#I always circle back around to my brain rot over this movie

[anyataylorjoys]

I must ask you, though... What is your secret? If I told you, I’d have to kill you.

DORIAN GRAY (2009) dir. Oliver Parker

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part six —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. reader menstruates. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: this was longer but i decided to break it up sorry :p

The last glimpse of civilization you had was a chaotic one.

It was the first day of the outbreak.

Freshly infected running around. Bodies scattered in the streets like dead flies. Screaming. Paul grabbing your hand and tugging you towards the treeline. Your nephew shrieking in your sister’s arms. It’s funny how trauma likes to grab hold of the minute details. You can also recall seeing a bus pass by with an ad for some superhero movie. You had planned on seeing it. The bus crashed into a house and the ad was licked by flames.

Paul was always the one to make the trips to pharmacies and markets. He was the one who wielded a gun, not you. You were the one to stay behind, fortify the fence, and watch over the two broken members of your family.

Society's dust— that is what you leave Ghost’s territory for.

You know you need to.

You wait for your period to end.

Freshly spilled blood is not a scent you want to carry. Greys are drawn to it like flies to rot. Something you learned the hard way once during a hunt with Paul. They were able to catch your scent from a further distance than usual because of it.

To your relief, Ghost lets you look at his map.

Of course, you can’t take it with you.

“Jus’ memorize it,” he grumbles under his breath.

So the evening before you venture out, you study the map of Northern England. Ghost brought out a whole stack of them from the room you’re certain is his. You notice a map of the European continent on top, briefly catching a glimpse of a black circle drawn in the middle somewhere, but he is quick to move it underneath the pile.

You focus on the one you need.

There is a black dot to indicate where their camp is amid the forest. Some 20 kilometers south is the closest city. Or village rather. Ribchester. Maybe that is a safer bet than going by yourself to a big city like Manchester. You may have a bow and knife and some strength, but you don't have a car or guns like he does. Or companions coming with you.

Blue helps you turn your pillowcase into a strapped bag with some scissors. You need something to carry what you find. Ghost isn't willing to let you leave with his backpack. Bitterly, you get it. It’s a useful item.

The next morning, you feel as prepared as you can be. You wake up earlier than usual, before Blue has the chance to poke inside your shed with Grim. You eat a big breakfast of two dried squirrels. You have a third one to take with you.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Blue picks at her breakfast as she sits beside you at the table. Her lips twist around thoughtfully.

You glance between her and Ghost. His stare is unreadable like usual. Dark, stoic, and hiding under lowered brows. You wonder what he thinks— if he would be secretly relieved if you don't make it back alive. Probably. He could get rid of you without Blue pointing the blame at him.

"Medicine is important. I need to find my own.”

We can’t risk sneaking anymore, you would say if he wasn’t right there. But by the way she slides her blue eyes to discreetly meet yours, you think she gets the hint.

"Just be careful, okay?" You nod. "And remember—" she lifts a finger, "—you have to shoot those fucks in the brain."

"I know. I've been practicing my aim a bit."

The smile you offer is only half-there. The truth is, you are risking your life with this. Part of you wonders how deeply she has processed that.

Despite her lips appearing more chewed-through than usual, they give a wary smile in return.

“Yeah, we could hear you hitting the trees. Right, Ghost?"

He hums low, but characteristically, doesn't have much to say about you.

But when you head for the cabin door after eating, his firm hand surprises you, gloved and skeletal. It wraps around your bicep and brings you to a halt before you can step outside. Heat spreads through his glove and the layers of your clothes. You turn around just as a metal object is silently offered to your chest. Ghost holds your stare before you look down at what he is giving you.

It's the revolver. The one they collected from that man.

The gun with only one cartridge.

"Thanks."

You bite your cheek to hide the dry tone, slipping the revolver into your coat pocket. Maybe it will come in handy. At least he now trusts you enough not to immediately point it at him or her.

Blue is the one to follow you out to the gate of their camp.

"I hope you find something good."

"Me, too."

"You know, Ghost and I only went on one trip that I can remember," she says as she unlocks the bolts for you.

"Yeah?"

"To get him more ammo from a military base," she explains with a wave of her hand. "It was pretty close, though. He says that we went on one other trip back to Manchester when things first happened, but he carried me on his back the whole time so I don't remember much except for all the loud sounds.”

This part she adds quietly: "Think I closed my eyes for most of it."

"I would have closed my eyes, too, Blue.”

The next glimpse of civilization you get is a desolate one.

Again, you are on your own. Though, maybe you’ve been alone this whole time in a way.

It is that weird time between winter and spring when the air is crisp but the sun is bright. You hope to complete the trip in one day, which gives you about nine hours. You walk and walk, leaving Ghost's familiar territory behind until the trees become new to you again. You’ve never gone south before. You stop by a creek to drink some water along the way. By high noon, you exit the forest for the first time in five years.

You can see it. Overgrown shrubs and dry vines that crawl over cracked concrete. A road. A billboard arches over with a peeled ad for shaving cream, the woman’s face looking mangled. Your bow is poised as you follow the highway towards the village, recalling a time when you used to take the bus ride down this very route to visit your sister’s home. You liked watching the trees and rolling hills pass through the window as you tucked your ears under headphones.

It is so strange.

The air is quiet with abandonment.

Briefly, you ache for a world that once existed and the life you once lived. Car rides. Music whenever you wanted. Drunk outings on the weekends when you were supposed to be studying for nursing school. Hope for a family of your own someday.

But you have to ignore all that to stay focused on the present. Now, life is whittled down to basic needs and protecting yourself the best you can.

The village soon appears as stone buildings with unkempt wisteria scaling the sides. Abandoned cars haphazardly parked throughout the streets. You keep your guard up and your nose flared as you approach. There is a faint, awful scent that looms in the air, but it is not strong enough to cause concern. Not yet.

A pharmacy.

You need to find one.

If you want to make it back to their camp by nightfall, then you can only waste about an hour or two here. You could spend the night in a tree and trek the 20 kilometers tomorrow, but sleeping in a branch is even more unpleasant than your shed and it is risky. You were willing to do it when you had no other choice, but what if some unfriendly people find you this time? Perhaps even unfriendlier than the threat of Ghost's knife to your neck.

An hour is killed just searching for the pharmacy.

You roam the empty streets.

Finally, you catch sight of the faded sign and your heart leaps. But the excitement fades away when your nose and eyes detect the group of Greys just outside the building in an empty parking lot. Their pale eyes aren’t pointed at you yet, so you move behind a crumpled car for cover. If you had gotten any closer, they surely would've smelled your human flesh.

You take a deep breath. How many are there?

Carefully, you poke your head out just an inch to survey the threat. Six of those fucks. That is doable given the range.

The last time you ran into Greys, you had no choice but to run because of the bow Ghost stepped on. This time, you can kill them off with the bow carved by his hands.

You are quick with it. You stand and release arrow by arrow. Four of the six are headshots. You aren't perfect. The last two receive arrows through their shoulders, but this type of wound means nothing to a Grey. It is their brains that are infected with the virus, just like Blue said.

These two begin running towards you, now catching a whiff of your scent.

You climb on top of the car. Hitting a running target is far trickier. You go for the faster one first, using two more arrows before hitting the skull, grey chunks of brain splattering onto the concrete. The slower one just barely reaches the car before you finish it off, the closer distance sharpening this final hit.

The pharmacy is reachable now.

As you run over, you gather the used arrows. Precious ammo. You pull them out of their bodies with a twist and a putrid squelch.

When you push through the doors to the pharmacy, you almost choke. The shelves— they are empty. You breeze through every aisle, eyes and hands seeking anything that could be left, but there is nothing. You check the back. You check the shelves behind the counter.

Empty, empty, empty.

“Oh, fuck me,” you croak. Hot tears spill down your cheeks.

You half expected this.

But you’ve come all this way.

You need something.

There must be somewhere else you can look.

The cars maybe. Most people used to keep med kits somewhere inside. There is a slight chance that one could’ve been forgotten. It is worth a try.

You keep moving, not wanting to return with an empty bag. The white sun hangs high. The dry air turns your tear-stained cheeks sticky. You pick up rocks to begin breaking the windows of the abandoned cars, poking your arm inside to undo the locks, and rummaging through the glove compartments.

CDs, magazines, condom wrappers.

Nothing.

“Please, please.”

You make it down the street like this, checking every single one. Distracted, you shatter the glass of a white sedan without noticing the shadow laying in the backseat.

Fingers wrap around your wrist as you reach for the inner lock.

A maggot-filled mouth lurches for the flesh of your hand.

An arrow won't work here. With a cry, you use your free hand to grab the revolver from your pocket and shoot its head. The sound echoes. The single bullet burrows right between its eyes. The Grey writhes for a moment before going limp against the seat.

Panting, you have to pry the bony fingers off your wrist.

Again, you search the glove compartment. In this car where the stench is thick enough to sicken you, a med kit and a Twix bar fall into your hands.

“Fuck— thank you.”

You stash both into your homemade bag.

You could leave now, but you are itching for some antibiotics. The kit will help you clean wounds without Ghost's help, but it won’t save you if you develop an infection.

The next idea you have is to check a house.

By the look of the sky, you can fit in at least two quick searches. You run over to the next street and kick at the front door of the first one you see. Nothing but knocked-over furniture and torn wallpaper. The bathroom cabinet is empty.

The next one you fight inside is decorated with furniture that smells like faded perfume. The first room you check is a bedroom. In the center, a full set of bones lies on the bed, void of any meat after God knows how long its been there. You try not to look at it. On the floor lies a pile of clothes. You could use some more, still dressed in the ones Ghost found you in. You don't even look at them, just grab what you can fit in your bag and move on to the bathroom.

Here, beside a pair of molded dentures, you find two half-full bottles of pills.

Amoxicillin.

Paracetamol.

You cry some more.

It's not much, but it is enough for now.

Your muscles are fatigued by the time you make it back.

You reek of sweat. It is a long walk. You run into a few more Greys but manage them. You eat the squirrel you brought.

Darkness covers the forest just when you spot the camp's fence in the distance. Relief. You actually did it. Some pride breathes into your tired lungs.

As you get closer, you make out two silhouettes leaving the gate. One is a girl who you tiredly smile at the sight of, and the other is a bulky tank.

You leap over the trench.

But when your boots land on the other side, the end of a rifle pokes your breastbone and prevents you from getting any closer.

"Ghost."

You can't help but shout at him, eyes widening. He is pointing a gun at you? You were just beginning to think he could tolerate you enough to not threaten murder anymore. The memory of your first encounter resurfaces.

"It's just me! What the hell are you doing?"

Panic finds you once again. Your chest rises and falls under his gun’s touch. You glance at Blue, who tries to get near you, but he sticks out an arm to keep her away.

"Dad," Blue groans, "Do you really have to— ”

The tip of the rifle brushes up over your collarbone and toward your neck. Your nerves awaken under cold metal.

"Let me see." His voice is firm.

Oh. Bites. He wants to see if you have any bites.

"Okay, okay." You nod breathlessly.

Swallowing, you gather your braided hair in your hands as he clicks on a flashlight. You have not been offered string to tie them with so most of the hair has fallen out as always. You roll your neck to one side, and then to the other to show him the unmarked skin. But he is not satisfied yet.

He moves the rifle down to the hem of your shirt and uses it to lift up the fabric just beneath your breasts, revealing the skin of your stomach and ribs. You should feel exposed, standing here with your bare midriff under the light, but the two of them have already seen this much of you. You are more concerned about the fact that he could kill you if he actually suspects you could’ve been bitten.

The cold air invites a shiver. Your teeth clench as you stare at him. In the darkness, his eyes almost lean red.

He lowers your shirt.

"Roll 'em up for me,” he demands, now giving a nod to your trousers.

You bend over to roll up the pantlegs, all the way up to your knees so he can’t complain about it. All that is revealed are your unshaven legs and sweat-laced socks. You are sure they can smell them from where they stand.

"She doesn't have any stupid bites, Ghost, alright?"

Blue tugs at his arm with a huff. Finally, the rifle lowers. You straighten back up and exhale the short breath you were holding.

There is a silent moment where the three of you just stand there. An owl hoots. Ghost rubs at his masked jaw and looks you over some more, eyes flicking to the filled bag over your shoulder with a raised brow.

And then, something unexpected.

A small body whirls into yours and you almost stumble back in a step. Blue wraps her arms around your waist and excitedly breathes out, "I knew you'd make it back. Ghost said you wouldn't. I told him you would."

What?

It is a short-lived hug.

But still, the first one you have had in a long time.

After this tiring day, your eyes close with some more moisture. It is a strange feeling, her young embrace. Her palms spread flat against your back and she presses her forehead to your shoulder because she is tall enough to reach it. You are just about to hug her in return, move your arms around her shoulders out of instinct, but she is soon tugged away by a skeletal hand. Her blue eyes drift down to her boots. She looks a mix of irritated and embarrassed.

In a daze, you end up back in the warmth of the cabin.

Blue begs you to show her what you found. You dump the contents of your pillowcase onto the table. Her father’s shadow lurks behind you somewhere, always watching and taking up space, but for now, you ignore him.

You cannot recall a time when you were in this kind of mood. It is enough to surface the waters of your grief. Because now, your survival does not have to rely so much on Ghost's mercy or the risk of Blue’s sneaky hands. Food, a med kit, one type of antibiotic. It should all be enough to keep you alive - to take care of yourself - for at least however long you end up staying here.

"Shit balls." Blue rummages through the goods. "You did pretty good."

"Right? I can't believe it," you whisper numbly. You wipe your eyes.

She holds up the clothes first, starting with a large, floral blouse that looks like something an old lady would wear. Her head tips back with a giggle.

"This is way too big for you."

"I'll make it work," you say, shrugging, but almost manage a quiet laugh, too. You don't really give a fuck what the clothes look like. At least you can change finally into something else - something that didn’t belong to your dead companions.

Where you care about the medicine, Blue is far more intrigued by the candy bar she discovers. She holds it up, and inspects the wrapper with curiously wide eyes, shooting a glance at her dad.

"T-w-i-x," she sounds out with pinched brows. She looks back at you. "What's this?"

"It's like... chocolate," you tell her.

"Oh— no way. Could I try some?"

You don't really care about the Twix bar. You almost forgot about it since the moment you found it in the car. But before you can tell her she can just have it as a late birthday gift - because she has done so much for you - Ghost moves to take it from her hands.

He puts it back down on the table.

“What’s hers is hers, kid. That’s how it works here.“

[daddy-suguru]

Congrats on 9k followers dear~

If you’re still taking event requests, would it be fine to ask for sex worker!choso x virgin!reader + overstimulation?

- sᴡᴇᴀʀ ᴛᴏ ɢᴏᴅ ɪ’ᴍ ᴅᴏᴡɴ, ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴀ sᴀʏ ɪs…;

ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs | sugarbaby!choso, rich!virgin!reader, best friends to friends with benefits, overstimulation, fingering/clit rubbing, outdoor sex/sex on the balcony (no near by neighbors), high sex (bud), praise, daddy/princess, pussy kisses, oral, begging, squirting, tattooed!choso with a tongue ring, some making out

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ | 1.6k

sᴜɢᴀʀ’s ʀᴀᴍʙʟᴇs | thank you, also this prompt got away from me, i blinked and it turned into a drabble. sugarbaby!stoner!choso is going to be rotting my brain for a while now

Choso tilts his head to the side, and his fringe covers one of his dark eyes. He insists, "Think it over, are you sure you want to throw away your first time?" Wapping his lips around the butt of the thick blunt.

The end of the tip glows red with his inhale. Illuminating his handsome pale face in a soft red light. Which is already catching the bright light of the full moon.

The dark tattooed line over his nose adds to how pretty he is. While his dark, fluff hair, was taken out of its spiky ponytails, framing his face. With his high cheekbones, pointy nose, full, glossy lips, and sharp jawline. Even the dark circles around his eyes look endearing.

Choso's shirtlessness and his low-hung sweatpants while he leans against the balcony of your private home. Looking like a very tired model. With his toned, brawny build and inky tattoos.

You were trying to get him out of the city, away from his normal profession. Giving him a peaceful night in the woods out of the city Yet here you are offering him some money to eat you out. Since you were curious as to how it felt and didn't trust anyone else than him.

Huffing, "It's not throwing it away if it's you." Choso is one of four people in your life who didn't care about your money. Your friendship always seemed more than enough for him.

Your friendship bracelet Choso bought with a cute little charm, which he said reminded him of you. You had gotten him a bracelet of his own. Something he got into a fight to keep since someone tried to steal it from him once.

Unbeknownst to him, you've fought with your parents for the right to wear. Since the jewels weren't real it was deemed trash to them. You still refused to take it off no matter what snide comments you still got over it.

You say, "But if you don't see me that way. I understand, it's just I'm curious about what it's like to..." You trail off your face heating up as you focus on the blunt that Choso passes while saying nothing. So you ramble,

"And you said you needed some money. I'm tired of you living in that scary motel. So yeah the more I think about it more I want you to be my sugar baby. You won’t let me just give you money, so I thought - I understand if you don’t find me unattractive and don’t want to." Looking off the side of the railing taking a slow drag while Choso pushes off the railing.

He walks up behind you, pressing his body against yours. Whilst grabbing your hips. Something he has done more times than you could count. After you cuddled him on the second movie night Choso would find a reason to have his hands on your body.

The higher Choso gets, the more talkative and touchy he becomes. Choso’s sweet forehead kisses, lingering hugs, and gentle squeezes from his hand, always left you wet and warm. His touch is so comforting, exciting, and safe.

Hitching your large baggy shirt over your hips. Exposing your clothed pussy to the cool wind. Before he reaches in front of you, pushing your panties aside, dragging his fingers along your lips to your clit.

Arching your hips back, his finger following your clit. Taking your second hit while Choso ensures, “Lil’ princess if it’s me it isn’t a waste, as long as you don’t regret this, I don’t want to lose you.” While nudging one thick finger past your lips,

“Tell me if it hurts, or if you're becoming uncomfortable and I’ll stop darling.” He kisses the top of your head, pumping his finger slowly. The blunt shakes between your fingers as you clench around Choso's fingers.

Softly wondering, "Does this mean you're my sugar baby?" Choso gently massages slow tight circles into your sweet spot when he finds it. Squeezing his finger while your knees cave in, pressing against each other.

"I'm all yours since you are insistent on taking care of me, this way I can do something for you to. So when you do move on from me you pussy knows what it's like when someone takes their time showing you how much they adore you." His sweet words are just a part of him playing his role as your sugar baby.

This is something you remind yourself of, Choso still sees you as a friend. Even if he is finger fucking you. Yet you still end up confessing,

"I don't want to share you with others, want you to stay here with me so I can take care of you." The tension building in your stomach is alike to the pleasure you gave yourself. Yet so different, so much more demanding. Turning your brain to slush, and your legs to jello.

Reaching back and grabbing onto Choso, slipping your fingers into his long hair. While wrapping your hand around the back of his neck. Plastering your body against Choso's more so.

He slides his fingers out, while he keeps rubbing your clit. Your cheeks heat up as you realize that Choso is licking your pussy juices off of his fingers. His loud groans fill the night air and you whine for the first time.

Covering your mouth as your eyes widen, "Let me hear you, that was beautiful." Rubbing your clit faster, his rough finger pads stroking small circles onto your soft nub.

"So needy for me aren't you?" Nodding your head, whimpering as you gush, your thick slick soaking your thighs. Yet Choso doesn't stop rubbing your clit. As your legs tremble and your knees lock, giving out.

Choso places the blunt between his lips. Before wrapping his arm around your waist, while asking you, "You can cum for me princess one more time, can't you? Let your beautiful, tight pussy make a mess for me to lick up." Lifting you off your feet, holding you tightly against his body. While he moves to the love chair, sitting down with you on his lap.

He blows out a puff of smoke while he ashes out his blunt. "Tell me how needy you are, have't hear ya sweet voice." You can't form the words as Choso curls two fingers past your lips. As he rubs your clit with the same, quick speed.

The pressure of his thumb is too much. As he rubs your sweet spot relentlessly, "Please! Please!" Sweet, loud mewling begs slip from your lips. Mixing with the wet squelching of Choso's fingers in your pussy.

There is a tighter tension building lower in your gut, "Please what darling?" Looking up as Choso leans over while you mumble,

"Please help me cum daddy." Choso roughly kisses you, biting into your bottom lip. His loud groan tells you that you struck a nerve with that name.

Parting your lips for him to slip his tongue past. Rubbing his tongue bar before mimicking the actions of his tongue. As he pumps his fingers faster, matching the pace he is rubbing your clit.

Thick clear cum squirts from your pussy. As you break the kiss and Choso speeds up the pace of his finger. while you look down. The moonlight glints of your cum. Which coats Choso's hand and wrist. While soaking Choso's sweatpants.

Panting as Choso pulls his hand out and lifts his slicked-up fingers to his lips. While you catch your breath he licks his fingers clean. When your breathing steadies you slip off Choso's lap.

Your legs wobble as Choso grabs your hips to steady you while musing, "Princess, I haven't even given you my cock yet, did you squirt that hard?" He drops his hand as you push your panties down. The long thick string of your cum stretches and snaps.

Bending over in front of Choso, spreading your pussy apart for him. While admiting, "I'm so needy I keep thinking about the way your cock looks straining in your sweatpants. Please Daddy! Cho, nnng Daddy!" He kisses your pussy before slipping two thick, tattooed fingers past your lips.

Spreading your squishy self apart to spit inside of you. Stuffing his spit inside of you while asking, "You want me to be your sugar Daddy and be sweet on your pussy?" Rubbing your clit with his thumb. Which is still so sensitive from cumming so much. Yet you don't want him to stop.

Choso groans, "Fuck I've seen so many pussies but none as pretty as yours. And the way you taste!" He replaces his fingers with his tongue. His tongue ring drags along your squishy pussy. While he keeps stroking circles into your clit.

Whining to him, "You're my daddy cho, I love how you always check up on me if I've eaten. And you encourage me to take care of myself, along with how well you listen to me." Groaning as you reach back and grab a handful of his hair.

You're going to make his hair softer with the right self-care products you can splurge on getting for him. While using him being your sugar baby as the reason for him to finally accept your gifts.

Choso pulls away, crooning, "One more time, whose your Daddy princess?" Standing up and dropping his sweatpants. Pushing them to the side, swiping his thick head along your slit. Swirling himself at your small hole while softly pushing past.

The burning of the stretch has you whimpering and Choso pulls away. While you shift your hips from side to side, telling him, "You are! You've been taking care of me already for so long, I want you to be selfish for once and let me make you feel good." He steps out from behind you, as you stand up.

Furrowing your brows as he walks in front of you. Your confusion is short lasting as Choso confesses, "I'm getting off on your pleasure. If you really want to help me be selfish, then sit down, spread your legs, and let me eat your pretty pussy till I'm finished." He grabs the bottom of your shirt as you raise your arms, for him to slip it off.

Sitting down, spreading your folded legs apart. As Choso turns on the balcony's lights he stands in front of you. "Princess you're so beautiful, such a yummy pussy all wet for me."

[flowerfeast444]

most ardently || pedro pascal {pt 3}

pedro x oc

chapter summary: devon and pedro get some news

the pedro universe fanfic brain rot has gotten so bad. i’ve done nothing but daydream about him and write our names in my diary with hearts around it like i’m a child. hope you enjoy

series masterlist

For two months, I did absolutely nothing. I slept in late, laid in bed on my phone for way too long, smoked way too much weed, and watched a godawful amount of TV. I relished every second of it. Today marks the beginning of 'August Sun''s press tour, with an internal meeting with my PR team to kick it off. It's nothing I haven't done before, but with a movie this big; I'm sure something new will pop up, and I really hope it won't catch me off guard. There's nothing that I hate more than being unprepared.

So, my confusion quickly turned to disdain when I saw Pedro enter the front of the office building a few paces in front of me. I hadn't seen him since the night of his party- I hightailed it out as soon as I woke up the next morning, severely embarrassed by my drunk behavior and even more so by his drunk rejection.

I knew I'd have to be around him again, I just wish I had time to prepare for that day being today. He didn't notice me outside of the building, so I took advantage of being early by stopping just shy of the door to fix my hair in the reflection of the glass and draw in a few deep breaths. With my composure slightly more in tact, I entered and headed toward the meeting room.

Though I was early, I was the last to join. I hoped my cheeks weren't as flushed as I felt. They sat circled around a long table in the center of the room, each of their eyes shooting towards me at the sudden intrusion and I actively avoided acknowledging Pedro's presence entirely.

"Hi everyone, good to see you guys," I said as I took my place in the empty seat closest to the door.

Gene, my PR manager straightened up the papers in front of him then cleared his throat. "Hey, Devon, we were just about to get started."

For the first hour, they gave us the basic run down of how the next few months will go. We start the press tour in New York in a few days, where we'll stay for about two weeks before coming back to LA for another two weeks. They listed the people that would interview us, what we would be wearing, and how we should talk about to movie to best promote it.

I honestly spaced out for a while. It's not that I don't like my managers because I do; really, the PR side of being an actress always disheartened me, but there's never a way to avoid it without good reason. I know my managers are doing things with my best interest in mind. At least, I hope they are.

"Alright, so. I'm sure you both understand what to do in terms of advertising the movie and such," one of Pedro's managers said apprehensively, "We decided to also go a common route for this movie." She sent a pointed look to me and Pedro, her hands folded atop the papers in front of her. "To really sell your characters' romance, Pedro, Devon- you'll be in a relationship for the next few months."

Pedro sniggered. Awkward silence filled the room.

I felt like one of them were bound to break their hard facial expressions any second and laugh at us, like this was some sick prank. Do people even fake date in Hollywood anymore? Surely not.

"You're being serious?" Pedro asked.

"Well, none of us will confirm or deny the relationship to media, but you two will definitely need to tease audiences about a romance between you. Come on, you know this shit works. It always gets front page coverage."

Pedro hummed sarcastically, "So, what, we'll just hold hands and flirt every time we're in front of a camera?"

"Basically," Gene deadpanned, pushing his thick framed glasses up his nose. "We may ask you to do other things as well, but that's the gist of it."

"Speaking of, we will need you two to go to lunch together before the press tour in New York to stir up conversation. We've already gone over your schedules before you arrived, so it'll happen this Friday," Pedro's manager said.

"Cheyanne, can I talk to you outside for a quick second?" Pedro pointed to the door and stands before she even responded.

Once they left the room, the shock wore off, and I finally processed what they were telling us. I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms with a dramatic sigh.

"Devon, any input? Or are you just going to whine and stomp your foot like a child?" one of the other PR managers said.

I tried not to snap at him, even though they felt they could speak to me that way when I couldn't even remember his name. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table and raised a bushy brow, impatiently waiting for my response. I sat up again to match his posture.

"Will my input make a difference?" I said evenly. 

"Maybe not directly, but we take your feelings into consideration."

"I don't know if you've met both of us, but we don't exactly scream 'in love'."

"So, you're doubting the believability of your characters, then?"

"No. Those are characters. We acted."

"Act again. Just until the movie leaves box offices."

He gathered his things together and organized them in front of him, signaling the end of our conversation. I chewed the skin on my lips to keep quiet. Pedro and Cheyanne returned, disrupting the increasingly tense energy in the room. The nameless PR manager continued explaining the order of scheduled events in Pedro and I'd relationship, but I stared out into the table, spacing out again. I traced the wood grain with my eyes left and right as far as it would go, matching the motion with slow breaths.

As soon as the meeting finished, I promptly dashed out of the room. I only made it to the elevators before I noticed Pedro hot on my heels. When he caught up to me, he didn't say anything at first; we stared at the closed elevator doors in silence. I could see his hand fidgeting out of the corner of my eye- a trait he only displayed when he would mess up his lines or not hit the right marks on time. The elevator finally reached our floor and welcomed the two of us before the doors could fully open.

It was only once they slid shut that he turned to face me, "Look, I know we didn't ask for this, but they're right. It'll promote the movie well and sell a lot of tickets. Isn't that what you want?"

I huffed. He shrugged his shoulders and let his hands slap against his thighs.

"This won't suck as much if you're not a brat about it," he spat.

I darted my eyes up to him and felt the fire inside me flare. The elevator landed on the ground floor, and without looking back, I said, "See you later, jackass."

[shigarakislittlepet]

im so happy to find a blog with good nsfw content for literally all my faves lol we share the same braincell it seems! how about fluffy nsfw headcanons for Dabi, Shigi, Aizawa and Shinsou and well, Baku but I don't want to overwhelm you even if you don't have a character limit hhh, with a s/o that was completely inexperienced in sex before they got together? They grew more comfortable with the idea of sex over time as they used to be really shy about it but they're scared they'll mess up and disappoint their loves? If possible could you mention what kind of approach each boy would have for the first time with their virgin s/o? I'm just feeling some fluffy dick tonite ya know lol stay safe out there <3

Ohhhh my gosh, this whole thing gave me brain rot lmao, thank you for giving me this power <3<3<3

This also took me literal months to finish because life got crazy, so I’m sorry about that. Hope you enjoy it anyway!

TW: loss of virginity, gentelness, fluffy smut, unprotected sex bc I’m a whore (Y/N is on birth control), and as always all characters are adults especially Y/N

-Dabi-

> You are surprised by how patient he is with you. You were sure he’d have gotten tired of waiting, but he didn’t push. He didn’t make you feel badly about it, and the last thing he would ever want to do to sweet little innocent angel is coerce them into something they weren’t ready for. So, he waits.

> It happened so gradually. Over time, light kissing became making out. After a few months, you got more comfortable and it didn’t feel at all odd to fall into bed with him, cuddling and “swapping spit” as he called it, which always made you giggle like a schoolgirl at his crudeness. His hands would test the waters, but he was always feeling for nervous tremors and flinching, never wanting to go further than you were comfortable. At first, he only rested a hand on you lower back, drawing lazy circles into your waist, his other cradling your face gently, reassuringly. Eventually he could get his hand beneath your shirt, still just at your lower back, but he was content with his progress. Your skin was soft and you said he felt warm, and that was the first time he ever thought of his quirk as “sweet, comforting”, as you described the warmth from his hands.

> After a few months went by, he had progressed to the point of being able to freely roam your body with his hands, the warmth helping you stay calm and anchored to him.

> What continued to surprise you is how easy it felt, once you were ready. You didn’t even see it coming. He asked you, so gently, if he could take your shirt off. You told him he could as long as he promised to keep you warm. He went along slowly, constantly reassuring you, “God Angel, you’re so beautiful. I gotta see more of you, can I? Please?”, “You’re so soft, I need to feel more of your skin, angel, please?” You didn’t even hesitate, you didn’t need to. You felt safer with him than you ever had in your life.

> You realized, once you were both naked together, just how comfortable you were with him. And suddenly you felt like you needed to give him everything he ever wanted, and you knew he would do the same for you.

> It happens so slowly, or at least, it feels like it does. His hand slowly grazes down between your bodies until he reaches your core. You gasp, no one but you had ever touched you there, and it feels so foreign and wonderful. And warm. Once you begin bucking onto his fingers, an insatiable grin stretches across his face. He retracts his fingers, bringing them to his lips, and you watch as he sucks them clean. He calls you delicious and rolls on top of you, asks you if you’re ready for him. For the first time, you look down between your bodies and see just how huge and hard he is for you. When he sees your concern he kisses your forehead, then your lips. “I won’t hurt you Angel, I promise.” You nod and smile, and he starts easing into you, stopping every so often when he can tell the stretch is too much. He kisses your cheeks, your shoulders, your lips, whatever he can get his mouth on as he pants and mumbles little praises. “I love you”, “You’re doin’ so well”, “You’re takin’ me sooo well”, “God, you’re so beautiful, you know how beautiful you are Angel?”, “Ahh, you’re so fuckin’ tight and wet for me Angel, you want me that badly?”. The praises and teases help you considerably to keep you relaxed, and fuck, you DO want him. So fucking badly, you need him. When he’s finally seated inside you fully, he waits, clearly using every last bit of his restraint and self control to give you time to adjust. When you finally whine and buck your hips up on him, he loses it. “I hope you’re fuckin’ ready, Angel.”

>You find rather quickly that Dabi’s style is a beautiful mix of “fucking” and “making love”. He fucks you, hard and deep, so much so that it makes you see stars, but while he does it he’s caging you in-between his arms, holding you close while he pistons in and out of you. He looks you in the eyes, watching your reactions, quickly finding what angle makes you convulse and let out those beautiful moans and coos that he’s now desperate to hear.

>When he nears his end, he reaches down between you again to rub sweet circles against your clit, because no way is Dabi cumming first. It’s just not his style.

-Shigaraki-

>BRAIN ROT

> Shigaraki is definitely happy that you’re inexperienced, he’d kill anyone who had ever laid a hand on you before him. You belonged to him.

> It also means that you’re a virgin, which really gets him going because hes a pervert. ((He’s also secretly glad that he’s not the only virgin))

> He is touch starvvveeeeddddddd. We all know this. But at first, he’s so hesitant to touch you, for fear of destroying you.

> You are patient with each other, and together you find out what works and what doesn’t. He got some artist gloves so he could hold your fucking hand without hyperventilating about dusting you. He’s still afraid of you disappearing beneath his fingertips.

> You were never, not even for a second, worried that he would hurt you. You knew that he could, that he had the ability, but you knew that he wouldn’t.

> He wasn’t so sure, he was afraid of rolling over in the night and finding a pile of dust where you used to be. He wakes up from nightmares about it and has to wake you up to hold you while he shakes uncontrollably. He just has to know you’re alive.

> You both get more and more comfortable with physical proximity and contact together, because you both wanted it, you were both just so worried about fucking everything up.

> When the time came where both of you decided you were ready to have sex, you admitted to him that you were afraid of not measuring up to his expectations. All these “what if’s” kept popping up in your mind: “what if he doesn’t find my body attractive enough”, “what if I don’t know how to move right”, “what if I cant please him”, etc. etc. etc.

> He just looks at you kind of taken aback and confused. He was worried about you not being able to see him as sexually attractive because of how he looked, he was just as self-conscious as you. “Darling, you’re the most perfect person in existence, how can you not see that? Look at me! I’m... I... Look like this! How could I ever hope that someone as beautiful as you could ever see me that way?”

>You didn’t immediately know how to respond. You were... heartbroken that he saw himself that way. You couldn’t image him being self-conscious about anything because in your eyes, he was a god. He was perfect and angelic and you told him as much. You looked at him with such adorably big eyes and your voice was full of so much honesty and adoration, he had to have you immediately. He’d never felt desired, he had never felt lovable. He always thought it would be a miracle if anyone would ever be able to even stomach looking at him without cringing away in disgust. But you were so perfect and you loved him so immediately and so much that it knocked him out. He launches himself at you and just kisses you for a while.

> You both fumbled around a bit at first, trying to find what felt best. You both quickly came to the conclusion that you were going to have to practice together. A lot. As much as possible actually, because even in your inexperience, you both felt more amazing than you ever had in your lives. When you were connected like this, panting, kissing, licking, trying your damndest to become one being, it felt like bliss. You never wanted it to stop.

-Aizawa-

> MORE FUCKING BRAIN ROT

> Aizawa has an innocence kink. There I fucking said it.

> When it comes to the person he’s with, he’s a shameless flirt, and while he would NEVER cross a line or pressure you, he definitely does his best to get you in the mood whenever he can, much to your naïve frustration.

> At first you genuinely don’t even realize he’s doing it on purpose. The heated looks he gave you that made your knees weak? You didn’t think he was doing that on purpose, it’s just because he’s... tired? And he always looks so gorgeous, so that’s why. He ALWAYS makes your knees weak. Yeah that’s all it is, obviously.

> And when he comes up behind you, hands on your hips gently, and lowly rumbling in your ear. Sometimes it’s just comments about whatever you’re doing, which was bad enough. But sometimes it was mumbled compliments. About your outfit, how good it made your ass look. About how soft your hair was, how good you smelled, the softness of your skin while he gently rubbed his stubble against your neck.

>YOU COULDN’T FUCKING HANDLE IT.

> He was so soft most of the time, cuddling you while watching movies, cooking together, dancing in the kitchen with you at 3 in the morning after he finished grading papers. The shift that happened when he would get flirtatious was dizzying.

> You were nervous though, Aizawa was a bit older than you, and obviously way more experienced that you. One night while you were curled up in bed together, you told him you were nervous about disappointing him when the time finally came. He sat up and turned a light on immediately and pulled you into his lap. He held you and stroked your hair and told you how much you meant to him, how you could never disappoint him, how much he wanted you, and how he was willing to wait however long you needed. He held you until he was sure you felt better about it, and then he held you until he was sure you were asleep. You were the most important person in the world to him, and he wasn’t gonna let you think anything was ever gonna change that.

> When you finally got tired of his teasing and felt like you were ready, you decided to get him back. Before he got home, you put on one of his long shirts as a dress and started getting dinner ready.

> When he walked through the door and saw that you were wearing nothing but one of his black button ups, he had to maintain every ounce of his self control to contain the rush of feral need that suddenly consumed him. Now it was HIS turn to assume you were being innocent. And man did you play it up. “What’s wrong Shota? Are you feeling okay?” And you bat your big beautiful eyes at him. He was going to have a stroke.

> It wasn’t until you bent over and he noticed you weren’t wearing anything under his shirt that he realized it was an invitation. He came up behind you, caging you in against the counter, and growled lowly in your ear, “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” He gently pushed his growing erection against your ass, making you gasp. Score.

> “W-what do you mean?” you looked up at him as innocently as you could. He took your hand and pressed it to the front of his pants. He groaned low in his chest, thankful for any friction. “Don’t play dumb with me, kitten. You know exactly what you’re doing. I think you should take responsibility.” You grinned.

> “Yes Sir,” he jolts at that, and you sink your knees and get to work undoing the fastenings on his hero costume. When his cock springs free, you eagerly give it kitten licks until he’s had enough. He grips you by your hair and gently guides your mouth down onto his cock. He’s big, bigger than you can take, but that doesn’t stop Aizawa from purposefully making you gag on him every so often. He really does get off on how innocent you are, the tears that hang in your eyes from gagging on his cock. He’s gonna cum soon if he’s not careful.

> After he’s had his fun making you suck him off, he pulls you up and carries you off to bed. No way he’s taking your virginity on the floor, he’s too much of a gentleman. And dinner, what dinner? Thank god nothing happened to be on the stove or in the oven.

> He sets you down in bed and kisses you, takes his shirt off of you and finishes ridding himself of his hero costume. He takes pride in getting you ready for him, relishing in your sweet noises and how wet you are for him. A fact that he teases you about. “S-Shotaaa~” you moan and clench down on his fingers. He smirks, “What happened to ‘Sir’, hmm? I liked that, you know...” All you can do is whine up at him in response.

> When you feel like you’re close to cumming, you whine louder and clench down harder and before you can reach your peak, he stops. You whine in frustration before he leans down and rumbles, “Oh no, kitten, the only way you’re cumming is if you cum on my cock.” You gasp and nearly convulse at his filthy words, but you’ve never felt like you needed him more.

> He fucks you gently, at first anyway. For as long as he can. He rolls his hips into you and angles his thrusts expertly, aiming for that spot inside you that’ll make your head spin. And he hits it. Every time. And your head DOES spin. And soon you can feel the pressure build again and you start whining again, “Sh-Shouta, please! I’m s-oh! So close!” He smiles, and decides to take pity on you. He pistons harder, faster, brings a hand to your core to rub circles against your clit and when you cum, you scream his name and he can’t take it anymore. He slams into you, chasing his own high and simultaneously extends yours. You’re seeing stars by the time he cums deep into you. He rolls over, bringing you with him. You lie on top of him and he strokes your hair, and you just hold each other for a while.

-Shinso-

> I wanna say this now, Shinso is Aizawa Jr. I’m so sorry, but its true. They’re both tired, overworked, cat lovers that just wanna come home and cuddle and pass out.

> He knows he’s your first boyfriend. You met at UA and pretty much bonded immediately. Now that you’re both pro-heros working for the same agency? It was only a matter of time before he made a move. And thank whatever higher power exists that you have the same schedule. More time for cuddles.

> HOWEVER! Don’t let the fact that he’s a cuddle-bug fool you. He frequently has to remember that you’re a virgin and you’ve never been in a relationship before, so you have no idea how much he’s affected by you answering your door on a Saturday morning you both had off wearing one of his hoodies that absolutely swallows you. Looking up at him smiling and yawning sleepily, rubbing one of your eyes and groggily asking, “What are you doing here so early? I thought we weren’t going out till tonight?”. He has to breathe deeply to stop himself from jumping you.

> Because much like Aizawa, seeing you so sleepy and soft and small and knowing how innocent and naive you are to all of the things you do that make him need you... is going to make him lose his mind. Quickly.

> Instead of an innocence kink though, this motherfucker has a corruption and a mind break kink. He wants to make it impossible for you to feel pleasure without him, he wants to make you need him desperately, forever. And he wants to do it without the help of his quirk. But that would all come in time, at the moment he has to stop himself from cumming in his pants because you’re bending over on your way to your room so you can change, stooping to pet your cat and his hoodie rode up your ass and he can see your lacy black panties and you were GOING to drive him insane long before he ever got the chance to make you his, he was sure.

> He had brought you coffee and suggested you just stay in all day since you both had such a late night. Watching movies and stuff. You know, normal stuff. He told himself he wasn’t going to try and make a move. Right? Right.

> But when you emerged from your room 45 minutes later, showered and changed, your hair still damp and a droplet of water drifting down your neck and landing in the dip of your collar bones, all he could think of was licking it up. How good your hair must smell, how your skin was still probably warm form the water... He was staring, and you pretended not to notice.

> You were nervous about not measuring up to his expectations. You’d seen the women he usually went out with, and how comfortable they were with their bodies and their sexuality. How beautiful they were. As far as you were concerned, you were nothing like them.

> He could see the gears turning in your head and the downturn of your mouth, and he asked you what was wrong. He motioned for you to come sit with him, and it wasn’t five seconds before he pulled you into his lap. After some coaxing, you let him know what you were worried about. He assured you that the reason he was so happy with you is because you weren’t anything like the women he had dated before. Because, not only were you far more beautiful than they were, they had also been conceited and cold, only dating him because he was an up and coming pro-hero that could get them into events so they could dump him for the first bigger hero they’d meet. He liked that you were soft and warm and he could trust you, that you had always trusted him, even despite his quirk.

> You talked for awhile, and as the morning sun drifted higher into the sky, you decided it was time to door dash some food. While he ordered it, you excused yourself the restroom. You needed to think. The heaviness of the conversation still weighed on you, and you’d never felt closer to him than you did now. It was time, you were sure. You wanted to give him everything he’d been waiting so patiently for, he deserved it. And so did you damnit, no more of this scaredy-cat bullshit! You gave yourself your best war face in the mirror before you exited the bathroom and going back to the living room where Shinsou was reclined on your couch. Head tilted back, resting on the pillow behind him.

> He was so beautiful. Lavender hair a wild mess, eyes closed and lashes fluttering softly. You wanted to kiss his neck suddenly, and unlike when urges like this usually happened, you didn’t shove the thought away. You quickly straddled him and, before he had the chance to question you, you began kissing up and down his neck softly. “K-kitty...” he groaned beneath you, gripping your waist, his hips jerking up against yours.

> After a while of your explorative kissing, he growled impatiently and flipped you over easily, pressing you into the couch. He kissed you like he might die if he didn’t, deep and slow and desperate. When he finally broke for air and looked at you, he felt his heart and his dick jump. Your flushed face and your eyes that were looking up at him through your eyelashes heavily, your mouth hanging open gasping and your kiss bitten lips, your brows softly cinched at the effort it took for you to remember you needed to breathe.

> He asks you if you’re sure you were ready, and when you nod dazedly up at him he doesn’t need any more convincing.

> He takes his time, he’s slow and methodical. He wants your first time to be an enjoyable experience. Something you can look back on fondly and remember how much he loved you, how good it felt, how comfortable you were. He wanted it to be better than his first time, drunk after a hero convention, with some woman who didn’t remember his name in the morning and never called him back. He pushed the thought away. He focused on you, on how perfect you were.

> When he finally thrusts into you, you think you want to feel like this forever. You tell him so, and beams with pride, pushing your pleasure further. Kissing your neck and praising you. Telling you how perfect you are, telling you all the things you do that drive him crazy, telling you that he’s never going to let you go, that you’re his forever and he’s yours.

> You cum together, and you think that everything in the world must have always been this beautiful. You spend the rest of the day cuddling, eating, and making love.

-Bakugo-

> No thoughts in this mans head. None. At least when it comes to romance. When you first start dating, you had to make the first move cause his oblivious ass just thought you were challenging him. You had to explain to him that what you were actually doing was called “flirting”.

> So when it comes to your first time, you know you’re gonna have to make the first move there too. He fears rejection, so he avoids the things he really wants the most. Which in this case is you whining on his dick.

> But he also knows you’re a virgin and he doesn’t wanna scare you, so he leaves it be. Trusting his fist to get the job done when he really needs to let off some steam. Either by punching shit or jerking off.

> One day, you do catch him jerking off, and you immediately start to (stupidly) think that you’re not enough for him, that he might leave you for someone who can give him what he needs. You don’t think he notices you having a mini panic attack in the hallway so you sneak back to the kitchen to catch your breath and think. Why HAD you waited this long? What were you waiting FOR? You guessed you had just been worried about not knowing what to do, about him getting impatient and annoyed with you for your lack of experience.

> Making your final decision, you square your shoulders and march yourself back to your shared room. You confidently open the door to find him ... waiting for you?

> “Tch, took you long enough. You done freakin’ out now?” He grumbles from his spot on the bed. You nod meekly and he opens his arms for you, an invitation you gratefully accept. He pets your head and continues grumbling, “ just as bad as shitty-hair, nobody ever knocks anymore. You shouldn’t be surprised when you just try to walk in like that...”

> He keeps petting your head until eventually you hit him with it. “‘Tsuki, I wanna... uhm...” you look up at him with pleading eyes hoping his quirk somehow suddenly allows him to read your mind.

> It doesn’t. “ You wanna what? C’mon, spit it out.” No thoughts, remember?

> You huff and blush and finally squeak out, “Wanna make you feel good, ‘Tsuki...”

> His brain stops working momentarily. When he catches back up, he smirks. “Seriously? It just took you gettin’ jealous over my left hand for you to be ready?”, he teased. You stick out your tongue and he grabs your jaw, looks you dead in the eyes when he says, “I have something much more important for that cute little mouth to do.”

> Your eyes go wide at his suggestion, even though it really doesn’t surprise you. When Katsuki wants something he wants to go all out, no half-assing it. You nod nervously and he laughs at your apprehension, allowing you to shift down his body until you were face to face with his fly. You undid the button and zipper with shaky hands, and gently guide his dick out of his jeans.

> Beautiful is the first word to come to your mind. Beautiful and massive, just like the rest of him. He was easily over six feet tall, and built too so it really shouldn’t have surprised you, but it did. For a moment all you can do is look up at him from your place below him, your big strong hero. You melt a little and you notice him smirking down at you again, “What ‘ya lookin’ at, princess?”. He gently strokes your cheek while you admire him, “You.” you reply dazedly. His smirk widens to a bear malicious grin, “Me? How come?”. A feeling you’re not totally familiar with, but you’re pretty sure is called submission, fills you suddenly and you feel warm and content. “You’re perfect,” you bat your eyelashes and bite your lip as you gently start to stroke your hand up and down his length.

>He controls his breathing, because he really can’t handle you looking so cute with his cock that close to your pretty little face. “‘Tch, and? What’s got you so worked up about it?” You giggle and nuzzle your face into the base of his cock and look up at him innocently. “I’m just glad I’m yours,” you smile and lick him from base to tip before gently taking him into your mouth. You’d read enough smut online to at least have some idea how to do this.

> He almost cums when you say that you’re glad to be his. His, he grins. He doesn’t get to think about that for too long though because your warm, wet tongue is sliding up his shaft and then your pretty little mouth engulfs him and he thinks he might hyperventilate if you keep looking up at him like that. He’d almost say it wasn’t fair, but then you start moving and he thinks that he could actually die happily from the warm bliss that fills him while he watches you try to take more and more of him down your throat.

> This is much more fun than you thought it would be, especially because Katsuki keeps letting out those little sighs and groans, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. You hollow out your cheeks and suck a bit harder before taking a deep breath and relaxing your throat as much as possible. You lower yourself down as far as you can, pushing past the ring of muscle in the back of your throat before moving down further. You feel him lay his hand gently, encouragingly, on the back of your head. You’re surprised when you find your nose nestled in the light blonde fuzz at the base of him and you stick your tongue out to lap at the underside.

> He jolts when you begin your descent. You’re not really gonna try to deep-throat him, are you? He watches you, mesmerized. No ones ever even tried, always saying he was way too big. It felt way too good. He laid a hand on the back of your head to ground himself, quickly realizing he had to control himself so that he didn’t clench his fist in your hair or shove you down all the way and hold you there. When you reached your goal, he sighed. Your throat felt perfect wrapped around him, just like he knew it would. When he felt your tongue sneak out of your mouth and lick, he thanked whatever creator there was that your tongue was long enough to reach his anchor. when you start to move your head up and down, he can only take it for so long before he’s thrusting up into your mouth. When you gag on him, that’s it, he has to pull you off him before he grips your head and suffocates you on his cock.

> He’s nearly at the point of begging, but thankfully, mercifully, you seem to get the idea. You wipe your mouth and lie back on the bed, giggling at his abruptness and he growls in response. He kisses you, and praises you, telling you how good you are, how much he needs to be inside you as he undresses you. You’re surprised at how automatically your legs open for him, and you tell him how much you need him inside of you as well. You feel so empty all of a sudden. Until one of his thick fingers finds your molten core and gathers some of your slick before sinking into you and you gasp.

> He continues to kiss and praise you as he works you with his fingers. You whine and moan and beg, it’s like music to his ears. When he thinks you’re ready, he lines himself up with your entrance, sliding up and down, grinding against your clit briefly before continuing. “I wanna hear you beg for it, princess.” and fuck, did you beg. A beautiful litany of filthy fucking words fell from your mouth, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He sinks into you fully in one thrust, gripping your open legs for stability.

> At first you can’t speak, you can’t make any noise at all. You feel so unbelievably full, and you look up at him and his eyes are clenched shut and his jaw is set. He’s holding himself back. He’s trying to be gentle with you because it’s your first time. He really is very sweet when he wants to be. You raise a shaky hand to his face and he leans into it. He met your eyes and you watch as his control falters when he sees you bent in half like this. You smile, “Katsuki, please”, is all you can say. It seems to open the flood gates. For all his self control, he pounds into you mercilessly and it fills you with the most intense feeling of ecstasy. “F-fuck ‘Tsuki, you feel s-so fucking good,” you moan and gasp brokenly.

> He cums hard. Grunting, growling, and near snarling the whole way through. You’re seeing stars, even though you haven’t cum. It had felt so fucking amazing, and you’re more than content with that. Katsuki is definitely not however, and is intent on eating you out until you beg for mercy. He always takes such good care of you.

[thatslikely]

Stowaways - G.W.

Stowaways- George Weasley x Fem!Reader (former Gryffindor)

Warnings: none! just tooth-rotting George fluff :)

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Sorry this took so long! This is my longest fic to date, and I’m so proud of it. I love Georgie so I’m glad to finally write for him. Hope you guys enjoy this one <3

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name and flashbacks/thoughts are in italics.

93 Diagon Alley is a place of wonder, mystique, and above all else, joy. A place where all your best memories are enshrined, a place where you can be your best self, alongside your doting fiery-haired boyfriend, who wears his ginger mop of hair like a halo. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes occupies most of the address, its orange and purple exterior lightening up Diagon Alley effortlessly.  

Its interior is just as magical, the multiple levels of the shop are engulfed with shelves stocked full of Fred and George’s mischievously ingenious products. Some threatened to transfigure you into an eye-popping xanthic canary, while others could spontaneously spawn a whole swamp in the blink of an eye.

Everything within its walls brings smiles to children of all ages, and it could be argued that George is still one of those kids too.

The store seems to make George truly come alive, even more than he was at Hogwarts just a year prior. The look in his eyes as he skillfully operates the store with Fred reminds you of the glow that your face used to hold as a child as you looked longingly through countless toy-store windows around December.

While the shop is the main source of his pride and joy, even its power couldn’t halt the toll of a busy workweek. Every day, new shipments had been zooming in and out of the store, sales at an all-time high. The new lot of Hogwarts students must have a mischievous streak, for student-sent owl orders in preparation for the school year were arriving daily by the barrel-load.

It was finally Friday evening, and George trudged up the back stairs to the flat, his eyelids droopy and back hunched. His lack of energy, however, couldn’t take away from the playfully handsome purple and brown ensemble he wore. He pitifully fiddled with the keys before finally turning the lock, entering the flat promptly, taking in the familiar home-y aroma.  

He promptly plopped down at the small breakfast table near the kitchen, a tired sigh escaping his lips. He pressed his elbow onto the surface of the table, his arm supporting the weight of his head that his neck couldn’t bear any longer.  

“How was your day?  You look absolutely exhausted,” you asked with concern. You already knew you would have to plan something to cheer poor George up.

“I am simply dying, Y/N,” he said, while pretending to go limp like a corpse, “there’s no hope for me. Tell Mum and Ginny I love ‘em.”

“Not even your own twin brother, huh?” you asked sarcastically. He could only respond with a zombie-esque groan.  

You sarcastically rolled your eyes at his dramatic display, glad to see his lack of energy didn’t affect his sense of humor. You walked over to your tired George, who had his head now resting on the back of his chair, eyes spaced out at the ceiling.

You calmly sat down next to the Titian-haired love of your life and laid your head on his strong shoulder, your arm slowly snaking up his back. The motion of your hand alternated between tracing soothing circles lightly on his strained back muscles and massaging his tense shoulder.

He turned his face to you, painted with a soft and grateful grin, glad to finally be home, especially with you. For a few serene minutes, comfortable silence filled the air.  

George had nearly drifted off before the both of you were disrupted by his stomach emitting a loud growl. “I take it you’re hungry, Georgie?”

“Apparently so,” your boyfriend responded, patting his stomach.  

He languidly started undoing his bright amaranthine purple tie when you asked, “Do you want icky leftovers or yummy takeout? I know what I’m voting for.”

“Such a tough decision…” George responded with a wink.

----

By the time dinner was over, the tired look in George’s eyes remained, but the delicious takeout helped remedy his splitting headache.  

The two of you quickly settled on the comfortable marmalade-hued couch to watch one of your favorite muggle movies (it was a comedy of course). George’s laugh never ceased to make your heart flutter, even after all these years. The way it used to echo so freely through the crimson Gryffindor common room, and now through you two’s cozy flat, couldn’t help but make you fall even more madly in love with him. 

George somehow brought out the kid in you that laid dormant for so many years. With him, the world seemed so vibrant; there was always a little adventure waiting for you both, even in mundane activities like laundry. He would bunch up the freshly-washed paisley and tessellated dress shirts that he wore down to the shop daily, pelting them at you like the snowballs that he enchanted to hit Quirrell all the way back in third year.  

You loved George with all your heart, as did he.

After a while of movie-watching, George drifted off into a light sleep. His hazy dream was filled with thoughts of the school he called home for so long. The smell of the burning logs and pumpkin that would drift through his nostrils every morning as he walked down the steps from his dorm; the sound of first years’ giggles as they messed with one of his pranks.

His brain then swam through the blurry memories to the first time he met you, the real you, drinking Firewhiskey and playing truth or dare in the back of the common room with the Golden Trio and crew after a victorious Quidditch game.  

He thought of your first date, your face scrunched with belly-aching laughter as you tried stuffing in as many sweets as you could on a snowy Saturday at Honeydukes. The way the twisted rainbow lollipops and chocolate frogs made your face uncontrollably grin cemented what he swore the moment he first saw you: he vowed to never stop making you smile.   

He couldn’t live a day without your joy-filled face; it enchanted him like the beautiful glow of fireworks against a smokey black sky, like the addicting feeling of adrenaline from breaking the rules.

----

“Georgie,” you whispered, “Georgie!”  

Your drowsy boyfriend slowly drifted back to reality after hearing your soft whisper, your hands lightly tapping his chest to an invisible rhythm.  

He released a yawn before asking, “What is it, angel?”  His eyes fluttered lazily, and his lips were quirked to the smallest of smiles.

“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t fall asleep on the couch for the night,” you said caringly, “I knew you’d be even sorer in the morning if you did.”

George’s heart warmed at your thoughtfulness. He quickly took in his surroundings, which starkly contrasted his dreamscape. The television softly droning cheap infomercials instead of the muggle movie he fell asleep to, the blinds closed to hide the velvety black sky, and bits of buttery popcorn strewn across his chest and lap.  

He sat up tiredly, swiping his hand carelessly through his vermillion-pigmented locks. He rubbed his umber eyes as you brushed loose kernels from his clothes to the carpet.  

George muttered, “I love you, Y/N,” quietly, thinking you wouldn’t be able to hear it.  

You did, however, and you reciprocated an “I love you, too” sweetly. You stood up from the couch, extending your hand to help droopy-eyed George up. He took your hand and he rose before walking towards the kitchen, drawn to the stark blue light of the refrigerator.  

The fridge doors popped open, revealing tupperware full of picked-at leftovers, a few odds and ends, and a half-drank bottle of Dragon Barrel Brandy. He groaned at the meager scraps of food occupying the fridge, shutting the door disappointedly. The crisp air that surrounded him with a chill dissipated within an instant.  

“Georgie, I think we should go off to bed. Tomorrow's Saturday, and I have a big surprise for you planned,” you said excitedly, coming up behind the man of your dreams, resting your hand steadily on his shoulder. He leaned into your touch as you guided the sleepy boy to the bedroom.

As the two of you laid down to go to sleep, facing one another, George asked in a tired, raspy voice, “What’s the surprise, darling? Or will I have to find out tomorrow?”

“You know I would never spoil a surprise. Don’t worry, you’ll love it.”

----

George awoke to the delectable scent of freshly-fried bacon and eggs wafting from the humble kitchen. The other half of the bed, he noticed, lay empty, the cozy handmade quilt blanket you usually dozed under laying askew. Sunlight poured through the windows, letting his linen covered body bask in golden morning rays.  

After minutes of continuing to peacefully lay under the covers, absorbing the pure morning ambiance, George finally decided to get up and follow the delicious aromas emitting from the kitchen like a bloodhound.  

As he entered, you were bent over the stove, guiding a spatula around in a lightly tarnished pan, appetizing pancakes browning within. You were still in your sleepwear, wearing oversized plaid pants that dragged across the tile and one of George’s shirts, which was huge on you and smelled strongly of his cologne.

He snuck up behind you quietly as a mouse, before unexpectedly poking the sides of your stomach. You let out a shocked, “George!” before bursting into laughter. Your chuckles blended with his effortlessly, creating a beautiful symphony.  

“Morning, darling. I see you’re making breakfast,” George said with a smirk as he surveyed the surrounding food-covered counters. He seemed in a much better state than he was yesterday, his tired eyes replaced with resplendent brown and gold-speckled ones, which were flooded full of energy reminiscent of his adolescence.  

“I am! And I made all your favorites, so get excited! The day’s only getting started.” You sent him a knowing wink, and he responded with a child-like grin. George giddily opened a cupboard, grabbing two shiny ceramic plates. He forked some already-cooked bacon and eggs onto each plate, shaping the food into two adorable smiley faces.  

“What did I ever do to deserve such an amazing girlfriend like you?” George asked after giving your cheek an affectionate peck.  

“The real question is, what didn’t you do? You’re perfect in my eyes, Georgie,” you heartfeltly admitted as you carried a small plate stacked with butter and syrup-coated warm pancakes coated to the table.  

George had beaten you to the breakfast table, waiting patiently until you finally sat down in the chair to his side. He eagerly stabbed a forkful of egg, stuffing it into his mouth. While Ron was usually credited as the biggest food-lover of the Weasleys, there was no way you could deny that George was runner up.  

He gulped down the rest of the meal quickly, sending breakfast-filled smiles in your direction after every bite. After both of your plates were squeaky-clean, you ventured to the bedroom to get ready for the busy day ahead of you. 

You instructed George to wear “something comfortable,” and he happily complied, throwing on a cream-colored, pin-striped short-sleeve oxford with a pair of worn jeans. You selected something equally as comfortable, and adorable.  

You were in the middle of packing a backpack full of snacks and water when George finally asked, “So… when do I get to know where we’re going?”

“We’re going to Hogwarts,” you said promptly with a knowing smile, greatly contrasting George’s look of perplexion.

“And how exactly are we going to manage that, love? Surely they wouldn’t allow an impromptu visit like this, even good ol’ McGonagall?”  

“Well, let’s just say Hogwarts doesn’t actually know we’ll be there.” 

----

Platform 9 ¾ could be seen bustling with life, the delicious taste of magic floating through the air. It sent you back to all of those years you spent before term, pushing a luggage-stacked trolley across the station.

The scarlet express heaved tufts of smoke from its chimney, a piercing shriek occasionally echoing from its whistle. The magical platform was coated with clumps of young witches and wizards and their parents; the brick floor could barely be seen under all the boots.  

You bid goodbye to your parents, ready to start a new (magical) chapter of your life. As you skipped gleefully to the entrance of the enchanted coach, you caught sight of a rufescent sea of wizards bickering and chuckling with each other. There were six carrot-topped wizards in total: a middle-aged and balding father, an equally middle-aged warm and caring mother, a short and freckle-ridden son who appeared to be the oldest, a tall and stuck-up boy with pretentious-looking glasses who was tightening the crimson tie around his neck, and two identical-looking boys who seemed to be first years as well.

One of them could be seen tieing the stuck-up boy’s shoelaces together, a mischievous smirk on his face as he did. The other was distracting the glasses-wearing brother, shooting the knotter an occasional sneaky glance.  

You smiled at the sight before stepping into the train, eager to make new friends. You felt a little less nervous upon seeing students chatting in their compartments; pure joy from students’ laughing and yelling filled the corridor.

You looked around in search of a promising compartment. Finally, after what felt like hours of looking, you settled on a compartment filled with three other first-years. There were two girls and a boy: one of the girls, Angelina, was animatedly recounting a story, the other, Alicia, sprinkled in witty comments, and a smitten-looking boy named Lee was blushing in the corner, listening intently.  

After a while of bonding with your new friends, the train slowly began to chug along the tracks,  rhythmic clanking creating some pleasant background ambiance. The train began to gain speed before your compartment door was slid open by none other than the vexatious redheaded twins.  

The twin who tied his brother’s shoelaces together, who you later learned was named Fred, confidently took a seat next to Lee. They quickly struck up a conversation, seemingly clicking almost instantly. The twin who served as the distraction for his poor older brother, George, sat down next to you timidly.  

At first, George was too shy to say anything other than a meek, “hello”, but as soon as the trolley stacked with sweets rolled around, he became quite talkative. He was very observant; he would enchant you with beautiful descriptions of the most minute details in the most mundane things.  

George was so observant, in fact, that he noticed you didn’t get anything from the trolley, despite the look on your face saying that it wasn’t by choice. He could only afford a single chocolate frog with the spare change his mother gave him, which he handed to you with a toothy grin.

You yanked on George’s long arm, pulling him behind one of the large brick pillars supporting the platform. “Okay, George, for this to work, we can’t be seen by anyone.” You unsheathed your wand from your pocket, preparing to cast a spell.

“I’m going to cast a disillusionment charm, okay? This should make us blend in with our surroundings so we can sneak onto the train.  If I do it correctly, we should be able to see each other just fine, though.”  

After receiving an accepting nod from George, you gave him a light tap on the shoulder with the tip of your wand. Camouflage slowly dripped down his body, as if someone poured some sort of invisibility paint above his head. Just as quickly as he faded into the pillar behind him, he returned back to normal colors. You hoped he was still invisible to everyone else.  

“Wicked,” he uttered, checking out his arms as they turned invisible and back.

You did the same to yourself without hesitation. George watched with curiosity as you blended seamlessly into the platform; he then admired you as your features slowly returned from invisibility. Every eyelash, every blemish, and every inch of your lips never failed to go unnoticed by him.

“What’s the next step of the plan, Captain?” George asked with a salute.

“So, without being seen, once all the students are off the platform and on the train, we need to sneak onto the caboose, where we should be able to ride safely. After that, it’s smooth sailing to Hogwarts!”

“That sounds easy enough… I think,” George said with his hand in his palm, thinking over the steps of the plan intently.  

“Oh trust me, it’ll be great! I mean, if you can set off fireworks during an exam guarded by Umbridge, you can sneak onto a bloody train.” You gave George a reassuring thumbs-up.

“Don’t even remind me of that soul-sucking bright pink nightmare!” George said with a sarcastic eye roll.

As students slowly started filtering into the train, your time to strike inched closer and closer. Finally, the clock struck eleven, and you and George were dashing across the platform to the back of the train with your hands intertwined with one another’s.

You and George leaped onto the back ledge of the train just in time, for the scarlet locomotive slowly started rolling along the tracks just as you latched onto the railing. The both of you broke into cheers of triumph the moment the train was out of the vicinity of the station.  

“Y/N, look at the window, there’s no reflection of us in it. We really are undetectable,” George mentioned, gesturing towards the window.   

It was unsettling to not see your usual features bouncing off the window, but you were thankful that your charm had worked.  

You moved to sit on the ledge of the train, which was small, only about a foot wide. You put your legs through the wide rails so that the soles of your sneakers nearly dragged on the tracks. George took a seat next to you, his lanky legs sitting crisscross.  

The scenery that the express heaved through was breathtaking; it was even better feeling the crisp air on your face. The rolling moss-tinted hills, vibrant green and yellow trees that dotted the horizon, and worn stone archways that cut through the landscape allowing the train to huff on. All of it reminded you of the impressionist paintings in museums.  

The sunlight bashfully peeked through the clouds like the small flashes of vibrant strawberries hiding under their large green leaves on a serene spring day. The air tasted sweet and refreshing; it felt like you hadn’t ever breathed until your lungs were filled with it.

You and George sat peacefully in silence, listening to the noises of the express and the faint chirping of birds, reflecting on the past. Eventually, he said softly, gaze pointed to the scenery, “I can still remember the moment I realized I was in love with you.”

He continued, “It was the start of fifth year, on this very train. The moment you sat down in the compartment next to me, I just knew.  Everything was different. There were so many things I never noticed until then; it was like my eyes were finally open.”

Silence filled the air. You couldn’t think of what to say, and even if you did, you wouldn’t know how to say it.  

“Everything about you looked so beautiful all of a sudden. The way you moved or swished your wand, the way your lips enunciated every heavenly word that fell from your tongue. All of it.”

George turned to you nervously. What if I messed it all up? What if that wasn’t the right thing to say? he thought. You stared down at the track, lost in the depths of your mind. 

Everything George had ever spoken to you danced through your brain like ballet; his words sounded like rich and eloquent poetry, even his simple cheers or quips at teachers. Your heart felt like it was beating a million times the speed of the chugging crimson engine.

You rapidly pivoted your head to him, his uncertain gaze immediately locking deeply with yours’. Your eyes were clouded with determination and passion, which reflected in the kiss that you swiftly pulled him into. His lips felt magical against yours’, still oozing with lively youthfulness as always.  

George tenderly tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, you wrapped one of your hands around the nape of his neck. The kiss softened, becoming something slow and loving. Your other hand intertwined delicately with his’, which lay softly on your thigh.  

After a while of sugary sweet kissing, George’s lips parted, uttering an “I love you,” lightly.

“I love you, too. Promise me you’ll marry me someday?” You asked, still heavily under the angelic ginger’s trance.  

“You know I couldn’t marry anyone but you, Y/N.”

----

The sun slowly retreated behind the horizon, painting the sky a brilliant and fiery orange, which nearly matched the hue of George’s wind-swept hair.  You languidly rested your head on his broad shoulder, staring out in the distance. Your face lingered with euphoria, courtesy of George’s amazing kisses which had just peppered every inch of it.  

The backpack stocked with snacks you perfectly packed was now filled only with empty food wrappers. Most of the various foodstuffs had found a new home safely in your boyfriend’s black hole of a stomach, leaving you with mere crumbs to chew.  

“Georgie… why’d you have to eat all the snacks?  I’m starving,” you asked dramatically, pretending to be skin-and-bones. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t save enough for you, darling. I would give you some but… y’know… they’re in my stomach.” George petted your hair caringly with a regretful smile, his strong fingers gently brushing through your strands, taking in the familiar scent of your shampoo.

As you sat, gaze towards the breathtaking sunset, George mechanically started braiding a small section of your hair. He had always been an expert at braids; Ginny taught him how to fourth year. His mind was elsewhere than your strands, however, for he was plotting something significantly more mischievous.  

George retracted his hands from your hair, the soothing touch of his fingers dissipating from your scalp. He stood up from the cozy spot beside you, turning to peer through the window of the coach. His eyes scanned the corridor like a hawk, his brain spindling abstract ideas into a devious plan reminiscent of the schemes he so often plotted back at Hogwarts. 

“Georgie, what are you doing?” you asked quizzically. 

After one final glance through the coach window (bearing no reflection), he said with a devilishly handsome and mischievous smirk, “I have a plan.”

Before you could interrogate him any further, in one calculated motion, he swung the emergency door open, leaping inside the train full of students.  

If anyone was skilled enough to pull off whatever he was set on doing, it was George. While Fred was often the instigator of the twins’ famous pranks, George was often pulling the weight of the trick.  

You just hoped the disillusionment charm hadn’t worn off yet.  

----

George silently crept through the corridors of each enchanted coach, elaborately dancing around stray students who occasionally ditched their compartments. His face was scrunched with determination as if he were a raider searching for the holy grail.  

It took all his self-control, and more, to resist sneaking into Malfoy’s compartment and giving him a slap across the head; it was even harder resisting giving Ron a friendly spook, along with the other members of the Golden Trio. He decided to stay on track of his mission, for you and you only.  

Every coach he passed through, he became increasingly more irritated and nervous. Now that he was an adult, there wouldn’t just be a simple ten points deducted from Gryffindor, no. Sneaking onto a train full of students and stealing candy from the poor old lady’s trolley of sweets would be a hefty fine. Molly would definitely not be pleased.  

Finally, in the coach closest to the engine (and unfortunately furthest from the back), laid the trolley, luckily unattended. It was practically overflowing with classic sweets that he used to enjoy so much: colorful Berties Botts Every Flavour Beans (he swears he got a booger flavored one once), towering stacks of frosted cauldron cakes, clear-as-glass sugar quills, and chocolate frogs.   

George, of course, knew your favorite anything and everything like the back of his hand. He swiftly grabbed a package of candy from the bottom rack of the trolley, a twinge of guilt hitting him in the heart. The kind old lady would be down one treat. His guilt was quickly alleviated when magically, another perfectly packaged sweet filled the empty space.  

The expedition back to the caboose was a decidedly more risky one; it’s a lot more obvious that someone is invisible when a piece of candy is levitating midair. Luckily, the darker it got outside, the more students opted for the comfort of their cozy compartments, which fostered the perfect environment for sleeping. After all, when he and Fred would pull pranks on the train, this was the hour they’d hit the hardest.  

He was nearly to the back coach when a now sixth year Neville Longbottom emerged from his cabin, a defeated look on his face. A harshly conquered game of wizard’s chess could be seen, Luna Lovegood sitting next to the board with a neutral smile resting on her lips.  

George had tried to dance around Neville, but Longbottom’s clumsiness was no match for him. Not even a second passed before Neville rammed headfirst into George’s chest, falling backward. He laid on the floor for a minute, dumbfounded, before cautiously getting up, reaching for the floating sweet that George grasped high above his head.

George couldn’t help but mutter a low ‘sorry’ to poor Neville before rapidly darting past him towards the door. Neville looked around suspiciously for a minute longer before accepting the fact that he had likely been the subject of another foul prank.  

Finally, unscathed, George returned to the rear of the train, where you lay half sprawled across the ledge sleepily. Your eyes were closed, your ears focused on the calming rhythmic rattling of the wheels on the track.

A small smile couldn’t help but creep onto George’s face at the sight of you asleep. He gently tapped you awake, a soft hum escaping his lips. Your eyes fluttered open, a loving look glazing them.  

“What is it, Georgie?” you asked, taking in your surroundings.  

“Just wanted to make sure that you didn’t fall asleep here. You’d be sore by the time we get to our destination if you did,” George said with a wink. 

He outstretched his hand like Prince Charming, helping you stand up from the floor. Your rubious-haired boyfriend inconspicuously held his other hand behind his back, concealing the candy in his large palm.   

“Where did you go, George? One moment you’re out here with me, next moment you’re off into the train packed full of people!” you questioned curiously, inspecting George from head to toe.

“Well, you said you were hungry, so naturally....” he said, “I had to get you something to eat.”

George held out a single chocolate frog in his hand like a proud little kid. He wore the exact same smile he sported first year: a look radiating innocence and kindness. You gingerly accepted the frog, slowly unwrapping the chocolate and stuffing the card in your pocket for Ron.  

“...just like first year,” you muttered, barely able to make a sound.

You were seated on the tail of the express once again, eyes pointed towards the inky black and star-blemished sky. George quickly mirrored your actions, comfortably sitting next to you. While you munched on your chocolate frog joyfully, George rested his head on your shoulder, even though he was very much taller than you. He momentarily began humming a lullaby he learned as a baby; the vibrations emitted from his voice box resonated comfortingly through your body.  

His angelic humming echoed lovingly through your brain all the way to Hogwarts.

----

The train screeched to a halt at the Hogwarts station behind the school. The soothing rattle of the train ceased, to your dismay, and exuberant students began to flood out of the express like a tidal wave. You and George trailed far behind the various cliques of students, cracking jokes at the expense of the new first years.  

“Look at that poor one!  He’s fixed to become the new Neville!” you said laughing, before getting a playful elbow from George.  

“McGonagall will have quite the handful with those two over there. Reckon they’ll be tricksters like us?” George asked with a nostalgic laugh, pointing at two boys who were sneakily distributing some sort of (surely hexed) candy to their gullible peers. They looked so much like Fred and George did in their first year, down to the very same expression.  

“No doubt about it,” you said confidently, darting your eyes comparatively from the boys to your boyfriend. “It really is quite uncanny.”

Soon enough, the towering main entrance to the castle was opened with a swish, and the distinctly familiar smell flooded your nostrils. You were finally home once again. Not much had changed since you left, besides the absence of all of Umbridge’s devious decrees, replaced with some friendly-looking paintings.  

“Looks the exact same, doesn’t it?” George whispered, careful to be unnoticed by the excited soon-to-be-sorted first years who were guided to the Great Hall. You nodded yes, clenching his hand harder with exhilaration.  

Instead of risking getting caught during the time-honored Sorting Ceremony, you and George walked aimlessly, enjoying the unique ambiance of the school. After a while of galavanting around the halls, you climbed the moving steps towards the Gryffindor tower.

“Open up, it's George,” he whispered to the portrait of the Fat Lady with a smirk, and surprisingly, she obliged with a pleasantly surprised smile. Your stare flickered from George to the portrait, mouth agape.  

“Let’s just say, me and the Fat Lady have a lot of… history. Oh, not like that!” George let out a laugh followed by an adorable wink.

You gravitated towards the comfortable crimson couches which sat by the large and inviting fireplace, dragging George’s hand behind you.  

Your body melted into the red plush of the couch, the soft material much more desirable than the stiff metal rails of the express. Your carrot-topped better half took a seat next to you, his body intertwining with yours.

Gryffindors threatened to flood into the common room any given moment, so you wasted no time pulling George’s soft shirt to your chest for a gentle and loving kiss.  

“Blimey! Get a room you two!” Ron said, walking towards the two of you from the portrait, gagging.

“I guess the charm’s worn off, Georgie.”

“Just in time, too,” he said with a slightly cocky smile.  

You turned to Ron, who reluctantly held his arms out for a hug. You ran to him with all your might, meeting the messy-haired ginger’s chest. “I’m so glad to see you again.  It’s felt like ages.”

“Glad to see you too, Y/N,” he said with a genuine smile.  

Harry and Hermione entered not long after, a matching perplexed expression on their faces.  “Y/N? George? How’d you get in here? Surely McGonagall wouldn’t permit a visit such as this?” Hermione asked, giving you a small but confused hug.  

“Well, the thing is, no one knows we’re actually here,” George said, a grin on his face.  

“How’d you do it? Sneak in here, I mean,” Harry asked, eager to learn a new way to sneak to the school.  

“Snuck onto the express. Brilliant idea and execution courtesy of my dear Y/N. She’s a genius in training. Learning from the best, of course,” George said sarcastically, his thumb pointing to his chest.  

“Very funny, Georgie.  This one was all me.  My magnum opus, some would say.”

----

The ensuing night was amazing. Laughter echoed through the cherry-tinted walls of the common room like a magnificent orchestra; classic games like spin the bottle and truth or dare were played religiously.  

By the time it struck midnight, your mind had nearly escaped to your hazy dreamscape too many times to count. It had been a long day; you started early with cooking a full breakfast, sneaking onto the Hogwarts Express, and partying for hours into the night with the Gryffindors, all with the love of your life. To say you were exhausted was a massive understatement. 

Harry had graciously offered his comfortable bed to you, Ron reluctantly sacrificing his to George. “You owe me one,” he repeatedly grumbled to his older brother, who plastered a sickly innocent smile on in response.  

George took quick notice of the unfathomable exhaustion plastered onto your face from his couch across from you, immediately announcing to the chatting group of friends, “I think it’s time for me and Y/N to turn in for the night. See you all in the morning.”  

‘Goodnights’ drifted in and out of your ears as George picked you up from the couch bridal-style, carrying you light-as-a feather up the steps to the boys’ dorms. He could envision a furious Head Boy Percy demanding, ‘Put her down, George!  Girls sleep in the girls’ dormitories, boys in the boys’!  They have that rule for a reason!’ 

He smiled as he creaked open the sixth year boys’ dorm’s door, laying you peacefully onto Harry’s scarlet four-poster bed. He grabbed some cozy knitted blankets, gently setting them over your body.

“There you are, angel, have a good nights’ sleep. I love you with all my heart,” George cooed.  He turned to Ron’s bed with a smile before you grasped his hand desperately.

“Before you go to bed Georgie, did you have fun today?  I know you super were stressed out yesterday and all,” your words came out slurred and tired, some borderline incoherent.  

“I have fun any time I’m with you, darling,” he said, smoothing your ruffled hair. “But yes, I had the time of my life with you today. Just being with you makes my day infinitely brighter. You’re like my little sunshine.”

“And will you actually marry me someday, Georgie?” you asked, your droopy eyes filled with an unfathomable and everlasting love. You were deep under the heavenly redhead’s spell once again.

“I always keep my word, darling.”

[honeypirate]

Drop of Sunshine

This is a big self indulgent fic I wrote this with me specifically in mind lolol I can’t get over my freckled reader brain rot.

Aone post time skip x Fem!Freckled!Reader

If someone asked him what his favorite thing about you is, he’d say your sense of humor or the way you always make him feel like he’s at home.

If he had to choose a physical aspect though, without a doubt and without hesitation he’d say he loved your freckles the most.

Aone loved the way your freckles looked in the sun. You were radiant, like a little drop of sunshine that warms everyone she comes in contact with. And after you spent the day with your friends on the beach, you’d sit by the camp fire and your freckles would be darker, each and every mark rekissed by the goddess of the sun herself, your warm skin pressed into his arm as you hold on to him, cuddling close as the wind rolls in. His little drop of sunshine to keep his days filled with warmth.

He loved the way your freckles look under the soft lights of the Italian place you both love. Your special table in the back corner with the circle booth where you can sit side by side as you shared your entrees. The freckles under your right eye crinkling as you laughed, the ones on your lips twitching as they fall into a peaceful smile as you bring the fork up to his mouth to share.

His sun drop glowing as he brought the dessert spoon of ice cream up to your lips, a knowing sparkle in your eye when you reach up to cup his cheek the moment he dips down to steal a taste from your lips like he always does.

He loved the way your freckles sparkled and danced under the colorful lights with him. You didn’t know how to samba but you were amazing at following his lead and he loved how close it brought you together. Loved the way he could feel the warmth on your skin when he cupped your cheek, he couldn’t resist leaning down and pressing his lips to yours.

He loved the way your freckles looked in the lights of the tv screen in his dark apartment. The movie had ended, the credits and rolling slowly and playing some soft romantic song. He was laying on the couch with his left knee up and against the back, his foot shoved down in the seam as his other long leg was wrapped around you, resting on the back of your knee as you laid on his stomach.

Your chin rested on the back of your palms as you looked up at him, running his fingers through your hair as you just held eye contact with happy and peaceful smiles on your lips until you can’t bear it any longer and you have to crawl forward to press your soft freckle specked lips to his.

He adored the way your freckles ran across your skin, the way they cover and decorate your body. He loved the way his sheets look when he looks down and sees you tangled in them. His sun drop becoming constellations of star fragments as he he kisses each and every one of them. Marking favorites to memory and leaving hickeys across your collar bone and neck.

Aone loves the way your freckles on your cheeks danced with shades of pink when you looked in the mirror the next morning and saw all the marks he left on your body.

He loves the way your eyes soften and the smile you give him when he does something you can’t help but find so endearingly adorable your whole face smiles like your feelings are shining through each freckle, the way the freckles on your lips frame your smirk when he does something that amuses you, he will love you until the day your freckles fade into dust and then he will love you longer, still.

[lelenoir]

pairings: childhood friend!dong sicheng x reader [ft. wong yukhei]

word count: 3.6k

synopsis: wherein sicheng always thought that he would spend the rest of his life with you. only to be smacked with the bitter truth.

dedicated to: engel @jenoir, the no to my noren.

inspired by: the song it's over, isn't it? from steven universe

note: hellooo finally got this out after rotting away for days hehe. anyways i hope you like it!! it'll probably be my last fic for a while since school and stuff and also my other blog. this was supposed to be a small drabble but i guess the universe had other plans KSKSK

DONG SICHENG ALWAYS LOVED YOU.

It was always written in his stars, always engraved in stone and he always believed that the moment he laid eyes on you he was struck by Cupid's bow and arrow. Of course, he never noticed this until later on.

It happened in your local playground. The tall---at least in his standard---five year old boy buzzing with joy as he rode his bike across the street. His hair flowed freely with the wind as he fought the urge to raise his hands up. Legs pedalling as if he was in a race against the fastest cyclists around the globe. The world blurred in his vision, pure bliss coursing through his veins. As a toddler, he didn't want that moment to end.

Unable to contain it any longer, the boy slowly let go of the handles, ghosting the rubber for a few more moments until he finally decided to let it go. For him, in his toddler state of mind, nothing could compare to the feeling he felt that moment. The street of his small childhood town zooming all around him as he let the world's breath engulf him. It looked like what Luke Skywalker saw whenever he drove a spaceship in that movie his brother always watched.

The moment only lasted for five seconds. It all happened so fast. One minute he was on top of the world, the next he was tumbling down fast. The ground hitting him hard. His hands were quick to hold on to his wounded knee as soon as he landed, eyes closed from the pain and a strong hiss leaving his lips. Tears welled up in his eyes as he watched the blood on his exposed flesh. He groaned when he tried to touch it.

"That was stupid." Three simple words. One simple statement. And you had his whole attention on you. Eyes wide from shock but you mistake it as confusion. "What you did. That was stupid." You repeated as if he was dumb. A dull look rested on your eyes as you looked down on him. It took him by surprise when he saw your extended arms in front of him. He couldn't help but gawk at the gesture. "What? Aren't you gonna take it?"

Slowly, he did. Gulping slightly as he stood up, wincing once he felt the sting of his wound. "It's just a graze. Nothing serious." You spoke up once again. His eyes looking towards your face, only to see you staring at his knee. "Do you need help walking?" You asked, finally meeting his gaze.

He was speechless. He'd never talked to anyone that wasn't his brother or his classmates. He rarely ever talked to the girls in his class, in fear of the disease his brother dubbed as cooties.

"You okay?" You quirk an eyebrow at him, making him flinch up in alertness. His hands felt slightly clammy as he clenched and unclenched them.

"Yeah…" he trailed off, voice barely a whisper. He saw you break into a smile. It shook him to the core. Especially with how intimidating you've presented yourself to be. He didn't know why but he wanted to see it again.

"So… walk?" You asked once more. It was like a switch had been turned on inside of you. Sicheng felt a bit confused on what to feel about the current change in aura as he slightly nodded his head in reply. You hummed, nodding your head once as you made your way to his fallen bike. You pulled it up with such ease. Even he had a difficult time carrying the heavy thing. You steadied the bike with your hands, walking to him as you let the bike trail next to you. "Where do you live?"

Sicheng should've felt embarrassed. After all, a girl, of all people, was walking him home. Him. It should've been the other way around. He felt like an utter loser having tears threatening to spill from his eyes while a girl carried his bike for him. He sighed, preparing himself for his brother's endless teasing.

"What's your name?" He spoke up, halfway through the walk. So far none of you thought of initiating into another conversation, basking in each other's company in the form of silence. "I'm Sicheng, Dong Sicheng."

You didn't even flinch at his question. "Y/n" you replied, eyes never leaving the path ahead until you turned your head to look at him for a second before turning back once again. "It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too, y/n." Maybe it was his pea sized brain or just his lack of comprehension but you clearly didn't want to start a conversation. "What school do you go to? I don't think I've ever seen you around."

"I'm homeschooled." You answered. "My mom teaches me." Sicheng gaped at the revelation, never ever meeting someone like you.

"That's so cool!" He exclaimed. "I wish I was homeschooled. That way I won't have to wake up too early just to get to school."

You only hummed in reply, ready to fall back into your comfortable silence. Sicheng suddenly gasped. "That means you don't get to see other kids!" He says it like it was the biggest breakthrough of the century. "Doesn't it get very lonely?" He laid his head to the side in question.

"Not really," you shrugged, "I'm kind of used to it."

He gasped once again. "You shouldn't though."

"'Life isn't always what you expect it to be.' is what my mom told me a lot. I guess I just preferred to accept it rather than dwell on it too much." You explained, keeping your expression as undecipherable as possible. It drove five year old Sicheng's brain crazy.

"Then I'll be your friend." He declared, pointing his thumb on his chest. "Heck, I'll be your best friend!" He shouts joyfully.

Your eyes widened at his words, not really used to such enthusiasm. Still, a small smile cracked on your features once again. He didn't know if you saw it but Sicheng felt his eyes beam up at the sight of it. You nodded your head. "Okay."

A proud smile adorned the little boy's face, not minding his previous concerns as he walked alongside you. The wound still hurt from walking but his mind seemed to have flown elsewhere, its current occupation slightly numbing the pain of his nerves.

You were the coolest girl he's ever met.

DONG SICHENG LOVED YOU UNKNOWINGLY.

Barefaced and a little tired, you laid your body down on the grass next to him. You sighed, eyes up the stars as Sicheng took it all in. Not the night sky but you. A content smile on his features as he indulged himself with your presence.

"First day of school…" you breathed out. "I wonder how everything would turn out."

He noticed the way your fingers toyed amongst themselves, saw how your breathing slowly turned erratic. In all the years Sicheng has known you, this is the first time he's ever seen you this nervous. Tomorrow was the start of highschool for the both of you. For Sicheng, he wasn't nervous. Maybe a small bit but that was normal as first day jitters. You, on the other hand, were a different story. It was your very first time coming to school after being sheltered by your mom for so long. Sure she never intended it and it was mostly your refusal to go to school that made her teach you in the first place, but none of that helped calm your nerves.

A billion questions rang in your head. A billion possibilities playing along with it. You were in a whirlpool of your own thoughts and you were gasping for air.

Luckily, Sicheng was there to pull you out. His hand intertwining with yours as he drew circles to calm you down. He knew that always calmed you. He felt your body relax next to him. A good sign. He smiled at his small accomplishment.

"Don't worry," he tightened his hold on your palms but not to the point where it would hurt. Only to make you feel his presence more. "I'll be right here."

Highschool rolled in as normally as it could. You were nervous as you walked down the halls but you kept your face relaxed. Sicheng's presence next to you adds up to your ease as he tries to tell you as much as he can about school. Still, knowing Sicheng, he wasn't really as social and loud as he was with you. In these halls he tried to put up a mask for your sake. He smiled at unfamiliar people, nodded his head whenever they greeted him and even said a few 'hi's and 'hello's just to ease your doubt.

With that you smiled. And god he would never get tired of that sight. For a moment the two of you didn't move. For a moment it was just you and him. For a moment he let himself fall for you. He wished he could stay there with you, not a care in the world as he held on to your gaze. He thanked the stars for bringing you to him.

Sadly, even that moment had to end.

He was never one for crowds but seeing your guarded position and tense posture made him want to assure you that everything was going to be okay. He offered you an assuring smile which you returned gratefully.

The bell rang, snapping the both of you back to reality. He took your hand in his, drawing circles on it like he always did. "Your class is here. If you need me I'm right across your room." He said pointing towards the wooden door a few feet away. Just then, he enveloped both his hands around yours. "I'm always here, okay?"

You sighed in relief. A firm smile on your lips as you nodded. "Okay."

With that, he lets you go. He stepped back from you, waiting for you to walk in. You straightened up your posture before turning around. You closed your eyes, preparing yourself for whatever was on the other side of the door. Counting the seconds in your head before walking inside.

Sicheng smiled proudly at your back. He waited until you turned to your left towards the chairs before he too went on his way.

You've watched plenty of teen movies to know that you should never pick the seat in front. You looked around the unfamiliar faces of the people in the room. Some eyed you curiously while most had their head on their arms, presumably asleep. You couldn't blame them, it was the first period of the first day of school. All those times running around or sleeping in during the summer before suddenly getting thrusted into school was probably annoying.

You claimed your spot by the second to the last chair by the window. You rested your cheek on the palm of your hand as you looked out, admiring the sky and the gray roads.

"Hey there," a voice spoked up. You lifted your head to see a boy. He had a big beaming smile on his face as he settled his things on the chair next to you. "I'm Xiaojun."

You watched him curiously, pursing your lips for a second before turning your gaze back to the window. "Y/n."

DONG SICHENG REALISED HE LOVED YOU WAY TOO LATE.

He often wondered if he could change it. Always counted the different ways, the different scenarios and outcomes everything would've led to. He spent many nights figuring out how he got to this path. This path that he desperately wanted to stray from. Alas, he could never. Life was a road barricaded by formidable iron walls. Once you step on to one path, the other one closes, locking you in.

He waited for you in the halls, by the door of your Psych class. The both of you were in college now. He shifted his footing before turning to the small window on the door, peeking for just a glimpse of you.

It felt weird. He thought to himself, watching you smile from ear to ear at whatever your classmates were saying. It felt like only yesterday when he met you. Closed off and very reserved. It felt so surreal not being the only person to have broken down your walls. For Sicheng, he wasn't jealous. The opposite actually. He felt proud. He loved seeing you with the company of others and loved the way you managed to grow.

Just then, you met his eyes. He smiled, lifting his hand up in a small wave. And there it is. That smile. The one only he could cause. The smile that was reserved only for him. He felt his heart pound in his chest.

One of your classmates pulled your focus away from him. Your features reverted to that easy smile you gave everyone else.

Sicheng felt his cheeks warm at the thought, his feet turning to rest his back on the wall next to your classroom door. He sighed, closing his eyes. He could see your smile as he did so. Flashing before his eyes like a Polaroid trapped in time. Forever displaying your face with that smile he loved so much.

The bell rang loudly across the corridors, making him jump a bit before composing himself. He felt so nervous today for some reason. Something inside him was commanding every bit of his body to leap out. He shook the nerves of his fingertips, taking the time to compose himself.

He waited for you to come out, almost bouncing in joy when you did. "You seem happy…" you tell him, "what's up?"

"Well I just finished all my assignments, got a high grade in an essay I stayed up for, and managed to get the last cheese burger at lunch today. All in all it's not a bad day." He answered cheekily. You rolled your eyes at the response but maintained a lighthearted expression. You smiled softly, the both of you maintaining a slow pace as you walked away from the door.

"Y/n!" A voice called out. You were quick to turn to the voice, Sicheng mimicking the action subconsciously. What greeted you was the sight of a tall panting boy. Sweat on the sides of his head as he tried to catch his breath. "Thank heavens I caught up to you."

Lucas lifted his head up, a playful smile on his face as he looked up at you. Sicheng felt his breath get caught on his throat. A nervous and unsettling feeling resting on the pit of his stomach. He didn't like this. Not one bit.

"Lucas! What a surprise." Sicheng snapped his head towards you, a subtle look of disbelief as he noticed your smile. It wasn't like the others and it wasn't the one that was for him. This was different. Your cheeks were tucked to the highest point below your eyes, face beaming with delight. Happier. Lucas wasn't any different either. A small yet noticeable pink dust spread all across his face. His gaze focused solely on you as if in a trance.

Lucas breathed to his nose, bowing his head a bit before returning back to you. "Are we still going on Friday?" He asked, hopeful.

Sicheng could visibly see you elate with his words. His jaw clenched subconsciously as your whole face grew brighter. No. His palms grew hotter on his sides, his heart pounding nervously as he held on to your next words.

"Sure." And just like that, he felt his heart ache. His previous mood going down in the slumps in an instant. Still, he held his head up high. His face stoic and unwavering. From afar you wouldn't have noticed the storm in his eyes.

"That's great," He heard Lucas sigh in relief. They make eye contact for a brief moment, both of them narrowing at one another before breaking it abruptly. You fail to notice the quick exchange, wrapping your arms around Sicheng's and already pulling him away.

"See you on Friday!" You called out over your shoulder.

Right. Sicheng shouldn't fret. He is your best friend. He's known you ever since you caught him that fateful day with his bicycle. Lucas stood nothing against him when it came to you. He was confident. The air around him lightened as you rested your head on whatever part of his arm you could reach.

"I missed hanging out with you." You whispered. He knew you weren't looking at him. It was a habit of yours to avoid his gaze whenever you grow sentimental. "You're my best friend yet I feel like you're worlds away from me now." You continued. "We're okay, right?"

Sicheng turned to look at you, watching your face contort to a frown. He sighed. He shifted your bodies so the two of you faced each other. He took his arm out of yours before resting both of his palms on your cheeks. "We're okay. Okay?" You smiled sheepishly at his words, nodding your head. He pushed you to his chest, hugging you tightly. You could slightly hear his heartbeat relax, making you sigh. "You're my best friend. We've been through hell and back together. I don't think anything would change that."

He's fine. He assures himself. There had been plenty of guys before Lucas. Plenty that you have downright rejected: Xiaojun from highschool, Hendery during summer and many others after. He shouldn't be worried. In the many years he has known you, he was sure the two of you would end up together. He just needed the right moment.

Sicheng was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve. In fact, you've never actually seen him romantically with a girl. But whenever you felt down in the dumps, he was sure to give his all to you. He'd wrap you up close, shower you with attention and do everything he can to make you feel better. At the same time, Sicheng was also a very emotional kid. Oftentimes it was he who cried on your shoulders and you'd be there to listen. You were each other's support system. The very rock that keeps you grounded. From childhood and now as you both walk wherever.

This was the first time it began to collapse.

He felt the air get knocked out of his lungs, watching as the scene unfolded right before his eyes; the gleeful smile on your face, the mirroring adoration in both your gazes, and finally a chaste but unconcealable kiss. The obvious buzz of love and its first stages oozing out of the two of you and Sicheng could do nothing but watch it all happen.

Friday. He never thought he would hate a day like it. The day before the relaxation of the weekends. The day you used to come to his house for a movie marathon. The day you went back to him with the happiest smile he's ever seen on you. The day he finally lost everything.

Wong Yukhei. He clicked his tongue at the name. Jealousy growing in the deepest depths of his gut, eyes green and angry. Seeing his stupid smile and the noticeable look of triumph on his features. The boy holding you close. Then he looked at you; hair a mess because of the wind with eyes as bright as the sun.

DONG SICHENG NEVER STOPPED LOVING YOU.

It was impossible. A scientific improbability. Not when you still come over during the weekends. Not when you still give him that smile. Not when you hold him so close that for a moment he fools himself to thinking it was all real. Not even when he raised his glass.

He glared at the small box on his hands. Tears brimming his eyes. He felt like he just crashed his bike all over again. Only this time, you weren't there to walk him home.

"A toast," he started, the low baritone of his voice grabbing everyone's attention, "to the newly wed couple, Y/n & Lucas."

It felt painful. Perhaps, the strongest pain he's ever felt. Years ago, he never saw this coming. He was fine. He was fine with all the other men that came into your life. Mostly because he knew no one could've compared to him and the bond you shared. He knew all your favorite movies, all your pet peeves, and everything that made you scared. Yet, he wasn't the one standing by your side right now. He wasn't the groom, the man you were going to spend your life with. He wasn't that.

"It's a miracle how you've managed to put up with her." It was a joke. "Lord knows I barely could." And another one. "Still, she's a very great person." That was real. "And I'm glad she's found someone to spend the rest of her days with." He was not. "We've spent the majority of our lives together as best friends. The day you helped me with my bike was the best day of my life. Lucas, you better take care of her or else." He warned jokingly, glaring playfully at the boy as he chuckled in reply and nodded his head. Sicheng could barely hold it in. "To the Wongs!"

And that was the end. A series of cheers and holler followed right after. You smiled at him and he could do nothing but return it. He watched you turn to Lucas and beam brighter. He sighed.

He wandered out, past the crowd of overjoyed relatives and friends. He pushed the balcony doors open, letting it fall to a close. The first drops of his sorrows slipping down carelessly and he did nothing to wipe them off. The wine in his glass reflected his pitiful expression and all he could do was stare before putting it down hastily. He didn't like the sight. It was over. It was all over. Isn't it?

He felt a strong pang in his chest and he found it hard to breath. He looked over disdainfully at the floor, fist clenched to his sides.

Why can't I move on?

[not-close-to-straight]

Soooo first things first just for the record I got my paper done and it's looking promising for the final draft so big fucking hell yeah BUT additionally finals coming up triggered the need for Comfort reading in my brain again, which means Finally getting caught up on Everything that I hadn't gotten around to reading before SO. These last couple chapters of LAL just. UGH. I love this verse SO much. I don't know what about western aus always have me hesitant to start them, but every time I read the newest LAL chapter I'm literally So glad that I actually decided to pick it up as you're writing it instead of waiting for it to be finished because its SO GOOD. The fire had me Very worried it's been so much going from 'hey bucky's thinking about kids omg thats so cute' and then 'UM??? there's a flood and they're dying maybe??? (probably not but OUCH?)' and then 'well they're hurt but they'll make it it's okay. it's fine it's great' and then 'HEY pierce is a piece of Shit and I Hate Him ew gross bad' and THEN 'oh my god????? everything's burning??? holy shit???' BUT THEN 'oh. ohohohoho. OH. Pierce is- oh. shit. damn. okay. well. that's one way to take out the trash' and anyway it's been a goddamn rollercoaster But I am strapped the hell in and ready to go where ever you damn well take me. Lone Pine burning broke my little heart, But I'm also so excited to see them build the new cabin together!! It made me think of Time Falls Away and that cabin and UGH I just love all of them building the cabin together and its Theirs because its like yes the old cabin was theirs and it was wonderful and it was home, but this new cabin won't have endured any of the old Yuck that the old one did. Like this one is just the good things and all the love and Hhh I have a lot of feelings about it okay. Also (guilty confession) during the whole fire chapter the thought that just kept circling through my head was like 'this sucks, fire is bad, and this is going to be absolutely devastating, but any plant life that comes back after this is going to be such a gorgeous green' because like. that's the thing I remember from my dad telling me stories about when a fire took out a few fields when he was a kid, was like. the grass was green as Shit the next year because fire definitely destroys shit, but it also clears out all the old rot and like. I just think that's such a cool thing, you know. (the longer I make this ask the more I'm chuckling to myself because I'm starting to seriously wonder if desktop asks have a limit because it sure looks like they don't really) Sam and Clint have absolutely my Entire heart Sam is So good and I love him So much he's just trying to do his damn best even if that means trying to save The most scumbaggiest person I've ever seen and just UGH those two ALSO i'm So excited for all of everybody to come see Tony and to probably more than likely threaten steve and bucky within an inch of their lives even though that is obviously Absolutely unnecessary because those boys are the Most head over heels in love and OUGH I know we're coming a lot closer to the end, and I don't think I'll ever be quite ready to let this verse go, but I'm More than ready to see what else you've got up your sleeve. :)

Whoohoo! Good job on the paper!

I definitely have a soft spot in my heart for Tony and having the little cabin of his dreams.

I wrote Time Falls Away (Book One) either right before or right after IW came out, and then I finished the trilogy with Time Stands Still before End Game happened and when I tell you I SCREAMED sitting in the theater watching Tony come out of his cabin?? by the water?? It was like someone had reached out and took the idea right from my story and put it in the movie it was so surreal and so wonderful.

And youre right, after the fire comes the regrowth and that first new grass/new leaves after a fire are somehow just so VIBRANT. My little town is very high fire risk, in fact earlier summer 2021 we were on pre-evac orders because the fire was twenty miles down the highway and if it jumped the road and came East then I would have to evacuate out to Phoenix, and I've been through a couple different fires in the ten years I've been up here and no matter the devastation... that next spring or even the following spring if it takes a little more time, everything comes back SO BEAUTIFUL its absolutely incredible.

Definitely a metaphor for our boys in this story, and with Tony being a literal Phoenix metaphor in canon, the idea of rebuilding from the ashes/ surviving the fire and being better than ever on the other side is so important for his character arc!

[marvelslut16]

Can’t live without you

Pairing: Stanley Uris x reader (adults)

Synopsis: (Y/N) finds out that her best friend didn’t arrive back in Derry with the rest of the losers club, and finds out that he tried to kill himself. Glimpses of her past with Stan are seen as she visits him in the hospital. Will the best friends that have been pining over each other since they were kids finally get their happy ending, or will Patricia and the very different lives the lead get in the way?

Word count: 5,314 this is a lot more than I originally planned, guess I got carried away.

Warnings: Attempted suicide. Talk of self harm. Blood/gore/violence, typical for the IT fandom. Brief implication of domestic violence from a father and a wife. A little angsty at times, but fluffy. Swearing. Tooth rotting fluff near the end.

A/N: Stan may be OOC, but I tried my hardest for my first IT story. Stan the man Uris is fantastic and deserved so much better. AU where the characters I love don’t die. The reader in this story isn’t Jewish, if you are Jewish, I apologize. There is a cute little story-line that relies heavily on the reader not having the same faith as him.

It had been just over twenty years since you were last in your home town of Derry Maine, and you hadn’t thought if it once. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to remember, you just couldn't. There were days when the name Stan would randomly pop in your head, and from a place buried very deep in the back of your brain, you were sure he was an important person in your adolescent life. 

When Mike Hanlon called to tell you that Pennywise was back, your heart started pounding so hard you were convinced it would leap from its place inside your chest. You didn’t exactly remember Pennywise, but you remembered the fear. You also remembered a mop of curly light brown hair that you immediately associated with Stan. 

Upon arriving at the Chinese restaurant in Derry flashes of your childhood came back, they were so unfamiliar it was like watching somebody else's life. Stan was the center of almost all of them, your old best friend and boy you had been in love with since you were six. It was great catching up with your old friends, but it didn’t feel right without Stan. 

The other six members of the losers club opened their fortune cookies, spelling out; ‘I,’ ‘cut,’  ‘not,’ ‘it,’ ‘guess,’ and ‘could.’ Your heart falls into the pit of your stomach as you open your own and see the thick black letters spelling out Stanley. 

“No,” you gasp out a plea to no one in particular. You lean forward and numbly move the papers around to say, ‘I guess Stanley could not cut it.’ The rest of the losers club had remembered enough over dinner to remember just how much Stan meant to you, causing them to stare at you as you try to blink back tears. 

The group running from creatures breaking out of fortune cookies happens in a blur, your head isn’t clear until the cool night air hits it. Mike gives you Stan’s number as soon as he comes to his senses. You walk away from the group, wanting privacy for whatever you get on the other end of the call. 

“Who is this?” a female voice answers the phone. Your furrow your eyebrows in fear and glance over at Mike who is watching you closely. 

“Uh, (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” you state nervously, picking at your already chipped nail polish. “I’m sorry, I thought this was Stan Uris’s number.”

“It is,” the voice says slowly. “How do you know him?”

“We grew up together, we were best friends,” you smile as you remember gripping onto his hand as the wind whipped around you two the first time you jumped into the quarry. “Our friend group was having a mini reunion back home, and we got worried that he didn’t show up.”

“He’s in the hospital,” she says with no real emotion in her voice. 

“What?” you ask in disbelief. Not your Stan. 

“He’s in the hospital,” she snaps. “Do I need to say it slower for you? He slit his wrists and lost a lot of blood.”

“Oh my God,” you murmur, knees going weak at the thought. “Which hospital? I’d like to visit him before I go back home.”

She tells you the name of the hospital and hangs up before you can say anything else. Your knees buckle as soon as the line clicks dead, causing you to fall and scrape up your knees on the dirty pavement. Tears stream down your face and silent sobs shake your body. Ben and Bev immediately rush to your side, Bev kneeling beside you as she rubs soothing circles into your back. 

“(Y/N)?” she asks nervously. 

“He’s in the hospital,” you sob out weakly. “He tried to kill himself.” Bev helps you stand and sets you in Richie’s car so you can head to the hotel.

The rest of your time in Derry is a blur, it’s over so quick, but feels painfully slow. You instantly knew that your token was the menorah necklace that you’ve worn everyday since you had gotten it in sixth grade. Stan had bought it for you for Christmas as a joke, his father had made a not-so-pleasant comment about you not being Jewish the week prior. You knew you loved him the moment you tore the ribbon off of the box; he knew you better than anyone else, he let his guard down when he was with you, and he was the kindest, sweetest boy you had ever met especially when he stood up to his father about your religion.

Before you know it you’re assaulted by the smell of bleach and shiny white floors as you walk into the hospital Stan is in. After finding out the room number from the receptionist you slowly head to his room, wondering if you should really be there. 

Through the small window of Stan’s hospital room you see a blonde woman sitting on a couch on the far side of the room, typing away on her laptop. When you enter the room she slams her laptop shut and walks over to you, making sure to stand between you and Stan’s bed. 

“I’m Patricia Uris,” she makes no move to stick her hand out for you to shake, but makes the diamond on her left hand noticeable. 

“I’m (Y/N),” you give her a small smile that drops as you look behind her, seeing Stan’s body lay there unmoving. “We briefly spoke on the phone the other night.”

“Right,” her eyes squint as she looks you up and down. “What happened to your face?” She’s referring to the healing cut that reaches from your hairline diagonally to your eyebrow, you should really look into getting side bangs or something. Pennywise was always great at mentally and physically scarring everyone. 

“I was taking a shortcut through the forest in Derry when I slipped and cut it on a sharp piece of bark,” you lie effortlessly. She rolls her eyes but seems to believe your terrible excuse. “Is Stan getting any better?”

“The doctors say he should wake up any day now,” she doesn’t sound as excited about that as a wife should. “They say he should be awake, he just doesn’t want to. It’s all psychological apparently. It’s just like Stan to not want to do anything, always wanting to bird watch instead of going shopping with me.”

“Stan always loved to bird watch,” you smile at Patricia, pushing away the anger you feel at her ignorance and disdain she seems to hold for her husband. “He used to always drag me to the park in Derry to show me the different types, I was the only one in the group to enjoy it with him.”

“Yeah, well, it gets old fast,” she rolls her eyes, turning around to pack her laptop in her bag and grab her purse. “I’m gonna go home and shower, sit with him as long as you want to.”

Her heels click loudly on the linoleum flooring as she walks past you without a second glance towards Stan. You frown at her back as she walks down the hall to the elevator. You pull up a chair next to Stan’s bed and lightly grab his limp hand, running your thumb over the back of his hand.”

“You can’t leave me alone in this shit world, not after I finally remember,” tears spill down your cheeks. “I need you Stan the man. I’ll even go bird watching with you. Richie said, and I quote, so you can’t get mad at me for saying this when you wake up and remember me saying this, that you need to wake your ass up Urine, there are still a shit ton of birds to go look at. It’s all over Stan, we killed IT. And we all made it out, so you definitely need to wake back up. I’ve lived twenty years without you Stanley, I can’t go twenty more without you. I can’t even go one more without you.

Richie and Eddie finally got together, it was really cute. Eddie thought he was dying, he got stabbed by IT, so he confessed his love to Richie. But Richie was determined to get him out of there alive, and he did. So now they’re finally together, even though he married a woman that’s essentially his mother. Ben and Bev finally got together, we used to always say that they were made for each other. Ben is super fit now, but he’s still the biggest sweetheart I have ever met. And Bev is still so strong willed and fierce. 

Bill is a horror writer now, which to me is pretty ironic. They’re making his stories into movies, where they always change the ending because they want something happy. He married some actress, who he’s divorcing as we speak. She isn’t great, insulting his work and not really caring that she’s hurting his feelings. Mike has been living in Derry this entire time, he took over his family's business. He was waiting these past twenty-seven years for IT to come back. Trying his hardest to protect the next generation from the horror that we faced. 

I guess that just leaves me, I moved to Colorado, far far away from Derry. I worked my ass off to become a lawyer, the dream you always pushed me to go after. Even when I couldn’t remember you, your encouragement was in the back of my head, keeping me going when it got difficult. There were days that I would get foggy images of us getting ice cream, or splashing each other in the quarry, all of those times when you would let your guard down and have fun with me. Even after the losers club drifted apart as we went into high school, you stayed at my side. You defended me to your father when he hated that we were so close, even though I wasn’t Jewish. We were always there to pick each other up when Bowers or Greta and their friends would tease or beat us up. Stanley Uris, please wake up. I need you, we all miss you, and I definitely miss you the most.”

--

After spending hours with him, you head to the nearest hotel for the night. The next morning you stop by the hospital with the intent to say goodbye to Stan before heading home. When you walk up to the room Patricia and the doctor are talking. 

“There was more brain activity yesterday,” the doctor’s voice drifts out through the open door and into the hall where you’re standing. “Whatever you did, do it again, because it was the first time we saw evidence that he could wake up.”

“Great,” she has a fake grin on her face, and she’s using a fake tone. Why doesn’t she want Stan, the most amazing man you have ever met and her husband, to wake up? “What are you doing here again?” she snaps as she notices you in the doorway. 

“I have to head back home, so I wanted to say goodbye to him,” you nervously fiddle with the hem of your sweater. 

“Didn’t you have enough time with him yesterday?” she glares at you. Why is she so defensive about you seeing Stan again?

“You were here yesterday?” the doctor's eyes widen as he looks at you for the first time. 

“Yeah,” you answer shyly, flattening the side bangs you cut last night. Making sure they cover your stitched up forehead. His eyes light up in excitement and goes to talk to you once more, Patricia cuts him off. 

“Well, as Stanley’s wife, I’m not sure I feel comfortable having you spend more time with him,” as she goes to continue with a string of complaints, a hushed and broken sound comes from the hospital bed. 

“Oh my God,” you whisper, your hand covering your mouth. Your knees go weak, almost collapsing with relief as Stan repeats the sounds he had just made. 

“I’m right here Stan,” Patricia forces her excitement once more, limply grabbing his hand. 

“(Y/N),” his voice is clear this time, and your heart flutters as your old best friend says your name again. You rush over to his other side, gently grabbing his hand since that's where his IV is.

“Stan?” your voice breaks as you try to keep a relieved sob from escaping. Stan slowly and carefully flips his hand over, threading his fingers with yours. “It’s over. IT is gone, we got rid of IT this time.” His eyes open at your words, head turning to look you in the eyes. Tears finally escape the moment you can finally look into his deep brown eyes again. 

“Did you call me urine?” his voice is rough and scratchy from not being able to use it for a week. More tears spill down your face as you laugh, because that was the first question he decides to ask you. 

“I said I was quoting Richie,” your whole body shakes as you laugh, far too relieved to care if Patricia thinks you’re being over the top. 

“I can remember,” his voice is softer, just like his eyes. “I remember everything. What ever happened to your necklace?” his other hand reaches across his body, but stops and hovers a few inches away from where the necklace once hung. You instinctively reach up to touch your chest where the pendent once fell. 

“We needed tokens of our past, the most important thing from our childhood, that was mine,” he grips your hand tighter, the other one falling to his lap and away from Patricia. “I wore it everyday these past twenty seven years.”

“What necklace?” Patricia’s strained voice brings you back to Earth. You carefully let go of Stan’s hand and pull it back to your side. You had forgotten about Patricia, forgot that you aren’t allowed to love him anymore. 

“I got her a menorah necklace,” Stan laughs at the memory, not noticing that you got awkward and pulled away. “She’s not Jewish, and my dad always hated that we were so close and she wasn’t. I used to joke that I would convert her one day, so I thought it would be funny to get her it for Christmas.” The doctor grins at you and Stan with a knowing look before backing out of the room quietly. 

“Cute,” Patricia rolls her eyes and glares at you. You frown in response, wondering what on Earth you ever did to her. Ignoring Patricia, you hand Stan the unopened water bottle from your bag, sure that he’d need some water. He smiles gratefully at you before taking a large sip.

“What are you even doing here?” his stern gaze landing on Patricia. You furrow your brows, the Stan you knew would never treat his wife this way. 

“I’m your wife!” her voice is shrill, hurting your ears and making you cringe. Stan on the other hand doesn’t seem amused with the outburst. 

“We aren’t married anymore Patricia,” Stan’s voice is harder than you have ever heard before. “I divorced you three years ago, the only reason you're here is because I haven’t changed my emergency contact.” 

You run your hands through your hair as you process the new information, Stan was available. You could love him without being guilty. You could finally tell him that you love him, that you always have. 

“Well have fun with your deformed klutz over there,” she gestures towards you with a mocking grin. You had pushed your bangs back a moment prior without realizing it, Stan’s gaze on you quickly goes from confused to anger as he pieces together what happened to you. 

“Leave Patricia,” the anger in his voice is kinda hot. “I never want to see you again.”

“Don’t come crawling back to me when you get bored with her,” and with that she leaves, slamming the door loudly behind her. 

“What happened?” Stan brings his hand up and gently glides his fingers over the stitches Eddie put in. 

“You aren’t married?” your heart is beating so fast you swear it would break out of your chest and fly away. 

 “No, I divorced her a while ago, I realized she was treating me terribly,” you start crying at his words. “Why are you crying?”

“I thought you were dead, and then I thought you were married and slowly dying,” you sob. “But now you’re suddenly single and very much alive. It’s a lot to process. 

He lifts his hand back up to your face, wiping away your tears even if they’re being replaced as soon as he moves his thumb away from your skin. His hands are a little rough, but soft enough to know that he works behind a desk. His hand starts to caress your cheek, you have to fight the heat from rising to your cheeks and push away the excitement you feel from the tender touch. You’re just an old friend he hasn’t seen in twenty years, nothing more. 

“What happened to your forehead?” his voice is soft again, and his fingers brush along the angry red cut once more.  

“I was facing my fear,” images of a young Stan abandoning you in order to save himself, saying that you mean nothing to him, after you had fallen and your abusive father was closing in on you, race through your mind. “And Pennywise, as my father, cornered me after a young you pushed me down and ran away. As my father was hovering over me with a knife, he morphed into IT and he used his long sharp nail to cut my face, and try to gouge my eye out. I got lucky because there happened to be a large rock next to me, which I hit IT with so I could run away.”

“I would never leave you,” Stan says sadly, a hurt look in his eyes as he stares at you but can’t look into your eyes. “I’m sorry you had to see him again, even if he was just IT’s illusion.”

“It’s fine,” you reach up to play with your necklace, forgetting it’s not there anymore. Playing with the necklace had become a coping mechanism for your anxiety. The nervous tick had developed almost immediately after you received the present. “Really, everything is in the past now. I’m fine.”

Stan gives you a disbelieving look, you look around the room to avoid his gaze. Your eyes lock onto the clock, causing them to widen as you take in the time. How had that much time passed already? It felt like you had entered the room five minutes ago, it certainly didn’t feel like two hours had come and gone. 

“What is it?” Stan grabs your hand, keeping you from standing from the uncomfortable hospital chair. 

“I have a plane to catch, in an hour,” you pull your hand from his grasp, standing and backing away from the bed as well. “I need to go now if I have any chance of making it through TSA and to my plane in time.”

“Don’t go,” his voice is soft, broken even. “I lost you once, I can’t lose you again.”

“You’ll be fine Stan,” you flash him a watery smile. “You have healing to do, and then you can go bird watch all you want. We’ll remember each other this time, we can keep in touch.” You walk over to the side of his bed, pushing the curls off his forehead so you can give him a soft kiss. A tear slips down your cheek and lands on his curls as the fall back into place. “Goodbye Stan.”

--

It had been weeks since you had left Atlanta, and you’ve thought of Stan every hour of every day since. It’s like your mind is punishing you with thoughts of him since you had forgotten him for so long. You and Stan texted a couple times, you still had his number from when Mike gave it to you. And just like Mike gave you Stan’s number, he gave Stan your address. Because two and a half weeks after you arrived home, a small package from Stan arrived in the mail. 

You stare at the package in shock for a few minutes, before finally opening it. You gasp as you see a menorah necklace inside, almost identical to the one you had gotten so many years ago. Your heart thumps against your rib cage at the thoughtful, heartfelt gesture. 

You immediately send Stan a text, thanking him for the necklace, while lightly chastising him for spending money on you, and asking him to give you a call as soon as he could. It has been almost twenty four hours since your text, and you've gotten no reply. You start to fear the worst, that this could have been his last act before trying, and succeeding, to kill himself. As you contemplate finding a way to get a wellness check on him, there's a knock on your apartment door. Probably just the guy from down the hall that doesn’t understand that rejection isn’t playing hard to get. 

When you open the door Stan is standing in front of you; his dark brown curls are styled instead of the chaotic mess they were at the hospital, his face clean shaven, his striped button up and pressed khakis are reminiscent of the outfits he would wear as a child. This is how you always imagined Stanley Uris would look like as an adult, well without the small almost unnoticeable scars on the side of his head. 

“Come in,” you finally snap out of your trance and step to the side, leaving more than enough room for him to walk into your modest two bedroom apartment. He takes in the living room and kitchen, but his eyes light up when they land at the necklace hanging delicately from your throat. “Wh-what are you doing here?” you glance down at the small carry on he’s holding.

“I thought I should tell you why I did it,” his voice is strained. “And I didn’t want to do it over the phone, since I know you were getting ready to make some smart ass remark about telephones.” Stan really was your best friend, because he’s spot on with his prediction about what you were just about to say. “I don’t know if it’s because I saw the deadlights for so long or something, but as we kept getting closer to twenty seven years I started to remember. It started with you and the rest of the losers a few years ago, but as soon as Mike told me IT was back I remembered all the pain we went through. I knew that we all needed to go back to Derry, but I knew I couldn’t do it. I knew that if I went my fear would be putting you in danger. I thought suicide would be the only way to keep you safe and where I didn’t have to face IT again.”

“Bev saw visions of everyone's death, how we would all die if we ignored IT. She saw you in your bathtub, and ironically she saw me bashing my own head in with a law textbook,” you laugh awkwardly, changing the subject from his reasoning and proof that he isn’t alone in this. “IT found a way to get to us, no matter how strong we are or how far away from Derry we were. Do I think you and Bev had it worse because you two saw the deadlights? Yeah, I do. I’m sure you got memories back as IT was waking up, you saw the deadlights the longest. You never should have made it out of those sewers alive that summer, but I’m glad you did. That probably made you more susceptible to that rush of fear you got again. And I just want you to know that you aren’t alone Stan.”

“I’ve missed you,” his voice frail as he pulls nervously at the bottom of his button up. 

“It’s been two weeks Stan,” you try to ignore the warm fuzzy feeling growing in your stomach. “You couldn’t have missed me that much. Plus, you could have called to talk.” Stan takes a deep shaky breath, and you frown in concern at his actions.  

“I’ve loved you my entire life (Y/N), it’s been two and a half weeks and I can’t stand to be away from you,” Stan says earnestly, his words warm your broken soul. “Not for two weeks and three days, I don’t think I can even go a day without you near. I love you (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“I love you too, Stanley Uris,” a grin spreads across your face, the joy mirrored in your eyes. “I knew I loved you the moment I got my first menorah necklace from you. It showed me just how special I was to you, you stood up to your father for me and you got me something that would forever remind the two of us of that moment.” 

Stan doesn’t say anything, he just leans forward and captures your lips with his. The kiss is electric, you swear there are fireworks, just like those cheesy movies. With your left hand you caress the scars on his head from all those years ago, and your right tangles into his styled curls. Stan’s hands grip your hips tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll float away if he lets go. When you pull apart your lips are tingling, both you and Stan panting heavily. 

“Can I stay here tonight?” Stan breaks the mood smiling shyly, causing you to laugh. “I kinda just threw stuff in a bag and got on the first flight out of Georgia, didn’t really plan ahead.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with my Stanley?” you laugh lightly, his ears turning red at your teasing. “He would never leave the house without having a well thought out plan first.”

“What can I say?” his smile grows, and so does yours as you watch the dimple on his right cheek deepen. “Your spontaneity and want for adventure always rubbed off on me.”

“You can stay for as long as you want,” you lean in, gripping his shirt and pulling him into you. This kiss isn’t soft this time, it’s rough and needy. Twenty seven plus years of wanting this and it’s finally yours. The kiss is all teeth and tongue, you sure as hell weren’t going to complain about the amount of passion in it. The kiss was finally a way in which the two of you could express every deep and long buried feeling. 

--

It was four months to the day since Stan showed up at your doorstep, and the two of you had only been apart for a week the entire time. You couldn’t get away from work again so soon and Stan had to go back to Georgia to pack up his belongings. The apartment that you had resided in soon turned into a home, all thanks to Stan. You two invited the rest of the losers over to visit, figuring that you had settled into your new relationship so easily you didn’t want to hide it from your friends. This time there would be no IT, no life threatening tasks to complete, and it’s the first time in twenty seven years that you would all be together. What you don’t know is that Stan is planning a big surprise, with the help of the most important people in your lives. 

You run out to grab salsa from the store you swear you picked some in preparation for today earlier in the week, but Stan said there was none in the fridge. You drive as fast as you can, the losers club should be over within an hour, and you didn’t want them to beat you home. 

The apartment is strangely quiet as you swing the door open; Stan isn’t muttering to himself as he goes over a client’s finances, and he isn’t sitting at the table working on a puzzle. Where is your Stanley?

Before you can get too worried, your brain immediately racing to the possibility that he is in your bathtub, that seeing everyone after all this time was too much for him, Eddie appears from the kitchen. You go to guilty greet him, feeling bad for being a bad hostess and not being there when he and Richie arrived, bet the hypochondriac cuts you off. 

“Your smile that can light up a room,” he grins cheekily at you, like he knows something you don’t. 

“Your smokin’ bod,” Richie joins the two of you, his laugh ending when Eddie smacks his gut. “Fine, fine, your eyes that sparkle when you’re truly happy.”

“How incredibly smart you are, especially when you find holes in the other lawyers arguments,” Bev winks at you, you look around desperately for Stan. Where is he? And what's going on?

“Your perseverance, you always make the hard days look easy,” Ben walks out and wraps his arm around Bev’s shoulders.

“How caring and understanding you are,” Bill stands beside Richie, the grocery bag with the salsa in it, on the floor and long forgotten.

“And that your voice can calm me with just one word,” you furrow your brows at Mike. 

“Those are all things I love about you,” Stan’s gentle voice comes from behind you. You whip around to see his grinning face, no trace of fear or sadness from his past anywhere to be seen, only excitement for the promising future. “I could write a whole book of things that I love about you, but that still wouldn’t cover it all.”

“Stan?” your heart leaps at the glint in his eyes and the softness of his voice, things you want to experience for the rest of your life. 

“I love you (Y/N) (Y/L/N), with my entire being. I always have. When we were kids I knew I would marry you one day, I knew, even then, that there was no way I could live without you. So (Y/N)-” Stan pulls out a little black box from his pocket as he gets on one knee. 

“Yes!” you exclaim a little too loudly as soon as he flips the lid open. The diamond is sparkling up at you, your eyes fill with tears. 

“I didn’t even get to finish,” Stan pouts, humor and happiness twinkling in his eyes.

“I don’t care,” he laughs, sliding the one carat ring on your finger. It’s a perfect fit, meaning good luck through some old superstition. “Just kiss me.”

Stan shoots up from the ground, grabbing your cheek in one hand and caressing it softly, the other slipping into your hair. You pull greedily at the front of his freshly ironed button up as he deepens the kiss. A moan escapes one of you, and from the sounds of how deep it is, you’re sure it was Stan.  

“Get a room,” Richie wolf whistles, you and Stan pull away embarrassed. 

“I can't wait until I can finally call you Mrs. Uris,” he breathes, ignoring Richie, as he rests his forehead on yours. 

“Neither can I,” you close the distance and kiss him again, not caring about the audience, or the quiet sound of disgust from Eddie. Just because he makes out with Richie often, it doesn’t stop the thought of thousands of germs being passed back and forth when he sees someone else kiss.  

You finally get your happy ending with Stan, after all of those shitty years without him, you two will never be apart again. And there is no better way to start the rest of forever together than with the help of the losers, your chosen family.

Permanent tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen​ @rexorangecouny​

[gracereadstoomanybooks]

answering questions I’ve been asked on TikTok✨

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QUESTION: how did you get into reading?

So, when I was in middle school (many moons ago) we had this thing called AR Testing. Basically, you read a book and take a test on it—the questions were things that happened in the book, it was really simple. If you got a good grade, you got points. The more points you earned, the more eligible you were for the reading party at the end of each semester. Me, being the nerd I am, got top of my class because I went through 8th grade level books like it was nothing. The librarian at my school brought me books from the high school to read since everything was easy for me, and alas, my addiction began. And now that I have adult money, it’s a true addiction. Also, telling my father “I’m bored” and his response being, “go read a book or something” so thanks dad.

QUESTION: what’s one book you ALWAYS recommend to people?

This one is tough because I’ve read THOUSANDS of books, but if I had to choose one, it would probably be Confess by Colleen Hoover. I fell in love with her work in high school when I first read Ugly Love, but Confess is the type of book that pulls at your heart strings, y’all. It has everything people love: humor, sexual tension, drama, love. GO BUY THE DAMN BOOK. Or honestly any book by Colleen Hoover—she’s a fucking amazing author.

QUESTION: outside of making TikToks, what do you do for a living?

I currently work at a restaurant and hate every second of it. If anyone tells you to become a server, DONT. It’s not worth the hassle, I promise you. Sure, you can make decent money but the amount of rude customers and shitty tips you receive each shift is very disheartening. If you really need a job, do anything BUT work in the food industry.

QUESTION: what’s your wattpad story about?

First question: which one? I have about 30 drafts sitting there waiting to be posted. But, I’m going to assume you’re talking about the Harry Styles fan fiction I’ve been working on for the past 4 years and haven’t had the courage to post. I’ll tell you a little about it: Elaine Aldridge is forced into a betrothal to a man she’s never met & loathes. She goes to his court and realizes things aren’t what they truly seem. And the guard her future husband sticks on her??? None other than Mr. Harry Styles. Add in some magic & deaths and you’ve got my story— The First Prince. (Honestly, that’s an extremely shitty description so if you wanna check it out go to my wattpad account)

QUESTION: how old are you?

Ahem. . . twenty-one.

QUESTION: what is your dream career?

Being a published author and having people rave about my books. That’s all. Or, an editor for a publishing company. Imagine reading all day and being paid for it🤩

QUESTION: what was your least favorite read of 2020?

I already KNOW I’m gonna get shit for this but....... the wicked king. YALL I LITERALLY COULDNT GET THROUGH IT IM SO SORRY, I STILL HAVENT FINISHED IT

QUESTION: current favorite author?

Sarah. J. Maas. I don’t know what it is about her writing style, but it’s addicting. Throne of Glass is hands down the best series I’ve ever read. A Court of Thorns and Roses is the first book I’ve EVER reread. Her stories truly suck you in and hold onto you—you get lost so easily in her writing and it’s like once you’re done with a series, nothing will compare. Or, at least that’s how I felt after finishing Kingdom of Ash. Honorable mentions: Jennifer L. Armentrout, Penelope Douglas, L.J Shen, Elle Kennedy and Kennedy Fox.

QUESTION: any recommendations/tips to give to a new reader?

I’ve always given this advice to people who want to get into reading: find what you like and start with that. If you like romance, I’ve got a list for you to choose from. Mystery? Another list. Sci-fi? I GOT YOU. Fantasy? Yes! Sports fiction? It might take me a second but I’ll find you a book. Nonfiction? I’m zero help in that category, honestly. The point of the matter is that you’re never going to enjoy a book if you aren’t interested in the underlying topics.

QUESTION: do you ever find yourself comparing your life to fictional life?

Yes. All the time. I daydream about being apart of the Inner Circle and living in Terrasen with Aelin and Rowan. I think about what it would be like to have real powers and a mate. It drives my boyfriend crazy—but he loves me anyway.

QUESTION: what are your most anticipated books of 2021?

Here’s a list:

A Court of Silver Flames by Sarah J. Maas

The Crown of Gilded Bones by Jennifer L. Armentrout

Gods and Monsters by Shelby Mahurin

Crescent City 2 (Untitled) by Sarah J. Maas

A Vow So Bold and Deadly by Brigid Kemmerer (I just ordered this one & it arrives tomorrow)

Blessed Monsters by Emily A. Duncan

QUESTION: why did you start a Tumblr?

Honestly, I used to love tumblr when I was in grade school (way too young to be on here then but what else is new). I like having an extra space to get my questions and comments out without having to compress it into a 60 second video for TikTok to see. Tumblr is a good place to blog & post things like this.

QUESTION: what’s your favorite song right now?

I’ve listened to Carry You by Novo Amor every day for the past two months and I cry each time.

QUESTION: why write Harry Styles fan fiction?

Simple: I love Harry Styles. I’ve been a fan of him and One Direction since they were on X FACTOR. Read that again. X. Factor. I used to watch their performances on YouTube before WMYB even came out. Of course, I love all of the 1D boys but I was always a Harry gal. And I look up to him in a way—I’ve read things about people wishing they knew him personally and honestly? I would never want to meet him. I like the version of him I’ve cooked up in my brain over the past 10 years. I like the symbiotic relationship I have with his music. Fine Line is a ✨masterpiece✨. HS1 is a ✨work of art✨.

now, some topics I’ve been asked way too many times and want to finally get to:

QUESTION: political views?

the saying “anyone but trump” has been in my brain for the past four years. No, I’m not a republican. No, I’m not a democrat. I like to think of myself as a progressive (ahem, liberal) Did I vote for a democratic candidate? Yes, and I’d do it again and again until the US isn’t one of the worst countries—I’m sorry, businesses— to be apart of. I wanted Bernie but got Biden, and I’m alright with that. And my girl Kamala🥳

QUESTION: how did you feel about the BLM protests?

I went to multiple BLM protests and donated a lot of funds to BLM & other organizations. It’s 2021, people... stop being fucking RACIST. And don’t be afraid to call racist people out! Black Lives Matter, even if no one is posting about it anymore.

QUESTION: thoughts on abortion?

your body your choice, queen! not my uterus, not my problem.

QUESTION: there was a comment on an old video of yours talking about r*pe, why did you delete the comment?

I made a video when I first started my account on TikTok about reading in public and feeling “turned on” by it. Go watch it if you don’t know what I’m talking about. BUT, some ignorant male decided to comment and say “this is how girls get r*ped”. Whew. So. I deleted the comment because ....

I am a victim of sexual assault. Along with a lot of other women. 1 in 5 women have been victims of sexual assault. Talking about being r*ped isn’t funny.

No one else needed to see his comment. I reported it immediately and his account was shut down.

I never got justice for what happened to me, and the fact that some random male—who had never even met me or seen me before my video showed up on his FYP—had the nerve to comment that? Unacceptable.

this question isn’t as controversial but

QUESTION: what’s the best way to get out of a toxic relationship?

okay, let me just start off by saying that the people around you who love and support you are going to be your backbone. Leaving a toxic situation is hard, and every situation is different, but my best piece of advice to offer you is don’t be afraid to ask for help. Your loved ones are going to be there for you when you need them, even if you don’t believe they will. If you explain what’s happening, someone you know and love will drop whatever it is their doing to make sure you get out safely. good luck my babes.

now, back to our regularly scheduled program:

QUESTION: any tips on making tiktoks?

Literally none. I post what I think is funny and relatable and if anyone agrees, I’m satisfied. Even if it’s one view, it’s good enough for me. So I guess my one tip is to not base your life off of an app and followers.

QUESTION: favorite Harry Styles fanfic?

DONT MAKE ME CHOOSE. Duplicity is up there, along with Stall 1&2, and Kiwi. After? Absolutely not.

QUESTION: favorite WEBTOON?

y’all already KNOW. LORE OLYMPUS BY USEDBANDAID. Rachel is a genius and I have reread the series a million times. Hades is my soulmate and Apollo can rot in the fiery pits of the Underworld. also, if we’re talking about other webcomics, reading Walk on Water on mangadex...🤫

QUESTION: favorite movie?

Howls Moving Castle. I will be getting my “a heart is a heavy burden” tattoo very very soon.

QUESTION: I read your Elain theory on tumblr, can you explain a little more?

I thought I was pretty straightforward but I’ll say it again: she is always the “good” one and it’s too suspicious. SJM has already given one Archeron sister a happy ending, Nesta’s is obviously inevitable, but Elain? She has too many options for a happy ending. Lucien, who is her “mate”. Azriel, who is intrigued by her slightly. Her human guy—I don’t remember his name—who is disgusted that she’s not human anymore. Or, alone, planting flowers all day. BUT! My point is that she’s not truly happy. She was forced into the Cauldron just like Nesta. She was ripped away from the life she loved so dearly and didn’t want to give up. The man she was going to marry now hates her guts because she’s a High Fae. She has the perfect set up for a villain plot line and I’m all here for it.

well, that’s all I feel like doing tonight. hope you enjoyed my little q&a! be kind, and talk to you later! byeeee!

[lacheri]

Hello my love congratulations again on hitting 200! I’m so proud of you!! I knew you said you’d write something for me regardless butttt here are some things about me to help you with that ;)

INFP + Aries sun, Libra moon, Gemini rising, Aries Venus

My preferred pronouns are she/her!

You know I love simp! Eren 😈 I just want Eren to tell me he loves me lmfaoooo. You can make it as fluffy or as smutty as you desire. (Sorry this isn’t very detailed)

I think my biggest love languages are gifts as acts of service. I’d like to think I’d like to receive words of affirmation, physical touch, and acts of service in return.

Ahaha go off bae *bites lip*

kat, I'm finna pop OFF for you angel ty for helping me w this event <3 ily and I hope u like it (: (also thanks for giving me beach eren brain rot to this song, it's lowkey been on repeat since you sent me it) ((also honorable mention to malibu 1992 by coin bc this also fits the vibe entirely))

Ace of Cups: this card, like all aces, signifies the start of a new beginning. you are so full of love that you're quite literally spilling over, flowing creativity and intuition. the ace of cups represents the promise of new, fulfilling relationships. it's the butterflies in your tummy, the blush that creeps onto your cheeks, the thud of your heart - innocent and pure.

nothing - bruno major. "There's nothing like doing nothing with you."

The wind whipped around your hair, caressing the strands lovingly as the smells of sea salt and firewood filled your nose. Eren sat across from you, face illuminated by the flames of your campfire as the sun danced low in the sky, cascading deep purples and pastel pinks over the horizon of the ocean. The waves wicked and wild as they crashed against the shoreline, a dozen or so yards away from the two of you. The sand was warm from the fleeting sun underneath your bare feet, toes digging into the soft grains. You didn’t bother throwing shorts over your exposed swimming bottoms, Eren’s massive hoodie covering your form from the chills of the wind.

The brunette was seated on a fairly large log of driftwood, tuning his favorite guitar in between his fingers. Clad only in his swimming trunks and an unbuttoned red flannel, chest revealed to your eyes, his teal eyes focused in concentration, fingers plucking the strings of the instrument. His hair was tied in his signature bun, stray strands freely flowing around his face as the open plains of the sea sent roaring breezes hurtling towards the earth.

“Eren, isn’t the fire going to get too big?” you questioned, concerned as the cinders from the burning wood were shot into the air.

“Nah,” he muttered, not really paying attention as he finished up his tuning. “I’ll put it out if it does, got a bucket of water nearby.”

You smiled, tugging the sleeves of his sweatshirt down past your knuckles, “We’re actually gonna’ stay here all night?”

“That’s the plan, baby doll,” he flicked his eyes up, smirking upon catching your gaze. “I’ll set the tent up in an hour, or something.”

You hummed, crossing your legs as you relaxed in your beach chair. Eren positioned the neck of the guitar in his grip, strumming with his other hand to double check the sound. He looked so pretty like this, you thought, his neck exposed and his eyes deep set in concentration. You couldn’t lie to yourself that you definitely enjoyed the sight of his exposed torso, muscular and tan. There were many words to describe this man, and you could name every one of them.

“Track suits and red wine, movies for two,” Eren began to sing lowly, his fingers strumming in harmony. “We'll take off our phones, and we'll turn off our shoes. We'll play Nintendo, though I always lose, ‘cause you'll watch the TV while I'm watching you. There's not many people I'd honestly say I don't mind losing to, but there's nothing like doing nothing with you.”

He continued humming the words, the music soothing the deepest parts of your soul. You could hear the scratch of the strings under his fingers as his hand glided up and down the neck of the guitar, sending shivers down your spine. You couldn’t wipe the sweet smile off your face even if you tried, especially as you watched Eren’s expression soften, a genuine and pure grin on his lips.

The song finished a bit too soon for your liking, and you became almost annoyed that the two of you were separated by the warm fire in between your bodies. You uncrossed your legs, circling around to throw your arms around Eren’s neck, sitting down on his lap and snuggling your cheek into the crook of his neck.

“You’re a pretty good singer, Ren,” you mumbled, pecking the exposed skin.

“I bet you’re better,” he teased, placing the guitar down on the sand and wrapping his arms around your waist to steady you, resting his head against yours.

“You might be right,” you teased back, nipping lightly on the column of his neck.

“Hey!” he weakly protested, you could feel the vibrations shake you as he laughed loudly.

You pulled your head back to look him in the eyes, a lazy smile on his lips, “I’m glad you like the guitar I got you.”

“That guitar that probably costs an arm and a leg?” Eren scoffed. “I felt like the worst boyfriend in the entire world when you bought me that last week, for literally no reason. You buy me stuff all the time!”

“I like to spoil my princess,” you tapped his nose with your pointer finger.

“That’s supposed to be my line,” he pouted, placing his right palm on your cheek. “But yes, I do love it. Now, stop buying me expensive stuff, I’m running out of corny date ideas to make up for all of them.”

“This isn’t that corny,” you defended him, eye level now as your arms snaked around Eren’s neck. “I’m having a great time, thank you.”

“I’m playing guitar on a beach next to a fire,” he deadpanned. “You’re just waiting for me to start playing Wonderwall, aren’t you?”

“Today, is gonna’ be the day that they’re gonna’ throw it back to you!” you threw your head back, singing completely off tune purposefully.

“By now you should’ve somehow realized what you gotta’ do!” he matched your energy, terribly off pitch.

“I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do, about you now!” the two of you spoke-sang, Eren’s arms tightening around your waist as he pushed up on his legs, swinging you around. You squealed, laughing obnoxiously as Eren placed you down, thankfully far from the embers of the fire.

He let go of your body, bringing the heat of his palms to your cheeks as he lowered his face, placing his lips to yours. Eren’s lips were soft as you met his pace, slow open mouth rolls as your eyes closed gently, warm pangs in your chest.

He pulled away, hands maneuvering to rest on either side of your head, holding your hair back behind your ears as he spoke so honestly, so genuinely it wormed its way into your veins and your heart forever more, “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Eren,” you giggled, leaning your frame into his, tilting your head up as he lowered his face once again, kissing you.

You counted constellations that night when the sun left no trace of its existence. The moon shied away from the sky, every planet and star twinkling so brightly. You never did set up that tent, Eren had become too lazy with stoking the flames of the fire. You curled up in his arms, fluffy blankets comforting the two of you as fell asleep under the night sky.

LACHERI © 2021: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations. this is my only account.

[mariesdameron]

Marie Sackler & Clyde Logan (KillersmileClyde)  Part II

TW: Drinking, Vulgar language, Emotional distress

Word Count: 2,840

Backstory: 

Marie and Clyde have been friends for quite a while. This takes place in Marie Sackler Personal Au RP story line that has Marie, single and on her own. Marie and Clyde have been nursing feelings for a long time but something always interrupts any action from progressing.

Sidenote: Marie Sackler’s full maiden name is Anne ‘Marie’ Williams.

This is an ongoing roleplaying scene between @mariesackler​ & @killersmileclyde​​

You can read Part I here

 Clyde: 

You stopped. Even better... you came back. Maybe I hadn't entirely fucked this up beyond repair. I hear your words, "please...what.. ?" echo in my head and I'm still at a loss for words. You know me and I know you but somehow we had wandered down the path to ruin. 

Marie... I don't know what to say... I'm sorry isn't enough. I hate this. Hate what I've done... what I can't take back. 

My grief slowly turns back to anger. Anger at myself. Anger at you for making me feel this way. I wipe my face dry and put on the mask I wear every day; the mask that shows everything is fine, nothing wrong is going on behind the scenes. I was broken. You broke me.

As I rose to stand, my walls were built back up I dunno what else to say... I just... I turn and walk behind the bar, grabbin' a bottle of Maker's Mark and pour a heavy-handed serving over ice and take a long drink.

Marie: 

I take a deep breath; my heart is in pieces. I thought maybe we were getting somewhere for one second, but here we are at the beginning. I resist the urge to scream. I want to tear him apart until the Clyde that I know and love is bare for me to hold; I always get close but never close enough for him to wrap his arms around me and let me in. I can see it in the way his body tenses with each movement. I stand in silence, trying to process what to do next. Do I leave? Do I walk out this man that I have called a dear friend for years? Do I burn this fucking bar to the ground? I walk to the end of the bar, keeping myself in line with the exit. When I open my mouth, my voice shakes. 

Remember your cousin's wedding that I went with you to a few summers ago? I remember it perfectly. I can still smell the fresh wildflowers, all the vibrant colors of a country wedding.

I remember how everyone looked at us that day. You were so handsome in your suit. I drank too many glasses of wine. You poked and prodded at me all night, teasing me for being a lightweight. I thought for sure that was the night. So many people kept coming up to me, telling me how we were the best couple. And then you pulled me into that slow dance. 

I huff back tears at how vivid the memory plays out in my mind. You held me so close. I shake my head and look up at the ceiling. And then, you dropped me off with a kiss on the cheek. Day's later, you happily sent a text that you were off on a hiking trip with a new cute patron that had been hanging around the bar. I ball my hands into fists. I hate how pathetic I sound. I slam my hand down onto the bartop.

Fuck, Clyde...

Clyde:

My mind instantly flashes back to that night but I remember it much different than you do. I finish my drink before pouring more into my glass.

A'right... let's talk 'bout that night then. I work my mouth debating if I really want to open those wounds. 

I was so happy to bring ya round the family. Jimmy loves ya already 'n I knew they'd be no different. I kept tellin' myself, we're only friends, nothin' else, stop lookin' into things that ain't there. But... I couldn't keep my hands off o'ya. It just felt so natural.

Ya made me feel good in a situation where I would refuse to go on my own. You... YOU had that power over me. I take a large gulp of my drink. And that dance. That was the single best memory I had since I left for the Marines. 

There's a reason it's gone outta the jukebox now... have ya noticed? Prolly not but that's okay. Cause ya didn't notice how ya said his name on the way home. So that's why I kissed yer cheek instead of walkin' ya to the door like a gentleman. That's why I didn't push anything more.

That's why I sent ya the pic of me 'n some other chick cause I wanted you to feel what I felt. My hand swings between us with my words, emphasizing 'you' and 'I' while the alcohol sloshes over the sides of the glass.

Because while I was thinkin' of you, you were thinkin' about him. I down the rest of my drink to try and regain some composure.

Marie: 

I shake my head as I receive his version of that night. I can't breathe. I stumble back and tread the empty bar. How could he? How could he even bring him up? I suffocate on my tears and put my hand up to signal for him to keep his distance. 

Clyde...He broke my fucking heart, destroyed me. It took me so long... I choke. You think I wanted to go to a wedding? A fucking wedding? It hadn't been that long since everything blew up for me. And I went...for you. Because you are always a phone call or text away. How could I disappoint you?

I know how nervous you get at social functions and how badly your cousin wanted you to be there, how badly you wanted to be there. I barely could get out of bed most days... I WAS BROKEN! My words are shrill; I am suddenly the wounded animal that I was years ago.

I wasn't thinking of him that night... Everything became background noise when I saw you in that suit... I stammer over my thoughts; I need to breathe. My back slides down the wall, crouching I run my hands through my hair. 

Sometimes, when you are with someone for a long time, their name slips out, casually... You would know that if you ever let anyone get close enough..

The words tumble from my lips before I can stop them. I stand up and clear my throat. I don't want this to be target practice. I can't... My mouth trembles. 

You are too important to me for me to sit here and go-rounds with you like this... I've already had my heart destroyed once. The only reason I am standing here today is because of you, Clyde Logan. You. The light in you brought me out of the darkness that I was lost in...I almost gave up. I was drowning. You saved me.

Grabbing onto a nearby chair, I collapse into it; I put my head into my hands. Marie, you've done it again. You've fucked up. And like always, there is no one else to blame.

Clyde: 

I was left speechless watching you break in front of me. You said I saved you and I just shattered every piece you had fought so hard to rebuild. I wouldn't be the man to destroy you. I put myself aside, realizing how important you are to me, feeling like a fool for not realizing it sooner.

I… Marie… whispers fuck… I grab a second glass with ice and walk over to the table with my bottle of Maker's Mark, placing down the glass and filling it up for you before pulling out the chair across the table. 

Marie… we can't keep doin' this. I don't wanna keep doin' this. It's killin' me to see ya like this 'n knowin' it's my fault makes me sick. But I can't take it back and neither can you. What's done is done.

I pause for a few heavy breaths and you pull the glass to your lips, still resting your head in your left hand, refusing to look up from the table. 

Why Marie? I'm talking more to myself at this point but continue with my thoughts out loud.

Why did we let it get this bad? Let it fester and rot until it killed both of us. I shake my head and take a drink. I shoulda said somethin' sooner. Should have acted on what I felt instead of feelin' sorry for myself… instead of pushin' ya away.

I don't wanna hurt ya by talkin' 'bout him, really I don't. But ya need to know how I feel… felt… fuck I dunno… to explain myself. Ya seemed so happy with him, like he was made just for you, checked off all the boxes on what ya wanted and needed in a man… all the things I couldn't be.

I tried to be happy for ya, I really did, but it hurt. It was just another reminder of how I'll never be good enough. Then er'rythin' happened and I saw the change in ya, how you pulled away from everyone and everything, how dark your mind and heart became. 

As fucked up as it was, I thought I could be the one there for you, to help you through that tough time. I reached out but made sure not to overwhelm you. All I wanted was to hold you, wipe the tears from your eyes, show ya that there was still good in the world if you would just open up to it. I notice you shift in the chair but you still don't meet my gaze.

Then I asked ya to be my date to the wedding. I was scared ya wouldn't go or would bail last minute. Which woulda been fine, I'd rather sit with you on the couch eating and watching a movie than dress up in uncomfortable clothes and be outside in the summer heat sweating my ass off watching two other people in their happiness while I was miserable. But you said yes… and you were excited and that made me excited. I thought that it might be the night… to show you there was still good in the world. 

The night was perfect. I mean… perfect You had a smile that wouldn't leave your face, you looked so damn good in that dress. I couldn't keep my hands offa ya and you didn't seem to mind one bit. Then I got the balls to ask you to dance. Y'know I hate dancing but you like it, you tried to get me on the floor all night. Once I was there, with you in my arms, I never wanted to leave. 

The memory replays in my mind. ‘Amber Run - I Found’ played on the speakers, you pressed flat against me, your head resting on my chest with arms wrapped around my neck. I felt whole for the first time in a long time. We swayed back and forth, spinning in a slow circle and the lyrics burn into my brain.

"I found love where it wasn't supposed to be. Right in front of me. Talk some sense to me." My lips pressed against the crown of your head, wishing it was your lips instead.

The song ends and you look up at me and I thought this is it… then Jimmy drunkenly yells my name from the bar; telling me to show the bartender how to make a drink 'the right way.' and it was gone. I missed it. You just smiled back up at me and pulled me towards my brother.

I thought about walking you to your door, pushing your hair behind your ear, kissing you good night and every other cliche romantic thing you could imagine. But I missed that moment too. So now we are here. Both fuckin' broken and pissed off and hurt. I don't wanna stay like this. I'll tell ya anythin' ya wanna know. I'm done hidin'.

 Marie:

I lift my chin, my eyes trace over the familiar lines in his face, the crease between his brow. I didn't need to look to know where every single freckle on that sweet's man face was; they had long been seared in my heart years ago. How many times had I witnessed that man smile, heard that rumbling, baritone chuckle from his chest, and ached to kiss his lips that are forever drawn into a pout. I lifted my glass and took a generous gulp; the whiskey stings as it glides down my throat. It was a needed distraction to the pulsating in my chest, aching in my mind.

I wipe the back of my hand across my face and sniffle. I know what I have to do, what I need to say. I am scared. I am terrified, to tell him that he is the only one who ticked off all the boxes, that I had let myself get lost in someone else. I tried to make a man fill a spot in my heart that could only be satisfied by the man sitting across me. 

If I didn't ask now, I would walk out of this bar, and everything would change. He would never open up like this again; he would destroy himself, slam up those impenetrable walls, and retreat. I would lose him; the thought brought out a gasp from my lips. The idea of never being able to be held in Clyde Logan's safe arms was a blow to the gut.

I lock eyes with Clyde's and suck in my bottom lip and bite down. It's now or never. I gradually slide my hand across the table towards Clyde.

Are you in love with me? Because I can--t  My voice quivers. I try to hold back my sobs but fail. I cannot do this if you aren’t...

 Clyde:

The air was knocked from my chest and my heart stopped beating. Wh- what? I'm stammering over my words, my brain misfires as it tries to comprehend your question. How could you have any doubt that I am in love with you. Then I realize you are in denial as much as I am about what we feel, what's always been there just under the surface. 

I had never put a name to the flutter in my heart in seeing you walk in the bar, the way my stomach churned, and how I hung on every word you said. Made sure all your favorite songs were in the jukebox and got every book you said you were reading. Everyone else was just a distraction, something to keep me from dwelling on the fact that you never would be mine. To help me accept that friendship was enough even though I knew it would never be enough, I would never be satisfied with just that.

I bite my lip, pulling your hand into mine, both metal and flesh, as I move around to kneel in front of you.

Anne Marie Williams, without a doubt, I love you. I am in love with you and I am a fool for not telling you sooner. For not spending every fuckin' moment I could with you. I won't make that mistake again.

Marie: 

I've been waiting for these words from Clyde Logan for so long that it's too much when they hit my ears. I disintegrate. Sobbing, I slide down on to my knees in front of him. I run my hands into his chestnut waves and grip his face in my hands.

Listen to me, Clyde, you are amazing. Don't fight me on this. I firmly hold his head, desperate to keep his eyes on me.

You are smart. You are kind. You are not second to Jimmy. You are just as fucking handsome, shit! I think you are one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen, and you are just as whole and worthy of love as anybody. You are so fucking deserving of everything, and I.... I falter for a moment and furiously shake my head. I am broken; I am too damaged to be what you need...what you deserve.

KillerSmileClyde: 

My jaw pops with how hard I'm grinding my teeth. No, NO! I won't listen t'ya talk that way. If ya can sing my praises then I'll fill books with your graces. You are so fuckin' smart, witty, a damn sarcastic bitch in the best way to challenge me. Don't even get me started on how gorgeous I think ya are. I think your portrait belongs in museums 'n no words in any language would describe ya like ya deserve.

You have the biggest fuckin' heart o'anyone I've ever met. The emotion had taken over, every thought and wish poured out of my mouth I wish I could make ya see what I see.

We both are broken, so fuckin' what, everyone has baggage. I will gladly carry your bags if it meant I got to see ya smile. What can I do to prove it t'ya?

[johndaltcn]

WANTED IN THE STATE OF NEW YORK: TAYLOR DANVERS or A DAY IN THE LIFE OF MISSING HER.

Drowning. John could think of worse ways to die. A car accident where you hurl out of the windshield like a ragdoll, some form of cancer, being beaten to death, a gas leak, poison. The list was seemingly endless. John could have conjured new ideas with each breath, with each turn of his head, which each greeting. He’d be sitting opposite a middle-aged man with a greying beard and a beer belly who needed a new motor for his boat and, suddenly, dying of old age alone in your bedroom. Though, there was still drowning in the ocean. Perhaps he would have eventually given up the good fight when he was out there for too long. He’d wade into the eerie quiet of the sea. On days where the list feels useless, he imagines Taylor doing just that. A product of her surroundings, growing gills and a tail like they do in the movies. She’d be blue but shiny like a wet marble. Her arms would be spread and she’d be smiling up at the blue, blue sky and quietly go the way the world wanted. The way she wanted.

Waves. An interruption to a dream about a man stranded on an island. John stirs under his duvet, light from his window peeking through the heavy fabric of his curtains. The man eats a coconut with one hand and draws shapes in the sand with another. First, he draws a circle and then turns it into a smiley face. Next came a hard penis and then an ocean wave. A lonely, makeshift masterpiece.

As the sun comes up, the room becomes brighter, earning the sun to rise in his dreamscape. It looms just along the horizon, casting a glimmer of white and pale blue across the darkened sea. The edges look transparent paired with the white foam that laps against the sand. His toes dig hastily into the warmth there before the cool of the ocean comes running up his hairy ankles.

This was a nice dream. For now. A miracle. The man wanders around with a smile. He is alone but he is satisfied. No burdens have followed him to his little island. He may starve one day and become a mummy in the sand. Rich people in need of normalcy will arrive one day and find his skeleton perched against a palm tree. Inside his hands will hold a now withered, torn note that says I loved it here.

Dying alone stranded on an island. A piece of John’s brain leaves a reminder to write that down on his list of ways to die.

The man wakes once again after another island sleep, stretching his limbs with a hearty groan. The sun comes up just the same. Glimmering, warm. Today, there was a grey cloud somewhere in the East. Light eyes look to it with confusion. How dare the weather interrupt his state of mind. His shoulders frump like a disturbed toddler, padding across the sand and into the wild jungle where the leaves hung low and sweat became his best friend.

He walks and walks. He’s not sure why. Perhaps he was looking for an answer or someone to scold. The weather was sickeningly humid, the kind that makes every inch of you damp and slick. John could smell his own skin in his sleep. His own sweat too.

The man follows a path down a long line of dirt and sand. He reaches the other end of the island which is much more bleak. The clouds hang low and are a muggy shade of black and grey. The ocean is almost green like moss. It doesn’t lick the shore like the other end. No, it clings to it. It’s thickened over time, probably from oil and other grimes that he couldn’t name in this moment. To his right, he hears a strange sound. A wet but also dry sound that makes the hairs on his arms prick and rise. He looks, there’s a fish. It’s dying, moving around, and gasping for air. His throat tightens. Is it food or a test? He looks to the sky for an answer, perhaps from God, but it only darkens. He was very hungry and a nice, dying fish over a fire sounded like a blessing. But, by some impulse, he scoops the slimy thing up in his shaky hands and goes running through the thick jungle once more. He scrapes his arms and legs on branches as he runs and runs. The beat of his own heart becomes loud like a speaker on high. His breathing is jagged and he begins to squeak with each breath.

Once his slice of heaven comes into view once more, he dashes to the water. His perfect water with all the blues and whites. When he’s close enough, he places the squirming fish into the water. It flops around uselessly. John thinks he might have been dreaming about the stupidest fish in history. It flies right out of the water and onto the sand again.

Did this damn thing wish to die?

With that, he scoops it up again and basically tosses it into the water. “I’m trying to save you!” He yells though his words come out muffled. It sounded like his throat had been piled to the brim with cotton balls.

Then he turns, only to find that the shore had been covered in dead fish. Most of them squirmed and jumped along the sand, bouncing off one another helplessly. The sound was atrocious, like someone chewing loudly in his ear or rubbing their thighs against a wet sheet of marble.

It grows louder, the sound of dead fish and now gawking seagulls falling from the sky. They were hungry for fish but are too ambitious in their endeavor to feed. They crash land to the island and accompany the still dying fish. They’re dying now too. The sound becomes louder and louder and louder. The waves sound like nails brushing together. Rusty ones that have been since forgotten inside someone’s garage.

The man covers his ears and screams. He screams his cotton ball scream and wishes to go home to the mainland. There’s a rotted human hand poking out of the sand just at his feet before John wakes up, gasping for air.

Like in the movies, he hoists himself out of his bed upon waking up. His sweaty back presses carefully into the headboard once he comes to. He was alive, awake, and dry. Well, almost. A hand reaches up brush strands of hair that stick to his forehead. John swallows hard, breathing heavily for a few moments. Mostly to collect himself. It was often that he had nightmares like this. Though they were all different in certain ways, they did all have one thing in common. Water. Sea. John has come to accept that this was the price he had to pay for knowing and missing Taylor Danvers. It might have been the price of loving her too.

The covers are thrown from his body then, draping down and across his bed. The bottoms of his feet move to touch the cold hardwood of his bedroom which grounds him. You’re alive, John. Light that pokes from behind his curtains moves across the floor, creating a line from the window and to under his bed where most of Taylor’s things were stored. He could have easily stuffed them in a box within the back of his closet but something about that made John uneasy. Embarrassed, even. To him, it seemed like such a cliché and John was already coasting the line of borderline cliché these days. The nightmares were enough.

Once the sleep was rubbed from his eyes, John heads to his kitchen to make himself some coffee. He checks the digital clock above his stove. The bright green numbers read 8:12AM. 

At least it was early. At least he hasn’t become like his father, waking up late in the afternoon and still drunk from the evening before. The smell of coffee begins to envelop his home as he opens the creaky cabinet above his head in search of a mug. He plucks one with a decorative J on the front, a lackluster birthday gift his mother had sent him one year. She was a month early but he appreciated the sentiment regardless. Sometimes anything was better than nothing from Jennifer Dalton.

While he continues to wait for the pot to brew, he pictures Taylor dancing around the kitchen in her underwear. She did that almost every day, making a mess in the kitchen as she attempted to make both pancakes and scrambled eggs at the same time. How she made a mess of something so simple, John would never know, but he had always found that endearing. Her dark, smooth hair was always thrown up in a bun at the top of her small head. Her eyes were wide and muddy brown like a cartoon lamb. She would kiss his cheek and say he looked “positively handsome” each morning and then slide him a steaming cup with his beverage of choice.

The memory makes him purse his lips into a tight line as he picks up the pot and pours the coffee into his mug. Though he can never quite combat his thoughts. A specific memory comes to mind as he moves to sit at the marble island in his kitchen.

....

Rain tapped along the large windows inside his living room. His home is Dallas was large but comfortable, something out of an interior design magazine you’d find in a doctor’s office. Taylor had been reading a book, cuddled underneath an old blanket of John’s. Taylor made a habit of staying the night after a while and John didn’t mind. He enjoyed her company. He had slid beside her, removing the book from her lap and placing it carefully on the coffee table. A wide, beaming smile graced her expression in no time. She ran her fingers through his dark beard. John had started to ask about her family. He thought maybe they could spend a Christmas or a Thanksgiving with them sometime. At the mention of family, Taylor’s expression fell. He knew that look, it was always the look she sported when something or someone made her uncomfortable. 

“My family is disgusting,” She said through gritted teeth, scanning John’s expression as if he should have known that much. He only shook his head, feeling guilty. “Oh,” Is what he started with, a little lost for words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Taylor then went on about how her sister was a backstabbing bitch and that her mother was a liar and her father just the same. Apparently they had disowned her, cast her out like some unwanted puppy. The idea not only confused John but also baffled him. She was so intelligent, so willing, so creative. He couldn’t imagine what had happened to make something like this happen. To make her family dislike her with such vigor. 

“Well, what happened?” John asked then, head canting to the side. He had to know. By then, John had told her everything. About her mother and her bloated lips, injected hips, and much younger boyfriends. His father and his proclivity for drinking himself into a haze. And, then, his sister, a Jennifer Dalton wannabe with manicured fingernails and a voice that sounded so feminine and so grainy that it made you want to rip your ears right from your head. 

That’s when Taylor’s own brows knit together, a look of anger flashing across her face like a stroke of lightning. Had he said something wrong? Was he not meant to ask? John can vividly remember the feeling of panic that had washed over him in an instant. He could still feel it now like he was reliving the moment. 

She had grabbed his arm. Tight. Her much smaller fingers left a reddened imprint on his skin there. “Do not ask me about my family. Ever. I’m here with you now, John,” She cooed, releasing his arm then to stroke the sides of his face, “Nothing else matters but me and you. I want to forget them.”

At the time, that seemed fair enough. John had done so much to forget his own family, as well, especially once he moved away and his parents got divorced. Who was he to judge her or her reaction? He’d learn more about her past eventually. Someday. Perhaps this was how love worked. You had to fight for it and you had to deal with the pretty and all the ugly too. He remembers reading that somewhere. But he also might have heard it come from Jennifer’s mouth.

....

Back to the present, back to reality. Looking back, he should have known. Even then. The truth of the situation was that Taylor’s family had endlessly tried to have her arrested. For many things, actually. Theft, stalking, assault, battery, and more. She had once broken a Coke bottle and threatened to stab her sister and her boyfriend with it before running off to wherever it is she went. She always did that, apparently. Ran away, even as a child. After her death, John had taken a detour to Long Island, where she was from. It was a brief visit though her family was willing to tell John just what he needed to know. 

Taylor was troubled, unsettling, and not the greatest person in the world. Not by a long shot. She stole and mostly survived, never really living. Apparently, they had a grandmother like this too who died of something that John can’t remember. All he remembers is something about alcohol being involved.

Meeting Taylor’s family, for some reason, made it easier to make up scenarios or reasons why. To this day, he does regret seeking out the truth. He wished he would have let it remain a mystery, an unknown woman coming into his life who made him fall in love but then died in the process. That sounded much better than discovering that Taylor Danvers was an unstable woman who had no true moral compass. 

But, she was exactly that. As time went on, John began to see her as a lonely woman rather than a bad one. He started to look for excuses that, soon enough, formed into a ball of guilt. Perhaps she was depressed, maybe her family wasn’t telling the truth, maybe she needed a friend, maybe she lied about stalking, maybe something happened to her when she was young, maybe this, maybe that, maybe anything.

An alarm sounding through John’s home rips him from his thoughts. He sets his mug down and races back to the kitchen. He doesn’t know when he wandered into his living room. This usually happened when John’s thoughts went too deep, when he spiraled. A pan of scrambled eggs were burning on the stove. John didn’t even remember putting them up. With a shaky hand, he shuts off the stove and tosses the pan into the sink, running it under cold water. He grabs a dishtowel and fans the place and then his smoke alarm until it stops beeping.

Burning to death in a housefire. He mentally writes that down, adding it to his long list of excuses.

[sugaxjpg]

04 | blank check; m

⤷ “Let me get this right, okay? You threw my name in as your fake girlfriend because you needed to prove yourself to your empty-headed friends, and now you need to fix it. Still,” you paused, raising your eyebrows, “your way of fixing is not to disclose it as a lie, but to cover it up with an even bigger and riskier one. Is that correct?”

⤷ PART 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | Co-written with @pantaemonium

✓ Couple: Jungkook x Reader | Fuckboy!AU & FakeDating!AU

✓ Filed under: smut, tragic comebacks

✓ Words: 6,892

Author’s Note: And here it is... whatever this is. Laura and I are sorry. Also, Part 5 will be a bit longer than the ones we have put out so far, so pls be patient!! It’ll come :,) 

Your debate class had its intense, hair-pulling moments in the past — from the dichotomy of the current political climate to philosophical dialogues about Descartes’ universal doubt — but, every once in a while, even your professor would get stressed at the constant bickering of his top 10 students and, instead, would chose a dumb theme that the class could find some sort of humor in. After some time, even that showed itself to be an obstacle, since most of your classmates had their head so far up their own ass that they forgot what the sun looked like, even less what it was to have a chill, borderline comical, conversation with another human being.  

And that was where you and Namjoon came in.

If you were to be completely honest, you could say without a shadow of a doubt that the two had a constant veil of bitterness floating between you. What could you do? Both of you were a bit more competitive than you should be, and the prospect of academic validation was far too tempting for you two to just let it slide. But, damn. If Dante Alighieri had the misfortune of meeting Kim Namjoon throughout his life, you were absolutely sure he would have added the man somewhere amongst his circles of inferno — because, Jesus Christ, was he a pain in the ass when he took things to his personal side.

“In synthesis, professor, I must conclude,” Namjoon started, leaning against the tall surface of his table. The copy of the discussed book was placed before him, and you could see that he had highlighted — and color-coded — at least half of it. “Bella Swan should have picked Jacob instead of Edward. The amount of danger she faced was ridiculous, and perfectly avoidable if she had chosen the one that was always there for her and, quite frankly, much more attractive.”

Subtle. Always so subtle.

With his feet over a nearby desk, your professor hummed, and used his cup of coffee to hide the smirk that creeped up on his lips. From your peripheral vision, you could see the other students exchanging animated glances, waiting for your turn to defend Team Edward. “Alright. Very good, Kim,” he praised, then turned to you. His mop-like moustache was stained by the brown coffee, and it looked more disgusting than it should. “What do you have for us, defense?”

You pushed your shoulders back and, without a missed beat, spoke your truth. “I disagree with Namjoon’s conclusion, professor. Edward Cullen cared about Bella Swan much more than Jacob ever did. He was only angry because he was thrown into the friendzone, and did not get his desires fulfilled by his best friend.” Your eyes darted towards Namjoon as you verbalized those words, wishing you were just as subtle as he had been — that is, not at all. “Edward protected Bella since the start, was patient, and didn’t force anything on her. With all due respect, professor.” You turned back to the class. “Jacob had no free-pass to Bella’s black lacy underwear just because he had been there for longer.”

“That’s irrelevant to this debate, come on!” Namjoon defended himself, blushing from the tip of his ears to — not that you had been looking before — the place where his tan skin disappeared under his shirt. The buttons opened, that would’ve gotten him a warning in high school—but in college it was the average cool dude uniform.  “Jacob was not as simple-minded as he’s thought to be. He may be a werewolf but he’s not stupid—”

“Well, I have to disagree. As you may have read — and I’m sure my opponent highlighted this part too—, in the fourth book of the saga Jacob imprinted Edward and Bella’s new-born baby, under the justification that, and I quote, everything he was—snip, snip, snip—floated up into space when he met the baby’s eyes, which are coincidentally very similar to Bella’s who happened to be at the moment, dead.”

“It is explained within the Twilight universe that werewolves often link themselves to their partners for life.” Namjoon barked back, although there was no confidence left within him when he opened the book, and started looking through his notes, wondering how he could’ve left the imprinting-the-baby topic out. What a mess.

Poor Namjoon had surely been very busy dreaming of your black underwear to finish preparing the debate and that, good for you, meant you had won — for once.

“My shaking jerked to a stop; heat flooded through me, stronger than before, but it was a new kind of heat — not a burning,” you read, trying to occult behind the pages the wicked smile invading your features. At the back of the classroom, your classmates started laughing enough for Mr. Moustache to turn around and shush them. Namjoon was paralysed. His projection into the Jacob’s character was not as funny anymore. “Around five minutes before he falls in love with the half-vampire parasite, he’s hugging Bella’s flailing body, forbidding her from dying. He’s not what I call… consistent with his feelings.”

Namjoon opened his mouth to talk, but all of the present souls knew that his chances of coming back from that annihilation were practically zero. With a smile and a resonating laugh, Professor Pornstache turned around to the class. “Alright, children of the corn, you all know how it goes,” he started. You had no idea how he hadn’t noticed the soaked mess that his upper lip had turned into, but that’s what botox injections can do to your overall sensibility, after all. “Write on a piece of paper who you think won, and then let’s do this as democratically as we can — even if we all know that the final word is mine.”

You rolled your eyes at your professor’s attempt at being Cool With the Kids. Mussolini over there — Mustachelini? Nah — constantly tried to sneak in references of popular movies into his every sentence, which explained his constant obsession with reviewing young adult novels. Next one up, according to him, would be something from Cassandra Clare, and you really didn’t think you’d be able to endure another painfully awkward love triangle discussion, even less the hidden incest.

With a few chuckles and guilty gazes crossing, the classroom was quick to pass the papers off to the front row, where the teacher’s personal pet — Jisoo? Achoo? Bless you — could organize and count the votes. You were lucky she was great at her job, for it took her less than five dragged-out, silence-filled minutes to have an answer.

With a grin that seemed to come out straight from a Monopoly live-action movie, your professor looked down at the winner’s name. “Oh, look at that,” he said. “Seems like we have a new name to pay attention to. Namjoon…” he dragged out his speech in a way that you swore the air had been sucked out of your lungs. Next to you, the boy leaned forwards, chest filled up with pride. “Better luck next time, kid. Y/N got the trophy. That’s ten points to gryffindor, and a nine for Team Edwards.”

With the weight of defeat dragging his shoulders down, Namjoon retreated to the back of the classroom, where the bad boys — you almost cringed thinking of him as one of those — sat and gnawed gum loudly trying to make the world believe their attitude would get there somewhere in life except, perhaps, jail. He plopped onto his chair, and let out a defeated sigh. If he couldn’t win a Twilight debate that meant his career was over, his reputation on the floor. It was a tragic defeat, one he had never expected.

Part of him, you thought, should be happy that it had been you the one to conquer the first place. It could have been someone else, like the guy from second row who carried an anime figurine around and ate his boogers when he thought no one was watching; or maybe, the resident weed-lover, who would probably rant for five minutes about the necessity to legalize marijuana, and avoid altogether the mundane problems of two-hundred year old bloodsucker hottie number 1; and very white, very anodyne Bella Swan.

“So, tell me, what kept you so busy that you couldn’t finish the assigned reading?” You questioned, rubbing — as they would say — salt over his overabundance of pride wounds. It was petty, but it was the funniest part of defeating the smarty-pants in the room. “Anything on your mind? Do you need a pep-talk? My therapist’s number, perhaps?”

Namjoon crossed his arms over his desk and laid his head over them, hoping the earth could just open up and swallow him alive. It crossed his mind that Jungkook probably didn’t even know which elements that are inside the Earth’s core — nickel and iron, for the ones wondering — even less which layer was liquid: internal or external. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe you wanted someone that was more than brains, or maybe you could be searching for someone so dumb that would make you feel more confident at your own IQ — yeah, that was probably it. You wouldn’t pick anyone but Namjoon if that wasn’t the case.

But he needed to control the flux of his thoughts before it got the best of him, and he made the mistake of being a little bit more honest than he should. What could he do? His pride was completely shattered — over a Twilight debate, for fuck’s sake — and he was struggling to seat down after the catastrophe that had been that pizza. Never underestimate the enemy. Never underestimate cheese left out to rot for too long.

And, most importantly, never underestimate Jeon Jungkook.

“So, Y/N,” he started, raising his head from the desk. Two other students had already moved to the front of the class to start their debate on the powers of some of the secondary vampire characters, but he didn’t care about it — that one, he could win it in his sleep —, for his eyes were completely glued to your own. “You ran away from us that night at the party. Care to say what happened between you and your misunderstood knight?”

And god bless your winner high for not making your face crack under the sudden question. Even if the image of Jungkook rubbing his cherry splitter came back in a hormonal rush throughout your body and mind, the smirk in your lips lingered, and your inner despair did not drip through your words. “Nothing happened, we are perfectly fine,” you lied. “In fact, he invited me to go to Jimin’s pool party next weekend. Hope you don’t mind my company.”

It was ephemeral, but you saw the way Namjoon’s eyes widened for an instant — he was a mortal man, with simple mortal needs. Seeing glimpses of your black underwear? That was nice. Seeing you in full bikini? That was a miracle, and Kim Namjoon wasn’t someone to disregard a message from the Lord.

He cleared his throat, and looked towards the front of the class, where the debate was starting to heat up. One of the students claimed that vampires having weather-controlling abilities made no sense, for it was Twilight, and not X-men. He had to agree with that one. “That’s… something to consider,” he spoke. It was getting hot there? It was either you or the intestinal cramps from that forsaken pizza — how many days would it take for it to leave his system? God. “Never thought of you as someone who enjoyed… the outdoors.”

“I’m not the sun’s biggest fan, that’s true,” you acknowledged, “but that’s what relationships are about, you know? Making sacrifices, spending time with your boyfriend’s friends. All that.”

Namjoon, once again, lost his space to speak. As his eyebrows twitched together in a sign of his disbelief — and a bit of jealousy, let’s be honest — and his plump lips parted in a silent exclamation, the screen of your phone lit up, a loud ding! ruptured the attention of the class. From the front row, Pornstache asked for you to turn the device off.

“Won’t you look at that,” Namjoon complained, watching your fingers as you quickly placed your phone on silent mode. “Edward Cullen is here to save the day.”

There was a tinge of agony in his voice, that you interpreted as a silent hope that he could someday become the one to disrupt the class to send you, perhaps, a corny I miss you, let’s meet at the library after class, or a more saucy — and god knows you hate that expression — I’d love to be in bed right now, doing you-know-what. Namjoon didn’t strike you to be one to send a I’ll fuck you raw against the wall only because he would understand the physical limitations that would come with such statement.

“Edward Cullen is just trying to know if I’ll be going to your match next week, I think,” you lied. The phone vibrated against the table, insistent. It was like having Jungkook behind your back, saying whatever nonsense he had come up with that same morning. “Don’t you have something useful to do? I don’t know, start reading Cassandra Clare’s failed incest fanfic attempts or something?”

“Nah, you know what? I’m going to the bathroom. That pizza is still kicking my intestines, and not in a good way.” He smiled, and it was dashing. “See you later.”

“When you finish pooping.”

“Yeah.”

With raised eyebrows and the ghost of a smile lingering on your lips, you watched as Namjoon made his walk of shame towards the front of a class, then quickened up his pace suddenly. If you could go back to the night of the party and tell him about the consequences of his ridiculously high cheese consumption, you wouldn’t. It was too funny to just let it pass.

Your entertainment, however, was short-lived. As soon as you turned your gaze back to the device on your hands and actually read through the previews of Jungkook’s messages, you could tell that something was wrong.

Jungkook’s only neuron: [incoming video]

Jungkook’s only neuron: SHRIIRSHIT

Jungkook’s only neuron: NO DONT OPEN THAT PLEASE DONT

Jungkook’s only neuron: THAT ISN’T FOR YOU BABY NO

Jungkook’s only neuron: IM SO SORRY OMHFGF NPONONOONO

Jungkook’s only neuron: i want to die please dont download the video please i will do anything i will buy you milkshakes for the entire week plea...

But it was too late: you knew Jungkook was terrible at finding compelling arguments, but that was just too much. He knew you were curious, and his overwhelmed texts only increased your sadism to prolong his suffering. Of course you were going to see whatever the hell he had sent you, and of course you would make sure to tease him for it until the end of time. It was what he deserved after dragging you for yet another acting gig.

So, you unlocked your phone, and went straight to his conversation. Nothing could have prepared you for what you were met with — but one thing was for certain: you were so happy that you had brought your earphones that day.

Curiosity started to carve a hole within your chest. It started as a mere tingle, just below your breastbone, when you plugged in your earphones and starting downloading the video. Had Jungkook been a bit smarter that day — or just more technology-conscious — he would have remembered there was an option to delete his video. It would erase it from the face of earth, and with it the shame it would bring along. It was useless now, because by the time he understood the power he had allowed to slip away you would have already saved the thing in your phone. For blackmail purposes only, of course.

With absolutely no expectations, you pressed play. The condemnatory piece of evidence Jungkook had sent by mistake started playing on your screen, a vastness of black pixels and an eventual flash of light. It must be something huge, for him to panic — while sober — on the chat-room. And huge it was, although at first the image was without form and void. Darkness invaded the screen, like there was a towel or a shirt placed in front of the camera, and the only remnants of light that managed to filter in were through holes in the cotton.

Maybe Jungkook had finally lost his mind, and he had recorded one of those confession videos with huge cards. You are perfect to me, could have been read in one of those, scribbled with a Sharpie in his terrible handwriting. But Jungkook was not the romantic type so that would not be the case, he had a reputation to hold — surprisingly, he had not destroyed it yet.

And so the dumbass said “let there be light”, and there was light — and the most horrendous pink tiles covering the bathroom floor. He appeared into focus, clad in grey sweatpants and a tee shirt that you recognized immediately as part of the training gear for the volleyball team.

“Oh, god,” you muttered to yourself, watching him seat cross-legged before the camera. You had watched enough porn in your life to, at least, sense where this was going, but you were not prepared. Not at all.

When the boy — Jungkook, it was fucking Jungkook and you knew it — moved backwards on the shot, the entire scene came into focus, presenting you with the image of what you presumed was his bathroom. You would recognize that pink abomination anywhere, even if, the last time you witnessed it, you had not payed attention to the disgusting fact that the tiles were also a pallid tinge of roseate; the same color of the heat that painted the boy’s cheeks, all the way to the tip of his ears.

The image was slightly blurred still, but you could tell that he was sitting on the floor, back pressed against a bathtub. Jungkook had moved down on the shot enough so you could see up to his nose, but his eyes were still out of frame. It didn’t matter: you knew it was him, and you could not stop looking at the way his swollen lips were parted, glistening with the thin layer of his saliva. From in between them, came the weak, shy sound of a moan, and his body shivered in expectation.

Before you could even take hold of your actions, your gaze was already shooting downwards, past the droplets of sweat on his tan neck, and the obnoxious colors of his team shirt — for fuck’s sake, he was clearly not the brightest of minds, but, if he wanted it to be a bit harder to figure it out who it was, he shouldn’t have worn that. Dumbass. The hottest fucking dumbass you’ve ever laid eyes upon. Not the point.

Then, you saw it, and your mind went blank. Jungkook had one of his veiny hands placed over his hard member, its outline vaguely visible through the thick fabric of his pants. And, shit, that wasn’t the only thick thing in sight. But anyways. He was caressing it slowly, up and down, then rolling his palm against it slowly, dragging out the whines that broke upon his lips. Through your earphones, you could hear the fragile inflections of his voice against your ear, and you swore you could feel his raggedy breath hitting your skin at every new exhale.

On the upper part of your screen, another message popped up: I can tell you’re online!!!! it practically yelled, reeking of desperation and pheromones. You ignored it. There were more interesting things happening. Bigger things.

Jungkook pressed his palm down on his cock one, twice, but soon grew impatient at the lack of sensibility it provided. You tapped on the video and saw that it was three minutes long, which told you just how much he was eager to get straight to the point; and, much to your inner satisfaction, your hypothesis was quickly proved.

Almost timidly — who would’ve thought Jeon Jungkook could be any shade of timid, for fuck’s sake — the tip of his cock was released from the constriction of the elastic. He had been dripping enough to wet the fabric, and it elicited a thousand questions amongst which the idea of Jungkook cumming in his pants, unable to stop himself was primordial and very much overwhelming.

With more tenderness you had ever imagined he would be capable of, he pressed his thumb against his crown, smearing his slick all around. It ripped a long-drawled groan out of his throat, as he threw his head back and against the bathtub. Sweat started to pool in hollow of his clavicle when he dared move again, hand encircling his length.

That was the moment you understood the situation was serious in more than one way because a) Mr Pornstache was still doing whatever he believed was teaching, b) Namjoon had just crossed the classroom threshold and was about to return to his place by your side; and c) your panties were wetter that the goddamn Nile and it was Jungkook’s doing.

Way to start the week.

Then again, miracles can present themselves every once in a while and, for you, it was the fast-thinking that suddenly overtook your senses. Even if every fiber of your being begged for you to do otherwise, your fingers were quick to pause the video, block your phone, and shove your earplugs inside your jacket’s pocket before Namjoon’s gaze even casted itself in your general direction. Usain Bolt who?

You cleared your throat — was it hot in there?  “There you are,” you whispered as he sat down next to you. Namjoon looked one shade whiter and many years older. “Had fun?”

He rolled his eyes. “What kind of question is that?” You did not know. You weren’t thinking straight. You could barely recall your name amongst the echoes of Jungkook’s moans inside your mind, and it was driving you insane. “Anyways,” he started, “did I miss something important? Any big arguments to take into consideration?”

“The biggest argument I’ve ever see— I mean no, nothing,” you were quick to correct yourself. Your heart was beating so fast inside your chest that you recalled every medical drama you’ve ever watched, the movement of the defibrillators and the anxious screams of the doctors — charge it to 200; to 500… There’s nothing else we can do, we lost her. Jungkook strikes again. “You know what? This reminds me, I should go to the bathroom as well— To do… to… take care of lady stuff.”

Taken aback by surprise, Namjoon leaned back against his chair and raised his eyebrows in expectation, trying to predict where that was heading towards. He was clearly doubtful of your actions, and Mr Mustachelini was far too enrolled in the superpower debate to care about the way you roughly moved to your feet, almost knocking the desk over as you did so. Thank the heavens above that you didn’t wear a skirt that day, because the situation in between your legs was reaching critical levels.

“Lady… stuff?” he repeated slowly. There it was: the man you learned to fear in debates and in the court, with those piercing pupils and the expression that told you that there was no use in lying, for he already knew the secrets that you hid underneath your tongue. “Did something happen?”

You laughed nervously. “Absolutely nothing happened,” you lied. He could tell. Somehow, he just could. “I just have to leave, it’s gonna be really quick just… okay, bye.”

Namjoon moves around very slowly. The commotion of your sudden leave had probably pressed a slow-mo button he could not turn off. It was like all his energy was being redirected towards his brain, aimed at the gears you could almost hear rumble. It was just a bathroom escapade, it wasn’t that deep. But Namjizz was keen on discovering the secrets you were not skilful enough to conceal — at least not with the image of Jungkook’s swollen dick in his pretty hands still engraved in your brain.

“Bye,” you repeated, waving him farewell. Still perplexed he muttered something along the lines of: are you sure everything is alright? That you never responded to. All you could picture was the girls’ bathroom at the end of the corridor, the cubicle at the far left — the one less transited.

You had some dignity left inside, so you didn’t run. Instead, you walked as fast as your legs allowed. In hindsight, it was a ridiculous image, but you could only feel the weight of your phone growing heavier in your pocket, the wires tangling like serpents as some sort of cosmic punishment for your unspeakable crimes. As if it wasn’t enough that you had fallen for the local cliché; that you had been tempted by the one character in the comic you had promised you would only treat with disdain and, perhaps, some well-founded superiory.

Jungkook was an overused trope, that was clear enough —  thanks brain for the painful reminder! — but fuck, did he make you wet with only a few seconds of his blurry, leaked sextape.

Despite the late hour, the bathroom was deserted. You had been hoping to find someone there, someone disagreeable and nasty who would kill your libido with just a look. Coco would’ve fit the role. But there was no one around, and the cleaning lady had just polished the tiles till they shone like diamonds.

Weren’t you the luckiest girl in the entire university, huh?

Giving it no more thought, you locked yourself inside the cubicle. Your phone vibrated again, this time in your hand.

Jungkook’s only neuron: please Y/N  i didn’t mean to send that to you. it was a mistake. come back and call me a pig BUT DO SOMETHING. THIS IS LIKE POKING A STONE WITH A STICK

Jungkook’s only neuron: if you didn’t see it as I BEGGED YOU TO PLEASE FORGET I EVEN SAID THAT

He continued to rant into the group chat, monologuing about the many reasons behind your silence. It was — truth be told — abnormal of you to skip a chance to roast him, but there were more important matters to attend to. With a quick swish of your finger you silenced him, and with it the guilt that could come.

In movements far too quick to be your own, you plugged in the earphones in your ear, checked that they were well connected to your device — the last thing you needed was to interrupt the chastic beauty of that recently-cleaned bathroom with Jungkook’s devilish moans — and moved back to the video. The recording started over, but you were quick to move back to the time stamp you had stopped in — 1:38, precisely and, yes, you had memorized.

Now, that was when your morning started to go downhill, because it was when you decided to, as you had mentioned before, defenestrate the rest of your pride, and do the dirty work. Kind of: you were a bit out of your senses, but not enough to finger the baby maker in the middle of a public bathroom, no matter how clean it was.

So, you settled for the second best.

As the video resumed, you noticed the wetness that had spread between your thighs, only increasing as those lust-filled images flashed before your gaze. There was something alluring about the idea of the Great Jeon Jungkook playing with himself, allowing for his hips to roll against his hand as temptation overtook his senses; his legs so weak that he could barely move in that gruesomely pink bathroom floor. He was edging himself, that you could tell from the continuous biting of his lower lip, and the quivering pants that left his mouth, and he was adoring every second of his self-inflicted torture.

Moans and curses poured from his chest like ambrosia, and your other hand was quick to undo the buttons of your pants. You could see him, eyebrows furrowed and eyes closed, as his parted lips groaned for release, his muscles clenching again and again; cock throbbing in his hands. Perhaps, in an instant of patience, he would rub himself through his underwear until he was hard enough, or maybe he would grind against his bed until he could no long take the pleasure that monopolized his carnal desires.

Not that you were far away from that fate.

Hastily, you placed your hand in the space between your jeans and your underwear, finding your clit instantly. Your fingers traced circles over your sensitive spot, but the numbed feeling was awfully frustrating to endure. Just like the fucking video before your eyes was; the rise and fall of Jungkook’s abdomen as he reached for his own orgasm; the teasing of his thumb against the top of his member; the weak, whimper-like moans that infested your mind like a damn egyptian plague. Everything about that situation was frustrating, and it was tearing you from the inside out.

As he so tenderly caressed his length, you wondered at the rubor that had conquered his neck, the toned expanse of his chest. Jeon Jungkook had lost the intimidating arrogance that seemed to envelope his entire being. There was no arrogance in the curve of his mouth when opened his mouth in a whimper that broke before it could be captured by the microphone of his phone. There was no pride in the way he tilted his head back, fingers tight around his cock as he fucked himself relentlessly.

Despite the lack of friction, the sole image of his muscles tensing as he approached his release was enough to have you trembling. The memento of his hands roaming your waist was clear in your mind when you pressed your clit just a bit harder, wishing it was him the one to tease you with the same cruelly he was teasing himself. The wonders his fingers could do, his tongue. As his moans became louder, your movements turned erratic, almost desperate. It threatened to break you, but you could not find reason within yourself to stop.

Still, Jungkook wouldn’t be Jungkook if he didn't find a way to ruin your fucking day.

The vibration of your phone in your hands made your heart jump inside your chest and, for an instant, you swore you had seen the light at the end of the tunnel, and the angels calling you to join them above. But no — it was the human-shaped devil named Jungkook and he was, quite literally, calling you.

With a stressed-out groan, you barely thought about your actions before sliding to answer his call, his previous moans being immediately replaced by static. “What the fuck do you want, Jungkook?”

From the other sound of the line, you heard a shuffle. “Oh great, you picked up,” he spoke. You couldn’t tell if his voice was permeated by annoyance or by relief and, quite honestly, you didn’t give a flying fuck — you had your hands pressed against the soaked mess that had become your panties in a public bathroom, and the last thing you needed was to psychologically characterize his timbre based upon the inflections of his tone. “We have to talk.”

Honestly? Fuck it. The guy had already ruined one rub-out session for you, and he wouldn’t do the same thing again; not when the only detail you could think about had been the ridiculously hot video he had sent you. “No we don’t,” you threw back, breathing growing sharp as you continued your motions — slower this time. “This is not the time, and you have nothing—” You paused, biting back a moan, then masking it as a cough. Okay, you certainly didn’t think that through. “You have nothing to justify.”

“You know I do.” He hesitated. “It’s about the video.”

“Of course it’s about the fucking video,” you interrupted, throwing your head back against the wall. You were starting to get close, and you knew it. “Are you narcissistic enough to jerk off to a video of you... jerking off? This is the weirdest case of inception I’ve ever seen.”

Jungkook paused on the other end. “Inception? But that has nothing to do with my family.”

Good god, have mercy on your soul. “Inception, Jungkook.” You groaned. “Not incest.”

“Not the point, smart ass,” he was quick to reply and — fuck Jungkook and his honey voice — you could have sworn he had almost stuttered. There was no way you could have known for sure, for your own mind was wandering elsewhere and you were barely containing the tremors of your own voice. “I really need to see you and explain, so tell me where to go and I’ll be there.”

“Jungkook,” you called, and your brain thought it was a great moment to bring the images you had been trying to avoid, of Jungkook in-between your legs licking your wetness away as you whimpered his name. At the end of the line there was only static to match your error, so you rapidly added. “There’s no need to explain. I really have no interest in seeing you beat your meat to whatever Arctic Monkeys song you chose as your sex jam, so I don’t really care about your reasons—”

“It’s very normal to do something like this, okay? Some guys do it all the time. I do it all the time to, you know, see how I perform and everything.” You had long lost track of his explanation. The murmur of his voice was just an echo at the back of your head, for you had never stopped pressing your fingers against your clit, trying to subdue the sweet pain threatening to take over. Your brain was overworked — and overwhelmed — and Jungkook blabbing his way out of shame was not annoying enough to stop you. “It’s like monitoring yourself, and It makes me a better lover. A better partner, if you want. Y-you should be glad I’m doing this—”

As Jungkook ranted on, you couldn’t bring yourself to interrupt him, for you knew the moment you tried to speak only a moan would emerge from your throat.

Jungkook, however, took your silence as a punishment. “So you really watched it, huh?” He chuckled, humorless. “Guess I fucked up again—”

For fuck’s sake not now. The way he hesitated — just for a second — before he spoke and his voice refused to come out untainted but in a rough whisper, was the last thing you needed to complete your descent into Dante’s nine circles of hell.

Before you could notice, the faintest whimper dripped from your lips, a broken chord that sounded like his name.

Well, if you wanted to stop Jungkook from blabbering, that was the way to go.

Maybe if you had been a little more in your senses, the realization that you had just moaned out the fragmented syllables of his name would have seemed like an apocalyptic forewarning for the chaos that would ensue. But no: you were far too gone to care, and it had fulfilled your initial purpose of silencing the annoying insect buzzing in your earphones.

But of course, Jungkook wouldn’t let it go so easily.

On the other end of the line, he cleared his throat. “What… are you doing?” He paused, seeming to take in all the details he had ever so naively overlooked aforetime — the vague panting that departed from in-between your lips, the eagerness in which you rushed to finish your sentences. Something odd was taking place, and even his one living neuron could perceive it. “You sound like you just ran a marathon. ”

“It’s a debate class, genius, things got… heated,” and that had been the perfect word to use. “I’m not doing anything.”

There was a second of hesitation before he spoke up again. “Isn’t Namjoon in that class with you?”

“Yes. Congrats on the goldfish memory.” You breathed out — okay, you could maybe hold yourself back. You were getting close, for your legs were already shaking, and you could barely keep your eyes open for longer than a couple seconds and, if you had holden tight for that long, you could do it again. Just no more moaning. Not in front of him. Later, maybe.

“That’s weird,” Jungkook spoke. Fuck his voice, fuck the way his whimpers and cries for release still echoed inside your head; fuck the delicious sight of his head thrown back, and his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed hard. Fuck him. Fuck you. Hopefully. “I just texted him and he said that you left to go to the bathroom. For lady pro—”

“—It’s a different Namjoon.” What kind of answer was that? You were barely thinking. “Listen, Jungkook, I’m not in the mood to talk, so maybe you could just… call later?”

“There’s only one Namjoon, and we both know his lame lactose-intolerant ass.” Jungkook could be sharp if he thought very hard. Maybe the ruptured thoughts crossing your mind, the weakness spreading all over your body, was what he had needed to fight on equal ground — and somehow you knew he would be very proud of this victory. “You received the video, and then went to the bathroom?” He was trying to organize the timeline of your befall, and for once his solitary neuron was cooperating, while yours were just running around, screaming like hippies high on acid. “Did you go to the bathroom… to watch it?”

“Jungkook, just drop it.” You whined, the sound needier than you had ever intended. “Let’s talk later, okay? I need to go back to class now. Call me later if you want and we’ll talk about the stupid party or your rampant narcissism, whatever you want.”

“I’ll wait for you after class—” He didn’t sound convinced. The raggedness of your voice was a good reason to be puzzled, but the guy was apparently too idle to hang up and do something useful. “We can go somewhere to discuss the party details if you’re up. You know, like a business meeting but in like a café or something.”

“I have a test tomorrow.” Holding to the last threads of rationality, you understood it was time to end the conversation. “Nice talking to you, Jungkook. Bye.”

Jungkook would have questions, of course, but you could only think of him, his hands, his soft lips against your own. Your hand returned to torture your clit, this time unrestricted by his presence on the phone. It was ridiculously easy to find the right pace, to bring back the memory of his weights pressing against your own, his tongue discovering your mouth. Jungkook could mess your existence even in your imagination and that was something you had to confess you had never expected.

Call ended, you allowed yourself to suspire in relief, dwelling in the absence of his frequent interrogations, and the pleasure that was overtaking your senses. The silence, however, was short-lived: you forgot you still had the video playing in the background.  

Now, some things in life are beautifully synchronized: the fly of birds as the sun sets; your favorite sad song playing while you’re driving in the rain… Jungkook’s dragged-out moans echoing inside your head the same instant you found your high. You know, the simple stuff. The kind of stuff that makes you lay awake at night in horror.

Your legs trembled when you reached your orgasm, waves of heat running up and down your thighs as you fought to suppress a prolonged whimper. On your hands, the device called for your attention, and your parted eyes barely got the glimpse of a smaller, digitally edited Jungkook covering his abs with the white strands of his own relief; hips rolling against his palm as his mouth, open, cried out in sheer alleviation. You loved that sight, and it pushed you even further down your decay into inferno.

But, of course, the video didn’t stop there. It didn’t fade into black, as you had expected, because you deserved a plot twist to end the day. You had depleted your luck reserves long ago — probably during a math exam — so it was highly unlikely that the guy would just finish the deed and turn off the camera.

No, instead Jungkook continued teasing his cock until his thighs trembled with the excess of his own caresses; limbs flinching under the tides of his exaggerated stimulation. He could not bite back he suspires of despair as he rode a second orgasm and muttered an unintelligible prayer.

Wait, scratch that. You rewinded the video, to listen for a second time. In this occasion you closed your eyes, because his fucked-out face was far too distracting for your brain to keep up with so many stimuli.

It was, actually, very intelligible.

Jeon Jungkook was not praying, but moaning your name.

That, nevertheless, was a secret that would die with you. Or so you hoped.

[thirsty-pixie]

Richie x Reader

Part 1

Part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

I know Richie is gay in the movie but I do what I want lmao. This is kinda something I've had rolling around in my brain for a while.

Back story: Y/n is a creature similar to it, she was born from her mother which was human but her father was Pennywise. It was getting lonley and wanted to have someone else who could live as long as him and keep him company. Though humans were much to fragile and died quickly he decided to impregnate a Woman. The pregnancy nearly killed the woman leaving her bound to a wheel chair. The child received some of its abilities like strength, speed and she feeds off of fear, she is also connected to it physically. When it gets hurt she feels the pain and she is immortal, she stops physically aging at 36. She feeds on fear but not by eating children, just being around someone who is scared is enough.

Last day of school.

Is was the last day of school and I was already sitting outside of the front doors watching the students leave the building. Mrs. Ripsom was waiting put in the road with the police looking for her daughter. I still remember the blood on my dads chin when I walked in on him eating and the sickening thud when poor Betty fell to the ground of the sewer. He never let me see him eat and that day I found out why. I seen four familiar boys walk out of the building Bill, Stan, Eddie, and Richie.

I enjoyed hanging close to this group because Eddie, he was a hypochondriac and was always scared of something. I watched as they walked passed me Eddie looking up at me then quickly back down to his feet. I chuckled shaking my head,the walked over to a trash can to dump their bags which was a common thing for kids to do after school let's out for the summer. The door opened again this time Bowers and his gang walked out, Patrick winked at me like always as they passed earning an eyeroll from me.

They walked towards the four boys who were starting to walk home. I felt something snap when Bowers grabbed Richie's bag and pulled him backwards into Stan. Within a few seconds I was standing between Bill and Henry, I heard Richie say shit when I shoved Bowers back. "The fuck is your problem" I yelled at Henry causing him to get angry, "it's none of your business now be a good little bitch a run along." He stepped closer but I didnt back down.

"I'm sorry. Did I stu-stu-studer? I said run along." He tried to push me with his chest but I didn't budge "you don't scare me Henry" suddenly fear radiated from Henry as he looked behind me make eye contact with his dad. "This isn't over losers!" He huffed before turning to leave. "Holy shit! Do you have a death wish? He will literally kill you" I turned and Looked at Eddie and shrugged. "I'm not afraid of Henry he's just a scared little kid" I stuffed my hands in my pockets and looked at Richie and Stan who looked shocked. "I'm Y/n.... by the way" I smiled and began walking away.

I heard the four of them running to catch up with me "that was totally cool" I looked down at Richie how was now walking next to me "I mean he's honestly not that scary...." even though he was only a couple years younger than me he was pretty short. "So I'm Stan, that's Bil, Eddie and hes Richie." Stan walked on the otherside of me introducing everyone. I smiled and kept walking "where are you going?" I heard two of them ask in unison. "Well I gotta get home to my mom and hang out with her until the next nurse comes..... theres a gap in the shift change." I mumbled the last part and I turned the street.

"What's wrong with you're mom? She a vegetable or something?." Richie blurted. I heard someone punch him followed by and ouch causing me to laugh. "No she's just in a wheelchair so for an hour after school I take care of her then the night nurse comes." I looked at the Four who had slowed their pace and walked behind me. "Then I think tomorrowim gonna go swimming" I stopped at my driveway and looked at the boys who were following me like puppies. "W-w-well we are going to gu-go to to the ba-barrens. Want to come?" I smiled at Bill and Richie flung his arm over Bill's shoulder "yeah we can stop by here and get you then hit up the quarry after the barrens" I nodded "yeah I'll see you all tomorrow then"

I walked inside to see my mom asleep on the couch, I covered her with a blanket and turned the tv off. I went to my room and changed into my workout outfit and waited till the night nurse arrived. "She's been asleep since I got home I made her dinner it's in the oven.." the nurse smiled and I walked out of the house. I began jogging to the sewer drain that was closest to my dads hideout.

I looked to make sure nobody was watching before I slipped inside. The walk wasn't long before I heard him humming. "Daddy?" The humming stopped when I spoke and he popped his head around the corner in his human form. I smiled and walked into the large room hugging my father he smiled at me and kissed the top of my head. "How was your last day of School Y/n" I shrugged and looked up at the children floating some with missing appendages. "It was fine....Daddy must you display them like they are trophies..." i frowned and he sighed looking down.

"I'm sorry its how I lived for a really long time it's hard to change....." I nodded and flopped against the pile of toys. It sat next to me and sighed "so I've told you how I used to sleep for 27 years at a time..." his voice was shaky and he spoke slowly causing worry to build up inside me. "Yeah.." I rolled onto my side and looked at him, his eyes had prominent dark circles and he looked exhausted. "I'm getting weak and tired and I will be going back to sleep for another 27 years in about a month or so..." he scanned my face as I sat up.

"So you're leaving me for 27 years?! Mom wont survive another year.... what will I do?" I stood up and glared at him. He stood up and hugged me "I know I'm sorry I stayed as long as i could. You'll be ok you're strong just promise me you'll come back when I wake up...." I had started crying when he hugged me but by the time he finished I was sobbing. "I'm going to miss you Daddy...." I knew he was a horrible monster but he was my father.

~~~Time skip~~~

I had on my black and red backpack on that I had filled with snacks, I sat on my stairs with my bike waiting for the boys to come by. After about 15 minutes I heard Richie's loud mouth about a block away so I stood up and got on my bike. "Ready Chicka?" Richie asked and I nodded smiling, the barrens was only a 5 minute ride from my house so. We walked down the trail and to the drain pipe that fed into the creek, I could smell the rotting flesh unbeknownst to anyone else. My senses were 100 times better than an average persons.

I scrunched my nose at the smell and followed Bill into the drain listening for my dad. I heard Eddie complaining about the water and laughed when I heard Richie say it doesn't smell like caca to him. Bill picked up Betty's shoe and turned around, "guys" every one froze and looked at Bill. I zoned out remembering seeing my dad as a clown mouth dripping in blood, I was brought back to reality when I head someone scream for help. The screaming continued but they sounded like painful screams like someone was hurt, no one else could hear it.

Moments later a kid came splashing down the creek falling into the water a few feet away from us. "Oh shit" we all rushed over to the kid to help him, I could feel his fear from back where I was standing before I went to help and the closer I got the more invigorating it was. I was in bliss as he rode on my pegs to the drug store, we stopped in the Alley leaning the bikes against the wall as Eddie looked at Ben's stomach.

They rushed inside leaving Ben, Richie, and I out in the alley "glad I got to meet you before you died" I looked at Richie and hit his arm playfully. He looked at me confused "not nice" I said before lifting Ben's shirt again. "Fucking Bowers.... I'm gonna kick his ass for this" before Richie could say anything the guys came rushing out their arms full of supplies. "What'd you do rob the place." I watched as Eddie meticulously tended to his wound, a few moments later I heard someone coming through the alley.

"You ok that looks like it hurts" I looked up seeing a redhead girl standing next to Bill I tuned the rest of the conversation out as I walked to the end of the alley. I popped my back and watched as people walked along the side walk oblivious to horrors that lay below the streets the drove and walked walked on. "Y-yo-you coming Y/n?" "Yeah pull your head out of the clouds and kets goooo" I smiled at Richie and Bill as I walked back to my bike.

Posted 9/30/2019

Part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6