#and let me tell you that it's infinitely more bearable than months and months of heat. it's like... a constant heatwave here.

[jfleamont]

chronic migraines in the summer are just hilarious, love it when I have to stay in my bedroom in the dark because of that! nevermind that I have a million things to do. oh, and let's not forget the low blood pressure and anemia that won't let me take more than two steps without feeling dizzy! truly a lovely day.

[wrenreid]

August

Follows Spencer Reid’s memories of a woman he fell for over the summer (you). He describes their relationship and looks back on one of his favorite moments with her. Based on August by Taylor Swift. I imagine early season 4 Reid. His pov.

contains: fluff, mentions of sex, mentions of being left (abandonment issues)…

August

There’s a pretty long list of things I’m good at: chess, reading micro expressions, statistics, physics, chemistry, poker, learning new languages… etc.

However, I am not good letting people go. If I analyze myself, there’s an easy explanation for this: my dad left me when I was 10. Then Gideon left abruptly when I was almost 26, leaving me a note behind.

Even though we are still human, we behavioral analysts like to believe we can somehow “cheat the system” because we know the psychology… but we can’t. Which is another thing I hate about myself. I cannot stand losing people, and it makes me feel weak.

I knew I had to let her go early on. I knew she was leaving for her big job promotion, heading to Italy soon for the well-paying foreign affairs job. She’s brilliant, of course they’d want her. I was happy for her too, but a selfish part of me wish they’d turn her application down, wish she’d accidentally slipped up and said something wrong. But like I said, she’s brilliant.

In quantum mechanics, there’s what we call the “many worlds” theory. It is believed that there are infinite universes, meaning, that there’s a possibility every decision we make branches out a different world where we made a different choice. If this is true, I’d like to believe the Spencer in the world where Y/n is still here is happy.

But the me in this universe only has that summer to hold onto. Luckily for me, I have an eidetic memory and can relive every moment in the exact detail it happened, or at least how it happened in my view.

When I get a little too cold or a little too alone at night, I shut my eyes tight and go back to my favorite memory of her.

The smell of flowers lingered like perfume in the warm August air. The summer breeze tickled our skin, causing the heat to be bearable. I watched as the wind blew her hair back a little, making her face exposed to me. Everything about her was perfect, even if she wasn’t considered society’s unrealistic representation of perfect, she was to me. Her nose, her lips, her hair, and most of all her eyes. Every time she looked into my hazel ones, my stomach fluttered.

Not only was she beautiful on the surface, but the way she spoke with such certainty, the way she carried herself, her mind, her heart, her soul, the way she didn’t mind when I went on seemingly non-stop tangents about things she didn’t quite care about, everything about her was magnificent.

We met April when she was assisting the BAU on a case, she knew some information on a group we’d never heard about. She was helpful and kind to every one of us. I remember when she tried to shake my hand, and I accidentally told her kissing was safer than hand shaking due to the pathogen transference. She just laughed, “Good to know.” I, however, was mortified I said that, especially to someone as wonderful as her.

The case went on for days, they usually do when we deal with powerful, intelligent unsubs. During that time, we got to know her.

Before I knew it, she started coming along to team nights out with us, upon the girls’ request. I’m usually drug to those by Morgan who says “C’mon, Reid. You’ve got to get out more, maybe meet some lovely ladies.”

I’d already met a lovely lady though, but I couldn’t tell her how I felt. I didn’t even know I felt. We’d known each other a month at this point, and I’m not one to develop “crushes” so soon.

I found myself thinking about her more, not in any creepy way, just how she smiled and always talked to me kindly, how she was funny without being too mean, how she was smart and creative, and of course, how she was gorgeous… it was hard to miss.

Morgan would flirt with her a little, and to my surprise, she barely gave him the time of day. She’d tease him a little, but eventually he gave up on the little flirty comments when it was clear he was not her type.

In June, she asked me to “hang out” with her alone for the first time. I was nervous, almost even said no due to fear I would set her off with my awkward rambles and inability to talk to pretty girls, but I told her “I’d like that very much.”

We went to a cafe in downtown DC, it was busy but not crowded; spelled like coffee and vanilla. Two of my favorite scents. We talked and ate lunch, getting to know each other more.

I found out she loved reading, traveling, terrible reality tv, card games, her little brothers, and roller coasters.

I asked her to tell me more about her family once we’d hung out more. I liked the way she smiled when she talked about them. I liked the way she smiled when she talked about anything she liked.

Upon finding out she liked card games, I showed her a few magic tricks I can do with cards. She was impressed which made me feel good.

By July, we were practically best friends. We hung out as often as we could, having to work around my busy schedule with the BAU. Luckily, she had a desk job, but not for long. She’d leave in September for her new job.

This brings us back to August. August when I found out I was in love with her. August when we kissed for the first time. August when I almost had the guts to tell her how I felt. August when we went on that picnic, the breeze blowing through her hair as she touched the flowers.

I remember thinking, How could someone be so wonderful?

“What are you thinking, Dr. Reid?” She chuckled as she caught be staring.

I, embarrassed, looked down to the practically empty picnic basket between us. “Nothing, nothing.”

“I’ve caught you in a lie,” she teased.

“I was just thinking about how beautiful you are,” I told her, my cheeks burning pink.

“You are the sweetest man I’ve ever met, you know that?”

The compliment made me smile, my stomach doing that fluttering thing again.

“Come here,” she beckoned me to come toward her with her pointer finger.

I obliged, moving the basket and scooted closer. “Hi,” I said nervously.

“Hey there, handsome,” she flashed her pearly teeth at me. She pulled me in by my unbuttoned cardigan, connecting our lips softly.

I closed my eyes, taking in the sweet sensation. We’d only done this a few times before. I placed my hands on the sides of her face, kissing her with the same gentle force.

Before my brain could even get nervous and back out, she was laying with her back on the blanket, me beside her, hovering over as we kissed deeply.

The hand that wasn’t holding my body up was stroking her hair. My lips trailed down to her neck after she gave me permission to do so.

I hadn’t had sex a lot. I’m not one to sleep with someone who I don’t know well. Not that I judge people who do. It’s just not me. I enjoyed it, just didn’t need it.

With her, on that blanket on top of the flowers, it was different than anything I’ve had before. It was slow and loving. The sound of our heavy breathing and soft moans morphing together was beautiful. Everything about it was beautiful.

We laid there afterwards, her holding my hand and playing with my fingers, my head on her shoulder. We didn’t really talk, just listened to each other breathe, listened to the wind brushing through the flowers and grass.

Eventually, it was time to go. I knew this could very well be the last time I saw her. She left soon and there’d probably be a serial killer needing to be caught.

“Y/n, I-“ I start before she interrupted me.

“I know, Spencer. Just don’t say it. It’ll hurt us both.”

I nodded, looking down.

“I do too,” she gave me a soft smile, pressing a soft kiss to my lips before we parted ways.

August slipped away into a moment in time.

It was the last time I saw her… and that crushed me. But at least she knew how I felt, and I knew how she felt. I hope she’s happy where she’s at now, living the life that was meant for her. I hope she thinks about that day like I do, remembers it and smiles that beautiful smile that will forever be burned in my head.

August slipped away into a moment in time, ‘cause you were never mine. Never mine.

tags: @reidscake @reidslovely @sexualityisajoke @nomajdetective @kenreadsfanfics @assemblemotherfuckers @calicocatty @hotchandspencearedilfs @kodiakwhiskey @awhoreforspencerreid @taecube @futuremrsreid @thatsonezesty13 @reidsbookmark @katlizada @samuel-de-champagne-problems <3

[bave-de-crapaud]

The Darkness Within...

CHAPTER FIVE

(Yearning by crescentcreations.storenvy.com) 

Request by: the babe @belladonnarey

A/N: hmmm this one took a while BUT it (hopefully) is the smut you have been waiting for. Let me know what you like about it, what you don’t, what you think will happen. Enjoy and stay safe.  Sirius x Reader Older Sirius Sirius Lives/Post Azkaban Smutty McSmut Word count: 5500+ Disclaimer: All characters are assumed 18+ Warnings: Smut!

—-

Finding yourself at Number 12 Grimmauld Place became a regular if normal occurrence over the next few weeks. In your spare time you sat on the floor in Sirius’ library, pouring over dusty volumes containing everything and anything related to wizards and witches with ‘eccentric abilities’ - the technical term to what you had, apparently. 

The good thing about this was you weren’t the only one who had surfaced over the years with strange skills, there were wizards who could command water without a wand, witches who with one touch could drain a person of their fears, individuals who could fly sans apparatus and countless others who had fascinating and outrageous traits. The bad thing was none of these wizards were alive today to speak with, the last person with documented abilities had died over 100 years ago. Yet again you felt like you were on this journey on your own.

Sirius and Remus were constantly in and out of the house completing various missions and tasks for the order. Sirius checked on you often, bringing you tea or something to eat but kept himself scarce to let you figure out your mysteries alone. He seemed to understand that this was a private affair for you and you were grateful for the time. However each night around 8pm he would come into the Library, sit on one of the old leather couches and ask you about your day. 

You caught snippets of what he and Remus had been up to and learned that one of the missions ended in a grizzly discovery of Macnair’s body - found dead in his home - magic obviously the cause of torture and death. 

Voldemort had become less of a focus in your mind and each time you were called to his presence you found it easy to resist his psychological torment. The disgust on your face was not evident when fellow Death Eaters talked about their foul crimes. Being around Sirius was giving you a strength you never knew you had. The way he threw himself into fighting for equality and the right to live no matter what situation or who he had to work with, both humbled and amazed you. If he can put up with more than 12 years of the world thinking he was a betrayer and cold-blooded killer who was associated with Death Eaters and Voldemort, then you could put up with sporadically rubbing shoulders with Malfoy, Lestrange, and their cronies.

Your new attitude didn’t go unnoticed, it was put down to you growing a stronger stomach for violence and generally taken positively amongst the Death Eater ranks. However, Voldemort, though he outwardly showed no signs of displeasure, watched you more and decided to hold whatever he wanted Macnair to deliver to you for later. Like any nefarious leader, he was constantly on the lookout for a rat in his ranks and you were not exempt from this scrutiny.

After every Death Eater meeting, you would return home before heading over to Grimmauld Place, a new sanctuary, to pour over more books and hopefully absorb the good vibes from its admirable inhabitants. This made being with Death Eaters bearable. On the nights of Order meetings, however, you stayed away. Those evenings were becoming Sirius’ least favourite. It made sense to shield you from them for your own and others’ safety. However, that didn’t stop him feeling concerned for you. Reckless and impulsive, he may be, he was also a very intuitive and perceptive man. He hadn’t failed to notice how much you seem to relax in his library. He wanted that for you, relating to that feeling of relief as almost an addictive substance, he knew you needed and craved it and he wanted to give it to you. Badly. 

He felt protective and territorial of you. If he really wanted to analyse his feelings he would have noticed that your safety, though paramount, was not the only reason he wanted you to come to his house: the lingering looks as he gave you yet another cup of tea, finding a way to bring you into conversation with Remus, seemingly innocently, was a dead giveaway of deeper feelings. Remus said nothing, prefering to feign ignorance, yet the annoyingly knowing looks he gave Sirius hinted otherwise.

“Just ask her, Padfoot.” Remus sighed exasperatedly, shuffling his paper one day as Sirius kept looking towards the door of his library, knowing you were inside.

“Ask her what?” Sirius tried and failed to nonchalantly reply.

“Out, mate!” 

Sirius frowned, placing both hands on the kitchen table as though readying his defense. “For one: what makes you think I want to ask her out? And two: I couldn’t anyway - we are supposed to be on opposing sides remember?” 

Remus stared at his friend, conceding defeat but not enough to hold in his last words before disappearing behind the Daily Prophet; “True but if it can be concealed from the Death Eaters that she is at your house every day, then asking her to have dinner with you is not a huge step up I would think.”

There was another reason, Sirius hadn’t tried to gauge your feelings: He didn’t want you to think he was just trying to get a leg over. Your outright statement about his intentions after he first visited your house, had stuck with him. He concluded that you didn’t want him and pursuing you would only harden your view towards him further. So he played it safe, frustrating himself and unknowingly frustrating you in the process.

—

Sirius’ library was vast and carried more volumes on runes than all the franchises of Flourish and Blotts combined. What was interesting was that the interpretation of runes and ancient markings was just as vast and also open into a plethora of interpretation. You had discovered that the rune on your chest - the mirror image of one of Sirius’  tattoos - did indeed mean ‘destruction’ but in a form of new growth. Much like a farmer sowing soil, ridding the earth of old, dead, and rotting plants preparing it for new seeds.

Two runes on your left arm meant ‘Harm To My Enemies’ and another on your thigh could be interpreted as ‘The East Wind’. Other forms of your abilities were harder to quantify as there was no record of someone with all the same traits as you, however, those who had shown up throughout history with varying sources of atypical power were more often than not tyrants and individuals who used their abilities for evil. Stories of wizards who did not feel cold, commanding animals, and manipulating the elements such as fire were largely negative however speckled throughout the research were wizards who were great warriors, shepherds of the people, and in some cases just normal citizens living their lives like everyone else

Though you were slowly and steadily finding out more information about your powers and relished the time you were so easily given you couldn’t help but wish for Sirius’ company more often than an hour or two at night. Luckily for you, that was about to change.

—

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” You were sat on the floor in front of the fireplace staring gloomily at your fifth cup of tea.

You smiled “Sirius I’m so grateful for you letting me stay but I was wondering - do you have anything other than tea?”

He smirked and left the room returning seconds later with a bottle of fire whiskey. 

Handing you a large glass he clinked it with his and took his place back on the couch asking you again how was your day. Each night Sirius had helped you with your findings, giving his opinion or helping you to digest what you had read. He was adamant that your powers weren’t evil and that you needed to be confident in your choice to do what was right. He had served to make you feel good about yourself a lot but you wondered if he had the same support from his pairs. Tonight you put aside your research and decided to question him about his life. You had gleaned a bit about him over the last month but he was infinitely fascinating to you and seemed like a well of untapped ideas and beliefs.

He talked about his family, his friends, and the Order. He told you light hearted tales about his Hogwarts days and he talked at length about Harry and how sometimes he was nervous about his parenting role considering Walburga and Orion were such poor examples to go off.

“You know, you are not what I thought.” You said boldly after a moment of silence.

 Sirius sat up straighter on the couch and cocked his eyebrow at you. A side smile not quite covering a flicker of worry in his eyes.

“Oh?” Was all he said. “Yeah.” You walked forwards from your current position in front of the mantle place and took a seat beside him. 

“You care more about what people think than you let on.”

“Is that so?” He subconsciously moved his body so it was angled towards you.

“Yeah, and you are not as much of a dog around the ladies as I thought you’d be.” Sirius barked out a laugh at this. “Why thank you Y/N, but to be fair you have never seen me around ‘the ladies.’”

“I’ve seen you around me.” You answered bluntly. “You aren’t all over me with cheap pick up lines and cocky bravado.”

Sirius turned his head away and tried to hold in a laugh. Where was this coming from? He wondered.

“Is that how you think I would woo a woman? I’m slightly offended, Y/N.” He didn’t look it. He looked amused and a little interested.

He wasn’t able to tell if you were joking and as you glimmered at him, taking another sip of your drink.

“I don’t sleep around you know. I haven’t done that since I was 20, but unfortunately, that reputation has always preceded me.”

“You probably deserved it!” 

He scoffed, turning back to stare at the fire; “Probably, and don’t get me wrong I still like meeting new people but I have long since learned sex is far better with someone you have a connection with.”

“Ok then.” You said brightly, gaining his attention again. “What would you do?” 

“What would I do, when?” Sirius narrowed his eyebrows slightly, confused.

“When you want to “woo” a woman.” You signalled quotation marks in the air as you said the word ‘woo’ earning another quick chuckle from him.

Sirius paused, looking at you intently, cogs working fast in his brain. She wants you to woo her? No, she wants you to show her what you would do to woo her. Does that mean she wants me?

As Sirius battled these rapid thoughts, your own inner monologue was pipping up as well:  This is a dangerous game, Y/N.  You are leading him on and you know it.  It’s too dangerous, you can’t do anything with him. Don’t confuse the poor guy…unless you want to be leading him on.  Do you?

Shaking your head and forcing yourself to believe this would just be a fun game you crossed your legs leaning closer to Sirius.

He noticed glancing at your legs, smooth skin exposed up to past mid-thigh where your skirt took over covering the rest from there.

He looked back into your eyes and noticed a difference. Your pupils were bigger and there was a faint purple hue in your irises.

Right now, the sexual tension in the room could be cut with a knife. It had been building over the past few weeks. An accidental touch here and there, a smile, or a look that meant everything and nothing at the same time from him would floor you. When he looked over your shoulder to consider whatever book you were showing him, little puffs of his breath in your ear flooded your body with heat making it impossible to concentrate. All these reactions confused you and created a chronic longing feeling in your chest you had not experienced before. It made you feel warm, content, and giddy. 

Never having fallen for anyone before, you didn’t recognise the signs, the changes in your body and the effect he had on you mentally and physically. By the time these feelings had reached boiling point he was sitting next to you and your body was doing the thinking for you. God you wanted him to touch you. To an untrained eye Sirius looked so cool and collected, however beneath the surface he was anything but.

Since Remus had confronted him about asking you out, Sirius had thought little else. He was super aware of his body language, how it angled him towards you, begging him to take a step closer even if just to place his hand on your back as he passed. Believing that you didn’t want that from him, he was careful not to brush past you or stand too close and cause you to feel uncomfortable. He constantly watched himself and made sure he didn’t give you the wrong idea. It was hard though. Very hard.

Just yesterday he nearly pinned you against the wall and kissed you. He was walking you out and after a long night of research, you were tired and not watching where you were going. Just as he was saying “watch out for the…” you kicked over that bloody troll leg again. Instead of steading yourself, your first thought was not to wake up Sirius’ Mother’s portrait so you reached back to catch the falling article before its clatter made a sound. Overreaching, you fell backward into something hard and warm: Sirius’ chest. He instantly wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight and upright. 

“Are you ok?” he whispered in your ear, his puffs of breath once again making your veins tingle.

You swallowed and exited abruptly leaving Sirius cursing himself for what he thought was his incongruous behaviour. As far as you were concerned, it had been anything but and you were unable to stop thinking of him for the rest of the evening, dreaming of those same arms doing other far more inappropriate things making your sleep wrought with pleasurable shivers and fever. Oh God, was he ever going to come closer?

Until this evening he had been the perfect gentleman, respecting your boundaries and staying just out of reach. Apart from the one incident in the hallway, you hadn’t felt his touch, no matter how innocent, since he had carried you up the stairs to bed and that was having an unacceptable effect on you. It made you lean towards him further, lick your lips whenever he was near, and glance at his body when he wasn’t looking in a completely wanton way. He must notice the heat coming from me? You thought. He seemed so relaxed, not at all perturbed by your presence.

How wrong you were. Inside, Sirius was struggling. He was trying to be a gentleman but it was hard, you were making it hard. Do you actually want him? He was ok with just being in your orbit slowly torturing himself at not touching you, content at just being there but this evening, your flirting coupled with the fire whiskey was not helping, in fact, its lubricating effects ware making resisting anything you said that could be slightly construed as even vague interest, very, very difficult. 

Sirius cleared his throat. Not taking his eyes off you. “You want me to show you how I ask a woman out?”

“Yes, show me your moves!”

Sirius smiled but his eyes held a serious, almost pained look. Before you could ask him what was wrong he shuffled in his seat.

“Y/N, I don’t have moves I just sort of feel a situation out, see if she likes me and then go from there.”

“Ok well, show me how you do that. Come on.” You egged him as he gave you a look of doubt. “It’ll be fun.”

It’ll be torture. Sirius thought, but you were looking at him with such a blazing warmth in your eyes, he relented and shifted so he was closer to you.

“Well, if I like her I have usually gotten to know her a little bit, watched the way she moves, adjusted my body language to suit whatever she is comfortable with, and look for signs she is interested in me too.”

He stretched so his right arm was running along the back of the couch, behind you, touching your shoulder ever so lightly. You shivered at the contact. 

“Then I guess I would let her take the lead.” His voice had lowered and you noticed he had leaned closer to you. You had also noticed that the outside of his right leg was pressed against your crossed calves and as he leaned to you further you got a whiff of his cologne. The musky, manly scent combined with his closeness dilated your pupils further and sent your mind whirling.

Before you could collect yourself Sirius gave you a slow, mischievous smile, took a sip of his drink and said very quietly; “Your turn.”

“My…w-what?” you uttered, stammering slightly.

“Your turn to show me your moves.”

Fuck you wanted him. Could you? No? Slowly, not realising it you inched closer to him. 

You were nervous, Sirius could finally see that. Whatever he was doing had an effect on you. Sirius loved the excitement of turning someone else on, this was him in his element. However, unlike most interactions with the opposite sex, this one was equally thrilling and torturing him. Setting his glass down and gathering a sliver of confidence he tentatively he placed his left hand on your thigh. You sucked in a sharp breath which he mistook for fear immediately whipping his hand away and opening his mouth to apologise only to be interrupted by the words: “Don’t stop.”

He looked back at you, having just enough time to register your meaning before you lunged forward, capturing his lips in yours. 

There was a seconds pause then Sirius was returning your kiss with fervor. He wrapped his arms around your back clinging to your shirt before lifting you up and onto his lap, legs either side of his, pressing into him exquisitely. 

He tasted like fire whiskey and something sweet at the same time.

He moved his hand through your hair holding your head while the other held your lower back pressing you firmly, further into him. Suddenly the hand holding your head was gone and running up your outer thigh, underneath your skirt. 

His warm fingers caressed your upper thigh, moving further to touch the tip of your hip and run tantalizing circles across your backside.

His kisses were feverish and sending you reeling. The way he swept his tongue across your lips opening them and deepening the kiss was tantalizing. Clinging to him, grabbing fistfuls of his hair, you ground down into his crotch and he groaned, opening his eyes. They were heavy with desire.

Sirius squeezed your bum picking you up and laying you back down on the couch. He didn’t remove his lips from yours as he wrapped your legs around his waist and lowered his body onto yours.

You arched up into him and he was immediately transported to the first dream he had of you, lying naked on his bed. He let out a shuddered breath; “You are so beautiful, Y/N. I want you.”

Instead of being flattered by this, a voice popped up in the back of your mind; Did he though? Shaken by this sudden thought, then jumping slightly at the bang of the front door signifying the probable return home of Remus served to knock you back into reality. The situation suddenly became very clear to you. You had just thrown yourself at a man who was known for sleeping with multiple women, very easily it seemed if you were to believe what he said before - he didn’t have to do anything and they offered themselves to him.

Of course he wanted you - you had led him on with your ‘game’ basically given yourself up to him on a platter. This wasn’t real, it was convenient and you could seriously hurt him if you let him in further.

Seeing the change in your face, Sirius sat up, “Y/N, are you ok? Was this too fast?.”

“Sirius..I” you were so embarrassed. Sitting up, quickly removing your legs from around him. 

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have.” He could see the blush rising up around your cheeks and you couldn’t look at him.

“Shouldn’t have? What do you mean - I think this was on both of us. Don’t you?”

“I mean.” You screwed your eyes shut, breathing deeply, “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea…I… I don’t do one nightstands.” 

“One nightstands?” he was frowning at you, confused, his mind racing. Didn’t she hear me before? 

Seeing him frown and mistaking it for annoyance rather than confusion you stood up and started to back towards the door. “I should go, I’m so sorry for coming on to you.”

“Y/N! Wait!” But before he could take two steps towards you, you had turned on your heel and raced out the door.

“Y/N!” Sirius was still calling your name as you shot out the front door, turning on the spot to disapparate. 

—

“Argh, Y/N how could you be so stupid!” You cursed yourself as you walked around your kitchen.

That had been the hottest, most erotic thing that had happened to you and you choked, freaked out, and left.

You wanted Sirius it was true but you couldn’t quite believe someone like him could want you for anything more than a one time fling. No one else had wanted more so what made him any different?

Plus even if he did there was a real chance you could lose it and hurt him. The feelings he elicited from you were unreal and you had never felt that alive and heated before. It both thrilled and frightened you to your bones.

Though the research you conducted in his library had opened up ideas that you hadn’t had before - you were still afraid. Sirius had quickly and unquestionably become your favourite person and you didn’t think your poor heart could take having him in the most intimate way and then not having him again. So you had done the most adult thing you could think of: insulted his intentions and run away. “Brilliant!” You spat.

Back at Geimmauld Place, Sirius was pacing up and down the hall. “YOU IDIOT!” He yelled at himself waking up his mother. “Oh shut the fuck up you old hag!” Storming out of the house, and out into the night air helped calm him and give him clarity. He disapparated instantly.

Lifting your head from your hands you got up from the kitchen table as you heard a soft knock at your front door.

Sirius stood at your door with a dark, devastating look.

“Sirius I…” you began.

“I want you more than just for tonight.” He blurted out. “I have for a long time” 

“What if I hurt you?” 

He walked in, eyes dark and grabbed you, “You won’t.”

He let you go and stood before you, waiting. He wanted you to be sure of him and sure of yourself. His broad shoulders quivered under your stare, not with fear but ready to do anything you desired. Sirius was a handsome man, sure, but standing before you laying his cards on the line, his need for you so obvious and open made him the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. He was not afraid of anything. His confidence fanned yours and you ignored the fear building in your stomach and stepped into him. 

Attaching himself to your lips once more he didn’t look as he closed the front door and led you towards your staircase.

Laying you down on your bed once again he hovered above you, one muscled arm on either side of your head. This view of you sprawled out underneath him jogged his memory and as he recalled first dream about you again. He closed his eyes and shuddered.

“What’s wrong Sirius?”

Your concern was squashed by a sly smile. He opened his eyes and said with a smirk: “I’ve dreamt about this before”

“Is that so?”

“Yes” he looked at you intently.

“What did dream me do?”

You couldn’t quite hold your smug smile while Sirius bit his lip and told you.

Wrapping your legs around him once more, you pulled him down on top of you. Hands running down his sides as you kissed him, you felt his muscles tense at each spot you touched. Whatever you were doing to him, he enjoyed it.

Taking great effort to wrench his lips from yours Sirius looked at you once more and asked: “Y/N, would you like to go to dinner with me sometime?”

Looking surprised, you nodded. He smiled. “I meant what I said. This isn’t just a once off. Not for me.”

“I know.” You conceded. “I also just didn’t want my first time to be meaningless.” “Your first time?” Sirius looked shocked. “You mean you’ve never…?”

You shook your head, grimacing slightly hoping this didn’t change anything.

“Oh Y/N, are you sure?” Sirius was surprised and, if possible, turned on even more. There was something so special about sharing someone’s first experience. Meaning something so much to them that they wanted to be with you. He felt sexy, powerful, and potent which combined with how long he had lusted over you and the way you moved, made it incredibly hard for him to focus.

“Yes Sirius.” The brazen look in your eyes and the way you ran your hands in sweeping strokes around his body told him that though you may not have had sex you had had other intimate experiences and you knew what you wanted.

He shuddered once more, closing his eyes as you arched up into him again. 

“Y/N.” His voice came out in a rasp. “God, you are turning me on… I want you so badly but if this is not right for you please tell me and we’ll stop.”

You surprised him by laughing softly. “You’re sort of killing the mood, Sirius. I want this, I want you - you know you are not the only one who has touched themselves dreaming about us.”

Suddenly, with a twirl of your fingers, soft, malleable ropes appeared at your wrists. Gently lifting your arms up and firmly tying your hands to your bedpost.

Sirius’ jaw dropped and he almost started drooling. The look on his face, one of absolute adoration, spurred you on further. Another flick of your wrist and your clothes slowly started peeling themselves off your body, ripping in parts to remove themselves from you until you were lying naked, stretched underneath him, replicating that particular dream perfectly.

As you looked up at him through relaxed eyelids and purred; “I want you to touch me, Sirius.” He nearly came undone.

Though he was only wearing his jeans and a shirt he couldn’t get naked fast enough.

Sirius laid his body against yours, groaning at the feel of your soft skin. He kissed you deeply, letting one arm hold himself while the other dipped low, wandering further until it came torturously close to your clit before moving passed and circling your inner thigh.

You groaned with frustration and he smiled into your lips as he kissed you, tongue sweeping inside your mouth lighting sparks inside your head.

Each time he neared closer to your core, your breath hitched, waiting, only to be expelled in frustration as he moved passed and to another area. 

He explored your mouth, your neck, your collar bone, and your nipples with his mouth, all the while coming close to touching you where you needed but not getting close enough.

Finally, he swept his finger up the line of your folds and flicked your clit. A move that literally took your breath away and his. He could feel how wet you were and it made his cock twitch with excitement. “Oh, Y/N.”

His teasing had become torturous for him as well. If he wasn’t careful, your body was going to turn him on so much that he might come on you rather than inside you like he desperately wanted.

He moved down to flick your nipple with his tongue then continued further south until his head was level with your core. A brush of stubble on your inner thigh had you jolting. He kissed the spot, sparking your lust even more. Not able to take any more teasing, “please Sirius” you begged. The desperate timbre of your voice made him feel incredibly desired.

He gently made taught the skin above your clit tilting it upwards and licking it, so lightly but giving you the feeling of being shocked with the most incredible surge of power. A whimper and a groan encouraged him to carry on and soon he was holding your bucking hips down as he continued to rapidly lick, and flick the sensitive bead. You could feel a sudden blooming inside you, growing outwards, and upwards lighting even your soul on fire. Suddenly afraid your weird powers might cause you to lash out and hurt him you made to move away but he held you down and stopped his tongue briefly enough to growl, “you won’t, just let go.”

He shifted his free hand under your bum and squeezed as he buried his face once more in your core.  There it was again, that sweet hot feeling running through your bones. A warm glow washed over you and into him - consuming him filling him with love. You could feel his devotion to you, how turned on he was, how much he longed for you. This had never happened previously and before you could process it the orgasm he gave you lifted you off the bed causing you to cry out his name over and over. He did not relent, it was exquisite ecstasy.

“Oh God, oh God…” you breathed, hyperventilating from how good he had made you feel. Sirius was smiling, he had made his way back up the bed and was lying next to you, stroking your side.

You wrenched your arms out of the ropes and launched at him, taking him off guard and kissing him deeply, pushing yourself on top of him until you were straddling his lap just like you had only moments ago in his library.

Sirius’ cocky smile turned into an ‘oh’ as his mouth opened while you grabbed his erection and placed it at your entrance. Wetting the tip from your already dripping core you slowly began to slide down.

Sirius, groaned, bit his lip and grasped your hips. He was utterly and irrevocably under your spell.

Feeling a stretch, painful at first, you continued to slide down until a snapping feeling followed by a slight relief brought you to the bottom of his shaft.

Taking your breath you slowly started to move up and down his cock, squeezing intermittently and kissing him sporadically.

The frenzy he had whipped you into before had served to lubricate your entrance so though there was some pain at first, it soon gave way to a delightfully filling feeling.

“Ohhh Y/N” Sirius groaned as your inner walls stroked his shaft. You were tight, as he expected but your smooth movements and rocking of your hips blew him away. If this was you at your first time then he was in for a real treat when you had more experience under your belt. Thoughts of you experimenting with others flashed across his mind and he growled. Territorial hormones took him over as he squeezed your hips hard lifting his own up into you, hitting a spot inside you that caused you to moan.

Sirius noticed this and increased the snapping of his hips. Continuous thrusts meeting each other coupled with your already sensitive clit rubbing against the rough hair on his pelvis was causing an orgasm to build again. Surely not? Not at your first instance of sex, you thought?

A delightful wave tickled your walls and you shivered. “Sirius, I’m going to come. Don’t stop.”

He didn’t, reaching down between you he rubbed your clit once more to bring your orgasm about faster. Feeling your walls clamp down around him his thrusts became sloppier and as you came, unraveling on top of him he found his release crying your name and squeezing your hips painfully. 

You fell forward on top of him and he instantly wrapped his arms around you rolling you to the side, still inside of you showing no signs he wanted to get up.

Laying there entwined with him, you felt the content warm feeling ripple through you again. You had let go and not lost control! If you could do this then you could do anything. No more holding back. In one act of love Sirius had helped you break the shackles of fear and find relief from a lifetime of pressure and concern. You felt light and confident. Chuckling to yourself he looked at you cocking an eyebrow in question.

“Well Sirius, those were some good moves!” 

There was a beat and then you both laughed.

—- Tag list: @sirius-lysad @riddikuluslypotter @emmamass24 @evyiione @mylovelykelsifer @sly-vixen-up2nogood @ashkuuuu @songforhema @wangmangagavroche @borbole-teias @legalyred @qwertyokok

[cartoonsliveon]

So... instead of working on a typed up collection of recipes from multiple different food magazines or playing Pokemon.... @h-theartist and I were talking about this angsty AU about Gogo becoming brainwashed by a supervillain after risking her life to save San Fransokyo and everyone thinks she died. And she came up with this super ANGSTY dialogue that I just had to write a story surrounding!!!!!

“Oof!” 

Honey Lemon stumbled back into the wall of crates behind her, setting a hand along her jaw where she’d just been punched by Lightsp- by Gogo. Honey Lemon refused to see the figure in front of her as anyone other than her girlfriend, even though she was acting and thinking like an entirely different person. All that seemed to do though, was make it infinitely harder for Honey Lemon to fight her.

When Hiro heard that Krei Tech was expecting a new shipment of equipment and parts, they had all originally anticipated Gigavolt and Lightspeed to be there to steal it. What they hadn’t anticipated however, was that Yama would also be here. So instead of the five of them facing off against Gigavolt and Lightspeed, it was now the five of them versus Gigavolt, Lightspeed, Yama, and all of Yama’s henchman. Instead of having Fred or Wasabi by her side, they were facing off against Yama’s goons while Hiro and Baymax raced to secure the tech before either bad guy could their hands on it.

But that left Honey Lemon alone to face Gogo. And even though Honey Lemon didn’t want to hurt her girlfriend, Gogo clearly had no qualms about it. As Honey Lemon stood there, still taken aback by the punch, Gogo rushed at her. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat, hurrying to get out of the way of Gogo’s next hit. Gogo’s fist hit the air, but Honey Lemon wasn’t able to put any distance between them before Gogo grabbed her arm. Before Honey Lemon could realize what happened, Gogo began twisting her arm and kicking both her legs out from underneath her. She hit the pavement with a slam onto her opposite side and arm.

“What’s the matter with you,” Honey Lemon whispered to herself. It was a rhetorical question of course, Honey Lemon knew the answer long before she asked the question. She couldn’t bring herself to hurt her girlfriend, she didn’t want to do that to the woman she loved more than anything. But, if Big Hero 6 was ever going to succeed in capturing Gigavolt and rescuing Gogo, she had to fight her. She had to fight Lightspeed and defeat her in order to get back Gogo. 

But that didn’t make it any easier for Honey Lemon. She didn’t see a villain when she looked at Lightspeed. She saw her girlfriend, and all the ways she failed her.

“Come on Honey Lemon,” She whispered to herself, “Woman up!” 

Honey Lemon rolled over, preparing to quickly get back onto her feet, to find Gogo had been standing over her. It was clear by her stance that, while Honey Lemon was briefly stuck in her own head scolding herself, she’d been planning to hit her while she was down. But she hadn’t. Instead, it’s as if she’s frozen in place with her arm pulled back at the ready. She’s mumbling something, in a quiet but.... is that panic Honey Lemon hears in her voice?

 It’s difficult to understand what Gogo is saying, her helmet acts too much as a muffler for her voice. Honey Lemon steps closer, too desperate to understand what her girlfriend is saying to think about how her actions might be interpretted. Her hand lightly grips Gogo’s arm, lowering it to her side as she tries to meet her eyes behind the dark visor. 

Despite how quiet Gogo suddenly is, “why does that sound so familiar?” echoes loudly in Honey Lemon’s ears as she meets Gogo’s confused gaze. Confusion quickly shifts to pain though and Gogo jerks away from Honey Lemon. And now suddenly its Gogo who is trying to get as far away as she can from Honey Lemon and keep her distance.

But Honey Lemon isn’t about to let Gogo get away, not after what she just saw and heard. She doesn’t hesitate to take off after Gogo, using her chem boots to freeze the ground beneath her. With how fast Gogo can run, its the only way she would be able to keep up with her as she races across the docks and into the maze of industrial storage units that make it up. Honey Lemon doesn’t notice that she can’t hear Wasabi and Fred any longer as they take on Yama’s goons, nor would she have cared even if she did. All she cares about is keeping up with Gogo, because the minute Gogo gets too far ahead, she’ll be gone.

Gogo takes a sudden turn down a narrow side route between two towers of industrial crates. Honey Lemon turns to make it as well, watching as Gogo rushes towards the end of it. Honey Lemon reaches for her purse, lifting it up slightly higher before pressing one of the many buttons. The small cannon pops out immediately and Honey Lemon fires a single, lone chem ball. Honey Lemon skids to a stop as she watches it fly, shooting past Gogo and far ahead of her until it finally explodes. Gelatinous pink goo stretches from one tower of crates to the other, effectively blocking off the path.

Gogo skids to a stop in front of it, and stares. The two of them are silent, Gogo staring at her blocked escape route and Honey Lemon staring at her girlfriend. Honey Lemon takes a step forward.

“I just want to help you.”

“Get out of my way,” Gogo demanded quietly, hands clenched tightly into fists as she turned slowly to face Honey Lemon.

"Gogo-”

“I said get out of my-”

“Please listen to me!” Honey Lemon doesn’t mean to raise her voice, but she needs Gogo to listen. Gogo has to listen to her, “You have to believe me, you were my girlfriend! And you know big hero 6, ‘cause you were a part of it!" 

You are my girlfriend, she thinks. You are part of Big Hero 6. It isn’t past tense anymore. It never was past tense. Honey Lemon takes another two steps closer, clasping her hands loosely together in front of her. She doesn’t want to keep fighting with her girlfriend, she doesn’t want to keep doing this anymore.  

"I...” Gogo can’t help but stare at Honey Lemon. But just as quickly as she starts to form one thought, she starts shaking her head. She turns her gaze downward, refusing to stare directly at Honey Lemon, “No! Stop messing with me! You're not going to fool me!" 

 "I'm not trying to, I'm telling you the truth! We were your friends, Gogo! And so was I..." 

 "S-shut up!" Honey Lemon flinches, stepping backwards as Gogo presses her hands into the sides of her helmet. She’s never really heard Gogo scream before like that, and it immediately brings tears to Honey Lemon’s eyes. It isn’t just because Gogo sounds so confused or frustrated, it’s because she’s in pain. She’s in pain and its scaring her. And Honey Lemon is putting her through it, when hurting Gogo was the last thing she would ever want to willingly do.

But Gogo needs to remember. Gogo has to remember. And Honey Lemon knows that she can. If they were in each others positions, Gogo would want her to remember. Gogo would woman up and do whatever it took to make her remember, even if it hurt them both. 

 "Do you remember Hiro? Wasabi?” She asked quietly, surprised by how steady her voice was despite feeling like she was on the brink of crying. She took another two small steps forward as she continued asking, “Fred? Baymax?”

 Gogo started moaning quietly, trying to manage the pain that was developing in her head. Each question seemed to make it stronger, it felt like her skull was starting to throb. Rational thinking was starting to abandon her, as all Gogo wanted was for the pain to stop. 

“Stoop,” She pleaded, not realizing how weak it sounded. 

Before Honey Lemon could respond though, Gogo had suddenly taken her helmet off in one swift move. It clattered noisily to the ground as she pressed her hands against her head, as if that would somehow help make the pain more bearable. Honey Lemon could only stare at Gogo, wishing she could pull her into her arms and kiss the pain away. 

It hasn’t occurred to Honey Lemon, up until now, how long its been since she’s actually seen Gogo. For three months, all Honey Lemon had were pictures to look at her from, and when Gigavolt returned, all Honey Lemon could see through the visor were Gogo’s beautiful brown eyes. Her purple streak has faded, nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding black. There’s a bruise on her forehead, a faint yellowish green, that’s a reminder of the last time Gogo and Gigavolt fought Big Hero 6. Its presence is further emphasized, despite nearly being healed, by her slightly paler than normal complexion. 

Honey Lemon sees it, but she doesn’t notice it. She’s too focused on the pain written on Gogo’s face. Confusion glitters in Gogo’s eyes as she struggles to comprehend what’s wrong with her. Honey Lemon bites her lip, listening silently to Gogo as she moans in pain. She waits with baited breath, praying that the realization will suddenly strike her. That at any minute, Gogo will look up at her, recognize her, and they’ll run into each others arms. She’s waiting, but that moment isn’t coming. It isn’t coming and Gogo needs more help remembering. 

“Gogo?” Honey Lemon’s words catch in her throat. And she hesitates. She’s already causing Gogo enough pain as it is, trying to encourage her to think of good memories. She’s already hurt her girlfriend enough. If she asks her next question, it’s only going to make it worse. She’s asking her to remember something painful, something that none of them could ever truly forget.

 She takes a shaky breath before continuing, “... do you remember Tadashi?"

Honey Lemon reaches up to wipe at her stinging eyes, feeling a small hitch in her throat as she does so. Honey Lemon doesn’t doubt for a second, if Tadashi were still here, that he’d be by her side to help bring Gogo home. She knows this in her heart just as she knows how much she loves Gogo. 

Gogo goes quiet, eyes staring blankly at the ground as she seems to be processing the question. And then suddenly, she lifts her head enough to stare Honey Lemon in the eyes, tears running down her face. When Gogo suddenly speaks, her voice is congested from the tears, her words broken up by tiny hilting gasps for air.

 "... T.... Tadash... UGHH SHUUT UUUP!!! ” 

Gogo falls to her knees with a noise that is both near hysterical crying and pained screaming. It’s all Honey Lemon can hear, even when Gogo has no choice but to stop for air. Each hiccuping gasp sends a pang of guilt through Honey Lemon, making her feel more and more like a traitor to her own girlfriend. 

“I DON’T WANT TO LISTEN ANYMORE,” Gogo screams, struggling to catch her breath. She starts to fold her entire body downward, curling inward like a ball as her fingers dig into her temples and palms press into her eyes.

Honey Lemon rushes to Gogo’s side, struggling to keep it together. Listening to her girlfriend break down, watching her break down, rips her already broken heart further apart. She just wants to pull Gogo into her arms and make all the pain go away. She wants to take it away just as quickly as she inflicted it. 

She only manages three steps though, before she suddenly finds herself on the ground. Pain spreads throughout her entire body, making it incredibly difficult to move, the worse of it coming from the very center of her back. Where she was struck... by a powerful bolt of electricity.

[chanbangblog]

Wasted Time

one shot request: “hey love could I get a best friend's brother! chris, minho, or woojin (if you still write for him) angsty fluff 🙈 pls and ty ♡”

(A/N: minho x reader, fluff, angst, 1.8k words )

You had dreaded this day for months. Ever since she told you really. The day your best friend would be moving. Yeah, you would miss her. But you were happy for her, happy she was finally getting out of your shithole town and moving to the city for her fancy new job. You’d been friends since you were kids, spent an infinite number of nights under this roof at her parent’s house, and now it was over. One of the few things that made living in this town bearable. Yeah, one of the few things, you thought. But there was really just one other reason, Lee Minho.

The relationship you had with Minho was complicated to say the least, and by complicated you meant seriously fucked up. You’d had a crush on him ever since you could remember, but it was never reciprocated, well, at least you thought it wasn’t. Minho was just the kind of guy you wanted to be around, when he spoke to you he would look you directly in the eyes and you swore to god he could see your soul. He was nice, overly concerned with doing the right thing, he was smart, he was fun. He was everything.

Your dynamic had changed when Minho had gotten his first girlfriend, even though he was a year older than you, felt protective since you’d known him so long and basically gown up with him. Yeah, that’s what it was, protectiveness. Not jealousy or anything. Nope, never. He had confided in you about his relationship, the problems he and his girlfriend had, shit he knew his sister would make fun of him for. He was 16 when he and his girlfriend started dating and texting about what to get her as a birthday present or how to tell her it really was okay that they spend time with friends separately, had turned into a near constant dialogue between you two.

Your friend knew about it, but you downplayed how much it meant to you, downplayed your true feelings for him, the ones that were slowly eating you alive. Years went by, now he was 22 and still in the same relationship. One that seemed like a prison for him, the way you saw it.

Minho had been with her his entire young adult life, he had no clue how to be single, or how adult relationships worked. This childish, controlling bullshit she put him through, was not an adult or even healthy relationship and you’d told him as much.

“I know but I love her,” he’d lament in text messages, or in whispers at night when you’d both sneak downstairs after everyone had been asleep.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you’re right for each other,” you’d say back, exasperated.

You just wanted him happy, truly, you did. You wanted someone to see his true worth, someone to cherish him, love him for all the things you saw in him.

You just wanted him happy, even if that meant it wasn’t with you.

The first time he’d texted you when you were sleeping over you’d nearly had a heart attack and died on the spot. This was it, you’d thought. He’s going to tell me he has feelings for me, why else would he ask to meet me in the middle of the night?

But when you’d met him it was just for him to complain, once again about a stupid fight with his girlfriend, how he didn’t know what he was doing with his life. Blah. Blah. Blah.

You’d both slipped back up the stairwell and into your separate beds after talking until the first signs of dawn. It left you feeling full and empty at the same time. So many more meetings just like that one had occurred, and each time you felt your hope being slowly chipped away, hope that he could ever see you as anything but a friend.

But if he only saw you as a friend why did he also downplay how close you all were? When you were around his parents and sister, you both just acted like you all were just acquaintances. Why did you all meet to talk in the middle of the night? Why couldn’t you just talk openly? It didn’t make sense but you didn’t want to question it, didn’t want to ever risk messing up how close you all had gotten.

When you had boyfriends in the past, Minho had been happy for you, never the slightest hint of jealousy and it drove you mad. Once, you and your ex had met at your friend’s house and you’d walked into the kitchen to he and Minho talking. It was a wake up call, a wake up call that your eyes shouldn’t automatically go to your best friend’s brother instead of your own damn boyfriend when you walked into a room. The sight of them together had made you sick, he paled in comparison to Minho, there’s no way he could ever make you feel 1% of what Minho made you feel as just your “friend.” Your ex hadn’t done anything wrong, he had done everything right, actually. But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was, you just weren’t sure if anyone in this world could stand a chance in your heart against Lee Minho.

So that’s how you ended up here. At the end of the driveway, waving off your bestfriend and her parents as they left to move her into her apartment in the city. Minho at your side, not standing close like you normally would because you were in the presence of others. As they drove off you felt dread creeping into your core. You weren’t just losing her, you were going to lose Minho too. Your little meetings would be no more, you no longer had a reason to come over anymore, not with your best friend gone. Now he would find someone else to spend hours talking with, you would fade out of his life, you were sure of it, and you just couldn’t bear it.

He turned to face you, “we need to talk,” he said.

Oh boy, another venting session. You really weren’t in the mood. You were always in the mood to be around him, but you were desperately fighting for your composure at this point and you didn’t want to crack.

“Okay,” you said, of course because you just didn’t know how to say no to this boy.

“You’d better enjoy this while it lasts, because I won’t be here for a while,” you said, walking through the front door and toward the living room, “at least not until the next holiday or whatever, when she comes home to visit.”

“Well, y/n, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said slowly, sitting on the couch next to you carefully, he looked, nervous?

Nervous but so beautiful at the same time. He was wearing a striped sweater and skinny jeans ripped at the knees, his dark hair was tousled, you tried not to stare, even after all these years you were in awe of what a work of art this boy was.

“I broke up with her.” He said resolutely, reading your face for a response. You couldn’t imagine what he saw there because you were at a loss for words.

“I-I’m- um, what?” you sputtered, after all these years, he had taken your advice. But it didn’t seem real, you thought the day would never come, “why?”

“Are you really asking me why, y/n? You know everything about our relationship,” Minho said calmly.

“Well, yeah, wow. Congrats, I guess?” you said, unsure of how to respond, “guess that means Lee Minho is on the market!”

You smiled the most convincing smile you could muster. The thought of him dating made you want to vomit, but you really did want him to be happy, so you had to encourage him. It was the right thing to do and he finally had his freedom.

“Not really,” he started, your face changing to confusion, “I’ve been thinking a lot lately, about what went wrong in the relationship, about the things you told me, about how to fix it. But there was just no fixing it.”

“Yeah, it was just something you outgrew, I’ve told you that.” You said, trying to follow where he was going with this.

“There was just no fixing it because she’s not you.” Minho said, his voice suddenly sounding hoarse. You felt a wave of nausea and like you had just fell from a building and slammed on the concrete simultaneously. Was this a joke? He looked sincere, the most sincere you had ever seen him, his eyes wide, studying you, waiting for any reaction. You had to give him one but you were drawing a blank.

“Please, just say something, I know you don’t see me like that. But I just had to tell you, I had to tell you before you left and I didn’t see you anymore. I just…I’d hoped maybe there was some chance-“

“Minho…” you started, how could you tell him, after all the years you’d spend singing your love for him through songs in the car, through paragraphs in your journal, thoughts that kept you up at night, and now you were here, unable to form anything resembling a coherent sentence.

So you stopped trying, like a woman possessed, you leaned forward and finally, crashed your lips together, you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, fingers snaking up to grab his hair and pull him closer. It took him a second of shock before his lips began moving against yours, and when they did, you felt a rush of relief, like this is how it was always supposed to be. Like worlds had formed and ended and began again just for everything to line up perfectly so this moment could take place.

You inhaled, relishing his scent, loving every thing about this moment. His hands found your waist as he pulled you into his lap and deepened the kiss. Your stomach was doing flips as you followed his lead, anxious for what might be coming next but ready for it at the same time. You felt so much, so much your mind was screaming with words you needed to say, words you’d finally found.

You pulled away from him, you looked at him drinking in the sight, lips pink from friction, eyes wide and the biggest grin on his face.

“I love you, Lee Minho.” You said, as a tear ghosted down your face. His eyes sparkled.

“I love you too. I’ve loved you since the first night we spent talking until the sun came up. I’m sorry it took me so long to admit it.” He said, voice cracking once or twice.

“It’s okay, it was meant to be this way, let’s just…not waste any more time.” You said, hands finding his, and interlocking perfectly.

“I’m not wasting any more time, you’re mine and I don’t care who knows it.” He declared, and your lips met again.

[wehangout]

I can Still hear You Saying (You Would Never Break the Chain)

AO3

“Knew you’d come.”

You didn’t know. Had no clue. You used to know. Used to know that you could turn up after however long away and Ian would climb on you without a second thought. Used to know that you could say whatever the fuck you wanted and still be Ian’s first choice. Shit, you used to know everything there was to know about Ian Gallagher, up until that day in front of his house.

Sure, the luggage was fucked up, taking your baby had been a shock, and the porno was a kick in the fucking teeth, but …

That moment, staring into Ian’s wet eyes – you didn’t know him, not anymore.

And you don’t know him now.

You had sat on those stairs, hands shaking and mind praying the only way a Milkovich knew how – desperate and hating yourself more with every passing second. Because you didn’t know if he’d turn up. Not anymore.

You’re under my skin, man. The fuck can I do?

The fuck, indeed.

But now he’s here. Ian’s here and he’s kissing you – he’s kissing you like maybe he’s missed you, maybe this isn’t entirely one-sided, maybe the end wasn’t really the end. And it’s good, it’s everything, it’s better than you’ve ever imagined.

You’ve imagined. A lot. You tried everything to move on, but nothing worked. You couldn’t fuck him out of your system, you couldn’t scratch the tattoo away, and you couldn’t go a single fucking day without thinking about him. Wondering, hoping, wishing maybe today was the day he’d come back and visit … call, send a letter, a postcard, a fucking smoke signal, anything, Ian, please.

But there was nothing. There was never anything and it should have helped, going cold turkey should have eased you out of all things Ian Gallagher, but the exact opposite happened, and it fucked you up.

He has a boyfriend.

You didn’t know that either.

 His kisses used to tell you everything. You would know exactly what kind of fuck he wanted from you by his kiss alone – lots of tongue meant he was impatient, needy, didn’t want to wait anymore; tiny bites on your lips and jaw meant he was feeling playful, that he wanted to laugh with you as much as he wanted to fuck you; and heavy, open-mouthed kisses … fuck, that usually meant he was about to tease you until you couldn’t breathe.

You don’t know what his kisses mean anymore.

You thought you could, thought that being with him brought it all back, made you aware again of who he is, aware of Ian. You read that first kiss and everything in it, but then he pushed you away.

Then he told you he had a boyfriend.

There’s a chill in your gut, one that slithers its way up your chest, makes you ill. But you push it away, because he’s there. You didn’t know he would come, but he did and he’s pushing into you, lips gentle while the lack of lube borders on that side of painful.

But it’s worth it. It’s so fucking worth it to have him inside of you, have him moaning against your skin, whispering your name as he comes far quicker than you remember him ever doing so.

 You don’t know what’s going to happen now. It’s morning. He’s getting dressed and you’re barely fucking awake.

He spares you a glance. “Back to work and shit.” As if it was nothing, as if being with you again was just another fuck.

So, you ask, because you don’t know. And when he kisses you, when you hold onto him with everything you have, you still don’t know.

 “This goodbye?”

Yeah, he’s carrying a bag, and yeah, he fucked you good last night, but that doesn’t mean shit when it comes to Ian Gallagher. Maybe that’s why you have so many questions. There’s a huge fucking list of them that run through your head.

You taking your meds?

Who’s this fucking boyfriend?

EMT, man, really?

Did you bring the uniform?

You really takin’ your meds?

How’s Mandy?

Your family know where you are?

Seriously, though, you doin’ okay? Takin’ your meds?

You can’t ask them, though. Not those ones. You keep things casual.

“You ever been to the beach?”

“Want anything?”

“You got a better idea how to get cash?”

“You ever had one of those croissant-donut things?”

“Wanna fuck again?”

“Where should we stop for the night?”

“What the fuck?”

“You got a bank account?”

But then you can’t hold back. It’s dark and your alone with Ian. Like, really alone. Not sitting in a car, listening to music and talking shit or planning how to get across the border. You’re beneath the train tracks looking at the fucking stars, and everything hurts so good and so bad that you can’t help yourself.

Because he’s lying next to you. He said it was hard to see you behind that glass. You desperately want to attach your mouth to the corner of his jaw, and you know he’d be okay with that. He hasn’t mentioned his boyfriend once. He looks at you the way he used to …

“You ever think about me? When I was in the joint?”

The silence aches.

“A lot.”

Maybe you still know him after all.

“Fuck, I missed you.”

Or maybe you don’t.

 He leaves you at the border. Leaves you with an I love you and a couple of grand, as if that’s supposed to make everything okay.

You don’t know him. Maybe you never did.

 He treats you different in prison. It’s weird. He’s still the cocky shit he’s always been, but then he looks at you like you hung the fucking moon or some shit, and it makes your insides gooey and your mouth stupid.

He blows you every night that first week. Every night, without fail, the second those lights go out he’s on you, mouthing at whatever skin he can reach, tasting and teasing you until his lips finally – god, Ian, finally – wrap around your dick.

Eventually the banging slows down. It’s less frantic, less impulsive, less every day. But it’s never less – never less good, never less intense, never less you and Ian.

It’s just less. And the less it is, the more he talks.

“I should have gone with you.”

“God, you smell good.”

“I’ve fucking missed you.”

Sometimes you say shit back, sometimes you touch his face, not knowing what to say. Sometimes you pretend you’re already asleep because you’re here, you’ve given up your freedom for him, but you’re sure as shit not ready to talk feelings again.

 There’s one guy who fucks with you as soon as he gets the chance. You’ve been in for nearly three months when he arrives, and your mouth goes dry at the sight of him because – shock-fucking-horror – he’s friends with Terry.

He corners you one day when you’re leaving the laundry and it’s stupid, so fucking stupid. You knew he was out to get you, but you still walk that deserted hallway alone, you still don’t tell Ian, and you still mouth off to him when he pulls out his shiv.

He’s cruel and quick, but he’s small. You put up a good fight, break his nose and kick him in the balls, all the while he cusses you out with derogatory comments you no longer give a fuck about. But when he gets you with the shiv – and what a fucking surprise, he gets you right in your left ass cheek – everything goes rage-white.

You bite, you pull his stringy hair, you squeeze his wrist until he drops the shiv on the ground next to you. Then you pick up the shiv. You don’t aim, you don’t think – you drag it across whatever skin you can find, infinitely proud when you shove him away and see his face carved up.

“Don’t gotta worry about him no more,” Ian says later that night.

You’re out of the infirmary, but Terry’s buddy is still there. Seems you got a little too close to his eye.

“Why’s that?” you mutter, the good drugs the doc gave you kicking in.

“I took care of it.”

“The fuck you talkin’ about, Gallagher?”

Everything’s a bit dopey, a bit tilted, but you don’t miss his smile. “I took care of it,” he repeats. “No one’s gonna mess with you again, Mick.”

A shiver of fear you haven’t felt in a long time runs through you, but you pass out before you can reply. It’s not until two days later, when you’re in the infirmary getting your dressing changed, that you find out what Ian did.

Fucking tough guy, acting like he took the fucker out in his sleep, added Deep Heat to the anti-biotic ointment. It would cost him his cushy job, too, if anyone found out, but no one narcs in prison.

And no one wants that burning shit in their open wound, so they leave you the fuck alone.

 The Chatty Cathy attitude doesn’t go away.

Sometimes it’s little things that shouldn’t mean shit.

“You get a haircut? Fuck, man, you look good.”

“Hey, you want my last smoke?”

“You’re always been so fucking good at poker, Mick.”

Sometimes it’s filthy and leaves you panting.

“Remember the first time you rode me? I think about it all the fucking time.”

“Christ, no one sucks cock like you, Mick.”

“Want you to come on me, on my face, yeah, do it, I fucking want it.”

Sometimes it’s everything.

“I love you.”

 Prison food is shit, but you make it bearable. Ian makes it’s bearable. He takes your egg whites and swaps them for his yolks. You give him the milk for your coffee, and he sneaks you his extra sugars. He picks the broccoli out of your stew and replaces it with half his potatoes.

Prison showers are shit, but he never lets you go it alone, always has your back, and if you drop the soap, he picks it up because that shit ain’t a fucking joke.

Prison visits are the worst. He gets visitors – Fiona, Lip, Debbie and her kid – you get no one. But after a while, money starts showing up in your commissary, he gets back from visits with messages like Lip said to say hey, and his pictures from Franny say To Uncle Ian and Mickey.

 He gets a parole meeting. You want to crawl into a hole and die.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

But you don’t know. There’s still this itch inside of you that expects things to be like last time, that expects Ian to forget about you the second he leaves this place because you just don’t know.

But you’re beginning to.

[thestoryofhiccstrid]

HICCSTRID ONE SHOT: NIGHTMARES

So today is a very very special day!! Indeed, it's the birthday of my bestie @foreverandalwayshttyd , and I wanted to write you a little something sweetie ♡ I really hope you will like it, even though it will never be as good as I wish it could since you deserve the very best! Love you lot, you make me the happiest and I'm beyond grateful to have you! AND HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYY GIRLIE!!! I WISH YOU A YEAR FULL OF HAPPINESS, UNFORGETTABLE MEMORIES AND LOVE <3

Now, as for the context, it's taking place in rtte, after season 3 episode 5 :) I'm so sorry for all the mistakes I've made (hopefully not too much!!) Enjoy :D

☆☆☆☆☆

Astrid couldn't stop turning around in her bed, and her hut had never seemed so nerve-wracking and scary. There was sweat dripping on her forehead and her temples. It seemed to her that the bedroom was burning and that she couldn't do anything to make it stop, to put an end to this agonizing heat.

Her heart was racing, as if he was threatening to get out of her rib cage at any moment. Her headache and her arms shaking did not help to realise her overwhelming urge to find a normal breathing again and a less blurred view. She just could't focus on anything else than herself on the brink of death.

She was about to cry, and she hated that. Indeed, she couldn't cry just because of a nightmare! She was a strong and fierce girl, undoubtedly fearless! She was Astrid Hofferson for Thor's sake!

Well, even if she was repeating to herself this anchored thought of her, her shivers wouldn't stop, just like her heart pounding. It looked so true, she could feel the huge pain of the Scourge of Odin all over again, and it was simply so exhausting.

Suddenly, she heard someone knocking on her door boldly.

_ "Astrid, you forgot your knives on the table of the central pavilion. I ... I wanted to give them back to you... Can I come in?"

She immediately recognized the familiar nasally voice of Hiccup that she liked more than she would admit, always shy about her increasing feelings for him that were quite scaring her about how deep they were, and the last thing that she wanted was him seeing her being a total mess.

Since he didn't get any reply, he soon started to worry and decided to knock again, the want to make sure that she was okay devouring him.

But still, no reply at all.

_ "Astrid? Astrid! Are you okay?" he said, his voice full of concern for the girl that, only a week ago, caused him the fear of his life, but also the same girl that was always the main character of his craziest dreams (that may or may not include a passionate and all so desired kiss), since... well... since as long as he could remember.

_ "Yes, don't... don't worry Hiccup, I will take them tomorrow. But thanks."

She felt so guilty about not opening her front door to her... best friend? That was what he was to her, right? Or maybe more? No, what was she thinking about! And even if she had developed feelings for him, which is clearly not the case, would it be mutual?

She didn't know anymore... Another thing she wants to figure out, since there were so many different feelings rushing in her heart at the same time whenever his cute face full of freckles was in front of her. And his bright emerald eyes, those that looks at her like nobody else do, and that definitely were her weakness. She could litteraly get lost into them.

She thought for so long that he was just her best friend and nothing more than the guy who share with her the taste for adventure, the guy that completely changed her opinion about dragons and war, the guy the most awkward yet cute she ever met, the guy the most caring and protective and faithful to his convictions, and attractive...

By Odin! Did she just admit to herself that she found him attractive? Her?? And meaned every word she said, if not more???

She was so not the type of girl paying attention and importance about looks, but she had to admit that Hiccup was no longer a pretty boy with a sweet smile. No, he was so much more than that.

She just didn't want to put words on it, so afraid that it might reveal her obvious feelings for him, her uncontrollable want to be with him, to make him understand how much he means to her, how much she couldn't picture herself waking up without seeing his usual grin with his adorable crooked teeths, or his excitement about a new exploration that obviously imply rescuing dragons (and she wouldn't want it any other way).

How much she couldn't imagine doing any mission without him, get some sleep without saying him goodnight, eating if she was not sitting on her usual chair because then she would have to deal with the twins stealing her food or worse, having Snotlout teasing her about how she can't live without him.

How much she cherishes every single thing that makes him him.

She didn't know how long she had been lost in her thoughts, but she was unquestionably really shocked to hear him again, testifying that he was still here and that he won't give up. Why she's not even surprised? He's definitely stubborn when he wants to, and she also deeply love that part of him. As most as she find his determination heartwarming, her flushed cheeks and her dilated pupils clearly don't want to confront his gaze, not now!

_ "Astrid, I don't want to appear intrusive or anything, but I feel like you was trying to avoid me today... Did I do something wrong? If it's the case, I'm so sorry! You know I'm here for you and that you can tell me anything and... yeah I really hope you're okay after everything you've been through this past few months. I... I miss spending time with you..."

That was it. She couldn't take it anymore. She let hot tears rolling down along her blushing cheeks, trying her best to choke her sobs. She felt so weak, so vulnerable, so fragile at this very moment.

And him, he was so nice to her, so receptive at any move she make, at any tone of voice she use. He was always there for her, exactly like he said, making sure she feels alright, happy and surrounded, offering her all the support she could wish for and even more than that.

And her? What did she do? What did she do to deserve this amount of goodwill and kindness and this unstinting support ? Was she really losing her self-confidence?

She obviously didn't wanted to be an emotional wreck. She had to believe that those horrible nightmares will come to an end with all her might!

Thus, she wiped her tears with determination and decided that the bravest thing that she could do right now was to open the door to him. After all, if there is someone in this world that won't judge anyone, it's him for sure.

_ "Hi Hiccup! Don't you worry, you didn't do anything wrong, like at all! Hum... Well... it's not you that have to apologize... I mean, I don't know where I would be without you... you litteraly saved my life and I can't think of a way to thank you enough, to repay you... I am so sorry, I didn't wanted to hurt you!!!"

And with that confession out of her chest, quiet sobs returned in spite of herself.

Instinctively, he pulled her against his chest, wrapped his arms around her waist and cradled her delicately while drawing gentle circles in the small of her back.

She immediately relaxed and put her head in the crook of his neck, taking the time to breathe his woody scent, which reminds her so much of the forge and all the hours of work he spends inside. Everything became more peaceful and bearable. It was as if this place in the hollow of his arms was meant for her. It felt like home. The precise place where she can be herself, and she was definitely overwhelmed by love right now.

She opened her eyes and dared maintaining his gaze but what she found was no longer determination. It was without a doubt hesitation.

_ "What is it? Are you feeling uncomfortable about this?"

_ "What? No! No, no, no, no, no! It's just... argh!"

_ "It's just what?", she replied, squeezing his hand in order to encourage him to continue.

_ "Forget it, it's not that important anyway", he answered, trying to avoid her gaze.

_ "What happened to you?"

_ "What are you saying?"

_ "We promised to always tell each other the truth!"

_ "Are you telling me that I'm lying to you?! Seriously Astrid?!"

_ "Up to you to convince me otherwise!"

_ "Is it the lack of sleep that makes you say things like that?"

_ "WHAT?? Say that again to see!!!"

_ "I'm just saying that I'm not hiding anything from you Astrid! But what about you, huh? You haven't told me anything lately!"

_ "Okay, well, what do you want to know?!"

_ "I don't know! How are you feeling, why are you avoiding me, how do you manage to make me feel so insecure about our friendship..."

_ "Our friendship? You question our bond?!"

_ "NO! OF COURSE NOT! It's still not my fault if everything you do makes me doubt!"

_ "I don't follow you... doubts about what??"

_ "About us!! I... urgh! I just... I just... let me show you"

Without another word, he crushed his lips againt her own, and both of their hearts skipped a beat. He said he wanted to show her, that's what he will do. He cupped both of her cheeks, leaned a little more and tilted his head a little for having a better angle to take control.

Her lips were so soft, so perfect, so addictive! He felt like he was in heaven. He took the time to memorize every new sensation, every little sigh and moan, exploring every inch of her divine lips who had become in a quarter of a second his favorite place of all time, as if they were meant to be pressed against him own.

Paying attention of any possible sign of reluctance, he definitely felt more alive than ever when she answered fervently, wrapping her arms against his neck, which send shivers along his spine and made him groan of pleasure.

She even intensified the kiss, brushing her lips against his own languorously while mobilizing an infinite tenderness at each new meeting, full of anticipation.

They kissed with passion until they were forced to part to catch their breath, which they did grudgingly.

He scanned her face and found an Astrid grinning from ear to ear, with cheeks flushed red and pupils blacker than ever. As for him, his blissful smile and the soft tingling on his lips were the proof that he only wanted one thing: repeat this delightful moment as many times as she would allow him.

_ "This sounds kinda familiar" she said, her eyes sparkling and focused on his reaction.

_ "I think I'm definitely more comfortable when I directly show you what I mean. Note that this time I didn't throw you on a branch" he admitted with a teasing smile.

_ "I think so too, and I appreciate it, really", she confirmed, letting out a chuckle that made his heart melt instantly. He wished he could hear her laugh on repeat.

_ "I'm so sorry Astrid, I feel so dumb to have waited this long! I was so scared about losing you, I- I..."

_ "Shhh.. that was amazing! You are amazing Hiccup, and if there is someone who must apologize, it's really me! Wanting to repress my feelings was propably the worst idea I ever have! The only thing holding me back was the fear of ruining our friendship, and I would never have forgiven myself if that had happened! But I definitely want to be more for you" she confessed, eyes filled with hope.

_ "And I definitely want you to be your boyfriend, you insomniac", which earned him a light punch in the shoulder, but it was all worth it because what followed made him feel high, as if he was able to touch the sky, and this time, Toothless wasn't there to make fun of him (but he'll catch up eventually).

[crazyrandomfucker]

Marichat May Day 22: Kiss

Summary:

As spring comes and the cat lazes around a certain bakers' daughter, magic and romance will spur when less expected.

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

After some months of continuous autum and winter-themed akuma attacks, Chat Noir can happily say that he's very glad that spring would be comingin a motnh and a half, specially since Hawk Moth has been laying low for quite some time. Since Ladybug and Lordbug become quite more active as spring comes, they decided to handle the patrols by themselves to get rid of the extra energy that they end up with. Because of that, the cats now have some more free time and spend it visiting different people across Paris, visiting people in the hospitals and simply lazying around prepared to take any akuma that appears, but without doing the patrols. While Kitty prefers to laze around Arc de Triomphe where she can secretly spy Marin designing outdoors, Chat Noir prefers to laze around the bakery, usually getting in Marinette's alcony to talk with her and help her with anything he can do.

After several days of being visited by Chat noir, Marinette started to prepare by herself little snacks they could eat while they talk. At the same time, Chat Noir began to consider to bring some gifts from time to time as a thanks for the company. Knowing that Marinette liked to tend on her flower pots, Chat went out of his way and bought her a pot and the seedlings of pink and white dahlias for Marinette to grow, thinking that maybe they culd see them blooming in summer together. When both of them put into practice their ideas, they thanked the other's appreciation and attention happily. Chat Noir was delighted with Marinette's snacks and Marinette couldn't wait to see what fllowers would bloom from the pot that Chat had bought for her.

Slowly but surely, Chat's visits became longer and longer as the feelings of the teens deepened and deepened, to the point that Chat Noir and MArinette knew completely that hey loved the other with their whole heart, but given that none of them wanted to ruin their friendship in fear of a rejection after confessing, they did nothing and simply suffered in silence as they grew fonder for eachother.It didn't help that apparently Kitty Noire and Marin had become a couple nor that they were lowkey pressuring their respective twin to get some courage and confess. Both Marinette and Chat were at a loss of words whenever they actually tried confessing and they became very flustered about it, so they tried to avoid awkward situations.

However, when spring actually started, something changed inside of them. their longing for each other began to get less and less bearable as their approaches for the other grew more and more daring, even if ti was at baby steps. Finally, one day finally happened. Marinette was tending her flowers as usual, with two cups of tea and some cookies for her to enjoy with Chat Noir. This time thought, Chat Noir failed to do his usual perfect landing in Marinette's handrail as he slipped on said handrail and fall on top of Marinette, both falling to the floor and getting wet with the remaining water from Marinette's watering can. When they opened their eyes, their faces were just some milimeters apart from the other's.

Chat Noir audiably gulped as Marinette bit her lip, both trying to resist their urge to step up and kiss the other senseless. Blushing and nervous, Chat Noir tried to get up and check if he had somehow hurt Marinette, but as he was moving his feet to stand up, he slipped again and fall on Marinette again. This time thought, there was no separation between their faces. they were innocently and accidentally kissing and, even if they enjoyed it, they wer both too nervous to realize that the other liked it and got quickly seprated. Both blushing and in a sort of mixed state between euphoria and embarrassement, they sat down without looking directly at the other, thinking on what could they sy about what just happened. But as htey tried to say something to the other at the same time, both of them began to sneeze, Chat Noir sneezing incontrollably. Worried about the other, they got inside and dried themselves with towels.

After drying himself, Chat Noir kept sneezing without any signs of stopping and Marinette realized that he had tangled on his hair a pigeon feather. She giggled as she removed the feather, remembering about his feathery allergy and his usual combats again Mr. Pigeon. Marinette's sweet voice giggling was enough to melt Chat Noir, tearing apart his rationality and making him forget completely that he was going to apollogize for falling twice on Marinette and accidentally kissing her in the process. At the same time, his star-strucked expression made Marinette tenderly smile as she fondly got lost on his facial features, also forgetting about whatever she was going to say.

After that day, Chat Noir was careful when landing and no longer tried to land on the handrail, instead, he opted for landing right next to Marinette. Even if his usal visits didn't stopped, He and MArinette felt like they were moths apart from one another instead of days. They longed for the other whenever they weren't near; and when they were, they felt nervous and shy around eachother. Thus, they kept spiraling and spiraling around eachother, making their poor kwamis and respective twins go absolutely crazy with all their nonsense and fear of rejection.

As sprig went on, They kept growing closer and closer physically, but emotionally they were lost in a maze of love, fear, puns and teasing. It was quite normal to see Chat Noir relaxing on Mari's lap while she was petting him, making him purr happily and melt into a puddle of goo. It was also usual to see them with no space in between, playing videogames together or simply relaxing in Marinette's balcony while drinking some tea and snacking. In just a blink, their spring days passed by as their feelings grew to the infinite and beyond, cuddling, petting, having sleepovers, purring, playing games and simply being around eachother, making harder and harder to either spend time together or spend it without the other.

However, just as spring faded and summer took over, Chat's gift bloomed splendorus and beautiful in frnt of the eyes of the teens, who were casually drinking a refreshing cold juice to beat the unbearable warmth of summer when the flowers decided to bloom in their full apogee, leaving Marinette and Chat Noir marveled by the beauty. With just a single look, Marinette recognized perfectly the flowers as dahlias and hugged Chat Noir happily, who blushed as he internally celebrated his good choice in flowers.

"Do you know what this flowers means?" asks Marinette suddenly with her phone on her hand.

"Of course, I asked the florist about their meaning in flower language" says Chat proudly. "White dahlias represent purity and innocence, just like you Princess. Meanwhile, pink dahlias represent kindnes and grace, and who is more graceful and kind than you? I can't think of anyone besides Ladybug perhaps, but I think you're tied".

"Is that so?" says Marinette smiling happily with a faint blush dusting her cheeks. "I'm happy for the flowers Chat thank you a lot".

"I'm glad you liked them. It seems that my eye and the expert opinion of the florsit hit the bullseye this time" says Chat Noir smirking proudly.

"Pffft, for sure Chat Noir. Still, thank you for thinking about such flowers when you thought of me, I loved all the compliments" says Marinette confidently as she gathers some courage, stands on her toes and gives Chat a kiss on the lips. "I specially loved the second meaning of the pink dahlias".

Ah- I- Uh- Second meaning?" says Chat dumbfounded as Marinette giggles and heads inside to tell her parents about the flowers.

Chat Noir opens the interactive screen of his baton and searches over the internet what is the meaning of pink dahlias. Minutes later, he finds out that, even if they doo represet kindness and grace, pink dahlias are commonly recommended as the perfect flower to gift for your loved ones that's used to say that the reciever of the flower is someone irreplaceable in the heart of the one giving the flowers. Chat Noir blushes as he begins to overthink about what Marinette thought of that, worrying all over nothing as he forgets the fact that she wilingly kissed him after discovering the meaning of pink dahlias. Luckily, Plagg manages to somehow bring up that memory into Adrien's brain and he suddenly stops fretting all over the place. Seconds later, he darts inside the building to go for Marinette. However, Marin finds him first and pushes him into his room, closing the door behind him.

"So, did you finally realized?" asks Marin standing in front of the door, blocking it.

"I- Uh- Wat?" asks Chat Noir confused.

"Marinette feelings. Did you FINALLY realized what your sister and I have been trying to tell you for three months almost?" asks Marin, emphazising the finally a lot.

"Yes, I did. Thank you for worrying and for bearing with my stupid ass" says Chat a bit nervous, desperate to find Marinette and answe to the chaste kiss she gave him minutes ago. "Can I o to talk with Marinette now? Pretty please?"

"I should make you wait three months to see what it felt for us the spectators of your so dorky romance, but it's fine, I'll let you pass" says Marin stepping aside. "But you may want to avoid kissing her right away, your sister and mine are talking right now in the living room. In front of my parents. In front of your soon to be in-laws".

"Gee, thanks for the pressure Marin, I definitely need more of it!" says Chat Noir sarcastically.

"Consider it revenge for making us wait" says Marin with a wink.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm stupid. I know" says Chat crossing the door. "I'll buy you chili pepper pots as an apollogy. Wish me luck for now thought".

Chat Noir went downstairs and found Marinette tlking with Kitty Noire in the living room just as Marin had told him. After mentally thanking Marin for easing his search, Chat Noir stepped in, greeted Tom and Sabine and look into Marinette eyes. She looked at him and a shadow of blush appeared on her cheeks while a big grin appeared in her lips. Kitty instantly knew who was behind her and turned to her brother with a big full smirk on her lips and a knowing look on her eyes. Chat Noir politely asked Marinette to talk for a bit in private an Marinette slowly stood up and went with him, not being in any hurry and killing Chat's patience in the process. Once they are inside Marinette's bedroom, Chat Noir puts his hand on the wall, trapping Marinette between the wal and his body like he had seen countless times in anime.

"Marinette. I love you" says Chat Noir. Simple but precise, even if the ball of nerves on his stomach wanted to make him cry and shout nonsense.

"Finally. I was waiting for those words" says Marinette as she puts her hands around Chat's neck ad gets closer to him.

"This time thought, Chat Noir doesn't let's her take the initiative and pushes himself forward, kissing Marinette clumsily and slowly, making him feel more embarrassed and awkward than anything.

"That was cute Chat, but maybe you shouldn't rush it so much" says Marinette booping his nose.

"Sorry, it's my first time kissing someone conciously and voluntarily" says Chat rubbing the back of his head. "Would you- Would you like to help me practice?"

"Yes" says Marinette as she stands on her toes and kisses him.

Chat Noir lowers his back to meetwith Marinette in a more comfortable possition for her, holding her back with his arm as they slightly bend over it as they kissed. This time, while the kiss was still a bit clumsy because Chat was trying to adjust himself to it, it felt more sweet and loveable than embarrassing or awkward. They pulled apart to get some ir, but as soon as they had recovered their breath, they kissed again, now kissin eachother with more confidence and no fear, adjsting perfectly to the other as if they had been kissing their whole life. This time, all thoughts of embarrassement were instantly rplaced y passion, longing an nothing more than raw and pure love.

After kisssing a lot for quite some time, Marinette and Chat Noir felt ecstasic and over the moon, sitting next to eachother on Marinette's lounge chair. They looked at eachother as if nothing else existed in the world, forgetting about everything else other than themselves. Because of that, they didn't notice how they spent an entire hour simply looking into eachother. But since there were no interruptions, the silence naturally broke when Marinette decided to talk.

"I'm happy that you gave me those flowers Chat, but I'm more happy that I gathered up courage and kissed you" says Marinette as they held hands.

"Me too" agrees Chat noir. "I would never had the galls to step up and confess if you hadn't kissed me first".

"I wouldn't have if you didn't bought me those dahlias" says Marinette. "It was the second message that gave me thelittle push to kiss you".

"I've never been happier of not knowing something" says Chat Noir.

"I think that the florist did know about it and gave them to you to help you a bit" says Marinette giggling.

"Well, it seems that I'll have to visit that florist and give him a big tip next time I buy you something" says Chat Noir. "Do you think that buyig him a car would be too much?" says jokingly.

"Oh no, of course not, you shuld add a house in there" says Marinette sassily as she smiles happily.

"True, nothing is enough to thanks him for helping me to confess my undying love for you" says Chat, now being fully dramatic as he sports his usual smirk on his face.

"Maybe I should bake him a cake too" proposes Marinette having fun.

"Sure! Maybe I could convince Ladybug, Lordbug and my sister to go to his shop and promote it all across Paris" says Chat Noir.

"Definitely! They will accept instantly!" says Marinette now giggling.

They continued proposing wild and crazy ideas on how to thanks the misterious match-maker florist, having fun ad laughing as they enjoyed some time together, this time without any feelings hidden or faceades between them. Not much later, they were called for dinner and they announced their relationship to the family, with less surprised people that they expected...

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Keep Smiling Through

By George deValier

One-shot sequel to We’ll Meet Again

Summer, 1948 Nebraska, USA

.

In the few months since the ocean liner RMS Queen Elizabeth steamed into New York City Harbour, carrying Mr. Arthur Kirkland and the recently promoted Captain Alfred Jones with it, Arthur could honestly say he had never been so confused, so surprised, or so completely and utterly bewildered in all his life.

If there was one word Arthur could use to describe America, it was big. It was also loud. And confusing. And oddly marvellous. In fact, it was very much like Alfred himself. The American seemed positively ecstatic to return to his country of birth. He had been back once before, just after the war, but that had been without Arthur, and neither had handled the separation very well. Being alone again in the Emerald Lion, with his fears and his worries and his memories, was almost more than Arthur could bear. When Alfred finally returned to London Arthur had been so overjoyed he'd jumped on him in the train station, causing quite a few raised eyebrows and stunned stares and outright cries of outrage. So this time, when Alfred had to return to America for military reasons, Arthur accepted immediately when asked if he wanted to accompany his lovely, charming, bloody frustrating Yank.

Of course the trip turned into more of a sightseeing adventure than anything else. They travelled through more states than Arthur could name in their shiny red Chevrolet, stopping at more diners and lookout points and roadside oddities than he ever wished to see again. Alfred simply bubbled with excitement at showing Arthur everything he possibly could of the great United States of America, all of which had been somewhat bearable so far – until Nebraska. More specifically, until this airfield in Nebraska. Even more specifically, until this tiny, metal, claustrophobic, inescapable plane cockpit sitting on this runway in the middle of this wide, flat, golden field in Nebraska.

It did not take long for Alfred to convince the airfield staff to let him take up one of their planes. Not once they realised who Alfred was; the young trainees gathering in awed respect, the pilots telling their own stories of service during the war, the older engineers shaking Alfred's hand and sharing their memories of Alfred's father when he was a delivery pilot in the twenties. Alfred seemed far more comfortable with these men than the decorated, uniformed, highly-ranked military personnel who usually clamoured to shake his hand.

And now, Arthur wondered how in the bloody hell he had allowed himself to be talked into this. He tried to breathe past the anxiety choking his throat, struggling to suppress the growing fear in his chest. He took another look out the small side window at the long shadow of the wing on the runway. The sound of the roaring engine was almost enough to drown out the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. "I can't…" Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, shaking breath. "Alfred, I don't think I can do this…"

"Sure you can, Arthur!" Alfred spoke cheerfully over the clacking of the control keys. He slipped his free hand into Arthur's and gave it a soft squeeze. "Come on, look at me."

Arthur nodded, breathed out, and blinked open his eyes. He could really use a stiff drink right now - maybe he should have bought a few more of those jars of moonshine from that bloke in Ohio.

"You're okay." Alfred grinned at him from the pilot seat, his worn old bomber jacket slung over his shoulders, his bright blond hair poking through his flight cap and his radio speaker slung around his neck. "This baby's a breeze." Alfred patted the dashboard. "A good ol' Aeronca Chief - I used to fly one just like her before the war. Y'ain't got nothin' to worry about."

Arthur nodded again, tugged at his tight suit collar, and tried to remind himself that Alfred knew what he was doing. He'd been flying for years, of course he knew what he was doing. "I know, Alfred, I do, but…" But the rational part of Arthur's mind was completely overwhelmed by this instinctive, primal fear. How could he be sitting here in a plane, sitting here about to take off, about to fly into the air for the first time in his life… Arthur suddenly tugged on the belt strapping him into the seat. "I apologise for being a nuisance, but… but perhaps we could just wait…"

"Arthur, listen." Alfred spoke firmly this time, his blue, bespectacled eyes holding Arthur's gaze intently. "You're with the guy that once shot down seven planes, completely alone and with no radio contact, while running low on fuel and surrounded by an entire enemy squad. You're with the guy that's spent over three years training the best pilots the British military has to offer. And you're with the guy that loves you more than anything else in this whole damn world and would die before letting anything happen to you. Now, come on darlin.'" Alfred winked and Arthur's heart stuttered. "Let me take you to the clouds."

Arthur felt thrilled and giddy and frustrated and proud and bloody terrified all at once. He let out a low, groaning sigh. "That's utterly unfair."

Alfred beamed innocently as he pressed even more of the buttons and tapped the gauges and reached for the strange-looking little wheel. Arthur was rather amazed at how easily Alfred pressed and pushed and pulled what looked like a dozen controls at once with only his seven remaining fingers. "What's unfair?"

Those words, that wink, that blasted grin… "You know what, you bloody fool."

Alfred just laughed as the plane started moving along the runway. "All right, now, I'm getting her into takeoff position…"

Arthur's stomach twisted uncomfortably. "Don't tell me what you're doing, good God man, just do it!"

Alfred shrugged. "All-righty then, if you say so." The plane continued steadily for a few moments before Alfred shouted, "Here we go!" The roar of the engine filled the cockpit and Arthur very nearly dived for the door. Instead he forced himself to control his panic, to focus on Alfred's confident motions and his bright, cheerful smile. But as the plane reached impossible levels of speed and noise, the runway blurring beneath them, Arthur could not help but close his eyes. Alfred cheered as the plane tilted and lifted from the ground. "WOO HOO HOOO!"

An invisible force seemed to attack Arthur. His stomach sunk through his legs, his chest compressed, and his ears felt full as blood rushed to his head. He wanted to scream, but all he could do was grip onto the seat and grit his teeth and pray that this shaking, soaring plane would not fall from the sky. The aircraft seemed to drop slightly and Arthur almost choked as he gasped, his hand flying to his chest.

"That's normal, sweetheart. It's just the plane gaining height."

Arthur was too overwhelmed to even object to the nauseating term of endearment. He just kept his eyes squeezed shut, felt his knuckles turn white. This was the oddest feeling he had ever experienced: both heavy and weightless, his head tight with pressure and his stomach empty and unsettled. It felt wrong, it felt strange, it felt completely mad, and how could Alfred be laughing and cheering like he was having the time of his life? Didn't he realise Arthur couldn't breathe here?

"Isn't this amazing, Arthur?" Alfred shouted loudly.

Arthur tried to reply but all he could manage was, "Oh bugger oh bollocks oh Christ blast shit bloody hell STOP LAUGHING!"

"Aw come on now, takeoff's the best part! See how everything just falls away below… hey look, there's our Chevy! I tell ya, these old controls sure bring back memories. Sure is different from all those Spitfires and Hurricanes they've got me showing off these days. Hey, Arthur, in a few minutes, I'll be able to show you the farm I grew up on! Hang on a minute… Arthur, why are your eyes closed?"

"Because I'm bloody terrified! Please, just tell me when this is over!"

Alfred's laughter quieted and he sighed instead. "Oh. All right. I'll just get her level and do a quick fly-round."

The disappointment in Alfred's voice sent a painful stab of guilt through Arthur's chest. What was he saying – that he did not trust Alfred? Yes, this was new and different and scary – but this was important to Alfred. This was his home, his past, his life - and Arthur was letting fear get in the way of Alfred showing it to him. Alfred was not even able to fly for long these days, not with the strain it placed on his damaged eyes. Arthur breathed through the cloud of fear, and told himself he could do this. For Alfred. "No, I'm fine, I'm just... Blimey, this is very odd, isn't it?"

Once again, Arthur felt Alfred's hand slip into his. "It's also amazing. Just look at the view below us. Isn't it terrific?"

All right. Just look. Arthur could do this. He gripped Alfred's hand, forced himself to open his eyes, and immediately gasped in shock. "Blimey," he said again.

An infinite blue sky stretched out around them. Green and yellow striped fields spread out below, dotted with dark houses and streaked with criss-crossed dirt roads, like a labyrinthine maze. The high, brilliant sun blazed down and drenched the endless, flat, open expanse of land in unfiltered, golden light. Arthur shook his head as he took it all in; he couldn't imagine any place in the world more different from London. Alfred's home was sunny, bright, enormous; awe-inspiring. And it was beautiful. Arthur turned to see Alfred grinning wildly, ecstatically happy once again. That same grin that Arthur still loved, as always bringing the blue sky and driving away the dark clouds of Arthur's fear and doubt.

"It's beautiful."

Alfred laughed, overjoyed. "I knew you'd love it! I tell ya, Arthur, the times I've dreamed of soaring through the sky together - and here in my own home..." Alfred winked. "It's magic."

Arthur's heart sped up, and it wasn't from fear anymore. The three years since the war ended had been more than Arthur had ever dreamt of. Every day with Alfred was bright and new and fun, every moment an adventure, and Arthur didn't know how it was possible but it seemed he loved the mad American more with every passing hour. Loved him enough to cross the world; enough to fly into the bloody sky for him. Arthur gently nudged Alfred's arm. "It is, Alfred. Magic."

Alfred's eyes sparkled behind his glasses, bluer than the endless sky. "Now keep your eyes peeled for one of them flying saucers like what crashed in New Mexico last year!"

Arthur groaned in exasperation. "That was a weather balloon, Alfred."

"That's what they want you to think."

Arthur rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. If he heard one more word about this blasted 'cover-up in Roswell...' "I am not having this conversation again."

"You'll see the truth one day, Arthur. Ooh, look, look!" The plane tilted slightly and Arthur gripped the seat as Alfred pointed past him. "Right down there - that wide dirt track, do you see it? That's the first runway I ever took off from! And I don't know if you can make it out, but there's my old house, on the edge of that little hill there, do you see?"

Arthur didn't, but he nodded anyway. "Yes, yes, it's lovely. Now put the plane back in that nice straight position, please."

Alfred giggled as he did so.

As the flight drew on, Arthur asked about the land they were flying over, and about the confusing plane controls, and he couldn't help but smile at Alfred's joyful enthusiasm as he answered. All anxiety was forgotten. Arthur was just sitting here with Alfred, a thousand miles in the sky, and it was as magical and strange as every other moment they had shared together; as all the beautiful madness these three years had brought.

"It's amazing you can remember it all," said Arthur when Alfred finished explaining the difference in turning speed between the Aeronca Chief and the Mustang.

"Nah, Arthur, it ain't that hard. I could teach you to do it easy, I reckon, what with how smart you are and all."

Arthur scoffed doubtfully. "You flatter me. Up here, you're the smart one, Alfred."

Alfred attempted a nonchalant shrug, but his expression was proudly delighted. He looked out again at the vast blue sky and the endless country below. "Let's take her higher. You trust me now, right?"

Of course Arthur trusted the blasted Yank. He always had; he always would. And that's why he was doing this. Why he was sitting in this winged metal box a thousand miles in the sky; why he was here in this strange, wild country a million miles from home. Because it made Alfred's face light up, made him laugh with joy. Because this was what Alfred loved, and who he was, and this was what had brought him to London and into Arthur's life almost five years earlier. Because it was still, and always would be, magic.

"Always, Alfred."

Alfred flashed Arthur a tiny, sideways grin. "Enough to let me put her into a spin?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes warningly. "Maybe next time. For now…" Arthur pushed himself up in his seat, leant towards Alfred, and followed his gaze into the sky. "Take me through the clouds."

.

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

[aliceslantern]

Beyond This Existence, chapter 18

Summary:  After Xehanort's death, Demyx finds himself unexpectedly human in Radiant Garden. With nothing but fragments of his past and a cryptic statement from Xemnas, he's left to figure out who he is. When Ienzo asks for his help with a project, the two find common ground, but the trauma and secrets in both of their pasts could tear it apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post-KH3 canon compliant Read it on FF.net/on AO3

-----

The weeks wore on, one into the other. Coping with the mass amounts of chaos in his memory never became easier, but at least it was bearable now that he was no longer so alone. Demyx’s days took on a quiet sort of comfort. Studying, songwriting, socializing, and yes, therapy. Telling someone else these things was hard, but keeping it to himself was even harder. Similarly, listening to Ienzo’s own stories was no cakewalk. Their lives had been infinitely complicated and troubling.

With all this behind them, there was a start of a real sort of life, not the odd buffering phase of the previous few months. The castle was no longer so dreadfully uncomfortable, conversations between Demyx and the others no longer so stilted. He was starting to develop real friendships with these people. Oddly enough, Demyx found that aside from Ienzo, he was closest to Even. He’d taken an interest in healing theory as well, though more as a pet fascination than a vocation. Every now and again, Even gave him tests. It was his own way of reaching out.

“... How’d I do?” Demyx asked. He hadn’t had much written education of any kind, but at least the tests were something concrete to work toward. More structured than Aerith’s “give me a call when you finish the book” method of teaching.

“In all? Not bad.” Even passed the papers back. “Chemistry is your worst subject. But you knew that.”

“It’s the math.” Demyx skimmed the results and found that, overall, he’d done better than he’d thought. “I just can’t understand it.”

“Well--when it comes to calculating molarity--it’s typically just memorization of the base compounds.”

“And algebra.”

“For some reason I highly doubt you’ll have to deal much with kinesthetics in your everyday work. And if you do I’m a phone call away. I rather enjoy figuring it out.” He started shuffling through the sea of papers on his desk. “It gives me something to break the endless tedium of my days, anyway.”

“You’re not going to work on the Replica Program anymore?”

Even drew the hair out of his face. “On one hand, I believe that project has reached its peak. The replicas have gotten to a point where they’ve developed their own personhood, and their own hearts. That was the goal, to a degree. I’m of course going to study them as they age to see if they live out the same lives as ordinary humans. On the other…” He waved his wrist, as though dismissively. “What right have I to create new life? Now that I am becoming human, I feel more responsibility towards the way these replicas are treated. It’s as if I were to give birth. I suppose there might be a medical application to the creation of vessels--say, if someone were to be seriously injured or lose all neurological function--but again, what right have I to continue to meddle with such forces?”

“I can’t help you with that one,” Demyx said.

“No, it’s something for me to puzzle over. In the meantime, I’m going to continue to reflect on the ongoing intersection between magic and science within my life. It seems… most apt.”

“Why did you become a scientist?”

“Hm?” The question seemed to throw him off-guard.

“You’ve been with Ansem longer than anyone else. Why’d you do it?”

Even thought about it. “Why is it you play sitar?”

Demyx shrugged. “It’s just part of me. Always has been. If it hadn’t been sitar it probably would have been some other instrument. That one just happened to be given to me first.”

“Precisely. It’s part of your core, perhaps for no real reason. Or many real reasons, if you subscribe to fate or a divine. That is how I feel about my research. I could not separate the essence that is “me” from it. This is merely another phase of my life, and so I need to adjust my work accordingly.”

“To what?”

“Something that I hope is meaningful. I do not yet know what exactly.” He smiled. “Learning to change and grow after nearly twelve years of stagnation is taking most of my concentration.”

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” he mumbled, more to himself than Even.

“Incredibly.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll quiz you on the next three chapters next week.”

Demyx sighed. “No problem.”

----

Demyx was headlong into these chapters when Ienzo found him. With half his mind he was trying to figure out how to make the song he played better, the other half trying to puzzle out the complicated terminology. He wasn’t aware of his surroundings.

“How is it going?” Ienzo asked.

Demyx jumped, a discordant note throwing him off the melody.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Demyx let Arpeggio disappear. “It helps me remember, if I play,” he said. “Otherwise I can’t focus. If I read a chapter enough while playing a certain song, it sticks. I tried it the other way.  I don’t know how you guys learn stuff.”

“Everyone studies differently,” Ienzo said. “So you’re really going to do it?”

“That’s the plan,” he said. “She told me to read these before I came to her for the practical stuff.” Demyx shifted the books around.

Ienzo kissed him lightly.

“So what’s going on with you? I figured you were working on something, but I don’t know what.”

“Well, actually, that’s kind of why I came to find you.”

“The score? Ienzo, you realize I can just read it to you, right?” He hadn’t yet looked back at it. In a way, he wasn’t ready, even though he knew what the contents were.

He shook his head. “Not that. Though I would like to know what’s in it, if you’re not afraid to share. No.” He took the lexicon out from under his arm. “I’m afraid there’s something only you can help me with.”

He smirked. “What was it you said? “If you want to be alone with me you need only ask?””

“What? Do I really speak like that? Never mind-- no, this is something else.” Ienzo sighed. His cheeks were pink. “I want to go to the basement.”

Demyx bit his lip. He’d had a feeling this was coming. Ienzo had been making leaps and bounds dealing with his guilt. No doubt he wanted to make true peace with it. “Okay. Two things. First, not a great idea, all things considering. Second, why me? Why not Ansem or Even or someone else who was involved in the experiments?”

“You’ve got a weapon.” Very matter-of-fact.

He felt the blood drain from his face.  “So--let me get this straight. You want to go to the basement--where it’s crawling with Heartless and god-knows-what-else, not to mention where you’ve seen enough horror to go gray prematurely--”

“I haven’t gone gray. This is my natural hair color.”

“Babe, the last time you remembered something half as horrible you went kinda ballistic. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I’ve healed since then,” he said. “I have this--” he held out the lexicon, “whatever it means. I think the only way I can find peace is by helping them. Talking with them. Maybe I can help them find some little bit of dignity.”

Demyx exhaled, exasperated. “And do you really trust me to defend you? I’m out of shape, and I have no idea how strong the Heartless down there even are.”

He frowned. “What is this really about?” Ienzo asked. “Are you truly afraid of a few Heartless?”

Demyx didn’t know what to say, just that his gut was telling him this was an awful idea. “I guess not,” he said. “I just… I’m afraid that going down there and seeing all that will change how I see you. And I don’t want that to happen.”

Ienzo took his hands.  “I know that. And it might change your mind. But I… I need to do this. I hope you understand.”

Demyx knew what had happened in the basement. Maybe he didn’t know all the details--the how or why of it all--but he knew Ienzo had been involved in this dangerous human experimentation. He knew, factually, that Ienzo couldn’t really be at fault, that he’d been a child and too young to accept responsibility, especially since he'd been so manipulated. But at the same time, Demyx knew seeing all of it would be a different story. It would make it tangible. And yet. “You’d do the same for me. Alright. Let’s free some ghosts, or whatever.”

Ienzo kissed him. “I love you.”

“I can’t say  no to you. But you knew that.” He marked the place in his book and set it aside. “I’d feel better if we got some supplies. And if you rested. You look exhausted.”

“So tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Tomorrow.”

----

Later that night, while Ienzo read in bed, Demyx headed down to Even’s quarters. Slick, hot anxiety was building inside of him, making him vaguely anxious. He knocked, was let in. Even was folding laundry. “Did you need help with something?” he asked. Then frowned. “You do not look well.”

Demyx didn’t know what to say. “Ienzo wants to go to the basement.”

He paused just the slightest. “Yes. And?”

“Well--what if something’s down there?”

“I thought you could adequately defend yourself now?”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.” He exhaled and pulled his hand through his hair. “He’s got the lexicon. What if he tries using his powers again?”

Even shook his head. “He’s aware of the risk. I doubt he’d try.”

“What if he doesn’t do it consciously?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I had the impression it took a lot of effort for him to traverse your memory.”

“But he couldn’t control it. I don’t know what this is going to entail. If I’m just going to beat up some Heartless, or maybe there’s nothing down there and this is just for closure. But what if.”

“Since when was forethought a strength of yours?” Even asked, almost bitterly. “Boy, now you’re making me worry.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to ask.”

Even sighed. He set aside the socks he was folding. “Come along.”

They went down to his lab. Even pulled out a first aid kit, some ethers, and some potions. He approached another cabinet and took out a vial and a syringe still in its wrapping. He placed them on the table.

“You’re aware of the correlation at this point, of heart failure and overuse of power.”

“Well--yes.” The sight of the medicine made him shiver.

“I’ve been poking through our research. The reason why it struck Ienzo so intensely has largely to do with the fact that he quite literally grew up as a Nobody. Trying to adequately corroborate his humanity with a Nobody will served to heighten the risk. It may not happen again. Perhaps he’s adjusted. At the same time… it may.”

“What’s that?”

“A serum to induce sleep. Should he begin to exhibit the same symptoms, you should dose him. And then call for help. I’m giving this to you as a precaution only.” Even unwrapped the syringe, prepped it, and then capped it off. Demyx caught sight of the label on the bottle. He knew enough by now to recognize it.

“That’s a poison. Not a sedative.”

“Sleep akin to death,” Even said, as though quoting. “Better than actual death, is it not?” He held it out. Demyx didn’t take it.

“I can’t.”

“You must. This is--” He exhaled. “For goodness sakes, you might not even need it.” Even placed it on the table in front of him. “Have you tried convincing him out of it?”

“Yes. But how can we escape it? We live here. He’s reminded of it every day. If it’s not now, it’d be some other time.”

“The boy is… determined.” He sighed. “I’m trusting you with this. With him. Do you understand?”

Demyx nodded.

“So take it.”

He took all the medicine back with him, feeling sick. He hid the syringe in the first aid kit and tried to pretend it wasn’t there.

Ienzo was still caught up in his book. “Did you get everything you needed?” he asked.

“Oh, plenty,” he said breezily. “How do you feel?”

“Surprisingly, not as anxious as I thought.” He shut the book and settled down in bed.

“Can I… stay with you tonight?”

Ienzo frowned. “Of course.” He lifted the covers and let Demyx crawl in. He drew Ienzo close, breathed in his smell. “I’m not sure why you felt like you had to ask. You scarcely sleep in your own bed anymore.”

“Dunno. I figured you might want some time alone.”

“I have spent a lot of time thinking about this alone. I don’t mind the company.”

Demyx looked at him. His eyes bright and alive. He kissed him once. Ienzo settled down against him and was asleep before long.

Demyx did not sleep a wink.

----

Morning. Breakfast. He bathed, feeling vaguely numb and dissociated, slightly outside of himself. When he saw Ienzo in his apprentice’s coat, he almost wondered if this was a bizarre dream. He gathered up their bag of supplies.

“You sure you want to do this?” Demyx asked.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

He sighed. “Lead the way, then.”

He followed him through the corridors, through the familiar, then down dozens and dozens of stairs to a locked door. The air down here was cold, and it smelled dank and musty. Crystal sconces lit everything brightly, but at the same time he felt as though he was squinting in the gloom. At the door, Ienzo hesitated.

“Did you forget the code?” Demyx asked.

Ienzo summoned the lexicon. The soft rustle of its pages barely broke the suffocating silence. Demyx felt his heart in his throat. This was not a good sign. Ienzo meant business. Demyx tried to tell him then what might happen. But he had to know. There was no way he couldn't, right?

He punched in the code, and in they went.

It did not look dissimilar to the containment cells of the Castle that Never Was. Gray floor. Black and silver doors. Stark, harsh fluorescent light. A couple of these spaces were offices, and what looked to be a small lab. Papers were everywhere, all over the floors. Beakers had been smashed, a computer screen cracked. Ienzo took it all in with little emotion.

The smoky, musty smell only ever got stronger. “They smell us,” Demyx said. He brought an arm up in front of Ienzo automatically. He pushed it away.

“Not yet.”

They moved forward bit by bit. Ienzo absently touched the numbers on the cells, peeking inside here or there. Demyx didn’t see anything, but he could taste it. The cells were riddled with scratch marks, places where the floor had been gouged away. A sink bad been torn out of the wall. A mattress ripped to shreds.

“There’s no one here,” Demyx said.

“Don’t speak so soon,” Ienzo said.

A silhouette of pure darkness crawled out of the ground. It looked weirdly human in shape, more like a Novashadow than the little Shadows he was used to. It did not give chase, but seemed to merely watch them.

Darkness began to slither out of the back cells, forming yet more Shadows. “Freaky,” he hissed. The Keyblade snapped into his palm. One rose out of the pool and shuffled towards them. “Stay behind me.”

“Not yet,” Ienzo said. He crouched down, and Demyx almost screamed, but the darkness on the floor didn’t crawl over him like it normally would’ve. “Do you remember me?”

Was he talking to the Heartless? It paused, tilted its head.

“I was little then,” Ienzo said. “Not anymore.”

The Shadow twitched and shuddered. A few more peeked out. “What are you doing?” Demyx asked.

“Giving it the Sora treatment.” He exhaled. “Put that away. We’re not here to hurt you all. Isn’t that right?”

The blade in his hand trembled a little.

“Demyx?” Ienzo prompted.

He let it disappear. Raised his hands, as if to show how empty they were.

Ienzo smiled kindly at the Heartless. “You’ve been here for such a long time, so alone.” The lexicon opened to a random page, of a little girl. “Isn’t that right, Jamie? That’s you, right?” He held the book out to the Heartless. It seemed to stare at the page within, of the photo. “I wanted to apologize for all we put you through. There was a bad, bad man. He made all the people around him sick with evil. And they took it out on you. On me, too. And my friend next to me. That doesn’t make it right, but the bad man’s gone and everyone wants to help you.”

The Heartless seemed to convulse.

“I can’t imagine it’s fun down here. There’s nobody and nothing to play with. But there’s another place with lots of friends waiting for you.”

The Shadow raised a claw.

“Ienzo,” Demyx hissed. Ienzo held out his hand.

The Shadow placed its claw on the photo of the girl. It was not twitching anymore, not in the way Heartless usually did.

“Do it now,” he whispered. “She’s ready.”

He slashed. The Heartless had no defense; it was almost made of smoke. Its heart rose and vanished into nothing. Demyx was shaking. “Oh my god,” he said. “Are you… are you okay? I should’ve given you my coat.” He gave him a good once-over. No threads of darkness, no injury.

“I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”

“How many are there?”

“Left? I’m not sure. But these aren’t ordinary Heartless. This was the genesis.”

The Heartless, having seen all this, did not flee the way they were akin to when their brethren died. They came forward in a lump. They did not attack. They left plenty of space between them and Ienzo.

“They’re making a line,” Demyx said.

“They want to be free.” He smiled. His eyes were watering. “Who wants to know who they are?”

It took hours.

Ienzo gave nearly every Heartless the same speech, but he altered it slightly, peppering in details he must have read somewhere--information about a beloved pet, a favorite color, updates about loved ones who were still alive. Humanizing them. It was only once this semblance of humanity was found that they could go. Peacefully.

Even though the Heartless were weak, the fact that there was so many of them and that this was stressful to watch tired him. He waited for one to break rank, to attack and injure. None did, though.

“Are you alright?” Ienzo asked. Demyx had been standing to his right and noticed his full face for the first time in hours. He was sweating, his complexion washed out. Demyx swallowed. No.

“Just a bit out of shape,” he said breezily. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine.”

More speeches. More Heartless. Demyx was wondering if it was just his eyes playing tricks on him, or if Ienzo was looking worse. Pale. Shaky. No blood yet. But soon? The darkness was getting thinner and thinner until there were no more Heartless waiting.

“Is that it?” Demyx asked hoarsely. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“Yes, that was--” He calculated quickly, then furrowed his brows.  “Ninety-nine. There’s one left. Maybe it’s hiding? Can you handle one more?”

“I think. You?”

He nodded. When he stood, his knees shook, and Demyx helped him up. He was getting weak. They had to get out of here, to get medical help. Demyx tried to covertly steer him in the opposite direction. “Why did they forgive me?” Ienzo asked.

“What do you mean?”

“The bitterness… they just let it go. Without fail. There was not even one rogue Shadow that tried to attack.” His eyes were wide.

“They’ve been here ten years,” Demyx said. “That’s a long time to suffer. Sometimes you have to let it go to make the pain stop.”

He looked at his trembling palm. “I see. I… understand.”

Demyx glanced over his shoulder. “I think we’ve found our stowaway.”

It was the humanoid Heartless, the first one they’d seen. They approached it slowly.

“We’re here to help,” Demyx said. “Do you want to go be with your friends?”

The Heartless paused. It twitched irritably.

“Ienzo,” Demyx said nervously. “Maybe start working your magic, yeah? My buddy here seems a little agitated.” He was positive that it was stronger than the last. Strength sapped, Demyx didn’t know if he could honestly take it on.

A hint of panic crept into Ienzo’s voice. “I can’t--” He started manually shuffling the pages. “I can’t find their--”

The Neoshadow hissed. Demyx drew his Keyblade. “Come on. Let’s talk this out,” he said. “I’m offering you a get-out-of-jail free card here, friend.”

Once it lay eyes in the Keyblade, the Heartless screamed. The sound almost incapacitated him, harsh, like razors against his eardrums. It leapt at him.

Demyx found himself awash in darkness.

[katiekitty261]

Crush//Michael Langdon x Fem!Reader

Here it is, the story inspired by “Crush”, By cigarettes after sex. This isn’t a songfic, but I got the idea for it while listening to the song. Fluff, and a taste of sweet sensual sex at the end. 

Word Count- 3,000+

Warnings- Smut, fluff, the usual. 

“Michael, What’s wrong?” I grabbed his arm to steady him. He had been pacing across the floor of my apartment for a while now, a strained expression wouldn’t leave his face.

“(Y/N), Please listen to me.” He grabbed me by my shoulders and held me in place. “In a few days, some people will come to your door. Go with them, no matter what. OK?” I knitted my brows together.

“What? Who?”

Michael sighed and kneeled in front of me like he was begging, grabbing my hands and holding them. “Something is going to happen, Something bad. They are going to come to take you to safety. Please, I will meet you after. I promise.”

“Take me where? What are you talking about Michael?” I searched his eyes, a strained and worried expression was painted on his face.

He squeezed my hands and rested his forehead on my stomach. I kneeled down so I was level with him and wrapped my arms around him.

“I can’t tell you, But please, Please go with them…” He stared at me, tears beginning to spill down his cheek.

I brushed his tears away with my thumb and pulled him into a gentle kiss. Feeling the softness of his lips pressed against my own relaxed me, I hope it did for him too. I brushed a curl out of his eyes and smiled.

“I promise. I don’t know what’s going on, But I promise.” I pressed a kiss to his forehead, whispering, “I love you.”

He leaned his forehead against mine and smiled, “I love you too.”

________

BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND TO LOS ANGELES

SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

I felt my blood run cold as I stared at my phone. Frozen, I didn’t know what to do. Not a drill. I thought, my hands were shaking so bad I could barely read the screen.

No less than a minute later, a loud pounding came at my front door.

“(Y/N) Open up” An unfamiliar voice yelled, I quickly straighten myself and opened the door. Two men in black suits stood in the doorway. One was holding a white badge that said: “The Cooperative” in bold lettering.

“What’s going on?” I asked, “Did Michael send you?”

“Michael Langdon has instructed us to take you to safety. Please come with us, Ms. (Y/N), we do not have much time.” They ordered, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me out of my apartment.

“Wait… can I grab something first?” I asked, ripping my arm away..

“We don’t-”

I didn’t listen as I ran back into my apartment, I frantically searched until I found it. My small leather purse. “Is your purse really that important?” One asked I nodded as I threw it on. I took one last look at my apartment and left with the men.

They were strangers sure, but I trusted Michael with my life. I wasn’t sure how he knew any of this was going to happen, but I knew I was going to follow his directions. The look on his face as he begged me to go with them was enough to convince me that all of this was very real.

____

The agents from this “Cooperative” were silent. They shoved me into an army colored truck and took me to some random facility.

Now deep underground, they lead me into a room that was like a cage. All metal.

“W-What's happening? Where is Michael?” I asked, but they were silent as the locked the door.

I swallowed thickly as I looked around in the suspended cage, I felt scared, but numb at the same time. I couldn’t process what was happening.

“Hey” I heard a feminine voice call, I squinted around the room, but it was too dark. “Down here,” She called again, and I realized she was below me.

I kneeled on the metal floor and peered through the holes to see a young girl, not much younger than myself sitting in a cage like room below me.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Emily. Do you know why you’re here?”

“I’m (Y/N), and no… My boyfriend told me I have to go with these people, but he didn’t say anything else…”

“Where is he?” She asked, and I felt my chest tighten.

“I don’t know… He said he’d meet me, I don’t know when.” I bit my lip. Was Michael Okay? Was he here with me?

I could feel a panic attack coming as I tried to calm myself down. I leaned against the wall and took deep breaths.

I heard the door open and looked down, I could barely see but I heard another voice. It was male, but it wasn’t Michaels.

He’s gonna be ok, he’ll be just fine…

I chanted to myself, holding my knees to my chest. I heard Emily and the other boy talking something about blood tests, but I wasn’t paying attention.

A boom louder than anything I had ever heard wracked the building, Alarms started blaring as the room shook. The rooms lit up in a bright red light and I heard crying, but I couldn’t cry.

Is this it? Is this the end?

____________

No matter how many people I asked, no matter how many times I asked no one would tell me where Michael was. Or even if he was Ok. I was going insane.

“We're taking you to an outpost equipped for long-term habitation.” The man spoke as we sat in a heavily armored vehicle. For the first time in two weeks, we were being moved from those awful caged rooms.

"It's one of ten around the world, each constructed in minimal fallout zones.”

“Are there other people there?” “Others like you, and those who can afford to purchase a ticket.”

“Is Michael there?” I asked, a ray of hope filling me up. Two weeks without any whisper of him, I needed to know if he’s ok. I needed to know.

The agents were silent. Emily put her hand on my shoulder reassuringly. “I’m sure he is. He promised to meet you.” She whispered. I nodded feeling tears begin to well up in my eyes.

After a long drive, the agents gave us all rad suits and instructed us to put them on. We hadn’t seen the outside since the bombs dropped, the truck had windows but you couldn’t see much of anything through the thick fog. Once we were all dressed, they pushed all three of us out and drove away.

A large, metal gate opened up on its own, and I stayed close to Emily as we stood together. A figure dressed in all black appeared in the fog and urged us forward.

As we followed, we heard voices. A man and a woman dressed in all grey knelt on the ground, execution style. I grabbed Emily’s gloved hand as they pleaded, two more black suits stood behind them.

I couldn’t catch what they were saying, but It didn’t matter. Seconds later the black suits shot them both in the head. and they collapsed onto the dirt. I gasped, “What the fuck is going on here?” I yelled to no one in particular.

No one was listening anyway. The black suit leads us to the large spiral and swiped a key card to an elevator, leading us inside. They put us in a separate room, a shot of steam or something equivalent sprayed us all and we were allowed to take our rad suits off.

A woman dressed in a long black gown, walking with a long cane approached us from down a long hallway. Her face was stern and showed no hint of friendliness.

“My name is Wilhelmina Venable, Welcome to Outpost 3.”

After a long introduction to the rules and the way of life here, I was lead to my room last.

“If you’re the “Right arm” of The Cooperative, do you know Michael? Is he here?” I asked as Ms. Venable.

“I don’t know any Michael’s.” Her somber voice answered.

“What do you mean? He’s supposed to be here. He told me he’d meet me!”

“You will not raise your voice at me! You may be a purple, but there are rules here.” I gulped at her words.

“I don’t know any Michael’s. I don’t care what he told you, he’s not here.” Her voice echoed in the room. I bit my lip and clenched my fists. “Do not ask again.”

She tapped her cane on the ground once and left the room.

“He, He can’t be gone…” I said, falling to my knees. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

“Michael please…”

I wiped my face and pulled my wallet from my purse. It was the only piece of personal belong I had left, and I refused to let them take it.

Tucked away in a sleeve, I pulled out a small worn polaroid. Inked on the bottom was “My love” In my own handwriting.

Michael’s soft eyes and bright smile stared back at me from the photograph, I had taken it on one of our first dates with my little camera. I clutched the photo tightly as I stared at it, He looked so beautiful that day. His smile could make any shitty day infinitely better. I felt my heart break into a million pieces as I pressed it against my heart.

“Please find me…”

___________

This place was worse than death, I was certain of it. After listening to “The Morning After” for eighteen straight months, I’m pretty sure most of where begging to end up like Stu.

Everything was gone. Cold, Dead.

I was in agony.

No one knew who Michael was. I didn’t want to even entertain the idea that he was gone, he had promised me that he was going to find me. He knew about the bombs before they happened, so he must’ve been ok right?

He had to have something to do with the cooperative. I didn’t mention this to anyone, because I didn’t want a target on my back. I wasn’t like the others. I didn’t have any special DNA or something like the other purples had. I was only here because of Michael, I was different.

Eighteen months was a long time. Every night without fail he was in my dreams, even if it was just for a second. His face appeared, his smile or his voice in my head. Some dreams where… better than others. Some so realistic I woke up breathless. I could feel his hands on me and his breath in my ear, leaving me flushed at the memory.

I felt sick to my stomach about it sometimes.

Even though it was explicitly banned, I could see the way Emily looked at Timothy. She had told me in confidence that they were in love. The look in her eyes was unmistakable. I was worried about her, but she promised to be careful. It made me happy for them though, the only thing I could imagine would make any of this remotely bearable was to be with a person you loved.

Not much love went around in the Outpost. There were Mr. Gallant and his grandmother, but I didn’t really think they actually loved each other. Andre and his Mother, but he barely tolerated her.

That morning at breakfast an argument broke out over the food, or lack thereof. I barely listened as I picked at my cube until an Alarm blared.

“Perimeter alert. There’s been a breach.”

Venable and Mead rushed out of the room, leaving us alone.

“Do you think it’s cannibals?” Coco asked I dropped my fork. “Don’t assume the worst. Maybe it’s the Cooperative, they did send that pigeon…” Emily spoke up.

“Yeah, when we first got here. No one could survive out there now.” Gallant sighed.

I gripped my napkin at words, suddenly feeling far too crowded in the dining room I got up.

“I’m going to my room.” I said, not bothering with the last piece of my “food” which Coco gladly stole off my plate.

As I was walking, I noticed two Grey’s standing outside of Ms. Venable’s office like they were guarding it.

I was going to ignore it, I didn’t really care who was here. That was until I heard the voices from inside.

“You’re here to take us there,” Ms. Venable spoke, I walked closer to listen. The greys made no move to stop me but gave me a cautious look.

“I've been assigned to evaluate the people here and select the ones most worthy of survival. I could take all of you, or none of you. Those who make it live. Those who don't... end up like my horses.”

I froze. I felt my world stop spinning as the gears in my brain turned, my mind screaming at me. The same voice I had dreamt about for eighteen months.

Michael. That’s Michael’s voice. It was impossible, but it had to be.

I couldn’t breathe, I almost fell to my knees but one of the Grey’s caught me. “Are you ok Ms. (Y/N)?” He asked, I looked at him but I couldn’t see through the tears that were starting to fill my eyes. My heart was beating a mile a minute and my whole body was shaking.

“Michael!” I practically yelled, the door to the office slid open and Ms. Venable stared at me with a confused expression on her face. Behind her, I could see his tall figure in the glow of the firelight.

He stood as still as a statue when he locked eyes with him, his lips parted in shock as we took each other in. His hair was significantly longer than I remembered, His golden curls now rested over his shoulders in a soft wave. Otherwise, he was the same still, the perfect man I remembered.

Michael was here, and he was alive.

I felt myself fall into darkness.

__________

When I opened my eyes, Michael was leaning above me. He stroked my hair with one hand and held my hand with his other.

“Am I dreaming?” I whispered, reaching up and touching his face, trying to feel if he was real.

“No. You’re not…” he whispered, his voice choked up as he looked at me.

I sat up from the bed I was laying in and pulled him into the tightest hug I was physically capable of giving, and immediately started crying.

“Y-you’re really here. You’re alive! You came back!” I cried into his shoulder, He rubbed my back softly and I felt him squeeze me back.

“I promised....”

“It’s been so long... I-I didn’t think you were still alive,” I choked out, I was struggling to even formulate a sentence.

“No one had any information on you. I wasn’t sure if you were alive or dead either… If I had known, I would’ve come sooner... You were here the whole time.” He sounded angry at himself.

I sniffled and pulled away a little, keeping my arms around him. “It’s okay, you’re here now…” I said. He smiled, I noticed a stray tear fall down his cheek.

“Your hair,” I laughed, He smiled and pressed his lips against mine softly, Savouring the feeling I had craved for so long. I wrapped my fingers in his hair, wanting to feel the familiar softness as we kissed. I could taste our tears. Tears of Happiness, relief, and love.

“You have no idea… How much I missed you…” I said in between kisses, I felt his lips turn up in a smile.

“I know exactly how much.” he pulled away, slipping his hand into his pocket where he pulled out the Polaroid I had sitting on my night table. The one I looked at every night before I fell asleep.

I felt myself blush, but I couldn’t look away from him. I was worried if I looked away he would disappear like he did so many times in my dreams.

“I wouldn’t have made it here alive without you…” I said quietly. I meant it in terms of him getting me here in the first place, and the hope of seeing him again that kept me from offing myself in the eighteen months of hell here.

“I’m so fucking happy you’re alive… No one knew your name, I asked everyone that I saw about you… No one knew….” I muttered, he sighed.

“I’m here, and I’m not leaving,” He pressed a kiss to my forehead with a soft tenderness that brought peace to my soul. “I’m never leaving you again…” ________

Can’t live without your love inside me now

I’ll find a way to slip into your skin somehow

I wanna fuck your love slow

Hold you here my loveliest friend ________ I couldn’t get enough of him. I wanted to feel him, taste him. Do everything I had dreamed of and more, I was intoxicated by his presence I had craved.

I pressed hot kisses all over. His cheek, nose, lips, jawline. Nibbling ever so slightly on his neck eliciting a moan that urged me on, needing so much more.

I trailed my lips down his skin, along his chest and down. Sliding my hands down the soft skin, pressing my fingers into him as I made my way to his hardening member. His hands found their way into my hair as I took his cock in my hand, squeezing it and feeling the hardness. I kissed the sensitive tip as I stroked him, his fingers tightening in my hair as I took his cock into my mouth and gently sucked. Tasting the saltiness of his precum, I stroked him harder, using my tongue to massage his cock as I sucked. I wasn't finished though. I released his cock from my mouth, putting one leg over his waist so I was straddling him, his cock now pressed against my slick wetness, begging to be inside.

I leaned down so I pressed against him, hungrily catching his lips with my own. My sensitive nipples pressed against his chest, his hands sliding down my back and the curve of my ass. I slowly moved my hips, grinding his cock against my backside teasingly.

“I love you…” He whispered, pressing his lips on my neck sucking and kissing it sending a shiver up my spine.

“I love you.” I moaned, pressing the head of his cock finally to my wet entrance, sliding his cock inside me.

I gasped as his cock was fully inside of me, stretching me out and filling me up with his warmth. It felt like heaven, having Michael with me again, Inside me. Every inch of his skin pressed against my own as I slowly rocked my hips, grinding myself against him. His hands made their way to my ass, grabbing it with both hands and gripping tightly. I placed my hands on his chest and moved faster, feeling his cock slide in and out of me, every stroke bringing me closer to and closer.

I bit my lip and stared down at him, his eyes closed in the heat of the moment. I dug my fingers into his chest letting out a moan as I slid against him, throwing my head back and arching myself into him.

His hands moved up so they were gripping my hips tightly, squeezing as he tried to control the pace with me on top of him.

I gave into him, moaning his name as he began to really fuck me. I pressed my body against his again and let my lips travel along his, taking his lip between my teeth and tugging gently. I gasped as he increased his face, his fingers digging hard into my hips.

“I had so… Many dreams about you…” I breathed out, he smiled and wrapped his arms completely around me before rolling us over so he was on top of me, his cock still inside of me.

“I want to hear about all of them.” He dragged his lips along my neck, leaving a trail of bruises across the sensitive skin.

“They were good dreams, but never this good.” I laughed, he thrust into me again, harder making my breath catch in my throat. I tangled my hands in his hair, pulling at the roots as he fucked me. His moans filled the room occasionally smothered by my lips.

With my legs wrapped around his waist, he fucked me slowly. Savouring every stroke like it was his last. I fluttered my lashes as I looked up at him over me, his blue eyes clouded with lust, but staring at me like I was the most precious thing in the world.

Bathed in the firelight, our bodies moved in perfect sync.

Every thrust tightened the hot coil inside me, twisting and aching for release. He noticed my need, increasing his pace and giving me exactly what I wanted. It felt like my whole body was on fire as I came, my insides pulsing with pleasure as he did a few final hard strokes, pressing his lips to mine harshly as he came. I could feel his cock pulse inside of me as we kissed, it was the best feeling in the world.

“Michael…” I shakily breathed, he smiled as he pulled out of me. Falling to my side so he could take me in his arms.

Covered in sweat and surrounded with the scent of sex, wrapped in Michaels warmth I was pretty sure we were in heaven.

I turned so I could face him. Trying to burn the image of his face at this very moment in my head, I never wanted to let go.

“Don’t worry my love…” He brought his hand up to cup my face, “I’ll never let you go.”

_____

I hope you guys liked this lol. I worked an unhealthy amount on it. Inspired by requests for a fic based off of a song from this band, and some for a more ‘submissive’ less dom michael. (Ok I know he isnt ‘sub’ but im really terrible at writing it). If you have any requests send me an ask! If you want to be tagged in future michael fics, send one too. xx 

Tags: @shado-cat @disa @18394920 @awkwardly-sophisticated @precious-bands-love @madhatterweasley @manyimaginativemuses @frenchzodiacgirl @iasipbucky @rainhowling @m-i-a-m-c-d-e-e @sobbingmess 

@mxgicmoonz @morningstarkit @a-court-of-reds-and-silvers @aphroditeandvenus @frozenhuntress67 @lustlangdon @hxdesworld @toebeans-foryay @kelseytbr @drakonwild @kaliforniacoastalteens @quione3

@heelsamizayn @heavenlyladywarlock @acrossthestar @royalworldtraveler @yeahahs @hexqueensupreme @mchaellangdon @lovely-lollipops-blog @justareader @bitchchatter

(If you notice you asked to be tagged and arent, its because it wouldnt let me tag you. Send me a message and ill try and fix it!) 

[besidemethewholedamntime]

Happy Birthday, @libbyweasley ! I hope you have an utterly fabulous day because you deserve it so much! Here’s a little something for you to enjoy :)

(A big thank you to @blancasplayground for inspiring me) 

set your course by the stars 

Summary: 

"Any other person and she’d be worried about them falling asleep, but she knows Fitz won’t. He is as fascinated as she is. Even if he did though, she doesn’t think she’d mind. It’s just his company she likes to keep. How horrible to watch the falling stars alone." Fitzsimmons stargazing at the Academy, back when everything was simpler. A birthday present for the absolutely wonderful Libby!

{Read on Ao3)

or read below!

She cracks open his door at just past two in the morning.

The lights in the hall are on a sensor, otherwise she would have turned them off. Artificial white light is not the best way to wake Fitz from deep sleep, rather soft light and cajoling is more effective at this time of the morning, but for a lack of any other options then she supposes it’ll have to do.

“Unggg,” Fitz groans in answer to the light. He wraps the duvet around him tighter.

“I know, Fitz,” Jemma whispers urgently, trying to find his ankle to shake him out of bed. “But please, get up. There’s something I want to show you.”

“Mornin’ time for showing,” he mumbles into the pillow. “Now time for sleeping.”

“Oh, please, Fitz.” She locates the other ankle and tugs. “Please just get up.”

He cracks open his eyes and looks at his watch. “Aw, geez, Simmons.”

“The stars are falling, Fitz.”

No more complaining. Not even a long-suffering look. Instead he looks at her pointedly as he gets out of bed and she turns around, hears him rustling into his clothes. Remarkably fast for this time of night, it’s barely a minute before he coughs and she’s able to turn back around to him running his hand through his hair.

“You got the bag?”

Jemma holds it up. “Of course I do.”

Fitz ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck. When he opens the door more of the artificial light spills into the room. “Then let’s go.”

Jemma doesn’t think she’ll ever understand how the Academy campus, during the day so bright with the knowledge it contains, can be so devoid of light at night. As they head towards the wood-fringed field behind the accommodation block, they stumble across steps that they are so familiar with otherwise. Once, when she was still new to this place and this country, she was scared, even though she always said she wasn’t. Now, with Fitz’s heavy breathing beside her and steps falling in time with hers, she can’t imagine how she ever could be.

They have a spot for star-gazing. So many of them they have tried over the months but this one, just in front of the trees, is their favourite. Sometimes, especially during the winter, it rains and the grass is soggy, and the flowers that grow in the spring can be especially uncomfortable for Fitz’s hayfever but it offers the best view of the sky and in the end, she’s found, that everything is bearable when they’re together.

“You forgot the torch, didn’t you?”

“We’ll be fine without it.”

“How did you even forget it? You have a checklist!”

“Oh, shush. It’s not even important.”

“You know, Simmons, if I was the one who forgot it then you’d be grumpy with me.”

“We only need it to put the blanket down.”

“That’s kind of an important part.”

“Ugh, Fitz,” she hisses decisively. Sometimes he can be the most infuriating person she’s ever known. “Enough. Now pass me that corner, will you?”

No matter how much they bicker, it seems, they always work efficiently, and in no time at all they’re settled on their backs, watching the endless dance of the stars.

It’s quiet. The only sound is that of them breathing, slow and deep. Any other person and she’d be worried about them falling asleep, but she knows Fitz won’t. He is as fascinated as she is. Even if he did though, she doesn’t think she’d mind. It’s just his company she likes to keep. How horrible to watch the falling stars alone.

“Are you alright?” He whispers. Jemma looks over and sees the white air that comes out of his mouth as he speaks.

She reaches over to grab his hand, squeezes once. “Yeah.”

The squeeze that comes back is reassuring. “Good.”

The ground is hard beneath their backs and the night is colder than expected and yet she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

The stars are breath giving, stretching all the way into the infinite night. It isn’t very long before some begin to move across the sky. She hears Fitz give a great exhale and cannot help herself making the same movement only moments later. This sight. No matter how many times she’s seen it over the years, it’s still incomparable to anything else.

Fitz’s hand is still in hers. The only warm thing in the night. He’s a terrible grump, truly awful at tidying up, and sometimes he drives her so mad that she could tear her hair out of her skull sometimes. He’s also her best-friend, her person. Nobody she’s ever met, or will meet again, will ever compare.

Usually the nights are quiet, but she can tell that her awakening him at three in the morning, and the excessive silence she keeps worry him. He squeezes her hand again.

“You okay?”

The truth is that she’s not, not really. She never is any time that she drags him out here to watch the stars with her. A terrible mixture of guilt and longing always overcome her in the end.

Her silence is his answer. “You thinking about your dad?”

At home her father always took her out stargazing, no matter if there was a meteorological event or not. When her homesickness was at its worst, and when she wanted nothing more than to run away, she had run to Fitz, blindly upset and he had sat quietly and asked her what she most wanted. If she couldn’t have her father, have her home, then at least she could still have the stars.

“I forgot,” she whispers, trying not to cry on such a night. “I didn’t even think of it.”

“It’s alright, Simmons. We’ve been busy.” The hand in hers holds on tighter. “I don’t think your dad would have minded if you forgot once.”

Logically she knows that. He’s so proud of her and her studies. He tells her so all the time.

“I’ve been missing them less,” she whispers so quietly, Fitz must lean over to hear her. A terrible, shameful secret. “I don’t think of them as often as I should.”

“Makes sense. We’ve been away from home for a while. Doesn’t make you a bad person.” He looks at her and grins. “Just a normal one.”

She tries to laugh, or smile at least, but she can’t quite manage it. “Maybe.”

There’s a shuffling, and the distance beside them as decreased. “Look, Simmons, we’ve got nothing until one tomorrow. What about we phone your mum and dad then? Tell them about the stars.”

She turns from Fitz’s honestly earnest face to the expanse of the sky. “That’s a good idea.”

He playfully nudges her. “I do have them sometimes, you know.”

“Only sometimes,” she makes sure to point out. Then she squeezes his hand again. “Thank you, Fitz.”

“Always, Simmons.” He smiles at her, ever so gently and carefully. It astounds her, sometimes, how her prickly and grouchy best-friend can sometimes be the warmest person in the world. How abrasive he is, yet how soft his hands are.

Fitz looks back up the sky, the silver trails of meteors falling to places unknown. “I don’t know how anyone could ever get sick of this.” He sounds like a child, so wonder-struck. “It’s magnificent.”

“Yes.” She looks at him, his wide eyes and open mouth, filled with the wonder of the stars. This man, her friend who lies out in the dark with her at three in the morning. “Absolutely magnificent.”

[jeremystrele]

Caring for New Mothers Shouldn’t Stop at Six Weeks, According To Author + Co-Founder of Mama Goodness, Jessica Prescott

Caring for New Mothers Shouldn’t Stop at Six Weeks, According To Author + Co-Founder of Mama Goodness, Jessica Prescott

Family

Ashe Davenport

Cookbook author, postpartum doula and co-founder of Mama Goodness, Jess Prescott, with her two boys Louie and Jude. Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

Little Jude and Jess reading a book. Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

Jess and her husband Andy at home in Preston. Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

Andy, Louie, Jude and Jess in bed! Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

Jess with Louie, who started school this year. Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

Jess is a vegan chef who has written multiple coobooks! Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

The family at their dining table. Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

Jess letting Jude outside. Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

Louie checking on the lemons in the backyard. Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

Jess and Jude cheersing with watermelon! Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

Jess and Jude having a snack. Photo – Bri Hammond for The Design Files.

What I would have given for a Jess Prescott after I gave birth to my first baby. And my second. And right now, for that matter, as I tow my 3 + 5 year old to daycare and rush to work, only to rush back two hours later with reports of a snotty nose. Then home to the impossible task of working while parenting as my “sick” child climbs mountains of folding yelling for snacks. Infinite, eternal snacks. 

Jess says postpartum is forever. And maybe that’s a healthy way to look at things. Because rates of postpartum depression are at an all-time high. Daycare fees are inordinate. And a third of mothers describe their birth as traumatic. There’s immense pressure to look incredible, have meaningful careers and “hold space” for our kid’s tsunami of emotion. All on Very. Little. Sleep. 

We need all the support we can get. At a policy level, in the workplace, at home, in life. Jess provides that support through Mama Goodness. And teaches us how to ask for it.

Ashe Davenport: There’s pressure on birthing people to “snap back” after the baby arrives, physically, emotionally, socially, etc. How much do you hate that on a scale of 1-100?

Jess Prescott: I don’t ‘hate’ it per se, but I am deeply saddened by it as it is detrimental to the mental and physical health of birthing people, which trickles down to their children, their community, and society at large. Nothing is the same after birth. How can they be when we have gone through one of the most monumental transitions we will ever go through as humans? To grow and birth a baby is a massive undertaking that requires deep rest in the days, weeks and months that follow. Birthing people need to be physically and emotionally nourished, and given the time and space to bond with the living, breathing piece of themselves they have brought into the world. And not worry about whether or not their jeans fit.

My Maternal and Child Health Nurse was most interested in weighing grams and ticking boxes. And my Parents’ Group was grim. What do you think is missing from the standard support systems available to new parents? 

Compassion. Help. FOOD. Raising little humans is just so hard, and even with the best supports in place, sleep deprivation can make the strongest of people unravel. There needs to be more acknowledgment of this, and the narrative needs to shift so that people feel safe admitting they aren’t coping. We need to normalise the challenges that parents of small humans go through, so that others know how to help, and so that help becomes the norm and not the thing we seek out only when we are at rock bottom.

It also truly baffles me that support tends to only last for 6 or so weeks, and anything beyond that is considered indulgent. After the meal train runs out and the doula and midwife visits stop, we are left on our own with a tiny baby and sometimes multiple other children. Most babies are still waking multiple times in the night and we are unable to put them down in the day time, not even to shower or fix ourselves something to eat. Time after time, I’ve seen new mums struggle with this as I bid them farewell at my final Postpartum Doula visit. There is a sense of bewilderment as they wonder how they will survive the days alone after feeding their hungry little babies all night now that partners have gone back to work and all paid support has come to a bittersweet end. Society needs to change its view of mothers so that they are shown the reverence they deserve, rather than being cast aside until they are able to rejoin the workforce.

I notice a lot of people’s eyes glaze over when I talk about motherhood. Either that or they’re completely horrified. How do you respond to that?

Haha oh the eye glaze. I mean, I get it. They have different interests to me and that’s ok. I’m not sure I was overly excited about the children of strangers before I was a mother myself. Now I understand that to most people, our children are an extension of ourselves, and when people pay attention to our kids or our boring stories about our kids, it is deeply validating. People who GET that are very special. 

As for the horror, well, I remind them that the love outweighs it all. It really does. It doesn’t make sense until you know that love yourself, but it does. Motherhood is the most deeply humbling journey I have ever been on, and it has added a depth to my character that I am grateful for, even on the hardest of days.

Social media: friend or sadist to a vulnerable parent craving connection/visibility? 

Both! We are very lucky to have access to so much information and connection at our fingertips and I know I’m not alone when I say that Instagram made the endless hours of breastfeeding more bearable. But it is up to us to curate our feed. If someone makes us feel yuck, either unfollow or mute them. We owe no explanation to anyone except ourselves.

I burned with shame at the thought of someone knowing I wasn’t coping. What would you say to that new parent who desperately needs help, but refuses to admit it?

Oh gosh, I wish you could see how hard it is for everyone, that you are not alone in your struggles and that even that ‘perfect mum’ to whom everything comes effortlessly is struggling. Everyone is struggling in their own way, even non-parents. It’s ok to need help. It’s normal to need help. How this help looks will be different for everyone but you are not alone. It is FUCKING HARD to raise a family.  It’s not something we were ever supposed to do alone, so to feel like you need help means there is something RIGHT with you, not something wrong.

I also want to add that postpartum depression is most commonly diagnosed when the firstborn child is 4 years old – regardless of whether subsequent children are born. Keep checking in on your friends, people. Especially the strong ones and even when their babies aren’t babies anymore.

How do you hope a new mum feels after a delivery from Mama Goodness? 

Loved. Seen. Relieved. Overjoyed. Like a giant weight has been lifted off their shoulders. That they can rest easy knowing that meals and snacks are taken care of for the next few days, and that everything they consume will be bringing them maximum nutrition. Like they are a part of our village.

What’s the last miniature joy you experienced?

Oh, they are all around me! This morning when Andy handed me my coffee. Every morning when Jude says ‘you have a good sweep mama?’ as he wraps his little body around mine. Or when he grabs my face and says ‘I wuv you so much’ followed by ‘I wuv your hair’.

How should people support new mums when they are visiting – What are the visitor ‘do’s and don’ts’ for 0-6 weeks postpartum?

Don’t expect to visit in the first couple of weeks. It is such a tender and raw time, most people have no idea what day or time it is and are still bonding with their baby and learning to breastfeed. If you are lucky enough to receive an invite over, bring food. Send a message when you’re on your way, reminding them that they don’t need to tidy before you come, and asking if they need anything. Even if they say no, ALWAYS BRING FOOD. Only stay for a maximum of an hour and make sure you wash your hands but don’t for one minute expect to hold the baby, unless they ask you to so that they can shower/go to the bathroom/play with their toddler/nap. Make them a tea and wash any dishes in the sink while you are at it. Ask how you can help. Give heaps of attention to their other children. Don’t be late, they probably have naps and midwife visits scheduled around your visit.

And 6+ weeks postpartum?

Again, food. Don’t expect that because the birthing person is past that 6 week mark they are miraculously able to resume their old life. Getting out of the house with a small child is a full time job. Offer to go to them, unless they are desperate for an outing in which case, invite them over and send them home with food. Tell them how amazing and beautiful they are, tell them you are in awe of them, and ask them how they are TRULY doing. 

Did I mention you should always give a person with a new baby FOOD??!! Even when they have a 6 or 9 month old, they need food!

What food should we bring to a friend who has just had a baby?

Anything that’s easy to digest, can be eaten with one hand and can be frozen if their fridge is full already (lucky them!). Think soups, stews, lasagna, cottage pie etc. To me, a perfect food hamper contains a lasagna, a soup, a loaf of bread, something sweet such as chocolate or cookies, and tea. Of course you can always just order a pack from Mama Goodness. But seriously, even a pie from your local bakery will be appreciated. New mums are HUNGRY!

FAMILY FAVOURITES

Family cafe

It’s not really a café, but a small Turkish bakery that my family frequents – Tammy’s at the Preston market. Tammy is the loveliest person and she is vegan which means there are endless vegan options as well as non-vegan options. The mushroom and cheese borek is heaven and if you are lucky enough to visit on a day when Tammy has made dolmas, you are in for a treat. I love it so much. There are so many great cafes in Melbourne but none of them feel like home the way Tammy’s does.

‘Me time’ activity?

Pilates, baby!

Sunday morning breakfast ritual? 

Sunday mornings are just as chaotic as the rest of the week as the boys still want brekky at 6am which is way too early for me to eat. But on a good week, I make sourdough on Saturday which I then bake first thing Sunday morning. By the time it’s ready to eat, the boys are ready for their second breakfast and we sit together and eat endless slices. They call it ‘mama bread’. It’s really special.

Weekend getaway?

Anglesea used to be our go-to because my in-laws had a house there. They recently sold, which is bittersweet because we truly love that part of Victoria, but it means we are being forced to explore other pockets of regional Victoria. I have to say, I am yet to be disappointed, we are really very lucky here and manage to find yum food and good op shops wherever we go.

Head to Mama Goodness to book one of Jess’s postpartum doula or food services. And you can check out her brilliant cookbooks, Vegan One-Pot Wonders, Vegan Goodness & Vegan Goodness: Feasts

Need support with perinatal anxiety and depression? You’re not alone. This is a serious illness that affects up to one in five expecting or new mums and one in ten expecting or new dads. PANDA (Perinatal Anxiety & Depression Australia) is a great resource for women, men and families who need help – click here to find out more.  

[undiscovereduniverse]

tagged by @annevbonny, @medusinestories @jamesbarlow @jaune-clair THANK YOU ALL <3 <3

rules: post the last sentence you wrote, and tag as many people as there are words in that sentence. I’m gonna ignore this because I haven’t written anything in months and I have no idea what my last sentence was!! Instead, I'll spoil another part of the fic that I will never finish, a post season 4 silverflinthamilton happy ever after in which the major plot point is silver telling flint about his past (I already spoiled my story for silver’s past a while ago, you can find it here: X ). 

This time, I’ll spoil my favourite part of this fic: Thomas has a hard time accepting Miranda’s death, so to cope with his thoughts and feelings he writes her letters. 

A little bit of context first: 

Some years after the end of the war, Flint and Silver stumble upon each other by chance. Silver latches onto Flint - he doesn’t have anywhere to go or anything left to lose, after all - and follows him back to Flint’s and Thomas’ house. Silver stays with them - I don’t know if James or Thomas invites him or if Silver just decides not to leave. Thomas is curious about Silver, and his past with James. James mostly ignores Silver, is cold and distant to him.

Life hasn’t been easy for Thomas and James since they left the plantation. Their relationship is fragile, both their characters are changed and damaged. They live in a small house in a remote place, surrounded by trees, and James is happy there but Thomas desperately wants to return to society, to move closer to town and feel like he is at the center of the world again. Thomas writes to Miranda: 

My dearest love,

Every day I miss you more than the day before, and I feel your absence especially now, with what is going on in this house. We have been working so hard to achieve some sort of peace between the two of us, James and I, but ever since he came back with that man… Everything feels off-balance.

He steals, he lies, he thieves. He is completely devoid of morals or ideals. He is utterly selfish. I do not trust him – how could I, after everything he did to James?

You would have liked him, I am convinced. You would have known how to handle him. I am trying the best I can, but the years have eroded any sense of patience I ever had, and I find it all too easy to lash out at him, to make harsh and bitter comments about what he did to James. Do not be mistaken – do not think I am bullying him. I assure you that Mr Silver is not soft, and he strikes back at me with equal vigour.

It does not seem like he will be leaving any time soon, so I will tolerate him, for James. I have hope for us, that we will find a new balance between the two of us, no matter how long it will take. I love him so dearly, even after so long, even after all the years we forcibly spent apart. His return to me is a gift from the Gods that I will cherish, and will not easily let go.

As I am writing this, I can imagine clearly how you would laugh at me, your soft-hearted, hard-headed husband, making things more difficult for himself than they need be. Oh, how I wish you were here to tell me.

Yours, as always,

Thomas.

Thomas has a job in town, at a newspaper or something like that, while James stays at the house and works in their garden most of the time. Silver has been living with them for a while now, and has started to tell James parts of his past. James is wary at first, but slowly relaxes around Silver. 

Dear Miranda,

A man who feels confident of himself, who appreciates what he has, will not long for things he cannot possess. Jealousy is a weakness, and I am a weak man – more so than I have ever known myself to be. I am embarrassed to admit it, but I recognise it and it is true. I am jealous of Mr Silver. The way he and James interact… They move so naturally together, even in their arguments and banter. They click, they fit, while everything between James and me has been difficult and painful. We are still locating each other’s sores, find ourselves pushing too hard in places where it hurts, without meaning harm.

He knows James in ways that I never will. He has seen James in ways that I never will. He understands James in ways that I never will.

And yet, I cannot bring myself to hate him. He makes it so difficult when it should be so easy. A couple of days ago, I came home and tried to pull off my scarf but it had somehow formed a knot that I could not untangle and things at the paper had not been running smoothly as they should that day and this was the drop that made the bucket overflow. I pulled and pulled and pulled at the scarf which of course only made the knot tighter – you should have seen me: pure frustration and rage, all pointed at an inanimate object. I would have surely strangled myself and suffocated if not for Mr Silver. He saw my struggle – and feeling his eyes on me only made things worse – but he came up to me and put his hands over my fumbling fingers, and he looked at me with those deep blue eyes, that strangely kind and gentle face… It was so unexpected. He could have laughed at me, teased me for being such a fool. Everything became too much and to my embarrassment I started crying. I felt so helpless and I couldn’t even take my anger out on Mr Silver because he was being uncharacteristically nice to me. I could not be so mean.

I stood there, sobbing, while he told me a story about his family, something about how his mother used to be inconsolable while his sister was the easiest thing to cheer up and make forget her sorrows, a story of which I cannot remember the point right now but it does not matter because it was obviously something he made up for whatever purpose – to soften me, to knead me, I do not know.

I do not know how much longer I can take this.

A lot of things happen between this letter and the last - Silver being completely open about his past to Flint, Silver and Flint finally finding out that they love each other and giving in to their feelings, Thomas giving Silver’s beard a trim after which they share a careful first kiss between them, and eventual OT3 happiness. 

My dearest Miranda,

There was a time when I could make sense of the world, or at least I thought I could. Everything has changed. I do not see much sense anymore, in the things that fate puts on our path, in the things people do to each other, in the things I feel.

This realisation had me lost and adrift for a while, but I am slowly learning to appreciate that this strange world of ours can bring forth the strangest of coincidences, the most unexpected moments of luck. Of happiness.

I was unhappy in this house, living so far away from society, but I understood how much James needed this, the sense of peace and simplicity that this place brought him, so I stayed here with him until I could not bear it anymore. You know how he is – so eager to please the ones he loves. The moment he learnt of my unhappiness in this place, he promptly decided that we would move, no matter his own feelings. I felt guilty, and relieved, and then even more guilty. I do not know where we will eventually come to live, but for now it does not matter, because we are leaving this place to travel to the Continent, per John’s request. Yes, John, of all people, seems to have brought up the solution to our housing problem for now. Apparently, he spent parts of his youth in places in the Dutch Republic and England, and he wishes to go back to these places. James has decided to go with him, and I am definitely not staying behind, so here we are – packing our bags for a grand voyage across the ocean.

I still miss you so very much. I still feel like you could walk through the door any moment, in a brightly-coloured dress and with a warm smile on your face. With each day that goes by, your loss becomes a little more bearable. Perhaps the thought that helps is that James and I are happy, and that this makes you happy too, wherever you may be.

And, well. I am starting to believe that John could have an indispensable part in our happiness. He still annoys me as much as the first day I met him, but I see how much James loves him and… Miranda, please do not tell anyone but I might be starting to love him too.

I do not know when I will be able to write to you again. Until then, I am sending you lots of love and an infinite number of kisses,

Thomas.

I know it’s dumb because I wrote all of this myself but every time I read Thomas’ letters I start crying sldkfjdsklsdlkf

tagging @olga-eulalia @husbandpirates @bisexualpirateheart @queerpyrate @crucifythenburn ?? sorry if you’ve already done this and don’t feel pressured if you haven’t ofc!! 

[andorseries]

To my only one love,

I woke up exactly 12h00. I was trembling and I didn’t know why; when you wake up you don’t know what day this is. When I took my phone and saw what time was it, I didn’t knew the date. I thought “Well, it’s his birthday again. And what the hell am I gonna do?”

I wrote you a little text, I was still laid down and then I saw this picture I’m wearing on my profile, started crying and now my chest hurts and I can’t breathe. All of that because every year, every March 26th, I feel like I should do something that I can’t.

I really never did anything like this - post online something that I wrote on your birthday. March has always been a desperate month for me, every since I met you. It’s because of me. Because when the 26th arrives, I don’t know what to do.

Each and every part of me screams to be near you, to do more than tweet “happy birthday thread”, ‘cause I’ve always wanted to show you how precious you are to me and to the world, and make you see that every birthday is an acchievent. Every year you become more mature than you already are. But yeah, this is the day of the year when I spend the whole day crying, just because you’re not around. I don’t know what you’re doing or if you’re 100% happy, if everyone is giving you the love that you deserve - and I feel so desperate to make you feel loved. Even if millions of people are live tweeting now, showing their love. I’m sorry if I can’t let this feeling go.

You just… You deserve. You deserve to be loved at fullest. As the years go by, things become harder for me and my life is just full of crap. But you’re always on the other side, the bright side. You pull me off the cliff, and no one else could do that. Maybe they wouldn’t even want to.

When I think about life itself - breathing, being human, following the curse of the human nature and hold on no matter what happens, it’s scary. But I do, because you’re out there; ‘cause you’re the love of my life.

I always believed I was born to die, that I didn’t fit and I shouldn’t be here - that I had no home, but your smile became this home of mine. I find comfort in you. Whenever I look at the sky and take a deep breath and think of you, I’m okay. I feel like I fit in you, like I have a purpose to live and that’s damn enough to keep me here. The love I feel for you keeps me here.

Many times I handled hard suicidal crisis because my blurry mind suddenly reminded me that you’re here. That you exist and I love every detail of you and I want to live to be here with you forever, be with you even when the whole world vanishes. I’ll be here, I won’t go. You were always there for me when I was alone, when I wanted to die and part of me was, already, dead. You brought me back, you still bring me back, just by being yourself, the person I love the most.

So yeah, it’s worth living because I love you. I’ve never cried so hard for someone  like I do for you, never felt my heart burning like I needed somebody like I need you, never saw my whole future in someone’s eyes like I see in yours; for whatever that truly means.

When I cry, it’s because I miss you. ‘Cause I love you so much that this distance breaks me into a half, because you look so beautiful in the airport holding your passport with your tiny hands and crooked little fingers, because I love the way you choose your clothes and how they fit in you, because I see a whole universe inside your eyes, inside of you. Because I want so bad to hug you and feel safe, keep you safe and never let go. Because I feel alive. I guess crying is just the way that these words I keep on my chest find a way to come out.

You don’t even need to show up at the airport, make a comeback, none of that. I just need to think of you and suddenly my life is beautiful again and blessed no matter how much weight I carry on my shoulders, how many bad stuff I’ve been through. They don’t matter. Past becomes only a blurry memory with you. Depression becomes bearable, easy to fight, when it’s for you. And it’s always for you. I keep you in my mind, 24/7, and that’s how everything gets a meaning and I’m not only breathing, but actually living.

And babe, I’m such a broken person that I really can’t move on if it’s not for you. Every letter I write, even the secret ones in my journal that I write to ‘let you know’ that I’m sad, the tweets about my day in a protected account - they all have a purpose. They all show how much I’m hanging on just to look once into your eyes, your pretty eyes, and tell you that I love you. Maybe I can give you those letters, I have plenty of them. Not that you’re gonna read or anything like that, but seeing you in person, look into your eyes, say that I love you and deliver those letters have become my dream. My biggest dream, and the only one I’m urging to achieve, is to make you feel loved. Let you know that this world would be pure trash if you weren’t here, and this universe wouldn’t make sense without you.

I’m blessed for having you, and I shouldn’t cry today, I know. But the fact that the person I love the most is on the other side of the world hurts more today. On the other days, I can clear my mind and I know that no matter where you are, you’re already a reason to be happy and this distance doesn’t make my love for you less infinite. You’re everything I need to live. Just you, no matter on what circumstances.

It’s okay. Maybe one day you’ll hear me crying my heart out - in a good way, of course. Maybe you’ll understand. You deserve to know that every good feeling I have belongs to you. You have to know that you’re my savior, that I’ll love you till the end of times and you’ll always have me, even if I don’t matter. You’ll always have someone here.

Last week I wrote while on the bus that, “even in the end of this afternoon, while I’m writing this, I feel you, so you’re always here too. When I looked at the blue sky and the sun was (still is) shining, your image just came to my mind. I felt good. Really good, and I could breathe. I felt like I wasn’t alone no matter how far you are; I still feel it. This feeling doesn’t really go away, but sometimes I’m so heavy that I forget to pay attention. I even feel like I could speak and you’d hear.”

Thank you. Thank you for being you. I feel so glad and happy to be able to love someone like I love you, and this is the best thing that ever happened to me, nothing compares. I can’t even explain. It’s like some kind of magic trapped to my soul - even in the darkest moments you’re here holding my hand. I can’t give up no matter what. You take everything bad  and make them worth it, make them feel less heavy. I can live well as long as you do, I can smile as long as you smile, I can be happy as long as you are.

And look, even if we’re possibly both not 100% happy right now, we’ll be. We’ll find our ways. I trust you like I never trusted anyone and I know that you can do amazing, incredible things. You’re the most talented, kind-hearted, beautiful person I’ve ever met. Hell, if everyone could see you the way I do, this world would be changed in a blink of an eye and finally find peace. This universe reached perfection when you were born. You’re here to change everything; at least for me. And that’s hella enough, ‘cause I thought I was past saving.

“Questions and answers, they’re all in you.”

Happy, very happy birthday, my love.

Nari.

[shachaai]

[Ficlet] Sea-Longing

Urban fantasy/human(ish) AU Eng/f!Port. Saying much more for this is a spoiler, but it’s pretty much safe-for-work fluff. Gloria is f!Portugal.

    Gloria had had her fortune read once, when she was nineteen, home from university for the summer and burnt by the hot sun and her relatives’ expectations for her future. Tarot.

It’d been Toni’s fault that the teller had read the cards looking for a prediction of Gloria’s love life; he’d been teasing her about their grandmother asking her before when she was going to bring a nice boy home. So Antonio had draped himself out over Gloria’s shoulders like an unwelcome blanket, her in a tank-top, him naked from the waist up, their skin sticking together with summer sweat, and asked the tarot-reader what the cards had to say about Gloria and love.

Tarot cards are not terribly direct things, building upon information already known to grasp at answers. To Gloria, they had just been pictures, but the fortune-teller had told their stories for Gloria and Antonio to hear. Major arcana cards, cups, many cups. Ace of cups. Ten of cups. Knight of cups. The Lovers. Gloria forgets the details, but the reader tells her that her future is full of love, with a heartfelt suitor, and tied to the element of water. Perhaps she’ll love a sailor.

Arthur is not a sailor. Arthur is not a sailor, but eight years on from tarot-readings his lips taste of salt when he comes home to her with the dim light of nautical dawn grey and hazy through her windows. He kisses Gloria awake with his soft mouth and softer, cooler fingertips cradling her cheeks, his fair hair falling in half-damp wisps across her forehead.

Though she hates waking early, Gloria loves those mornings, smiling before she’s awake. Arthur is very easy to wind into her bed, bare skin under borrowed clothes only warming when it rubs against her own body, and his strong hands are always at their most delicate when they trace the shape of her ribs beneath the covers, the muscles of her hips and thighs, before they sweep back up across her belly, across her breasts before cupping her face once more, leaning in again to kiss her sleep-crusted eyelashes. Nose. Mouth.

“Do I pass muster?” Gloria asks him, if only to open her eyes to the low rumble of laughter that presses through Arthur’s chest to her own, a lullaby-song like the sound of the distant ocean.

“Your beauty dazzles me,” Arthur tells her, and proprietarily pushes one of his cold thighs between her much warmer ones. He has a crooked smile, pressing it to Gloria’s palm when she raises a thumb to rub away the rough salt crystals still clinging to his cheeks, feeling the scratch of them under the pad. In the pre-dawn light, even his sea-green eyes gleam silver. “Even when you drool.”

Gloria shoves the heel of her palm into his nose until he apologises, and, when she falls asleep again, it is with Arthur in her arms, his spine curved into her front and her mouth still smiling against his nape.

Naturally, when she wakes up again with the noon sun spilling across her floor, Arthur has already left the bed, but the bathroom is still steamy with condensation and the damp clothes he must’ve worn to get to her house have been left to air before being put in with the rest of the dirty laundry. The rest of the house, when Gloria emerges into it, has been similarly tidied; still sleepy, she has to squint at the bright reflection of the sun on her (offensively) squeaky-clean draining board, and then squint again when she has to actually go into her bread bin to get out the rolls she had been quite happy to leave out on her bench two days before.

When they had told Gloria’s family that Arthur worked as a freelance editor and occasional writer for a magazine in England - something that is actually true, although Gloria’s family had not been told just how little of Arthur’s disappearances from Portugal are for Arthur’s work -, Gloria’s mother had joked that at least Arthur’s job made sure that he had plenty of time to keep the house clean whilst Gloria was away.

Gloria had laughed at the time, accustomed to her mother’s jokes about how her only daughter kept the chicken coop in her garden in better order than her own house - but every time Arthur does come home, he cleans. Gloria is a little untidy - things get put away, generally, but not always in the correct place -, but she hardly lives in a pit of squalor. Arthur deep-cleans her house anyway, starting with general tidying and washing down benches and walls, sorting through and handling the laundry, and vacuuming. The chickens are a bit wary of him so the most he can do for the coop is feed them on those days when Gloria is too busy - or sleeping - to, but the rest of the garden usually ends up looking so immaculate Gloria’s neighbours stop treating her like the repentant Mary Magdalene when she turns up to share some of her chickens’ eggs with them and more like they haven’t had to return her skirt, heels, and a used bra to her the day after her friends have gotten her spectacularly drunk on a summer night out and she stripped off whilst tottering up her own garden path at three am. More than once.

Arthur smells like warm dust and sun and Gloria’s bodywash when he traipses in barefoot from whatever he’s been doing to her neglected garden, earth and green chlorophyll under his nails. Gloria opens her arms happily to him for another hug, but her shoe-hating sweetheart side-steps her with a grin to wash his hands in the sink. Gloria wraps herself around him from behind instead, pressing her forehead to his shoulder and letting her hands slip over the sharp edges of his hipbones under his soft, faded shirt. (She is, most likely, getting breadcrumbs stuck under his clothes, but that is his cross to bear, not hers.) Like this, he is so pointy. All soft, smooth skin, lithe muscle and evident bones beneath.

“Mama thinks I never feed you,” Gloria says, digging her face into Arthur’s shoulder and inhaling the scent of him, his warmth, with shameless indulgence. It’s been a month and a half since she saw him last, and three days longer than that since they were like this - since he was like this. Human. Hers. “You’re so thin.”

Arthur hums, tipping his head so his cheek presses companionably on the top of her head - they both know he’s only this slim some of the time, shedding his weight the moment he puts pale pink toes on Portuguese shores. “Shouldn’t have told her I can’t cook, then.”

Gloria pouts very dramatically at him. “I did not tell her you couldn’t cook; I told her you burnt scrambled eggs and tried to hide the ruined saucepan in the bin.” The only times Arthur is fat are when he cannot eat his own cooking, but none of these are things Gloria can explain to her mother.

“Once,” says Arthur, and turns around in Gloria’s grasp before she can get a good grope in on one of his thighs so he can hold her in return. He wipes his hands off on her shirt because he is terrible.

“Scrambled eggs, querido,” says Gloria, and grins at the beginnings of a pretty pink blush on Arthur’s cheeks, settling for cheerfully groping his butt in their new position instead. Is still grinning as he kisses her, soft approving noises slipping out of her at his thumbs stroking her throat, his nails scratching a shiver through her nerves before he has his fingers in her sleep-tangled hair.

This, moments like this, whether they are in the bed or the garden or like this, Arthur bracketed up against the sink as they both kiss themselves dizzy, make the times when Arthur is away more bearable. Also remembering all the times when Arthur has been an inconsiderate dick, but Gloria likes to dwell on the happier things when sea-longing drags her down to the beach.

Arthur forever leaves the smell of the ocean on her pillows and sand in her sheets. He leaves dirty laundry and half-full mugs of cold tea about her house when he goes, and when he comes back he brings gifts: pretty rocks and seashells, sea-glass, expensive seafood and two dead ducks only lightly chewed. He brings back stories of what he’s done whilst he’s been gone and where he’s been, and he, most tenderly, brings back a long strip of silvery-brown cloth, lightly spotted, warm from his own body and so infinitely precious that it had taken two years for Arthur to even allow Gloria to glance at it, let alone know where he put it whilst he was with her.

Half of another year, and Arthur had let Gloria touch it, warm, smooth softness under her palm. Sealskin. A harbour seal’s skin, uma foca-comum, to be more precise, so strange to see so far south.

Half of another year again, and Arthur had awkwardly but gratefully accepted the old unused jewellery box Gloria had offered him to place the skin inside when he came to see her, a reasonably sized wooden thing, with a small lock and key that was Arthur’s to hide or keep. Gloria had left the house for a few hours - food shopping - to give Arthur plenty of time to hide the jewellery box somewhere, but when she had returned home and placed her bags down he had taken her hand and showed her where the jewellery box had been tucked away, nestled amongst her winter scarves and gloves like a small animal hibernating for winter.

Around that point they had stopped saying Arthur was visiting her - instead, Arthur had started coming home.

They had met four years ago, then again three and a half years ago - and then, after that, the longest Arthur had been away from her had been three months. This past year, he has never been gone longer than a month and a half, but his average time away from Gloria is only two weeks. Mostly he leaves for a day or two. Once, he had only been gone three hours.

Gloria’s family are starting to look at Gloria’s hand for a ring. Gloria does not know how to ask her family - or the government, or a priest - about the legality of marrying a selkie. She has never even asked Arthur if he has a passport, or where he was born. So you turn into a seal? had mostly put all the other important questions out of her mind.

Also her slight hysteria the first time she had actually seen Arthur don his skin and turn into a seal, followed up by the still slightly-delirious cooing at how cute and chubby her seal boyfriend is as a seal, and her immediate need to shower kisses on her seal boyfriend’s wet nose.

The seal thing really is quite distracting.

Harbour seals are one of the species of pinnipeds that are not monogamous. The fact - too - occasionally crosses Gloria’s mind when she’s driving on her way to work, the ocean glittering in her field of view and her mind still too sleepy to immediately dismiss nonsense. Not counting seal, Arthur speaks English, French, reasonable Spanish and enough Portuguese to charm Gloria’s family and make her blush; he has more than enough words in enough languages to seduce a pretty girl or boy somewhere else Gloria doesn’t know, someone who lives further north by waters that it is not so weird to see a harbour seal swimming in. Arthur always swims north when he leaves her, he’s told her so; the colder streams of the Atlantic must help bring him to his senses.

Then again, Arthur’s awkwardness and snappishness when provoked by people other than Gloria would suggest he’d have better luck attempting to seduce a grumpy walrus than another human.

Gloria is not sure what her feelings would be about losing her selkie boyfriend to a seductive walrus, but even the thought of it makes her need to park her car very suddenly, lean forward over her steering wheel, and laugh. Slightly hysterically - again -, but laugh.

At home, there is Arthur, or there is not. He has made her no promises except that he will always return to Gloria as long as she will have him, and, words stumbling over his tongue as he turned a red brighter than sunburn, that he loves her. He cannot… There is something about the sea, he’d said. He sometimes just needs to go back to the sea, and there is no way to measure the depth of that longing, or any real way to truly, totally, quench it.

Gloria had been fond of swimming, of going out on her family’s boats and long, quiet walks on the beach by herself, long before she had met Arthur. Sitting on the sand and reading until the sun went down, with nothing but the wind and the gulls and the surf in her ears. She understood sea-longing before Arthur, and understands sea-longing a different way now she has him and he leaves and returns to her like an unpredictable tide.

There is not an Arthur-sized hole in Gloria’s house or life when the selkie is not there, but her heart misses him while he is gone. You cannot skype or text a seal. You certainly cannot have phonesex with one. But when Arthur is there -

Oh, he makes her happy. Simply happy, without a complication in her heart despite all the complications loving a selkie brings for her head. Even if he ruins her saucepans (he really cannot cook), tidies things away in places it takes her three days to find, and has a permanently passive-aggressive set of chronic misunderstandings with her brother. They can talk about things, Arthur and her, work things out between them. They will talk about things, because Arthur always come home to her for a reason.

“...Hey,” Arthur says, breaking off their kiss to nudge his nose against hers and draw Gloria out of her thoughts, his green gaze very close and inquiring. He has bumped kisses to her face like this in his seal form too - but the human form, at least, doesn’t suffer so much from fish breath. Imperfect and beautiful. “Where are you?”

Gloria nudges him back, letting her eyes slide shut at the simple pleasure of Arthur’s cheek against her own, nuzzling. The ocean cannot have this from her. “Não te preocupes, querido. Always with you.”