#i see a sort of error in the summary... it's supposed to be read like:

[terran-slaine]

"Were you aware of your genetic material being stored?" Inaho shuffled through the papers in front of him, and slid a stack across to Slaine. "There were Versian scientists running DNA experiments." "He's a clone." Slaine said in a whisper. ----- Fic where Inaho (somewhat covertly) breaks Slaine out of that Manor by the sea, so that Slaine can raise his child in hiding away from Vers. Mostly a fic about Slaine getting to break out and away, and live his life anew, as well as an exploration of how things change over time- Some struggles, some healing, some drama (because it's Aldnoah Zero, ofc it's got drama). Eventual Inasure.

Here's an Aldnoah Zero fic I started a couple years back and finally decided to post it~ So here you go (all 5 of you lol) Gonna include a pic for every chapter (or try to), here's chapter 1's pic:

[tokkiwrites]

𝚄𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚢 𝚂𝚔𝚒𝚗. (2)

mom's fiancé/bf! joel miller x f! reader • part one here

Summary: Your mom's new fiancé, Joel Miller, is the kind of man you could never shake out of your mind—rugged, rough, and embodiment of your long-buried fantasies. He's been your next-door neighbor for years, and the crush you harbored through your teenage years never really faded. Now, he's with your mom, and they're planning to get married. You should want her to be happy, but you can't ignore the tension growing between you and Joel. It's something that was never meant to happen. But as you uncover Joel's true motives for being with your mom, you realize maybe your feelings weren't one-sided after all. And maybe, despite everything, you’re the one he really wants. tags: stepcest kind of, age gap (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 40s), forbidden romance, emotional conflict, slow burn, sexual tension, complicated family dynamics, heartbreak, Joel being an emotionally complicated bastard, ANGST, cheating, infidelity, nsfw, head f receiving, p in v unprotected, breeding kink, cum eating & fingering for like a sentence. /ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ you asked, and i delivered. PART TWO IS HERE YALL. i hope I didn't let you down :( 5.52k words of pure wrongness, but hey, it's joel, so it's okay (haha, not). not proofread, so if you see any errors, just close your eyes pls thank you.

The weight of that night lingered in every breath you took. The memory of Joel's touch, his hands tracing every inch of your body, had seared itself into your skin, refusing to fade. It wasn't just the physicalㅡ it was the way his voice had trembled when he whispered your name. The way he'd held you like you were something sacred something he couldn't afford to lose. But you both knew that after last night, everything had changed. There was no going back

The secret you now carried inside you was heavier, pulling you further into an abyss you couldn't climb out of. And the worst part? You wanted more. Now that, you had tasted what it felt like to have him, the craving for him was worse than ever. You were addicted. The first morning without him felt empty wrong. You should have been able to bury the night, to bury the guilt, but instead, it gnawed at you, weaving into the longing that wrapped itself around your chest like a vice. You scrolled through your phone again, reading the last text he had sent.

• miss you, baby. I can't stop thinking about you. Wish it was you here with me.

your heart twisted in your chest as you read it again, your fingers hovering over the screen, aching to respond. He was gone. He had left early that morning with your mother, whisked away on a honeymoon that was supposed to be filled with love and joy: A honeymoon that, in a cruel twist of fate, was meant to celebrate his new life with her.

But here he was, texting you and you couldn't help but answer the pull that tied you to him. You could practically hear his voice when you read his words, feel the roughness of his hand brushing against your skin in the way your body still hummed with

the memory of him, and your cunt still felt him deep inside of you. Your fingers shook as you typed your response:

• I miss you too.

You stared at the words, hating yourself for them, but unable to stop. You hit send before you could think twice. A sick sort of thrill coursed through you as you imagined him reading it, imagined him lying next to your mother, his phone lighting up with your message, pulling him back to you even from miles away.

You had woken up in his arms, tangled in the sheets, the air between you still thundering with the afterglow of the forbidden but impossibly sweet. You had watched him get dressed in silence, his eyes lingering or you with a mixture of longing and regret before he had leaned down, kissed you hard, and whispered, "This changes everything." that it had. You hadn't stopped thinking about him a second since. But the worst part was, neither had he. Another message came through, lighting up your phone, pulling you from your thoughts.

• I need you. Being here with her feels wrong, baby. don't know how I'm gonna survive his week without touching you. ❤️

your breath caught in your throat as yot read it, heat blooming low in your belly. He missed you. He wanted you. Even while he was supposed to be with her, on their honeymoon, he was thinking about you.

You hated the way it thrilled you, how the hought of him being with your mother didn't make you sick with jealousy, but instead only intensified the twisted longing that had wrapped itself around your heart. You knew it was wrong, god, it was so wrong, but now that you'd had him, you couldn't stop wanting more. You typed back, your fingers moving quickly, not giving yourself a chance to reconsider.

• need you, joel, I dunno know how to do this.

the truth of those words settled over you. you didn't know how to do this. how to navigate this mess of secrets and lies, of immense guilt. All you knew was that the need for him hadn't gone away: it had only grown stronger. As you waited for his response, you lay back in your bed, staring up at the ceiling. you mind replaying every moment of the night before. Your phone buzzed again.

• ill find a way for us to be together.

it was insane. It was dangerous. But he means it. And so did you. this impossibly tangled knot that you couldn't unravel, no matter how hard you tried. And part of you didn't want to. You wanted him. Still. More now than ever.

Your phone vibrated once more

•When I get back, I need to see you. Alone We'll figure this out, I promise.

You were already too far gone

Joel’s name lit up your phone screen, the buzzing pulling you from your thoughts. It was a shock, seeing him call. You hesitated for a moment, your thumb hovering over the screen, before finally answering. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice shaking slightly. “Hi, baby.." Joel’s voice came through low and rough, like gravel under your feet. There was a pause before he spoke again, the silence thick. “I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to hear your voice.”

Your heart plummeted at his words. The sound of his voice alone sent a shiver through you, bringing back everything from the night before—the touch of his hands, the way he’d kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, the feeling of him filling you up. You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whine. “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you confessed. There was a soft sound from him, almost like a groan, the tension in his voice unmistakable. “I’ve been thinking about you too, baby. I can’t stop. You under me like that, full of my cockㅡ it’s all I can think about. I keep replaying it. I miss you so much.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Hearing him say it made it all so real, the intensity of it, the wrongness, and yet how much you both wanted it anyway. You squeezed your eyes shut, the memory of his hands on you still fresh, your skin tingling. “It’s been so hard," you whispered. “ I hate that you’re there with her...” The words slipped your lips before you could process them. He exhaled deeply, like he was struggling to hold himself back. “I know,” he muttered, his voice tight. “I’m trying to be here, I really am, but all I can think about is you. You’re all I want. I wish I was with you right now, not here.”

What he was saying hit you hard. He was supposed to be on his honeymoon, with your mother. But here he was, calling you, telling you how much he missed you, how much he wanted to touch you, hear you moan his name again. It was twisted, but you couldn’t deny the way it made you feel—desired, important, needed. “Joel...” You didn’t even know what you were asking for. You just wanted to hear him say more, to fill the aching silence between you. “I can’t stand being away from you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Being here with her… it’s all wrong. 'm thinkin' about you the whole time. I want to be with you, not hidin' this.” The admission made your heart race, your body responding to the urgency in his words. You sat up on your bed, the phone pressed tight against your ear, needing to hear more.

“I need you,” you whispered, not caring anymore about what it meant. “I don’t know how to stop wanting you, Joel. I made everything worse. I don’t know what to do.” Joel’s voice came through soft but strained. “I don’t want you to stop. I don’t want this to end. I need you too, baby. I’ve needed you for so long, and now that I’ve had you…” He trailed off, breathing heavy on the other end of the line. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About us. I don’t know how I’m going to survive this week without you.”

Your heart ached hearing him say it. You imagined him there, lying next to your mother, feeling the same torment that was tearing you apart. The thought should have made you feel worse, but all it did was make you crave him more. “When you get back...” you began, your voice unsteady. “What’s going to happen?” There was a pause, tension .” I don't know, little girl. But I need my hands on you again, feel you around me, kiss yaㅡ we'll figure it out."

Before you could respond, you heard a faint sound in the background—your mother’s voice, calling for him. Your stomach twisted, the weight of everything crashing down on you. You felt like throwing up. He was still with her, still living this life he didn’t want, while you waited, caught in the middle of it all. “I have to go,” Joel said quickly, his voice urgent. “But I’ll call you again. I miss you, baby. We’ll figure this out.”

And then the line went dead.

You stared at the phone in your hand, the silence deafening. Your mind raced, thoughts tumbling over one another, but all you could think about was him—how much you still wanted him, even knowing how wrong it was. The pull between you was too strong, and you didn’t know how to stop. his last words were ringing in your ears—“We’ll figure this out.” But would you? Could you?

Your hand shook as you placed the phone down, the weight of everything suddenly pressing down on you with crushing force. The room felt colder, emptier, like all the air had been sucked out the moment his voice disappeared from the other end of the line. You had been holding it together, balancing the edge of something dangerous and intoxicating, but now, in the quiet of your room, the dam finally broke. You pressed your palms to your face, feeling the burn of tears already welling in your eyes. You couldn’t stop it. The guilt, the longing, the impossibility of it all—it came crashing down like a wave, and you were powerless against it.

A sob escaped your throat, low and broken, as you curled into yourself, hugging your knees to your chest. The tears came hot and fast, spilling down your cheeks in heavy streams. You didn’t even try to hold them back. You wiped at your eyes, but the tears kept falling, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. You hated this—hated how torn you felt. Hated that, despite knowing how wrong it was, you couldn’t stop wanting him. It made everything feel impossible. You wanted him so badly, it ached. But the guilt—it clung to you, wrapped itself around your heart and squeezed, suffocating you with its weight.

The sobs came harder, your body trembling as you rocked yourself, trying to find some sort of release from the storm inside you. The image of Joel lying beside your mother, on their honeymoon, gnawed at you, twisting the knife deeper into your chest. How had you let it come to this? How had you fallen so far, wanting something you knew you could never truly have?

But even through the disgust, through the pain, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. His voice, his touch, the way he had looked at you. It had felt real. Too real. And now it was like you were caught in a spiral, unable to pull yourself out. You cried harder, the sound of your sobs filling the quiet room, your heart breaking under the weight of it all. You pressed your face into your knees, feeling the dampness of your tears soak through the fabric of your jeans.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You had wanted to make your mother happy, to stay away, to be the good daughter. But Joel—he had always been the one thing you couldn’t resist. And now that you had crossed that line, there was no going back.

The phone buzzed softly beside you, the screen lighting up with a new message. You didn’t need to look at it to know who it was. Even now, your heart still reached for him, wanting more of the thing that was tearing you apart. But you couldn’t. Not right now.

So, you sat there, curled up in your bed, crying alone, knowing that despite everything, despite the pain, you were already too deep. And you weren’t sure how to climb out.

the time slipped through your fingers.

The sun had barely set when you heard the familiar sound of tires crunching on the gravel outside. Your heart raced in your chest as you glanced out the window, the bright glow of the headlights cutting through the dusk. Joel’s truck. They were back. He was back. you hated that he had to go away for work so often. even though the honeymoon ended early, he had to leave again for something regarding his job, so this was the first time you saw him in weeks.

The past week had felt endless—long days filled with quiet moments where you found yourself staring at your phone, hoping for a message that never came. After that phone call, everything had felt suspended, like you were teetering on the edge of something you could never go back from. You had tried to keep yourself busy, but every time your mind wandered, it drifted back to him—the sound of his voice, the memory of his touch. The longing, the guilt, the jealousy... it was all there, swirling together in a storm you couldn’t control.

You stood by the window, watching as Joel’s truck pulled into the driveway next to your mother’s. He climbed out, his tall figure silhouetted against the setting sun, a bag slung over his shoulder. You saw him exchange a few words with your mother, who was already standing on the porch, a wide smile on her face as she rushed over to greet him.

You blinked, shaking off the sudden wave of jealousy that washed over you. Stop it, you told yourself. She’s your mother, and he’s with her. You pulled away from the window, trying to steady your breath. But it didn’t help. The pit in your stomach only grew deeper. You couldn’t escape the feeling—the weight of what had happened, the shame that gnawed at you. You had always known this day would come, but that didn’t make it easier to face.

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden. You froze for a second, your heart thudding against your ribs. Your mother called out, “I’ll get it!” But you knew it wasn’t her who he had come for. it was you. so you rushed in front of her, muttering a soft "i got it." When you opened the door, you saw him standing there, looking every bit like the man you had spent the last weeks fantasizing about. His dark hair was tousled, his eyes still shadowed from the exhaustion of travel, but there was something else—something hungry.

He was wearing a simple flannel, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, calloused forearms. He looked worn, but somehow more real than before. More him. You could feel your nipples harden at his sight. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low.

You nodded, feeling the tension coil tighter between you. For a moment, neither of you said anything—just stood there, caught in the gravity of what had happened, what you both knew but weren’t quite ready to speak.

Your mother’s voice interrupted the silence. "Come on in," she called out from the living room. "I was just looking at the pictures from the trip. Joel, why don’t you show her the ones we took from the beach?" Joel glanced at you, his eyes searching your face, but you forced yourself to smile, hiding the turbulence inside. You could already feel it— those pictures, the idea of him sharing his time with her, touching her, laughing and smiling while you were here, waiting, stuck between two worlds.

As you stepped into the living room, Joel followed, and your mother handed him a small photo album that just came in the mail with a beaming smile. "Look at this one, Joel. It’s from the sunset on the beach. I swear, the sky was never so perfect!" she exclaimed before heading to the kitchen to make some drinks for the three of you. Joel opened the album, flipping through the pictures. There they were—Joel and your mother, side by side, arms wrapped around each other, smiling as they stood by the ocean. You could see the joy in your mother’s face—the happiness you had always wanted for her, but it still stung. The sight of them together made your chest tighten with something you didn’t want to acknowledge. were you jealous?

Joel glanced up at you, sensing your discomfort. He cleared his throat, his voice lower than usual, as if he was trying to say something that hadn’t quite formed yet. "I missed you," he said quietly, glancing back at the pictures.

You stared at the photo of Joel and your mother standing on the beach, their hands intertwined. The image of them together, so carefree and happy, only deepened the ache inside you. You clenched your jaw, feeling the jealousy flare up—jealous of the way they had spent those days together. Jealous that he had touched her, laughed with her, shared moments you had longed for. He caught the shift in your mood, the way your eyes narrowed at the pictures. You couldn’t hide it. Joel stepped closer, his tone more serious now. "Hey, don’t look at it like that. babyㅡ"

You blinked, feeling the sting of unshed tears. "Like what?" You asked, trying to mask the hurt in your voice. "Like I’m..." He paused, his eyes searching yours, his hand hovering, almost as if he wanted to reach out but stopped himself. "Like I was with her, and not with you."

"But you were." You blurt it out.

Your heart hammered in your chest. The way he said it made the jealousy bubble up even more, but there was something else in his voice too—something like regret, like he was just starting to feel what had happened between the two of you. "I just..." You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion. "I can’t do this, Joel. Seeing you with herㅡ it hurts."

Joel’s face softened, and he took a step closer, his hand finally finding yours. His touch was grounding, reassuring in a way you hadn’t expected. "Hey, look at me," he said softly. "It wasn’t like that. I’m with her, sure. I promised her, and I’m tryin' to be a good man for her, but it’s not the same. You’re different. You’ve got a hold on me, baby. on my soul and heart. I can’t explain it.." You stared at him, your heart a mess of confusion and desire. His words sent a wave of relief through you, but it didn’t erase the pain. You wanted him, but he was still bound to your mother, and that fact ate at you from the inside out.

"I can’t pretend," Joel said, his thumb brushing the back of your hand. "it’s not something I can just ignore. And I won’t let it destroy you or me. It’s just... hard to figure out where to go from here." Your breath caught in your throat. "I don’t want to lose you," you whispered. "But I don’t know how to do this—how to live in this space between what’s right and what feels so damn wrong."

Joel’s expression darkened for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on him as well. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles. "I know it’s messy," he murmured. "But it’s not goin' anywhere. I’m not goin' anywhere."

There was no easy answer, no clear path to walk. But in that moment, as you stood in the same room as Joel and your mother, no matter how hard you tried to fight it, you knew that whatever happened, you couldn’t walk away from him.

Not now. Not ever.

The early evening sun cast a golden glow across the kitchen as your mom stood in front of the mirror, giving herself one last look before grabbing her purse. She hummed to herself, the excitement of her night out with friends clear in her every movement. She was still glowing from the wedding, from the honeymoon. The happiness on her face felt like a knife in your chest.

"You're sure you'll be alright here?" she asked, her voice light, not really expecting a different answer from you. " I won't be too late." You nodded, trying your best to keep your smile steady. "Yeah, Mom. We'll be fine. You deserve to have fun." Your mom turned to Joel, who was leaning casually against the kitchen counter, his hands tucked into his pockets. "And you.." she teased, stepping closer to him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I know you're not much of a party guy. Try not to be too boring while l'm gone."

Joel chuckled lightly, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "I'Il behave,"' he promised, though his eyes flicked toward you for just a moment. a brief, loaded glance that made your heart flutter.

Your mom laughed, oblivious to the tension in the room, as she slung her purse over her shoulder. "Alright, don't wait up for me. I'll be back later." She waved, her heels clickingsoftly against the floor as she headed out the door.

The sound of the car starting up, the engine humming, and the tires rolling down the driveway were the last reminders of her presence before the house fell into silence. The quiet between you and Joel was immediate, heavy, as if the very walls of the house knew something had shifted. You stood there, not sure what to do. "Guess it's just us now," Joel said, his voice low, rough around the edges. He knew what he was doing. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Yeah... just us." You could feel his eyes on you, the same gaze that always seemed to see right through to the heart of you, the gaze that made you feel vulnerable exposed.

Joel pushed off from the counter, taking a few slow steps toward you. His movements were deliberate, careful. "You alright, baby?" You looked away, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to pull together some semblance of control, but it was no use. "I thought i could handle it, being here with you..." Joel's jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's been hard for me too," he said quietly, his voice strained. He reached out slowly, his hand brushing your arm, the touch so soft it sent a shiver through you. "This whole thing," he muttered, his eyes dark, intense, "it's not what I thought it would be. Not with you here. It ain't easy for me either."

Your pulse raced as you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. "I don't know how to stop," you whispered, your voice trembling. Joel's hand moved to your waist, his grip gentle but firm. His touch was warm, grounding, but the fire between you was undeniable. "I can't stop." he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "i've tried, but..."

He trailed off, his eyes flicking to your lips. You could feel the pull between you growing stronger, the tension wrapping tighter around you, making it harder to breathe. "Joel.." you gasped, not sure what you were asking for. "I know, baby.." you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. "I need you." you finally muster some courage. Joel's eyes darkened at your words, and before you knew it, his lips were on yoursㅡ soft at first, tentative, but when he felt you respond, the kiss deepened. His hand moved up your back, up into your hair, pulling you closer, his touch igniting something inside you that you had been trying to keep buried.

The kiss was everything you had been wanting, everything you had been denying yourself. It was soft but intense, slow but deliberate, and it left you breathless. But even as you kissed him, even as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him, the reality of it all lingered in the back of your mind.

you pull back for a second. "We shouldn't be doing this." Joel's grip tightened on you, his eyes searching yours. "i know, darli'. we shouldn't." He pulled you in again, his lips finding yours, and this time there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. It was raw, intense, and everything you had been craving. His hands moved over your back, your arms, as if he couldn't get enough of you, as if he had been holding back for too long. You let yourself forgef everything. He picks you up and places you on the cold kitchen counter, your legs wrapping around his middle. "Need'a taste you, sweet thing." You moan as he undresses you from your flimsy shorts, pulling them down and getting on his knees in front of you. "No panties, baby? filthy little thing." Though it wasn't on purpose, you can't help but blush at his reaction. Joel inched closer, rogh beard rubbing against your plush skin, making you jolt. finally, he sticks his tongue out, dragging it through your dripping folds. you grab onto the counter, leaning back on your hands as you try to bite back moans. "Look at ya, dirtying your moms counter. don't you feel bad?" he teases. you don'tㅡ for anything. it all fades away. the moment he digs into you, your eyes roll to the back of your head. joel circles his tongue around your swollen bud agonizingly slow. you try to push his head further, signal him to go faster, but he's adamant that he takes his time.

it doesn't take long until you feel yourself unraveling, that pit forming into your tummy as your muscles tense up. Just then, Joel pulls away with that, leaving you gasping for air. "Not yet, baby. want you to come on my cock." he was so vile, wiping his face with the shirt he had on before undoing his pants. they fall to his ankles and he scoots closer so that he's between your legs, his lenght resting snug between your puffy lips.

"Please, joel, don't do this to me.." You whine, unable to resist longer. "Pretty desperate thing. 's okay, I'll give it to you." With that, he pulls you closer and aligns himself with you dripping entrance. even if it wasn't the first time with him, it still stings, the stretch deliciously painful. "Fuck, baby, look at that. this pussy was made for me, yeah? say it baby. say this pussy is mine." he grabs you harshly by your face, as he pushes in fully. " 's all y-yours, joel, 'm all yours."

"damn right you are. my little girl, so eager to take my cock.." he deliberately snaps his hips, the tip slipping past your cervix. the pain was taking over your body, and you let yourself sob as joel holds you close while he starts moving. " 's okay, sweet thing. i got you. you're alright, you can take it." you are alright.

Joel leans down to capture your lips into another kiss. His lips are warm and inviting, igniting a spark within your core. The kiss deepens, filled with an intensity that speaks of desire. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer as his fingers trace delicate patterns on your skin. The world around you blurs as he pushes inside of you faster, harder, and you hiss softly through the kiss. he's moving his hips the same rhythm as your heart that was pounding against your chest. "I can never get enough of you.." he growls through broken grunts as he moves into you, your walls clenching around him. "Joel, godㅡ" he leans down again, planting soft pecks across your collar bones and down to your breasts. "yeah? c'mon baby, tell me how good it feels."

"feels so good.." Your moans echo through his head like a melody, and you can feel Joel's grip onto your waist growing tighter. the familiar pool into your lower belly makes its presence known as your back arches against his hold, one hand slipping under one of your thighs as his lips write kisses from your neck to your pebbled nipples "I'm so closeㅡ" Your little cries are enough to send him over the edge. "I love you so much, baby, shitㅡ 'm gonna come some deep in you. feel me in your little tummy?"

your heart almost stops. he loves you. joel loves you. he said he loves you while he's drilling into you on your mom's countertop. and he's your mom's husband. as he's fucking deeper into you, the words slip out without warning, no second-guessing. "I love yㅡou, Joel!" he closes his eyes, forehead resting agains yours as his hips buckle from releasing white ropes of warm liquid inside of your velvet walls, the feeling overwhelming and suffocating. you wait for him to calm down a bit before you bring your hands to his face and pull him up for another kiss. You both catch your breath. finally, he breaks the silence, while taking his shaft out of your pulsing cunt.

"fuck, baby... look at the mess you made. you bad girlㅡ lick it up now." you whimper as you try to move your limp body down the counter, bending yourself over to lick up the juices and come that dripped from you. joel licks his lips, watching as his seed trickles down your thighs. he takes two fingers and with no warning sticks them up in you, as you still lick the cold surface. "Want it all in you." you feel his warm, thick fingers swirling around your cunt, pushing back in any come that may have slipped out. "You'll look so pretty with my baby in you."

Joel loves you.

taglist ⭐️ ㅡ @eviispunk @1-800-sluttysadness @joeldjarin @whimsiwitchy @guelyury

[sevgilimsatoru]

Error: 410 (Self Aware!AU Caleb Edition) Part 10

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 A/N

Summary: A self aware!AU with Caleb and NonMC! reader.

Tags: Caleb x reader, Caleb x NonMC! reader, Caleb x fem!reader, fluff, angst, Stressedout!reader. Hypersexual!reader

Word count: 1k

Inspired by: @ittybittyfanblog A/N: I'm not sure if y'all will like this chapter. Tell me your thoughts after reading this chapter, please.

"Cold sheets; Oh, where's my love? I am searching high; I'm searching low in the night"

You just sat there in shock for a minute trying to process everything.

He was gone.

He was…

You could never see him again, hear his voice, his laughter... You knew you had agreed to let him figure it out; you had agreed to wait, but you just wanted to see his face for the last time.

You shook your head, looking at the screen of your phone. You went to download the game, but you couldn’t. ‘Application not compatible with the device.’ You went to Chrome trying to search for any APK you could find of this game. Who cares if you got a virus on your phone?

It’ll be worth it if you could just see him for the last time. But nothing worked. Some sort of error always came up. There is always something standing in your way.

You went through your gallery—all the screenshots you had taken of him. Nothing was there—nothing at all. As if every piece of evidence of him—his sentience—vanished with him. You opened almost every single app on your phone in hopes of finding something… anything.

That was when you stumbled on a particular note in your notes app.

“For my sunshine.”

You could almost hear him call you that nickname, tears filling up your eyes as you clicked on the note, watching it open. It contained a link; when you clicked on it, it opened in your browser in a page, a website that was designed like the words were written in a diary.

Hey, sunshine. I’m not sure when you will see this. I suppose you won't, not until I have your attention, but I’m not complaining. You’ve been very busy lately with work, so I thought I could leave these words as gifts. Maybe you’ll stumble upon them and feel a little less stressed in your college classes. I’m not writing this because I can’t say the things that I write to your face. I can, and I will. I’ll say them hundreds, thousands of times if you want me to.

I’ll tell you my answers before you can ask: yes, I still love you, no matter what you look or sound like, and I always will. I keep thinking about you when you are away. The work as a colonel is tiring, but I can handle it if it means that I get to come home, see your smile, and talk to you for hours on end—it’s the best part of my day.

I know you tell me to not be so strong all the time; I can’t help myself if I want to protect you… I always knew what it felt like to love someone with your whole heart, but you showed me how it felt to be loved back the same way.

You know I believe....

ʎɐp ǝuo ʇɐɥʇ…. That That  That That That That That That That error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error  error error error error error error error error error error error error error error  error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error                           error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error  error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error error                           error error error error error error error error error error error error error error  error error error error error error error error error error error error error error  error error error error error error error error error error error error error error                         

    ERROR  410

The requested resource

is no longer available on this server and there is no forwarding address. Please remove all references to this resource.

Additionally, a 410 Gone error was encountered while trying to use an ErrorDocument to handle the request.

The page you are looking for does not exist.

What the hell? There was so much more you still had to read. Two pages… you still had two pages left to read. You had just blinked, and the page was gone. If you had just paid a little bit of attention and seen this before. Read what he had to say… but now he was gone.

When will you be able to see him again? How long was it going to take…? You wish you could undo your words. Make him come back.

Come back, Caleb.

Tag list: @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @aneertawrites @etsuniiru @demon-master-zero @angstylittleb1tch @mcdepressed290 @ittybittyfanblog @winwinwrites @alifyairl @huhleighna @calebsbeanpeeler @bookworrm1999 @mentaltrouble2201 @noxus123 @babyx91 @multisstuff @beomluvrr @sunnylittleapple @lunia-likes-pomegranet @imhere2dosomething @lostpsycho13 @april-likes-smut @calebsbabyapple @mephisto-with-a-knife

[somniseeker]

“ding!” [ undertale x reader ]

series masterlist : [here] | chapter one

summary: you can’t sleep, and at 3:49 AM, a notification pulls you into a mysterious group chat called UnderChat. the members—quirky and chaotic sans au’s like ink, fresh, and error—welcome you as their newest recruit, insisting you’re from an alternate universe. confused but curious, you hesitate to believe them, wondering if you’ve stumbled into the strangest roleplay or something more.

3:49 AM

That was the time, obviously. You were not catching a wink of sleep tonight, even though those eyes of yours were pratically burning at this point. Blinking at the bright light which popped up when you clicked a notifaction. "DING!" echoed the phone on full volume: You were just about to scroll through tumblr aud—

Oh.

Oh. . 

You've been added to a groupchat.

Immediately sitting up you rubbed your eyes, curiousity gleaming in them.

UnderChat 

You don't remember downloading that app. . Perhaps you accidentally clicked on one of those explicit advertisements on accident while reading on pirated websites, that seems like a plausible explanation. Still doesn't explain why you're recieving notifactions saying your in a groupchat. A groan escaped your lips as you clicked the notifaction, although accepting the fact this was some sort of call-out cancel groupchat, an accidental add, or it's fake and it's a virus. Probably the latter.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

[ SLEEPRLUVR has joined the group ]

FunkN'Fresh: wellllp ill be diddly darn darned we gots a new funky fresh membah?

GlitchBitch: Stop typing like that.

FunkN'Fresh: noo can do funny magic maannnnnnnnn

[ GLITCHBITCH has muted the groupchat ]

FunkN'Fresh: you maaaaaaad.

Ink: Oh! New member yay, Okay so I can explain this as your probably confused sans!

Ink: Eheh, "how do you know my name" you might ask! wellllp, yknooow the multiverse and all that stuffs? We made a groupchat!

SLEEPRLUVR: what? 

Ink: Okay so a basic run down of how the app works, the three icon's at the side shows you every AU that has joined so far and what their username is - You need to create a profile with yours!

SLEEPRLUVR: what

Ink: Oh— You must still be confused, I'll just do it for you! What AU are you from?

SLEEPRLUVR: what.

Ink: ...

Fell2cool4school: prolly from "what"!tale lmfao

SLEEPRLUVR: no, just wasn't expecting roleplayers in my schedule today. i can do this - what aus are open?

.

.

.

The chat suddenly went dead silent, leaving you staring groggily at your phone, squinting at the screen. You couldn't help but wonder what was going on. Does it really take this long to grab a character masterdoc? It's been a while since you last roleplayed, but this felt off. When the next message finally popped up, you couldn't help but roll your eyes. 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Ink: Oh, uh... this isn't exactly roleplay, but I get why you'd think that! Anyway, we’ve got a lot of AUs here, so take your pick! Let’s see… there’s Underswap, Underfell, Dancetale, and even some wacky ones like Dusttale and Underlust, but let’s not go there unless you’re into, well, *that* kind of stuff. 

SLEEPRLUVR: ...i’m just going to ignore that last part.

Fell2cool4school: aww c’mon, why skip out on the fun? 😈

SLEEPRLUVR: This is ridiculous. Okay, so let's say I believe this whole “multiverse” thing. Why am I here?

Ink: Well, every AU needs a representative! Think of it like... a council! Each universe gets one member to join the chat, share ideas, keep peace, y’know? And... well, you’re the lucky one picked from your AU!

SLEEPRLUVR: but i don’t even know what AU i’m from. how am i supposed to “represent” it?

FunkN’Fresh: uhhh doesn’t seem too funkay to me, guess they jus got dropped here like a beeboppin’ newbie!

GlitchBitch: Figures. Another clueless one. Just what we needed.

Ink: Don’t mind them! We’ll figure out your AU together! It’s kinda exciting, right?

SLEEPRLUVR: mmm, more like nerve-wracking. can i leave?

Ink: Nope! Once you’re in, you’re in. But don’t worry, we’re all friends here! ...Sort of.

Fell2cool4school: speak for yourself, inkhead. i ain't here to make friends. only enemies. and sometimes frenemies. but mostly enemies.

SLEEPRLUVR: yyyeah, i’m definitely going to regret this. okay, so if I’m stuck here… how do I create this profile thing?

Ink: Just tell me a bit about yourself, and I’ll set it up for you! Favorite color? Likes? Dislikes? Any cool abilities? C’mon, spill!

SLEEPRLUVR: umm… favorite color? any, I guess. Likes? Sleeping. Dislikes? Waking up. Abilities? being normal???

GlitchBitch: Abilities: None. Fitting.

Ink: rainbow, sleeping, normal. Got it! I’ll just make your profile super quick…

FunkN’Fresh: "likez sleeping" heh. typical standard sans bruh.

[INK is typing…]

Ink: Done! Welcome to the UnderChat, SLEEPRLUVR!

SLEEPRLUVR: …i’m going to need a lot of coffee for this, aren’t I?

FunkN’Fresh: forget coffee, maaaaan. get some soda in yer veins, get the funky fresh groove goin’!

GlitchBitch: Or you could just log off and get back to your irrelevant existence. Just saying.

SLEEPRLUVR: …i’m starting to think leaving this group would be the sanest option.

Fell2cool4school: too late for that, buddy. you're one of us now. welcome to the madness.

     You sat on your bed, legs crossed beneath you, staring at the screen with a mixture of bewilderment and curiosity. That was... ermmm, certainly an experience. These people seemed like some serious kinnies or something. You hadn't seen roleplayers this deep in character since the wild days of Danganronpa Kokichi Tumblr drama. You gnawed at the inside of your cheek, debating your next move. You had things to do in the morning, so maybe it would be smart to just get some sleep. But then again—shouldn’t you figure out which AU to be? They didn’t even give you a proper list of what was available!

     You could at least deduce a few things. Obviously, GlitchBitch was the Error Sans of the group, with his snarky, broken-text vibes. Ink was, well, Ink, and FunkN’Fresh was soo stereotypically hippie, it was a dead giveaway who he was supposed to be. But who else was in this group—this "UnderChat" as Ink called it? And how were you supposed to see these profiles they mentioned? The whole thing was making your head spin, trying to figure it out.

     Still, as you finally set your phone down and pulled your covers over you, you couldn't help but feel a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Yeah, it was weird—being added to some mysterious group chat by what seemed like over-enthusiastic roleplayers—but there was something almost... nostalgic about it. It had been a while since you just sat back and played pretend, no matter how weird the scenario... or old the fandom was.

     Maybe tomorrow you’d hit up the Undertale Wiki and find a cool AU to rp as. After all, if you were going to be stuck here, you might as well have some fun with it.

* A/N: uhm, this was written for ao3 and crossposted on quotev and now we're here. it looks best, imo, on quotev because it comes with extra media!! but im here because ppl can send asks n stuff for extra content of the skellies. please reblog or comment , it helps my motivation

[tamurilofrivendell]

Arranged | Thranduil x Reader

Read on AO3

Pairing: Thranduil x Female Reader

Summary: The Mirkwood courts having successfully pushed Thranduil into accepting a new queen through an arranged marriage. However, he cannot seem to help comparing them to his former wife. When tensions run high and reader calls the whole thing off, Thranduil realises the error of his ways.

Content etc: Thranduil being a little bit of an ass I guess. Angst. Fluff.

Prompt: number 32 & 39 on this list

requested by anonymous (I’m sorry this took literally forever and I’m sorry if it isn’t exactly what you wanted!)

word count: 4.6k

tags: @firelightinferno​​, @achromaticerebus​​, @coopsgirl​​, @birbixo0912​​, @desert-fern​​, @ancient-rime​​, @lady-of-imladris​​​, @weepingdreammarvel​​​, @asianbutnotjapanese​​​, @deadlymistletoe​​​

“This is wrong.” Thranduil’s voice snapped you out of your tangled thoughts and you lifted your head with a confused frown, looking back at him.

"What is?" You asked, not even having had any clue as to what it was that he was working on over there on the sprawling couch of his large private library.

Thranduil looked up and met your gaze. "The guards you have picked." He gestured to the paper in his hands as if it should be obvious. "They are not of a high enough level to guard the Queen." 

“Oh.” You gave him a quizzical look, tilting your head. You weren’t entirely sure about levels and the like. Nobody had said anything yesterday. Nobody had even really told you much at all, in all honesty, you had been sort of left to fend for yourself. “I... didn’t know anything about that. I just had to watch them fight and pick, you said. They appeared good enough for me. I think they would do just fine.”

The Elvenking blinked at you for a moment, his thoughts more critical than he would have liked. If you had not been sure, why had you not asked? Deep down, he knew that you could not possibly have known to ask because he had not told you that you could, or should. He’d told you to pick your own guards and then left you in the training grounds to attend a council meeting. However, Thranduil had simply assumed you would have asked for help or clarification if you had needed it. And clearly you had if this list was anything to go by. As it was, you had not wanted to cause a fuss, or look foolish, or add more work to the king’s heavy load. The soldiers showing off their skills had seemed capable enough and that had been all you’d thought you needed to look for. Besides, how would you know anything about their levels? You still did not yet know everybody here.

Thranduil’s silence was uncomfortable but then he simply tsk'd and lowered his gaze again. He shrugged, almost to himself, but he did not sign off on the document. He simply scored something out before setting it to one side to go back to later. He would pick, he decided. If he let you choose low levelled guards, how would they protect you?

She would have chosen better, he thought, though it was there and gone again so quickly that he did not notice he’d thought it at all.

You eyed him for another long moment before you moved to leave the library, heading away down the corridor. He had been in a fairly strange mood all day and you supposed you should leave him to it. Not bad,��exactly, just... distracted, perhaps.

Most likely he was still struggling a little with this entire situation and you couldn't really blame him for that because it was still so very strange for you too. To have wound up in an arranged marriage with the King of Mirkwood. You yourself were from Lothlórien, daughter of an important elf in the Lord and Lady's court.

While unexpected, you could see the positives in such an arrangement and, truthfully, you liked Thranduil. He had been kind to you, at least when you first met and agreed to this. However, now that you had actually moved here, it seemed a little like he had been taking offence to every single decision you made. He’d give you things to do and then seem unsatisfied with the way you had done them. It was frustrating but you could only assume he was stressed and that he would soon relax.

You went to sleep that night hopeful that tomorrow he would be in a better mood.

You found him in his study the following afternoon and felt relief when he looked up and smiled at you. "I hope you slept well. Are you prepared for the feast tonight?" He asked, holding his hand out to bid you closer.

"Mostly. I just have to decide what to wear." You told him, moving into the room and seating yourself beside him. “It is still between two dresses.”

He sat there looking at you with an expression that you couldn’t quite decipher and it was almost as if he was studying something in your very soul. “Oh? You are not... set by now?” It seemed far too late to not have the entire outfit prepared.

You shrugged, always having been a bit more carefree and lazy in your decision making. You were a bit of a procrastinator and did not altogether mind if you left things to the last minute. Sometimes this was simply because you just... forgot. A far cry from the King beside you, of course. Also unbeknownst to you, a far cry from the Queen who had come before.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. His displeasure, however, radiated from him in waves in the silence that followed as he looked back down at the paperwork on the desk before him.

"Thranduil?"

"What?" He did not look up.

“Something troubles you.”

He responded with a non-committal grunt and you frowned at him, watching as he pretended to read whatever was on the desk but you could tell his mind was now elsewhere. You sighed and stood to leave the room. 

As you turned, Thranduil’s hand suddenly reached out and grasped your own. You turned to find him looking at you, a soft smile on his lips once more. “You will look beautiful whatever you wear.”

Returning his smile, you ducked your head to hide the blush you could feel about to spread over your cheeks, and quickly took your leave.

Thranduil watched you go and then leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. He liked you, he always had, but you were not quite what he had expected when he had finally relented to the pushing of his court to take a new Queen.

He had obviously agreed you would be a good choice. Your station in Lothlórien, your family tree, put you in a very good position to knowing how things worked... yet not entirely, it seemed. Something was a little... off now that you were actually here in Mirkwood with him.

Oh, you were beautiful, there was no doubt about that. You made him laugh. He enjoyed your company. There was simply something niggling at him in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t quite figure out.

The feast came quickly, too quickly for you as the time just flew past. You had gotten caught up doing something completely unrelated and frowned when a maid rushed in to find you. Her relief was palpable but you didn’t understand it until you realised the time and she had ushered you back to your room to get ready.

Thranduil was irritated. There had been a delay - nobody had been able to find you - and you were not ready for the feast. You were not here, and it took so long that he had to walk into the room alone and act as though nothing were amiss. He had promptly sat down and thrown back a rather large gulp of strong wine, irritated by the hold up.

When you entered the room - finally - you were a vision. He took in your hair, the ornamentation in it and around your neck, and the royal blue dress with pleased eyes that did much to allay his frustration.

Then, you went and tripped over the hem of the damned thing because you had not bothered to see that it had been properly fitted.

Luckily, you were close enough to the table at this point for him to grab you by the arm and keep you upright, but his irritation only grew at the scene that your little stumble had caused. The attention you caught was not the type he wished for, nor were the titters of laughter around the room.

She would never have left the fit of the dress to chance, nor would she have embarrassed him as such.

This time, Thranduil did catch the thought, but he quickly dismissed it as a simple stray musing that did not mean anything.

“Are you alright?” He asked, a little tersely, as he refilled his glass of wine.

You nodded, hardly noticing his tone yet as you willed the embarrassed flush in your cheeks to go away. You felt like the entire room had seen that and you cursed yourself for not even thinking that the dress might need proper attention. It just had not occurred to you.

“Yes. Thank you.”

He grunted and you finally looked up at him and noticed the frustration he was trying to bury shining in his eyes. You frowned, feeling even worse. He could not be... angry at you? Could he?

After picking at the food on your plate and watching one dance (you dare not join in with your dress!), you rose and made your way from the table out of the room without a word. You were not in the mood now. Reaching up, you tore the circlet from your head as you walked down the hallway as quickly as you could.

“Where are you going?” Thranduil’s voice came from the door you had just exited and you realised that he had followed you out.

Turning, you eyed him cautiously for a moment, trying to ascertain his mood, but once more he was quite the mask. “I am tired, Thranduil. I am going to bed.”

He nodded, moving closer. His gaze dropped to the circlet in your hands. “You could not have waited until you were behind a closed door?”

“What does it matter?” You asked, shrugging at him.

Thranduil didn’t respond but his brow creased just the slightest bit. Did it matter? He began to walk down the hallway and you turned to walk with him since it seemed that he was heading in the same direction you were anyway. 

“Are you upset?” You ventured after a while, watching him come to a halt as your question reached his ears.

Thranduil blinked. Was he upset? He supposed that he was feeling frustrated. Annoyed. Angry, perhaps. Why? He turned his head to look at you, a soft frown of confusion on his face as he shrugged. “I suppose I am. A little.”

“What’s the matter?”

He didn’t answer right away because, truthfully, Thranduil could not fully put into words what his problem was. What had gotten him so riled up over something that, logically, he told himself did not truly matter. Thranduil shook his head. “I am not rightly sure.” He offered his arm then. “Come, I will escort you to your room.”

But you would not be shut down quite so easily, and you shook your head. “You must know what is wrong.” You insisted. “How can I help you if you do not tell me?”

Thranduil frowned at you, his frustration growing once more. “I do not need your help.” He stated firmly, moving his arm closer so you would take it, but you still did not take it.

“Well, you need something. You-”

“Stop. Please.” He snapped lightly, dropping his arm since it had become clear that you were not going to take it. He turned around and took a step away, not wishing to engage in this right now.

“Thranduil!” Was he truly going to just turn away and leave? In the middle of a conversation? You could not quite believe it. “Just tell me what is wrong! Tell me!”

“She would not behave thus!” He thundered as he spun back to face you, and then immediately fell silent. Horror seemed to fill him as he realised what he had just said.

You frowned softly back at him, shaking your head. “Who-” Your mouth snapped shut as you stared back at him, suddenly understanding with a sick sort of certainty.

She. Her. His deceased wife.

She would not behave in this manner. She would not behave how you were behaving. She would do things ‘the right’ way. She would do better.

You could not hide the hurt that bled across your face as the two of you stared back at each other in the long, deathly silence that followed. Thranduil seemed to be frozen, utterly stricken, but you did not see it past your own dismay. Then, you were gone. Turning and fleeing from him, away down the corridor towards your own rooms.

Thranduil did not see you for two days. 

He tried to seek you out that same night but he had not been able to find you and, so, retired to his chamber to wait until you were ready to talk. However, it seemed that you were not willing to talk at all as, two days later, he received word that you had been seen sneaking into the stables with a bag full of your things.

Had it not been for you carrying your own belongings, Thranduil might have dismissed it and told them to simply follow you from a safe distance to keep you safe. As it was, he was immediately up from his chair and out of the door before the guard who reported to him could blink.

He rushed to the stables, finding you still trying to attach a bag to your horse, clearly frustrated that you could not get it secure. The animal, too, seemed unamused with your attention - blowing air through its nostrils and scuffing its feet.

“Going somewhere?” He asked quietly from the doorway, causing you to jump because you had not even heard him arrive, too focused on your irritation.

You stared at him for a second and found that looking at him hurt. You did not respond, you just turned your attention back to the horse and continued fiddling with the bag but nothing would attach the damn thing to the animal so you eventually huffed in exasperation and let it drop to the floor of the stall.

A silence followed.

You could feel Thranduil’s eyes on you but you did not look up at him.

“I never meant to hurt you” Thranduil said softly after another moment and you could hear the regret in his voice but you still didn’t look up at him.

Instead, you shrugged. “But you did.”

“Yes.” He agreed quietly, sighing. “I did.”

Of course, you did not resent him thinking of his wife. How could you ever? She had been a good Queen and an even better wife from all that you had heard of her. You had never met her, not even on a trip she’d taken with the King long ago to Lothlórien. But you had heard a lot about her and she sounded amazing. She was the love of his life, the mother of his only son, and you truly had never expected to replace her but to have him compare you in such a way... it had hurt, you could not deny that.

You were so different, you understood that, but... you were two completely different people and it did not feel fair for Thranduil to hold you to this standard that you had not even realised you had to meet. Yes, you were to be a queen and yes, you had a lot still to learn especially about Mirkwood and its own politics... but you were trying. You really were! All you needed was his help, not criticism. How could he not see that?

“Please just talk to me.” He said, his voice full of obvious unhappiness. His eyes dropped to the bag on the ground. “Where are you going?”

You held in a sharp comeback about why you should be expected to talk to him when he did not wish to do the same two nights ago. At his question, your gaze turned to the bag and you sighed, shaking your head. You bent down to pick it back up and began once more attempting to fasten it securely to the horse. “Home.” You said.

Thranduil blinked. “This is home.”

You frowned and your head snapped up to look at him. “This is your home... and clearly I am not welcome in it.” You hated how your voice shook just a little. You wanted to sound brave and firm, not like a hurt little girl. “I am returning to Lothlórien. You can call off all the arrangements.”

Thranduil stared at you then, watching while you struggled with the bag, as the reality hit him. You were going home, you were... calling off the wedding?

His arm shot out and he took hold of the bag, wrenching it gently but firmly from your grip. You gave a sigh and lifted your eyes to his face. Gods, why did he have to be so handsome? You shook your head at him, throwing your hands up in a defeated manner.

“Do not leave.” He said, his voice quieter than he would have liked. He was certain it shook a little... but you did not notice.

“Why?” Was all you could ask, scoffing a little as you shook your head again. “Why should I stay here, Thranduil? I did not come here because I have no other options, I came here because I... I like you and I trust you and...” You trailed off, lowering your gaze for a moment, one of your shoes (which were absolutely not suitable for riding a horse in the first place) kicking at the straw covered ground. “I will not... settle for a life where I am never good enough, where I am always second best. A life in the shadow of a memory. A beautiful memory, do not misunderstand, and one I would never want you to forget... but I am not her, Thranduil! I am not her and I never will be and I am sorry but... I cannot stay here, not like this.”

Another silence filled the stable. 

You looked away, at the horse, running your fingers through its mane. The animal was no longer in a mood now that you had stopped messing with the bag. You watched as it lazily chewed on some hay. Thranduil still had your bag in his hands, his fingers anxiously fiddling with the strap, his eyes on his hands. He felt ashamed and for a long moment he could not speak.

“You were never second place to me.” He whispered eventually, his eyes filling up with tears as he realised just what he had done. What he had made you feel. What he had made you think. “Never. You are not. I...” He faltered, grasping for the right words but he could not find them. “I know... what I said, what I have done, it was wrong. I cannot excuse myself, I do not even know why I...” He paused, frowning. 

You didn’t look up, though you could see him in your peripheral vision. He seemed to be struggling. He was not always good with words when it was not about politics or battle.

“I did not realise I was doing it at first,” he continued after gathering his thoughts once more. “There is no excuse and I do not say this to make one. I simply... she is the only queen to have ever graced my rule. I was thrust onto the throne so quickly... and I was grieving and she had to... truthfully, she had no choice but to take control of many things until I was more... present.” More in the moment after watching his father die, after that dreadful day, after suddenly becoming a king. “My mother died long before I even began to pay real, proper attention to anything... royal. I... my wife was the only queen I have ever known here, I remember how she did everything, I grew used to it. I forgot that you... do not know and I did not help you properly when I know that I should have. So I compared you to her and it was not fair of me. You did nothing wrong. I am sorry. So, so sorry.” He did not really expect forgiveness, he did not feel that he deserved it, he did not feel that he should receive it. To have hurt you... it pained him. “I love you.”

You turned your head from the horse to Thranduil’s face, the shock evident as you stared back at him for a few very long minutes. Had you heard that correctly? Did he... did he say...? 

Over this time, you had developed your own feelings towards the king. He was not perfect, though to outsiders he may look it, but that was probably part of why you’d fallen for him in the first place. You had not been able to help yourself. 

In the beginning, after he had approached you and your father with the idea from his council of an arranged marriage, it was not something either of you had rushed into. He had spent some time getting to know you better, for he did not wish to wed somebody he did not at least get along with. He’d been clear on that with his councillors and advisors. He’d written you letters after he returned to Mirkwood, he arranged visits for you to come and spend time with him. He showed up in Lórien once with no other reason than to offer you a bouquet of wildflowers he had picked himself, then he took you on a walk through the forest and the two of you just... talked. After all of that, it had been so easy. To say yes. To agree. Though you had known, you had known, that he would never love you. He cared for you enough, you knew that, but as a friend. He would never love you as he loved her. At least that’s what you had presumed.

“You...?” Was all you could say, still staring at him in absolute shock.

Thranduil nodded, the tears in his eyes that he’d managed to keep at bay finally beginning to spill down his cheeks as he blinked. He glanced down, embarrassed, lifting his thumb to his face and swiping away a tear. “Yes.” He whispered. “I... I should have said it before, I should have... shown it better. I am so sorry... but please.” He lifted his head again, his eyes wide as he looked at you quite desperately. “Stay. Please... do not leave me.”

You were staring at him, frozen for what felt like a long time, and Thranduil began to lose hope. You would leave and he would never see you again all because of his own stupidity. He knew you did not love him that way, that you had agreed to this as his friend, but he needed you to stay here, he could not bear to lose you.

When your voice finally came, it was but a whisper, and there were now tears in your own eyes to match Thranduil’s. “...I love you too.”

Now it was Thranduil’s turn to stare at you. He looked like he could not comprehend what had just come out of your mouth. He looked like he did not dare believe it. You stepped towards him, your hand dropping from the horse as you reached for the bag in his hands. He let you take it and you swung it up onto your shoulder out of the way, taking one of his hands in yours. You were still hurt but you could not believe this had happened... and maybe this was just something you both had needed to go through, to be able to get past it. Something his mind had needed to work through.

“I love you.” You said again, a little louder. You felt his hand squeeze yours and you lifted your free one to his face, wiping away his tears. He looked like he dared not even hope that what you had just said was true. 

“You do?” He asked then, his eyes softening as he gazed down at you while you wiped his tears away. His heart was threatening to burst out of his chest as he looked back at you. He was not fully sure he had even entirely admitted to himself that he loved you until right now. He’d felt it, he’d been aware of how fond he was growing of you despite those other thoughts, but he hadn’t fully come to terms with his feelings - he had not felt such love in a thousand years.

You nodded, your anger fading away, leaving both your hurt and your love behind. “Yes... I do.” You confirmed, sighing as you took his other hand. You heard his breath catch in his throat and you gave him a sad little smile. “I’m sor-”

“Don’t.” Thranduil said immediately, shaking his head firmly as he cut you off. “Do not. You have nothing to apologise for, you did absolutely nothing wrong. I am the one who was in the wrong. You will make a good queen. I should have told you this... I should not have gotten upset over such trivial things. Dresses...” He scoffed at himself. “None of that matters.” He said, glancing down shamefully. “I do not want you to think that I... that I do not appreciate you for who you are or that I wish you to be somebody else... because I do not.” He shook his head. “I love who you are, I love everything about you. I am so sorry.”

You could practically feel your heart soaring to the heavens. You simply could not believe that Thranduil felt this way about you and, despite your hurt over his words, you were quite overjoyed. You finally smiled and Thranduil took a steadying breath before he moved. He leaned towards you, slowly so you could turn or pull away if you did not wish it, but you stayed perfectly still and waited for him to kiss you.

When he finally did, it was like electricity. It was like something you had been missing your whole life suddenly clicked into place and you removed your hands from his to loop your arms around his neck and pull him closer. His own tentatively moved to hold you gently by the waist. When he broke the kiss and you opened your eyes again, you could tell by his expression that he truly felt the same, that he was floored by all of this, and you could see how deeply he regretted hurting you, making you feel inferior, second best.

“You will stay?” He asked then, still sounding a little uncertain, despite the fact you had kissed him and admitted you felt the same way. He was worried he might have ruined everything before he even got the chance.

You gazed up at him and you nodded. “Yes... I will stay. Of course I will.” 

There was still a sadness in your eyes that broke Thranduil’s heart to know that he was the one who put it there and he vowed to do everything in his power to make up for what he had done.

“I will never make you feel that way again.” Thranduil told you, his voice extremely firm, his gaze sharp but loving. He lifted a hand to your face, cupping your cheek. “I promise.”

You smiled and he kissed you once more before he took your hand, leading you from the stables and back into the palace, back to the future with you that he was more grateful than he could ever express to have not forever ruined.

[grim-reapers-wife]

Interview (Loki x Reader)

Does anyone remember the Andrew Garfield interview where he said the most swoon worthy things about Emma Stone?

Here’s the link 🔗

Well that’s what inspired this!

Summary: Tony is hosting a ball of sorts for the team and he’s really going out. Fancy champagne, floor length dresses, custom suits, a red carpet entrance with paparazzi and interviewers. Loki gets asked about his relationship with you and gives a heartfelt speech.

P.S. In my first fanfic I used a fem reader but in this one I made sure I wasn’t using a specific gender. I’ll mostly do fem x characters because I’m fem, but I noticed that this one was super easy to make inclusive. All genders are welcome here! I’ll start putting a disclaimer for what gender I’m writing for. I want to be as inclusive as I can and no race is mentioned in either, I believe. Inclusivity matters so I hope I’m not targeting one audience. ❤️

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Your POV.

“Over here, over here!” The paparazzi cameras flash bright lights in my eyes. I smile and pose along the red carpet Tony had set up in preparation for his Gala.

Flash, Flash, Flash

I’m wearing the most flattering outfit and beautiful jewelry, as payed for by Tony. I pose again before getting to a calmer part of the carpet, taking a deep breath and walking.

“Over here!” An interviewer ushers me over. “How are you enjoying the carpet?” He holds the microphone out for me. “Good, good. I felt like a total celebrity out there.” I laugh a little. “And how is working with the Avengers? Do you enjoy it?” It doesn’t take much time for my answer to come. “It’s wonderful, it’s like working with all of your best friends, but instead of paper work; we’re making the world a better place.” I answer a couple more questions and head to the main event.

I walk into the building Tony has reserved for the night. The shining chandelier sparkles across the room, making everything feel even more magical. Everyone looks amazing, I see Steve chatting up Bucky at a table and Vision and Wanda chat by the dance floor. I saunter over to the bar and grab a drink before heading to my friends.

Loki’s POV.

I frown at the paparazzi flashes. Midgardians are so strange about capturing moments, why not paint a portrait? I suppose this is just the way they are.

I pose for a couple of photos, per Tony’s request, then walk into a separate section of the carpet for interviews. None of the questions are of any substance until one of the interviewers peak my interest.

“How would you describe your partner? Y’all have been together for almost a year now, yes?” The interviewer hands me a device I am told will capture my voice.

“It’s wonderful, I’ve never met a person who I connect so deeply with, I especially never thought it would be a Midgardian. I’ve never met someone so amiable before. It’s like laying out in the sun on a warm day, just soaking up the sun. Like reading your favorite book, or eating your favorite food. I’m fully enamored, and truly in love.”

The interviewer brings his own sound device, which I am told is a microphone, to his lips. “Wow, I think everyone watching just fell in love!” I roll my eyes at the interviewer. “They don’t stand a chance against my love.”

I look into the building where the main event is being held and I find the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen staring back at me, and I immediately know whose they are. I smile and when I get a smile back, I know that I’ve never been more in love with another.

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Congrats on making it the end!! 🎉 🍾 If you made it this far I hope you enjoyed it and if you didn’t, feel free to leave KIND constructive feedback. I’ll always be open to tips and recommendations. Per usual don’t mind any grammatical errors! I’m definitely just doing this for fun. Thanks for reading!

[mangoshorthand]

A Hargreeves Christmas Carol | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader | Ch4

SUMMARY: Luther is the sort of idiot who goes around with a 'Merry Christmas' and a goofy smile on his lips. In your opinion, he should be roasted with his own turkey and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. Who better to teach you the error of your ways than Luther's brother, the man who holds the power of Christmases Past, Present, and Yet to Come in the palm of his hand? Info/Announcement Post

<< Read Chapter Three

Chapter Four (Rated M, 4.3k words)

The Last of the Spirits

As the living room cleared of his family, their Christmas ruined by the argument, Five succeeded in priming the briefcase. He reached out as if to take your upper arm and vanish with you into the previous evening, but you jumped out of his reach. 

“No Five. Show me the future! Show me the nuclear armageddon all this is supposed to cause. Because, based on what I just saw, this is your fault, not mine.” 

You reached out a finger and jabbed him hard in the chest, withdrawing quickly lest he use the opportunity to grab you. 

“You’re going home,” he said, firmly.

“I am not!” you yelled, stamping your foot in frustration, “take me to the future and prove to me that you haven’t been lying for an opportunity to get in my pants!”

Five tossed his head angrily, shaking his fists at his sides in equal frustration and making the briefcase hit him hard in the leg. 

“Don’t flatter yourself” he spat, “You think I’d do all this just for that?”

And then, after a slight pause:

“You think I’d try to scare you into fucking me, is that it?

“I don’t know what to believe!” you cried. 

Five took two or three angry breaths and chewed the inside of his cheek before he responded.

“I didn’t lie to get into your pants,” he said, sounding bitter, but slightly calmer “And, technically, I didn’t lie to you at all. I never actually said you caused nuclear armageddon. I just let you believe it.”

“WHAT?”

“I said that upsetting Luther could potentially cause nuclear armageddon, which is true: actions like those can, indirectly, lead to apocalyptic events. I never actually said it did in this case, however.”

You seized a bookend off a nearby shelf and threw it at him, hard. He, of course, blinked and reappeared a short distance away, leaving the bookend to smash against the wall. 

“I guess I would have deserved that.” Five said, eyeing the bookend as it faded back into being on the bookshelf. 

“YOU FUCKING PSYCHOPATH.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I know I shouldn’t -”

“YOU BASTARD!”

“I know,” he replied, a pleading note in his voice now, “but if you just-”

“YOU ARE BARRED. TAKE ME HOME, AND THEN NEVER SHOW YOUR FACE IN MY BAR AGAIN. I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!”

Five held up the hand not holding the briefcase.

“Fine, okay. I get it. But will you let me explain?”

You breathed like an angry bull, your fists clenched so hard it felt like you’d never be able to relax them again, but gave a resentful nod.

“Thank you,” he said, putting the briefcase down on one of the couches and sitting on its arm, facing you. 

“I guess it was my fault. I just…I guess I tried to blame you because that was easier than facing the fact I ruined Christmas for Luther… and for everyone else.”

You let out a huff, but his face kept you from an angry expostulation for the time being, and he continued: 

“But Sloane was right. You and I are similar. We’re both kind of misanthropic: we push the people who care about us away. It might not lead to an apocalypse, but it’s hardly gonna spell good news for us in the future.”

His expression appealed to yours, and you found it hard to maintain the same level of anger as you saw the honest-to-God anxiety in his face.

“I got a second chance to live my life,” he continued, quietly, “and I’m already fucking it up. You only got one life, and I don’t want to see you fuck it up either.”

You looked back at him, at his beautiful, infuriating, and wholly sincere face. Not for the first time that night, you felt the strange urge to cry. 

What was even stranger was the urge to cry on his shoulder. 

“I think you’re right,” he said.

“About what?” you asked, frowning.

“We should go see the future. Check in on you and I in, say, ten years time? See how bad it gets?”

The idea, though you’d been fiercely advocating for it only a minute or so earlier, suddenly filled you with a thrill of uncertain horror. Perhaps it was the effect of his speech, but to have such unnatural knowledge, impossible in the normal course of things, seemed now too terrible to comprehend. 

Nevertheless, you nodded silently, your legs starting to tremble beneath you. 

“Good,” Five said, and held out his hand. 

You took it. As he ran his thumb over the back of your hand, the fear became a little more bearable. 

“I really am sorry,” he said, seriously, still holding your eyes with his.

“I'll forgive you,” you replied, and squeezed his fingers. 

He smiled softly and let your hand go, reaching behind him for the briefcase once more.

“Okay,” he said, balancing it on one knee and playing with the dials, “since it’s still my hair in the briefcase, we may as well visit me first.”

The case clicked and whirred as, with a flourish, he finished his calibration. 

“Ready to see how shit my life gets?”

He looked up at you with a grin, took your hand again, and you both vanished into the now-familiar static.

You emerged in another living room, almost as different as it was possible to be from the one you just left. It was dingy, lit by a single bulb uncovered by any sort of shade.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Five murmured, looking around disdainfully. 

You had overcome your fear for now, and you looked around the living room with interest. 

It was clean at least, but the furnishings left a lot to be desired. There was a single recliner in the center of the carpet facing a TV mounted on the wall in front of you. There was also a squashed looking chesterfield, which seemed as if it was only there for form’s sake; a vague gesture at the idea of having guests.

Other than that, there was a small table beside the recliner and a couple of IKEA-looking bookcases, each filled to the brim with books. Otherwise, the room was empty. 

“Well, I’m definitely still single.” Five said, nodding to the sparse decor slightly bitterly, “Figures.”

“Yep, it’s not great,” you confirmed, grimacing.

He glanced down at the briefcase and then around the room again.

“It’s definitely Christmas Eve,” he said, “but I guess I got nobody to put up a tree for. What would be the point?”

There was a voice from the other room and you both fell silent.

“Oh, that’s great. Tell him I say hi.” 

It was Five’s voice, and it was followed a half second later by Five himself coming into the room. 

“Really?” the Five beside you said, a mixture of disappointment and incredulity in his voice. 

The decade-older Five was wearing a pair of pajama pants, no shirt, and was sporting a chevron mustache that didn't suit him. He held a phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, and his well-abused slippers shushed against the carpet. 

He was carrying a beer in one hand and what looked like some sort of frozen dinner in the other: constituted beef packaged into steak-esque shapes was sitting on a bed of soggy green beans. On the side, there was a dump of watery potato puree masquerading as mashed. 

“This is so depressing,” Five said, cringing at the sight of himself.

“That mustache does make you look like a child molester,” you agreed.

“Thanks." 

“Mm-hm,” said the future Five, placing his sad meal on the table and settling himself in the recliner, facing away from you, “well that’s nice to hear. Did the gifts for the kids arrive...Good, good.”

He picked up the beer and took a swig, using the remote to turn on the TV and immediately mute it, flicking through the channels as he spoke on the phone. 

“Me? Oh, I’m fine. Just relaxing, you know?”

He paused in his channel surfing on a showing of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, set down the control and watched it as he continued the conversation.

“You know me, I hate Christmas … Yeah, I’m happy as hell here.”

Five winced beside you. 

“I’m guessing that’s a lie?” you murmured, looking at your Five sidelong.

“Yup,” Five said, grimly, “the only thing I hate worse than people is being alone.”

Five’s future self lifted his dinner onto his lap and speared a limp green bean onto his fork.

“How’s Luther?” he said, “Life and soul of the party, right? … Sure, sure … good for you.”

He took a few more bites of his meal, ‘uh-huh-ing’ and ‘mm-hm-ing’ occasionally at the voice on the other end of the line. 

 Well,” he said, an almost undetectable tinge of sadness in his voice now, “maybe next year.”

His tone made it so clear that he didn’t hold out much hope that you didn’t even bother conferring with the Five beside you.

“You guys got your New Years planned? … Nice, nice … do you know what everyone else is doing?”

He stayed quiet as he listened, eating some more and throwing out another mm-hm or uh-huh as the conversation required. 

“Huh?” he said, eventually. “I’ll probably hit the bars with a couple of friends. Maybe do the big countdown in Times Square or wherever.”

“I’m lying,” Five said to you, flatly.

“Yeah, yeah,” the Five in the chair continued, “well I’ll - what? … Oh. No, that’s fine. Have fun tomorrow. I gotta go now anyway … alright … yeah, Happy Christmas. Bye Vik.”

When the call ended, he put down his knife and fork for a few moments, sighed, and then lifted his eyes back to the TV and began eating once more. 

“This is what I get.” Five said dully, watching himself finish the last third of his meal. 

You looked from the Five facing away from you in the chair to the Five beside you, his expression haunted.

“But this is just a future that might be, right?” you said, half asking, half attempting to reassure him, “This isn’t set in stone.”

“If I don’t get my shit together, this is where I’ll be.”

“But you talk like you’re past all hope,” you said, bracingly, “You just have to make a change.”

“Yeah,” he said, though not sounding convinced. 

“And even if you get like this, it’s not like it’s too late to make it right! You’re, what, in your thirties here?” 

“Over eighty,” Five said. 

“Well, whatever,” you continued, “the one thing you got is time. If that Five pulled his finger out of his ass, he could go fix it. It’s not like anyone’s dead.”

As you spoke, the older Five finished his meal and began to channel surf again.

“I was alone for a very long time.” your Five said, “It does something to you.”

You watched him in silence as he continued. 

“When my brain was developing the finer points of empathy, I didn’t have anyone around to empathize with. There was nobody real to practice on while my brain was still plastic.”

You looked from him to the Five in the chair, considering him as you listened. 

“I feel like…maybe I’m doomed.” Five continued, “This is my mind’s comfort zone; nobody around to force me to be an actual human being. Nobody to challenge me, nobody to compromise for. Nobody to force me to be better by expecting more of me.”

Your attention was suddenly caught by the television.

“Uh, Five?”

“It’s like I’m stuck in this pattern of -”

“Five, seriously.”

This got his attention, and he looked at the TV in horror.

“Oh my god!” he cried, almost dropping the briefcase.

On the screen, there were two women gyrating against one another in barely-there Santa-themed lingerie. From the chair, a rhythmic shuffling sound confirmed the worst. 

Horrified, Five grabbed you by the back of your sweater, pulled you out of the room and into a sad looking bedroom. 

“I am so, so sorry!” he said, sitting down heavily on the bed and hiding his face in his hands, “I can’t believe you had to see that!”

You tried extremely hard to keep the laughter in, but a little burst bounds despite your best efforts. 

“I’m sorry,” you said back to him, looking up at you with a red, mortified face made even worse by your reaction, “I’m really sorry to laugh, I don’t want to embarrass you. It was just so unexpected!”

He hid his head in his hands again and groaned, just as the Five from the living room gave an audible groan of his own.

This was too much, and you fell into helpless giggles.

“I’m - s-so ….sorry!” you managed, struggling to speak against laughter that had you doubled over and leaning against the wall for support, “I’m not… I’m not j-judging you, it’s j-just… really f-f-f-funny!”

You struggled to get ahold of yourself, managing it with difficulty, and Five recovered himself just enough to look up at you, mortified. 

“I’m glad one of us is enjoying this at least.”

At this, all your hard work was undone and you bent double again, breathless with laughter.

“T-t-two of us are enjoying it!” you wheezed, gesturing in the direction of Five’s counterpart. 

Five’s face crumpled, but then a pained snort forced its way out, and then he was laughing too. 

“I can’t believe I masturbate to cable porn.” he said, agony in his voice, “That’s the worst part!”

You sat down beside him on the bed and put your arm around his shoulders, giggling breathlessly, his own reluctant laughter just adding to the hilarity. 

In this manner, the laughter gradually faded, and you finished up leaning against one another, still chuckling occasionally. 

Turning to him, you looked at his expression. Though he still looked amused, there was equal humiliation and misery in the lines of his face.

“Listen to me,” you said, softly, “you’re not doomed to loneliness and cable porn. You’re not… you’re not broken, maybe just a little bent.”

“Thanks,” he murmured, bowing his head and letting it rest gently against yours. 

He let out a little breath, as if he were laying down a heavy burden he knew he would have to pick up again all too soon. 

At this close quarters, you could smell that menthol scent again; eucalyptus, perhaps a hint of citrus.

And, rather like the night you wiped salt away from his chin, your body acted without your brain’s involvement. 

You pressed your lips to his scarlet temple, and then withdrew. 

Five looked surprised, and he lifted his head to look at you, only a few inches apart. 

“Thanks,” he said, again, though he mouthed it this time, the word barely articulated.

You looked at each other, caught in this strange, frozen moment. Both of you sat there, paralysed, completely unsure what might happen next.

And then, a particularly drawn out moan from the living room snapped you both back to reality. Apparently the other Five wasn’t far off finishing his visit to the land of cable porn. 

“We should go,” Five said, quickly, drawing away from you quickly and fumbling in his breast pocket for the vial containing your hair.

“Sounds good,” you said, brightly, hiding the awkwardness with jollity. 

There were a few exquisitely embarrassing moments as Five exchanged the hairs in which his older self was putting on rather the auditory show.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Five chanted as he worked, finally succeeding in slamming the DNA housing back into place and setting the briefcase.

With no preamble, he grabbed your arm and you both thankfully vanished into the ether. 

When you rematerialized, it was to find yourself in your bar on a busy night. 

“Thank God.” Five said, still bright pink.

He looked briefly down at the briefcase:

“Yep, same night.”

The bar looked relatively unchanged, though the fixtures and fittings had been upgraded at some point in the ten years that lay between you and this permutation of Maggie’s. There was the same half-assed tinsel around the window frame as the sole concession to the fact it was Christmas Eve.

On the corner table, a group of men donning Santa hats were singing an uproarious version of Jingle Bells, their drinks up over their heads and swaying in unison. 

There you were, behind the crowded bar as usual, shaking a cocktail with one hand and pulling a pint of lager with the other, working with the same, ruthless energy you always did, face hard and steely in concentration. 

Robbie was gone, it seemed, because you didn’t recognise the two employees helping to fend off the rest of the crowd of customers baying for booze and jacked up on Christmas cheer.

“This doesn’t seem fair,” Five said, “You’re doing great, but a few miles away I’m…wanking into a TV dinner like Ebenezer Splooge!”

“I look so much older,” you said, not listening and instead eyeing the first hint of crow’s feet emerging around your eyes.

“You look great,” Five said, impatiently, “This just proves that I’m the problem. You’re perfectly happy, and I'm a mess.”

He watched you almost wistfully, both envying your future and admiring your command, as he always found himself doing whenever he visited Maggie’s. You really were a sight to see behind that bar, and ten years had only added more skill. 

As another large table began to join in with the Jingle Bells guys, you said something that Five didn’t quite catch, and he tore his eyes away from the future you to look at the you beside him.

He was surprised to see tears streaming down your face.

“I’m not happy!” 

You fell against his chest and cried tears more violent than any you’d cried that night.

Five stood there, bewildered, as your desperate tears began to soak through his shirt. 

“Okay, okay,” he said, soothingly, “I’m gonna take you home, alright?”

He fiddled with the briefcase with difficulty, peering over your shoulder to set it where he held it behind your back. With a couple of pushes of buttons, he succeeded, and you were at last standing once more in your darkened living room, the high wind buffering the windows. 

Five looked briefly down at the briefcase for confirmation.

“Ten minutes after we left,” he murmured, satisfied, “Quantum suspension engaged, so no doppelganger for me. We’re good to go from here.”

This done, he lowered you both onto the couch, letting the briefcase bump down softly onto the floor. 

For a few moments, he simply held you against him, and then he shifted his grip to hold you by the shoulders in order to look into your face. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, “Why did seeing that make you cry?”

You shook your head and closed your eyes to weep once more, sobs overtaking you.

“Hey,” Five said, shaking you gently, “given all the shit you've seen about me tonight, you can at least tell me that!”

When this didn’t yield the desired result, he sighed and pulled you back against his shoulder.

“Okay, cry it out for now, but I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

You did cry it out, sniffling against his pure white shirt without a worry for how much you might be ruining it. Right now, he felt warm and safe. His was the only comfort you could imagine taking as waves of revelation broke upon you. 

His was the only comfort you could take, you realized.

Many of your bridges were burned, others had simply rotted away from lack of maintenance, and others yet had been severed by the loss of the other side. The end result was the same: you were very short on bridges. 

In truth, Luther, Robbie, and Five’s bridges were probably the only three you had left.

Luther had maintained his well, without your help, yet earlier today you’d launched a Molotov cocktail at it, leaving it in danger of burning down if you didn’t take action.

Robbie’s was a thin and sickly little bridge, barely a bridge at all. It could have been stronger, you knew, if only you’d allowed him to build as he wanted. 

And Five’s? Right now, it was the only one that could support your weight. It was untested before tonight, yet it was standing firm beneath your feet.

“I’m not happy,” you repeated, when your sobs had subsided enough to allow you to speak, “I haven’t been happy for a long, long time.”

Five’s arms tightened around you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Ever since my grandma died. I’ve felt…”

You broke, took a couple of breaths, and tried a different way of explaining it. 

“I looked at myself behind that bar, and I realized I have no idea who that woman is.”

Five nodded slowly, though you could tell he didn’t really understand. 

“I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I want. I just know that I don’t want to be her in ten years’ time.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because she’s exactly the same as I am now!”

Five gave another of those slow nods, processing. 

“Tell me if I’m way off base,” he said, tentatively, as if he’d just drawn a tenuous red line between points in his mind, “your grandma died, and you took over Maggie’s immediately, right? When you were twenty one?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think that maybe you threw yourself into managing the place to avoid… actually grieving her?”

You made a small, wounded noise, a fresh wave of tears descended, and you nodded against his chest.

He reclined on the couch, taking you with him as he fumbled behind you to pull a blanket over you. It was warm, comforting, and it made you cry harder in relief.

“Maggie’s was never your baby,” he said, softly, “it was hers.”

You nodded.

“Do you even like running it?”

You shook your head, admitting it for the first time with a shuddering outward breath.

“Everything she did for me. I can’t just let that go. That bar was everything to her.”

Five shook his head.

“You think she gave you that bar so that you could chain yourself to it?”

“No.”

“Then sell it.”

“No!”

“Well, then find something in the middle!” 

You sniffled and took a few moments to regain some composure. 

“I don’t like managing the bar, but I like mixology. When I make cocktails, it reminds me of her and it feels good.”

“Then stick with mixology and ditch the rest,” he said, as if it were obvious.

You shook your head.

“I can’t let her down. If - if I don’t make it a success then… then I’ll be proving she was wrong to trust me with it.”

“Sounds like you got your thinking backwards to me,” Five scoffed. 

“What do you mean?”

“You said she always fought for you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re acting like she raised you just to make sure there would be someone around to make Maggie’s a success. Seems more likely that she worked her ass off in the bar to make sure she could leave something behind for you.”

You couldn’t help but see the logic in this, but still, something niggled:

“The bar’s her legacy. I can’t abandon it.”

“You’re her legacy, idiot.”

His logic had done little to dispel your doubts, but this emotional truth smashed through them with the force of a wrecking ball. 

You remembered her twinkling at you at fifteen as she taught you to make your first margaria, you remembered her beaming with pride when you first made a cosmo by heart, and you remembered her on her deathbed, pressing her rhinestone necklace into your hand and telling you how proud she was, how successful you’d be. 

You remembered her taking her in your arms and making you feel safe while your parents screamed. 

It wasn’t the bar, it was you. It was always you. 

And you were crying once more: hot, cleansing, healing tears.

“I miss her,” you hiccuped against Five’s chest. 

“I know,” he said, stroking your hair.

For the next several minutes, you cried yourself dry. And then you felt better. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, slightly hoarsely, “I cried all over your shirt.”

“I don’t mind,” Five said.

In truth, he could have stayed there all night with you in his arms, wet shirt or not. You stopping crying was bittersweet: your grief was over, but it meant that soon he’d have to stir himself, say his goodbyes and probably never touch you like this ever again. 

“Can I get you a nightcap?” you asked. 

“Sure.”

You extracted yourself from him and looked on the kitchen shelf that stored your private booze. 

“Tequila shot?” you asked him, with a mischievous grin. 

“Perfect,” he smiled back.

God, the pain your little grin caused him. Like a knife to his stomach. 

You returned to the couch with two shots of tequila and held one out to him. He took it with thanks, and you sat down again. 

Five raised his glass.

“To Maggie,” he said.

“To you,” you countered, “the man who said he didn’t have enough empathy.”

Five chuckled, and you clinked your glasses together before throwing them back, revelling in the heat as it went down. 

“I’d better take my leave,” Five said, when he’d recovered from the shot.

You nodded, and you both stood.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I’d like you to come for Christmas tomorrow. But no pressure. I’m going to do things differently on my end this time, and none of that’s on you.”

“Thank you,” you said.

He bent, picked up the briefcase, and you followed him to your apartment door. There, he turned to look at you and held out his hand once more.

“Happy Holidays,” you said, solemnly, taking his outstretched hand.

Five raised your linked hands to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of yours.

“Happy Holidays,” he replied, and left.

Read Chapter Five >> (Final chapter!) I FEED OFF COMMENTS AND REBLOGS YUM YUM YUM

The Last of the Spirits — The Pointing Finger by John Leech, 1843 in Dickens' A Christmas Carol, first edition (1843).

Dickens' A Christmas Carol full text available here.

Read it! It's a much better than this, and you can see how many lines I stole verbatim or clumsily referenced.

Dividers used in this series by @bernardsbendystraws (garland) and @strangergraphics (lights) My husband (Mr Mango) also wishes it to be known that he came up with Ebenezer Splooge. It was him, it was him, it was all him! Here he is, at the bottom, where he belongs.

Taglist: @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee, @abeeabee6969, @chalametabingbong, @lolawassad, @icantpickanamefromonefandom @thebearmage @kaybreezy3000, @starlitflora (comment to be added or removed)

Megalist

Request info + rules

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[whimsyfinny]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: stalker/ unsuccessful kidnap, violence, depictions of blood and assault (let me know if I should add more)

Chapter Word Count: 2318

—-MDNI—-

A/N: Sooooo I’m sorry it’s not spicy like I said it would be… But I absolutely promise the next one will be! Chapters 5 and 6 were supposed to be just one chapter but it got too long so I had to split it… And again please let me know of any errors because this is only proof read by myself.

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Please Read the Below First:

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

I’m Not You’re F*cking Maid

Chapter 5

After thorough interviewing of the staff and regular patrons; long searches through copious auction records and meticulous studying of the items in the shop we narrowed our search down to one item: an old jade hairpin. The hairpin belonged to a young lady who was given the gift as a wedding present, however when she found out on her wedding night that her new husband was having an affair, she stabbed him to death with it before jumping to her own demise from their third floor balcony. That was just over a century ago, and she was still wreaking havoc on unfaithful men to this day.

“I mean I get where she’s coming from,” I shrugged as we walked back to the motel. Both brothers turned to look at me with concern smeared over their features. “OBVIOUSLY I don’t agree with all the murder,” they breathed a sigh of relief, “but you can’t hate her for being mad. I would be too.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows a little and holding his hands up. I gave him a look of bewilderment.

“What side do you think you’re on, Dean? Because this,” I gestured between us, “isn’t my good side.” He mumbled something incoherent as we got to the motel so I chose to ignore him completely.

“So what’s the plan? It’s getting late and we can’t really do anything now until that charity event taking place at the auction house tomorrow. We’re already pretty clued up on how to get rid of ghosts so there’s really not much to do except to get both your names on that guest list,” Sam patted his laptop, looking at both of us.

“Food?” Dean and I said at the same time.

“Food sounds good,” Sam nodded. The boys turned around to leave when I stopped them.

“Just whilst we’re still at the motel, I’m just going to freshen up real quick.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “really?” I flipped him the bird.

“I can just meet you there? There’s like only one diner in this town and I know the way. I won’t be long.” The brothers looked at each other for a few seconds before Sam looked at me and smiled.

“Sure ok, we’ll get a seat in the window so we can see you coming.”

“Great! I’ll see you soon,” I grinned at the younger Winchester before turning away and letting myself into my room.

I had the worlds quickest shower and threw on some clean underwear and a clean top, feeling better after getting the grime from the day off. I pulled on my jeans, socks and boots, applied a small amount of eyeliner and mascara and tidied my hair the best I could before slinging on my jacket and applying some perfume to my wrists and neck. It was one of my favourite scents: I’d bought it from some lingerie store a year or so ago and it’s apparently one of those aphrodisiac perfumes, however I have no idea if it even works or not. It’s probably a scam, nothing works that well in real life.

After I’d finished sorting myself out - which took no longer than half an hour - I grabbed my phone and keys and left the room, locking up before making my way towards the diner. Night had descended, the air turning cold against my warm skin and the usually busy streets now lay deserted and car-free. It was only about a five minute walk or so from the motel and I was now only about a minute away when I noticed that I wasn’t alone. I’d caught a glimpse of a figure dressed from head to toe in black in the reflection of several shop windows, and they were following my exact trail. I sped up, walking faster down the empty main road and hoping it was all a coincidence as worst case scenarios started to race through my mind. It wasn’t long until the diner was in sight and I breathed a sigh of relief, however the relief was short lived when those footsteps were getting closer and closer, quicker and quicker right behind me. It dawned on me that this wasn’t a coincidence at all - I was definitely being stalked. I started to run, my legs moving before my brain had kicked into gear and I was only inches from the front door when the stranger caught up, slamming me against the wall of the building and putting a knife to my throat, covering my mouth with a gloved hand.

“Don’t make a fucking noise - you’re coming with me,” he said aggressively yet quietly. I could feel the blade of the knife pressing against the soft skin of my neck and I couldn’t help but feel tears well in my eyes, my breath turning shaky as my heart hammered in my chest. I couldn’t even get any words out as his hand was too tight over my lips.

I wanted to cry out for help so badly it hurt.

I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing that this was all a bad dream. My cheek was pushed into the rough brick which grazed my skin, and I silently prayed for my attacker to just let me go or for some hero to come and save me. At that very moment I heard the door to the diner and my eyes shot open, instantly connecting with Deans. I watched as surprise turned to horror which then turned to pure feral rage on his face and before I even had a chance to blink he was gone from my line of sight - but so was the pressure keeping me pinned against the wall. I spun around and I watched Dean throw the stalker to the floor with more force that I thought he could muster and tower over him. Dean didn’t say a word, but the stranger let out a sharp cry of pain as Dean instantly brought his boot down on his ribs. There was a CRACK. He did it again.

And again.

And again.

And then he got down and pinned my attacker flush against the tarmac before he brought a closed fist down on his face over and over and over again, cracking his jaw and breaking his nose. Dean didn’t stop until the man was totally unrecognisable and unresponsive. Standing up off of his limp body, he looked over to me, his furious, almost animalistic stare softening instantly, even through all the blood that now painted his face. He took one step towards me before my feet worked on their own and carried me straight to him. I put my arms out to reach for him and he grabbed my hands and pulled me into his chest with zero hesitation, his arms circling me and his blood-soaked palms gently stroking my hair. I sobbed. I sobbed from the fear I felt, I sobbed for feeling like such a victim and I sobbed for the relief I now felt flooding my veins as Dean held me, not saying a word. Listening to his heartbeat with my ear to his chest, I felt so safe and secure that it made me want to sob even more.

*

Dean ended up taking me straight back to my room - he called Sam to tell him what had happened as he wasn’t going to be returning to the diner. I had my second shower of the day as soon as we returned, wanting to scrub everywhere that horrible man had touched. Whilst I was washing, Dean had headed back to his own room to shower off the layer of blood coating his skin. After I was satisfactorily clean, I dried myself and dressed in that old T-shirt I wore the night before, pulling on some fresh underwear and perching on the end of the bed. I picked up the remote and started mindlessly flicking through channels, hoping to find something to distract my racing brain.

I’d been sitting in the same position for around ten minutes when there was a gentle knock on the door. I held my breath as I got up and walked over, looking through the peephole. It was Dean. I released that breath as I opened the door and let him in. He’d changed from his usual gruff attire to something way more comfortable - a plain white T-shirt and a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms. He smiled at me. A kind smile, nothing like those teasing and sly ones we’d been throwing at each other since yesterday. This one was genuine, and it made my chest feel warm. He locked the door behind him as I padded back over to the bed and climbed on it, sitting right in the centre with my legs crossed. I pulled the T-shirt down to cover my dignity as Dean placed a carrier bag in front of me. I peeked inside. It was full to the brim of all different types of snacks and I grinned up at him.

“You sure do know how to treat a girl, Winchester.”

He let out a soft laugh and looked down at the floor before taking residence beside me.

“You’re the first one who thinks so”.

“Oh yeah?”

“There’s a long line of women who definitely think otherwise,” he smiled a slightly sad smile. We both paused before I continued.

“Well if it means anything, what you did for me today, I-” he held a hand up to stop me as he saw the look of fear flit across my features again, the horrid memory bubbling to the surface.

“It was the least I could do,” he said softly before his brows furrowed, “but to be honest I should never have let you out of my sight.” The almost protective tone of his voice made my heart flutter a little, but It was my turn to reassure him as I placed my hand on his shoulder delicately.

“Dean, none of us knew that would happen. I know you wouldn’t have left me alone if you genuinely thought I was in danger - after all, you DID promise to keep me safe from my own shadow,” I flashed him a grin which he quickly returned, chuckling. We sat for a few moments in a strangely comfortable silence before there was another knock at the door. I went to get up to answer it but Dean beat me to it, swinging it open to show a very concerned Sam stood in the doorway. He looked at me with those big ever-worried eyes and I shot him my best ‘please don’t worry’ grin.

“I’m fine, Sam” I called out to him as I tried to listen in on the hushed words Dean was speaking. They conversed for a while, occasionally throwing glances at me as I rustled around in the bag of goodies Dean had supplied. Growing bored of not being involved with their conversation, I scooted back on the bed to lean back on the headboard and proceeded to flick through dozens of channels until I found something decent to watch. A few more minutes had passed and I’d munched my way through almost half a bag of Doritos when I heard the door close and it was just me and Dean again. He had a paper bag that Sam must’ve passed him, which he held up and pointed to.

“The blood stains came out of my clothes, although Sam said the people in the laundromat were giving him strange looks,” he laughed slightly, those striking eyes of his looking down into mine as he took a few steps closer. I laughed slightly, only imagining Sam’s awkwardness in that situation. I broke my gaze away from Dean for a few seconds, looking down at my hands before looking back up. I could tell he was hovering now, just waiting for me to say something.

“Dean I’m fine, you don’t have to stay.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying for a bit longer if you need me to” his hand ran over the stubble on his chin, his eyes not leaving me.

“Really, I’m ok. I’m probably just going to sit here and watch whatever this is-”

“It’s obviously Men in Black,” Dean scoffed. I smiled, finding comfort in the familiar snarky remark.

“Obviously - I don’t live under a rock Dean,” I rolled my eyes as I stood up, placing my hands on his chest. He was so warm to the touch that it was almost enticing me not to let go. The gentle thrum of his heartbeat was so soothing. But I did let go, and I spun him around to start ushering him to the door. As he was leaving, I grabbed my half eaten bag of chips and started munching again. He opened the door, stepping outside.

“Go back to your room Dean. I promise I’m ok. I don’t want you both hovering over me constantly making sure I’m fine; that will just make me feel worse,” I said as he spun to face me, nodding his head.

“Back to normal. Got it.”

“Great,” I said, sucking the tangy chip dust from my thumb. Dean suddenly reached out and snatched the half-eaten bag from my hand before quickly walking away.

“I’ll see you in the morning!” He shouted back at me before shovelling food into his mouth.

“You ass! I was eating those!” He shrugged in an overly animated fashion, not bothering to turn and look at me as he continued towards his room. I sighed, closing the door and locking it, sliding the chain across this time too. I padded back towards the bed and climbed in, pulling the covers up to my chin. As I started to drift off, the buzz of the movie still playing in the background, I smiled a little to myself:

Fucking Winchester.

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Up Next:

Chapter 6

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Semantic Error | A Jeon Jungkook Series | Chapter 4

Based off of Semantic Error (bl) by J Soori Summary: Jungkook asks to spent time with y/n as friends Pairing: Techie inexperienced fem!reader x Artist fuck boy Jungkook Word Count: 1.2k~ Warnings: Nothing really, Jungkook is just being annoying and flirty a/n: This is just a tiny bite of the story since I haven't updated it in almost 5 days... oops. I'm spending time at my sister's house for the next few days but I should be able to work on posting more on Monday :) Read from the beginning

Days after my reconciliation with Jungkook I find myself thinking of the possibility of asking him if he would consider working on the game with me again but that would require me to swallow my pride. I'm not really in favor of that option so I decide to wait until he brings it up... if he brings it up.

I could always put up a flyer in the visual arts department asking if anyone would be interested in joining. I'm saying it here and now, I will never crawl back to him, if he sees that I'm still looking for a designer and ends up being interested then he can beg me to be a part of the project again. 

Either way as long as I get a new one by the end of the week then I don't care who I work with. As long as they have a good work ethic and their character design doesn't suck and they can keep to deadlines and... well maybe it might be a bit harder to find someone to fit the bill than I thought it would, knowing that people tend to be very unreliable and unpredictable creatures. I don't want to go through what I went through with Hana cancelling on me again. I guess the only way to really try to find someone is let people know about it.

Calculating all the pros and cons of what the result might be depending on my methods I decide fliers with my contact information would be my best bet. I'll just place it on some sort of bulletin board and hope for the best. If that doesn't work I'll resort to some sort of digital announcement. Opening the program I plan to use I notice that I've received a friend request on sns. Pulling it up I'm greeted with a follow request from Jungkook which I find strange but I accept it nonetheless. Soon after I get a DM from him in my inbox. 

'Hey pretty, I didn't realize you had social media, I guess this means we're friends now that we're following each other :)' I roll my eyes at his pathetic excuse at flirting.

'Last I checked you followed me, I haven't followed you yet' I say putting him in his place.

'Yet ;)' shit I should've just ignored him. 

'Come on y/n just follow me, I promise my account isn't some narcissistic blog or anything, plus next time we see each other I want to take a picture with you and post it! I like posting pictures of my friends!' he says and I can feel his smile through the phone and I roll my eyes at the thought.

'You have to ask for my consent before posting anything' I reply ultimately giving into him since there's no harm done with clicking a single button. 

'Okay I got it. Hey can we meet up in the library tomorrow? I wanted to spend some time with you. I know you end up spending a lot of time in there anyways so I just thought that maybe we could study together, especially since we taking Chinese together' he says waiting for my permission to give him another place to annoy me in.

'What makes you think I would want to study with you?' I say hoping to brush him off.

'y/n I'm your TA , I've see all of the work you've turned in' he teases.

'What's that supposed to mean?' I ask offended at what he's implying.

 'It means that you write like a child. Plus your accent when you speak isn't the best either. I could tutor you if you'd like ;)' he responds, simultaneously offering his help while also insulting me. 

'Pass' I say frustrated with his attitude.

'I'm sorry I didn't mean it, I just like thinking about what you might look like while you're responding to me. You probably have your brows pinched together looking utterly offended and maybe even blushing from embarrassment' 

'I'm not embarrassed!' I retort.

'Why don't you look in the mirror pretty, I've got you blushing without even being there don't I' I get up frustrated, determined to prove him wrong but to my disgust I see my cheeks with a light dusting of pink. 

'Fuck you' I reply indirectly confirming his suspicions.

"Anyway do you want to meet after the class you have after Chinese?' he suggests.

'Aren't you in that class too?' I question annoyed by the memory of him taking my spot for the second time that day.

'No I dropped the class, there was no way I was gonna stay in it and bring down my gpa, I just wanted to annoy you for a bit' he admits.

'Do you have another class after Chinese?' I ask curious as to what he'll do while I'm in class.

'Oh no I'm done for the day after that :)' he sends

'So you're just gonna wait around for me until my hour and a half class ends and then spend even more time studying together? Don't you have something better to do with your life?' I question, confused as to why he would do that. 

'Not really, I just wanna spend some time with you. I wanna be friends remember?' he send with no hesitation.

Is this what friends do for each other? Waste a whole day waiting for your class to finish just to then tutor them afterwards just because you want to 'spend time with them'?

'You Jeon Jungkook are an enigma' I respond not bothering to acknowledge his continued efforts to establish a friendship with me for some odd reason. 

'Thank you? Anyways what's your answer pretty?' he prods, not satisfied with my evasion of his proposition. 

'First off stop calling me that, second I'll be there from 3-6 are you prepared to stay for that long?' I question trying to get him to rescind his invitation. 

'Yep, I'll make sure to clear my schedule, see you then pretty ;)'

I groan audibly at his antics and close out the app. I guess this whole flyer situation can wait until tomorrow since he's given me a splitting headache from all of this. Who knows maybe he'll bring up the game tomorrow so I won't have to make them or swallow my pride, therefore making him come crawling back to me since he seems so eager to spend time with me. 

Taking a deep breath to clear my mind I decide to go to bed early to prepare myself for the mystery this is to be my day tomorrow. My days used to be the same week to week, month to month through out my life with minor changes to my class schedules since I've been in college but ever since Jeon Jungkook decided to walk into my life it has been anything but ordinary.

I'm used to scheduling things down to the very minute and that has worked well for me. It's set me up for success in my schooling but also as an adult. My life is what some people might call boring but I find peace in my calculated existence. Whereas Jeon Jungkook rolls with the punches and lives in chaos. My world is in black and white and his is in color, my life is routine and his life is creative. Why has someone like him taken an interest in me when I'm the exact opposite. Why can't he just leave me alone? I guess the real question I should be asking is why can't I get him out of my head? 

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[mygloviesme]

cool about it. || myg

no. 1: tell myself one day i'll forget about it

predebut/debut!yoongi x female idol

summary: kanako is an established idol with a growing career and a secret relationship with a producer from her label, haneul. when she’s asked to work with yoongi and rm to create a track for her, she gains unexpected feelings for a certain upcoming rapper. with her increasing fame, her controlling boyfriend, a set of six boys who seem to have grown an attachment to her, and a new boy who’d give her the world, how will she figure out a way to balance it all?

(definitely inspired by boygenius)

word count: 2.9k

genre: ANGST, friends(?) to lovers, slow burn

overall warnings: toxic relationship (not w/myg), verbal abuse, mentions of alcohol

notes: this is my first body of work ive ever posted on tumblr. as you can see from the warnings, it’s pretty heavy and that theme will linger for a while. i wrote this while recovering from an abusive relationship i was trying to heal from and never intended to publish it but i feel I’m in a better place to continue it. I hope you guys like it. not a rough draft but definitely feels like it lmao.

Updated note: like I said above, this is my first official body of work. this story is very very flawed with probably so many plot holes and errors. this was my first time writing in YEARS. clearly some parts are self-indulgent and i wasn’t the best storyteller or writer or editor lmfao. i basically skimmed the chapters before publishing so excuse the big mistakes for my peace of mind and so i can sleep at night ♥️ok enjoy

inspo song: cool about it by boygenius

JANUARY 17TH, 2012, 5:12 PM.

The air was thin, dry, and coated with frost. The tip of my nose kissed with a small blush from the biting cold, I attempted to warm it up by pressing my palm to it. Of course it’s no use, as the weather doesn’t spare anyone. I bring both hands to my coat pockets and walk towards the building doors, one street lamp after another. There’s a slight flurry today but I try to romanticize it rather than hate it like I usually do. I’m the stereotypical person who gets hit with S.A.D every year as the daylight gets shorter by month and windows get frostier by day. I bring my hand up to the door handle, opening it swiftly to get inside the heated structure. 

It’s mid evening so I still have work to do. I head towards the studio where I’m expected, and of course, late. Bang PD had told me I would be working with some trainees/idols-to-be. I signed both of them on as producers, but I think by next year I’ll be rounding them up for a group. 

The man had a tendency to be cryptic, so whatever he knew about this supposed new K-pop group he was forming, I had no idea. I take a deep breath before opening the door to the studio. I never liked meeting new people and first impressions were something I had an unusual amount of anxiety for. I plant a smile on my face and twist the knob, seeing three bodies sitting casually on individual chairs, turning around. 

“Ah, Kanako,” Bang PD stands up, and I bow quickly. I haven’t yet met the eyes of the two boys sitting on the other chairs, and I wait for an introduction. 

“This is Kanako, you two. Kanako, this is Suga and RM.” He says, and my head follows where he points his fingers. They smile sheepishly, obviously as anxious as I was which made me feel slightly better. We bow as a group quickly and I let out a small huhaha that’s meant to be a laugh but it sounds more like a sigh. Bang PD’s hand floats over my back, leading me to the chair behind the boys. The distance is sort of awkward. 

We all take a seat and Bang PD clears his throat, shuffling with some papers. 

“So, this is going to be a slight trial run. We’re in the midst of your new album,” PD-nim faces me, “And I thought it might be good to have some new minds create a track for you. We had a song brainstorming, Kanako.” He says and passes me the paper with lyrics on it. The song title is Full Moon. 

I read the lyrics and they’re more sensual than I expected. I assumed that’s what was happening with this album as I expressed I wanted to steer away from the whole ‘girl next door’ facade I had going on. I had already been named South Korea’s little sister, so the implications and expectations people had of me was something I felt rubbing off on myself. I couldn’t let myself fall into that, I knew that much. 

As I get done reading the lyrics I nod, “This is great. You got a beat for me?” I say confidently. 

Suga, which I assume that’s his stage name, turns around and presses a few keys before clicking on a track. The beat is almost mystical, like a foggy night. There’s a guitar that flutters throughout the song and I find myself humming the lyrics, trying to place them where I think they belong. 

RM smiles as he hears me, “That’s how we were thinking it’d go too.” I reply with a grin and we all bob our heads as I sing. There’s a few blanks that I couldn’t figure out, but I love the overall feeling the song is. 

“We thought of putting a rap verse in,” Suga says. “Of course.” I reply, since every K-pop song seems to have a rap verse. 

“We thought the rapper should be female, just to fit the sensuality of it.” Bang PD says and I let out a small laugh. Sensuality. That seems to be all it is, most of the time. I’ll explain later.

My lips part slightly to release a small sigh, and I fiddle with my fingers, moving up to itch the back of my neck. “How about you, Suga?” I ask. The boy turns around in his spinny chair, his posture curved. “Uh,” He looks to Bang PD, “I don’t see why not.” PD-nim nods slowly, almost thinking to himself.

“That…could work.” he mumbles and gestures towards me. “Why don’t you go inside there and we’ll see how it all works out.” And I nod, heading into the recording room. 

JANUARY 17TH, 2012, 8:52 PM. It’s been nearly four hours we’ve been in the studio, and I lay back in my chair as Yoongi finishes his verse. “I think that one was it.” he says through the mic. Everyone looks towards me, “What do you think, Kanako? Was that it?” PD-nim asks, as if I was the one demanding we be here for nearly four hours. Yoongi, whose name I learned by RM and his casual calling of him, was the one assuring us we needed to do one take after the other. But for some reason, he only asked me to do very little takes when it came to my verses.

“Y-Yes, that was great. I think it’s good to call it a night.” I say, and RM gives the go to Yoongi which has him entering back into the studio. There is a subtle curiosity I get when looking at Yoongi, his mysterious and quiet demeanor made me want to know more. Is that too soon to think? I shouldn’t even have those thoughts. 

His rapping was undeniably good and it made me want to hear it over and over again. And over and over and over and over. Fuck. 

Everyone picks up their things and I reach for my coat until Yoongi grabs it for me. 

“Oh, thank you.” I smile and our fingertips graze each others as he passes my coat to me, causing a small hiccup in my stomach. We all bow to each other goodbye and I head out to my dorm, seeing the two boys heading into the other direction where the trainees' dorms were. I feel a sense of excitement, hoping I get to work with them again. With him again. 

I hear a voice behind me that makes me jump, “Hi honey.” the voice says. I turn around to see another producer, except this one was my boyfriend. I look around quickly to make sure the boys and Bang PD were out of sight before swinging my arms around him. I snuggle my face in his neck, trying to keep my balance since I’m on my tip-toes. I can smell his Calvin Klein cologne that’s been stuck on him since I’ve known him. It’s almost his natural scent at this point. 

I’ve been dating Haneul for nine months, all months being an absolute secret. He was the one who urged me to keep us a secret, and I obeyed. I wanted him, needed him, to the point I’d do anything for him. As long as I was his I would do anything. Most days I would only think of him, how can I please him, how can I make him happy? How could I change myself to be the girl of his-

“I heard you were recording with Yoongi and Namjoon today.” He says, his embrace loosening. His body morphs back from leaning down to hug me, to standing straight up. He towers over me, looking me in the eyes. I can already sense what he’s feeling. He’s not controlling, he’s just worried. (I know what it looks like.) 

I look down to my shoes, “Yes but it was just working. Nothing weird.” I whisper. His hand trails to my chin, lifting it softly. “Are you lying?” He asks. (He’s not usually like this, he’s just protective.)

“No, Haneul. I promise. I only want you.” I say as I meet his eyes nervously. I feel his fingers let go of my chin and he smiles. “I love hearing you say that.” He says. I attempt to laugh to break the tension but it doesn’t help. Sometimes he makes my stomach drop in a way I can’t explain, in a way where if I really thought about it, I’m sure it’d make me feel horrible. (What else is he going to think when you’re alone in a room with three men, it’s not his fault. It’s yours. Why did you wear this skirt today? Why did you thank Yoongi for giving you your coat? Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.)

Haneul reaches down to peck my cheek, trailing kisses down my jaw and neck. My eyesight gets cloudy and I manage to forget about that pit in my stomach. It’s just us. Just him and me, forever. And he wants me right now. That’s all I need. For someone to want me like I want him. His lips graze my collarbone before sucking for a moment and letting go. “Just wanted to remind you.” He teases, and I smile. (This is good. I deserve this.) 

My hand travels to my collarbone where the slight pinkness of a hickey lies, “Hopefully this doesn’t get any worse.” I joke. His eyes darken, “Maybe it’ll give those boys a reminder that you’re mine.” He says. (He still thinks something happened. He was in a bad relationship before me, he just needs to heal. I promise.)

“I should go. Someone might see.” I say before snaking my hand to caress his. He interlocks our fingers and gives me a soft smile. He slowly moves his fingers up to my face once again, this time planting his lips on mine. It’s aggressive, heated, making me inch a little backwards so I’ve almost met the wall. He’s always like this. Gripping my hair so he can control the way my head moves, moving so quickly I can barely keep up. He loves control. He feeds off of it. I know he likes that he towers over me, that he can lift me up or bring me down whenever he’d like. 

In more ways than one. 

NOVEMBER 12th, 2011, 8:23.

My birthday is slowly coming to an end. I have friends and a few people from the company who came to celebrate my birthday with me and we all sit at the restaurant, picking at the crumbs left while bursting with laughter. Everyone is of age to drink but I’ve settled happily with a fizzy sprite, attempting to enjoy the company of others. 

The whole time we’ve been at this restaurant I’ve been glancing at my phone, checking the time and texting Haneul when he’d come. Although we’re a secret, people only assume we’re just good friends. You and Haneul work great together. Was Haneul the producer behind that amazing song? Oh Kanako, you both are a dream team! They all say. But even with how good of a friend, boyfriend, whatever it is, he has yet to show up to my eighteenth birthday party. He told me he’d come, he told me had a gift for me, he told me he’d be here with me. 

He knows how hard it’s been for me to celebrate my birthday ever since my mothers death, how lonely and debilitating this day could be. How ever since recently I’ve refused to even talk about my birthday. Up until her death, I’d only spend it with her. She’d bake me the same German chocolate cake, give me the same kiss on the cheek, the same hug after I had blown out the candles. It was only ever us in our own little bubble. 

But now it’s been bursted. I’m reminded why I never do it. Even sitting at a table full of my friends they still feel like strangers. Nothing can compare to her. I though Haneul being here would make it easier, but he still hasn-

“Kanako! I’m here!” A voice says from across the room. My cheeks flush and my eyes widen. He wobbles over to our table, clutching a bottle in his hand. The hand that should be carrying my gift. Everyone at the table quiets and the silence is deafening. No one knows why he’s acting this way, why he made it such an announcement that he’s arrived. That he’s my boyfriend. 

But I know one thing for sure, he’s fucking drunk.

I sit up and clasp my hands together, “Okay everyone, I think it’s time to wrap up. I have rehearsal tomorrow.” I say quickly. Everyone's a little dumbfounded before muttering to themselves, awkwardly picking up their things. Some give me a quick hug and a happy birthday, others simply wave and exit the restaurant. This is so embarrassing. 

Haneul watches as all the guests leave. I refuse to make eye contact with him, fiddling with my wallet to place a good size of cash to pay for the dinner. He grabs my wrist, “Baby don’t do that, let me pay. It’s the least I can d-do.” He slurs, and the strong scent of alcohol lingers on his lips. And the perfume I'm choosing to ignore. I jerk my wrist away and look at him with venom in my words. 

“Don’t even touch me.” 

“Kanako…”

“Where were you?” I ask simply. 

He straightens his posture, his eyes glistening with something I’ve never seen before. “Don’t make me feel more like shit than I already do.” He says and hangs his head. 

“I’m not trying to.” I respond, placing my hand on top of his. He pulls it away, “No, you’re trying to make me feel fucking guilty. You always do.” He says and I shake my head in confusion and shock. “Haneul, you missed my birthday party. How is this my fault?” I scoff. He lifts his finger to point at me, his eyes hazy and his mouth ready to hurt, ready to see me crumble. 

“You always make me feel like a shitty boyfriend! If you don’t like it then don’t fucking be with me, alright?” He spits. How can he say this? I part my lips, ready to speak, but he’s quick to shut me up. 

“This is me Kanako,” His face gets closer to me, his breath caressing my face. His voice is almost a whimper, a plea. Like a child. “Who the fuck are you?” He breathes. I inch my face away from him in disbelief. 

I feel tears well in my eyes and scoot beside the table to escape him. “Yeah Kanako, leave! Go fuck some other guy.” He yells from our table and I hang my head in an attempt to hide my face. Anyone could recognize me, any worker could tell the tabloids what happened tonight. My twenty-three year old boyfriend yelled at me. Kanako, in a rocky relationship with her producer, leaves the restaurant in tears. I can see the headlines now. They flash in my head and I breathe heavily and push the doors to meet with the chilly autumn air. 

I speed walk away, not wanting Haneul to catch up with me, to make this any worse. I feel a burning shame in my chest, a heated embarrassment arises in my stomach ready to release itself in the form of chunky liquid. Instead I hide in an alleyway, falling to my knees and covering my mouth to muffle my sobs. This is the worst I’ve felt ever since my mother died. This feeling, this is so much bigger than me. It hurts my heart, it pains my stomach and all I want to do is to evaporate. 

I don’t have a single thought besides to hide my cries. Besides replaying the moment in my head over again, still smelling the soju on his lips and that fucking perfume. It has to be the end of us, right? This has to be my final straw. I can’t handle this any longer. The public shaming, the drunk insults, the control. My sobs sound loud and sharp, like a cat who’s been cornered. I hide my face in my palms, hearing footsteps beside me.

A single finger gently caresses my hand, and I uncover my eyes. “Haneul..please..” I choke out, unable to catch my breath. He crouches in front of me before taking me in his arms, my hands float on his back, knowing if I touch him, it’s me inviting him back. 

“I’m sorry, I-I’ll change. I promise, Kanako.” He says. My hands float there for a little while longer, my head buried in the nape of his neck, my cries much quieter and defeated this time. 

But, I touch him. I hug him back. I hold his cold, yet warm body in my hands. 

And I stay, for the apology. 

JANUARY 12TH, 2012, 9:15PM

We stay like this for a little, him devouring my mouth and his hand with a fistful of my hair. He moans into my lips and uses his other hand to press me into the wall. His tongue demands entrance and I let him, but my mind is still scared we’ll get caught. Haneul seems to mind much less than I do. 

His hand that was previously in my hair travels to my chest, torso, and then my skirt.

“N-No, not here.” I breathe. My eyes plead with him, but he has sin in his eyes. A part of me likes that he’s so eager to touch me, but another part…

“O-Oh, sorry!” A voice from the hall is heard. Haneul moves his hands away from me and we part our bodies, looking over to see who it was.

I see a familiar figure walking briskly, his back facing towards us. 

Yoongi?

click here to read more of this story!

an: the first chapter of cool about it. hope you liked it and thank you for reading!

[alfgifu]

Fic analysis 50. Into the dark

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55635169/chapters/141214108

Word count: 12,735

Chapters: 6

First posted: 2nd May 2024

Last chapter up: 12th May 2024

Summary: 

The Last Emperor of Astandalas and Lord of Zunidh wrought a great work of magic to bring his Lord Chancellor back from the dead.

That might have been an error.

How and why this came about

Work was a nightmare and spousegifu was in poor health, waiting for an operation. I needed something to focus on. Crownedrooster had recently written the haunting a deeper dive, a fic with the premise of his Radiancy at Kip’s bedside after a barely-averted assassination attempt. That story reached an apparently happy ending, but had some beautifully creepy dark undertones which several readers commented on.

This fic is a follow-on that takes some of those darker implications and runs with them, supposing that his Radiancy has used necromantic magic to bring Kip back to life and that he has effectively trapped Kip into a kind of undeath.

To me the premise works because it’s easy to imagine his Radiancy carrying out a great and potentially unwise feat of magic to attempt to save Kip. It's also easy to picture him refusing to back down and release his favourite person to death if he still things there’s any chance of saving him with magic, whether Kip wants to be saved this way, or not.

In canon we see his Radiancy make sweeping choices for Kip several times, mostly but not entirely with good outcomes. This makes tons of sense - being the emperor makes it difficult for him to ask what other people want, because he can never be sure that they’re able to be honest with him, so guessing and offering grand gestures is natural.

I also picked up on crownedrooster’s mentions of ‘shadows’ because that worked so well from a horror/necromantic perspective.

What worked and what didn’t

My original concept for this fic was extremely dark and covered mostly the moment of Kip’s death. As I worked on it, though, and chatted about it with friends, I came to realise that the necromancer premise implied a lot about what happened next - and I came to see that I wanted to explore Kip’s enduring persistence and hope as much as his Radiancy’s desperate folly.

Fairly early on I sketched out a brief ‘happy ending’ snippet for one friend that drew on that idea, and then I found myself writing towards it. As I wrote it, the ending grew softer and warmer. In the end I didn’t just break it worse, I also did sort of fix it.

This story ended up being tauter and more poetic than most of what I write, since I was leaning into a kind of gothic horror that to me always feels most effective when it’s written as sparsely as possible. I always feel a bit cautious about going too far in this direction.

The writing I enjoy reading most is descriptive but clear, simple, more of a window to the thing described than an ornament in itself. 

Writing flowery prose makes me uncomfortable, the more so because I know I tend in that direction a bit. It feels easy to overdo it. Really dark subject matter provides a good counter-weight, though, and I was stressed and worried enough while writing this to really need the escapism of just going with it. I like the result.

What I learned from writing it

If I’d been less swept along by life I would almost certainly have hesitated before writing something in this style. I would have tried to tone down the melodrama and make the prose feel more natural. As it was I just wrote what felt most absorbing at the time and most in line with my mood, and I got out of it a story different in tone and feel to anything I had written before.

I’m not sure if I could quite recreate that mood without the circumstances but I suspect I could find it interesting to write more like this in the future. If the premise was right, and the characters and their situation could support it.

[misfitwashere]

The Phantom Campaign

Digital Oligarchy vs. the Democratic Future

TIMOTHY SNYDER

NOV 17

I remember distinctly when the phantom Kamala ad hit me.  It drew me in with a photo of Vice-President Harris and a positive and appealing summary of her policies.  And then the ad exposed me, in the same cheerful tone, to a policy that I would not like -- and which the candidate did not in fact advocate. 

The neurons crackled, the emotions whiplashed.  I don't like that! 

But, after a moment, there was also recognition, even déjà vu.  This was digital demotivation, something that I have seen and studied in other settings.  I was supposed to be driven towards indifference, towards not doing anything, towards not voting.  I was being nudged by a phantom.

The manipulation called me back to a decade ago, when this sort of thing broke into the internet for the first time.  Social media was new, and Russia had just invaded Ukraine for the first time.  The Russians were able to shape the debate over their invasion by a clever new tactic: targeting people with demotivating lies through social media.

It was back then, in early 2014, that Russians started with contradictory ideas. To people with left-wing ideas, they spread the idea that Ukrainians were somehow Nazis.  To people with right-wing ideas, they spread the idea that Ukraine was the forefront of a gay takeover of civilization.  To antisemities they spread the idea that Ukraine was not a real country but instead just an outpost of the international Jewish conspiracy. 

This worked.  The targeted propaganda was so successful that people, in general, did not even process that Russia had invaded Ukraine in February 2014.  Ukraine's possible allies were demotivated.  The Kremlin succeeded in displacing an external reality from which we might learn -- a Ukrainian state invaded by a Russian army -- with our own emotions, which took up all the space.  Rather than learning about Ukraine, people in the West argued with one another.  Some Westerners effectively joined in the Russian disinformation campaign.  People who are duped generally treat the information that has fooled them as true, because this is less costly psychologically than admitting an error. 

This failure made the second Russian attack on Ukraine, the full-scale invasion of 2024, more likely.  Russia persists in promoting the same themes about Ukraine to the same audiences.  This no longer works as well as it did a decade ago, but it still shapes the debate about Ukraine.  But it also demonstrated a general possibility for bad actors everywhere.  Someone with enough money (in this case Putin) could taken advantage of data about individual political commitments to spread demotivating lies -- and get meaningful results. 

A phantom political force was born: oligarchical money + psychographic information about individuals + social media delivery system + demotivational message.

The same Russian team applied the same methods to the 2016 American presidential election (for detail and sources see Road to Unfreedom).  This time the target was Hillary Clinton.  Once again, the Russians had data about individual voters as well as the kinds of media they were likely to read.  They sent the same sorts of contradictory messages.  Pointing out the contradictions, as with Ukraine, did not matter, because the messages were targeted to different people.  Blacks were told, for example, that Hillary Clinton was a racist.  The idea was to depress the African-American vote.  Moderates, meanwhile, were told that Hillary loved Black criminals. 

Again we saw the phantom combination oligarchical money + psychographic information about individuals + social media delivery system + demotivational message.  This phantom worked.  Along with other Russian interventions, it might very well have cost Hillary Clinton the election.  This was the conclusion of the leading scholar of presidential communications.

This recent history can help us to understand what has just happened in our most recent presidential election.  Now, thanks to some important reporting in the Washington Post by Michael Scherer and Josh Dawsey, we know that the same techniques were refined and applied on behalf of Trump and against Harris.  This time the oligarch was Elon Musk, and this time the demotivational messages were deceptive to an even higher degree: they were presented as Harris campaign ads. 

People who supported Harris were drawn in and then put off; people who did not support Harris were deliberately given the sense that they were seeing something they were not meant to see, that they were being given a glimpse of the campaign ads of the other side -- when, in fact, they were being targeted themselves.  To some audiences, Harris was presented as too pro-Israel, to others as too pro-Palestinian.  (Like Ukraine for the last ten years, Harris was portrayed simultaneously as too Jewish and anti-Jewish).  The degree of precision was extraordinary: white men in the Midwest were told that Harris was going to take away their Zyn nicotine pouches, whereas Black people in North Carolina were told that she was coming for their menthol cigarettes.

"The entire goal of the campaign was to push her numbers down," as a top Trump advisor said.  This was achieved by the familiar phantom combination: oligarchical money + psychographic information about individuals + social media delivery system + demotivational message. 

And the phantom messaging was an element in a larger informational campaign.  In addition to funding the phantom campaign, Musk also turned his entire social media platform against Harris and towards Trump, months before the election.  This is obviously unfair: imagine if every time a Trump yard sign appeared on a yard, a billionaire appeared and added five more; and every time a Harris yard sign appeared, a billionaire appeared and snatched it away.  That is essentially what happened on Twitter, by design.  The pro-Trump voices were given more exposure, and the pro-Harris ones were suppressed, on a huge scale, for five months before the election.

The phantom is out in the world now, and has to be seen for what it is.  And so Elon Musk wants a taboo.  He seems to believe that he has a sacred right to talk to Putin and influence American elections; and everyone who even mentions such things should be punished.  He will "nuke" such people, he says, or bring down "the hammer of justice."  These threats sound like confessions.  But confessions are hardly needed, given the evidence, and given that Musk is now promising to determine elections in other countries. 

None of this is good news, but it should alter how we consider the aftermath.

Democrats have collapsed into arguments about what went wrong.  How could she have lost?  How could it be that Harris lost in states where Democrats won senatorial races?  Why did she get millions fewer votes than Biden did?  Why did the enthusiasm of real people in summer not seem to translate into high turnout in autumn?  No doubt there are lessons to be learned.  But even if the Harris-Walz campaign was perfect, Harris was also dealing with a phantom campaign, one which targeted her own voters with an untrue version of herself and her policies.  The votes thus suppressed are the phantom votes, the ones that were never cast. 

The phantom also accounts for some confusion in the media analysis of the election.  We keep hearing that Harris's defeat had to do with her identity politics, even though her campaign was based on other themes.  Racism and misogyny figure here, of course: some people can't look at a Black woman without regarding her existence as identity politics.  But some of it likely has to do with the phantom campaign.  The whole Trump campaign painted Harris as an extremist focused on identity issues.  But even people who were beyond that target area, the moderates who end up on television, were getting the phantom messages on their phones, deceptively inviting them into the same set of associations.  And then some of them repeated the association of Harris with identity politics out loud in front of millions of people, themselves becoming part of the disinformation campaign.

Trump voters should also take heed, though.  The phantom has also played a trick on them.  The general view in MAGA is that Musk is a hanger-on, whom Trump can dismiss at will.  I think that this is an error.  Musk has money, and Trump has debts.  Whatever Trump wants financed, he will need Musk to do it.  Musk has Twitter, and Trump has Truth Social.  What would happen to Trump's image were Musk to alter the algorithms on Twitter to aid Vance?  Most fundamentally: Trump has needs, and Musk has wants.  Trump needs to stay in power to avoid prison and poverty; Musk just enjoys breaking things, such as the United States. Musk and Trump are together on an island of oligarchy, and one of them might well outlast the other.  But it would be wrong to assume that the survivor will be Trump.

Of course, it is really all voters who should take heed.  Each of us is supposed to have one vote.  If an oligarch has unlimited wealth, access to data about the rest of us, and malicious intent, he can use social media to affect how millions or tens of millions of us experience the campaign, and thus affect how we end of voting -- or rather not voting.  And now the oligarch, unelected, is taking power.

The ancient Greeks knew that oligarchs from various countries will always have more in common with one another than they will with people in their own country.  And that one thing they have in common is the use of lies to undo democracy.  There will always be international oligarchs -- Russian, South African, whatever, -- who want to do away with democracy in the real world so that they can live undisturbed in their fantasy worlds. 

The phantom is an old one, bedecked in the stealthy technology of our time.  The phantom needs darkness.  We can get ourselves out of the phantom world, but first we need that spark of recognition that tells us where we are.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

[sister-lucifer]

Presenting (Part 2)

Satan, Asmodeus*, Beelzebub, Belphegor x Familiar!Reader (Separately) 

PART ONE

**PLEASE READ CONTEXT FOR FAMILIAR READER HERE**

Genre: Smut

Summary: When Familiars are in heat, they will occasionally “present” to their mate or potential mates to entice them. This can involve many things: stripping, exposing parts of the body such as the chest or thighs, posing in provocative ways, and much more.

How do the younger brothers react when you present to them? 

Reader is male

Content/Warnings: Catboy reader, sub reader, mentions of heat, sort of shy reader, mentions of scent, mentions of pegging in Asmo’s segment

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio! 

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors 

*Asmodeus is AFAB and uses he/she pronouns 

Satan 

When Satan heard the new familiar was a cat, his heart swelled. Ever since you showed up, he had doted on you twenty four seven. He even had your heats marked on his calendar, along with lists of everything you would need, and he made sure to carve out time to spend with you during those weeks. 

He had stayed home the entire day; you both knew it would start today, but there was no telling exactly what time, so you were both going about business as normal.

Up until now, that is.

Satan smelled you before he saw you. Your sweet scent was unmistakable, imprinted on his brain. It sent a shiver down his spine. 

You didn’t have to say anything when you walked in, or shut and locked the door behind you, or crawled into bed with Satan. 

He happily opened his arms to you, and you wrapped him in a warmer-than-usual hug. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, lips brushing over his skin as you purred. Satan stroked your back softly with a tender hand. 

“Need me to tend to you, pretty kitty?” He asked in a low voice. 

“Mhm…” You hummed in response. 

You pulled away from him, instead opting to plant yourself on his lap. It was then he noticed the cropped shirt you were wearing. It showed off your adorable tummy just perfectly, along with your thick happy trail. His eyes traced the fur all the way down until it disappeared into your shorts. 

Your tail thumped against the mattress as your hand slid under your shirt. It slowly lifted it above your chest while the other moved to the waistband of your shorts. Satan watched intently, taking in every inch of skin. 

You held your shirt above your chest, allowing Satan to run a hand over the ring of fur around your neck. Your shorts, which he could now see had nothing underneath, were pushed down just enough to tease him. Even the slightest bit more force would release your hard on from its confines. 

You let out a shy meow, ears pressed flat against your head. 

Satan grinned down at you, bringing a hand up to pat your head. 

“Presenting to me, hm? There’s no need to entice me, although I am incredibly flattered, I’ll always be your mate, and I’ll always take care of you.” 

Asmodeus 

One of the most important things in Asmodeus’ routine was his daily shopping outings. Of course, that’s where he was the day you started your heat: out. 

He had originally planned to stay home, really he had, but this was a last minute decision. It was just supposed to be a quick run, really! But she got so distracted by each new shop…

Suddenly she felt her DDD vibrate in her pocket, and when she saw it was a text from you, she nearly fainted. 

My Familar💕

Asmo, please come home. I need you. 

He had never dropped a shopping outing faster. 

The heels of his shoes clicked loudly against the dorm tile floors as he rushed down the hallway. Fortunately she had long since become an expert at running in stilettos. 

“Familiar? Sweet baby, where are you?” She called, but she got no response. You weren’t in the common room, you weren’t in your room, you weren’t in any of the rooms he passed…

That only left one possibility. 

He swung open the door to his room with a call of your name, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight before him.

You were on all fours in the middle of his bed, facing away from him. Your back end was up in the air, tail swaying above you. You were wearing the itty bittiest little pair of shorts that squeezed around your ass perfectly. 

She couldn’t help but let out a small gasp. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth as she gawked. 

“Asmo…need you…” You pleaded softly as you turned to look back at him. 

How could he ever refuse those teary, desperate eyes? Or that perfect, pliant body? Or that wonderful, wonderful smell that seemed to surround and overtake everything? 

“Oh, my sweet…” She cooed as she walked over, running a hand over your bare back. “Presenting to me so shamelessly…you must be desperate…” 

He moved towards his dresser, running his fingers down the drawers before pulling the bottom one open.

“I’m so, so sorry for neglecting you, baby. Let me make it up to you with my favorite strap-on.” 

Beelzebub 

Beelzebub was always one to pick up on more than he showed, and this was no exception. He knew your heat would start today; not only had he been planning for it the past few days, but he had been attached at your hip since this morning, always having an excuse to watch over you. Not that you minded, of course. 

Fortunately, it seemed his little plan would pay off. 

You were laying in bed together watching some movie that you had both seen a thousand times, although Beel was more focused on stuffing his face with popcorn. He groaned when he reached into the bucket and felt nothing. 

“Aw, I finished the movie snacks already…You don’t happen to have anything, do you?” 

You shook your head in response. Beel sighed, but really he wasn’t that upset. He snuggled in closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

He took note of how restless you suddenly became when he pulled you in close, and they way your tail thumped quickly against the bed. 

“Hey, you alright?” He asked, but he got no reply. 

You shifted again, this time moving to sit in front of him. That’s when your wonderful scent hit him like a truck. On instinct he took a deep breath in, nearly intoxicated by the smell. 

“Oh…D-Did you—“ 

You shushed him before he could finish. 

You placed yourself between his legs, holding onto his hips as you lowered your upper body. 

He knew immediately what you were trying to do. 

Your head ducked down as you nuzzled against his bulge with a soft mew. Your shirt slid down revealing your bare back as you arched it, as well as the base of your tail. You knew how to make yourself look irresistible to your mate.

Your tongue lolled out to give a small kitten lick over Beel’s bulge through his pants. Goodness, you looked more delicious right now than any meal Beelzebub had ever laid eyes on…

“O-Oh gosh, I…I knew this would happen, but damn...I didn’t think you’d ever present to me…guess you really need me to take care of you, huh? Go on, then. Show me what you need.” 

Belphegor 

Belphie was rarely ever roused from sleep by anything short of the entire dorm collapsing, and yet every time you were near it always woke him. This time was not an exception, although he picked up on your scent first before he was completely awake. He sat up as he spotted you in the doorway. 

“Hey, familiar…you need something?” Belphegor asked, voice slow and lazy. He yawned and stretched, patting the bed next to you and inviting you to sit down. 

You did sit down, although the bed was not your seat of choice. 

Instead you climbed into Belphie’s lap, putting your hands on his chest and pushing him to lay back. He complied, although his expression let on that his interest was most certainly piqued by your behavior. 

“Something wrong, familiar?” 

It was a disingenuous question; he knew what was wrong, but he wanted to see what you had planned. He had heard about the possibility of familiar’s ‘presenting’ to mates, and he was eager to see how far you would go. 

You sat right on his hips, giving a few subtle grinds. His hands came up to rest on your waist, fingers drumming against your soft skin. 

One of your hands moved to your chest, running down it slowly. Then to your stomach, then past your navel…

Then it dipped under the waistband of your shorts. 

It wasn’t much, but it was more than enough to get the message across. 

“Belphie…” You mewled, making sure he could see every movement you made beneath the fabric. 

You could feel his cock harden underneath you, nearly making you flinch. He stared at you for a long few moments, mouth hanging open wordlessly before curling into a grin. 

“My, my…that needy, hm?” He teased, and you nodded in response. 

“I see…you’re quite cute when you’re like this, you know…how about you keep going? Present to me like you mean it. Show me what my pretty little familiar has to offer.” 

if demand is high enough i will make a part 3 with the dateables

[dilxcc]

:: mrs magic. diluc ragnvindr

contains. fem!reader, small angst, fluff, love confessions, mutual pining, idiots in love, grammatical error . . .

summary. his head is filled with you. he just had to figure out what kind of sorcery that you had casted on him . . .

requested. none

note. this basically sucks 😭

he pants lightly, holding his claymore in both hands as he finished his training. the sun had already said goodbye to the city of mondstadt. yet, he didn’t seem to have noticed.

“she cannot keep on jeopardizing my quests,” those were the words that kept on ringing in his ears. he didn’t want anyone to help him. he doesn’t require one’s help. kaeya, who was there to deliver an apology letter from venti (a drunkard that seems to always drop by angel’s share), clapped his hands in amusement.

he could see clearly even with one eye how affacted his brother is by you. you. his only thoughts. it would have been natural if diluc’s only thoughts were of surpassing you. but kaeya had heard from adelinde that his brother was always thinking of you.

not just thinking of you, but would also have dreams about you. and not just any dreams, ones like where he would be with you in the same room, just reading a book or simply relishing in each other’s company.

diluc wondered what kind of spell that you had put him under. it’s got to be some sort of sorcery to make him feel this infatuated by you. he ought to ask adelinde about this soon.

with a tired sigh, he put down his claymore and gave kaeya an annoyed look. “what business do you have here?” he asked flatly. “what? i can’t come here and visit my brother now?”

with an unamused expression, diluc quickly drag his claymore and went inside the winery. “hey, that drunkard have something for you,” kaeya said, his eye casting a longing feeling. “i... will take my leave now,”

he simply hummed, only turning back when he was sure his brother had left. he took the letter and went back inside.

.

“why has she always been on my mind?” diluc groaned into his hands. “i do not need distractions,” he mumbled. “what seemed to be the problem here, master diluc?” adelinde asked, her head tilted to the side slightly. she had never seen the master diluc to be so distressed these days.

“it is nothing for you to concern yourself for,” he said, quickly dismissing her. “is this about that lady who often carried you here injured?” adelinde asked. “n-no. what makes you think of that?” he stuttered.

adelinde smiled at that. “you see, she came by this evening. told me that she wanted to see you for the last time,” at that, his ears perked up. “last time? what does that mean? is she leaving?”

“i suppose. she left you a letter,”

he basically snatched the paper from adelinde and read it immediately.

dear mr. grumpy,

i have come bearing this letter to tell you that, i will soon leave mondstadt for liyue. perhaps i shouldn’t have needed to write this letter. but i felt that i would... indeed miss you after a long time. so this letter is to lessen that longing feeling.

it is quite odd for me to write this letter to you. especially when you probably hates me. and for some unknown reason, i fell for you mister. how did you even do that simply by standing around and pushing away my help? i will be missing you dearly in all honesty.

i hope that you will be happy staying here in mondstadt. i will be continuing my traveling elsewhere after i finished venturing liyue.

your truly,

y/n.

he quickly scrambled to his feet and dashed out of the winery. he had to find you. he just had to catch you before you leave.

.

you looked at your house with sadness. you so much wished to stay. but you also wanted to do this. you finally had enough mora to go travel all around teyvat. maybe do some commissions along the way for mora.

“y/n...!”

you quickly whipped your head around, trying to find that source of voice. it felt like his heart had stopped for a bit. you looked... alluring. he doesn’t know if that is the right word. everything about you is just magical. had you always been this beautiful?

his thoughts scattered in his brain as he walk towards you. his heart beating hundreds of miles per hour. “you... you’re leaving,” he stated. as if it wasn’t obvious enough. a bitter smile appeared on your face. “yeah... my journey in mondstadt has come to an end,”

“but you don’t have to leave...?” his voice came out more pathetic than he had hoped for. why has he become so... fragile in front of you? “i’m afraid it is important for me,” you said. you hoped that he would leave you now. if he stays any longer, you might actually stay and confess your love for him.

diluc stood in front of you, slightly out of breath from rushing all the way from the winery back into the city of mondstadt. “i need to know... what sort of sorcery have you put me under... to make me so... attracted to you, to make you so alluring that it’s hard for me to not think of you,” he admitted.

you couldn’t believe his words for a second. but the way he was looking at you, staring at you with heart eyes. “i wondered the same,” you chuckled, your eyes filling with tears. slowly, he pushed your hair away and tuck it behind your ear. his hand rested there for a bit, and he leaned closer, his forehead meeting yours.

“would you... keep in contact with me?”

[rhaenyratargcryen]

i was made for lovin’ you, baby (eddie munson)

summary: you're working your way through college at a dingy bar in indianapolis. one of your coworkers asks you to switch shifts, and you'd never in a million years have been able to guess who plays guitar in the tuesday/thursday band.

author's note: in this eddie graduates on time in '84 like he was supposed to; reader graduates in '86, so this takes place in like. '87? so much canon divergence i am so sorry but i really just wanted to write a sweet, self-indulgent college au eddie munson fanfic bc he deserves the entire world and that includes a smokin hot bartender who gives him free drinks and listens to all of his favorite bands

side note i have no one to beta read for me so pls excuse any grammatical/spelling errors okay love you byeeeee

pairing: eddie munson x reader word count: 3.8k warnings: alternate universe: canon divergence, college au, no spoilers, fluff, some serious flirting, quite a bit of making out

also!!!!! this was originally posted to AO3 under the user starspngledman. this is my work. please do not repost without permission!!!

The sound of a stool scraping across the floor down the bar pulls you from your thoughts. Your mouth opens slightly in disbelief when you see who’s occupying that stool. You stop polishing the glass you have in your hand and set it down, afraid you’ll drop it. 

It’s Eddie. Fucking. Munson.

You thought you’d successfully left Hawkins behind when you moved away, but it would appear not. You swallow around the nervous lump that’s appeared in your throat and ready yourself to serve him.

He probably won’t even remember who I am, you think, closing your eyes for a beat before walking to the end of the bar, stopping to stand in front of where he’s sitting with his head bowed. 

“What can I get you?”

Eddie brings his gaze up from his hand to your eyes and immediately stops fidgeting with the ring on his pinkie finger. He squints.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

You blanch, then plaster on a tentative smile. “Did you go to Hawkins High School?”

You can see the gears that have been shifting in Eddie’s head finally lock into place and he makes some sort of gesture with his hands that you don’t quite understand.

“Yes! You were in band, right?” 

You mime playing the trumpet and Eddie cackles, “Oh, yeah, I remember you,” pointing at you and nodding before holding out his hand for you to shake. “Munson. Eddie. In case you forgot.”

“I can promise you I did not,” you say, taking his hand. “Pretty hard to forget the dungeon master with the mullet who made a habit of standing on lunch tables and personifying his electric guitar. I was a grade or two below you, I think.”

Eddie smiles as if lost in nostalgic thought and shakes his head. He drops your hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here,” you say, gesturing towards yourself, behind the bar. 

Eddie snorts. “No, no, I mean in Indianapolis. Didn’t you have, like, big city dreams?”

“Indianapolis is the capital of Indiana?” You offer, raising an eyebrow.

“Like, New York- or LA-sized dreams. Everyone thought you’d be on the cover of magazines, soon enough.”

You open your mouth to answer him, but a customer down the bar smacks his hand on the countertop to get your attention, gesturing to the empty bottle in front of him, and you glare at him for a moment before looking back at Eddie. “Hold that thought, Munson.”

Eddie smirks and watches you walk away. “What a small world,” he calls to you while you grab a bottle of Bud Light out of the icebox under the bar. You open the bottle and slide it down the bar to the old man, who snatches it up and slaps a five dollar bill down on the counter, grumbling obscenities in your direction before walking off to loiter near the dart board. You snatch one more bottle of the same out of the icebox and pop it open, too, tossing the cap into the trash.

“Sure is,” you say, sauntering back over to him and setting the bottle directly in front of Eddie. He gives you a cheeky look and takes a long pull, giving an exaggerated ahhh once he’s done. 

“God, they sure do treat you well here, huh?”

“More or less. So, what are you doing in Indianapolis, then?”

“Nah, we were still talking about you,” Eddie says, wagging his finger in your direction. He pushes one hand through his long, curly hair, swiping it out of his eyes, and takes another sip of his beer.

You scrunch your nose at him and fold your arms. You shrug. “Sure, yeah, I was gonna head out to LA and try to make it big, but my parents threatened to cut me off if I didn’t go to college right out of high school. My mom went to the university here and she still knows people, so she pulled some strings and got me admitted, early decision. I’m majoring in English. It’s not bad, but it’s not showbiz, so.”

Eddie’s quiet for a moment, before he whistles and shakes his head. “That’s fucked up.”

You shrug once more, trying to come across as apathetic as possible, but then you break composure and nod. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“Showbiz?” He circles back, cocking his head in your direction. “Are you an actor?”

“Kind of,” you say, squinting. “I want to be.”

Eddie nods, glancing up and down, from the top of your head to your waist, sizing you up. “I can see it.”

His gaze makes you feel all warm in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. You change the subject. “What are you doing in Indy, Munson?”

“My band and I moved out here to try to make it big, coincidentally.” He uses his thumb to gesture over his shoulder toward the makeshift stage at the back of the bar, then takes one more long sip from his beer and sets it down in front of himself, the empty bottle clanging against the counter. He rubs his other thumb up and down the neck of the bottle, absentmindedly, his ring singing against the glass, and your gaze can’t help but follow it. “A friend of a friend got us this gig here just a few months ago. Every Tuesday and Thursday, and every other Friday.” 

“No wonder I’ve never seen you here before,” you say, tapping the bartop with your pointer finger. “I typically work Wednesdays and Sundays. The slow nights. Janine asked me to pick this up for her last minute.”

“Sounds like fate to me,” Eddie says, whistling. 

“You thought you were going to make it big in Indianapolis, Indiana?”

“It was supposed to just be one stop before we eventually moved out to California, but now we’re too broke, so we’re pretty much stuck here. Not so bad now that I know you’re here, too, though.”

You roll your eyes. “You flirting with me, Munson?”

His whole face lights up. “Dunno. You want me to be flirting with you?”

Shaking your head, you pick his empty bottle up and stash it in the trash bag under the bar. “You said y’all play here every Tuesday and Thursday?”

“And every other Friday,” Eddie says, nodding. 

“I’ll have to see if one of the other bartenders will trade shifts with me. You have to be better than the band they have in here during my shifts.”

“You haven’t even heard us play yet. You might end up eating your words.” He grins from ear to ear and stands, pressing his palms flat against the counter. “What do I owe you for the beer, sunshine?”

You blush again at the term of endearment, then shake your head. “On the house.”

“‘On the house’? Do you treat every miscreant you went to high school with who comes through your bar this nice?”

You ignore him. “But you gotta promise to play me a song.”

“Play you a song? What if I play all the songs for you, instead?”

“Nah - you gotta play me a song.”

Eddie bites his tongue, the tip sticking out between his lips just slightly, and he nods. “Alright. We’ll play you a song. What do you like?”

“The Clash,” you say, matching his stance, placing your palms on the counter, the tips of your fingers almost touching his. “KISS, Def Leppard, Motley Crue. Any of their stuff will do.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Eddie says, slapping the bartop lightly and backing off before turning on his heel. You shake your head, and as if he can sense it, he calls back, “And I’ll see if I can sweet talk Janine into giving you her Tuesday shift permanently.”

“Make it Friday, too. I want the tips.”

Eddie snorts and nods, looking back over his shoulder. “You got it, sunshine.”

That night, his band plays an encore of “Pour Some Sugar On Me” by Def Leppard to all nine patrons in the bar, and Eddie’s eyes never leave yours the entire song.

┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅

“When are you gonna let me take you out?”

You scrunch your eyebrows, looking at Eddie over the tap your fist is currently curled around. “What? Why? Have you asked? Did I miss that?”

“No, no,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “This is me asking. So, what do you say? You wanna go out with me?”

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that, Eddie,” you tut, sucking your teeth. You hand the full glass off to the customer to Eddie’s left. “You think you can just flirt with me once and then ask me out, and that I’ll say yes right off the bat?”

Eddie purses his lips, then cocks his head, looking up past you, feigning deep thought, before he nods fervently. “Yeah, yeah, I do.”

“Sorry, pal,” you say, but it’s with a smile. He puts both hands over his heart. “Don’t make me regret letting Janine pawn tonight’s shift off to me, too.”

“You wound me.”

“What can I say? I have standards. I gotta hand it to you, though, Munson; you have so much more game than you ever did in high school.”

His jaw drops and he barks out a laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You smirk and cross your arms. “Eddie. You enthusiastically played Dungeons & Dragons - you recruited for Dungeons & Dragons - at a school whose idea of fun was piling into the gym every weekend to watch a game where they toss balls into laundry baskets. I know the girls weren’t exactly fawning over you. But hey,” you say, holding a hand out to him when his mouth opens even further, “it’s not like the guys were fawning over me, either!”

“Uh, I don’t know where you were back then, but yeah, they were. They, like, really were.”

“Stop trying to deflect,” you chastise. “All I’m saying is that you’re much more suave than you were when I knew you before. You’ve always been charming, but now it’s like…”

You trail off and, after seeing the look on Eddie’s face, decide you don’t want to finish that thought. 

“It’s like what, huh?” His self-satisfied expression makes you groan. “And you think I’m charming?”

“Begrudgingly, yes.”

“So why not go out with me?”

You scoff. You check the clock above the front door. “Your set starts soon, Munson.”

Eddie smiles softly at you. “Who’s deflecting now?”

Rolling your eyes, you reach over the bar and gently shove him, urging him off his stool. “Go on.”

“I’m gonna get you to go out with me,” Eddie says, standing and backing off the stool. He points at you. “Mark my words.”

“Mark my words? What are you, a D&D villain?”

“Sometimes!” He turns his back to you and strides over to the makeshift stage, shedding his leather jacket. You toss your head back and pinch the bridge of your nose, then look up again. Eddie’s eyes find yours as he loops his guitar strap around his shoulder and starts to tune it.

“Are you wearing a crop top, Munson?”

“Yeah,” Eddie calls. “You like it?”

Your face turns a few shades darker and Eddie grins.

“Knew you would. Wore it for you, doll.”

“I hate you,” you say.

“No you don’t,” he teases. “You like me.”

You almost wish you could say he wasn’t right. Then again, you don’t.

┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅

It’s just after 5 o’clock on a Tuesday and you’re starting to serve the regulars that tend to roll in at open on the dot when you hear Eddie all but shout your name from the other side of the room. You glance up and watch him pushing through the front door, guitar case and amp in his hands, and you can’t help but admire the way he looks in his tee shirt. It’s loose on him, and he has his sleeves rolled up above his shoulders. You smile at him and wave.

It’s been a few weeks since Eddie successfully charmed Janine into switching her shifts with yours (all of them, actually - the Tuesday, the Thursday, and the every other Friday). You have no clue how he managed that, honestly. Janine isn’t exactly your biggest fan, but you won’t question it.

You’ve been thoroughly enjoying Eddie’s company for the few hours you get to spend in the same room as him on those days. He feels warm, and just being around him brings your mood up. You’d never tell him that, though.

Or maybe you would, just to see the look on his face. 

You seriously can’t believe you never noticed him in high school. Or that you did, but never like this.

“We rehearsed a new cover this morning, just for you, sweetheart,” Eddie calls to you with a wink, grinning at the way it makes you blush so red he can see it from over there. “Think you’re really gonna like it.”

“You know what I like,” you yell back, matching his grin with your own, and turn your back to unpack some boxes before he can say anything else to you.

Eddie shakes his head, muttering, “That woman. Death of me. Swear to God,” under his breath, unloading his gear and heading out to the van to help his bandmates grab everything else.

You wade through work, slow as molasses, for the next hour or so, watching Eddie and his band set up their gear and tune their instruments. You can’t help wondering what he has planned for you.

“Will you give me a hint?”

It's quiet in the bar, for the time being, and Eddie looks up from where he’s on his knees untangling cables and smiles. “A hint?”

“Yeah. For what you’re gonna play for me tonight.”

Eddie blows air through his lips and swipes the back of his hand across his forehead, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “I guess, uh…”

A bigger grin lights up his face and he puts both hands on his thighs. “It’s something I want to do to you.”

“Eddie, I swear to God,” you start, but he’s already turned back to his setup, the shit-eating expression on his face evidence that he’s pleased with himself.

You leave it at that. The band starts playing their set without much ceremony, like they always do, and much to your performed chagrin, they actually sound pretty incredible tonight. You catch Eddie’s eye a few times and he shoots you wolfish smile after wolfish smile, each of which makes your stomach flip.

“This last song is dedicated to you, sweetheart,” Eddie says into his microphone, raising a hand to point straight at you with his plectrum and wink. The older men sitting at the bar turn and stare at you, murmuring to one another. “You’ll see what I meant earlier.”

When that familiar guitar riff starts, you blush. You watch Eddie’s fingers as he rips through the first few chords of “I Was Made For Lovin’ You” by KISS. Your eyes move up his body and heat blossoms from the center of your stomach outward when you take in the look in his eyes as he stares at you. 

It’s…hungry. You shiver. 

It’s something I want to do to you. You assume he means kiss. He could also mean any number of other things, but you don’t want to think about those right now. It takes every ounce of strength you have to tear your eyes away from his, but you do, looking back down at his hands. You bite your lip and take a sip of your own beer, then press the cold glass against your cheek to bring your body temperature down. You glance up again and watch as Eddie’s expression darkens as you start to sing along. You might just have to take him up on that.

I was made for lovin’ you, baby, you were made for lovin’ me. And I can’t get enough of you, baby, can you get enough of me?

┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅

“Eddie,” you call, watching him pull his guitar from its hard case and set it against an amp. A few days have passed since he pulled that stunt with the KISS song, and you fully intend to get him back for it.

He looks up at you, a bright, open expression painted across his face. 

“Can you help with something in the back?” 

You smile softly and angle your head in the direction of the back room. He starts to say something, stammering, then stands abruptly, wiping his hands on his jeans. You snort, incredulous.

“Did I just render Eddie Munson speechless?”

“Shut up,” he laughs, walking toward you. “I’ve just never seen you ask anyone for help. That’s all.”

He lets you lead the way into the store room. You hold the door open for him, and push him against it when it fully closes behind him.

“What-”

“That song,” you murmur, your hands pressing into his shoulders. “KISS? ‘I Was Made For Lovin’ You’? Eddie.”

Eddie smiles, and his gaze darts from your eyes to your mouth, closer to him than you’ve ever been. “I knew you’d get the hint.”

You shake your head and lean in even closer, opening your mouth just as you’re about to press it to his. “You might as well have written I want to make out with you across your chest.”

“And ruin my favorite Metallica shirt?” Eddie cocks his head and pulls back, the soft, enamored look on his face twisting your heart. “Baby, I thought you knew me better than that.”

“I am going to kiss you now, Munson, but only to shut you up.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You lay one hand to his chest and bring the other up to cup his cheek, then press your mouth to Eddie’s, who, without hesitation, brings one of his hands up to cradle the back of your neck and the other to your hip, pulling you flush against him. You take this as a sign to deepen the kiss and part your lips, touching your tongue to his. Eddie moans into you in response.

You laugh lightly, and bring the hand on his chest down to his arm, holding tight. Eddie slots one knee between your legs and you gasp, jumping back.

“Too much?”

You shake your head. “No, no, not at all.”

He grins and pulls you back in, pushing his knee up a bit and reveling in the way you whine at his touch. The two of you stand there, in the dim storeroom, pressed against one another and kissing like your lives depend on it. The light flickers once, twice, and then, from somewhere out near the bar, comes a loud thump.

As quickly as you’d started, you pull away from him, looking anywhere but his face. You check your watch.

“I should, uh…Get back to the bar.”

Eddie is breathing hard as he steps away from the door, trying as discreetly as possible to readjust his jeans. You glance down, then back to his face, your own warmer than you feel like it has ever been before.

“Sorry. About that.”

“Do not be,” he says, then huffs one last sigh, regaining his composure slowly but surely. “You go. I’ll be out in a minute.”

You nod and pull the door open. 

“Hey,” Eddie calls softly when you’ve started to step through it. You pause and glance back at him.

“Are we…?”

You start to nod, then look down at your feet. “I don’t know. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” he says. “It’s okay. Go.”

The door cuffs the back of your ankles as it closes and you wince. Groaning, you make your way back to the front of the bar. 

┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅┅

You might have been avoiding Eddie since you cornered him in the store room, but he also hasn’t gone out of his way to speak to you since then, either, so really, who’s to blame?

You have, however, been thinking about him - and his mouth, and his hands, among other things - pretty much every minute of every day since. You’re thinking about it now, as a matter of fact, as you count the drawer of cash you were supposed to have in the register a half hour ago.

Almost as if he can read your mind, Eddie waltzes over to the bar with another man, blond, about his height. They both take the stools directly in front of you. Barely able to meet your eye, Eddie holds two fingers up. “Two Bud Lights?”

You wipe your hands and grab two bottles. You uncap them, setting them in front of the guys, who thank you, then turn away and start tidying absentmindedly, trying to ignore the feel of Eddie’s gaze on you. You sneak a peek over your shoulder and Eddie blushes when your eyes meet his, clearly feeling a little caught out. Turning and leaning on the bar, you clear your throat.

“Okay,” you say.

Eddie is chatting with the friend, who came to catch their set, but he abruptly shuts up and turns to give you his full attention, his eyebrows pinched together. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll go out with you.”

He turns to look at his friend, who smirks and claps Eddie on the shoulder. “I’m just gonna…”

Eddie nods, watching him get up and walk away, before turning back to you. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Has Hell frozen over? What made you change your mind?”

“Who says I ever did?”

Eddie smiles and stands, leaning over the bar before you even realize what’s happening. He places both hands on either side of your face and pulls you to him, kissing you firmly on the mouth. You freeze for one quick moment, but then you’re kissing him back with fervor, your fingers curled around the collar of his denim vest, your mouth opening, tongue tracing his lips until they part, too.

“Oh, thank God,” he says, voice breathy, chest heaving, when you pull apart. “I was starting to think you’d never see reason.”

You smack him playfully on the chest, but you let him pull you back in for a sweeter, softer kiss. He pecks you on the nose, then the forehead, then presses his lips to yours one more time. You throw your arms across his shoulders, bring one hand up to wind in his hair. He hums and closes his eyes.

“Will you play ‘Rock You Like a Hurricane’ for me tonight?”

“Darling, I will play every song you ever ask me to play. Just give me 45 minutes to an hour to learn the chords.”

[bakerstreethound]

Give Me One More Chance

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes x reader

Warnings: angst NO comfort

Summary: How many chances is enough? For you, you’ve reached your breaking point and break the news to Sherlock after feeling neglected in an on again off again relationship with him, if that’s even what you can call it. 

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound​ (Do NOT claim, repost, copy or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 1.2k+

A/N: Well, I hope you’re buckled up and ready for an angst adventure. I sort of imagined this having potential as an older teen (18/19) Sherlock and reader or them possibly both in their early twenties (21/22) so take that as you will. Thank you for the request @zombiesnips-blog​ I hope you and everyone else enjoys! As always comments and reblogs are most appreciated! This wasn’t beta read so I apologize in advance for any errors. Graphic is by @firefly-graphics​

The phone in your hands shook, you inhaled deeply, annoyed at the person on the end of the phone who undoubtedly forgot to pick you up from the library where you studied for hours upon end, where you were supposed to study with him. You didn’t want to be disappointed but it crept inside you still, lying upon you like a fever, your heart pulsing in kind. How many times were you supposed to forgive him? All the excuses you tried to conjure up did nothing, and you fall further into your well, filled by too many tears you shed. 

You set your mobile down, fiddling wth your hair before settling on the couch, flipping through a dozen channels or so before settling on one of your favorite movies that happened to be on. You try to let your mind numb that is until your apartment door slammed, the footfalls of a familiar gait pounding up the landing. Your heart lurched. It couldn’t possibly be him. 

At least he had the courtesy to knock but you still don’t want to get up, not in the state you’re in buried anger threatening to rise over the surface spilling venom in its wake. However, your body seemed to have other plans and you found yourself walking over and turning the knob, your gaze transfixed on brilliant, intelligent sapphire eyes. 

“Sherlock?” 

He pushed open the door further, shutting it without a word, brushing his hand against yours before pressing his lips against it, the tenderness causing your heart to ache. "Apologies, traffic took longer than expected it's rush hour and I-"

"And you what, just so happened to forget to call?" Bitterness fell from your tongue, try as you may to quell it and oh how you hated it when Sherlock’s cheek twitched, eyes blinking in bewilderment. 

"I tried-" 

“I don’t want to hear anymore excuses Sherlock. I’m tired of this, the constant back and forth, you disappearing for days on end, making me think you’re dead and you barely answer my texts! I understand your work, internship, whatever the bloody hell has you galivanting through London is important, but don’t I matter? How can I possibly compete with your work?”

His stare only added fuel to the fire, showing barely a hint of remorse, his shoulders slouching slightly. He swallowed, his lips shaping into words that never took flight, illuminating his internal struggle. You didn’t ever want it to come to this, but sometimes you had to take matters into your own hands. 

“How am I supposed to ask for your forgiveness? Do you want me to crawl on my hands and knees begging you to stay?” He inquired, beginning to circle around you like a vulture, unsure what to make of the situation. You tried not to meet his gaze again, for you knew you’d be doomed, falling further in an instant, loosing your heart all over again. 

Who were you kidding, you’d lost it months ago. 

You scoffed, “I clearly don’t see the point since you’ve made it obvious you don’t care anymore. Perhaps I stopped caring months ago, but I gradually gained clarity. Is there something you’re not telling me?” He took a step closer, piercing gaze meeting yours, and your throat went dry. You could smell him, the intoxicating warmth of him, his very essence, leaving you gasping, wanting him and only him, yet you somehow find it in the rapidly diminishing space between you to continue, “Were you never ready to be with me? I was terrified too, Sherlock but I thought we had- hell I don’t know what we are anymore. I can’t take this-” 

Soft familiar lips collided with yours, muffling your protests, his body absorbing you, molding you together as one despite your mind’s reeling protests. Oh, how easy it was to fall back into him, such a familiar pattern, his fingers teasing along your lower back, your hands tangled in is beautiful mass of curly hair. It’s electrifying, how you want to fall back but you can’t that was the way it happened last time when you vowed to yourself it was his last chance. 

When you pulled away a fraction, foreheads still touching, hands tangled in his hair, you tugged on them gently, earning a groan from his plump parted lips. 

“John told me you’d break my heart,” he all but whispered, leaning in to your touch, your familiarity, allowing himself denial of his reality for once. If only he could turn back time, but he knew fate was never so kind. It did not bode well to mingle in its affairs. If only he could take away the words you spoke, a silent thread unwinding, shriveling fast, finally cut with your words, sealing both his fate and yours. 

“Funny because my friends told me you’d break mine. It was only a matter of time, but sometimes you made me question if I had one at all. Sometimes I wonder if you ever had one to give me, my boy.” 

Wounded resignation lite up in his eyes, but he swallowed, taking a step away and yet, and yet, you reach out again, grasping the lapels of his beautiful coat, regret and sorrow streaming from your eyes. How could you have made this any easier? It was always going to be a heard break, but you knew you deserved better, he wasn’t good for you and you couldn’t keep waiting around, tired of the waiting, wondering, and wishing. It still didn’t make the growing sorrow in your body from weighing you down, threatening to drag you down into the deepest depths of the ocean. 

“You know we weren’t good for each other and you still have other ventures ahead of you. I’m sure you’ll find something more worth your while.” You pushed back the tears through it all, regret heavy in your hands as you released him from your embrace, but his hands remained on your waist, lip quivering, eyes wide a haunted look sprouting from within as if a ghost had now infiltrated his body. When he parted, it took all your resolve not to pull him back but the invisible thread was broken, all warmth ceasing to exist when he parts, shutting the door, turning around one last time to face you. 

“You always had a beautiful smile,” he said quietly and that was it. You fell to the floor on your knees, grasping at your chest, heaving gasping out the tears. Out your window you still could see him walking down past your door, into the streets beyond. 

It’s bittersweet, cruel of you to do it to yourself, memorizing his silhouette for the last time, the way it morphed into the shadows, making you selfishly wish the possibility of seeing it for one more time, relishing the rush of adrenaline that followed, the racing of your heart when he stood near to you, kissing you o so softly as if you are the only thing in his universe. Perhaps you were, but certainly not in this one, for fate was cureler rather than kind. You regret not being able to hold his hand, taste those adoring lips of his…now you can but only in your dreams

******