#ao3 proofreader

[superdumbfan]

Who wants to proofread an early draft of Trash and Treasure?

Edit: I did some research and realized that I need to clarify that I'm broke. I don't have money. If you take up this offer I'm sorry but I can't pay. This is my first time asking for a proofreader, so sorry.

[lumhos]

soulmate au where your soulmate’s name is written on your wrist, but it’s their true name.

this isn’t an issue with majority of the population. many people are content with their names and assume their soulmates are the same.

however, it becomes more challenging when these names don’t exactly exist yet. the soulmates of people still in the closet walk around with their soulmate’s real names, their soulmates none the wiser. those who go by nicknames that don’t exist yet. those who change their names for any other reason.

tom hates his name and the one etched across his wrist. in sharp writing, almost like someone drew a dagger and blindly carved it, layed the name “harry”. right above his vein.

it felt like painful irony that someone like him would get such an average name. someone of tom’s excellence, and extremely common name. “a perfect pair” he would internally sneer.

the fact that its a boy’s name is the icing on the cake. tom learns to bind his wrist in thick bandages, ensuring that nobody could peek through the wraps.

tom grows up and eventually forgets about the name. he doesn’t need foolish things like love when he’s meant for something greater. a soulmate would only weigh him down. keep him chained to Earth when he was meant to soar. he couldn’t even tell you the name anymore.

(in reality, tom goes to bed clutching his wrist. his thumb unconsciously caresses the name when he’s in thought. a bitter ache thrums in his chest when he sees his peers walk around the halls, arm-in-arm with their soulmates.

what makes them so much better than him that he can’t find his soulmate? what’s wrong with him? has fate and lady magic deemed him unworthy of her blessing? where is harry?)

and yet, war does a wonderful job of taking things off people’s minds. so when tomorrow sheds his “oh, so muggle” name for the elegant “voldemort”, he doesn’t consider the effect this will take on his soulmate’s wrist.

he doesn’t fully understand until he rises again, robed by pettigrew, looking different. he looks inhuman, but not as much as he should have been, given the blood was taken (forcibly) by an enemy.

as his ruby eyes finally land on potter, he notices a trickle of red dripping off his arm.

a scratched, bleeding red “voldemort” on his wrist.

[renx01]

Too Sweet

Prompt: Inspired by the Hozier song Pairing: Harry Hart x (Kingsman!)Reader Fandom: Kingsman Tags/Warnings: age gap, mutual pining, angst Word count: 6495

Masterlist

You’d joined Kingsman only five years ago, and over time you’ve become a well-respected agent, code-named Tristan. Merlin, who is your uncle, was the one who had proposed you as a candidate and helped you prepare for the role while you were still in your early twenties. The other candidates had been good, but you were nearly flawless, only taking calculated risks and never letting your emotions rule your decision making. Control over your emotions was something you always excelled in, and it tremendously helped you make strides as an agent during the initial few months and first year. This caused you to rise in rank quite quickly, making you go on more solo missions or accompanying Galahad or Percival whenever they needed assistance. Today, you’re helping your uncle instead, hacking into some cameras and security networks so he’ll be able to tell Lancelot and Galahad where to go next and what they should be looking out for. It’s something you do from time to time, mostly upon Merlin’s request when he finds the mission too complicated to oversee on his own.

‘The main control room should be south from where they are now.’ You pull up the map on the big screen which hangs in front of you and Merlin, pointing out where Galahad and Lancelot should be going next. As he’s relaying the information to the other men, you hack into the mainframe the criminal organisation and start going through the different files. ‘Any updates about the nuclear files?’ Galahad’s voice comes through the speakers and Merlin looks at you. ‘Working on it. Just focus on getting to that room.’ The screen in front of you shows Lancelot’s feed. He’s following Galahad through the many hallways and twists and turns they take, taking down guards whenever they come across them. Their moves are deliberate, quick and efficient. You turn back to your screen and after a few minutes you’re finally able to access the file Galahad had asked for. ‘I’m sending you the file now, Galahad.’ ‘Thanks Tristan.’ He replies. They have finally reached the door to the control room. Lancelot holds his watch against it and it opens. Silently, the two men enter the room. ‘Lancelot, I need you to connect us to the controls.’ Merlin states and the other man follows the order. Your screens fill with the necessary information and you start working on fully disarming and disabling  the system. ‘Galahad, please flip the green switch on your right.’ You request. Before he can really do so, a loud bang interrupts him, followed by the sound of shots. ‘Lancelot, you take those men while Galahad follows Tristan’s orders.’ Merlin’s Scottish accent seems thicker momentarily. You’ve noticed it only really happened when he was in more stressful situations; one time when you almost got kidnapped, it was so thick you could barely understand him despite having a mostly Scottish family. Calmly, you instruct Galahad what buttons to press and switches to flip. After a few minutes of him following your lead as you type away at your computer, you’re done. ‘Galahad. Lancelot. The system has fully been disabled and disarmed. Get back to the jet.’ They start running through the building and Merlin glances at you, giving you a small smile before going back to helping them follow the quickest route out of the building. 

‘You did well, Tristan.’ Merlin ruffles your hair and you smile at him. ‘Thanks. You didn’t do too badly yourself, old man.’ He laughs and lightly punches your arm. ‘I’m not that old, your mother is 10 years older than I am.’ You snort and teasingly say, ‘And you Merlin, are 12 years older than I am.’ After that comment, a comfortable silence settles between you. There were a few more tasks you had to complete before tomorrow, so you decided you would spend the evening and night at the mansion.  About an hour after the mission finished, Merlin leaves, leaving you alone in front of the large screen filled with documents. Quietly, you continue working for a few more hours before you call it a night. You’d finished your side of the report, only needing Galahad and Lancelot for the final few details. You’ll probably ask them about those during the debrief tomorrow afternoon. 

Once you’ve locked your computer and turned off all the lights, you silently walk to the kitchen, where you start making a pot of tea. The room is dark, as you only turned on the light above the stove. A sound from behind you catches your attention. Looking back, you see that your two colleagues have just returned from their mission. ‘Evening gentlemen.’ You greet them. ‘Tristan, good evening.’ Galahad walks up and stands next to you, just as the water starts boiling. ‘Would you like a cup?’ Your hands continue moving, putting in the tea egg to let the leaves steep. He hums in response as he grabs two more cups. ‘Chamomile?’ Galahad quietly asks and you nod. A comfortable silence settles between the two of you while Lancelot leaves the room momentarily to put some of their things away. Once the tea has sufficiently gained colour and flavour, you pour some into the three cups. Grabbing your own, you sit down next to the chair you’d draped your suit jacket over. Harry sits down across from you and puts down Lancelot’s cup next to him. You both quietly drink your tea, your eyes scanning that day’s paper. When you look up, you notice his eyes are trained on you, making you a bit nervous. Before you can say anything, though, Lancelot walks back in and starts talking about their flight back to England and the newest Royal scandal of the week. The other man’s attention shifts to his colleague who is talking excitedly. Your eyes scan Galahad’s features. He is handsome, smart, quick-witted, and a gentleman. A combination which has led you to, over time, develop a bit of a crush on your colleague. 

‘Tristan, what do you think?’

You turn your head to face the other man. ‘I think the situation escalated unnecessarily, had the royal family handled it properly, this would’ve never become public.’ He smiles and Galahad interjects. ‘I agree with Tristan, this situation could have easily been avoided.’ The two men continue talking and you sip your tea.  ‘Gentlemen, I’m heading off to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the debrief.’ You stand up and put your cup into the dishwasher. It was already 11 o’clock. ‘Tristan,’ Galahad stands up, ‘if you’ll allow me, I’ll walk you back to your room.’ Smiling, you nod. ‘Of course Galahad; thank you.’ He leaves the room with you and as you walk, he leans sideways in your direction and whispers. ‘Thanks Tristan. I was a bit tired of Lancelot talking. He’s been going without pause from the moment we got on the jet.’ It didn’t surprise you in the least. ‘Of course Galahad. Lancelot tends to talk quite a lot; I suspect his favourite sound may be his own voice.’ He snorts. ‘I suspect you might be correct.’ The hallways are silent except for your quiet footsteps and conversation. The distance between the two of you seems to become smaller as you continue walking and talking; until you stop in front of your door. ‘Galahad, thank you for accompanying me.’ You turn to face him and smile. ‘Of course Tristan, it was my pleasure.’ His voice was quiet. The silence between you is tense and Harry seems to slowly be leaning closer as he holds your eye contact. Moments, which feel like hours pass, but he doesn’t make a move. Your noses almost touch when he seems to snap out of a sort of trance and clears his throat, pulling back quickly. ‘Ah Tristan, I should get going. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you tomorrow.’ As he walks away, you stand frozen in your doorway.

The following morning you watch the sunrise outside, a hot cup of coffee in your hand. It seems no one else is up yet. You’ve left your suit jacket in your room and have your sleeves rolled up, the crisp air touching your form. Behind you, you hear your dog walking and sniffing around. ‘Ares.’ The Doberman walks to your side. ‘Want to go for a walk?’ He barks and you pet him behind his ears. ‘Let’s go.’ You smile and he runs into the field in front of you, with you following calmly. Upon your return, you’re greeted by Merlin, who looks to have woken up not too long ago. ‘Morning Tristan.’ Ares excitedly runs up to the Scot. ‘Morning to you too Ares.’ He puts down his coffee and pets the dog with both his hands. ‘You’ve got an awful lot of energy today, haven’t you?’ ‘He really does, he’s been running around for over an hour already.’ You laugh. ‘I’ll bring Albion to play with him later today.’ He takes a sip of his coffee. ‘I’ll be back momentarily, can you watch Ares for a second?’ He nods. ‘Thanks.’ you say and smile at him. You walk into the kitchen through the open doors. Putting down your cup, you start brewing another cup of coffee. The kitchen is still quiet, but you know that more of the agents that have stayed the night will probably start walking in soon, though it probably won’t be many. Lancelot and Galahad you knew for sure, others you weren’t too certain about. ‘Morning Lancelot.’ You say as you hear the man walk in. ‘Agent Tristan.’ He greets. ‘Want some coffee?’ ‘Yes please.’ The smell of another fresh coffee fills the air. You smile as you hand him a cup. ‘You feeling alright?’ ‘I will once I finish this.’He groans before the two of you clink your cups. ‘See you at the briefing in an hour.’ 

You spent that hour with Merlin and Ares, mostly in silence. The Doberman is as happy as can be, with the Scot and you taking turns throwing a ball into the field and having the dog return it. It was nice spending time with your uncle like this. Usually you have to be  quite serious around him, as you mostly speak to him here, at Kingsman. Now, you can, even if it’s just for a moment, relax and have the relationship you used to have when you were younger and neither of you were a part of the secret service. ‘Uncle Hamish, we should probably get ready for the briefing.’ You say as Ares runs into the distance. He has his eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun. ‘Just five more minutes; Galahad will be late anyway, he seemed a bit off yesterday evening when I saw him.’ That last comment piques your interest, but you decide not to pry. The meeting room was still empty when you walked into it with your uncle. A few minutes pass before, you are joined by Lancelot, who is, once again, talking excitedly. While you don’t necessarily have the energy for him, you stay professional and listen with intent. He is still talking your ears off when Galahad finally arrives, about five minutes late. Despite Merlin having made a comment, it is still quite unusual for him to be late. 

‘Glad you could join us, Agent Galahad.’ Merlin calls out from the far end of the room as the other man enters. ‘Terribly sorry for my tardiness.’ Harry excuses himself. ‘Morning Galahad.’ Lancelot greets him, instead you just wave at the agent. Everyone sits in their usual spots, with Galahad across from you and Merlin to your left, though he almost immediately stands up, walking in front of the screen which shows the most vital information related to the mission. Most of the information isn’t new to you, as you’d helped your uncle prepare. Whenever Galahad or Lancelot give additional information, which you hadn’t been able to gain before the meeting, you write it down into the report. Your attention is fully focussed on what everyone is saying, that is until you notice that Galahad’s eyes seem to linger on you a bit longer than usual whenever you make a comment. Eventually, his eyes meet yours. He quickly looks away and focuses on Merlin, who is saying something about the risks which may occur in the future. Yesterday’s mission has likely only slowed down the organisation, meaning that you’d still have to find its core and try to eliminate it. Still, all the new information which has been gained is quite useful. Your gaze reverts back to your laptop screen as you continue typing away. 

‘Agent Tristan, could you please explain to these gentlemen what you did to fully disarm and disable the system?’ Merlin’s sudden attention to you surprises you, but you stand up confidently and walk to his side. Galahad’s eyes seem to burn into the back of your head as you do so. ‘So how we did it is -’ Everything goes smoothly as you explain the process thoroughly to the other agents. Hopefully, you’ll be able to join them in the field next time, rather than having to sit and watch from the sidelines to assist them from a distance. You aren’t sure that’ll actually happen however, as it really depends on what kind of mission it’ll be and what is needed of you.  After a few minutes, you’re able to sit back down. Neither Lancelot, nor Galahad had any questions, which you assume is probably a good sign. There are only a few more things you need to discuss, with most of them only requiring only a little of your input from time to time, so you silently drink some tea as Lancelot and Merlin talk. Galahad is remarkably silent, only asking a few questions or making comments when he deems it necessary. Usually, he’s more talkative and tends to lead the conversation, but today he seems to have chosen to leave that to Lancelot. As your uncle is saying something about the implications of such an organisation having access to nuclear weapons, you feel another foot hit yours. At first, you ignore it; but when it happens again, you look around. It couldn’t be Merlin or Lancelot, leaving Galahad as the only suspect. You quickly look at his face but he acts as if he’s innocent. When you feel a third tap, you let your eyes meet his. The lines around his eyes crinkle mischievously, while the rest of his face doesn’t seem to change. You tap him back, your oxfords hitting the side of his silently. This time, his eyes do not divert to Merlin or Lancelot, and it almost feels as if you’re the only person in this room with him. The feeling is short lived however, with his gaze shifting away when his name is mentioned by one of the other men. Still, his foot remains in place, connecting the two of you. Despite the intimate gesture, his feelings for you remain unclear.

The meeting comes to an end, you and Galahad act as if nothing happened when you stand up. Everyone leaves the room and as he passes you, he slips a small folded note into your hand. You do not get a chance to read it though, as Merlin immediately starts up a conversation with you as you walk the wing of the mansion where the individual kingsman offices are located. ‘Tristan, could you send me the report after lunch?’ You nod. ‘As long as we’re going on a walk with Ares and Albion after, you know he’s missed you lately, and this morning wasn’t enough to make up for that.’ He laughs. ‘Of course.’ Together, you walk into Merlin’s office, where you quickly discuss the last few details before you leave for your own. There, you work on the report for a bit longer, adding the finishing touches before sending it to Merlin. Ares lays in the corner of your office, playing with one of his toys quietly. The folded piece of paper sits next to your keyboard, still not read. Once you’ve finally finished the report, you grab and slowly unfold it. Galahad’s handwriting is neat, but not delicate.

Tristan,

Meet me in the library at 21:00 tonight. 

Yours faithfully,

H

‘I suppose I’ll go read in the library tonight, Ares.’ You whisper before you put the note into your drawer and motion your dog to follow you to the kitchens to have lunch. He walks at your side when you enter, and calmly waits as you brew tea and make lunch. Once it’s ready, you decide to eat it outside, as the weather is quite nice today and Ares will be able to run around before you go for the walk with Merlin.  Half an hour passes before you’re joined by your uncle, who has his dog, Albion, with him. She’s a border collie who is usually quite serious and focused, but gets very excited when she gets to play with Ares. The two of them are best friends, so you and Merlin try to have them meet up and go on a long walk at least once a week. This doesn’t always happen though, as duty calls whenever it does, resulting in having to cancel quite frequently, which happened the past few weeks. Today isn't such a day though, and once you both finish your lunch, the four of you start walking your usual round around the grounds. You and Merlin chat away about anything and everything while Ares and Albion run around together and fetch a tennis ball from time to time. It’s calm and you’re enjoying yourself. It’s always quite nice to spend your time like this. All nice things must come to an end though, and after forty-five minutes of walking, you have to return to work.  ‘See you later Tristan.’ Merlin says before walking to his office, taking Albion with him. ‘Later.’ You wave before walking in the opposite direction. Galahad hadn’t been there when you returned from your walk, so you assume he’s at the shop to get a few things in order. It’s probably for the better, as you aren’t sure what you would do if you were to cross him in the hallway right now. He’s constantly giving you mixed signals. Yesterday, he seemed to lean in to kiss you before pulling away suddenly. Today, he almost continuously avoided your gaze, yet wanted to stay connected in some way that wasn’t visible to others, and he wrote you a note telling you to meet him later.

‘Fuck.’

You whisper to yourself. You’re falling for him, hard. You have been for a long time. You always told yourself it was merely a crush, but you’re unable to deny it any longer. This revelation isn’t your biggest problem though. Your biggest problem is whether he would even be interested, as he’s constantly giving those mixed signals. Tonight you’d decide whether you’ll ever act upon your feelings or not. You’d never particularly cared for the kingsman code which prohibits any relationships, though it hasn’t been necessary for you to break it either, as you hadn’t been interested in any relationships in the first place. Kingsman always comes first in your life. This means that you’ve never actually taken the time to think of finding a partner or date around. What you are worried about, is that Galahad is someone that always follows the rules and doesn’t even think about bending, let alone breaking, them. This may be an explanation for him being so hot and cold with you. Still, it’s confusing and worries you. ‘Good afternoon agent Tristan, is everything alright?’ Arthur greeting you pulls you out of your thoughts and you realise you’re standing in front of the door which leads into your office, your hand on the doorknob. You have probably been standing there for a couple of minutes now. Quickly you turn the knob and start walking in.  ‘Ah yes Arthur, I was just lost in thought. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some paperwork to attend to.’  You smile at him before swiftly closing the door once Ares has entered the room as well. 

The evening couldn’t come soon enough. Thinking of whatever Galahad could possibly tell you continued racing through your mind the entire afternoon, meaning that you were quite distracted for the most part. Merlin visited you shortly before dinner to discuss the report and what he altered before sending it off to Arthur. While he clearly noticed that you were distracted, he decided against saying anything about it and left. Shortly thereafter, you decided it’d be a good idea to go for another walk with Ares, as it’s a good way of distancing yourself from the setting in which you usually see Galahad. This time, though, the walk lasts for several hours, with the sun starting to set once you start heading back to HQ.  When you arrive back at HQ, it’s nearly nine, so you decide to bring the Doberman to your office before heading to the library. Galahad, or Harry which you rarely ever refer to him as, is already there, waiting for you. He turns to face you and smiles when you enter before greeting you. ‘I’m glad you could make it agent Tristan.’ You nod nervously but try to sound casual. ‘Of course, any time, Galahad.’ His eyes look over your form and you do the same. The tension between the two of you is palpable but you try to ignore it as best as you can. For a moment, nothing happens. The both of you stay still, frozen in place.  Suddenly Galahad moves again and walks up to you. In a moment of passion, he grabs your face and kisses you deeply. It’s so intense it feels as if he’s bruising your lips. When you don’t move, he starts pulling back. Quickly, you pull him to you once more and kiss back, one of your hands in his hair and the other pulling his tie. The two of you fight for dominance and he pushes you against one of the bookshelves, his left hand now resting on your hip.  Eventually, he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed. For minutes, the two of you stand like this, silently enjoying each other's presence and closeness. ‘Tristan.’ He whispers. ‘Yes Galahad?’ The man sighs and slowly leaves your embrace. ‘Shit.’ You hear him mutter under his breath. ‘Shit shit shit.’ He backs away, as if he’s only just realised what happened. ‘Galahad, what’s going on?’ ‘I cannot do this Tristan.’ His voice sounds almost desperate. ‘Galahad, what do you mean you cannot do this?’ He doesn’t reply and walks away, leaving you alone in the library.

You didn’t see Galahad the rest of that week and you threw yourself into work, only leaving your office to go out with Ares. If you hadn’t had him, you probably wouldn’t have left your office in the first place. That Friday morning, Merlin comes in unannounced and finds you sleeping with your head on your desk. He wakes you and you slowly sit up straight. Your suit jacket is discarded somewhere in a corner and you look a bit of a mess with your hair all dishevelled.  ‘Are you sure you’re feeling alright Tristan? You really shouldn’t be overworking yourself.’ Your uncle asks you, he sounds quite worried. ‘I’m fine Merlin, I promise.’ He sighs. ‘You do not look or act as if you’re fine. What’s going on?’ You just shake your head. ‘It’s nothing really, I’ve just had to catch up on some work. Please don’t fret it.’  ‘We both know that’s a lie, Tristan. You’re always ahead of everyone when it comes to paperwork.’ He stops for a moment. ‘Look, both you and Galahad have been acting off all week and we can’t have that. I don’t know if there’s anything going on between the two of you, but I want you to fix it, especially if it’s affecting you like this.’ His voice is stern. ‘You should go talk to Galahad then, I’m not the guilty one here.’ You stand up for the first time in what feels like years, your knees and back hurting with every move. ‘I don’t have the energy for all this, go talk to him if you want to know more.’ Silently, you usher him out of your office and shut the door behind him. While you love your uncle, you really couldn’t deal with this right now.

The scotch in the corner of your office had been a little too appealing. That combined with the very limited amount of food you’d had over the past few days, made it very easy for you to become drunk. You sit in your chair feeling very sorry for yourself, as you do in such situations. ‘You know Ares, I’ll go talk to that asshole. He kisses me like that and then he avoids me all week. I suppose that’s not very gentlemanly of him.’ Standing up, you feel dizzy and you have to grab a hold of your desk to keep standing. The world seems to be turning and Ares looks to have multiple heads. ‘Fuck.’ You hadn’t realised how badly the scotch had affected you. Still, that didn’t stop you, and you stumble through your office door. The hallway is empty when you enter it, as is usual at this time of night in HQ. Galahad’s office is only a few doors down and you try to walk there as normally as you can. Taking a deep breath, you knock multiple times. When there’s no immediate answer, you knock again, but more loudly. ‘Galahad, I know you’re in there.’ Your voice is loud enough for him to hear on the other side of the door, but not loud enough to wake any of the other kingsmen. Though they probably wouldn’t wake up unless you screamed loudly enough for it to reach the other side of the estate. Moments pass, but the door is eventually opened by the agent. ‘Tristan.’ He greets you solemnly. ‘I need to talk to you, you pretentious asshole.’ The words fall out of your mouth and there is no stopping them. ‘You are no gentleman. You invite someone to talk to them alone after MONTHS, LITERAL MONTHS, of looking at each other longingly and flirting, then kiss them in the way you did and JUST WALK AWAY LIKE THAT?????’ He finally looks up at you and realises the state that you’re in. ‘WHAT IN THE HELLS IS WRONG WITH YOU INCOMPETENT PRICK????’ You jab your finger into his chest. ‘Tristan, you are in no state to discuss this, please go to bed.’ He grabs your hand. ‘YES I AM, I AM A GROWN ADULT THAT CAN MAKE THEIR OWN DECISIONS. YOU ARE NOT MY MOTHER.’ ‘Yes you are, but you’re currently incapable of making any good decisions. So, please quiet down before you wake up Mr. Pickle.’ Before you’re able to respond, he grabs you and surprisingly easily throws you over his shoulder. ‘Now, I’ll be escorting you to bed, as you don’t seem to be capable of doing that yourself.’ He completely ignores your protests, which continue for about five minutes before you realise there’s nothing you can do about this situation. He only puts you down when you’re in front of your bedroom door, as he needs you to open it. ‘I’m going to put you down, but please stay quiet. I don’t want you to wake everyone up.’ You nod and mutter to yourself as he puts you down. ‘Still an asshole though.’ He laughs to himself. When you finally have both your feet on the ground again, you’re stable momentarily before you start falling over again. Galahad notices and steadies you by grabbing your shoulders. ‘Careful now, sweetness.’ His lips touch the shell of your ear and you slowly feel yourself going red. You ignore it though, steadying yourself with his help before walking to your door and unlocking it. When you try to open it you almost fall into your own room and so Harry catches you, before the world around you slowly goes dark.

The following morning you wake up in your own bed, not remembering how you got there in the first place. Ares sits next to your bed, looking up at you as you wake. ‘Morning, my boy.’ Your voice sounds more like a groan than anything else. He nudges your arm and softly barks when you eventually sit up. The light hurts your eyes as you look around, so you close your eyes and lay back down. Once you finally open them again, you notice that there’s a glass of water and a pack of paracetamol next to your bed. ‘Who put that there?’ You look at Ares and pet him before taking one of the pills followed by a gulp of water. The headache you have is slowly driving you insane, so hopefully this’ll help. Still, it remains unclear who actually put it there after probably finding you in quite the state. Usually, you could easily hold your liquor, but apparently your body had other plans yesterday. You do realise that you’re still in your clothes from the day before. So, you decide to get out of them and put on something more comfortable before calling Merlin. ‘Morning Merlin.’ Your voice is quite hoarse. ‘Ah Tristan, I was wondering when you’d call.’ He sounds quite amused for some unknown reason. ‘What do you mean?’ The Scot laughs. ‘Well, I got a notification earlier this morning that you’d be out of the office today because you’re ill. Thing is, agent Galahad is the one who notified me, which is a bit odd to be honest.’ You groan. ‘Well he’s right about me not feeling well.’ Slowly, you lay back in your bed.  Merlin didn’t talk to you for much longer after that and he remained quite vague about what Galahad had told him about the night before. Despite you desperately wanting to know what had happened the night before, you decided that would be a problem for tomorrow before heading back to sleep.

That night, a knock wakes you from your slumber. You almost jump out of your bed at the sound, scaring Ares a bit. ‘One moment please.’ You shout at the person behind the door before calming your dog. ‘I should take you out for a walk in a few, shouldn’t I? I’m so sorry Ares.’ After whispering that, you stand up and walk to your door. Opening it slowly, you reveal Merlin’s form. ‘Good evening Tristan.’ He smiles. ‘Thought I’d bring you some dinner.’ The tray he’s holding has a plate with a baked potato, some carrots and broccoli, and some beef, accompanied by a large glass of water and a cup of your favourite tea. He walks in once you’ve further opened your door, putting the tray on the small table that stands in the corner of your room. ‘Do sit down.’ His voice is soft. You do so silently, Ares laying down next to you. ‘Thank you.’ Your voice is soft and you start eating your first meal of the day. Merlin sits down across from you. ‘I do hope this was a one time thing, Tristan.’ He sighs and takes off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand. ‘It won’t happen again, sir.’ Your voice can barely be heard from across the table. ‘Look, you’ve been doing flawlessly so far, so getting drunk and insulting go Galahad isn’t something that’ll affect you or your career in any way. It can, however, have an effect on how well you’re able to work with him in the foreseeable future.’ Your eyes don’t meet his. ‘Now that I’ve scolded you for getting drunk and acting in the way you did, I would like to know why. Harry hasn’t wanted to tell me anything and I’m against just checking your glasses if I can ask you.’ Your plate is only half finished but you’re already full and you put down your cutlery. ‘I’m not sure you want to know.’ Leaning back, you make yourself more comfortable in your chair. ‘Galahad has really said nothing?’ He shakes his head. ‘Well then, I suppose I’ll tell you what’s going on; under the condition that this will strictly stay between the two of us. Not even Galahad can know.’  ‘Why are you being so secretive about this?’ He enquires. ‘You’ll understand once you hear the full story. Now do you promise?’ You hold out your hand with your pinky ready for him to intertwine with. And he does. ‘I promise.’ A smile creeps onto  your face. This is something you’d always done with him when it comes to promises, starting when you were just a little kid. ‘So, as you may have noticed the past few weeks, there’s been some tension between me and Galahad, or Harry.’  You start. ‘But this has been an underlying issue for years now -‘ 

That night Merlin listened as you talked about how the situation between you and Galahad had unfolded over the past few years and more in detail about the past week or two. Understandably, it was quite a bit for him to take in, and at first he wasn’t certain how to feel or respond. If you hadn’t been who you are to him, he would’ve been fine with it. But with the familial ties you have, and the fact that he and Galahad are best friends, made him hesitate. Yet, he promises to keep quiet and have you and the other man resolve it by yourselves. He would, however, urge his friend to do so if the issue isn’t resolved within a week, meaning that you’ll have to hurry up when it comes to talking things out. He did make clear that he isn’t against you having a relationship with the older man, his tone may have even been slightly supportive, which was somewhat unexpected.

The next time you finally see Harry it’s Sunday. Exactly three days since you’d last seen him and had had the drunken encounter. There you stood, in front of his apartment, your heart pounding in your throat. He’d been at the shop the past few days while you were at the mansion. Merlin was quite convinced that Galahad was, in fact, avoiding you, so he’d suggested you go visit him that evening. Well, suggested was quite a loose term in this case. It was more that Merlin just dropped you off here and told you to ‘Go ahead and talk it out’. Obviously, this was his way of forcing you to do so, as he is quite sick of having the two of you avoiding each other.

Finally, you ring the doorbell and you stand there waiting nervously for Galahad to answer. He does after a few minutes and the confusion is quite evident on his face. When he doesn’t say anything, you start talking. ‘Sorry to bother you Galahad, but Merlin’s dropped me off so we can talk things out.’ You smile sheepishly and he sighs before letting you in.  You have never been inside his home before, so you look around curiously as he leads you into his kitchen. He was wearing his usual attire, save for the glasses. Apparently, he had been cooking dinner when you rang his doorbell. As you look around the room, not moving, he clears his throat. ‘Would you like to join me for dinner Tristan?’ The question is logical, yet you aren’t certain whether he actually wants you to join or if he’s asking it out of obligation. You’re hoping it’s the former rather than the latter. ‘If you don’t mind. Otherwise we can talk and then I’ll leave, I don’t wish to intrude Galahad.’ He motions you to sit down. ‘I would love for you to join me, I’m almost finished cooking dinner anyway, so do feel free to have a seat.’ When you do so, he turns around to face the stove once again before finishing dinner. It is a simple yet delicious meal, and you appreciate the gesture of him inviting you to join him. It is mostly spent in silence, save for a few comments appreciating his skill, or talking about the goings on at the shop and HQ. 

After dinner, Harry offers you a cup of tea before pouring one for himself and sitting down across from you. It is silent for a few minutes before he finally speaks again. ‘I would like to apologise.’ His voice is soft. ‘I should’ve handled this situation differently and not have run away in the way I did.’ As he says this, his eyes divert. ‘It is just that I was, and still am, quite uncertain of how to go about this. I do not wish to hurt you, but in my attempt to do so I did the opposite of what I had intended. I thought you were too pure, too kind. You’re too sweet, too sweet for a bitter man like me. Yet here I am, madly in love with you and confessing my feelings.’ When he finishes talking he looks you in the eye once more. There’s emotion in them, seemingly a mix of sadness and regret. ‘Galahad, I don’t know what to say.’ You pause. ‘I understand why you may have hesitated to approach me in the way you did, however, I am quite confused as to why you ran away so suddenly. You are the one that made the initial move and I never approached you because you were likely to have reservations about breaking kingsman code, yet you gave me hope by inviting me to the library to talk. And for a moment, when you kissed me, I thought we could be together, even if it was just for a moment.’ Slowly, you stand up from your chair. Putting down your cup of tea in the process. ‘Then you went ahead and ripped my heart out by walking away like that. As if I mean nothing to you, as if you weren’t the one that made the first move.’ You raise your voice a bit, but try to stay calm. Following your example, he stands up as well and starts walking towards you. ‘I truly am sorry but it is up to you whether or not you forgive me.’ He looks down into your eyes. ‘What will happen if I forgive you, Harry?’ The two of you are almost touching each other, only a few centimetres between your faces. ‘I shall take you on a date and be your partner. That is, if you’ll have me.’ Rather than answering him with words, you pull his tie and kiss him passionately.

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part one

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

status: completed

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 1.1k

The thing was, you didn’t plan on getting laid tonight. 

After a couple of days trying to settle in at Barcelona and looking for your lost luggage, all you wanted to do was to finally start your vacation. You just wanted to relax and experiencing the night life in Barcelona was definitely a good way to officially kick it off. 

So there you were at the bar of an (apparently) exclusive night club in the city–the location was emailed to you by Derek with a VIP pass and a note that said, ‘have fun ;)’–nursing your second, half-empty glass of mojito, the speakers blasting rhythmic reggaeton music, when a woman slid into the space next to you, cool and confident with the way she leaned on her elbows against the counter as she gave the bartender her order in smooth spanish, “A gin rickey, please.”

The woman looked to be several years older than you–and taller, too, even with your heels on–and maybe it was the alcohol or the proximity but there was no stopping yourself from openly admiring her. Her black, cropped top and her tight, high-rise pants revealed perfectly broad shoulders and toned arms, as well as the taught lines of her stomach. When your eyes travelled back to her face, you found her looking at you with a raised brow and immediately, your cheeks warmed. The fact that you were gawking shamelessly and got caught doing so… just wow.

Words of apology were already on your tongue but the curves of her lips were mesmerising, the elegant slope of her brows distracting, and those eyes… the depth in them threatened to drown you that all coherent thought deserted you. 

“Wow,” you breathed out.

“Excuse me?” Came the bemused question, an instant slap to the face that sobered you up immediately. 

“I’m so–I’m sorry, that’s what I meant to say. I’m–” You palmed a hand over your face as you began but a small chuckle stopped you halfway. You risked a peek through your fingers and saw the woman with her lips to the glass, something akin to a teasing smirk on her face while she remained leaning on the counter by her hip. 

“You’re not from around here, are you?” The woman asked as she took a sip from her drink.

Not really the question you were expecting but you’d rather take a reprieve over a disaster. And at that, you smiled sheepishly at her. “Is it that obvious?”

“Hmm, no, not really. Your slight accent gave you away but your Spanish is impressive.”

“I’m still working on losing it but I’ll take that as a win. I’m assuming you’re from around here?”

“My home town is about an hour away outside of the city but I stay here most of the time for work.”

“That must be nice, being close to home.” Feeling more at ease now, you sipped at your drink. The woman did the same. Then you continued. “So, what do you do?”

For a moment there was nothing but music and chatter as the woman regarded you with an unreadable expression. Her eyes glinted–with what exactly? curiosity?–her head cocked slightly to the side. Then she sipped at her drink again. Did you say something offensive? you wondered.

“I work between the sport stadiums. And you? Where is home and what brings you to Barcelona?” 

It was clear from the vagueness of her answer that the stranger didn’t want to talk about her job and it didn’t help your growing interest for her. You wanted to ask her about further details but the dismissive tone with which she answered made you hold your tongue and her question, anyway, made you pause as you pondered to answer.

As an orphan who lived a few years in the system, the subject of where home was had always been a sore spot for you even if the stranger didn’t mean anything deeper by it. In some sense, your adoptive mom was home but there was always a part of you that longed for… something.  But, of course, you couldn’t bring that up right now especially to someone you just met. So you just told her where you were from, that you were on vacation, and that you work as a photojournalist for a press agency you helped establish. Something in your answer must had piqued the woman’s interest because her brows shot up.

“Which branch do you work in?”

“Spot news. But I’ve been meaning to expand my portfolio and get into another branch. Maybe try sports or portrait?”

The woman hummed in appreciation. “Any sports in particular? Wait, do you even like sports?”

“I honestly know close to nothing so I haven’t made a decision yet, but it will definitely be women’s sports,” you replied. She nodded and sipped at her drink again, never breaking her gaze from yours and you felt your cheeks warm again. Those eyes… they were dangerous; they lit up every nerve in your body and it felt good. You continued. “What about you? Are you much of a sports person?”

And to your total bafflement, the woman beamed at you, radiant and glowing, dimples in her cheeks as mirth shone in her eyes.

“What?” you asked, a bit nervous and at somewhat of a loss. 

The stranger let out a small chuckle, shook her head slightly as she rubbed the bridge of her nose, an attempt to hide her smile. “Nothing, nothing. And yeah, I’m a big sports fan. Then a beat passed before she continued, “you ever thought of covering women’s football? There are plenty of matches happening in the domestic leagues right now.”

“Maybe I will,” you hummed, mulling it over. It sounded good actually. And then you asked, “what else do you suggest for someone to do in Barcelona?”

The woman downed her remaining drink and placed the empty glass on the counter. Before you knew it, you could feel the warmth of her breath against your ear and you shivered when she purred. “Dance, of course.”And then she was holding your hand, pulling you off of the stool you were on, and began dragging you to the direction of the dance floor. 

All at once, warmth encompassed you: the crowd immediately swallowed you both, bodies pressed on you but the heat that emanated from the woman before you was the sole beacon for your attention. She had a loose arm around your waist and as the both of you danced to the music, you took that opportunity to wrap your arms around her neck and pulled her closer. She slowed down and she still had enough height on you that she had to lower her head.

“I never caught your name,” you spoke into her ear. 

“I’m Ale,” she replied. She pulled back to smile down at you. And then, she kissed you. 

[specific-dreamer]

my baby, my baby (you’re my baby)

Summary: darry visits his dad and rants. he also cries. </3

Darrel loves each of his kids (and stray kids) equally. No matter how hard Steve tries to pry it out of him, he does not have a favorite.

He loved when Johnny came over for dinner and he’s able to convince the kid to spend the night, he loves when Soda and Steve came home with new stories about their day at the rodeo, he loved when he came home from work and Ponyboy would rush to tell him about the book he’d just finished, he loved attending Ace’s recitals, and he loved when Dally comes over just to sit in their company when he could’ve been causing a ruckus around town instead.

He is, however, a little more partial to his first born than the others. No hard feelings, he still loves his other kids, but Darrel Junior was his first child; the reason he’s the father he was a father, so he’s always going to have a soft spot for him no matter what he does.

Besides, it doesn’t hurt that Junior is the only one who visits him and Karen on a normal basis. Darrel huffs to himself has he sits on top of his grave. Since dying, he’s somehow gained an internal watch, so he knows it’s 3:47pm exactly; when Junior visits it’s usually around 4pm.

Junior’s early today though, Darrel thinks to himself hearing footsteps approaching. There’s not much else he can do but wait for Darry who bends in front of Karen’s grave and leaves her a flower first. If he were alive, Darrel’s heart might’ve clenched. Karen’ll be sorry he missed Darry, but she’s watching over the other boys right now; it’s alright though, Darrel will fill her in when she gets back.

Darry’s head was bent too low for him to get a good look at first, but now that he’s turned towards Darrel’s grave he can see the tears streaming down his face. If he still needed oxygen, he’s sure his breath would’ve caught.

“Hi, Dad,” Darry’s says taking a seat on the ground. Darrel can’t help but notice he’s got his knees pulled to him like he’s trying to protect himself.

He frowns and pulls himself to join Darry on the ground. Hey, kiddo. What’s the matter? He knows Darry can’t hear him, he learnt that the hard way a while ago now, it still brings him a little bit of comfort though.

Darry sniffs. “I don’t know how you and Mama did it.”

Did what?

Darry gestures in the air, “This parenting shit- stuff, I meant stuff, sorry.” Darrel laughs a little; his baby’s twenty years old and still apologizing for cussing.

If he’s honest, Darrel isn’t even sure how he did it. It was in large part thanks to Karen, of course, she kept him steady whenever he floundered. Junior also helped too, though. He doesn’t like to throw the word around, but for all intent and purposes, Darry was a perfect first child.

“The other night,” Darry continues. “I guess Ponyboy had a nightmare or something, I don’t know, but I heard him asking Soda why I hated him.” His voice breaks at the end and Darrel is forced to watch as Junior sobs into his arms.

It’s futile he knows, but after a moment of watching he hugs Darry anyway. Almost as if he could actually feel the hug, Darry stiffens before looking up and staring straight through Darrel. Spooky, he thinks.

“I don’t hate him, I promise.”

I know you don’t.

“I love him a lot, but it’s like he purposely grates my nerves. He knows I’m stretched thin and it’s like he’s trying to see how long until I snap. And that’s not fair! I don’t know how to be a parent, I don’t how to raise a fourteen year old!”

Darrel isn’t sure when it happened, but a flip was switched as Junior started to rant angrily. He doesn’t leave the cemetery too often, but when he did he noticed the two often riled each other up; it was never one sided. He can’t exactly correct Darry though so he hums instead.

“Daddy, you know when you first, um,” he winces. “left, Pony didn’t talk for a week. Okay, that’s fine, I can handle that, but he stopped eating too. I tell him, ‘Pony you have to eat something, you can only go so long without eating before you die from starvation.’ And I kid you not the only thing he says to me that entire week was ‘You’re not dad, Darrel, you can’t tell me what to do’. I never said I was! I just didn’t want him to die too, is that so bad?”

Darrel blinks. That was a lot, and he’s not really sure where to start processing it. He sighs airlessly, It’s not bad. You were worried about him and had his best interests at heart I get it. Is he eating now at least?

Just as fast as it came, the anger seems to leave Darry all once as he lies back on the grass with his hands over his face. “I don’t even know if he eating for real, yet. I’m not home enough to know; I eat my breakfast in the dark, go to work, come home when everyone’s asleep, eat dinner in the dark, go to bed, rinse and repeat.”

Darrel winces. Even he didn’t work those kind of hours and could’ve handled them. Darrel liked his solitude every now and then, but not Darry. No, not his Junior; his Junior is a people’s person through and through, there’s a reason he won boy of his year.

Rubbing Darry’s ankle he says, I know you’re working your ass off, but I’m real proud of you, baby. I know it don’t look it now, but it will all pay off.

There’s a pause, and if he wants he could trick himself into believing his boy heard him, before Darry says something so quietly Darrel has to strain to hear. “I know it’s wrong, and I try not to, but sometimes I wish I let them get taken. I love them, really I do! But Soda wants to drop out of school and Pony hates me and he thinks I hate him back, and don’t even get me started on Dallas— I don’t think there’s a been a weekend where we haven’t haven’t argued or he hasn’t been in jail. I’m trying my best, but I keep screwing up and that’s not fair on them.”

He breaks into sobs again, this time so strong his whole body shakes. Darrel can’t even do anything to comfort him, his stupid ghost body isn’t corporeal. The best thing he can do is stroke Darry’s hair and hope he knows his daddy is here for him. He hates seeing his kids cry and he’s never been more angry that he’s dead.

Between sobs Darry says, “I wanna leave. So I can’t mess anything else up.”

No, sir. You’ll get the hang of things soon enough, it’s a new adjustment and y’all’ve just gotta find your footing. I know it’s hard, but y’all will find it.

“I’m not gonna,” Darry protests. His baby is red in the face and breathing real hard, but Darrel is thankful is eyes are finally starting to dry. “I want to leave but I don’t want to leave them.”

So, what are you gonna do, Junior?

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I wish you were here, you’d know what to do.”

Darrel winces. Actually now-

“Well, never mind. You wouldn’t be dumb enough to get in this situation to begin with.”

Harsh, but he’s probably right. Darrel watches as the gears turn in Junior’s head. He loves all his kids equally, yes. But Darry’s always been his favorite to watch because when he isn’t focused he wears every emotion on his face. He can see exactly when Darrys made his mind up long before he stands up and dusts off his pants.

“You drive a hard bargain, but fine I’ll stay.” Darrel barks out a laugh as Darry checks his watch. It’s 6:29pm, he’s been here for nearly three hours. “Shit, I said I’d make dinner.” Somehow, when Darry looks up he’s staring Darrel in the eyes. “I’ve gotta run, but I’ll see you later.”

Alright, stay tough out there. I love you, kiddo.

Darry’s eyes widen a minuscule amount and he grins as he ducks his head. “Yeah, I love you too, daddy.”

[queerfanfiction]

Could you write a fluffy smut where reader has mummy issues who cancelled on her for taking her bra shopping and Larissa offered to go with her and helps her pick out the perfect set but then it ends with smut idk you chose :)

Mummy Issues

Prompt is shown above. :)

word count: 3.6k includes: mommy issues, public-ish sex, discussion of trauma, fingering, fluff, mommy kink, praise kink

Your therapist is actually the one who suggested you ask your mom to go shopping with you to find a bra set for an upcoming performance. You’re not saying this specific reparenting technique doesn’t work, but there was no way in hell your mother was going to follow through. Still, you tried anyway. You were vulnerable anyway.

You’re exhausted from parenting your own parent, always considering other’s needs before your own. Fresh out of university and you still have never had anyone else take care of you for a change. The shopping idea was intended to be a low-stakes role reversal where your mom would step up to the task at hand.

Earlier that morning you texted your mom to confirm the meet up in Burlington. You never heard back, which wasn’t uncommon. Since you were coming all the way from Montreal, though, you expected some sort of acknowledgement. You even texted her as you were driving over to no avail. Downtown Burlington was not where you would have picked to shop if your mother was not involved. It was close to where she lived, and she loved the hustle and bustle of Church Street. To you it always seemed like a hot mess. Now you were in the middle of that mess alone.

After waiting in your car for 15 minutes, it doesn’t take a genius to know you got stood up once again. You contemplated just driving back right then and there. This wasn’t exactly something you wanted to do alone, yet none of your friends are in the area any longer. They all had moved away. Overwhelmed by the sheer fuckery of nothing ever working out, you were frustrated and tired. You consider breaking down into tears over the wasted trip and the years of parental neglect represented by this one instance.

The only person who you can think of still in the area is Ms. Weems. You suppose it’s Principal Weems now (thank you social media for that one). Is it weird to invite a former teacher you once had a massive crush on to go shopping? It’s been so long that it would be nice to catch up. You’re not going to lie, you were yearning to see the older woman. Impulsively, you dial the number she gave you for emergencies back when you attended Nevermore. To your surprise, a firm but sweet voice answers—the same voice that you’d fantasize about in your dorm when your roommate was out. You try to control your voice, but too many conflicting emotions make you croak and sniffle a bit when identifying yourself.

“My dear, is everything alright? And, please, it’s Larissa.” A tone of worry was inflected back to you by the other woman.

In an attempt to dodge the question about your wellbeing, you respond, “I’m actually back in Burlington, trying to find an outfit for an upcoming performance. Any chance you’re free?” You tried to sound as nonchalant as you could.

Larissa returned with, “Oh, I don’t wish to intrude, but it was very kind of you to think of me.” Shit, apparently too nonchalant…

You reflect on all the times Larissa had comforted you back at Nevermore. She was protective of all her students, but it truly meant the world to you. You had always thought it was just another day, another student problem for her. There were many times you were neglected or mistreated by your mother that Larissa was privy to back then. Knowing this, as a Hail Mary, you softly let slip out, “I was supposed to meet my mom…”

Without missing a beat, Larissa’s voice turned tight, “Where are you?” You glance at the cross streets, give her your location, and let her know the specific store you’re at. She concludes, “I’ll be there in 20 minutes, love.”

Your heart flutters at the familiar pet name.

—

You’re already occupying the changing room when Larissa arrives. She calls out for you, and you crack open the door to let her into the small fitting area.

You are met with the most comforting hug. Larissa stroked your hair and squeezed you tightly. The last time an embrace has felt so all-encompassing was also from Larissa, which is a bit embarrassing. You guess you just don’t have a lot of good huggers in your life, and it felt so nice to be held close by someone. You breathe out a long sigh, as if all your troubles are muted by the closeness of the woman in front of you. Her scent replaces the air in your lungs, and you consider how nice it would be to never end this embrace.

When she pulls back and sees that your eyes are slightly red and puffy, she bends down towards you to cup your face with both of her hands. All that comes out of her mouth is “Oh, sweetie.” You give her a half-hearted smile in response. Her hands immediately begin stroking your face, brushing hair from your eyes, and occasionally resting her thumb and index finger at your chin. This. This is what being cared for is; the realization hits you and radiates out through your body.

“I’m here for whatever you need. Would you like to debrief about your mother? Or carry on with what’s needed here?” Larissa gestures to the garments in the fitting room without taking her eyes off of you.

Noticing how close she still is to your face makes your head dizzy, and you stutter, “I-I need s-something to wear under a strapless dress that won’t show during a piano performance.”

Reassuringly, Larissa states, “We can do that. You know I have an eye for those sorts of things. We’ll have you sorted in no time.” She then moves her hands to your upper arms and rubs them before turning to examine the items already set out.

“Piano? It’s no wonder. You always played brilliantly at Nevermore,” Larissa continued elatedly, brandishing a supportive smile. You think back to times when you’d be practicing in Nevermore’s music auditorium alone and feel a comforting presence at the back of the concert hall near the doors. You always assumed it was your imagination, not daring to get your hopes up that someone cared enough to support you or cheer you on. Your mother made sure of that…

You feel so much more at ease with Larissa here. Now that you think about it, she has always provided stability and nurtured you. You remember that she would sometimes give you rides to Jericho when the only Nevermore vehicle at the time was in use. You credit a lot of your success with the piano to her too, because she would encourage you to do open mics at the Weathervane and signed you up to play at a parade that Jericho had every couple of years. 

Yes, you felt indebted to the tall, gorgeous woman before you. The years since you’ve seen her have only emphasized her beauty. Her demeanor is both commanding and protective. It’s as if she is more comfortable in her skin than before; there is a sureness in her stance that is nice to see and that you wish you had. Even though you always considered her fashionable, her clothes now exude a kind of pride and carefully crafted style. Larissa’s perfectly-coiffed updo accentuates the smooth, supple skin of her neck before disappearing beneath her expertly tailored dress.

These thoughts invoke a light blush from your cheeks, and you know you can’t speak about your crush on her in the past tense. Your immediate dry mouth while watching her is proof that it never went away. Now you’re wondering if you shouldn’t have sought her out to assist in purchasing the perfect underwear, especially because you see her turn towards the garments and an emotion flashes across her face when she realizes the kinds of items you’ve picked out and need assistance with.

You’ve always liked the idea of dressing up underneath your formal outfit. To you, it made it feel more special, gave you extra confidence. For instance, knowing a sexy lace set was underneath your clothes made you feel as if you had a fun secret. Though, you realize it’s probably inappropriate to expect Larissa to help with this. If she felt uncomfortable, she was hiding it well. You tried to continue on as if everything was normal, even though doing so felt impossible.

When Larissa sits on the small ledge provided in the dressing room, you emphasize, “Thank you again for coming. I just drove from where I am now in Montreal.”

Realizing you should continue trying items on, you reach to unbutton your shirt when you hear, “You poor thing! Have you eaten?”

At this, you scrunch your face and shake off your blouse. “I’ll get something after this.” So many conflicting emotions swirl inside of you. You’re conflicted at whether to relish in the desperately needed maternal care or to shrug it off as a defense mechanism.

You begin to unhook a bra from its hanger and feel like you should ask, “Do you mind?” Larissa interprets that you’d like to change from your bra into the new one, waving her hand dismissively and saying, “Go ahead” in a delicate manner.

Without looking too awkward and challenged, you attempt to put on the new bra while taking  your current bra off in quick succession. It would have worked if the one you were trying on actually fit you. You had a hard time getting it on, and once you did, your breasts spill out of the top half, giving you the illusion of having four boobs. With you panting from the endeavor, you and Larissa begin to laugh at how silly it looks. You’re surprised that you’re not mortified, but instead having fun.

With some of your own tension released, you turn away from Larissa and towards the mirror to decide if you like the bra enough to go up a cup size. As you do this, what you don’t see is Larissa’s curious gaze, as if she is wishing she could reach out and touch the pillowy softness of your breasts.

“So, this one is NOT it.” Your playful declaration pulls Larissa from her lustful thoughts. It’s short-lived, though, since you immediately begin to try on more items. This time you choose a deep maroon matching set, and you turn slightly away from Larissa in order to pull up the bottoms over your current underwear. Because of the limited space in the room, your ass accidentally winds up in Larissa’s face. As if it is all in your head, you pretend the enclosed space is not rife with sexual tension.

“That’s gorgeous,” Larissa coos moments later with her hand reaching out. With both hands, she rubs along the intricate lace detail at your hip bones, and it feels as if your skin is set ablaze. You fight the urge for your breath to turn heavy and wanting.

Even if all of the tension is in your head and one-sided, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ll need to stop trying things on soon. Well, at least stop trying on bottoms, because you can feel yourself getting wet under Larissa’s stares and encouragement.

“That fits you so very well.” “I love this on you.” “It looks absolutely spectacular.” “You look stunning.”

Not to mention Larissa has taken a hands-on approach to her support. After briefly touching your hips, she began dragging her long fingers along bits of your exposed skin when she was discussing an area. There’s no way she doesn’t notice the goosebumps that arise each time her touch lingers. At least being half naked in the chilly changing room is an excuse for the tight buds of your nipples. 

The juxtaposition between this experience and what your mother would have had in store for you is dizzying. No doubt she would have critiqued your strong shoulders or the cellulite on your thighs. It would have ended in a fight, you just know it. However, everything out of Larissa’s mouth was refreshing and electrifying. Maybe even healing at times?

The final set you had picked out was a delicate mesh thong bodysuit that was almost entirely see-through. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should you stop trying things on. Larissa must have noticed, because she uncrossed and crossed her legs a few times before voicing, “Go on, honey.”

Embracing the process sheepishly, you slip into the item and turn away from Larissa to look at yourself. You study the outline of your breasts in the mirror, trying to determine if the subtle texture of the mesh would be noticeable under your dress. Or would the distance between the stage and the seats obscure the texture?

You then see that Larissa seems to be studying them too, except her eyelids are hooded and her pupils are dilated. Almost in slow motion you watch her involuntarily lick her lips. Your heart beats quicker, a flash of heat moves through your body, and you suppress a low moan.

Your eyes meet Larissa’s in the mirror.

You couldn’t say who initiated what next. Only that you were on Larissa’s lap, straddling her, while her hands were on you, roaming over your body and settling on your hips. Your mouths are working in tandem with each other, and you welcome her red lipstick staining your lips and neck. Your hands go to Larissa’s face—one cupping it possessively and the other slinking back to grip the nape of her neck. You want desperately to wreck her perfect hair, turning it into physical evidence of your connection and closeness.

Both you and Larissa can feel the heated energy building between you as you frantically attempt to take off the mesh bodysuit. Before you can, though, Larissa steadies your hands and inquires breathlessly, “Is this okay, darling?” Her eyes search your own, and you can make out desire and worry in her eyes.

You have to take a moment to let what she is asking sink in. This feels like such a natural (if not slightly expedited) progression of your feelings for Larissa. You wonder if there is more underlying her question. You know you two will have to debrief your feelings but right now the hormones raging through your body make it hard to focus too much on the worry or questions around if this should be happening. Instead, your body wiggles on top of hers, begging to continue the friction of your hips against her. You involuntarily whine and nod. “I want this, Larissa.”

Seeing your need and the sureness in your gaze, Larissa regains her composure and utters, “Shh, let me take care of you.”

—

Larissa rivals your intensity with her own fierce need. Her kisses are passionate yet soft. Her hands are gentle but unyielding in how they explore your body once the mesh bodysuit is off. With her every caress and tender nip over your skin, you feel so wholly wanted, cared for, and desired. A fire underlies Larissa’s behavior, as if each touch begets more longing and thirst for you. At the same time, you couldn’t have anticipated the fervent need you had to be validated and devoured by this woman.

Once she has marked your neck with her lipstick and teeth, Larissa moves downward to take one of your fleshy, beaded nipples in her mouth. Barely audible to you, she breathes out, “Absolutely beautiful” before flicking it with her tongue and causing you to arch your back.

One of Larissa’s hands runs over your thighs, teasing you and drawing circles and zigzags on your delicate skin. You can’t help but whimper in need every single time her fingers get closer to where your thighs meet. After almost resigning to her pace and authority, she trails up to cup your arousal. Your legs twitch with the sudden contact, and you emit a gasp.

“You’re so wet for me.” Pleased, Larissa enunciates every word, drawing the words out and reveling in how at her mercy you are. “It’s intoxicating.”

Unable to withstand not taking action, you press your lips against hers roughly, trying to close any distance between your bodies. Breathless after many kisses, you move to suck on her neck and whisper, “Larissa.”

“Please.”

Only after this plea does Larissa finally dip a finger into you. It doesn’t feel like nearly enough. You would usually appreciate a sexual partner pacing themselves, but the need for her to fill you is overpowering. You wriggle your hips back and forth impatiently and breathlessly request, “More.”

Larissa delighted in your clear hunger for her, fully intending to give you everything you want. She eases in another finger past her second knuckle before adding a third finger once she realizes how slick and open you are for her. You unintentionally bite down on her shoulder, not expecting to get what you want without more begging.

 You couldn’t have imagined how good her fingers feel inside you. And you absolutely had imagined it. You remember pretending your fingers were hers after late nights riding back with her from Jericho. Or the time she gave you her coat on a chilly night and forgot to get it back, so you ended up masterbating to her scent surrounding you. Okay, you’re not super proud of that one, but at the time it felt world-changing the desire you had. Her fingers working inside of you now are of a different caliber. In fact, you never understood the metaphor of sex as worship or religion, but being on top of Larissa with her half-lidded eyes roaming your body changes things. You want to make her feel a sliver of how good you do right now.

Your hands begin to grab at the fabric of her top, desperate to remove her clothing and pleasure her as she is inside of you. Larissa lets out a low, throaty chuckle before asserting, “Ah, ah, ah. I want to focus on you, love. Let me please you.”

Her interjection just makes your heart swell more for her, and noticeably your noise level swells, as well. You’re not used to undivided attention and care—someone wanting your happiness above all else. It’s more erotic than you could have ever anticipated. At the increase in breathiness and moans, one of Larissa’s hands clamps over your mouth while the other continues to pump in and out of you. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the reflection in the dressing room mirror of you riding her long fingers completely nude while she is fully clothed. The sight makes your knees weaker, and you groan, “Oh, fuck.”

Larissa’s whispers and affirmations throughout only brought you closer and closer to release. She has to know how her words are affecting you. Her hot breath over and over in your ear, inching you towards the edge.

“I’ve got you, sweetie.” “I’ll give you anything you want.” “Shh, stay quiet for me.” “That’s a good girl.”

You feel yourself tighten around Larissa’s fingers, becoming more breathless and spacey as she presses the pads of her curled fingers inside you toward your pelvic bone, urging you to come undone. So, you do. Your entire body tenses, and you feel as if you will crumble under the anticipation and pressure. Tingles shoot down your arms and legs in waves, threatening overstimulation.

Larissa’s fingers still, and she presses you close to her, clutching you tightly. After a moment of your eyes being closed and your breathing slowly relaxing, Larissa asks you to bear down with your pelvic floor muscles. Confused, you obey. She gingerly removes her fingers from inside you, and your body aches at the loss. She proceeds to lean forward with you still on her lap, wrapping her arms around you and begins to rock you.

“You did so well, my love,” Larissa murmurs while stroking your hair away from your damp forehead. “You were so good for me.”

You can’t remember the last time someone was so attentive and sweet with you after sex—if ever. You also have never felt like an exposed live wire due to euphoria either, so… Her thoughtfulness makes your heart swell, and you’re hoping it’s not just due to the hormones flooding your body right now. As if you can’t contain the disbelief and gratefulness, you blurt in awe, “How are you real?”

Larissa pulls away from the embrace, searching your eyes for understanding. “I ask myself the same question about you.” At that, you rest your forehead against Larissa’s, exhausted and happy.

After sensing your heart rate has stabilized, wanting to make sure you go to the bathroom and hydrate becomes Larissa’s next priority. Her voice breaks the comfortable silence. “Let’s get you some food now. I’m sure you’ve worked up an appetite.”

You two pick up the items in the messy dressing room and sheepishly leave the clothes on the courtesy rack outside. A grin blooms over your features as you think about how being stood up by your mom feels like such a nonissue now. Even the dilemma of what underwear to wear for your upcoming performance seems trivial. Walking out of the store with Larissa’s lipstick all over you, you decide that you won’t wear anything under your dress, especially not if Larissa is in the audience.

—

@sapphicbeloved Remember when you sent this request literal months ago????? Oops. Apologies, and please enjoy!

[jmflowers]

Hiraeth

Lisa returns home to Carla after a long day. A follow-up scene for the episode on 24 February 2025.

Published: 2025-03-05 | Words: 1,251 | Chapters: 1/1 | Carla Connor/Lisa Swain

[loveforsatoru]

Moth to a Flame- Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader

cw: smut

You and Satoru met in your last year of high school, both struggling with the passing days and your own personal battles. You had been friends for 2 years before taking your friendship to the next level, becoming each other’s personal fuck buddies. It started off as casual sex, calling the other whenever one of you was stressed and needed to get your mind off things, no feelings. Casual sex turned to frequent meetings, finding ways to leave the group in order to fuck each other some place else. Which later escalated to being unable to stay more than a day apart, leading to feelings developing. Not a part of the deal at all. So what do you do? Make up some lousy excuse to end things with him and find another guy to “fulfill” your needs. In the back of your mind, a relationship with Satoru would never work out, but he doesn’t care. He knows you’ll come crawling back to him, and you do. Every single time.

“It’s just one call away.”

You’re currently alone in your new boyfriend's apartment while he’s out with friends. You got into an argument before he left due to his lack of attention towards you. It’s almost like he doesn’t care, leaving you behind, brushing you off with a hand when you try to communicate with him. You’re only convenient when he needs to get his dick wet, not even bothering to make you cum in the process.

Now, you’re laying on his bed, stuck with an ache between your legs, dripping in your panties from how pent up you’ve been the past few weeks. Yeah, you’ve tried getting yourself off, but your fingers aren’t long enough to reach the spongy spot in your pussy that makes you see stars. Everytime this happens, you have to resist the urge to call Satoru. You don’t want to see the smug look on his face, tone dripping in amusement that you’re at the top of his recent calls once again, but he’s no better. He’s at your every beck and call, waiting to see your name and pretty contact photo pop up on his cellphone. He would never miss the chance to be inside you, hearing your cute moans and whines, begging him to go harder. The thought alone makes his dick throb in his pants.

You suck up your pride and roll over on the bed, reaching an arm out to grab your phone and unlock it, thumb hovering above his contact before clicking it. It only has to ring twice before his voice is heard on the other end of the line.

“Aw, look who it is. I’ve been waiting for you to call. I was wondering where my favorite girl went.” You can only imagine the huge smirk creeping onto his features, but even thinking of him makes you wet. He can hear how heavy your breathing is, a tell tale sign that you’re horny and need something done about it.

You bite back a whimper at the sound of his voice ringing in your ears, “Toru, I need you.”

“You need me? Need me how, sweetheart?” He always does this, using your desperation against you, making you speak the words to him even though he knows exactly what you want and what you need.

You only have half the mind to respond, not caring how dick deprived you sound or the embarrassment you’ll feel when he brings it up later on, which you know he will, “I need you to fuck me, right now. Come over, please. My boyfriend isn’t home.”

He can feel his cock harden and twitch in uniform pants. It’s late and he was finishing up a couple things at work, but that can wait. He has to see you. Without another word, he hangs up the phone and gets in his car as fast as he can, driving to the apartment complex he knows all too well. He’s fucked you in your boyfriends home more times than he can count on his fingers. He wants nothing more than to beat the guy to a pulp and knock some sense into his hollow head for mistreating a girl like you, a girl he would kill to have in his arms every morning and night. But he doesn’t for your sake, so the best he can do is fuck the thoughts of your boyfriend out of your brain.

It’s not long before he’s at the doorstep, knocking and ringing the doorbell over and over. You get up faster than you ever have before, nearly stumbling over your own steps. When you open the door, you’re met with a sight that makes your knees weak. Satoru’s heaving chest, messed up hair, blindfold hanging around his neck, and keen, blue eyes taking in your appearance. You let your gaze drop to the prominent bulge in his slacks. He needs this just as bad as you.

“And you’ll leave him, you’re loyal to me.”

He steps inside the house before you can say hello. He’s immediately all over you, feeling every inch of your body that he’s been missing and craving. Craning his neck down to capture your lips in a dirty kiss, smacking against each other, filling the once silent apartment. You crave more, so impatient for him. The feeling of his soft, warm mouth locking with yours makes your head spin.

You only manage to let out a moan and breathless gasps of his name in which he shuts you up with another kiss. He finds his way under your shirt, toying with your breasts while squeezing and pinching your nipples while you thread your fingers through his white locks, tugging at the strands, eliciting a loud groan from him. He swipes his tongue against your bottom lip, exploring your mouth the second you part your lips. It’s messy, swapping spit as his own runs down from the corner of your mouth. 

His hands have moved to your ass, groping the flesh and giving it a harsh smack. “I’ve missed you so much,” He says, pulling away for the first time to greedily attack your neck, sucking and licking your sensitive spots, leaving behind hickies for your boyfriend to discover later on, a message from Satoru that you’ll always belong to him.

He hooks his arms underneath your thighs, carrying you off into the bedroom, gently laying you down before getting in between your legs. In mere seconds, he peels your shorts off and tosses them on the floor, leaving you in just the cute, laced underwear he bought for you a couple weeks prior. He admires the wet path forming from your arousal, kissing your cunt through the thin fabric.

“Wait, Toru,” You breathe out as he looks up at you from his place between your thighs, “I want to make you feel good too.”

As much as he would love to cum down your throat, he’ll lose his mind if he’s not inside you in the next couple minutes, “Let me do all the work, baby. You just lay back and take it like a good girl.”

You oblige and he goes back down to where you need him. He suddenly pulls your underwear off completely, shivering from the cool air that makes contact with your cunt.

He stares down at your heat like it’s a full course meal, waiting to be devoured. He licks a stripe up your pussy, eyes rolling to the back of his head from that single taste alone.

You let out a moan of both relief and pleasure, finally getting the attention you craved for so long from none other than the person who knows your body on the back of his hand. 

Satoru wastes no time before he’s completely lapping at you, swirling his tongue around your clit and darting the wet muscle in and out your hole.

“Satoru, feels so good,” You whine, legs threatening to close around his head if it weren’t for his hands keeping you from moving.

He responds with sounds of pleasure of his own, rutting his hips into the mattress for any form of friction against his aching cock, leaking precum in his boxers.

He holds eye contact with you, causing you to grow hot under his gaze. He’s completely drunk off your taste, and it’s driving him insane.

He replaces his tongue with his long fingers, curling them in and latching onto your clit once more. Your back arches off the bed and you grab a fistful of his hair, grinding your hips onto his face.

He increases the pace of his fingers, scissoring you open to prep you for his cock. You feel the familiar coil in your stomach about to snap.

“Toru, don’t stop!” You’re letting out repeated strings of moans and whines that sound like music to his ears. He has to snake a hand down and squeeze his dick to keep himself from cumming untouched.

“I got you, pretty girl,” One last harsh suck to your clit and curl of his fingers is all he had to do to bring you over the edge and have you cumming all over his face, pussy spasming as he works you through your first orgasm of the night.

When you come down from your high, he lifts himself up, face and fingers coated in your juices, but he won’t let a single drop go to waste. He licks his fingers clean and swipes as much as he can off his face, darting it into his mouth, groaning at the taste of you. You watch with heavy lidded eyes, it’s so vile, how much he’s always loved eating you out. He could spend hours lapping at your cunt with zero complaints or hesitation. But watching him lick your slick off his fingers makes your insides feel warm.

He moves in closer so he’s now hovering above you, trapping your wrists on either side of your head as he leans down to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue while he rocks his hips against yours, eager to feel you around him. You grind yourself against his aching cock, making a mess on his pants, but that’s the last thing he cares about right now. There’s nothing he’s thinking about other than you.

He breaks apart from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips so he can shift to the edge of the bed and hurriedly pull his pants off. He undoes his buckle, the loud clunk catching your attention as you shamelessly stare at his flawless physique. Toned muscles, perfectly trimmed happy trail leading down to his pretty cock that sits heavy against him, balls full of cum, waiting to be released. His tip is a flushed pink color, you want to drop down on your knees and suck him off right then and there, but tonight’s about you. He wants to take care of you.

Once he’s fully unclothed, he moves on top of you again, cock rubbing against your thigh as he helps you take off your shirt and unclasp your bra.

“I’ve been waiting for you to call me again for so long,” He mumbles while kissing down your body, making sure every inch of you is touched and tended by him.

“Did you miss me?” You ask, smiling teasingly at him, knowing full well what his answer will be.

“Missing you would be an understatement. I’ve been jerking myself off to your pictures the last few weeks,” He sighs against your neck, holding you tightly against him.

You bring his face up to yours, cupping his cheeks in your hands before connecting your lips, tongues pushing against each other. He puts a hand on the back of your head, deepening the kiss even further, like he’s trying to swallow you.

You’re growing impatient and desperate for him to rearrange your guts, “Satoru, put it in, please,” You whine, your words coming out breathless.

He sits between your legs, stroking himself at your entrance, “Couldn’t wait any longer, huh?” He says while tapping the tip of his dick on your clit, the squelching noises fill your ears and you would cringe if it weren’t for your clouded head.

“Just put it in already,” You sound like you’re on the verge of tears.

He chuckles and pushes into you without warning, a breathy, “Fuck..” escaping him.

Strings of moans and whimpers fall past your lips as he bottoms out, slowly thrusting in so you can adjust to his size. He’s bigger than your boyfriend. A lot bigger.

“Toru, move,” And that’s all the confirmation he needs. His hands find home on your waist before he starts moving in and out, the fat tip of his cock grazing your cervix with every smack of his hips against yours.

You moan out a choked sob, fingernails scratching down his sculpted back and biceps, sure to leave marks that he won’t use RCT to heal. He’ll let them decorate his body until they fade away, then he’ll come back so you can do it all over again.

“Such a tight cunt, shit,” He says with a guttural grunt. “Does your boyfriend not fuck you properly?”

“No.. I don’t remember the last time he made me cum,” Your eyes roll to the back of your head, his dick filling you up so deliciously.

He presses sweet kisses to your forehead, swiping your hair out of the way, “Poor angel, I’ll make sure you get to cum tonight, yeah? Show you what your boyfriend could never do to you.”

You’re sucking him in so perfectly, like your pussy was molded to fit his cock. He watches where you two connect, the outline of him prominent in your tummy, “Look, baby. I can see myself in you.” He moves slower, staring at the sight intensely.

You can barely register his words, only looking to see what he’s talking about when you feel his palm press down on your stomach, your loud mewl mixing with his deep groan.

He ruts into you faster and deeper. You wrap your legs around his lower back, pulling him impossibly closer with your arms sprawled out, gripping onto the sheets.

He leans down to whisper in your ear, “Your bitch of a boyfriend could never fuck you like this, fuck you like I do. Leave him, you’re more loyal to me than you are to him. Getting slut out in his apartment, in his bed that he paid for by another man.” He’s not complaining in any way, Satoru would send your boyfriend the countless videos he has of him stuffing your cunt if you let him.

“I’ll leave him, Toru. I’ll do it.” You have the most fucked out expression on your face, Satoru doesn’t know if it’s the lust talking or if you’re being honest, but he’ll be sure to bring it up when he gets the chance.

He begins to rub harsh circles on your clit, not slowing down his pace, “Will you? Do you promise? You’ll start coming home to me instead of him?” His voice is raspy and full of pleasure, making you squeeze around him tighter, a chuckle and groan mixing in the back of his throat.

“Yes, I promise! I don’t want him. I never wanted him. Only you.” You thrash your head around the pillows, biting into your hand to avoid making any noises.

But you’re a dumbass to think Satoru would let you keep your sounds to yourself, “Cmon, let me hear you.” He folds you into a mating press, hitting a completely new angle as he continues to draw figure eights on your clit, eager to feel you cum around him.

With this new position, you wouldn’t be able to stay quiet even if you tried. Your moans sound pornographic. He wouldn’t doubt if the people next door make a noise complaint.

Every deep stroke of his dick has you seeing stars, the headboard hitting the wall over and over, “Satoru, I’m gonna cum!” You slur out, eyes disappearing into the back of your head.

“Make a mess on my cock, baby.”

The coil snaps for the second time that night, your orgasm hitting you like a truck, even harder than the first one, but it feels different. Its only then that you realize you fucking squirted. Spraying all over his lower abdomen and bed sheets, he whistles out, lightly smacking your clit, your body jolting in response.

He kisses your face, avoiding your lips to toy with you, “Feels good right? Getting fucked by a real man.” He smirks down at you, not pulling out just yet.

You can’t even retort back with a response, unable to deny how good he’s been making you feel the entire night.

“That’s my good girl,” He suddenly slips out of you, whining at the empty feeling, but in the same second he has you flipped on your stomach, holding your wrists behind you with one hand.

He begins pounding into you again, his other hand groping the fat of your ass as your head is rested against the pillow.

“Satoruu, I’m sensitive,” You cry out, looking back at him to see his bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead, eyes scrunched close with his head thrown back as he relishes in the feeling of your pussy fluttering around him, bringing him closer to his orgasm.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry. You can take it, right?” You just want him to enjoy himself as well, so you nod your head, the overstimulation mixing with pleasure.

With that, he grips onto your hips and fucks you harder than before, sounds of skin slapping fill the entire room along with your moans, and his grunts.

He leans over your body, groaning loudly against your cheek before messily kissing you, licking at each other's tongues and the inside of your mouths. His thrusts are getting sloppier, cock twitching inside you.

“Tell me where you want me to cum, sweetheart. You gotta tell me right now.”

“Inside, cum inside me, Satoru!”

He pulls out completely before slamming inside you, cumming deep inside, stuffing you full of him.

He collapses on top of you, his cum leaking out of your pussy and dripping onto your boyfriend's now soaked bed sheets.

“You did so good for me,” He praises, gently massaging the skin of your thighs that have been shaking with pleasure.

Unfortunately, your time together is cut short when you hear keys rattling at the front door. Your head darts up, not expecting your boyfriend to come home earlier than he said he would.

You quickly sit up, ushering Satoru to get his stuff and leave through the window.

He lazily moves off the bed and throws his clothes back on, secretly putting your panties in his pocket for later use when he’s alone. He gives you one last kiss before making his way out, admiring you just a few moments more.

“Don’t forget about that promise you made me.”

“But does he know the pictures that you keep?”

It’s been about 2 weeks since you and Satoru hooked up, unable to find a time to meet because he’s either busy with work or your boyfriend is on your ass about something new.

Tonight is no different from any other. Your boyfriend finished work, complained, and argued with you, resulting in you locking yourself in the bathroom. If anything, sitting on the cold tiled floor is easier than having to be out there, dealing with that headache of a man.

You’re aimlessly scrolling through your phone, waiting for the time your boyfriend has to leave to meet up with friends to drink his head off, allowing you some moments of peace.

You decide to open your camera roll, swiping through your most recent photos which were nothing exciting until you get a notification that someone made a shared album with you. It’s unnamed with a black front cover. Of course, it was shared with you by none other than Satoru.

When you open the album, your jaw drops, but a familiar feeling creeps in your heat, twisting your stomach in knots.

It’s an album full of dirty pictures and videos Satoru gathered throughout your hooks up. You forgot he even took these. Photos of you looking up at him with batted lashes, tears streaming down your hollowed cheeks as you kneel between his legs with his cock in your mouth, numerous videos of him breeding your cunt full in every position possible. It’s downright dirty, but the feeling of your underwear sticking to your soaked core confirms just how you feel about your little secret with Satoru.

“But does he know the reasons that you cry?”

Satoru is the only one who knows of your every problem, he’s the first you run too. Every inconvenience, struggle, burden, he’ll open his arms and his heart to you whenever you need it, pouring your eyes out while he holds you. Always making you feel better by making you cum after talking things out.

“Or tell me, does he know where your heart lies?”

Your oblivious boyfriend was completely unaware of your ongoing hook ups with Satoru. You had practically moved all your stuff out, spending days with the snow haired man, telling him you were “staying with family” for the time being. That was until he walked in on you riding Satoru in the living room.

It was supposed to be a quick stop. Satoru was helping you get the rest of your things out, but he couldn’t resist seeing the way your shorts rode up your ass whenever you bent over to pick something off the ground. One thing led to another, clothes discarded on the floor, mixed cum dripping off the couch onto the rug as sounds of sex bounced off the walls. You were both too caught up in each other to notice the third party walking through the door.

But it all worked out for the better. Every passing day from that point forward was spent with Satoru only. Waking up in his arms in the morning and falling asleep after having the night of your lives. He would watch you carefully as the moonlight peeked in through the curtains, illuminating the features of your face while you slept peacefully, breathing steady and soft as you curled into his side the entire night.

You kept the promise you made to the one your heart truly lies with.

[toasted-buguette]

Into Your Own Hands

Summary: Ryis decides to pine from a distance in order to be a better wingman for March. The farmer has other ideas.

Ryis is many things: A son, a brother, a nephew, a pretty good woodworker if he were to say so himself. A friend, and he tried to be a good one. 

Ryis is also in love, although he would desperately like to not be. 

Mistria is, despite its constant activity, a very small town with a very close knit community. It’s one of the things that made him love it there, that and the quiet that let him hear birdsong with more clarity and variety. Everyone knew each other and everyone had some manner of bond that had existed for at least a year or two, so it made sense that the arrival of a new member of the community would spark interest in everyone. Ryis wasn’t exempt from this, after all the last time someone new came it was him, but he liked to think himself a little bit chiller about it than some others.

Chiller than March, he means.

March is, as much as he likes to hide it, a pretty good guy underneath all his bluster. He just doesn’t like change, when Ryis first moved in it took March a week to stop sulking and talk to him. It was only once Friday came along and Olric dragged his brother to the inn that he and Ryis actually got to have a conversation and that (Plus one or two of Hemlock’s drinks) was all it took to spark a friendship that would surely last a lifetime. Because besides being craftspeople and their mutual adoration of Mistria and its citizens, the quality Ryis and March shared in the highest quantity was their loyalty. 

Which is why Ryis can’t acknowledge his growing fondness for the new farmer. 

You see, after the earthquake a lot of things needed repairing and the citizens of Mistria needed a distraction, so a new face was just what the town needed. Ryis, on his part, was eager to welcome the new farmer into town, after all he knew better than anyone what it was like to be the new member of a well established community. Besides, he knew they would be working together on the myriad of reconstruction projects, so it was only natural that they get along outside of work. It helped that they were very easy to get along with. 

March, as is his wont, was not as receptive to this newcomer. No one was surprised when any conversation with him eventually led to him grumbling about the no good farmer who was only here for their own gain and totally wasn’t going to last the season. Ryis, at least, was surprised when these grumblings continued past the first week of the farmer being there. 

After all, the farmer went to very great lengths to talk to everyone frequently, March included, and usually once he got to know someone he mellowed out at least a little. But no, it seemed that March’s ire only grew with every attempt to make peace the farmer made. Ryis tried to reassure them that March would warm up to them eventually, (He had to, they were just too charming even for March to hate for long), but his reassurances could only go so far when March seemed to go out of his way to antagonize the farmer. It wasn’t until late spring that Ryis found out why March was being so… like that. 

For all his guardedness it only takes a couple drinks to get all of March’s walls to crumble like a termite infested fence, and once they did the blacksmith was the most open book in the world. There was no such thing as secrets with drunk March, so Ryis got a front row seat as March got to rambling about the farmer once more, and it instantly became plain as day that March’s blush that night was not caused by the beer. 

Ryis couldn’t remember a time March was ever so enthralled with someone. He sat there and listed out Ryis’ thoughts verbatim about how interesting and capable the farmer was, how helpful and hardworking, and Ryis realized two things simultaneously.

One: He was developing a crush on the farmer.

And Two: He could not, under any circumstances, let it continue to grow.

When was the last time March was so enamored with anyone? When had he ever been this animated when talking about something that wasn’t made of metal? March had always been a happy drunk but this was beyond anything that Ryis had ever seen from his friend and he wanted desperately for that happiness to continue.

So he resolved himself to try and help March realize the feelings he had while he was sober as well as pushing the farmer in his direction whenever possible. It was easy for Ryis to ignore his own feelings, at first, after all the farmer hadn’t been there long and was always running around going who knows where to do who knows what. Out of sight out of mind and all that, and when they were not out of mind Ryis could always find a project to take his mind off them for a little while. And when that failed to work he could always tell himself that once their novelty wore off so too would his unfortunate crush.

And then the general store was ready to be remodeled and all that flew out the window. 

Unlike with the bridge Ryis couldn’t do the whole thing alone in a single day, and aside from his uncle (Who he loved very dearly and wanted to enjoy his retirement as much as possible) the only person qualified to help was the farmer. So the two of them set to work and Ryis tried very hard not to think about how every time their hands touched when exchanging tools a shock would go up his arm and send his heart racing, or how every so often he’d look up from his work and see them so deeply focused that he fell just a little deeper in love. 

That, he thinks, is what finally broke the dam and now when he aims the farmer in March’s direction (Because he still does, because he loves March) it is accompanied by a horrible pang in his chest that he knows he’ll never be able to get rid of. 

‘It’s fine.’ He tells himself. He’ll make do with what he can get and he’ll blame the work on why he’s so flushed every time he joins the farmer on a project and when March can finally admit to himself that he doesn’t hate them Ryis will look on as two of his favorite people can freely admit their love for eachother and it will be because of him and maybe the ache in his chest will get a little easier to live with. 

The next time he sees the farmer, Ryis wants to hide in his scarf. They’re sweaty and out of breath and he can tell why when they hand him a stack of hardwood so big he wonders how they fit it all in their bag. They smile so wide when he accepts it and their face makes him want to melt. That doesn’t stop him from inviting them to the shop, of course. After all, it's hot and he can’t move all of that himself (he can) and wouldn’t they like to sit down and cool off for a second after all that work? Really it’s the least he could do after everything they’ve done for the town (for him). 

And now they’re alone in the shop and the wood is all put away and Ryis would talk about all the projects he has planned for it except the farmer makes it really hard for him to think and of course Landen is gone and can’t distract the farmer from him so they’re just watching him stammer with those intensely beautiful eyes of theirs and Ryis realizes a little too late that he said that last part out loud. 

Mortified, Ryis looks away and it takes him a minute before he can bear to take his eyes off the pile of sawdust they landed on and return them to the farmer. The sight that greets him when he does is not what he expected; The farmer is staring at him with a sort of half-smile and did they get closer? Their face is definitely closer to his than it was when he looked away. He bashfully tells them that he’s sorry and they should probably forget what he said and after a second they say that maybe they don’t want to. Maybe they gave him all that hardwood because to them his smile is the prettiest thing in the whole town. 

And every plan Ryis ever made to play matchmaker for March goes in the trash because hearing that makes his heart stop and when the farmer kisses him it is the most right anything has ever felt. And soon they’ll have to leave because it’s late and their chickens are still outside and then Ryis will have to grapple with the fact that he just kissed the person his best friend is in love with but for now none of that matters because after a season and a half of pining and pushing his feelings down it feels like he can finally breathe. 

And as the farmer leaves, trailing promises to see him soon behind them, Ryis revels in not having to dread their next meeting any more.

[itrainswhenurhere]

mocktails and murder

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ a murder mystery au . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

rafe cameron x reader

chapter two: ghost in the machine

contains: talk of death and murder, blackmail, threats, disturbing graphic description

a/n: the first chapter got like 5 notes but i lowkey don’t care i have fun writing these yay. everyone is lowkey only interested in smut or fluff it’s killing me

ward cameron was a man of many secrets, you knew that much.

you didn’t think they could be this bad.

you’re sitting on the living room floor, back to the couch that cleo, jj and pope occupy, shaking, staring off into the distance. you had seen it. the body. limp on the floor. seconds after it had happened.

so had everybody else. they’re all perched somewhere around the room, most actions mirroring yours.

they had all walked in seconds after you and rafe. you had heard their scream of terror erupt from behind you as you stood, frozen still, watching the blood pour out of his head.

rafe and john b are putting the body in the freezer, for evidence when the police come, which when you had found your voice, you had told him not to do, that he shouldn’t have to.

that was his father, either way.

sarah was the one who had found him. she was the woman leaning over his body, the one who had screamed so loud it had echoed off the walls.

she’s sitting beside kiara on the couch opposite you. she’s quietly sobbing under kiaras comforting arms, that rub small circles over her shoulder and her back.

rafe appears first behind the door.

he’s shaken, clearly, eyes bloodshot. not nearly as bad as sarah or some of the other to be fair, but still upset.

he had hated his father, so much. but at the end of the day, no one would particularly like to drag their dads dead body across a house, no matter how much you dislike one another.

his eyes land on you and he pads over to where you’re sitting.

he sits shoulder to shoulder with you, legs bent and elbows on his knees.

you reach over to take his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. his fingers are shaking and his rough hands are pliant.

jj speaks first.

“so rafe, who fuck did you let on the island?” he accuses, angrily, from behind where you and him are sitting.

you turn to face him. “what the fuck is your problem. his dad just died, are you that fucking dense??” you try and sound tough and match his anger but your tremor gives you away.

rafe stands, reaches for something over the coffee table, and faces directly at jj.

“why don’t you check.” he unlocks his phone and throws it at the blonde. “there’s been cctv on the dock since it was first set up and the island was scaled before we arrived, there’s no one here.”

jj stands and turns the phone to himself and cleo. he goes over the footage for maybe a minute, swiping back and forth.

“holy shit.” he stands abruptly. everyone else apart from sarah, kie and cleo are up too now, expectantly.

“what??” speaks john b, leaning against the door, worriedly. even rafe doubts himself for a second, maybe someone had gotten on.

“there’s no one here.” mirroring rafes words. he drops the phone onto the couch, staring like it has answers.

pope works out the implications behind that first.

“it was one of us.”

gasps erupt around the room as people finally put two and two together.

there was no one. it was just us. one of them.

everyone is seeming thinking the same thing as the all stumble toward the person the trust the most in the group.

all of the pogues, minus cleo and jj, turn to one another and stand where kiara and sarah sit.

you grab rafes arm and take a step back from everyone else.

cleo and jj turn to the doorframe and scan over everyone in room, like the murderer will reveal itself.

rose, who hasn’t spoken once, is standing behind the couch opposite everyone else.

she doesn’t look shocked, upset sure, but not shocked, she looks more… expectant??

when she finally does speak, her voice doesn’t shake and she doesn’t stutter.

“we knew this would happen.” a pause.

“what the fuck are you talking about,” kiara rages. “why the fuck didn’t we call the police before this had happened then??” she challenges.

the wind had knocked over the wifi router and there was no service all throughout the house, tomorrow the police would be called. it was around midnight now, the tides still too high to get on rafes ship and leave.

“i begged him to.” she pauses, looking down. “he thought it was some kind of sick joke and-”

rafe interrupts her. “what… was some kind of sick joke, rose?” he’s careful with his words, confused and angry.

“the threats. someone had be been sending them for weeks now. someone that knew things- and we, well, figured that it had to have been one of our children, or their… friends.” everyones features are painted with uncertainty now.

oh. it’s suddenly clear to you why rose and ward, notorious for not liking, well, anything, wanted so eagerly for you and all of sarah’s pogues to join.

“at the mini bar by the beach. we got there and… they had- uh,” she starts to stutter. “in b-blood, uh,” you can tell she’s attempting to keep neutral and calm, her usual demeanour.

“they had written… on the wall, it had said, ‘we know what you did’ or something like that, maybe um, ‘you’ll pay for it’ i don’t know.” she winces as if in pain.

rose has never been a particularly chalant individual, so seeing her like this, actively terrified, shook you.

“and you didn’t think to fucking tell us?!?” sarah lashes.

“one of you wrote it.” rose looks down in seemingly regret, and the room goes silent.

everyone is processing the fact that someone here had, in fact, murdered ward cameron. someone had taken a whiskey glass and shoved it into his skull. someone here had been sending him death threats. someone in this room.

eventually, people separated in small groups, people that trusted the other the most.

you and rafe had stayed back, still in the living room.

“hey, you okay?” which was a stupid question, but you’re not very accustomed to what to say when someone you loves father is murdered.

you and him are sitting up on the couch, your knees to your chest, facing him.

“don’t ask stupid questions.” he finally speaks, although there’s no real bite to his tone.

he looks… full of rage? confused? raw? angry? determined?

you can usually read him very well but, as you’d said, you have no idea what to do or think in this situation.

he turns to you, gently takes a hand from your knees and holds it like it’s a precious peace of art.

for the first time since all this, you can see what he feels.

love.

you know he loves you, more than anything. he would kill for you, and you for him.

over the length of your relationship, you’ve both changed in every way possible, but one thing remains.

love.

“i’m gonna find out who did this.” you reach over and place your free hand over his one holding yours, sandwiching them together. you give it a gentle squeeze, grounding him.

you go speak, to tell him you know, to reassure him, but he gets there first. “nothings going to happen to you.” his voice is gruff and sure.

he moves to hold your waist and lift you onto his lap, straddling his hips.

“i’m gonna keep us safe. i love you.” he brushes a strand of previously fallen hair behind your ear.

although the frustration and anger remain prominent in his eyes, they go ever so slightly softer for you.

the others, are all upstairs already when you and rafe head up. most of the voices come from sarahs room, minus, you presume, jj and cleo. hm.

a chill runs up your spine at the realisation that, you know for a fact it was neither you nor rafe who had taken the glass to ward camerons skull, it being one of the people in the room comforting their closest friend about her dads death, who had murdered him.

that or, one of the two in the room opposite them, who had clearly done something to earn the groups disapproval.

once the both of you had made your way to your shared room, you lie down in the same way you would’ve done had the both of you not heard the blood curdling scream, but the air is different. chilling.

the warmth of small laughs and kind smiles no longer fill the room, and the dark night sky leaves room for everything and nothing at the same time.

you turn on your side, facing the alarm clock that now reads 1:58am. rafe, who was staring at the ceiling like it could offer some kind of closure, turns to face your back and pulls it into his chest, his big arms enveloping around your waist and your chest.

his head is nuzzled into the crook of your neck, hiding from what will all become real life tomorrow.

the both of you are still unsure of how to return to normalcy, even something as simple as cuddling, feeling wrong.

“do you have any idea what could’ve happened? did you notice anything?”

yes. is your immediate reaction after the momentary shock that he let himself speak.

he must feel stupid for not seeing anything, not anticipating this. he hates being in the dark more than anything.

and as much as it hurts you not to tell him, you are maybe 99% sure that what you saw, wasn’t what it looked like.

you vividly remember it now, even though at the time it had seemed like such a small, insignificant thing that… had? to be a coincidence, right?

after dinner, when everyone had migrated back up their rooms, but weren’t yet ready for bed, you had gone downstairs, padding past rose and wards en-suite that had originally been for you and rafe, although had changed when they announced their presence on the trip.

unaware that his hours were quite literally, numbered. maybe one, maybe two.

you don’t hear much, and figure they’re just relaxing.

you had left your sunglasses somewhere downstairs, and wanted them back before someone misplaced them, or mistook them for theirs.

you had reached the kitchen when a clank sound, that you did not realise would soon become familiar, came from the dining room.

“fuck.” you hear in a hushed whisper. a woman’s voice.

you peek around the corner of the open house, and your shoulders drop, relaxing when you take in the scene infront of you. you had been scared for a second, thought it was something dangerous.

you had stayed behind the corner for whatever reason, now entirely grateful that you had, but unaware what it could’ve cost you.

it was just kiara.

she had been getting a drink, clearly.

in her hand was a pristine whiskey glass, which she must’ve dropped, patterns around the rim that you would recognise if in your line of vision again, them being so intricate.

what hadn’t bothered you at the time, her scrambling away without anything in the glass cup, figuring she had her own drinks upstairs, was now eating away at you.

[r0zzk1ll]

+ this picmix i made Does it entice yuo

edit: i have posted the fic and it can be found on this post!!!!!

[theunluckyclover775]

Crime Alley never truly got its name until the GCPD had cut the local station's funding. Then crime started to rise, just a little. Not enough to warrant the name, but just enough for people to notice and create a buzz around change. The mayor was going to try and scrape up loose funds to give to the old station, to try and tamper down the damage without hurting other public facilities, like the schools and libraries.

But then the election came, and one of the nominees had used a campaign about 'lowering crime rates in Gotham', and specifically pointing out Park Row as a big example. On top of the increase, he planted drug rings for added effect here and yellow journalism there and the whole thing explodes. Every overdose from the area in the Gotham Tribunal is highlighted in the obituaries. Every theft gets its own story in the paper. It seems to the people outside Park Row that the mayor incumbent has left it running rampant, criminals and hookers running on every corner.

Tourist attractions start to pull out from the area, and a mass exodus of people follow, leaving those too poor to leave and the criminals already there full control of the city. School and other public service funding is cut, due to the population loss. This not only increases the rent in the area with landlords trying to make a living, but also the drop out rate with kids needing to work full time for their family. Which, in turn, also increases the crime rate. The mayor incumbent loses the election, leaving the new one in power and now having a bigger problem than he initally intended on his hands. But he had two cards up his sleeves. Both bleeding hearts, hearts that bleed gold and would bend over backwards to not only help a friend, but the city their family flourished in for over a century.

Thomas and Martha were more than happy to help out, and hopefully rebuild the district to what it once was. The 'Bring Back Park Row' initiative was created soon after. The Waynes start making donations to the areas libraries, schools, and other places in the district. They create scholarships, pop up shelters, and a rehab facility. The first Wayne Orphanage was opened there. And soon enough, the two get the idea to start having day trips there. The press following them and little Brucie on their little vacations. If the people can see that it's not as bad as it once was, people would flood back in and return to the old Park Row.

The Waynes restore an old movie theatre, and its grand opening was going to play an old detective movie from the year of its original opening. They all dressed up for the event, and Bruce looked so cute in his little suit and tie. Martha looked elegant as a morning lily with her pearls. Thomas, matching Bruce in a suit and tie, looked powerful and yet kind with the small smile lines faintly showing on his face and in the corners of his eyes.

The movie went off without a hit. But instead of papers across Gotham singing songs of success; papers from across the country sang hymns of mourning. Mourning the Lily of Gotham, the kind King. Many feel pity and eat up the sad look of Brucie in a shock blanket being consoled by a young police officer. Soon enough the papers latch onto the easy money, and their deaths become sensationalised. Bruce's life gets held under a microscope, not a month goes by without a paper coming out about Bruce and his sad, orphaned life.

Mourning the loss of Park Row. Angered at the creation of Crime Alley.

[renx01]

Playing Along - Part 8

Prompt: “Just play along, please” inspired this multiple part fic, in which agent Galahad and Kay are on a mission together in the French Alps. Here, they have to pretend to be a couple, despite the two of them being rivals and Kay always wanting to beat him at everything. Pairing: Harry Hart x Kingsman!Reader Fandom: Kingsman Tags/Warnings: fake dating, slowburn, rivals Word count: 1.5 k

Despite wishing for reality to be different, the days of you and Harry being able to be intimate and live almost as if you followed a regular domestic life pass quickly. The evening you had spent cuddling on the tiny sofa whilst listening to jazz and enjoying a cup of scotch that had Harry whispering sweet nothings into your ear, was replaced by the reality of the mission the following morning. You had to meet up with Anglo and Guilia that afternoon, and so you had to get ready to go out. Still, you didn’t mind helping him get ready and him helping you to do so as well after having taken a long shower together. 

Harry had suggested a cafe in a nearby town to meet up at, as the mountain itself still hasn’t been reopened to the public yet. The cafe itself is quiet, with only a few other tables being occupied. You and your partner arrive there well before the other couple, giving you the opportunity to inconspicuously place a tiny microphone below the table (similar to the one placed on Eggsy in The Secret Service). As Harry is doing so, take the liberty to order the two of you some tea to drink while you wait. He appreciates the gesture by giving you a quick kiss on your lips before sitting back down across from you. ��Thank you love, this is my favourite.’ You smirk. ‘Of course dear, and I know it is.’  The two of you make small talk, which goes remarkably more smoothly than before. As you do so, you admire how the clothes you had chosen for him to wear fit the agent. His crisp white shirt collar is a stark contrast to the dark grey jumper and black tie he’s wearing. Combined with black woolen trousers and black boots, the outfit is classic, yet his hair being not as sleek as usual makes it feel more casual. You’re wearing an outfit that’s quite different, yet fits what he is wearing well. The  black cable knit turtleneck is casual yet chic, especially when combined with the pair of anthracite wool trousers Harry had worn earlier that week, giving a bit of an oversized look when worn by you. They’re held up by a black belt and sit perfectly on top of the similarly black boots you’re wearing.  Hello agents, Merlin here. Hamish’ voice sounding in your ear pulls you out of your thoughts. You quickly glance at Harry and nod. I just wanted to let you know that they have come with quite a few bodyguards. Angelo’s father was attacked last night by some rival. ‘Alright, thanks for the info.’ You whisper. Thought I’d let you know before you’d be faced by a wall of bodyguards. He laughs. Anyhow, good luck with your meeting. I’ll be here if you need anything. You realise that you shouldn’t be too lovey dovey until the other couple arrives. 

Luckily that doesn’t take too long. The two Italians walk in exactly at the time you had discussed with them and you wave to gain their attention. With them, quite a few bodyguards follow in and take a seat at tables nearby. ‘Sorry about this.’ Angelo whispers as he leans forward before taking his seat next to you. Guilia takes her seat next to Harry, obviously feeling uncomfortable because of the many bodyguards. ‘Do not fret it.’ You say. ‘I am certain there must be a good reason.’ Harry nods in agreement. ‘So, what would you two like to drink? Our treat.’ Harry orders a bottle of white wine and a charcuterie board in his perfect French accent. Rather than finding it annoying like you did previously, you now find it quite attractive to hear his baritone voice speak the language so effortlessly. You finish your tea as the board full of different meats, cheeses, and olives arrives. You spoke of everything and nothing to the couple: how it had been with the snowstorm, whether they had anything planned for the rest of the week, and when they would be returning home.  ‘We will be returning to Italy tomorrow.’ Angelo states. ‘Originally we were meant to leave in three days, but due to personal circumstances regarding my father we’ve decided that we will leave early.’ You put a hand on his shoulder. ‘That must be difficult. Hopefully your father will be fine soon. I don’t know your situation, but please let us know if we can do anything to help.’ A small smile graces his lips and he looks down momentarily before looking up and locking eyes with his partner. Guilia smiles and nods. ‘I am uncertain of how you could help, but being here and chatting does help.’ He pauses. ‘My father was attacked in his home last night. We’re not sure who did it, but we have to return so we can make sure he is safe and has our support.’ ‘That’s understandable. Being with your family during difficult times can really make the difference.’ You pour some more wine into their glasses. ‘Thank you; really.’ Guillia says.

After that you speak about other, more casual and less stressful, topics. While you do not gain particularly much in terms of information, due to the amount of alcohol in their system, you were able to place a tracker on both of them and swipe Angelo’s phone as you were saying goodbye. As you sit in your car, you connect it to a laptop and transfer all the data and messages. Afterwards, Harry walks from the car to a nearby store to get some wine and food, inconspicuously dropping Angelo’s phone in the middle of the parking lot, a route you know they had walked back to their own car. When he gets back in, you’ve just put away the laptop and connected with Merlin. With the door closed, Harry drives away and back towards the chalet you’re staying at. The debrief with Merlin is effective, as he’s reading through the files and messages you’ve just uploaded. ‘Kay, you did well stealing that phone, there’s a load of information regarding his father’s deals.’ As Harry drives you out of town and the conversation continues, he puts his hand on your thigh. ‘I’m pretty sure no-one noticed that feat.’ You smirk a bit. ‘I barely even noticed you do it.’ Harry comments. ‘Quite impressive, especially with the added pressure of being in the middle of a restaurant surrounded by their bodyguards.’ His hand squeezes you lightly. ‘Merlin, is there anything regarding the attack?’ The Scot sighs deeply. ‘Well there isn’t anything explicit, however, it is implied that Guilia’s family could be the ones behind it. Apparently they aren’t too happy with the current arrangement.’

The debrief ends just as you arrive back at the chalet and you both take off your glasses. ‘You were quite extraordinary dear.’ Harry whispers before pulling you in for a passionate kiss. His hand wanders from your chin to the side of your face and into your hair while his other hand moves from your thigh to your lower back; almost pulling you over the centre console of the car. You pull away slightly and almost gasp for air. ‘Fuck, Harry.’ ‘My love.’ Your hands move to cup his face, tracing the lines in his face with your thumb. ‘We should take this inside. I don’t want Merlin to question us why we were in the car for an extended period of time.’ You say before giving him a quick kiss and pulling out of his embrace to open your car door, grabbing the laptop and other necessities in the process. He follows suit, grabbing the wine and food he’d bought at the supermarket earlier. As soon as you close and lock the door behind you, both of you drop whatever you’re holding. Rather than giving him the opportunity to make the first move, you pull him to you by the collar of his jacket and catch his lips. He chuckles into the kiss before pulling you close, his hands resting on your hips. ‘Oh dear, I do hope you know what you’re doing to me.’ He pulls away slightly. ‘I am perfectly aware.’ You whisper into his ear, your hand ghosting the back of his head. He leans down and kisses your neck. ‘Well then, you would not mind me ravishing you, would you?’ You shake your head. He gives you a quick kiss before walking you backwards into his bedroom. As he is about to close the door, the two of you are stopped in your tracks by your phone ringing.

While you are annoyed, you pick it up quickly. ‘Hello.’ ‘Agent Kay, Merlin here. I have an urgent matter, and it seems that both you and Harry do not have your glasses on.’ You can feel Harry moving a strand of hair out of your eye. ‘Merlin, yes of course, what is the matter?’ You lean into the touch of the man in front of you. ‘It seems that there are several cars on their way to your chalet. I need the two of you to pack up and meet the helicopter at the location I’ve just sent you.’

______

A/N: Hello, I'm still alive... somehow. I never really believed in those curses that are cast upon fanfic writers, but perhaps I should start now haha.

Tags: @crazymela @julieeauchocolat @chimopdog @briars-glenn

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part two

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: implied sexual content

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 2.5k

You weren’t sure what woke you at first but when you opened your eyes, you found the brilliant, early morning light that streamed through a crack in the curtains. Groaning, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, not missing the unmistakable rustling of clothes somewhere at the foot of the bed. 

Peeking over the sheets to the source of the sound, you found Ale working to put her pants back on, her bare back to you. You propped yourself against the headboard as you watched on, biting your lip at how Ale’s tattoos deliciously shifted over her rippling muscles. She picked something up from the floor before she turned towards the bed and you caught sight of the darkening marks on her neck and chest. When she saw you looking at her, she smiled, a little bashful, which you returned in kind.

“What time is it?” You cringed at how you croaked out the words.

“Early. You should go back to sleep.” Ale said, putting her bra on as she kept your gaze.

You hummed. “I could say the same for you.”

Ignoring what she said you sat up on the bed, allowing the sheets to slide down and settle by your waist as you stretched. Ale’s eyes wandered to your chest which, you supposed, bore the same marks you could see on hers, and you relished the attention. Once she found your eyes again, you sent her a knowing smirk before you left the bed, headed to the closet where you grabbed the nearest fresh shirt you had, and tossed it to Ale. 

Without even looking at the shirt, she caught it with ease. You raised your brow, both in question and in wonder. In response, Ale just smiled innocently at you. Ale pulled the shirt over her head, hiding the marks from view, then she moved towards you, her eyes dark and shining with intent.

Your body remembered last night’s endeavours before you did: every nerve in your skin lit up in anticipation for Ale’s touch, a fuse waiting for a spark. She laced an arm around your waist and pulled you flush to her front with a strength that left you breathless, her clothed body firm against your bare flesh. Without your heels she almost towered over you that you had to stand on your toes to wrap your arms around her neck. You closed your eyes when you felt the words she spoke against your temple.

“As much as I’d love to stay, I have to go.”

You sighed, unable to hide your disappointment. But what did you expect? You knew what you were getting into last night–you knew this was meant to only be a one-time thing. Besides, you were never one for relationships anyway; all your dalliances were brief and fleeting, ending before they ever got serious. Still, something about Ale pulled you to her, a force that compelled a desire to get to know her. The logical part of you already accepted the fact that you’d probably never see her again after this, but a small part of you wanted to rebel and resist that fate. 

Unsurprisingly, logic won out.

“I shouldn’t keep you, then,” you whispered against her collarbone. Ale shivered and that made you smile: it’s good to know you weren’t the only one still feeling the effects from the previous night.

“You’re not making this easy,” she whined and you laughed. 

“Alright, alright. I guess it’s time for me to let you go.”

There was a moment of silence but not an uncomfortable one. You looked at her, soaked in how her features caught the morning light, how her fair hazel eyes almost appeared like twin golden suns. You were tempted to kiss her lips then but you settled for a chaste one on her cheek instead. “Keep the shirt, to remember me by and… a thank you for last night. It was wonderful.”

“I had a good time, too,” she hummed, a small smile on her lips. 

You returned her smile, and then you gently pushed her away as you took a step back. “Go, Ale.”

Ale stood there for a moment more, took one last look at you, gave you one last smile and she was out of the bedroom. When you heard the front door shut, you sighed again as something akin to regret settled in your bones. Maybe you should’ve at least asked for her number…

“So… did you have fun?” A deep voice filtered through the speaker before you saw the familiar mop of blonde hair and blue eyes on your screen. You rolled your eyes at his dry tone but you smiled nonetheless.

“Oh hi, Derek, I’m doing fine! Thank you for asking!”

Derek gave you an unimpressed look. “Come on. I need details cause that club was exclusive for a reason. So, did you hook up with someone?”

“Dude, stop! That’s so–” you shook your head, a palm over your face. You swore if he wasn’t family you would’ve… you breathed through your nose. “Thank you for the pass and everything but I’m not obligated to tell you shit.”

“Fine, I see how it is. Just ‘cause I’m not there you’re keeping secrets from me now, huh?” He raised an exaggerated eyebrow. 

“Then maybe you should’ve come here with me,” you retorted with faux annoyance. “What’s the point of you owning a house in Barcelona if you’re not going to use it? It’s literally rotting here! The fact that you haven’t even put any personal things in here is criminal!”

“And let this agency burn down to the ground while both of us are away? Pfft, yeah, right!” Derek scoffed. “You know it’s either you or me who can keep watch around here. Besides, the house can wait and you’re using it now, right? So, a win-win in my book.”

He was right but you weren’t about to tell him that so you opted to change the topic. “How are things on your end anyway?”

“Chaotic, as usual. And it doesn’t help we’re now down two–actually, three including you–of our best in the Spot News department.”

At that, you sat up from the couch, alarm and dread filled your body and you brought the phone closer to you. “Oh my god, did something happen?” 

Derek sighed heavily, his demeanour clouded over as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was Jones and Gilda–they’re stable, don’t worry!–they got caught in a flash flood on the way to the base at their area. Sick with some minor injuries, Jones more so than Gilda, but thankfully they’re both okay.”

At that, you breathed out in relief. You were well acquainted with the dangers that came with your job but you could never get used to how quickly a situation could get from bad to worse. The mere thought was enough to turn your hands cold. 

“When did this happen?”

“Early morning today in our timezone.”

“Oh, fuck. Derek, why didn’t you call me?!”

“Dude, you’re on leave. And it’s not that I didn’t want to let you know, I just wasn’t about to wake you up in the middle of the night to give you this headache. I’m just about done with the paperworks anyway.” A moment silence, then Derek sighed. “You really chose the worst time to go on leave. You know, I had to send Jersey to start covering Spot.”

“Not my fault you authorised it. I was happy to wait another month, remember? Wait, so if Jersey is doing Spot, who’s doing Sports?”

“I know, I know, don’t remind me ‘cause I’m already regretting it. And no one’s doing it. Spot coverage is more important but–”

“–we get a decent sum from Sports, too,” you finished for him. You did some quick estimation in your head: a month or two without Sports could prove costly, too great of a sum to let go. You hummed, rubbing your chin, but it didn’t take you long to realise that you could help out, your mind immediately fleeted to your conversation with Ale and her suggestion.

“I’ll cover it, Derek.”

“No. You’re supposed to be enjoying your leave–”

“Derek.” You fixed a stern gaze at him, the one you knew that he knew meant your mind was made up. Then you proceeded to reassure him that it was fine, and then you told him about your plan. “Alright, then, I’ll leave the press passes to you.”

“I’ll e-mail them to you once I get ‘em, most likely by tonight your time. I–” 

“Derek, you got to see–” Another voice filtered through the speaker while you watched as Derek turned his head to the side and held his hand up to whoever it was before returning his focus back to you.

“Okay, as much as I’d love to keep talking to you, Robert just brought me a huge stack of paper so I’m going to bail.” 

“Alright. Have fun, you. Talk to you later.”

“Ha ha, very funny. But seriously, thank you.”

“No worries. Kiss Mom for me when you see her.”

“I will. Love you, sis.”

“I love you, too.”

After calling Jones and Gilda to ask about their condition and to send them your well wishes, you decided to spend the rest of your day at the nearby square and the beach. A day as good as this wasn’t meant to be wasted by staying inside so you grabbed several rolls of film and your beloved Leica camera before heading out. 

It was already late afternoon when you found yourself trudging along the shoreline of one of Barcelona’s beaches, appreciating the orange-tinged skies and how the gulls called from above. When you looked to the horizon, you found a mother and her little daughter paddle-boarding just a hundred meters from the shore. You could see almost no details in the shadows of their silhouette but the large setting sun framed them in such a way that you felt to take a shot of the moment. So you adjusted your aperture accordingly, pressed the viewfinder against your brow, lined up your shot, and pressed the shutter.

“I thought you looked familiar… And I was right.”

Your thumb froze over the advance lever when you heard someone speak from somewhere behind you. That voice… could it be?

You whipped your head over your shoulder and found none other than Ale standing there. She was wearing a pair of jean shorts, a white opened blouse that put her toned abs and Nike sports bra on display, loose hair slightly damp, with a leash in one hand that lead to a small, fluffy dog. She also had on a pair of black wraparound sunglasses that she moved to the top of her head, revealing her hazel eyes that captivated your gaze immediately.

You could hardly believe your eyes and your luck; you already accepted her fleeting presence in your life but to meet her again in a city as big as Barcelona without any means of contact… that surely was nothing short of a miracle.

“Ale, hi! I–I never thought I’d see you again,” you said after you finally found your voice but as soon as the words left your mouth, your cheeks warmed. What were you supposed to say to a one night stand in this situation, especially when you clearly wanted it to happen again?

“Me neither. I should thank Nala for dragging me out here.” Ale grinned as she glanced down at her dog by her feet. You crooned as you bent down, then you offered your hand first and only after Nala licked your knuckles did you proceed to pet her.

“Thank you, Nala, for taking your owner for a walk.” At that, a hearty laugh came from Ale which caused Nala, who seemed to be overjoyed by the sound of her owner’s delight, to yip and wag her tail. And just as quickly as she had, she seemed to get bored and began to bound forward, urging Ale to move as well so you stood up, brushed the sand from your palms, and fell in step with her. 

For a moment, the space between you was filled by the sound of the waves, the sound of the shifting sand beneath your feet, and the ever-bustling noise from the city. Then you recalled your conversation with Derek this morning.

“I thought about what you said, about covering women’s football. I’m going to be given a press pass for a match, not sure which one they’ll give me, though. But do you know of any big matches coming up?”

“Really? That’s great! Do you have any particular team in mind or…?”

“Research is still on my to-do list so no, not really. I’m all ears for suggestions, though.”

“I see. Well, there is this match coming up: Real Madrid and Barcelona. Since you don’t know, there’s rivalry between the two teams so any match between them tends to get crowded. You should come watch.” 

“That sounds like a good one. I hope that’s what they’ll get me into. Will you be there?”

“I hope so, too. And yes, I’ll be there.” As she said this, her eyes shone with a glint not dissimilar to what you saw in them the night you met. Her lips tilted to the side, closed but quirked at the corners like she was holding in a laugh. If it weren’t already clear that night, it was now–you were definitely missing something here.

“What?” You asked, confused. What was she not telling you? But at the question, Ale only let out a small giggle, grinning as she did so.

“Nothing, nothing,” she said, shaking her head. You didn’t believe her but you let it slide one more time and the fact that she looked so distracting didn’t help either.

She had her head turned to you, her loose hair framed her face and strands fluttered in the cool, ocean breeze. You had to tilt your head up slightly to meet her eyes and, without any bidding, memories from that night and the morning after filtered through your mind: the way she held you against her, the way you wanted her to stay… maybe you should ask her if she was free tonight.

“–what do you have in mind?”

You blinked. “What?”

Ale threw her head back, letting out another hearty laugh before she looked at you and you saw amusement swimming in her eyes. Then, she continued with a smirk, “you asked if I was free tonight. I said yes. Or… was I not meant to hear that?”

Your ears and cheeks burnt while you internally cursed your slippery tongue.  That was smooth. Real smooth. “Ummm…”

You woke the next morning with a delicious soreness between your thighs, a pleasant reminder of the way Ale ravished you last night. Similar to the first morning after, you heard the rustling of clothes being put on. But before you could fully open your eyes, warmth from Ale’s lips branded the skin on your shoulder. 

“I have to go. See you next time?” Ale murmured softly. You shifted slightly to the side and you saw how the sunlight behind her gilded her hair with an amber halo and made her eyes appear like molten gold. 

Brushing a loose strand behind her ear, you hummed in confirmation and pressed your forehead sleepily against the sharp line of her jaw, closing your eyes as you did so and you whispered, “you know where to find me.”

[shesmore-shoebill]

Running a little low on both writing capabilities and spare time at the moment. So instead, for day three of Amangela Holiday Week. I'm just going to offer the skeleton of a dialogue exchange I envisioned for this prompt, and you can all fill in the blanks as you'd like! 🫡 The voices are potentially way off but hopefully the vibes are still there.

standard smosh rpf disclaimer. F for fiction. fear not ye characterization does not apply irl. etc. etc.

Prompt: "You taste like peppermint."

----

"... Amanda. ...I know what candy canes taste like."

"Yeah, but. Well. Well, this is just in case you wanted to try. My one. Because this one is- uh- especially good."

"...You specifically want me to try your. Half eaten. Candy cane."

"Well not if you're going to give me attitude about it-"

"I'm not giving you attitude, you're just being weird. And I love you for it, but-"

"We share food all the time, this isn't THAT weird. And you don't have to-"

"-no, I mean, I'll do it, but god, Amanda, you know, there are WAY easier ways to get me to swap spit with you-"

[silence]

"... Did I say that out loud?"

"... Okay, way to turn my cute planned thing into the grossest thing I've ever heard. "Swap spit???""

"HEY- wait, don't turn this on me, what do YOU mean by planned-"

"You know what? Nevermind. Just get over here so I can kiss you."

"... you taste like peppermint."

"Well. I ate like. Four candy canes since this morning to try to get this to happen, so, I'm sorry, but it did work."

"I didn't say I didn't like it. ...But let me check again."

----

Context floating in my head that I couldn't execute effectively/quickly enough: this is pre amangela officially getting together. but both of them have an inkling of how they/the other person feels. Someone brought candy canes in. Angela has spent the full day being tormented because every time she looks over at Amanda, Amanda has a candy cane in her mouth/is partway eating it/is looking over at her while her mouth. Does Things/etc and she's Not Being Regular About It.

(In her defense Amanda is absolutely doing it intentionally.)

Close to the end of the day Amanda fully just offers Angela if she wants to "try her candy cane" while holding out the one she's eating. Cue this conversation.

Optionally: whatever else you think suits it!

thanks again to @zillaphoneswag for setting this up! :)

[fancastingforfunsies]

I EDIT YOUR FANFIC FOR FREE

Ok, now that I hopefully got your attention:

Yes, for free, no payment whatsoever, no fine print, nothing. But I do need one thing in return. First, however, a little about me:

I am fully bilingual in English and Spanish and worked as a scientific editor for 2 years (I was formally trained to do this job, so my knowledge of English is pretty solid). I am currently trying to move to the publishing industry, but I have no experience editing fiction.

That is where you come in: the only thing I need is your consent to use an edited excerpt of your fanfic in my sample portfolio. This can be anonymous, and I can change any character names if you are more comfortable with it.

Please keep reading if you are interested!

Because I do have a full-time, unrelated job, please expect me to take a little time to deliver. As for the fanfic length, I'd say anything under 10K goes. You can send me a single chapter as well if you want to.

I would ideally like to experiment with different levels of editing (developmental, line editing, copy editing), so please request whichever you prefer.

In terms of content... I am willing to edit anything, honestly. I have been reading fanfiction since before we had warning tags, and I frankly don't care. That being said, I might not be able to take you on if it is 100% just PWP (again, I want to use excerpts for my sample portfolio).

I am open to editing works from fandoms I am unfamiliar with, but you can give me a crash course on character dynamics if you think it's necessary.

Ok, I think that is all! Please private message me here if you want to connect. You can call me Ro.