dead of July by whimsicule | M | 117k | b!L - (avengers au, captain america harry, louis as bucky, ptsd, so fucking good)

Harry is Captain America, and Louis’ been dead for 70 years.

💔 Untangle Me by suicxne | E | 103k | np smut - (canon compliant, friends to lovers, first kiss, cute <3)

The one where Harry and Louis finally get it right.

💔 nothing worsens, nothing grows by @soldouthaz​ | E | 103k | b!L - (roadtrip au, college au, enemies to lovers, friends with benefits, ot5, a fav of all time)

Another roadtrip AU featuring Harry as the misunderstood hipster, Louis as the bitter psych major, Liam as the one with the secret boyfriend, and Niall as the one who just wants everyone to be happy.

💔 Here in the Afterglow by @harrybridgers​ | NR | 89k | b!L - (high school au, historical, 70s au, small town, slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers, soft soft soft)

1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

💔 And down the long and silent street by whimsicule | M | 86k | b!L - (historical au, regency au, poverty, wealth difference, hurt/comfort, a masterpiece <3)

Wherein Louis and Harry are on the opposite ends of the social ladder, but their paths still cross on the filthy streets Louis calls his home. The odds are staked against them from the beginning, and even more when Louis' past finally catches up with him.

💔 Consequences by @allwaswell16​ | E | 79k | b!L - (amnesia au, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, secrets, amazing amazing)

Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

💔 We’ll Cast Some Light (You’ll Be Alright) by @harrybridgers​ | NR | 74k | b!L - (enemies to lovers, sort of exes to lovers, demons, demon hunters, INCREDIBLE)

There’s a standard procedure for this. Scan, track, kill. But with a solar eclipse and a Greater Demon with unfinished business looming, the path to keeping England safe from harm becomes complicated and shadowed by mystery and secrets. For Harry and his team, times have never been harder, especially when a few old friends turned foes show up. Harry is left with just over forty days to overcome the hurdle of tension between them and reconcile their past, and figure out just what Louis is hiding from him before it’s too late.

💔 Latibule by @quelquesetoiles​ | E | 54k | b!L - (spirited away au - ish, mythology, fantasy, god harry, human louis, sad louis, jealousy, amazing)

A Spirited Away AU of sorts where Louis just wants to heal and be left alone, only for all his plans to be destroyed by the hands of an infuriating British God.

💔 7 Up by @cherrystreet​ | E | 52k | b!L - (friends to lovers, growing up together, will make you cry like a baby, a classic)

Very loosely based on the British TV show "The Up Series" and somewhat inspired by the song “Something I Need” by Onerepublic, we follow the lives of Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson in an interview setting every seven years. They fall apart and come together, their lives and emotions recorded. Harry calls it a time capsule. Louis calls it a pain in the arse.

💔 Strangers in Love by @darlou | E | 42k | b!L - (amnesia au, car accidents, light d/s, growing up together, enemies to lovers, a fav)

Louis wakes up to find himself in a marriage with the last man he thought he'd ever end up with.

💔 Ever Fixed by @eeveelou​ | E | 42k | b!L - (strangers to lovers, divorce, depression, child death, the plot twist GOT ME SO GOOD - i read this yesterday with ris and h o l y s h i t)

Three years ago, Harry was happily married, successfully heading the largest technology company in the world, and raising his young daughter. After he loses nearly everything in the aftermath of his daughter’s lost battle with a rare brain tumor, it may take three strange and yet very familiar visitors – and a man from the therapy group Harry keeps refusing to go to – to get him back on track.

💔 before we knew by @falsegoodnight​ | E | 40k | b!L - (soulmate au, lawyer harry, editor louis, stubborn harry, pining louis, literally one of the best fics ever written) 

Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed into his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

💔 where the lights are beautiful by twoshipsdrifting | M | 31k | abo | b!L - (THE accidental bonding fic, mentions of mpreg, have reread many times and it still hurts so good)

Harry wasn’t wrong about that, not in a general sense. Lots of omegas did seek out rich alphas and betas, hoping or planning to go into heat at the right time. Plenty of omegas saw this as their duty, especially if their families weren’t well off. Worse, Louis couldn’t honestly say he’d never thought about it.

If that had been his life, his goal, Louis would feel pretty good about himself now.

As it is…Louis feels like shit.

💔 autumn leaves by @suspendrs​ | NR | 28k | b!L - (war au, soldier harry, waiter louis, french louis, friends to lovers, so so good)

Harry is an American soldier in France during World War II, and Louis is a French waiter that doesn't mean to fall in love with him.

💔 Cherry by littlebluetui | M | 25k | b!L - (exes to lovers, famous harry, non-famous louis, comfort sex, light d/s, really good & really underrated!)

Harry and Louis were soulmates, no one doubted that.

Sometimes one soulmates leaves the other to go on a world tour though.

Sometimes not having them at all is better than only a little.

💔 like a bastard on the burning sea by vashtaneradas | NR | 22k | implied b!L - (cheating/infidelity - i don’t read cheating fics as a principle but this one just... hurts so good, haven’t reread and i don’t think i ever will but i think about it often)

Harry breaks Louis, Louis breaks everything.

💔 all this delusion in our heads by buttfucklarry | E | 15k | b!L - (exes to lovers, sad louis, sad harry, mentions of mpreg, another underrated beaut <3) 

After Harry and Louis break up, they cope with it in very different ways. What will happen when Harry keeps calling his ex over when things go wrong in his life, but Louis just can't take it anymore?

💔 a grocery list pinned in blue by dangerbears | NR | 20k | b!L - (exes to lovers, divorce, a masterpiece truly)

After eight years, Louis finally has everything he's wanted. Except for Harry.

💔 Cupid’s Chokehold by bluelemur | E | 35k | b!L - (soulmate au, cupid louis, human harry, virgin louis, feel good but also a bit angsty) 

Louis is a Cupid who tries to match up Niall and Harry. It doesn't work out as planned.

💔 Love is like this; not a heartbeat, but a moan by @loveletterharry​​ | E | 13k | abo | b!L - (enemies to lovers, ex-childhood best friends, pining harry, beach house, lovely)

In which Harry loves Louis, but Louis has been cold to him ever since he presented as an omega at age fifteen.

Eight years later, Louis approaches Harry with a request, and who is Harry to deny him?

Remember again to leave kudos and comment on all these lovely masterpieces! And feel free to let me know if I made any errors!

Request another category here. 

#my fic rec lists #angst recs #categories #jem's favs

[carewyncromwell]

Hi guys! I thought I’d start this HPHM AU Ships Challenge, just for funsies! Feel free to steal and pass it along, if thou dost wish!

Tagging @dat-silvers-girl, @annabelle-tanaka-official, @angellazull, @lifeofkaze, @samshogwarts, @drinkyoursoupbitch, @kc-needs-coffee, @cursed-ice-spirits​, @thatravenpuffwitch​, @cursebreaker-lilith​, @cursebreakerfarrier​, and @cursebreakerelmswood​! 💖💛💙💚

What HPHM characters (or MCs) could you see your MC dating, in an AU? What would their relationship be like? Why did you ultimately decide not to go with that ship, or do you still hold a torch for it?

My answers for my girl Carewyn are under the cut!!

(Sorry, I couldn’t resist starting with a recycled doodle of my canon ship, the HMS Carion. 🥰)

Andre Egwu

Alright, right off the bat, we should discuss Carewyn’s canon ex, Andre. Carewyn and Andre attended the Celestial Ball and dated until their fifth year, breaking up right after the All-Wizard tournament. Fortunately despite their break-up, they’ve stayed on good terms and still greatly respect each other -- but truthfully, I never intended for them to be a long-term match in any universe. If you’d like to read more about why Carewyn/Andre didn’t work out, you can consult this analysis, but to put it very simply, Andre was someone Carewyn admired deeply, but couldn’t ever be completely herself around. And from a personal perspective, my parents are one of those rare couples who remained friends even after divorcing, and I’ve always found their relationship really fascinating, as no one can deny they do still sincerely love and admire each other, even if it’s no longer romantically. Carewyn and Andre know each other in a way no one else does, so it gives their friendship a depth that it didn’t have before -- so unlike with a lot of relationships, their bond actually strengthened after they broke up, rather than falling apart. 

Bill Weasley 

In Carewyn’s canon, Bill ends up becoming Carewyn’s best friend. Although at the start, their relationship had much more of a surrogate big brother/little sister dynamic, over time the two ended up on much more equal terms, both as Cursebreaker partners and as unofficial “parents” for the rest of their friend group. Bill is Carewyn’s right-hand man both while dealing with the Cursed Vaults and while leading the Circle of Khanna, and even though Carewyn wants nothing to do with Cursebreaking after dealing with the Vaults, she’ll still drop everything to help Bill with his work, should he need her. Bill is the one who came up with the nickname “Carey” for Carewyn, and he’s also arguably the friend who understands Carewyn best after the death of Rowan, given the similarities in their personalities and how long they’ve known each other. I actually did write out a post guessing what a romantic relationship between these two might’ve been like if they’d become a thing, but honestly, I’ve never really shipped these two. Carewyn may not be entirely based on me (she’s got elements of my mum too), but one aspect of the wish fulfilment for me early on was that my girl could have a ride-or-die best friend like Ron was for Harry in the original Potter books. In the end, that friend ended up being Bill, Ron’s eldest brother and a character I loved when I first read the books and only became fonder of through the game. And honestly, we could really use more sincerely loving, but completely platonic male-female friendships that never bump up against romance!!

Talbott Winger

Talbott and Carewyn are truly “birds of a feather,” though one would never know it based on their respective masks. Talbott is the sort to put a gruff facade on to hide his more sensitive feelings, while Carewyn is the sort to put on a pretty face to hide her angrier and sadder feelings. Underneath, though, they both are stubborn, intelligent, and distrustful people with a strong desire to fight evil and a creative spirit. After becoming an Animagus, Carewyn would frequently fly around the school grounds with Talbott in robin form, singing songs for both herself and Talbott, and even though Talbott teased her about it, he did sincerely enjoy it. Carewyn loves reading Talbott’s poetry, and Talbott is also one of the few people who can get Carewyn to laugh a lot, since their senses of humor line up really well. Last but not least, they become a lawyer and an Auror post-Hogwarts, so they end up working together A LOT, especially post-War. I did write a prompt once about what a Talbott/Carewyn romance would be like, and I admit, I could see them being a relatively good couple, particularly since I headcanon both of them as being on the ace spectrum. That being said, though, I ultimately didn’t go with Talbott for Carewyn for two reasons. One, I thought they’d be too similar in a lot of ways (most notably, they’re way too friggin’ serious -- give each of these two some sunshine, will you??) -- and two, on a much more superficial note, Talbott was so popular that I kind of hesitated before having Carewyn ask him out. (Plus come on, for that date, how much of a b*tch would you have to be to break Andre’s heart and then snatch up an outfit he made for you to wear on a date with his dormmate?! Just -- COME ON.)

Chiara Lobosca

When I first started playing HPHM, I strongly considered shipping my girl with Chiara, once she broke up with Andre. From the moment Chiara and Carewyn met, Carewyn just knew she had to know Chiara better, and that ended up being because -- thanks to her latent Legilimency potential -- she could subconsciously sense that Chiara and she were similar in a lot of ways. Most importantly, Chiara was very lonely and desperately longed for a friend, which reminded Carewyn of how lonely her pre-Hogwarts life was, especially after Jacob disappeared. Once Carewyn earned Chiara’s trust, Carewyn proved herself to be a very loyal friend, even learning how to become a robin Animagus so she could keep Chiara company and cheer her up with twittered songs during full moons. Both Carewyn and Chiara are sensitive “Healer” type personalities (though Chiara is a bit more literal of one) who fight against their own crippling self-loathing to try to nurture others. This, in the end, though, is why I hesitated on making them official and why I’m ultimately glad I didn’t. Like Talbott, Chiara in some ways is too similar to Carewyn, and I think in a romantic relationship, they wouldn’t grow as much as people through their interactions. I did come up with quite a few ideas about what their relationship might be like -- but ultimately I couldn’t help but feel that Carewyn’s happy ending couldn’t just be about peace, but about finding someone who could challenge and contrast her.

Diego Caplan

This  started off as a crack ship for me before actually gaining some legs and becoming Chiara/Carewyn’s main opponent, when it came to my debate with myself regarding Carewyn’s romantic future. In contrast to Chiara, Diego is pretty much Carewyn’s complete opposite. Carewyn is a planner. Diego is spontaneous. Carewyn is meticulous. Diego is flirtatious. Carewyn is serious. Diego is anything but. Carewyn is ace. Diego I headcanon as pan. And yet they both have their romantic and creative sides and are both seasoned fighters and loyal friends. Diego would definitely be able to bring some levity to Carewyn’s life, while Carewyn could bring some grounding to Diego’s. Diego even has a cute little nickname for Carewyn from their time in the Circle of Khanna: “general!” In short, these two would be perfect leads in a rom-com chick flick. But this, ultimately, ended up being why I hesitated on making them official and why I’m ultimately glad I didn’t. Diego/Carewyn is a ship that could really only bloom and blossom under fair conditions, and I had trouble seeing Diego being equipped to deal with Carewyn’s darker emotions or even her more intellectual bent. Just like with Chiara, I came up with plenty of ideas about how these two could be as a couple -- but I really felt as though Carewyn needed more than just “fun” as a happy ending. And ultimately, this conflict between peace VS fun ended up coming to an end when I discovered Carewyn/Orion, as Orion could provide Carewyn with both.

Jae Kim

Okay, honestly? When I first encountered Jae as a character, I didn’t think he and Carewyn would have anything in common, but in a weird way, they sort of subvert their respective house’s stereotype by exhibiting values from the other’s house! Gryffindors are seen as these rash, reckless, show-off hero types, but Jae showcases a lot of Slytherin-worthy cleverness, resourcefulness, and disregard for rules and what others think of him. Slytherins are seen as these cold, cruel, ambitious villain types, but Carewyn showcases a lot of Gryffindor-worthy courage, nobility, and selflessness. And so even though Jae is generally a rulebreaker and Carewyn is generally a rule-follower, when circumstances made it ideal for them to be on good business terms (namely, working in detention together and Carewyn needing an ally who knows Knockturn Alley and Jae needed an ally who was a Prefect), they soon found a lot of common ground. Add to that how much Carewyn encourages Jae’s cooking talent while respecting his privacy, and it’s little wonder that post-Hogwarts, when Jae opens up his own pub on the border of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, the two still meet up very frequently to swap news from their respective corners of the world. I admittedly don’t know how well Carewyn’s job as a magical lawyer would be conducive to her being anything other than friends with Jae, and I don’t think they’d ultimately have many interests in common, so I do much prefer them as friends, but their dynamic is full of fun contrasts! 

Ben Copper

Hahaha, oh god. So. Obviously Ben in-game is still very polarizing, but in my canon, Ben and Carewyn’s relationship is really complex and honestly one of my absolute favorite friendships for my girl. Ben was one of Carewyn’s very first friends, so he -- like Rowan, Bill, and Penny -- knows Carewyn in a way few others do. He befriended her before she became known as the poised, perfect Slytherin “Mama Bear,” but unlike her other friends, he was a bit disappointed by her abrupt transformation between her third and fourth years. While those like Bill, Penny, and Andre saw it as Carewyn coming into her own, Ben noticed how much Carewyn put herself “over” the rest of her friends, becoming their protector more than their equal, and Ben lamented it, disliking how he felt like a responsibility to Carewyn more than her friend. But Ben kept those feelings inside, not knowing how to properly express them when he did still cherish Carewyn’s friendship. After the events in the Portrait Vault, Ben went through his own dramatic change, and Carewyn sure enough didn’t end up liking it any better than Ben had liked hers. But ultimately the two had a heart-to-heart and realized that they both had become very different people than the kids who’d befriended each other in first year. After Rowan’s death and the formation of the Circle of Khanna, the two reforged their friendship on more equal terms. I did actually write out an AU roleplay where Ben and Carewyn’s confrontation in Jacob’s room ended up hinting Ben/Carewyn, but I ultimately think that the people they ultimately become are way too different to be a great romantic match. It makes their friendship fascinating, as it makes you wonder how such a tall, suspicious, reckless Gryffindor ever befriended such a poised, methodical, lady-like Slytherin...but even if they do feel a lot of deep platonic love for each other and I personally headcanon Ben being on the ace spectrum like Carewyn, I ultimately think they’d have very different dreams in mind for their future and would each need something different in a romantic partner. 

Barnaby Lee

Barnababy!! 💚 Yeah, Barnaby Lee is my personal favorite HPHM character, and yet I have never really shipped him seriously with Carewyn, even though I love their relationship and could see potential chemistry. Barnaby and Carewyn are both amazingly sensitive, loyal, and modest Slytherins with a love of magical creatures and a strong sense of honor, but they also contrast each other in some fun ways too. Carewyn may put on a happy face a lot, but she’s actually rather pessimistic. Barnaby’s unblinkingly optimistic and he wouldn’t even dream of putting on a mask to hide his feelings. Then of course there’s the fact that Carey-Bear is this tiny and rather physically weak thing, while Barnaby is a perfectly dashing tank. 😂 Barnaby and Carewyn are both protective of each other, as seen by Barnaby throwing himself in front of Carewyn to shield her from an Imperiused Rowan’s spell and Carewyn verbally tearing into Ismelda when she learned she planned to use a Love Potion on him. Barnaby was the one who really taught Carewyn about how deceiving appearances can be, and Carewyn was the one who really taught Barnaby about how generous and selfless friendship could be, so they both respect each other a lot. For all that respect, though, there’s a significant slant to their relationship. Carewyn supports Barnaby emotionally infinitely more than she would ever let him support her, so their dynamic comes across as very “mother/son”-like rather than complete equals. Plus, honestly, I think Barnaby and Carewyn’s dreams for their respective futures -- namely, to be a magizoologist traveling the world and to be a magical lawyer for the Ministry of Magic -- don’t match up in the least bit. I could also see Barnaby wanting a large family, and Carewyn has no interest in bearing children herself and would prefer a quieter home life. 

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #analysis #au #shipping #carewyn cromwell #andre egwu #bill weasley #talbott winger #chiara lobosca #diego caplan #jae kim #ben copper #barnaby lee #...geez carey's pan and yet so many of her potential love interests are dudes XDDD #I blame the fact that among the hphm cast most of her closest friends are dudes #though of course she's got plenty of mc friends who are chicks #but yeah I headcanon carey as ace/pan so she's attracted to personality more than gender #of course in the end she got orion and you all know I'm happy about that XD #hphm au ships challenge

[sinceileftyoublog]

Black Country, New Road Album Review: Ants From Up There

(Ninja Tune)

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Divorced from context, you could hear Black Country, New Road’s remarkable Ants From Up There as a conscious effort to stray from being called “the world’s second-best Slint tribute act.” Following up a debut album of songs that had existed long before they were released, the septet embraced a new style of playing to create Ants, a distillation of indie rock aesthetics of the past thirty years. There’s the wiry post-rock of Louisville’s finest, yes, but also the orchestral bombast of Arcade Fire and the jagged experimentalism of the UK scene in which BC, NR currently find themselves. But its devastating lyrics foreshadowed the revelation of the mental health struggles of lead singer and guitarist Isaac Wood, troubles that would cause him to leave the band mere days before its release earlier this month. Ants From Up There is a breakup album, the dissolution of its central relationship at first mirrored and obscured by metaphor, eventually a raw, last-breath expression of utmost desperation.

It’s hard not to evaluate Ants From Up There in its album order; the record is built like a symphony, its instrumental intro and first song with lyrics foreshadowing musical motifs and ideas and characters that repeat throughout the album. “Chaos Space Marine”, named after forces in popular wargame Warhammer 40K, is misleadingly uplifting; the squeaks of Lewis Evans’ alto saxophone interspersed between violinist Georgia Ellery’s main introductory riff do, in fact, embrace a sort of celebratory chaos. “So I’m leaving this body / And I’m never coming home again, yeah!” shout Wood, Ellery, pianist May Kershaw, and bassist Tyler Hyde, both interstellar and disassociated. On “Concorde”, Wood starts to unveil his devotion: “I was made to love you,” he sings on a song that builds up with strings and horns and ends with crunchy guitar like the way For the first time’s “Sunglasses” begins. The song’s namesake is a no-longer used British-French turbojet airliner, but in the narrative of the album, the plane, rising high above and leaving Wood behind, is his ex. “Concorde, I miss you / Don’t text me ‘til winter,” Wood begs, “I can hardly afford a second summer of splinters / This staircase, it leads only to some old pictures of you.” The memories he paints are sad, small moments where you can sense bits of false hope, like when his significant other rejects his intimacy and says, “Don’t eat your toast in my bed,” an ask that’s followed by horns, click-clack drums, and light Afropop guitar riffing, a glimpse of light that’s all the more soul-crushing because of the inevitability of disaster.

Throughout Ants From Up There, Wood’s mind bounces all over the place, and he often gets ahead of himself, important details to share so as not to paint a glossy picture of himself when it comes to his own heartbreak. “It’s just been a weekend / But in my mind / We summer in France / With our genius daughters now / And you teach me to play the piano,” he sings on “Good Will Hunting”, all-too-relatable for any romantic who easily falls in love. He’s also conscious of the effect being in an acclaimed band, singing about a relationship, has on his significant other. “I never wanted you to see that much / Of the bodies down there beneath me,” Wood sings over solemn, then frenetic strings, piano, and woodwinds. You start to understand why he left the figurative and literal stage.

At almost an hour long, Ants From Up There is an emotionally exhausting listen, and more so because its final three songs make up almost half of the run time. They also demonstrate the purest outpouring of feeling from the band. Song of the year candidate “The Place Where He Inserted The Blade” is the biggest tearjerker, a song whose title seems menacing until you realize Wood’s referencing an instructional cooking video. Inspired by Bob Dylan’s Rough and Rowdy Ways standout “I’ve Made Up My Mind to Give Myself to You”, and unwound atop lilting piano and flute, Wood describes his crippling dependency. Even if “every time I try to make lunch for anyone else, in my head I end up dreaming of you,” is a sweet sentiment, it’s followed by the vulnerable chorus: “I’ll praise the Lord, burn my house / I get lost, I freak out / You come home and hold me tight / As if it never happened at all.” The last verse of the song includes playing music for fans as another example of dependence: “Show me the fifth or the cadence you want me to play.” “Snow Globes” juxtaposes free drums from Charlie Wayne, essentially ignoring the rest of the band’s melodic responses to him, a perhaps unintentional but fitting metaphor for unrequited love.

Then there’s “Basketball Shoes”, a white wale for BC, NR fans, the 12-minute live favorite that ends up closing the album. “A home for us, stick insects,” Wood sings as he observes the destruction left in his wake. The ants from up there are left to clean up the mess. “If you see me looking strange with a fresh style / I’m still not feeling that great,” he clarifies. The song quiets, and its instrumentation swells exponentially, like the introduction to Los Campesinos! “You! Me! Dancing!” but with the brutal confessionalism of Titus Andronicus’ “The Ballad of Hampton Roads”. As various band members come and leave and provide a gorgeous backing chorus like a Greek tragedy, Wood’s at the center, screaming. Ants From Up There may forever be inseparable from Wood’s departure from the band, and ironically, just like Slint, BC, NR saw their lead singer depart before their instant classic album was released. But the context only adds to the album’s lore. Ants From Up There is right up there with The Monitor, or Neutral Milk Hotel’s In The Aeroplane Over The Sea, a moment in time you’ll remember first experiencing and want to pour yourself into for years to come.

#album review #black country new road #ninja tune #ants from up there #slint #arcade fire #isaac wood #warhammer 40k #lewis evans #georgia ellery #may kershaw #tyler hyde #for the first time #bob dylan #rough and rowdy ways #charlie wayne #los campesinos! #titus andronicus #the monitor #neutral milk hotel #in the aeroplane over the sea

[evening-starlight]

Chances {Chapter Eleven}

I lied, this is the longest chapter. They just keep getting longer ya’ll

Master List

Comfortable, Not Easy

Word Count: 2010

    I spent the next two weeks avoiding everyone and everything thing, especially after I slipped and invited Jared over. Not my proudest moment. Robbie dropped by a couple of times to coax me out of bed, but it didn't work. I felt dirty, used, and stupid. I called Jared after he assaulted me in front of my house like a whore and let him stay over for nine days.

    It wasn't necessarily comfortable being with Jared for nine days, but it was familiar. I knew what to expect from waking up to going to bed. Tom was texting to check in as well, and I ignored every sweet text he sent me. I couldn't face the fact that he was there, waiting for me to recoup while I was living with my ex again.

    Robbie finally kicked Jared out on day ten for me. I told him about the kisses and how horrible I felt letting Jared stay on day nine. Jared was gone before I woke up, and Robbie was trying to pull me out of bed. Literally.

    Robbie pulls on my ankle repeatedly, trying to loosen my hold on the headboard. "Come," pull. "On." He pulls again. "You can't stay locked in your room because you've made a mistake, Stella." He scolds, sitting next to my feet. I grunt in response. "I swear to all things LA, I will make Stevie do a house call." I moan louder, pulling a pillow over my head. The space next to me dips down, and Robbie throws an arm over me.

    Whenever I'm in a lousy mood, Robbie's first response is forceful eviction of my room followed by snuggles. If either won't work, he calls Stevie. In our ten years of friendship, he's gotten to know me inside and out. He's my closest friend and my most relied-on confidant. He knows more about me than anyone else in the world. He knows the darkest places in my head and knows how to help me navigate them better than myself. He was the only one who was there during my entire marriage and divorce. Hell, he was my bro of honor.

    I turn to lay on his chest, curling in to feel his warmth and wrapping my arms around him so tight I thought he'd turn purple. I never, ever, want to lose him. "I hate seeing you like this, Stell." He mumbles. "You're so hard on yourself. I know it's easy with Jared; you guys have a routine. He's easy, and Tom is hard. I understand why you did what you did." The sobs rip out of me in violent bursts. I hate how well he knows me some days, especially when he says things I know I need to hear.

    He remains quiet as I sob, rubbing my head and holding me tight. He's the rock in my twisted life, and I'd be lost without him. Robbie makes me feel seen, heard, and appreciated even after my undesirable days.

    When the sobs turn into small whimpers, Robbie continues, "I think you need to talk to Tom; he's genuinely worried for you. He's dropped by the studio to ask about you. God, you should have seen him, Stella. He's a fucking god. Don't even get me started on those eyes dude, they're so blue." I can't help but laugh at Robbie's fanboying. "They hold so many emotions I didn't know they could do that. He looked so worried and concerned. He really cares about you."

    "I know he does." I manage. "I just don't want to bring him into this fucked up life I've created for myself. He deserves so much better." Robbie sits up quickly, grabbing my face to look at him. His eyebrows are pulled together, and his face is set in a stern look. His father look.

    "You deserve better, Stella Thompson. You deserve a man like Tom. You deserve Jesus himself for all I care. You need someone who will treat you ten times better than Jared ever could. Someone who loves and cherishes you as you are, broken, sharp pieces and all." Robbie runs a thumb over the new tears leaking. "You are the most beautiful person I have ever met, Stella. You care so deeply about people that you let them continue to be in your life even after they've fucked you over a dozen times. Stella, you deserve to start over with someone like Tom."

    I swear to God, the universe was listening to us because, as if divine intervention stepped in, my phone begins to buzz on the nightstand. Robbie reaches to hang up before going over the name again. "Here. Talk to him. I'll make you some food." With that, Robbie leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

    With a grounding breath, I answer the phone with a meek hello. "Oh, thank heavens you're okay." Tom breaths out a sigh of relief on the other side of the phone. "I was beginning to worry. More. Worry more than I already was."

    "I'm sorry I scared you," I mumble. "And I'm sorry I've been MIA for so long. It's been a really rough two weeks after everything happened, and I tend to shut down when things get hard." I admit, brushing my mangled hair out of my face.

    "I understand, Love. We all have bad habits. I was worried I had pushed too hard, and you were ghosting me. I was actually going to call and tell you I would give you some space if you hadn't picked up. I can still give you space if that's what you'd like?"

    "No," I answer quickly. "No, please. I really like having you in my life, and I love the way you make me feel. But I have to tell you that Jared spent the week with me. It doesn't mean anything. He's just..." I pause, trying to find the right words to make my asshole move sound less assholey.

    "Easy. You're used to him. I understand that, Love." I take in a shaky breath. "I appreciate you telling me. Is there anything I can do to help with your rut?"

    "Can you come over sometime today? I could kinda use a hug from you." Fucking crying making my defenses turn to mush. It always makes me a ball of emotions and fussy needs.

    "I'd be delighted to. Would you like me to bring some lunch?"

    "No, Robbie is here making me some. You called at the perfect time, actually. We were talking about you. Everything good, though. Nothing bad." I reiterate quickly. Tom chuckles on the other end.

    "Well, I was just thinking about you and hoping you were at least alive."

    "The heart's still ticking, so the body is alive," I joke. "Brain could use a jumpstart, though."

    "I'll be over in about ten if that's alright with you?" I confirm with him and hang up. Pulling myself out of bed for the first time in fourteen days, I make my way to the kitchen.

    Robbie stands over the stove, cursing and shaking his left hand. "Burned yourself again?" I ask. If you'd lose a year off your life every time you got burnt, Robbie would have died at age five.

    "Fuck off." He mumbles, going back to the grilled cheese he's making. "How'd the call go? It seemed pretty short." I nod as I sit on a barstool.

    "Fine, he's coming over in a few minutes." It hits me. Tom Hiddleston is coming over to my depression pit of a house after I've had two weeks of nonstop crying and zero hygiene. "Fuck, I need to shower." I curse, rushing to the bathroom. A quick shower will help everything. Hopefully.

    Robbie pokes his head into the bathroom as I wrap my towel around me. "Tom's here. I'm going to keep him company while you  get changed." He states before winking and shutting the door again. I don't feel like I have the energy to put on any form of makeup to cover up how deathly ill I look, nor the power to care what I look like besides the clean part. The shower did seem to wash away the residual guilt and shame I felt about everything. Though it didn't clean off everything.

    After changing into some comfortable clothes, I make my way into the living room, where Robbie is watching Tom talk with nothing less than homosexual love in his face. "Robbie, out," I demand, catching both boys' attention. He leaves after a quick goodbye and non-discrete wink.

    Tom walks over to meet me behind the couch, wrapping his arms around my shoulders in a tight hug. "I'm so glad you're doing better," He mumbles into my hair. "I've been worried." We stand like that for a few minutes before my stomach growls loud enough for him to hear. "Here, Robbie left your food on the table." Tom leads me to the couch and sits next to me, our legs touching.

    "Thank you for being so understanding, Tom. I know I'm pretty fucked, and I really appreciate you being understanding of it all." He smiles as I take a bite of the grilled cheese. Robbie should be made grilled cheese God the way it melts in my mouth.

    "Of course, Love. We are all pretty fucked when we think about it. I haven't felt this way in quite some time. I know I can be a bit pushy, but I really enjoy your company," Tom says, sending those all-too-familiar shivers down my spine. "We can take things as slowly as you'd like. We can stay friends if that's what you need to heal as well." I shake my head while finishing a bite.

    "I don't want just friends, Tom. You make me feel like a better version of me. Less dark and gloomy." The anxiety of actually communicating and talking about feelings causes my knee to bounce. Jared never let me talk so candidly, and I'm afraid I might overstep. "Can I be honest?" Tom nods quickly. "I have absolutely no idea how to communicate in a not toxic way.

    "My whole life, it's been demonstrated that yelling and cursing is the only way to get across what I'm feeling. What I do know is that I like who I am when I'm around you, and I don't want that feeling to ever stop." Tom presses a kiss on my forehead.

    "Then let us work it out together. I like who I am when I'm with you as well." The absolute zoo that took residence in my stomach could wipe out the entire human population. Tom motherfucking Hiddleston likes being with me. "Bloody hell, I fancy you, Stella."

    Tom chuckles as I start to choke on my own breath. He reaches for the Caprisun set out and hands it to me. Tom likes me. He like likes me. Tom Hiddleston. Who would have guessed my damaged ass would land someone like him.

    For years after my breakup with Jared, I thought all I deserved was heartbreak and pieces of shit men. Maybe I could really turn my life around here. Turn it into something wonderful and perfect. Something made just for me.

    "I, uh, I fancy you too, Tom," I admit after controlling my breathing. His smile in this exact moment will stay with me forever. No ill-meaning behind it, wide and bright, and absolutely dazzling. Tom was as close to perfect as one man could get.

    The kiss. The kiss that followed behind our confessions was just as magical, if not more magical, than the first. Only this time, there was no Jared to ruin it. It was just Tom, me, and the ugly off-white sofa I stole from Jared when I moved out.

    How do you even end a chapter after that? Like, I impressed myself with that shit. We still own that couch too. It's where our little love story started, truly. I mean, no, we didn't go exclusive at that moment, but it's where it began.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddelston imagine #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #i got 99 problems and tom hiddleston could fix everyone of them #jared leto #Jared Leto imagine #jared leto fanfic #jared leto fanfiction #love #romance #fanfiction #fanfic #Original content #original character #oc #og #Chances #fiction

[thewritepages]

The Diary of the Older Collegiate (#TheFreshman Series) (1)

Synopsis : Annabelle Green is somewhat in a situation no thirty year woman would want to find herself in : (Un) Happily divorced, childless and with a job worth peanuts and migraine. The downward spiral of her life doesn't seem to end anytime soon until her sister reminds her of her most cherished dream.

College.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

MAY 3, 2019

3.30 A.M.

----------------------------------------------------

I hate myself.

No, really. I may have called it once or twice in the past due to mild anger or frustration, but this.

This is real.

I mean, I may be the only person who would:

A) Cry over a failed marriage during an interview

B) Scratch that, cry over a failed marriage in midst of the most IMPORTANT interview in my entire career!

C) Go straight to the pub later to drown my sorrows when I know perfectly well what would happen if I do get drunk.

D) Do what would be obvious to a broken-hearted, career destroyed, thirty year old drunk woman: Leave a string of carefully selected profanities on the voice mail of my beloved ex-husband.

E) Waking up several hours later on the side of god-knows-what street staring in horror at the drunken messages I've sent to everyone in my cell's contact list- which would also include my parents.

And to think of it, I managed it all in little less than 12 hours last night.

I think I'll just dig a burrow in my apartment and never come out of it. Wait a minute...

That's it! I'm never leaving my apartment again. It'll be perfect- I'll take up one of those work-at-home jobs they always advertise on the internet, eat ramen noodles for sustenance and stay protected from the world outside throughout my life.

In fact, I'll tip off my doorman to tell my family that I've left to pursue my inner self and I may never come back again. As many years pass by, my family would mourn over my presumed death while I get a plastic surgery done and change my name to something untraceable like Ronal Wallis.

Oh, jolly good! A brilliant idea. Why didn't I ever think of this before?

MAY 3, 2019.

13.30 P.M.

---------------------------------------------------

Err; maybe the whole change-my-identity-and-live-happily plan didn't exactly work.

Don't get me wrong, it didn't totally blow up or anything. My doorman, Steve did his job perfectly, informing my sister that I have indeed joined Deepak Chopra on a journey to find myself in a tiny village in the Himalayan Valleys. He narrated the story in such a sober tone that even I found myself believing him for a moment.

But Steve and I didn't realize that in order to leave the country, I would actually need my passport- The passport which is still in my ex-husband's apartment along with the rest of the stuff I was going to pick up this week.

Unfortunately, my sister was very much aware of this piece of information.

"Anna, it's been two months. You've got to get your shit together. You cannot stay dep-" I gave my sister a warning glance.

Not the D-word. Definitely not the D-word.

"I'm completely fine."I mumbled, looking down at the dregs of my empty coffee mug.

"No, you're not completely fine Annabelle Green. You've stopped calling, stop visiting all of us. Hell, nowadays you don't even get your ass out of the bed. Now, I know what Luc-"she stopped short, taking in my pained expression.

Another word I do not want to hear – Luc- Lucas.

Lucas .Lucas. Lucas.

"I'm sorry," Kat, my sister, bowed her head down low. "I shouldn't have brought him up."

"Yeah, you shouldn't have." My eyes closed from exhaustion. "Kat, why are you here?"

"Well, last night you-"

"I KNOW. It was a mistake. And I think I sent an explanatory text earlier this morning."

"That won't stop me from checking up on you, Anna. I'm bloody worried about you."

My eyes descend down to her enormous belly. She shouldn't worry about me right now- I'm not the one who is due for two bouncing baby boys in less than two months.

Did I just say bouncing? Oh, Lord.

"How're the boys kickin'?" I pat her belly gently, forcing myself to smile.

Her face instantly relaxes. "Oh, they're kickin', all right," she smiles at me, "Didn't give me a wink of sleep last week."

Well, that makes the two of us.

"I can't wait for little John and Paul to meet their ol' Aunt Anna." At least this was true. The arrival of my twin nephews is the only thing keeping me up for the past couple of months.

"Anna, we have talked about this. I'm not naming the kids after The Beatles."

"Why not? I recommend you have another set of twin boys so we'll have the entire boy band in our family."

"And have four crazy boys running around the household? No thanks. Phil and I would probably die of insanity."

Sigh. Phil and Kat. Their story is the closest you'd ever get to a fairytale- childhood sweethearts; they were two young teenagers wildly in love but were painfully separated to colleges at the opposite ends of the country. When it looked like it was truly over between them, they reconciled during the summer after college. It was literally The Notebook all over again, leaving out all the letter writing and the crazy house building. I don't think Phil is capable of fixing a broken lock, let alone build an entire house.

Suddenly, I felt someone holding my hand tightly. I look up to see Kat's eyes filled with tears. "Annie, come home. Mum and Dad miss you. I miss you. We want to stay with you in these difficult times. A few days away from Seattle will do you good. "She gets up. "Mum, Dad and Phil are waiting for us in the car downstairs. I'll help you pack up."

My heart softens, but I raise my eyebrows in sarcasm. "So, they sent you to emotionally blackmail me, right? Well, it's working, Mommy –in-waiting."

She tweaks my nose playfully. "It always does, baby sis."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N :

Hi there, thank you for taking the time to read my new diary styled new ChickLit series:

"The Diaries of an Older Collegiate"(#TheFreshman).

If this chapter ignited an interest for this series, please let me by reblogging or sending me a message. I'm very new to Tumblr writing so it'll really help me calm my nerves :")

Lastly, I'm tagging a few lovely authors here whose works I've been binge reading and they've really inspired me to put out my work out here. Authors, if you like this chapter, I'd be very grateful if you could share it among your network and let me know :)))))

@go1denjeon, @ladyartemesia,@noteguk,@junghelioseok

#ihopethisgoesok #chicklit #teenagers #young adult #writers on tumblr #womenwritingfiction #fiction #funnyshit #college life #university #holy heck

[softest-cinnamon-roll]

Hi! Could you possibly give some of your favorite finished chaptered reddie fics?❤

Well do I ever! Enjoy these amazing fics by some amazing people! Its an extensive list so I’ve put it under a read more so as not to clog the tag! 

Is there somewhere by @tozier-boy | 11/11 | complete | explicit

Richie didn’t belong in boring, old fashioned, small Derry, that was for sure.

Richie Tozier wore leather jackets and ripped jeans. Richie Tozier had his ear pierced and he painted his nails black. Richie Tozier wore combat boots and let his curls grow wild and messy. Richie Tozier always had headphones around his neck and sometimes he wore eyeliner. Richie Tozier smoked weed on the school ground and told teachers to shut the fuck up. Richie Tozier was tall and skinny and he wore bands tank tops. Richie Tozier was the reason why Eddie had started biting his lower lip way more frequently than he did before.

Zero Characters Left by @stellarbisexual | 18/18 | complete | explicit 

Eddie works in social media at a tech start-up in Boston, and Richie's been hired to do some video production for the company.

Characters are aged-up to their late twenties, and this takes place in 2017.

Bright as yellow by @speakslowtellmelove | 30/30 | complete | mature 

“‘Remember that hot guy I couldn’t stop turning around to stare at while watching the movie? Y’know, the one I stalked? He’s being hilarious in my math class full of nerds.’ You honestly think that’s my fault, Eds?”

Eddie felt his cheeks heating up, because Richie was right about all of it. Well, most of it. “My name is Eddie, not Eds. And I didn’t stal–”

“Nice to meet you, Eddie. See, isn’t that better? Eddie and Richie, Richie and Eddie. R plus E. It has a nice ring to it.”

the sea around us by @eddiefuckinkaspbrak & @tozier-boy | 26/26 | complete | explicit 

Prince Edward, is due to marry Princess Myra in order to help secure his kingdom financially. In a last ditch effort to be free and fulfil a lifelong dream of travelling the world, he sneaks out of his window and on board a pirate ship. Captain Richie Tozier’s pirate ship.

or Prince Eddie & Pirate Richie AU

Beep-beep, Eddie Kaspbrak by Ragno | 5/5 | complete | mature

Eddie Kaspbrak is 14 years old and he just defeated a demonic clown along with his friends.

Eddie Kaspbrak is 16 years old and he's fighting against himself and the way he feels and the way he thinks.

Eddie Kaspbrak is 18 years old and he'd much rather fight a demonic clown all over again than face his true feelings for Richie Tozier.

The Order by @s-s-georgie | 10/10 | complete | mature

“You guys lost too?”

“Nope. Believe it or not Silent Hill is my actual destination.”

- The Silent Hill Au Literally no one asked for but you're getting anyway.

far too young to die (part one) by @catsbrak | 17/17 | complete | explicit

Eighteen year old seamster Eddie Kasprak is forced to put his survival skills to the test when he’s selected in the reaping for the 27th Annual Hunger Games, where twenty-four young ‘tributes’ who are gathered from each of the twelve districts must fight to the death. Eddie forms close bonds, his priorities undergoing a drastic shift, and he instead takes on a more difficult task: to try and protect his friends.

(in other words, the reddie hunger games AU no one asked for, and everyone will hate me for)

Kryptonite by hoeziertozier | 13/13 | complete | explicit

‘Richie looked down and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “There’s a reason I came to New York.”

“Isn’t it because of your job?”

“Yeah, but there’s a reason I specifically chose New York. I mean, it’s Wonder Boy’s home.”

Eddie choked on air. For the first time in ages, he wanted to use his inhaler. “What?“

"Yeah, I’m kinda obsessed with him. He’s, like, my idol.”

So, his new roommate was his superhero persona’s fanboy. Yep, that was definitely not going to be a problem.’

Or, the self-indulgent Superhero!Eddie and Superfan!Richie AU that literally nobody asked for.

Just Survive Somehow by @s-s-georgie | 21/21 | complete | mature

When the world ended, and the dead rose to eat the living, it turned into kill or be killed, but how do you survive when the creatures around you are constantly evolving?

Wishes by strictlyamess | 14/14 | complete | mature

It's one thing to vacation at the Happiest Place on Earth with all your friends.

Working there with them is another thing entirely.

(or: the Disney World Employee/Cast Member AU written by a former Disney World Cast Member that some people asked for but most did not)

Operation: Hawaii Honeymoon by @tinyarmedtrex | 9/9 | complete | mature

A plan formed in Eddie’s head. One that would benefit them both. “Does your ex have an instagram?” Eddie asked. Eddie shook his head. “Do you want to make her jealous?”

“More than anything.”

“Hear me out then.” Eddie said, plunging forward even though he knew his idea was ridiculous. “What if you came to Hawaii with me? We’ll act like the perfect couple- she’ll get jealous, maybe want you back, and Myra will have to accept that I’m gay and will leave me alone.”

Richie looked up at him, a noodle dangling out of his mouth. “What?”

[ or Eddie and Richie meet on a plane to Hawaii and strike up a deal. Pretend to be lovers to make Richie’s ex-girlfriend jealous and convince Eddie’s ex-fiance Myra that he’s gay. What could go wrong?]

Inexhaustible Source of Magic by @jem-carstairs-is-perfection & @tinyarmedtrex | 17/17 | complete | teen 

The Triwizard Tournament is back at Hogwarts and this time, two students from each school will be chosen to participate. When Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak are elected by the Legendary Goblet of Fire to compete, they must come together as a team and overcome their differences to prove to themselves and to others what they are capable of.

ask me to stay by @richietoizer | 7/7 | complete | teen

“Your lip is all busted,” Eddie said, as though pointing out that Richie’s lips were injured would somehow make it okay that Eddie was paying attention to them. Richie’s hand came up, long fingers wrapping around Eddie’s tiny wrist, and he gently guided Eddie’s touch away.

Eddie finally wrenched his eyes away from Richie’s lips and met his best friend’s gaze. There was a softness there that he rarely got to see, not even the smallest hint of teasing or joking there. It was just Richie, just Richie looking at him and Eddie looking back. For a single moment, it was just Richie and Eddie alone in the world. Nothing to bother them, nothing to live up to.

[or: the year is 1994, and Eddie Kaspbrak is in love.]

Sex, Money, Murder by @studpuffin | 8/8 | complete | explicit

“The only sin is mediocrity.” ― Martha Graham

the years go by like days by georgiestauffenberg | 4/4| complete | mature 

It’s Eddie he wants to get a hold of, though, and he does, tucking him under his arm, and ruffling his hair, making him laugh. He’s startled when Eddie looks at him with such happy, shining eyes. And, for a split-second, he’s tempted to kiss him right then, right there in front of everyone.

He wants to. Badly. He doesn’t.

He leans in, instead, and he smacks a loud, wet kiss to Eddie’s cheek, punctuating it with a “mwah!” He does it again and again. “I’m so proud of my little Eds Spagheds!”

“Get off me!” Eddie says, laughing and shoving him away, swatting at his hands.

AU. in the 27 years in-between, Richie and Eddie forget a lot, but they don't forget each other.

Fall Away From Me (I Just Can’t Take It) by @thelazyeye | 6/6 | complete “ explicit 

It’s okay, though, Eddie tells himself. It’s all fine. This is part of their arrangement. This is a casual thing they have going. It’s his own stupid fault for catching feelings for someone he agreed to casually fuck. Especially when that person is his best friend from childhood.

It Was Always You by eddie_kaspbraktozier | 12/12 | complete | teen

Eddie, miraculously, survives the fight with Pennywise. Richie is still hopelessly in love with him, even after all of these years. As Richie stays with Eddie to help him with his recovery and divorce, he tries to find the courage to tell Eddie his true feelings.

Eddie wakes up after the fight with Pennywise to realize his whole life has been a lie – his asthma, his marriage, god, his whole adult life. Although now, Eddie is finally free to decide what he wants out of life. Eddie slowly comes to realize his feelings for his best friend.

Told in alternating point of views – Richie and Eddie’s.

OR

IT Chapter Three. The ending we deserve.

IDK, spooky stuff by varnes | 3/3 | complete | explicit 

“You’re a ghost hunter, aren’t you?” Georgie reminded him. “And he’s a ghost, or something. So obviously the police won’t find him, but you guys can, with all your equipment. You can find him and make the murders stop.”

From the couch, Richie’s whole face was lit up with delight. That was always a bad sign.

“I don’t know, Georgie,” Bill said, but before he could get the words all the way out, Richie was leaping up and yanking the phone out of his hand.

“Murderous ghost circus performer, love it, love it,” he announced. “Georgiekins, say no more, not one word, we are absolutely going to come bust the shit out of this clown.”

-

Or: the quasi-BFU AU where Bill, Stan, Bev and Richie go to Derry to hunt a ghost. Featuring a one-armed boy out for revenge; a Tiny Smol hotel clerk who can't decide if he wants to fight Richie or marry him; The Hot Fireman From LA?!; a local librarian who just wants to read books to children in peace; and, of course, Pennywise the clown.

#reddie #multi chapter fic recs #fic recs #enjoy #complete