#fate keeps putting them together and then pulling them apart over and over and over

[tomato-ace]

karen was going down the slide at the park next to tokyo tower when hikari told her she was going to move to london and they were going to be separated for a long time

12 years later from the top of that same slide karen reached out her hand to hikari who took it and climbed up to stand beside her as they decided to try and win the auditions together

[hxxsxxng]

Jungwon backstage smut

GIRLFRIEND EXCLUSIVE y.jw

「pairing」 : idol!jungwon x girlfriend!reader

「genre」 : smut

「word count」 : 1.2k

「synopsis」 : jungwon catches you being desperate after the shows over

「warnings」 : MINORS DNI!!! teasing, jungwon walks in on the reader masturbating, fingering, oral (f recieving), implication of sex

「authors note」 : thank you to who requested this and plan to make an extended version of this if enough people think i should! SUPPORT BY REBLOGGING

「taglist」 : @jakeflvrz

The Fate tour made Jungwon and his members travel all around the world. Of course he couldn’t leave his girlfriend behind. I mean really, going on tour for months on end without seeing his girl would just be a nightmare. Flying first class, traveling the world, and experiencing different countries together were all things that were a plus to being with him.

Having to stand in the crowd acting as if you do not know each other during sound check, but him practically staring at you the majority of the time doesn’t really make anyone suspicious since the people around usually think they he is looking at them instead.

But then when the show really starts, you are in his dressing room, helping him get changed and showering him with kisses, something nobody else will ever get to do. Seeing him all sweaty from the performances and changing between each outfits was a girlfriend exclusive viewing.

“What are you looking at” he catches you ogling at him while he is putting on his jewelery. “You” you said confidently, keeping your eyes glued to his slim fingers and his neck.

“Oh, that” he chuckles, shaking his head like a teacher reprimanding their student. “Stop being silly, babe. You know very well that you could see my entire body right now.”

“Maybe” you hummed teasingly, poking him on the ribs. Each bone in his body was carved perfectly to your liking, seeing him get dressed to perform in front of thousands on random people who will never know the true Jungwon made you sort of… jealous?

You slid you hand up his chest and began to slide his white jeweled jacket off of his shoulders. “Babeee, the count down is starting, I can’t miss the begining of this next set” he protested, trying to put the sleeve back on his shoulder.

“Okay… just know that I will be waiting ever so patiently for you to get back” you teased while squeezing your tits together, enough to create even more visible cleavage in your dark red fitted shirt.

He blushes, biting his lips while you continue to stare into his captivating brown orbs, feeling the need to pull him into a sweet kiss until the last second before the song starts.

“God I hate when you tease me” he tried to complain, not knowing that you could see a tent growing in pants. You could hear the ticking getting louder in the dressing room, indicating that it was getting close to time for him to go. You pull him in for a quick kiss before the count down finally came to an end and he had to rush to make it to the stage on time.

“I love you baby” he says while holding your hand until he got far got far enough apart that your hands couldn’t reach. “I love you too darling”. By that point, he was almost too far away to hear what you said.

Seeing him leave without having any of the pressure between your thighs relieved was more than uncomfortable. You felt like a child being ripped away from their toy.

You slumped back into your chair in a more desperate mood than you were before. There was no way you could wait until Jungwon came back from the next set. You find your fingers wondering down your stomach, unbuttoning the jeans you wish he were taking off, and slide your hand into your sticky panties.

You let out a sigh of relief, massaging your clit gently as you imagined between your legs instead. Just thinking about Jungwon’s face when he returned after performing his last show left goosebumps on your skin. So sweaty and elegant, it turned you on even more. He’d look so good with his mouth hanging open as you rode him slowly the times before, the images were engraved in your mind as if you were watching porn.

Even now, with your fingers wrapped inside your panties, you could imagine him there, and you aligning his tip at your enterance, before letting your weight down onto his length.

You pulled your pants down further, allowing you to remove your underwear as well. Now you were just left in a t-shirt in the middle of Won’s dressing room. You slid your ring and middle finger into your gushing hole and kept a consistent pace on your clit wit the other hand.

The more your mind wondered, the closer you got to your orgasm without realizing. Your fingers were coated with your slick and your head was thrown back on the couch, eyes closed. It was an erotic sight for Jungwon to walk in on. Even when he walked, you didn’t notice since you were lost in your own world of pleasure.

He bent down in front of you, trying to be quiet enough for you not to notice. He removes both of your hands that make you jump to immediately cover yourself. Your cheeks were glowing red with embarrassment.

“It’s already over!?” you screamed in shock. “Shhhh baby just relax” he says calmly while rubbing your clit slowly. The words got choked up in your mouth as you allowed yourself to slowly melt into is fingers.

He spread your legs open further and inserted his tongue into the mixture. “Really couldn’t wait until I got back, huh?” he teased. The sensation of his light touch made your mouth fall open, trying not to be too loud for the members in the neighboring dressing rooms to hear.

His hot breath hitting your wetness sent shivers up your spine as he continued to navigate your folds with his tongue. He inserted two fingers into your gushing hole keeping a slow pace to keep you on the edge as long as possible. He made sure to hit your spongy patch with each thrust. The more he pushed you over the edge, the more he found yourself gripping the couch to keep your balance, gasping in pleasure as you ride Jungwon through his fingers.

You gripped his hair as the coil in your stomach was about to snap. “Fuck Wonnie, I’m about to cum” you pleaded while your hips were shaking under his touch.

“I wanna taste you, cum all over my tongue angel” he growled, pressing a soft kiss against your inner thigh. Your walls squeezed his digits, pulsing in ecstasy. His tongue collected your juices and he swallowed them with pride. He smirked as he slipped his fingers out of your dripping pussy, taking them up to his mouth to get another taste.

“Fuck, you taste so good sweetheart” he praised while licking his fingers clean. The looks in his eyes spoke for themselves, he needed you bad. He began to get undressed and changed into his comfortable clothes as if nothing ever happened.

“Can we please go back to the hotel? I don’t know how much longer I can wait” he said. It wasn’t like a question, it was more like a demand.

[sqtorux]

omlllll i loved your kinky smau, if you still do fics can i request one that happens after sukuna says he’s gonna show us shibari? the idea of that from the smau just has be biting my fist oml, i absolutely love your smaus 😫😫😫

summary: after knowing your desire to be tied up, sukuna teaches you the art of shibari — a practice he loved since centuries ago.

desc: fem!reader, true form sukuna, cocky!sukuna smh, oral (both), p in v, dacryphilia if u squint, petnames, 1.3k words... somebody needs a lobotomy. spin off from this smau.

a/n: yes i do write written fics too!! just havent got much reqs for them. been wilding lately with nsfw content so thankyou for giving me the opportunity to write a full blown smut lmao.

you always knew you were bonded with sukuna in more ways than one. many centuries past could not keep the both of your souls apart. heck even the red string of fate theory seemed viable when it comes to him and you.

although as of the moment, the strings of the rope holding you together were very much physical and materialising. you kneel before your king with your hands tied behind your back firmly, staring at him through glossy eyes.

“p-please” your lips quiver, feeling the throbbing between your thighs yet you were unable to do anything since you were bound in place. sukuna only smirks at your distress.

“i told you i’ll show you how this works didn't i?” his gruff voice makes your cunt react, so ready for him.

he looms over you, gently caressing your face down to your neck and stopping abruptly on your exposed chest to admire you. you whimper when you felt his touch, so starved and desperate for him but he's not giving you anything yet.

his hand trails down your hips in feather light touches and hovers on your inner thighs sending goosebumps all over your body. you bust yourself up so that his hands land on your aching pussy but no, sukuna pulls his hand away swiftly.

“tsk so desperate f'me. aren't you such a lil slut” he looks at you in distaste making you gasp. “n-no ‘m a good girl” you sob pathetically.

“is that so? then be patient. good girls will do what they are told hmm?” he whispers against your ear, even the slightest warmth from him drove you insane but you said yourself that you were a good girl, so you could only nod at his words.

he smirks in approval and moves to drag down the soft fabric of his kimono. your mouth flies open at the sight– not one but two gigantic cocks springing out in front of your very eyes. your pussy clenches at nothing just by the thought of them being rammed inside you mercilessly.

you let out an involuntary whine which sukuna did not fail to notice. “lets quench your thirsty lil throat first how bout that?” his hand holds the back of your head steadily to put you in the perfect position to suck him off. one of him at least.

you waste no time to lick the precum that was oozing from his shaft. you felt powerful when you hear him grunt despite being unable to move any part of your body. you gave him another lick and he hisses in annoyance.

“open wide” you obey as he shoves his whole length into your throat mercilessly. his black painted fingers ran through your hair, fisting a handful of them and bobbing your head against his erection. tears well up in your eyes but you do your best to graze his length with your tongue taking care not to use your teeth.

“taking me s’well” sukuna practically growls as he stares down at you, brows furrowing in pleasure and fascination with how his dick moves in and out of your mouth.

a pool of drool runs from your mouth all the way to your jaw and the end of your chin, sukuna marvels at the lovely sight. the ropes securely tying your wrists together were now burning hot against your skin, aching to be freed so that your hands can roam somewhere, anywhere.

your stomach tightens as you feel your own pussy leaking, making you whine. the vibrations made all four of sukuna's eyes roll back in pleasure “m’close” his hand bobs your head harsher, his thrust becoming faster and deeper making you gag.

sukuna shudders, shooting his load into your mouth filthily “good girls swallow” and you do just that, savoring every drop of the sweet, salty and bitter warm liquid that went down your throat.

dating someone with super powers, or in his words a cursed technique, was fascinating because before you could even catch a breath, the ropes holding your wrists in place were slashed off magically and precisely.

your hands instinctively make their way to your throbbing wet pussy but sukuna's faster than you. he always is. “did i tell you you could touch yourself?”

you could only whine as your pussy screams in need for something to clench on. sukuna spreads you on your back and brings out another set of ropes to tie each of your wrists together with your thighs. his skillful hands work through the ropes, handling the knots with ease.

he was mockingly slow with his actions on purpose, ignoring your whiny pleas. “kuna..” your voice was small, so meek it made both his cocks twich. even the one you had just finished sucking off merely a few seconds ago.

he admires his craft — you, spawled open lewdly in front of him, exposed for him to see. painfully slowly he rubs on your sticky pussy, your back arching up for more contact.

sukuna chuckles at how desperate you were and decides to indulge you this time since you've been so good to him. he shoves his fingers into your entrance as you let out a yelp, squirming against his hand for more friction.

your thighs want to close themselves but the ropes prevent them from doing so. one thing about sukuna, he has more features than your normal person — two cocks, four eyes, and a mouth that could appear on any part of his body; and he knows just how to use each and every one of them to his advantage.

a slimy warm tongue licks your clit as his fingers demolish your g-spot dragging out screams of pleasure from your pretty little mouth. you writhe, unable to move as the ropes drag against your skin, your stomach forming knots upon knots.

“s’kuna!!!” you exclaimed as you chase your high mewling out incoherent sentences accompanying pants and gasps with every lick and thrust of his fingers.

“mhm come f’me little one” at his reassuring tone, the knots in your stomach become undone with your own cum dripping out from your pussy. sukuna's mouth on his hand licks you clean as you gasp for air.

oh but he wasn't done with you. not even halfway.

he fists his untouched cock coating all of his length in his precum, pointing it at your entrance. before you could even register anything else, he shoves it inside you and starts thrusting in and out.

“this is what you wanted isn't it?” sukuna growls as your cunt sucks him in, clenching hard on his length. “s’ fkin tight-” he rams into you, his pace never faltering and only increasing more and more and more.

you want to dig your nails into his back, wrap your legs around him, pull him closer but alas, the straps of jute prevent you to act on your desires. the only thing you could do was continue to let your hole get abused, forcing out small exhales of ah ah ah!s from your lungs.

“k-kuna m'close!!” you wail, tears falling from your eyes down to the side of your cheeks. your lips part and your mouth forms a pretty o. sukuna loves your fucked out cockdrunk face and makes a mental note to frame it the next chance he gets.

“nghh p-please…” you moan out, you're pretty sure the ropes on your wrist tied to your thighs would leave marks with how much you strained your skin against them but that's the least of your concerns right now.

“yeah?? then come f’me. come f’your king” his voice was raspy, his own oragasm drawing near.

a few more frantic trusts and white hot pleasure runs through your veins, blurring your vision as you feel him dumping his load inside you, mixing with the slimy ones of your own. it leaks from your hole, too much to be stuffed, overpouring onto the sheets.

you pant in exhaustion but sukuna was far from worn out. if anything he wonders how more fucked up you will be when he stuffs both his cocks into all your holes at the same time.

maybe he'll even try taking things further with the ropes and elevate you to fuck you mid-air. since you're so good to him, you'll take it, right?

[marauroon]

hello !!! can i request a right person, wrong time with siri? maybe they broke up because of the war... and the reason is because siri doesn't want to put the reader into danger and then they meet again, all grown up and they still have feelings for each other and Siri has to grovel to win reader back again? And it ends with a happy ending (please) (Siri was the one who broke the relationship and reader was really hurt) it's very long yet vauge 😅

A CALL TO ARMS — S.BLACK

sirius black was the love of your life, and you were his. but sometimes higher priorities—and deep-seeded anxiety—can get in the way. but the invisible string of fate always brings people back together.

cw — fem!reader, details of the first wizard of war, reader and sirius have a messy and complicated relationship, harsh arguments, character death mentions, happy ending

sirius black x reader || hurt/comfort || 6.2k || requests open!!

a/n — let’s just pretend sirius doesn’t get avada’d like three weeks after this fic ends

The war put a strain on everybody. Some people had to leave their families to join the fight, some had to hide away to protect themselves from the Death Eaters.

Some didn’t have a family, anyone to worry about them coming home at the end of the day.

They threw themselves into it the hardest.

Then there was you and Sirius, a pair of outcasts who found solitude in each other. A pair who paid no greater devotion than protecting the people that you cared about from the ravages of Voldemort’s uprising.

You were barely eighteen when you both joined the Order, fresh out of Hogwarts and straight into the line of fire after the group had been offered a spot in Voldemort’s army and refused, leaving every one of you with a target on your back.

By the time you were twenty it almost seemed fruitless, with James and Lily being sent into hiding to protect them and their son under Dumbledore’s direct orders under fear for their continued safety and a Fidelius Charm placed over them to keep them safe. Sirius denied being their secret keeper with the explanation of it being too obvious a choice. What a mistake that was.

Then order members started dying.

And it all began to fall apart.

The brass framed picture in the entrance of the Black family home offered Sirius no empathy as he escaped the bitterness that October was serving him, the laughing faces of his friends and self-proclaimed family only serving to make his already dwindling morale dampen further.

Twenty-two people in the picture. And how many remained? Fourteen. In the span of five months.

It was Dorcus and Marlene that really did him over, and he could barely so much as glance in the direction of their hopeful smiles without feeling like he was going to throw up.

The trudging of his feet up the wooden stairs was proof enough of his arrival for any present members of the Order to hear, too fatigued and all together bleak at the continued state he was living in to announce his presence verbally.

“Sirius, sweetheart, you’re home thank goodness,” Not even the warmth of your arms around him or the relief in your voice as you pulled his head into your shoulder could satiate him anymore.

You shouldn’t have to be relieved that he walked through the door.

You shouldn’t have to hug him like it’s your final goodbye every time he leaves.

Every time you leave.

You didn’t deserve that. And neither did he.

“Godric you’re freezing, come and sit down,” You pull Sirius into his childhood bedroom with all of the care of a feather floating on a pool of water, squeezing his hands in yours like you’re trying to transfer your own heat to him.

He follows you with no real resistance, though he doesn’t make any move by himself, and you have to push his shoulders down to get him to sit in front of the lit fireplace that would hopefully quell the chill echoing across his skin.

You help him remove his coat with a sigh, dark frown lines marking your features as you take a seat beside him and rest the side of your head against his shoulder, your hand gently tracing over his to capture his palm in your own. He doesn’t return the small squeeze of your fingers.

You can’t blame him for being so dismal, the situation was something that nobody could make it through without a gargantuan crack in their emotional shield, but seeing Sirius display his almost funereal sentiment so fervently without so much as a hint of a mask was devastating.

Displaying even the tiniest glimmer of hopefulness was what allowed the Order to survive for so long, and Sirius couldn’t even muster that.

“Harry said his first word today,” You try to keep the conversation positive, ignore the downfall of everything around you and keep focusing on the small wins. “Dada of course, apparently Lily was pretty miffed,” You punctuate your sentence with a small laugh, although it’s more pathetic than genuine and even you can tell you’re doing a horrible job of trying to uplift Sirius’ spirit.

“They sent over a picture, Remus has it if you’d like to see—”

“Just stop.” Sirius shakes his head sharply, pulling his hand from yours and standing with his back to you.

“Sirius—”

“I don’t know why you keep trying to pretend that everything’s okay, it’s not. Our friends are dying and you’re acting like its completely fine.” There’s more malice in his voice than he’s intending, and logically you know that he doesn’t really mean to get so angry at you. It wasn’t you that was the problem, it was the world in which you were living.

But logic can often times get overridden by other facets.

“I am trying to stop anyone else from dying.” Your words are more desperate than harsh, and they’re not laced in anger like Sirius’ are, but they carry just the same amount of conviction. “If we lose hope then we may as well just hand ourselves over…”

There’s a stuttered exhale as you trail off, and Sirius swears he hears your voice crack as you try to take his hand in yours again. “I can’t bear to see you like this…”

“You should leave the Order.”

You’re almost not sure you heard him.

“What?”

“You don’t belong here, you’re not fit for this,” He sounds almost resigned, and his shoulders drop just enough that you’re not sure he really believes what he’s saying. “You should leave before you get hurt.”

There’s a moment where all you can really do is let out a breath of astonishment, and then there’s an overwhelming need to defend yourself against Sirius’ accusation. “I am perfectly fit for this, Dumbledore agreed that—”

“Well I don’t agree with it!” He cuts you off harshly, turning around so that you can see the anguish that’s drenching his features. “People are dying, our friends are dying, and you are on the goddamn list of whose next.”

He takes your upper arms in his hand and shakes you like it’s going to make you see his point, practically shouting at you as he desperately tries to get you to see his point of view. “You are a brilliant witch, and you are in so much danger that it makes me want to rip my heart out so I don’t have to worry about you any more—”

His rant doesn’t stop once his hands halt, and they stay gripped uncomfortably tight around your biceps to the point where you’re sure it’ll bruise. “Dorcus died because she was brilliant, Marlene died because her father was a muggle, you are like the two of them wrapped up in a package practically serving yourself up to the Death Eaters every time you step out of this goddamn house and I cannot take it anymore.”

Sirius practically pants as his yelling comes to a halt, and he almost immediately regrets getting riled up as he sees the reflection of the fireplace in your glassed over eyes.

“I love you. I love you so much and I can’t live like this anymore.” His hands move from your arms to cup the sides of your face, and you flinch at the contact like you’re afraid he’s going to hurt you.

It breaks Sirius’ heart.

“The Order is falling apart love… I don’t want you to be here when it collapses,”

You pull his hands from your face with yours at his wrists, shaking your head as you blink through clouds of tears. “I’m not leaving the Order, Sirius. You really think I would abandon my friends like that? My family? You?”

“Then I’ll make one of the hard choices for you,” Sirius lets his hands fall to his sides on your prompting, taking a step back from you to hide them in the pockets of his jeans. “I’m breaking up with you.”

“What—” There’s nothing but absolute betrayal written across your face, and Sirius almost breaks down immediately. “Sirius—”

“If you want to stay here and watch shit hit the fan then be my guest, but I will not put myself through watching your downfall.” He doesn’t give you the courtesy of replying before opening and slamming the door behind him as he leaves, but you’re not sure you’d be able to articulate anything even if he did, your only response being the start of a sob that echoes off of the empty walls and back into your ears to amplify your own anguish.

You move your belongings out of his room that same evening, taking refuge under Remus’ open arms as you cried yourself into an uneasy slumber, so emotionally exhausted that you could barely formulate any sense of coherency.

Lily and James died two days later.

The news hit you like a truck when Dumbledore relayed it to you, and whilst most of the Order were left in a blanket of shock, Sirius took off in a rage before he could even finish his sentence.

It was enough for you to push the grief aside to not cost you any more.

“Sirius wait—” You weave your way through the others and past Dumbledore to rush after him, the first words either of you had spoken in the other’s direction since the argument. “Where on earth do you think you’re going the Death Eaters might still be there—”

“I hope they are.” Sirius’ tone drips with venom as he pulls his motorcycle helmet from the coat rack at the front door, and you just barely catch his wrist before he has the chance to leave.

“You’re going on a suicide mission—”

“They murdered my brother, I have nothing to lose.” He again leaves the conversation with a slammed door, and you don’t know whether the possibility of his death or the fact that he’d seemingly accepted it hurt you more.

He had nothing to lose.

It was the biggest insult he could’ve possibly left you with.

And it’s all he did leave you with.

For twelve years.

You grieved the loss of Sirius like you did James and Lily, like he too had entered into an early grave of which he would never return. Azkaban may as well have been.

You were angry at first, disgustingly loathing the thought of what those twelve poor muggles had to endure as their final moments. You were less empathetic towards Peter’s fate, although your grief for him was replaced with a deep-seeded betrayal that sunk into your muscles all the same.

Then it settled into an uneven weight in the bottom of your chest, something that you carried with you from that point onward.

You moved out of England soon after, with nothing but a silent vow to Remus that if Voldemort were to ever return, that you’d be there, a final standing against the allegiance that stole your life from you.

You couldn’t stay there anymore, every street of London reminded you of him, of them, of all the people that you lost and how the prime years of your young adulthood were unceremoniously ripped from you under the false belief that you could actually make a difference.

As weeks turned into months, and then into years, there were days that passed where you didn’t think of what happened, of how your previous life had fallen apart and left you as a shell of yourself, and eventually, you managed to pick up the pieces and live your life like it hadn’t happened.

Apart from a single shard of your heart that had lodged itself at 12 Grimmauld Place, underneath the black silk sheets you and Sirius once shared.

You were thirty three when a letter from R.J.Lupin was sent through the letterbox of your house, and it was like those twelve years of growth and acceptance disappeared in an instant.

—

‘I hope this letter finds you well, I know I promised to contact you only for something of the upmost urgence regarding the resurgence of you know who, but I believe this is appropriately important.

Wormtail is alive. He was the one who caused those muggles to die without reason. Which leaves no question of Padfoot’s innocence.

I don’t know if you have kept up with the wizarding news, but he escaped from Azkaban, and is in a safe and secure location known only by the Order.

I understand if this news is too much for you to digest, but he has asked me personally for your consideration in returning to the place where everything began.

Yours sincerely,

R.J.Lupin’

—

The aftermath of your reading was a mess of shallow breaths and an elevated heart rate.

Panic.

You hadn’t felt so horrible since the day that James and Lily had died, the day one of your closest friends betrayed you and the love of your life was taken away presumably to never be seen again.

And now he was just out there? You were just adjusting to living without him, and now he was being thrust back into your life by his own doing.

He threw you away right before your house of cards toppled, and now he was trying to worm his way back into your life?

It took you almost three weeks of staring at the sheet of parchment before you made a decision, and it ended with the letter going up in flames and you watching on with a sunken expression, no tears left to cry over the man who’d ruined you.

All of those months where you’d pondered, where you’d asked yourself over and over again what might’ve happened if you’d have just not spoken to Sirius that day, if you’d just let him rest like he’d obviously wanted rather than try pathetically to lift his mood.

If it might’ve meant he would regard you as something to live for and stop him from blindly running off to avenge James and Lily without a second thought.

All of it went straight down the drain. Because you could have him back if you wanted. But you didn’t. You didn’t want to go back and see him again because the minute his name invaded your mind all you could think about was that god awful argument and it’s aftermath.

And it ripped you apart every single time.

—

“She’s not coming Pads…” Remus’ hand on Sirius’ shoulder was almost apprehensive as he gave it a soft squeeze.

It was almost three months of having to watch Sirius treat the front door like it was his lifeline, his head turning at the smallest creak of the wood in the fruitless hope that when it opened you would be on the other side.

“I know…” Sirius lets out a small, pathetic laugh as he rakes his fingers through his hair, his facade of indifference threatening to break with every breath he took. “Can’t blame me for trying though right?” His voice betrays his devastation, tone wavering and quiet, cracking when he tries to push it to sound more convicting.

“Pads…”

“I’m fine,” Sirius shakes his head with a dismissive hand, clearing his throat and blinking away the starts of tears from the corners of his eyes. “I’m gonna go get some sleep, gonna need all I can get if we’re gonna fight these sons of bitches hey?” Sirius nudges Remus with his elbow as he plays a characature of his former self, although it’s poorly executed at best.

“Yeah…” Remus consciously suppresses a sympathetic sigh that tries to escape his mouth, pressing his lips together. “Goodnight Pads,”

“G’night Moony,”

—

There’s eighteen months of radio silence before another letter is slotted through your door, and you have half the mind to burn it on sight when the familiar red seal is left face up on your patio tiling, but the handwriting on the back wasn’t Remus’, and it was definitely not Sirius’ either.

The scrawl of your address was almost unmistakably Dumbledore’s, and you were left in an emotional state of uneven limbo as you debated why he of all people would be personally sending you a letter.

Logically, you already knew the reason, but your brain chose to ignore that logic as you ripped the envelope open, only for that denial to be thrown right back at your face once the seal of the Order inked itself into the folded parchment.

You didn’t even need to read the letter to know what was inside it.

Three words.

Invitatio ad arma.

A call to arms.

You barely remember packing your bags, leaving the sense of normalcy you’d built over the past fourteen years to throw yourself back into the line of fire and more devastatingly, right back to Sirius Black.

The train ride to England almost felt like a fever dream, your body left in a state of dissociation where you couldn’t discern whether your actions were real or just a part of some vivid nightmare that you couldn’t wake from no matter how much you tossed and turned.

And by the time you reached the front door of number 12 Grimmauld Place it felt like you were right back where you started, just barely twenty one thrust into a war that could leave you in your grave at any unfortunate minute.

It felt almost foreign to you as you entered, the hallways that once proved to be your substitute home reduced to unfamiliar sights covered in dust and peeling wallpaper. There was no brass lamps to warm the sight, no picture of your closest friends on the wall, not even the mirror that had been hung beside the door had survived, reduced to a half shattered mess that hadn’t been replaced under higher priorities.

“Oh—” The slightly surprised sentiment draws you away from your almost depressing nostalgia, drawn instead towards an almost perfect capture of teenage James Potter, down to the slanted circular glasses sat over his nose bridge.

It’s enough for you to genuinely consider for a second that you’d actually stepped back in time, right into your graduation year when you were all so young and full of hope.

But it couldn’t be James. As much as your heart desperately wished it was.

“You’re another member of the original Order of the Phoenix right?” The boy takes a few steps towards you, wonder still lingering in his eyes despite the film of knowledge that cloud them. Knowledge of just how unfortunately dark the world actually is. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m—”

”Harry…” Your interruption is barely more than a breath of air as you take in the sight of one of your closest friend’s child, a child that he never got to see grow into an almost perfect replica of himself. “You look just like your father…”

There’s a mix of shock and a small amount of sadness in his expression at your statement, and it’s enough for the glimpses of Lily to shine through in his demeanour. “Thank you,”

It’s enough for your eyes to well with tears, and you blink them away with a small clearing of your throat to regain your composure in front of the boy. He didn’t need to see you cry over the fact that he looked like one of your dead friends with the personality of another. That wasn’t fair.

“It’s nice to finally meet you Harry, properly,” You extend your hand almost hesitantly as you introduce yourself, and he takes it graciously in his own with a small sympathetic smile. Being proxy comforted by a teenager, how pathetic.

“It’s nice to meet you too, my parents have good friends,” You give the boy a small nod with a small, sad smile, and he mirrors it himself in turn.

“I’m so sorry, you didn’t deserve any of this,” You let your hand rest on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly in a terrible attempt at consoling the sadness riddling his expression. “You’re just a boy Harry,”

“I know,” He gives a small sigh and a more confident smile, sympathy lingering in the creases of his cheeks in a perfectly Lily fashion. “I’m sorry for your loss too, I know they probably meant a great deal to you,”

“They still do, that’s why I’m here,”

“Thank you,” He sounds more confident in his thanks this time, more determined, and the remnants of his parents continue to show on full display as his focus returns to the reason you’d arrived here in the first place. “We’re about to sit down for dinner, join us?”

“I’ll be there shortly,” You give Harry a small nod and another small squeeze of his shoulder before excusing yourself up the stairs to leave your belongings.

—

“Good evening everyone,” Your voice is taught and awkwardly flat as you push open the door to the dining room, and you stand there with your hands wrung together behind your back as your eyes flicker over the room.

There are so many people that the table is almost entirely too crowded, and a mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces in your presence, although those who do recognise you leave their seats almost immediately to greet you properly.

“It’s good to see you,” Remus reaches you first, wrapping you in a secure hug that you happily return with your own.

“It’s good to see you too, Remus, it’s been too long,”

“Welcome back, we need all of the human shields we can get,” Mad Eye’s reuinionative statement is much less heart felt, but you give him a small laugh and a “Thank you,” nonetheless.

Then there was Sirius. Stood at his chair, not daring to walk into your little bubble under fear of whatever consequences that might come from it.

He looked almost as you remembered him, but he was leaner, more gaunt, his hair more unruly and his skin even more paper-white than the almost impossibly pale complexion of his teenage years.

He was still Sirius, but he was different, and it took less than half a second of eye contact for him to realise that you were different too.

“Welcome back,” His voice is hesitant, almost catching in his throat as his brain catches up to the fact that you’re stood in front of him, less than ten feet away after all of those years he’d spent desperately dreaming of what it would feel like to have you in his arms again.

Now you were here. And you were a stranger.

“Thank you,”

Dinner progresses pretty much how you expected, a mix of awkwardly introducing yourself to the Order’s new members and horrifically failing at avoiding eye contact with Sirius from across the table.

Then the topic of interest moves to the Order’s plans, and things seem to spin into a downwards spiral all too quickly.

“We don’t have enough members to reliably be able to pull this off,” The argument was entirely valid from a logical standpoint, a weakness that quite a few of the Order seemed to have choice opinions about.

“Yeah well we’re not getting any new members are we?” Sirius leans back in his chair exasperatedly. “With the way Fudge is portraying Dumbledore and the lack of official credibility, we’re on our own here, there’s no use in waiting around,”

“I’m inclined to agree, we all know you know who isn’t going to waste any time,

“It’s reckless,” You shake your head with furrowed eyebrows. “We not ready to face something like that head on.”

“We’re never going to be ready,” Sirius shakes his head with a sigh. “We have to take action before he has the chance to build himself back to where he was all those years ago.”

“Sirius is right, we need to do something,” Sirius gestures towards Harry’s response like it’s the final nail in the coffin against your reasoning.

“Harry, sweetheart, I appreciate your enthusiasm but you don’t know the extent of what we’re dealing with,” Your voice is as gentle as it is assertive, not wanting to put him down too much but also wanting to make sure he understood the true extent of what was going on.

“He killed my friend in front of me—”

“And he’s killed dozens of ours,” You shake your head softly but firmly. “Jumping in without a plan is only going to make things worse, trust me.”

He seems more than a little shot down, but he gives you a small nod of understanding nonetheless as he backs down from his standing.

Sirius doesn’t pay you the same mind.

“So you’re suggesting we just wait in hiding for what, forever? We need to act,”

“The last time you ‘acted’, Sirius, you spent twelve years in Azkaban for it.” Your rebuttal holds none of the softness that was present when you were talking to Harry, and you can see it eroding the calcified shield behind Sirius’s eyes.

“That wasn’t my fault,” Sirius presses his teeth together to keep himself from raising his voice, his back straightening alongside his defensiveness. “At least I’m trying to do something, if you don’t want to contribute maybe you shouldn’t be a part of the Order at all,”

“I will not have this argument with you again Sirius!” His chastation seems to finally get under your skin as you rise yourself from your chair with your hands on the dining table, ignorantly ignoring the uncomfortable gazes of everyone else present as you’re forced back into that evening fourteen years go all over again.

“Okay, I think it’s time we called it a night,” Remus, seemingly the only normally functioning person at the table, rises from his chair slowly, taking your shoulders in his hands to guide you away from the group and calm you down.

“Yes right you are Remus,” Molly stands up with a nod that’s almost too enthusiastic clasping her hands together. “Off to bed, all of you,”

You can practically hear the lingering exasperation in Remus’ breathing as he leads you up the stairs and into the room he was staying in, and the second he shut the door behind you you knew what you were in for.

“You need to speak to him.”

“I know,”

“Properly.”

“I know,”

You’re sure the sigh you let out echoes across the house’s first floor, and it’s enough for Remus’ eyes to shift into displaying a concerning amount of sympathy in your direction.

“He misses you, you know,” Remus takes a seat on the edge of his bed with a soft sigh. “He said the thought of seeing you again was the only thing that got him through Azkaban,”

“Yeah well he wouldn’t’ve gone there in the first place if he hadn’t’ve been such a hot-headed twat,” You wouldn’t lie that Remus’ statement didn’t hit you a little where it hurt, but the lingering anger towards Sirius’ situation was clearly still more forefront in your mind.

“It’s a carried trait in all of us ’m‘fraid,” Remus tilts his head knowingly, and you have half the mind to roll your eyes at the clear implication of what he’s saying.

But he isn’t wrong, not really.

“You know where to find him,”

There’s a small moment of silence, then a sigh. “Do I have to?”

“The longer you wait the worse it’ll be,”

Sometimes you hate how logical Remus can be.

With another sigh and a loll of your head, you reluctantly stuff your hands in your pockets and turn towards the bedroom door, muttering a soft—and only half genuine—“thanks,” in his direction as you leave.

The wooden door that barricaded you from the former love of your life felt more like steel than anything else. Tall, dark, and intimidating to the point where you couldn’t even consciously lift your hand to knock against it under the blood rushing behind your ears from how fast your heart was pounding in your ribcage.

It really shouldn’t be so scary, you’d spent weeks, months in that room when you’d originally joined the Order, yet now it felt entirely foreign to you.

Maybe it was the fact that the wood was slowly rotting away with how unkept it was. Maybe it was the knowledge of what—who—was on the other side of it. Or maybe, your mind was just so completely and utterly fucked that the idea of confronting the consequences of your own actions was more nerve-wracking than the idea of standing face to face in a death match with Voldemort himself.

You stand there staring dumbly at the door for almost two minutes, and when it opens your eyes widen like it’s a new form of magic that you’d never encountered.

Sirius halts halfway out the door, arm stretched straight with the doorknob still in hand as his face seems to go through an insurmountable number of emotions in the half-second it takes for him to realise you’re there.

You don’t say anything as you make eye-contact, head immediately ducking downward and stepping aside so that he can leave without you blocking his path, but he just stays there, staring at you like you had been the door, and it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable by the second.

You clear your throat with a feigned cough, pursing your lips together with a muttered “excuse me,” as you turn around to leave, but Sirius catches your wrist in his hand before you even manage to take the first step.

“Wait—” He loosens his grasp almost immediately after he feels a resistance, but his eyes convey just how determined he was to keep you where you were. “Let’s talk, please?”

There’s a hint of desperation in his tone, and you almost crumble on that alone, but you manage to maintain your composure with a small shake of your head and a gentle pull of your wrist from his hand. “I don’t think it’s worth it Sirius, not anymore,”

“Don’t say that, we can fix this,” Sirius mirrors your head shake with his own. “You just need to talk to me,”

“I tried talking to you Sirius, and look where it got us,” You gesture between the two of you with exasperation in your tone.

There’s a small pause where the two of you share and almost identical mask of composure over your agony.

“It just wasn’t meant to be, that’s it,”

“That’s not true,” Sirius shakes his head again, more confidently this time, and his inky black curls bounce against his shoulders like they’re trying to torment you with the memories of your fingers raking through them. “We can fix this, us, we just have to try,”

“I don’t want to argue with you anymore,” You lower your gaze away from his so you don’t have to see the heartbreak in his irises. “Especially not over this…”

“Then don’t, let’s work this out properly, like adults,” He reaches out his hand cautiously towards yours, and you flinch away as your fingers make contact. “Please,”

“Sirius…”

“I’m sorry.” Sirius lets out a heavy, pathetic breath as he retreats his hand to run it through his hair. “I am so sorry. I made the biggest mistake of my life and it cost me the person that I love more than life and I have suffered the consequences of it every day for the last fourteen years.”

Sirius lets his hands fall to his side with a start, voice beginning to tremble under the strain of his emotions as he desperately tries to voice everything that he’d bottled up over the last decade and a half before you leave him to rot in his own depression again. “I spent every hour in Azkaban imagining what it would be like to see you again, to hear your voice, to hold you and tell you that you’re the one thing in this goddamn hell that we live in that actually makes anything worth fighting for,”

The breaths between his words are shallow and weak, and your expression starts to blur as his eyes glass over with the beginnings of tears. “I love you so much, and I’m so— sorry that you had to live through everything I forced on you and I just—“ He takes a sharp, stuttering breath in. “—I need you to know that I will spend the rest of my life devoted to you, to correcting what I’ve done even if you don’t so much as spare me a glance,”

He’s not sure when the tears started running over his eyelids, but he can feel them fall in drops to dapple the ivory skin of his fingers. “And if I die tomorrow, I’ll take whatever punishment hell has to give me so that you can rest easy,”

The end of his rant is echoed by laboured breathing and a horrific attempt at muffling a sob that leaves his throat, bouncing off the walls of the hallway to settle into your muscles as you stand stationary in an astonished silence.

You’re not sure what to say. You’re not sure there’s anything you can say. How on earth are you supposed to respond to something like that? Something so desperate and raw and real?

Sirius Black, after fourteen years of radio silence, still loved you like you’d never parted.

“Sirius…”

And you’d be absolutely damned if you weren’t the same.

“I forgive you…”

It’s like a tsunami of relief ravages Sirius’ body at your words, barely a whisper escaping your mouth but invading his ear canals like a nuclear explosion, and it’s enough for that sliver of composure remaining to erode under the waves of his tears until he’s sobbing into his hands, hunched over with trembling shoulders as he lets everything go all at once.

“I’m so sorry—“

His final apology is doused in so much heartbreak it might as well rip your heart right out of your chest, and your at his side almost immediately, gently pulling his hand from his face to pull his head into your shoulder with a soft shush of consolation.

He clings to you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance to, tears damping the shoulder of your shirt and his arms wrapped so tightly around your torso you’re not sure he intends to ever let go. You’re not sure you’d complain if he didn’t.

That familiar musky scent of cigarettes and faux leather hits your nose once he’s close enough, and that’s where you break too, silent tears streaming down your face as you bury your nose in his hair.

You’re eternally grateful that everyone on this floor of the house is already asleep, either that or just polite enough not to interrupt the two of you out in the hallway, because the state the both of you were in was definitely not meant to be seen by other people.

A desolate, broken side to the two of you only trusted in the company of the other.

“Stay with me tonight, please…” His plea is barely more than a mutter against your shoulder, and you’re sure he wouldn’t even have to ask to know what your answer would be.

And so you find yourself back where you started, tangled up underneath the silky black sheets of Sirius’ bed in the warmth of his embrace, that tiny shard of your heart finally recovered and back in it’s rightful place.

Right where you belong.

[euphoricfilter]

the silent ‘i love you’

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: fluff || non-idol au

summary: sometimes you don’t need words

word count: 1.1k

tags/ warnings: fluff!!!! just very soft and nice and easy to read for tonight. intensional lowercase. sort of sleepy thoughts about love <3

where you can find my other works :D

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

some days jungkook simply felt like those three words weren’t enough. that the warm glow of his fragile soul couldn’t scream loud enough for your own precious existence to know how much he truly loved you.

that the whispered words of love as the both of you woke, or a gentle kiss before you both slept and met in your dreams— it simply was only the surface of how he felt. that the silent ‘i love you’ the both of you shared each day was somehow louder than the words themselves.

tender souls touching in a whimsical dance between your existence.

tangled so tight, unmoving, seeping out of you with that fluttery sort of love.

the kind of love that pulls a smile onto your lips at the mere thought of them. gentle touch enough to have your skin alight. obsessive, itching greed consuming every fibre of your being, needing them closer than humanly possible. bodies pressed together and heart beats in sync, tied together by a string of fate and life times you shared before this one.

and some days neither of you had to say ‘i love you’ but that didn’t mean the love wasn’t there. that either of you loved the other any less than you had the day before. or more than you would tomorrow. because it was ever-growing. blooming in both your chests, a flower that would live through all of eternity.

it would be him waking before you, purple and blue toothbrushes sat beside one another in the cup on the sink. or how on some days he’d pick your shower gel over his own. for no other particular reason that he loved everything about your existence, that he felt that little bit closer to you in the hours you had to part.

or remembering to tuck one of your hairties in one of his pockets, just in case.

the same hair tie you’ll find in the washing machine days later, smile tugging at your lips. because as much as you remind him to take everything out his pockets before putting them into the washing machine, there were things you could never get mad over. not when he thinks of you, even when you’re not there. a silent show of care that you never bring up because that was his secret to keep, dissolved into the back of your mind for safe keeping.

he likes to hold your hand as you cross the road, fingers interlaced. because he knows sometimes you get too caught up in your own head, unaware of the wider world around you. so he keeps you glued to the pavement before tugging you across the road. fingers squeezing yours when he knows the both of you are back to safety and you’ll let him pull you around, blind trust in him to take you where you need to go

you like picking him up from work, sat outside on a bench with a box of treats for the walk home. and he would indulge you, even if he had the car parked a block away. not caring if it would mean he had to walk the next morning. because he would never abandon those gentle moments with you, shoulders knocking as you kiss sweet cream from his lips, desperate to hear about his day just as much as you want to share yours

you liked to say ‘i love you’ through the stars. tugging him to the roof of the apartment building, legs tangled as you lay on a blanket.

you both look up at the sky.

so many questions slipping off your tongue. where you talk of fate and destiny and how you loved to believe that two souls so intricately intertwined like your own was probably crafted by something as beautiful as the stars, or another celestial being that just knew what the future held. speckles of fine stardust crafted and moulded, so, when you found a mortal body there would be no doubt he was the one for you, just as you were the one for him.

he likes sending you photos of cats. adopting the habit of carrying a small bag of treats around with him; though neither of you have a pet.

he remembers the frown that would tug on your face each time you’d come across a stray. and he’d stand there for as long as you like as your fingers pet over fluffy heads and behind furry ears. another silent vow of love to a lonely creature.

you liked to pack him lunches, hours spent in the kitchen of a nighttime experimenting, because you never wanted him to have a dull meal. and he’d sit there at the table, reading as a piano piece plays over your phone. not a word spoken between the both of you, and some nights you scuttle his way with a fork-full of something for him to try.

there was love in the tv shows you watched together, the music you shared, the space you both lived in. the closet was a muddle of clothes and accessories that he liked to steal from you just like you steal from him. racks of both your shoes line the entry way of the apartment, collection of mugs a sudden birthday tradition that will go on for as long as you’re alive.

you lived in his mind like you lived in the plants around the house. or the posters you’d put on the walls. and he lived in your mind with gaming consoles and photos of you hung up that he had taken, loved and forever cherished; thriving in the memory of you and how much he loved you then and how much he loves you now.

jungkook had tried to find a better word.

hours spent laying in bed, with your head on his chest, moon spilling into the room as he mulls over the thought of you.

how he likes how warm you are, how he likes sharing this space with you. that he’s glad he’s found you, grateful that you exist within the same time line as him.

your silly little stories of a wonderful sweet sort of love filling his own mind— because maybe you really were crafted for one another. and even if he forgets three simple words, the both of you know love lives within the sphere of your existence.

because maybe that’s what the both of you are when you’re together. maybe even in those moments you’re apart. perhaps you’re the epitome of the word love and that’s why all the silent ‘i love yous’ equal more than words ever will

[makingqueerhistory]

Spooky Queer Books

Since spooky season is starting, I thought I would share a list of my favourite queer books that are great for this time of year.

Some of these links are affiliate links.

It Came from the Closet: Queer Reflections on Horror

Joe Vallese

Horror movies hold a complicated space in the hearts of the queer community: historically misogynist, and often homo- and transphobic, the genre has also been inadvertently feminist and open to subversive readings. Common tropes--such as the circumspect and resilient "final girl," body possession, costumed villains, secret identities, and things that lurk in the closet--spark moments of eerie familiarity and affective connection. Still, viewers often remain tasked with reading themselves into beloved films, seeking out characters and set pieces that speak to, mirror, and parallel the unique ways queerness encounters the world.It Came from the Closet features twenty-five essays by writers speaking to this relationship, through connections both empowering and oppressive. From Carmen Maria Machado on Jennifer's Body, Jude Ellison S. Doyle on In My Skin, Addie Tsai on Dead Ringers, and many more, these conversations convey the rich reciprocity between queerness and horror.

Into the Drowning Deep

Mira Grant

The ocean is home to many myths, But some are deadly... Seven years ago the Atargatis set off on a voyage to the Mariana Trench to film a mockumentary bringing to life ancient sea creatures of legend. It was lost at sea with all hands. Some have called it a hoax; others have called it a tragedy. Now a new crew has been assembled. But this time they're not out to entertain. Some seek to validate their life's work. Some seek the greatest hunt of all. Some seek the truth. But for the ambitious young scientist Victoria Stewart this is a voyage to uncover the fate of the sister she lost. Whatever the truth may be, it will only be found below the waves. But the secrets of the deep come with a price.

The Devouring Gray

C. L. Herman

After her sister's death, seventeen-year-old Violet Saunders finds herself dragged to Four Paths, New York. Violet may be a newcomer, but she soon learns her mother isn't: They belong to one of the revered founding families of the town, where stone bells hang above every doorway and danger lurks in the depths of the woods. Justin Hawthorne's bloodline has protected Four Paths for generations from the Gray--a lifeless dimension that imprisons a brutal monster. After Justin fails to inherit his family's powers, his mother is determined to keep this humiliation a secret. But Justin can't let go of the future he was promised and the town he swore to protect. Ever since Harper Carlisle lost her hand to an accident that left her stranded in the Gray for days, she has vowed revenge on the person who abandoned her: Justin Hawthorne. There are ripples of dissent in Four Paths, and Harper seizes an opportunity to take down the Hawthornes and change her destiny--to what extent, even she doesn't yet know. The Gray is growing stronger every day, and its victims are piling up. When Violet accidentally unleashes the monster, all three must band together with the other Founders to unearth the dark truths behind their families' abilities...before the Gray devours them all.

Tell Me I'm Worthless

Alison Rumfitt

Three years ago, Alice spent one night in an abandoned house with her friends, Ila and Hannah. Since then, Alice's life has spiraled. She lives a haunted existence, selling videos of herself for money, going to parties she hates, drinking herself to sleep. Memories of that night torment Alice, but when Ila asks her to return to the House, to go past the KEEP OUT sign and over the sick earth where teenagers dare each other to venture, Alice knows she must go. Together, Alice and Ila must face the horrors that happened there, must pull themselves apart from the inside out, put their differences aside, and try to rescue Hannah, whom the House has chosen to make its own. Cutting, disruptive, and darkly funny, Tell Me I'm Worthless is a vital work of trans fiction that examines the devastating effects of trauma and how fascism makes us destroy ourselves and each other.

[thewriterwithnoplan]

Ferrari's Fairytale (1/3)

Summary: World Championships are the most important part of any Formula One team's history. Except perhaps, Ferrari's. Known for their rabid fans, filthy-rich investors, and pretty boy drivers it shouldn't be a surprise that the team has brought together Soulmates from across the globe. And fate, it seems, is working awfully hard to put all the pieces into place for Ferrari's perfect fairytale - one that's been in the works for decades now.

[Part 1 of Pretty Girls and Ferrari Boys]

Soulmate AU: Soulmates share injuries and pain.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader (Eventual)

Word Count: 1650

Warnings: Swearing, no Charles in this first part sorry it's his epic love story and those take time ;)

Masterlist

There was something wrong with your soulmate.

Really there had been something wrong with them since you were eight years old. But right now, there was something particularly wrong with them.

“Just some bruising over the ribcage, but no actual damage internally.” The medic presses a latex covered hand gently against your ribs.

“They feel broken.” You suck in a pained breath and glare over her shoulder, at the little framed picture of her cat, Terror, on her desk. “You’re sure I’m not about to sneeze and puncture a lung?”

“Funny.” Though the look she gives you as she pulls off her gloves is less than amused. “Which one of us went to medical school again?”

“My best friend. You might know her. She’s stunning, generous, gives me free check-ups, did I say stunning? Goes by Sunny.”

“It’s Doctor Sunny to you.” She slingshots one of the gloves at you. “But it’s good to know you only keep me around for the free check-ups.”

“My soulmate would bankrupt me without you.”

Sunny taps at her computer, “The fee isn’t that high.”

“Sure,” You shrug. “If you aren’t in here every other week.”

“Have we ruled out hitman as their profession?”

“Since we were eight?”

“I don’t know much about hitmen, maybe they start them young.”

You lower yourself carefully from the observation table and move stiffly toward her desk. “Give it to me straight Doc. How much longer have I got?”

“I’m afraid you’ll live, ma’am.” Sunny doesn’t even look up. “A tragedy for all, I know. I can give you a moment if you need time to process– Ow! Bitch.”

She rubs at her shoulder and huffs.

“I’m going to have to log that in the database, you know.” She says.

“Good, maybe we can both find our soulmates and be done with it all.”

“Real romantic, dude.”

“Your soulmate hasn’t been terrorising you since you were a kid.”

“I had my fair share of scraped knees,” Sunny wrinkles her nose when you stick your tongue out. “You do know it won’t stop after the two of you meet, right? That’s a schoolyard myth.”

“After the talking to I’m going to give him, you bet your perky ass it’s going to stop.”

“That’s the second instance of workplace harassment I’ve coped from you in the last minute.”

“Fine. Your ass is not perky.”

“Mature.” She hums, “What time did you say the pain started?”

“Ten-thirty-ish?”

“All good then.” Sunny makes a few more clicks before powering down her computer. “Your chest and my arm, all nice and logged.”

“You know, sometimes I think you became a Match Medic specifically so you could put every little thing into the database to make it easier to find your soulmate.”

“Perks of the job.” She scoops up her handbag. “Come on, let’s bounce before the front desk starts scheduling over my lunch break.”

“You remember how I said you were stunning and generous and stunning?”

“I’m not buying you lunch.”

“Could this week get any worse?” You throw your head back dramatically.

Sunny cracks a smile at your antics, “Only a few more hours and we’re free for the weekend.”

“Are we still on for pamper-night tonight?”

“Always. Mine or yours?”

You end up spending the night in Sunny’s apartment, covered in different rejuvenating oils and masks until you look like low-budget horror movie villains. In your fluffy robes with The Princess Bride on in the background Sunny tries to teach you how to make Hainanese Chicken the way her mother did. Terror cries at your feet when you tell him he can’t have raw chicken. Sunny pops a bottle of cheap champagne that makes you both grimace and promise one another that you would find an excuse to get a nicer bottle soon. You take turns washing the excess from the face, foot, and hair masks off. Then curl up together on the couch, sipping broth, digging into rice and slathering chicken in Sunny’s family’s super-secret chilli sauce. You both fall asleep at a very respectable eleven o’clock.

So, it’s fucking strange when you wake up feeling like you had spent the night inside a paint mixer.

“Are you okay?” Sunny frowns as she stands over a pan of eggs. “You look ill.”

You squint over your coffee cup, “Soulmate is playing up.”

She plates the eggs next to a small stack of bacon before turning to put a hand to your forehead. “They shouldn’t be making you feel sick, illness doesn’t transfer like that. Are you sure it’s coming from them? Could you just be hung over?”

“It’s definitely him, third weekend in a row, like clockwork.” You take your plate gratefully, “It’s like I always tell you. It’s not nausea. It’s more like…”

“Impossible to explain for you and every medical practitioner you’ve ever seen?”

You groan, “It’s like my brain spent the night trying to escape my skull and the muscles in my neck were in on it.”

“It’s not unheard of for soulmates to feel the repercussions of an intense work out. There was this study from four years ago on high performance athletes and their partners that–”

You groan again, “Oh god and now there’s a nerd in my ear!”  

She tosses a gelatinous bit of egg onto your plate. It lands with a splat that makes you fake gag. “Oh, grow up.”

“You should be nice to me,” You lament, “I’m wounded!”

“Your soulmate is wounded.”

“And I’m sure their best friend is taking very good care of them!”

She pulls a face at you but still takes your plate to the dishwasher for you. As she’s rinsing them, she asks, “What’s on for the rest of your weekend?”

“I got a call from my parents on Thursday and guess what?” You sipped at the cold dregs of your coffee, “The dentist finally figured out which one of them the toothache is coming from!”

“That’s great,” Sunny’s smile was genuine. “They’re going in to get it fixed?”

“Tomorrow morning, both going under local anaesthesia.”

You hip checked her lightly out of the way to rinse both your cups. “You want another coffee?”

Sunny propped herself up on the counter, “My caffeine addiction is rubbing off on you I fear.”

“Listen, we have to get through the day somehow.” You coaxed the machine back to life before leaning against the counter to look at Sunny. “Anyway, my parents were supposed to go to this race tomorrow. Dad is particularly devastated and has practically ordered me to represent the family ‘at our home race.’ It’s been tradition for him and mum since they got married. It’s kind of a big deal for him. The man is obsessive.”

“My parents had something similar to say about our family legacy and studying medicine.”

“Speaking of… You remember all the times I sat up with you studying, or brought you food when you forgot to eat, or ran errands for you, or made sure you took breaks, or–”

“Fine, I get it, I’ll go to the stupid race.”

“Oh, how kind of you to offer.” You passed her one of the cups. “It won’t be that bad. Motorsports are supposed to be fun live, right?”

Sunny snorted, “Thank God. Motorsports? I thought you meant like a horse race or a marathon. I was getting war-flashbacks to track-and-field.”

You put a hand to your heart, “You were willing to relive cross country for me?”

“I was willing to ogle fit, sweaty men for you, definitely.”

“Alright, first of all – fuck you. But also same,” You clinked mugs and nodded solemnly at one another, “Maybe we can find some fit, sweaty drivers to ogle instead.”

Sunny hummed, “What do I wear? Is it like sprint cars or more like V8s – ooh is it an illegal drag race?”

“Girl, no.” You swatted at her thigh, “It’s Formula 1, which is perfectly legal and safe and much faster than any of those options.”

“Alright, Miss Daddy’s-Girl, go off.”

“Shut up, I’ve had to hear him go on and on about it my whole life.” You pulled a face at your coffee. “The man has had a hard-on for Ferrari since before he met my mother, and then he met her in the Ferrari hospitality at an F1 race, and he’s fucking worshipped them ever since.”

“Oh my god, why am I only just hearing about this?” She grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks and cooing. “You’re a little Ferrari baby.”

You blew a rather unladylike raspberry at her and knocked her hand away, “Because it’s embarrassing! Dad was only there because he and his friend won tickets. So, when Ferrari marketing caught wind that soulmates had met in their pavilion, they practically fell over themselves.”

“Holy shit!” Sunny practically howled in delight, “Is that where all those baby pictures of you in little Ferrari onesies came from?”

“Ferrari’s own little fairytale, Mr-won-his-way-in and Miss-heir-to-a-real-estate-monopoly. It's like Romeo and Juliet; if Romeo and Juliet survived, had a kid and decided to make it the poster child of their love story.”

“Don’t sound so disgusted, that’s cute as fuck.” Sunny snatches up your empty cup and stacks it next to hers in the dishwasher.

You frown, “Not everything has to be a love story.”

“I don’t know, girl, I’m pretty sure you just asked me to play out your parents first meeting with you tomorrow.” She winks at you over her shoulder as she heads toward her room.

“Oh, fuck off, Sunny.”

“I think this calls for new outfits!” She emerges from her room, towel over one shoulder. “What was your Mum wearing when she met your dad?”

“We are not reenacting my parents meet-cute.”

“Who knows, maybe you’ll have your own meet-cute with a certain pain-prone soulmate, hm?” In the moment it takes you to reorientate yourself after her comment, she’s breezing past you with a bright, “I’m having first shower!”

You squark in indignation. Like hell, you’ll let either of those things happen to you this weekend.

(Part 2 : Ferrari's Prince - 03.05.24)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Price to Pay

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power dynamics, violence, blood, death, grief and trauma, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: a robbery changes your entire life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: This is for @stargazingfangirl18 Siri's Birthday Bone-nanza! Happy Birthday. Enjoy. I've cooked you up some Mob AU+Andy Barber.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The flashing lights fade away with the squall of the siren. The smell of iron tinges the air and stains your every breath. You shudder as you stare through the tight squares between the bars across the windows.

That grating did little to deter the robber. No, he made you do it. You had no choice. 

You look down at your hands. Will the shaking ever stop? There’s blood crusted around your nails despite the frantic scrubbing in the bathroom. Once the officers took their evidence, you couldn’t stop trying to wash away the taint. 

The floor shows the crimson imprint of where the men fell. Where you went to hold him in the throes of death. The fate you fired into his chest. It was you or him. That’s what you told yourself. It’s what the police said too as they wrote out the report. Come down tomorrow and sign your statement, ma’am. 

Stan couldn’t be bothered to come down to the corner shop. He owns the place but is doesn’t mean he gives a shit. The officers waited for him to show but resigned themselves to following up later. 

He had a gun. You couldn’t do anything else but open the drawer and scoop out the bills. You weren’t going to do anything but hand over the money but then he fumbled and you did too. The scramble for the pistol under the counter slowed time. The pull of the trigger put it into overdrive. 

You can feel the recoil in your forearm. The rest of you is just as stiff. You can’t untie the tension left by the night’s deadly end. You killed that man. He's rolled him out under a sheet.

He bled out in your arms, even as you desperately tried to stem the flow with the dirty rag. Why did you shoot him? Over fifty bucks worth of change? 

Adrenaline. That’s what the cops told you. Stupidity is what you believe. This job isn’t worth all that. 

And you still have to finish your shift. You look away from the faded stain on the floor. He was so young. He just made a stupid decision and you took everything from him. He’s dead. You killed him. 

🚨

You stand outside the convenience store. Strange how it seems just the same as it was. The dingy moniker flaps at one corner as a tear rents the fabric.

Customers come and go as you stand on the curb. You’ve been standing there for an hour now, trying to make yourself go inside. You have to work. If you want to stay in the hell-hole you call a home, you need the stingy paycheck. 

You check the time. You’re not late yet. You only came early because you couldn’t stand to be alone in your apartment. Now that you’re here, you just want to go back. 

A bang jars you and you cry out, spinning to search for the source. A rusty old Chrysler chuffs out black smoke and rumbles loudly. Just a backfire. You knot your shaking hands together and search the block. 

“Heard something about a robbery,” a voice draws your attention towards another car. The model is too nice for a neighbourhood like this. A man leans against it, his hands in his pockets. “Young kid. They took him down to the morgue.” 

You squint at the man in confusion. His suit is finely tailored and his beard trimmed to a tee. He stands out among the sagging jeans and worn leather. You shake your head. 

“I heard...” you croak.  

“Sad. Stupid kid, huh? Stupid decision. All for a couple bucks.” He tuts and shakes his head. 

“Yeah, um, tragic. I...” you look over your shoulder. “I gotta work.” 

You turn away and march across the pavement. Something about the man’s cool demeanour sets you on edge. Or maybe it’s the reminder of the night before. Not that you could forget. 

You enter with the chirp of the bell and greet Mauricio as he plays solitaire on the counter top. Your sneakers squeak to a halt before you can step on the cracked tile with the red splotches. You stare down at the festering memory. 

“Tough night,” Mauricio says. “I never shot one, ya know? Always shoot past ‘em. Give ‘em a scare.” 

You tuck your chin down and step over the tile. Mauricio lets you in through the door and you sidle behind the counter. You put your purse in the cupboard by the cigarettes and sniff. You wring your hands and lean on the shelf as you wait for your shift to start. 

Mauricio shuffles the cards and packs them away. 

“You okay? Police were here earlier.” 

“They were?” You gulp. 

“Might be back. Think they just wanted some Coke,” he snickers and tosses the cards under the till. The gun is still gone, probably down in some evidence locker. “Stan is pissed about the pistol, ya know?” 

“Mm, I didn’t... didn’t mean to.” 

He sniffs as he pats his back pocket, making sure he has his wallet. “Sorry, senorita. It can’t be easy, wish I had some way to help but Stan isn’t gonna pay me nothin’ to stay and I got that gig down at Jethro’s.” 

“I’m fine.” The lie is less than convincing. 

“Told him, shouldn’t have you on nights.” He shakes his head as you move to let him past. 

“It’s work.” 

“Eh, it’s somethin’,” he scoffs and hands over the keys. “Whole thing was plastered in the paper and all over the internet. Should keep the bad ones away for a while. Place is hot now. No one wants to get their ass blown off over pocket change.” 

“Sure.” 

You clip the keys on your belt. You back up and cross our arms. You lean again as you wait for him to go. You can’t say what’s worse, being alone or talking about it. 

As Mauricio goes, a customer enters. She wants a pack of menthol and some scratchers. You ring her through as she snaps her gum between her teeth. The bell chimes with her exit and stutters as another enters. 

It’s the man in the nice suit. He stops at the newspaper rack and grabs an issue. He struts up to the counter and throws it down.  

“Just the paper?” You ask. 

He steps closer and opens the newsprint. The crinkle is deafening in the drone of the local radio station buzzing from the speaker above you. He taps the page. 

“Kid was eighteen.” 

You bite down and stare back at him. You don’t know what to say or do. Is he some sort of detective? His suit might suggest as much but he hasn’t flashed a badge. 

“It was a BB gun. Looked pretty real, didn’t it?” He spits. 

You wince and shrug. You trace your knuckles nervous as you look down at the paper. Your nose tingles, your eyes too. 

He backs up and heaves out a sigh. He glances around and strides up to the stained tile. He looks down at it emphatically. 

“Blood don’t come out easy. No matter how much you scrub or bleach. It’s like that Edgar Allan Poe story...” he raises his chin and closes his eyes, taking another deep. “Do you hear it? His heartbeat? Racing as the life drains out of him?” 

Your lip quivers and you shake your head. You flick away tears before they can fall, “I didn’t mean to.” 

His cheek twitches and he snorts. He turns to your stiffly. He comes back to the counter and you tense as he reaches under his jacket. You shudder and peek at the empty shelf beneath the till where the pistol should be. He slips out a photo and lays it down, his thumb lingering on the frame.  

You gasp. It’s that boy. He’s young and smiling. He doesn’t look scary like the night before. 

“You didn’t mean to kill my son? Over a bunch of piss-stained bills? You couldn’t tell the gun was a fucking toy?!” 

You cower and your eyes well. You rub them with your sleeves. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You fucking will be, sweetheart. Do you know who I am?” 

You stare and your mouth falls open. 

“His name was Jacob. Jacob Barber.” He swipes up the photo and snarls. “Any bells ringing?” 

You gape at him in horror. Barber. Yes, you’ve heard of him. He’s no detective. That suit is just a disguise. His business is deadly. His business is his ego. The personal is professional and you just stepped over the line. 

You brace yourself and drop your arms straight. You watch him, waiting. He looks back at you, agitation rippling above his brow. 

“Nothing else to say?” He sneers. 

“I deserve it.” 

He arches a brow, “deserve what?” 

“To die. So do it, please.” 

He laughs sardonically. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s cute.” He puts his hands on the counter and leans in. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m gonna do a lot fucking worse.” His eyes flick up and down and he pushes off. “You owe me and I always get what’s mine.” 

He twists on his heel and marches out. You gulp, frozen in fear, and watch after him. You don’t move until the next customer enters. Even then, you can hardly make your body listen to your fractured mind. 

🚨

There is no coming back. Thing’s don’t get better. You don’t calm down. You don’t sleep. You barely eat.  

All you can think about is the blood gushing from that boy’s chest. When you manage to close your eyes, you feel the hot stream flowing through your fingers. You smell it in the air. Beneath it all, you hear his father’s threat. 

‘You owe me...’ 

How can you repay that sort of debt? You killed his child. You didn’t have to. You could have handed over the money and told Stan the kid had a gun pointed right at you. Why did you do it? That question is as torturous as the memory. 

A week goes by. Ragged nights followed by desolate days. You stand behind that counter and stand at the reddened tile, or sit at home and rot. You wait for him to come back. Maybe then he’ll just end it. 

Another week of purgatory and your dissociation gives way to paranoia. Every time the shop door opens, you expect to see him. Barber and his tailored-jacket, a gun in his hand, ready to claim what’s owed. Every stranger on the street is just him in disguise, every shadow in your apartment is him haunting you. 

When he does appear, a month to the day, you’re almost relieved. There he is at your apartment door, stood as he was the first time you saw him. Arms crossed, leaning, looming. You stop and stare at him.  

He looks you in the eye and nods at the door. You unlock it and let him in. He isn’t in a suit this time. He’s dressed down, a hoodie and jeans. He doesn’t seem the type for denim. He struts inside and you close the door behind him. 

The air is static as he examines the bachelor suite. Your whole life in a single room. He is unimpressed as he stops by the table. Stan lets you take the old papers. You’ve brought home every single issue with a mention of the boy; Jacob. You don’t know why. 

His blue eyes are darkened in the gloom of your apartment. His beard is thick across his cheeks and defines his square jaw. His features are stony in determination. 

He pushes them to the floor and huffs. He stalks around the space as you stand by the door. You imagine him spinning to you, pulling a gun from under his sweater and firing. You could smile at the thought of it ending. 

He stops at the foot of your bed. The lumpy mattress sits on a metal frame. Beige sheets are pulled to the corners, a plaid comforter strewn carelessly below a single pillow. A used double you got from the thrift shop with your first pay. It smells like cigarettes. 

You stare at his broad shoulders as he runs his hand up his front. His zipper slices through the silence as he pulls it down. He shrugs off the hoodie and spins on his heel. He slings it over the only chair, right beside the table. He looks up at you, eyes blazing. 

“Strip.” 

His demand shakes you. It’s the first you’ve felt anything but horrible grief and self-pity. You’re afraid. You weren’t before. Just anxious. 

“Don’t say a fucking word,” he snarls as he tugs at his long-sleeved tee. 

You untie your sneakers and leave them by the door. You cross the room, staying far from him as you take in every inch. The apartment feels even smaller now.  

You unzip your jacket and fold it over the side of the plastic hamper in the corner. You pull of your socks and drop them into the depth of unwashed clothes. You undo your fly, your hands clumsy and shaking. The rustle behind you adds to the speckle of ember under your skin. 

You push your jeans down and step out of them. You throw them into the basket and peek over your shoulder. He stands at the foot of the bed once more. His hands are on his hips as he glares at the mattress. He wears only a pair of dark briefs. 

His intent isn’t hard to fathom. It’s not about the act itself, it’s the power, the humiliation. You ruined his life; he’ll do the same. 

“Hurry the fuck up,” he barks. 

You pull your shirt off and fumble with the back of your bra. You can barely get a grip as you quake. You push down your underwear and hang your head. You turn and march forward. He shoves down the elastic of his briefs at your approach. 

He’s a big man. Tall, muscular, stronger than you, without a doubt. Even if he wasn’t, he has all the power to keep you in line. 

“I don’t want to see your fucking face. Get on your stomach.” He commands as he peels off his last layer. 

You put your hands on the mattress and crawl over it. You cry out as he strikes you across your ass and sends you flat. You brace yourself on your elbows and whimper. He grabs your ankles and drags you down the bed.  

He hauls your legs over the edge so your feet are on the floor. He growls and scratches up the back of your thigh. You whine and he swats the back of your head. 

“Quiet,” he warns. 

He leans over you and plants his hands on either side of you. You stare up at the pillow, focusing on it as you desperately search for the numbness of those last weeks. It’s all gone now. You feel everything. The sting of flesh, the futility, the horror. 

He lifts a hand, the bed shifting with him, and traces along your spine. He dips along your ass and kicks your legs wider. He feels between your thighs and jams his fingers against your folds. He’s impatient and cruel. He rams two fingers into you and you squeak, spine arching as you grasp the linen comforter. 

He hushes you as he pushes deep. His knuckles press against you and he draws back. He jerks his hand gruffly, fucking your dry cunt raw. You hold your breath as he plumes out around you. Each intrusion is dull and achy. 

He tears free of your cunt and angles over you. He guides his tip along the swell of your ass and presses to your entrance. There is no time to be ready for him. 

You cry out and throw your head up. It’s like a red-hot iron inside of you, burning from inside out. He snarls and hooks his arm around you, smothering your mouth in his hand. You smell yourself on his fingers as the press against your nose. 

He snaps his hips and buries himself in you. You kick the floor and slap the mattress. Your muscles tighten and your bones thrum. He pushes his nose into your hair and ruts again. You squeal into his palm as your eyes bead with tears. 

He’s methodical. He pumps into you. Long, slow strokes so you feel every inch. He’s taunting you. He’s punishing you. His hot breath wraps around your scalp as he puffs. 

He bends his other arm, elbow digging into the limp mattress, and stretches his fingers around your throat.  He collapses onto you, crushing you beneath him as he squeezes your neck and jaw. He has you trapped in his grip. 

His pace quickens with his breath. He grunts and growls against your temple as the bed frame whines with his rhythm. His flesh slaps between the squeaky tempo and your pathetic mewling stays cupped behind his rough hand. 

He pounds you into the mattress, each dip of his hips heavier than the last. Every ounce of emotion; anger, grief, resent, hatred, is hammered into your helpless body. 

He puts his teeth around the brim of your ear and pinches. He growls and you feel the rumble roll through him. His thrusts turn snappy, punctuated by the bite of your flesh. Harder, harder, harder. He spasms but doesn’t let up. 

He untangles his arms from under you and pins your shoulders. He fucks his cum into you as he lifts himself up. His weight threatens to pop your bones out of joint. He pushes his thighs against yours, splaying you as far as he can. 

His furious onslaught doesn’t let up until your thighs and cunt are painted in him. Until your breathless and babbling, head lolling, defeated as he leaves you smeared across the blankets. He burrows in as deep as he can before he pulls out. 

He pushes off the bed, jarring the world around you, and his shadow hangs over you. He inhales and lets it out slowly. 

“My son. My only child,” he grits out. He bends and feels along your cunt, spreading the slimy mess leaking from your cunt. “You owe me and I will get exactly what you took from me.” 

[writingmyimagination]

Never let go ~

Massimo x reader (may get a bit steamy.)

Tw: choking, cussing, smut

“One year…. One year have I wasted on a man who will never change.” I write in my journal as I look up and out the window of the plane as Massimo huffs annoyed leaning against his chair mad I’ve refused to sit near him. You see unlike Laura I choose to be with him thinking he’d learn after she ran off with his gardener. At first it was bliss and we would shop, have dinners, and travel. 

But as fate unfolded with the months he could never let a part of her go fully. Times I’ve spread myself thin to please this God like man, the change in clothes from my usual classy elegance to a more sexy look for him, the unusual taste in art that I know he had commissioned for her. If it were up to me I’d burn them all in our courtyard one by one and light a cigarette with the flames. I hear him shift angrily either at the fact his wife refuses to look at him or even breathe in his direction or at the sexual tension between him and our flight attendant knowing I would turn the whole plane around if he even dares to act on it.

“If he leaves again I’ll disappear I swear it to this book and to myself, I deserve the world at my feet. Not this sour bitter treatment as if I was Laura. I have done nothing to cater for him and yet I find my cup empty while his is full, full of life, fun, and excitement. While I am expected to wait for him, submis—“ I feel a large hand wrap around my throat, his hot breath tickling my ear as his hand gives a warning squeeze. “Mi amore, are you fucking kidding me? Disappear?” He lets out a stiff chuckle as I feel his other hand swiftly grab my journal and throw it against the wall of the plane where he was once sat. “As if you could stay hidden long enough for that to happen, I’d search under every single rock and cave to find you.” I tighten my lips together as I look off to the side seeing the flight attendant staring at us, want and desire pooling desperately in her eyes. “(Y,N.) are you really going to be this difficult, acting as if I was some random man you could throw a fit with and I’d just let you be.” His free hand playing with the hem of your white mini dress going up to the middle of your chest where we can see the golden v accentuating your cleavage. “Massimo, please.” I croak out, half in annoyance and in desire because I know what lies in the next few moments to come. He lets my neck go and I take a deep breath, he moves to the front where I can see him towering over me and does something shocking.

Massimo has knelt in front of me with soft gentle hands he moves them up my calves to my knees and spreads them apart. “W-what are you—“ he gives me a look. “For once shut the fuck up.” He reaches under my dress and rips my lace underwear off me. My hands go to rest on his bicep as he pulls my hips closer to the edge of the seat, his lips tickle my inner thighs with kisses leading up to a long teasing swipe of my glistening folds. A deep primal groan emerges from his chest as he hungrily laps as the pooling wetness between my legs. Soft moans leave me as I shiver under the unfamiliar sensation of his tongue making its presence known. Massimo wasn’t one for giving but always receiving. This is a whole different feeling entirely.

My eyes roll back as he continues determined to make me gush sweet juices all over his face. His sweet prize for having to put up with my mood swings as he calls them. He knows Laura is gone, but she gave him a feeling he couldn’t describe but you, you were his weakness. The one thing that could bring him to his knees and possibly lose his mind, hence why you were his wife he lost you once over his own mistakes but that wasn’t happening again.

The pooling desire swirling in the deep of your tummy was nearing the edge, asking to be released as your legs tighten against his strong hands. “M-Massimo keep going please, like that.” He smiles against your folds as he continues, his tongue swirls in circles around your clit and he moves a hand further up, once at his destination he inserts his two middle fingers slowly, angling them upward just to brush along the wall. He can feel you tighten around his fingers and at this point he’s ready to hoist you up and impale you with his long, girthy shaft. But he knows you need this, you need to feel cared for before he can have his own way with you. He feels your legs tremble as you struggle to breathe and he takes everything you give him, lapping each drop as if he hadn’t drink anything all day not wanting to waste a single drop, the overstimulation of his tongue pressing your bundle of nerves until he finally stops and look up. “Beautiful.” He whispers before placing a soft kiss on your inner thigh and getting up, he sits next to you and pulls you close to his side. “Stop acting like how you have been this whole trip, (Y,N).” He kisses the top of your head as you regain consciousness from cloud nine. “Massimo everything I wrote is true it’s how I feel…” I look up at him. “You aren’t fully here.” “Bullshit. Bella I am here I’m right fucking here, I got on my knees for you do you understand how much you mean to me? Outside of this.” He motions around with his hand. “I’d kill for you. I should’ve never left you for her. She was the devil in disguise, a fucking demon.” He grabs your jaw, “but you.. you are everything pure, sweet, and perfect. Not a day goes by that I don’t regret what I did to you. I may not be the perfect man or husband but for you I am willing to try.” You both lean in and share a sweet kiss before hearing a ding. “Please buckle your seatbelt the captain with start our descend soon.”

[scoutswritingcorner]

Their Favorite Distraction

Overlord!HuskerDust x Male Reader

Headcanons

TW:KINDA SPICY- SO 18+ PLEASE AND THANK YOU

A/N: Listen I saw Overlord Husk and Overlord Angeldust and thought why not put them together???? Listen, I am a simple man..who simps way too much.

Let me set the scene real quickly, maybe you were a sinner or demon down on your luck and wanted to try your hand at gambling or you simply walked in at the wrong time. But once you got your hand into the gambling ring that’s when Husk had set his sight on you, whilst you were soaring with money lining your pockets. Going table to table, lady luck surprisingly on your side as you had started to get hopeful and maybe you’d be able to pay off your necessities for a few weeks with this type of cash. But you didn’t notice how both Husk and Angel Dust were watching, in hindsight you should’ve just stopped there and left with the prize but god the adrenaline felt so good and what could another game hurt?

A lot apparently, now you were sitting at Husk’s table, Angel Dust standing behind him watching you with a devious little smirk. You should’ve taken your winnings and left. But then..you wouldn’t have ended up with two very overprotective Overlord Boyfriends who adore you so.

-🎰 Like I said- both are very overprotective of you! But in a good way, not in the gross toxic way.

-🕷️ Oh they love to spoil your ass all the time, you look at something on your phone for too long or when your out and about with them? Expect it on your bed or at your door in a couple hours.

-🎰 Sit on their laps while they work? Yes please. Try sitting anywhere else they get pouty and grumpy, your seat is on their lap. 

-🕷️ Want a new suit? Done, lean more feminine cause clothes have no gender? Also done. They praise you all the time.

-🎰 Most people think that these men are your sugar daddies, which in some way and how they spend money on you all the time..they wouldn’t be wrong. But no they are your very powerful and loving boyfriends.

-🕷️ They both own a lot of souls and know that they do but they don’t own your soul. They’d tear each other apart if they found that out and Satan forbid if another Overlord tried to get their disgusting hands on you and tried to own your soul..that Overlord is triple dead.

-🕷️ Husk? Loves when you and Angel blow on his dice before anything, you both are his good luck charms. You decide to play a game? Angel is beside you the whole time making sure no one cheats or gets too rowdy around you, someone pulls a gun? Husk is already on them, fangs and claws out. While Angel keeps you close. You get to decide the fool's fate.

-🎰 In Private? These two are the most cuddliest people ever. Laying on the couch watching your favorite show? Now you have two overlords cuddling you. Or maybe you're making a snack alone, not anymore, Husk is hugging you from behind and grumbling about something.

-🕷️ Oh boy the kisses? There is an endless supply of them anywhere you are. In Husk’s casino with him? Give him a goodluck kiss. With Angel in his office as he looks over papers? Sit in his lap and kiss his cheek, the stress immediately evaporates.

-🎰 Add little accessories that represent them? Maybe have spades embroidered on your suit jacket or have custom made jewelry that looks like a spider? Oh boy, their hands won’t leave you alone. Constantly touching your suit jacket or jewelry as they do their business. 

-🕷️ Date nights are so fun with these two, they take you to clubs or very expensive restaurants or maybe you want to stay home or go out to the closest bar? Whatever you want, babycakes. 

-🎰 If you get a little too drunk? They’ll pull you into their lap and kiss at your reddened face whilst they take your drink away. They don’t need you feeling like shit in the mornin’ especially if your busy the next day.

NSFW GET OUT OF HERE MINORS

-🕷️ Both dominate men, so good luck. Especially if you’ve teased them too much.

-🎰 Husk? Is shameless and will take you anywhere he can get you. In his casino? In his office or in the closest bathroom. He’ll have you bent over and screaming his name for everyone in his Casino to hear. To know who you belong too.

-🕷️ Angel Dust? He’s more of the one to fuck you somewhere private. Not because he doesn’t want to show how good he pleases you but that’s his sight to see and he wants to ruin you (in a good way). He’s also the kinkiest out of the two still.

-🎰When they both get together? Oh you’re done for my good man. They won’t let you go until the morning and your passed out from being fucked all night long. 

-🕷️ Aftercare Kings, doesn’t matter what kind of aftercare you want to them. Just want to lay down and cuddle? One of them is holding you close while the other is getting water and some snacks. Want a nice bath? They got a big tub for a reason, Handsome~

-🎰 When you eventually can’t walk or get out of bed? Both men are smug as hell as you glare at them. 

[c0ffinshit]

I Can See You (11th Doctor x Reader) Smut Oneshot

a/n: welcome to the first part of my short story collection called “The Doctor Will See You Now.” i hope you all as excited as i am! word count: 3,833 warnings: teachers au, fluff, soulmate au (if you squint), little dialogue, age gap, mentions of sex and masturbation before the smut, praise kink, vanilla cunnilingus

"And we kept everything professional, but something's changed, it's something I like. They keep watchful eyes on us, so it's best that we move fast and keep quiet." - Taylor Swift

1956, somewhere towards the tail end of England, a doctor sits at his desk, looking over at the same pieces of papers. Homework from his first batch of classes. He puts his hands on his face. Sure, every teacher should be worried about the brilliance of their students. But that wasn’t what he was worried about. He was apprehensive about his newly hired teaching assistant, (Y/N) (L/N).

He thought you were a bright young woman, keeping your hair neat and all your clothes clean and ironed. He always wanted to keep his distance from you. So he doesn’t repeat what happened with his past teaching assistant. The Doctor wanted a clean record. He pushes away from his desk in his chair, finally getting ready to go home. But his mind began to wander.

Earlier in the day, you spoke with him about a future project, seeing who would be willing to participate and pass it. When the end of the conversation came to a head, you giggled at one of his attempts at a joke. You pull at your skirt a little. He notices more of your thigh, including a small accidental flash of your undergarments. It just happened. He didn’t want to make you more nervous than you seemed, so he didn’t speak to anyone about it. A secret he could have all to himself. Something to ruin with his own sick and twisted imagination. Innocent, turned dirty by his own hand.

You sat alone in your apartment, as you always did. There wasn’t much to do when all you could do was think about that Doctor. His smile, the way his eyes would focus on you when you spoke. It was always those little things that drove you mad about him. You began to wonder what he thought of you. Did he think you were pretty? Did he want you to wear shorter skirts again?

You thought about spying on your neighbors again.

You pull the blanket closer to your chest as you get up and listen to your neighbors, an older married couple. Typically, you would study them silently, a cup to the wall, taking notes of everything they did together. Tonight wasn’t any different. The wife was cooking dinner for him, kissing and making one another laugh. Them being as intimate as you imagined yourself with the Doctor.

A few months before you met him, you studied day and night. Your dream of working at a college was on the horizon. When the day finally came, you walked up to the stage and accepted your fate as an English professor. As you looked for jobs, your heart began to sink deeper and deeper into your chest. It didn’t seem like anyone was looking to hire a fresh-out-of-college English teacher anywhere.

Suddenly, you find a job at a college as a teaching assistant. An assistant? You went to school for six years, and the only job available at a college was a teaching assistant. With a defeated sigh, you called the college and scheduled an interview. After said interview, it took them a few days to finally get back to you about the job. Once you opened your mailbox for the fourth time that week, a letter accepting you into their system greeted you. It contains the usual things, even saying you would be working with the Doctor, the most respectable man in the institution’s history.

The Doctor quietly shut the door of his pearl-white car. After hopping from century to decade to millennium, he thought it would be time to slow down and get serious about what he wanted. Sex wasn’t crucial, but the Doctor wanted something to call his own. Having a lover in his life wasn’t that important either, but he wanted you more than anything. The Doctor never wanted someone that bad before. He was tired of running, walking, and time-traveling. A hot cup of tea and you were all he needed.

The key turns with his hand, turning the car on with a small ding. He wanted to go anywhere but back to the TARDIS. The TARDIS was lonely and quiet, filled with knobs and future technology. The only other place he knew was your apartment. Your apartment had old books, statues of pilgrim girls, and a TV that didn’t have many channels. The place smelled of old wax long melted away, and cracks in the plaster lined almost every wall. Your apartment felt like it could cave in at a moment’s notice. But in his mind, he would rather spend the rest of his night in a place with thin walls and the same few reruns on the same few channels than a place he called home for so many years.

So that settles it. The Doctor backs out of his spot in the large parking lot, turning left towards the exit gate.

You had actually met the Doctor long before you had ever realized. When you were in your later high school years, the new science teacher had gone missing a few days before the school was set to open for classes. The Doctor had been on his own for a while by this point. Amelia and Rory had died at the dreadful hands of a weeping angel, unable to enjoy any of his new misadventures. Before Clara, the Doctor knew that the absence of Rory and Amelia would send him down a path of risky choices and, ultimately, his own new pain to heal, as a fresh wound would cross over a scar. In almost a manic state, he thought he could pull off being a high school teacher. But not any teacher, your new science teacher. A part of him thought this would be an easy way to find a new companion one way or another. Whether it be a teacher looking for a new way to spice up their life or a young woman looking for a new boy to fawn over. The Doctor was a shoo-in for the job with mature teaching ability but with a kind, funnier side, keeping the topics of biology and chemistry light with jokes and foxy comments.

One of the few things he remembers about that year was when you talked to your friends. Quiet whispers during class would quickly become loud, bombastic laughter the minute the bell rang. He only listened when the conversation would turn to your secret crush on him. Your friends nudged you during group work whenever his eye lingered on you. The way they giggled when he made a vaguely inappropriate joke. But that was your friends; you were a different story. It was clear to him that you were smart, just purposely failing for one reason or another. Whenever he would pull you aside to speak about it, your eyes would glaze over as you watched his eyes sink into yours. The minute the conversation ended, you would run off to hide until your next class. You wondered why you couldn’t be normal about him. The Doctor was two years older than you, or so he said. But it could be that wrong, could it?

Your hands continued to pull up the blanket, pulling it over your head. At this point, you didn’t want to be reminded how much you desired the Doctor. How badly you wanted him to wrap his arms around you or whisper sweet nothing to you as your eyes fluttered shut. Still, you can’t help but listen. The couple is eating dinner peacefully, talking about their days at work. But out of your window, you see the Doctor’s car pull up just outside your building.

As he finally pulls up to your apartment building, he sees you with your orange blanket over your head, leaning against the wall. The Doctor glances up, watching you and thinking about the massive mistake he is making. The wind pushes his hair out of his face.

‘This can’t be the right thing to do.’ He thought as he opened the car door anyway. He continues looking up. That’s when your eyes meet his. You move away from the wall and walk to the window, looking down at him.

Panic sets in. As if you had summoned him using your mind into your apartment’s parking lot. The second you look back out the window, the Doctor is gone. The panic feeling suddenly gets worse. You sit back down on the couch, trying to avoid the future sound of a doorbell ringing. Your ears lead back to your neighbors, still eating and laughing.

Your doorbell buzzes, followed shortly by another buzz. The last thing you needed was a big, grand scene in your loud apartment building. The Doctor stands outside your door, waiting. He thought about how impatient he would be if this were any other person. If there’s one thing the Doctor knew about being alive, it was that time moved so much slower than ever. But as he thought, the Doctor realized the faint feeling of calm whenever he thought about you. That’s why he could never get mad at you for not answering the door. The two hearts in his chest beat like one. As the Doctor fidgeted with his fingers, soft rain crawled against the glass of your window, still not letting the poor man in.

‘This is a bad idea, right?’ The Doctor thinks as he opens the door to your apartment building and walks up each step.

The Doctor knocks on the door, waiting for you to answer. It's not like he can leave you after scaring you like that. The Doctor almost doubts you will answer the door, leaving him in his soaking wet clothes. He shakes his head. You are one of the sweetest people the Doctor has ever known. In his mind, you are the reason he kept running. Not to save the world across multiple timelines with different companions each time, shedding his skin every so often. But to find you every time, in every universe, and in the same apartment building.

You look over to the door again, still thinking about opening it. The series of unfortunate events goes as follows in your mind: You get up from the couch and open the door to the Doctor just awkwardly standing there; the two of you break out into a conversation about what he happens to be doing at your apartment on a Saturday night after work, he proclaims his love for you and you, out of fear, reject him. The Doctor goes on a big rant about how you should really give him a chance. But by this point, you can only hear your heart beating, so you slam the door in his face.

I mean, isn’t that the way it always goes?

Sure, you did actually like him, but it was not like you were planning on telling him anytime soon. It's not like you feared his reaction; the Doctor isn’t exactly at the top of the scariest individuals ever. And yet, your legs pick up for your body from the couch and walk over the door. You place your hand gingerly on the doorknob, turning it slowly.

‘This is a bad idea, right?’ You think as you open the door.

Upon opening the door, the Doctor’s head pops his head up. He smiles. You try to avoid his gaze, unlike how you did when you were a schoolgirl.

"Fancy seeing you here." You mumble.

The Doctor’s hand twitches as he hears you speak. It felt so good hearing your voice again, even though he had heard it earlier that day. You shyly look up, still avoiding direct eye contact. The Doctor’s eyes softly as he sees you look up. He could sense how nervous you were, but he wanted to tell you he wasn’t there to hurt you. In his arms, he would make everything feel good. "Listen, um," The Doctor started, trying to keep his thoughts in one place.

"I wanted to come here and say…" The Doctor’s voice trails off. He doesn’t know how to put this.

"You love me?" You reply, trying to keep your voice down.

The Doctor didn’t think it would be that clear that the feeling was that obvious. It didn’t help how you said it, so matter-of-fact, which you didn’t detect. Maybe you did know that you pulled your skirt as a sign of flirting.

That part was valid that, over time, you had been flirting with the idea of being with the Doctor. Including playing with your skirt when you knew he was looking. Sure, you did other things to get him to notice you, like wearing makeup to highlight your eyes or shorter skirts and tight shirts.

But he never bothered to actually flirt with you. It could’ve been possible that he thought you had a partner or, god forbid, you were married. You had never told him about such people because you had none to speak of. No lover to call your own.

"Um, yeah, something like that." He laughs awkwardly.

Your face flushed with the red hue of your blood, and your heart started beating faster. You thought you were going to die. Your eyes meet his. This has never happened before. A new feeling washes over you.

Love. No longer an innocent, flirty crush. He felt like a lover at that moment. You grab his face and pull him into a passionate kiss, dropping your orange blanket onto the carpet floor of the hallway. His lips were soft, although a bit wet. Meanwhile, the night sky became darker, and rain began to fall, hitting against your windows. The winds outside, once soft and free, became harsh and fast.

You pull him into your apartment, careful not to trip over or break anything. Your kiss was like that as well; it was unbreakable and wistful. You wanted him more than anything at that moment. He pulled away for a second and uttered the words you dreamed about hearing: "I want you."

The Doctor said he wanted you. Something just clicked in your head. Nothing was holding you back at this point. You begin to untie his iconic bowtie and unbutton his shirt, his tan blazer falling to the floor. The Doctor told himself to remain calm and sensual. One of the many things that made you squirm in your seat and have a slight blush on your cheeks was when he remained mysterious and alluring. That was the only thing that was a constant. He grabs your hips and pulls you closer to him, his nose ghosting over your neck.

You, on the other hand, didn’t care what he did. As long as your hands were on his body and vice versa, the rest didn’t matter. The last thing that mattered was staying calm. The Doctor lets out a soft moan. You place your body back on the couch again, looking at the man you’ve been craving all this time. He loved that your eyes flickered like a candle in the wind. Your body moved in a way that was borderline pornographic, slowly moving from side to side. He notices this and moves on top of you, his knee closer to your heat. It’s like he knew your body in and out, predicting your every move.

‘Gently, now.’ He thought as his hands moved closer to the side of your breasts, cupping them in his bony hands.

Your cunt twitches at the feeling. The Doctor held you like you were a wine glass. Which, in his mind, was the only way to touch you. He may have only known you for a few months; he wasn’t ready to let you leave his touch yet.

After all, he’s the only Time Lord left. He’s had so many companions that, after a while, it became hard to keep track of. After falling in love with so many different people, it felt impossible to feel that kind of love again. Then, he was in 1951, in the middle of a busy high school hallway, struggling to find himself or where his room was. A lovely young woman walks by, struggling to hold her books. The Doctor locks eyes with her and asks her the time. She replies: “1:30.” That was when the Doctor finally knew he was in the right place, at the right time.

The Doctor moves down to the neck, planting gentle kisses as he moves. You let out a soft moan, careful to make your neighbor not hear. Your mother always told you to settle down soon and have a husband to care for you. To be frank, she wasn’t clear about the husband part. Sometimes, a husband is an extraterrestrial from a distant planet, most likely older than one thousand years old.

"Please," you beg softly.

"Are you sure?" He asks, knowing he might regret it if you say no.

You nod your head.

He nods back.

The Doctor crawls down your body, taking in every part of you. Your biceps were held neatly above your head, and your breathing got heavier the lower he went. He positioned one knee on the plush carpeted floor. The Doctor's breathing slowed as the Doctor went under your nightdress.

The Doctor hooks your panties and pulls them down, exposing your wet pussy. He unthinkingly pockets the underwear, letting a part of the soft cotton peek out as a reminder of you. Taking a finger, the Doctor gently flicks under the hood of your clit. As you can imagine, sex isn’t something the Doctor doesn’t get to have often, so he is a bit rusty. He could feel his two hearts beat with every soft flick of his finger. Your body twitches for a second, praying for more contact. He suddenly got the idea to slip a single finger inside of you. Even the thought of the moans you would let out made his already hard dick almost painful.

"I’m going to put a single finger inside you, okay?" He stated, "If you don’t like it, tell me, okay?"

"Yes," You say softly.

"Yes, what?" The Doctor repeats.

You think for a moment. "Yes, Doctor."

He smirks, "Good girl."

His fingertip touches the wet walls of your cunt. His middle finger gently pushes against your G-spot, making you whimper.

‘She wants more.’

Of course, being the lovely Doctor, he continues to nurse your G-spot but starts to kiss your inner thighs. His lips were a faint red and slick with spit. Teasing was one of the many things he wanted to try, but he never found the right partner. He understood that this is what you needed. You felt so pent up with sexual frustration. Year after year, you felt more disappointed with the partners in your life, sexually speaking. And yet the Doctor, after knowing you for so little time, could read your body like a book. Through desperation, the Doctor managed to undo his tight belt and unzip his beige dress pants with his free hand. He starts to palm his cock through his boxers as he continues.

"Please…more." She whines, getting tired of all the teasing.

He chuckles, "Sorry, I got carried away. Don’t worry, I’ve got you."

The Doctor thrusts his ring finger inside, plunging slightly into your canal. As he glances down at your poor, throbbing clit, he notes that it looks like a pink pearl inside of an oyster. He places a gentle kiss on it and mumbles something inaudible. Your back suddenly arches up as the waves of pleasure carry over you again. Honestly, you hadn’t felt anything like it before. It almost felt inhuman. The whimpers were now replaced with a slightly louder moan. You start slowly grinding at the air, hoping for any contact with him. His touch on your clit was all you could think about.

"That’s it, good girl. God, you deserve this more than anyone right now." The Doctor says. The Doctor continues to work on your clit, starting with soft cat-like licks. His hands ran slowly up your calves.

This was it. The moment the Doctor had been waiting for, the moment to be close to you. It was never how he imagined it, but honestly, he would have cared less. To run his hands up your legs as the Doctor continued to tease you felt like something the Doctor would come up with on a boring night in the TARDIS. It reminds him of all the times he daydreams about unbuttoning those perfect blouses you always wore when there was an important meeting you have to attend. Sure, those types of daydreams were few and far between. It didn’t stop his sick imagination much from thinking about it anyway whenever you got just a little too close to his face.

You could hardly contain every moan or groan that came out of your body. It felt involuntary. Your soft hands move down and grab a part of the Doctor's luscious dark brown hair. The desire for him to be rougher with you was growing stronger by the minute. Sure, being romantic and sensual is always an idea you love. But this is the Doctor. Everything is different with him. With the Doctor, the romance could be thrown aside if he wants. If he wants to tie you up and degrade you, you are willing to buy the rope and let your eyes roll into the back of your skull for pleasure.

"More," you encourage, "Don’t be scared. I don’t bite."

The Doctor’s eyes look up at you, meeting your eyes.

Your eyes seemly convey everything he thought about on the humble drive over. The emphatic love you two have been feeling, along with the unchecked sexual tension the two of you also have. The Doctor went from soft and cat-like to expansive and slow. He relaxes the back of his tongue against your clit and moans, his delicate eyes still looking up at you.

The sense of human eye contact can be used in many ways. And it is clear that as your eyes start to flutter, you are closing in on your climax. The Doctor knows that he has to keep an invariant pace so as not to lose the orgasm. Most people would describe a good peak as “seeing stars” or “leg shaking.” Yours, however, was more like seeing a whole nebula and jittering. As the spasm came and went, your vision went from blurry to clear in seconds. You sit up on the couch, looking down at a kneeing Doctor.

Touching his cheek with your hand, the Doctor smiles, grazing his smile against it.

Your eyes go wide at a sudden realization, "Doctor, you didn’t–"

Before you can finish your sentence, the Doctor sits next to you on the couch.

"That’s not what matters. What matters is that you did." He spreads his arms out, pulling you into a hug. You roll your eyes jokingly and hug him back.

[ahoycaptainautumn]

Fated Mates Part 7

Synopsis: you, a vengeful vampire slayer, cross paths with the devious and handsome Astarion. Instead of a stake through the heart, Astarion finds something he thought impossible for vampire spawn. A mate.

Your party moves from the large campsite into the town on your path to the Selunite Temples. Astarion and you search for a cure and find a tether between your minds that begs for more interesting games to be played between you two.

Breathes mingle in the hot air as tension wraps around Astarion and you, thick as rope. You could practically drink in the arousal surrounding the two of you. It coils and snaps in the air as if beckoning the both of you to take it further, to finish what was left undone back in that tavern room. A shaking hand snakes up and wraps around Astarions neck, curling into his soft silver hair. You pull him impossibly closer as your lips just barely brush over one anothers. His red eyes never leave yours as he watches you absolutely enchanted. It's as if the earth is swallowing him whole and his only salvation is to fall into you. Tadpoles or masters be damned, you would be his destruction. The very fibers of his being rewritten to etch your name for forever more. You lean in closer, nose brushing the side of his own. You hold your breath, daring him to take the next step. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire. A flame broiling in your loins and licking its fire to each of your limbs. All you can think, all you can see, all you can feel is Astarion. Your thoughts are nothing if not primitive. Ever since you had drunk that elixir your only thoughts seemed wrapped in Astarion. Missing and aching for his presence the moment you two were apart. You would never admit to how desperate you are. How absolutely needy for him you are. Your other hand reaches up and clicks apart the buttons shielding Astarion’s naked flesh from your own. Your hand flows from his collarbone down, slipping down to his abdomen. He lets out a shuttered breath at your touch.

“Astarion.” You whisper into his lips. He lets out a groan and finally makes contact with your kiss. Your lips mold over one another as if made to perfectly slot over one each others. His arms roll under your body. He pushes his palms up to press your frame to his while his other hand cradles your head. You moan into the kiss as the flame in you grows hotter and hotter. He takes it as an invitation and dives into your mouth. His tongue intertwines with yours in a passionate dance. Though it only lasts for a moment before he whips his head back and away from you. You blink in surprise, already grabbing for him to return to you. You swear you won’t breathe if he stops touching you. You give out a needy whine as you paw at him. He ignores it and brings his fingers up to his lips as if to study them.

“The hells were you drinking before I found you?” He asks, clearly irritated. You rub your thighs together in need of friction and grab at his shoulders. He doesn’t budge at all and awaits your answer. You huff and cry.

“I don’t know! Some ambrosia or something an orc bartender had given me! Why does it matter? Keep kissing me!” You launch yourself up and towards him. He takes you by the upper arms to hold you still.

“Ambrosia?! Do you have any idea what that is?” His irritation only skyrocketing. You just shrug your shoulders, feeling sheepish that you hadn’t even thought to question it. You had wanted to forget, whatever concoction got you there would do.

“Gods (y/n)! That- It’s a lust potion! No wonder you’re throwing yourself all over me.” The hurt buried deep in the elf’s feelings could be heard in his last words. You struggled to find the right words to say to him. You knew deep down that this started way before you put your lips to that honeyed concoction. Hells, even before the night you shared a room. The moment your eyes had met his you felt as if there was some force driving you towards him. You kept lying to yourself that it was for the fact he knew your greatest enemy. That you had finally found that stepping stone to reach your goals. But under all the hurt you had been witness to and the hate of vampires you had grown to wield as a weapon, you found yourself enjoying his company. Enjoying him. The way you became comfortable around him nearly instantaneously. How you could banter with eachother as if you were old friends. That even though it was an enormously big oversight to trust him, you gave it willingly. But to say all that, to let your guard down, especially to someone that was vampire made, made your throat clam up. As if the words got lodged in your throat and you would choke before you could allow yourself to be vulnerable. Astarion watches the anguish and confusion morph on your face and he lets the embers of his rage die down. It wasn’t your fault for this. As much as he wanted to take you here and now, to complete this bond even if you had no idea of it, he wanted it done when you are of clear mind and body. He watches as a tear wells up in the corner of your eye and cascade down your cheek. He lifts a finger to wipe it from your face.

“Come to me when you are sober. When you make a choice and decide to cross that bridge.” He whispers into your skin as he gives a gentle kiss to your forehead. He braces himself against his knees and pushes off to stand. He turns and begins to make his way out of the tent. You latch onto his wrist without a thought.

“Wait! Where are you going?” You ask, frightful to have him leave your side. He gives a chuckle.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I was starving. Off to find dinner.” He explains. You tighten your grip on him.

“Who’s to say dinner isn’t right here?” You grin, lighting the mood. He quirks an eyebrow at you.

“As much as I love to hear you ask and beg for me, I won’t take when you are so clearly… inebriated.” He chooses his words carefully. You can’t help the groan of frustration. This is the time this ass of a vampire decides to be gentlemanly?

“I wish- I wish there was a way you could know what I’m saying is truthful. That this is me and not some elixir.” You grit your teeth. You slam your palm to your head in frustration and it’s then you feel it. A swimming in your mind. A pulsing ache right behind your eyes. Just as you feel it the bond of thought between you and Astarion through your tadpoles opens like a floodgate. Your want of his company, the desire for his bite and the truth in it goes from your mind to his. It flashes in Astarions mind like fireworks. Startled, you look up to Astarion for confirmation that that had truly just happened. He looks just as confused as you are. He goes to kneel next to you.

“Do it again!” He asks feverishly. You shake your head in confusion and lift your hands.

“I- I- I don’t know how I did that!” You stammer. His hands grab yours as if to cement yourself to him, to open up to him once more.

“Come on do whatever the hells you did that time.” He insists. You scowl at him.

“I told you I don’t bloody know what I did! I had slapped my forehead and then- poof!” You try to explain. Without even a second passing Astarion taps harshly on your forehead.

“Alright now do it!” He urges. You bite your teeth at him, rubbing your forehead at the red mark he created.

“I said I don’t-“ you begin but the rest of your words travel from your mind to his. Don’t know you damned idiot!

You learn to talk into my mind and it’s to insult me. Fitting. Astarion can’t help the grin plastered on his face as he responds back into your mind. You lightly punch his shoulder and laugh. He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Well you went to all this trouble to beg me to bite you, may I?” He asks, his teeth already poses to strike.

“I did not beg!” You turn your head in offering to him. He only chuckles at your antics before his lips find your neck. His hand comes up to caress the side of your face. He gives a soft kiss into the nape of your neck. His tongue licks flat on your skin sending tingles up your spine. At your sharp intake of breath he strikes. His teeth burrow deep into you as he suckles on your blood. Just as before, you feel sharp ice flood your system. Shock fills your body and your nails dig into the pillows beneath you. Soon enough the icy feeling leaves your body and warmth and comfort takes its place. His body weighs onto yours and pushes you back into the pillows. His other arm wraps around your middle and pulls your body close. Your head swims and stars twinkle in your vision. You fall into his embrace and find only comfort and belonging.

-

The next morning you wake with a dull ache taking your body captive. You can feel a pulsing headache nothing to do with the tadpole and everything to do with drinking far too much the day before. Thankfully your memory is intact and you can't help but feel a bit of shame at how strongly you had come onto Astarion. But as they say, drunk actions are sober thoughts. You turn in your cocoon of pillows to see Astarion as he faces away from you. He is peacefully meditating, breathing slow and relaxed. You admire him in how vulnerable he looks. How soft he looks relaxed in the early morning sun flittering through the tent. Your eyes turn onto the scars lining his back. Without thinking you reach a hand out to trace the scaring circulating his back. On instinct Astarion flinches and draws away. You shoot your hand away and tumble out apologizes to him.

“Sorry! I just, well I was curious about your scars.” You try to remedy. Astarion wipes the deep mediation from his eyes. He turns to face you as he stretches his tired limbs.

“It’s a gift from my old master Cazador. A poem he carved into my skin in one night, with lots of revisions.” You silently ask for permission and after a moment he nods slightly. You gently take your hand and trace once again around the marks. Anger flames at the thought Cazador abusing and harming Astarion. He slaughters your family, abuses his spawns, sketches into their backs, he deserves more than death.

“I can’t wait to see what you give to him in return.” You can’t hide the venom in your words. Astarion chuckles and turns over towards you.

“You wouldn’t try to stop me?” He asks. You give him a confused look.

“I’d encourage it.” You reply.

“And to think, I thought you were the hero type.” You groan and roll your eyes.

“Not in that instance. Not if it’s harm to someone I care about.” His eyes perk up.

“Care? I think that elixir must still be in your system.” He may come off as joking but you get the sense that that is what he truly believes. You lift yourself up enough to rest your head on your hand.

“No, but I would love to show you all the ideas it gave me.” You give a devilish grin. Before Astarion can give some quick witted response you send images through the mind bond. You show him the thoughts that ran ragged through your mind last night. Of his hands tangled in your hair and pulling your head back for him to ravage your neck. Or of his skilled tongue following a path down your navel and into the dip of your hips. His hands squeezing and kneading your plush thighs. Images of bite marks and love bites trailing up your thigh and towards your most needy spot. The image of you bent across the wooden table in his tent with him filing you to the brim is the last image you get across before Astarion growls.

“You, my love, are playing a dangerous game.” His voice is hot with need, barely civil as his words come out nearly feral.

“Well it is my favorite game to play.” You smirk with a wink. Before you can pounce on one another there’s a loud crunch of boots outside the tent.

“Oi! Come on, places to be!” Karlach yells at you both from outside the tent. She quickly marches off you assumed to rally the others.

“Seems you’ll have to have those images keep you company blood sucker.” You jest as you get up. He gives a few tsks your way before he turns and opens a trunk to change. He tosses a few things aside, one among them is that gaudy smut novel with the overly romantic cover. You’re almost curious enough to reach for it to see what romantic novel Astarion would bother reading. But alas you hear Karlach once again yell for you to get moving. You make way towards your tent to get ready for the day.

-

You and the rest of your group had made it back on the road in record time. There would be some time before you hit the next town on your tour towards Selunite temple. You had been taking the time walking to try to sort out your feelings. To get your mind back on the task at hand, tadpoles then Cazador. You were deep in thought as Gale jogs up to you and keeps pace. You don’t notice his presence till he clears his throat. Startled, you look up at him.

“Oh Gale! Sorry, I wasn’t even paying attention.” You apologize.

“I noticed. I was just about to ask you what had you so wrapped up in thought.” He gives an easy smile, all ears. You wish you had someone to confess all your mixed feelings to. How these tadpoles had completely rearranged your life. How Cazador was now the closest to your revenge than he ever has been. Yet, you weren’t following that lead now that you needed a cure. How you think you actually developed feelings for a vampire, a species you swore to cut down. One you have hunted with efficiency for some time. And all it took was one flirty and murderous one to change your whole perspective. As much as you think Gale could understand to a degree, his fling with a goddess definitely holds a candle to your plight, you didn’t want everyone to know anymore of your business. So you go for the easy answer.

“Honestly I guess it’s just catching up to me how strange and time sensitive my life has become with these damned tadpoles. I thought my goals and road in life were clear cut. But now, I don’t know if I’ll get to fulfill those or I’ll wake a mind flayer. I just thought by now I would be getting closer to getting my family their revenge, not farther.” You sigh. It felt good to get some of the weight off your shoulders.

“You carry all this burden, all by yourself. Your tense, that much is easy to see even if you said nothing. I thought maybe, if it’s alright with you, I could add a bit of a magical touch?” He asks. You look over at him with a quirked eyebrow.

“This isn’t the part where you accidentally turn me into a toad or something, is it?” You ask deadpanned. Gale let’s out a hearty laugh.

“I promise, no toad making.” He gives out his pinky to you to intertwine in promise. You can’t help but laugh at his innocent actions and give him your pinky in return.

Your little “charade” with Gale was starting to turn rotten in Astarions stomach. He demanded himself to not be jealous. He wasn’t. Not in the slightest. He just so happen to find Gale extremely annoying at the current moment. Seducing you, befriending you, was his ploy not Gales. He can find another radiant and beautiful woman to try that on. Gale had his goddess, Astarion had his and he was intruding on her.

Gale focuses in on his magic and webs together The Weave of magic at his fingertips gently. You watch in awe as you walk a bit slower next to him. He takes the ball of purple lighted magic and drapes it over your shoulders. Instantly you feel a hum of warmth and comfort bleed into your shoulders and neck. You let out a sigh of relief, the tension in your shoulders subsiding as the magic winds into your tough muscles.

“Gods that actually feels amazing~ Gale.” You praise him as you nearly close your eyes in the enjoyment of the massaging.

“Maybe I’ll just be a masseuse after all this.” He jokes.

“I’ll be your most well paying customer.” You smile, relaxing into its touch.

Well now that was entirely too much. Astarion was all for sexual exploits. Gods know he’s done his fair share of whats in lots of different wheres. But this. This was different! He wasn’t exactly sure how it was different but the way his blood turned to ice he felt it was different. You should be paying him that attention. He should be the one to make you feel good. Not Gale. Just then, a sneak idea comes to Astarion. Keep his outer appearance nonchalant, he opens the channel between both of your minds. It doesn’t seem that you notice. Enjoying idle chit chat with Gale as the magic rolls off in purple puffs down your shoulders. He nearly can’t help the carnivorous smile that slips into his lips. Slowly, he feeds you images of you beneath him the night prior. Of you begging and whining for his touch. Images of his hands trailing down your sides raising every goosebump along its way. He can tell you take notice in the way you nearly trip. Your head whips around to look at him but he just focuses on his nails in a devil may care attitude.

You bit your lip nearly ready to yell at Astarion for the sinful images he sends your way. But as you look he acts coy. As if there isn’t a rising sexual tension growing between your minds. If he was going to act like it doesn't affect him, then you would do the same. You turn back round to Gale and ask him questions on his magic background. Gale is a mess of word vomit, excited to tell his tales to someone that will listen. Astarion immediately picks up on the game you are playing. Once again he creates images of pure carnal lust. Of him playing with your wet folds, slicking his fingers slowly mapping you out. His fingers dance around your clit as it sends shocks of need down your entire body. You can’t help but let out a soft choked moan in real life. You slap your hand over your mouth in shock. Astarion let’s out a low snicker at your sounds.

“You alright?” Gale asks. You give him your best smile, trying to hide the warmth spreading over you.

“Oh yeah yeah. Just you know, enjoying this massage and company.” Gale smiles at your answer as he clamps his hand over your shoulder. He gives it a squeeze.

“I enjoy your company too.” Astarion might actually bite Gale if says even one more word. If he touches you one more time he will murder this magician. Images fly out of Astarions mind to yours of him pressing into your shoulder blades with the heel of his palm. Your face down in the bedroll as he takes you from behind. Your arms flailing forward desperate for something to latch onto. He gives you no adjustment, no coddling, no slow movements. He fucks into you hard and fast, his other hand giving your ass a slap that leaves welts of his palm ingrained into your skin. Just as you feel the images combined ecstasies come forth, Astarion leans over and bites into your shoulder in the image.

You yelp, going frigid on the walkway. Everyone else stops too, looking around as if ready for battle.

“What is it, (y/n)?” Astarion asks, a smile that rivals the Cheshire Cat. You glare daggers at him. Though it is hard to be angry with the need and hunger crashing in your loins. Everyone looks to you for your answer.

“Oh just an annoying rock in my shoe, come on we are just about into town!” You hurry forward, as if to outrun the thoughts that had flooded into your mind. This town was much larger than the previous. There were lots of different sectors, underground dens, and temples all across the area. Once again you all decide to meet in the city square when dusk approaches so you could all go set camp together. The rest of the time spent was for everyone to go do what they wanted. Though it was an unvoiced agreement that the time should be spent looking into different avenues for a cure. You decided to look into the temples on the other side of town. There were a few churches within the city. A couple of temples scattered as well. But the temples a few miles from the city were what intrigued you. There was talk that there was old scripture and tomes hidden somewhere in the ruins of the temples. If you could find these ancient texts maybe there would be something in them to help you all. You made your way into the dilapidated ruins before you came to the mouth of the opening. Old wooden doors barded you from entering. The lock looked ancient and it was magically sealed from the use of magic or violence to break it. You were not skilled in lockpicking whatsoever. Most of your skills came from combat or magic. You stare at the door trying to render out an idea before a cold hand comes to rest on the top of your head. You don’t need to turn to know who it is.

“Here to play more games, blood sucker?” You ask. His hand leaves your head as he walks towards the door to inspect it.

“Just thought you could use my help, and company, little killer.” He responds. He reaches for his lockpicking kit he keeps on him at all times and goes to work. The lock is tricky, a lot more to it than the modern day locks. But after a few minutes you hear the familiar pop of a lock coming undone. You can’t help the shocked look you give him.

“I’m wounded you forget my many talents dear. There is far more than bedroom talents to me.” You roll your eyes at him.

“A talent I have yet to see.” You wave off backhandedly. You walk forward into the temple. The inside is much like the outside. Pillars toppled over, old candles with wax clinging to surfaces all over. Sigils and paintings are scattered across the walls. Depictions of epic fights and of families and lovers. Images of archaic weddings and celebrations. The place is covered in cobwebs with puddles of old rusty water in several places. The front door doesn’t give much light so you cast a fire spell onto all the candles nearby in a radius. Astarion saunters over to your side.

“A talent you are more than welcome to indulge in, just say the word.” He teases. The both of you walk through more of the rooms in the temple. Many times you have to use magic to move old statues or pillars out of your way. Or needing to clear a walkway of abandoned desks or bookcases.

“I tried to just the other night and I was turned away. Must not be that much talent if you're scared to share it.” You bite back. Sparks shoot up inside of Astarion at your words. People can say many things about him, blood sucker, murderer, psychopath, but heavens they could not say a bad lover!

“Maybe it’s that you aren’t ready to experience such euphoria.” Astarion strikes back at you. You busy yourself with undoing traps in a back room as he lockpicks a gate to an underground cellar. You light a ball of flame in your hand as you both walk down the spiral stone steps.

“Have you ever thought that maybe you aren’t ready to experience mine?” You ask. As you come to the bottom of the stone steps a door with a magical symbol guards the final room. You inspect the magic and recognize it from your studies in your fathers libraries. It’s quite old, but thankfully not unknown to you. You cast the spell it looks for and it opens it’s rickety doors to you. Inside is the library you searched for. Walls covered in bookshelves of long forgotten texts. A large stone desk built into the floor stands in the middle. Old wooden chairs with torn pillows sit on each side of it. There are candelabras and candles all over the room. You once again light them as you make your way inside. You cross the room over to the table to examine the sole book left there; opened as if someone was in the midst of reading before this place fell. Astarion walks over to you and places both hands on either side of you and onto the table. He closes the space between your bodies. Your back to his chest, shared breath and warmth. Your heart lurches as you wait for his response. He pulls his lips closer to your ear, his breath tickling the back of your neck.

“I would very, very, much like to experience you. Say the word, and you are mine.” He whispers. Once again that familiar all suffocating feeling returns. The tension rose once more. Your hands enclose over his own. You lean your head back onto his shoulder and look back and over at him. Your eyes meet and there is shared hunger in both of your eyes. You lick your lips before you answer him.

“Take me, Astarion.” You can barely let out. His grip tightens on your own. Carnal lust, and maybe something more, perfuming the halls of the forgotten Aphrodite temple.

Part six here

Part eight here

I promise actual smut the next chapter, I’ll stop edging y’all

[moonstruckme]

i’ve been craving summer a whole lot lately so i’d love to see what a summer day with tasm!peter would look like if you’re up for it!!

Thanks for requesting my love!

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 705 words

You come home expecting relief, sweaty and smelly and exhausted, but there is none. The apartment you share with Peter is as stifling as it was outside. 

You go straight to the fridge. Maybe there’s some water you can pour over yourself or frozen peas you can shove under your boobs or something. As soon as you pad into the kitchen, Peter’s head pokes through the window to the fire escape. 

“Hey,” he says, sounding about as peppy as you feel. “The A/C’s broken.” 

“I can tell,” you sigh. “Have you texted the landlord?” 

“Texted, called, faxed—he’s definitely ignoring me. I went to his unit, and I’m not sure if he’s out or just hiding, but if he doesn’t respond by tonight I’m going in through his window.” Peter lets his head loll against the window frame, face flushed as he looks up at you. He makes a very pretty puddle. “Kiss?” 

You smile ruefully. “It’s too hot for kissing.” 

He huffs a laugh. “Fair enough. There’s popsicles in the freezer, wanna grab a couple and join me out here?” 

You open the freezer, and your heart inflates like one of those lifejackets they keep on airplanes. Peter—brilliant, considerate, genius Peter—has invested in a giant bag of tube popsicles. You grab a red one for him and a green one for yourself and climb out onto the fire escape. 

“You’re so smart for these,” you say. He grins as you pass him one, taking scissors from the windowsill to cut the top off of yours before doing his own. Your calf rubs slickly against his as you slot your legs in between his own. You don’t mind as much as you should. “Why’re you out here?” 

“The alley gets a breeze,” he explains, closing his eyes and tilting his head back slightly, the encapsulation of a golden retriever in boy form. A whisper of wind catches in his fluffy hair, just barely ruffling it, but Peter grins like it’s the most satisfying thing in the world. “Feel?” 

“Gimme a sec.” You take the plastic covering of your popsicle between your teeth, freeing your hands to pull the hair off your neck and securing it with a ponytail. The sweat-slicked skin of your nape feels blissfully cool in the air, and your eyes slip closed too as you pull the popsicle from your lips. “Oh, yeah,” you sigh, “I feel it.” 

Peter’s silent, and when you open your eyes he’s giving you a look. Eyebrows raised just slightly, one corner of his mouth tilted up. 

“If you still think it’s too hot to kiss,” he says, “you’re going to have to stop being so hot.” 

You scoff. “Peter,” you say, like come on. “I was just putting my hair up.” 

“And you know what that does to me.” He takes a bite of his popsicle, crunching pointedly. 

“It’s hot,” you complain. 

“It really is,” he replies, with a grin that has you rolling your eyes. 

“I mean that I’m—that my neck is hot.” 

“Again, so true.” 

“Stop it.” You narrow your eyes seriously, pressing your lips together hard to keep them from quirking. “There’s nothing sexy about how miserable it is out here.” 

Peter hums noncommittally, raising one shoulder in a half-shrug before he leans forward to hook his hands under your sweaty knees. You laugh as he hauls you toward him, his knees caging your ribs. He purses his lips, and you succumb yourself to your fate, and then cool air kisses your skin. 

You open your eyes. “What are you doing?” 

“I think it’s pretty obvious,” he says, continuing to blow on your face. “Is it helping?” 

You take a second, letting yourself get used to the feeling of his air soothing over your damp brow. “Actually, yeah.” 

Your boyfriend grins, still puffing out air as best he can through his smile. It brings his sun-kissed cheeks up towards his eyes and makes his lashes kiss. 

You let yourself kiss him right there beside his eye, a token of your appreciation, but that’s not good enough for Peter. He taps your cheek, nudging you towards his lips until you oblige him. 

“You’re my hero,” you tell him lightly. 

“Yeah, yeah, get in line.” 

[famwhy]

"I'm not getting in the Addison Lee..."

"...unless you pack your bags, you're comin' with me."

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II

Simon "Ghost" Riley X F!Reader

Synopsis: The car's outside but Ghost doesn't want to leave tonight.

Or... in which, your husband would rather hold you than the phone he uses to call you whenever he's away.

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

"You're always leaving."

Ghost pauses...

...then turns his head to look your way.

You're hugging your arms, hands rubbing up and down as though you can already feel the chill of an empty household, as though there's already nothing—no one—left to keep you warm... as though he's already gone.

But he isn't. He's right here. Right with you. Can't you see?

"Sorry, that just slipped out."

The pitter patter of the rain outside almost drowns out the whisper in your voice. It's bittersweet—how your words seem to sing with the beat their droplets hit the ground in. So beautiful. So perfect. So... you.

"Don't be," his voice is coarse as it slips out—dry from the lack of usage, and gruff with his normal texture. It has him clearing his throat, hand forming a fist over the mouth of his mask as though it'll do anything.

Then, his phone rings.

Your pupils trail down his other hand, and not a word leaves your mouth. But not a word needs to, for your eyes tell him thousands more than your mouth ever could.

They bring him back with how dull they seem, how clouded and heavy and conflicted the feelings within them grow.

They bring him back to when he left previously, and the time before that, and the time before that.

They bring him back to when he was sitting in his room at the base, staring at the same, bland, four walls as he held the cold metal of his phone tight, and so close to his ear, that it practically sent a chill through his mask; a chill that mercilessly bit his bare skin underneath.

He found himself craving the warmth of your hand instead, the heat of your love that burned so bright, it could melt away even the coldest of hearts. Just like it did his.

You ruined him—completely ruined him for anyone else. You left an imprint on that cold heart of his, tattooed your initials on it before sculpting a hole in the form of your silhouette, a hole that always felt empty when you weren't there to fill it; a hole that forced him to fall asleep feeling incomplete without you by his side.

But he wouldn't have it any other way.

His phone rings again.

Ghost blinks, and he's once more met with your stunning figure leaning against the doorway, arms still crossed and lips curved down.

His gaze averts.

The clicks of your heels start to echo through the room.

"Lemme help."

Your hand's reaching out for a bag, and his is over yours before he can even realise. It's big, engulfs your smaller one like two pieces of a puzzle made for each other. Two pieces that are continuously pulled apart and put back together over and over and over again.

What a cruel hand fate must have to doom you both so.

"Don't bother, I've got it."

Your lips fall further down, but you make no moves for a second attempt.

It's then that he picks up his bags, fingers winding around the rough material of his handles. They rub against his skin, friction tricking him into feeling a warmth, but not a comfort. No, not a single bit of warmth in the world can bring him comfort like yours can.

Not a single bit.

Once his grip is secure, he starts to walk out the door. And you're right behind him.

Ghost's footsteps are heavy, his shoes weighing him down more than usual, as if pleading with him to stay—begging him not to leave you.

He can feel your eyes boring through his skull from behind, and, for the first time in his life, his mask starts to feel suffocating rather than comforting, stuffy rather than warm.

He doesn't like it.

The older man stops abruptly. You bump right into him.

A sniffle then makes its way into his ears, and the next thing he knows, his bags are on the floor and his arms are forming a hoop that fits you flush inside.

He takes in a breath, then his chest erupts in pain.

It's horrible. His heart feels like it's being ripped apart, and that familiar sense of emptiness eats away at him as he watches your shoulders start to shake. There's pain coming from the areas your nails dig into, but it's nothing compared to the heartache that claws away at him, the looming sense of loneliness towering over him.

It's an unfamiliar feeling, but he knows it so well.

You are his beautiful princess and he: your dutiful knight—off to serve and protect you from the threats that loom over your palace, your kingdom, while you are forced to bid him adieu, while the two of you embrace like the star-crossed lovers you are.

The moon's glow is so powerful, that she's capable of hugging you through the window, framing your face with that comforting warmth he'll be stripped of soon. She cups your cheeks as you tilt your head up at him, and not even all of the city lights can shine as bright as your eyes in this agonising moment.

If he could, he would trade both those lights and the stars strung over the night sky for a minute more...

...but the car's outside, and his friend's called twice.

So, ignoring the feeling of a thousand blades being stabbed straight through his heart, of that familiar void that starts to grow within the depths of his soul, his fingers swipe at the crystals gathering beneath your glossy eyes before he lifts his mask just enough so that his lips can place themselves on your forehead—warm and firm and oh-so-full of love.

Then the mask is back down, and he grabs his bags before starting to walk away again.

But he doesn't get far, for you soon call out to him.

And Ghost pauses mid-step.

"I'll miss you!"

Stuffy. Suffocating. Uncomfortable.

"I always do... as soon as you get in the car..."

This damn mask is getting too fucking annoying.

With that thought, the rough hand previously hanging by his side moves up to snag the edge of the material before pulling it off in one fell swoop.

And suddenly, the world seems so much more clearer.

That feeling of being without you feels so much more stronger.

And the want within him grows so much more louder.

Simon is tired. He's tired of loving from afar, of never being where you are. And he doesn't want to leave you anymore.

So he turns his head to look your way.

You're stood there, eyes glossy as ever, pricked in the corners and swirling with a storm he's never had to brave before.

But he'll face it this time. He'll face it because he'd rather hold you than try to catch this flight.

"I'm not..."

You squint, lips quivering as you utter a weak, "What?"

"I'm not getting in the Addison Lee..." he talks slow, and observes the way your pupils expand with a light feeling in his chest, "...unless you pack your bags, you're comin' with me."

You pause, blinking those glossy eyes of yours at him as though in disbelief.

But when he makes no move to say or do anything else, your lips part, and you speak once more.

"You want me to come to the base with you..?"

The words cause his shoulders to bounce, head shaking side-to-side as he lightly chuckles. "No, love, we're not goin' to the base. We're goin' on 'oliday, just you and I."

You blink a few more times before your cheeks begin to glisten with more salty water, before you're picking up your skirt and running and almost tripping over yourself—but Simon's there to catch you.

He's always there to catch you.

And when you're in his arms again, it's like a weight's been lifted off his shoulders, like an airy cloud has engulfed him with nothing but comfort and solace.

The feeling is foreign—new but not unwelcome.

So is the lack of emptiness that flows through him when you pull away, and a smile teeming with excitement is stretched across your lips.

"Don't forget to close the windows and lock all the doors," he teases with a smile.

You wave him off as you head back up the stairs, but he can't find it in himself to be mad.

So, instead, he just places his mask back on and awaits for the moment you come back to him, for the moment he gets to hold you again. It doesn't take long—no, it doesn't take long at all. With how quickly you packed, it's almost as though you waited your whole life for this moment.

And if that's the case, then he's so sorry for having to make you wait for so long.

As soon as the both of you are outside, Simon makes his way over to Soap's Addison Lee with you trailing behind just like you were a few moments before—though, this time, there's a clear pep in your step.

Soap is quick to unlock the door, pupils following Simon before quickly shooting to the next pair of feet that enter.

The lieutenant can sense the query in his co-worker's eyes, and answers accordingly, "Takin' those vacation days off. Do me a favour and tell the captain after drivin' us to the airport, yeah Johnny?"

The lower-ranking soldier raises a brow.

"Yer crazy for this one, L.T.," says he after a beat, lips quirking up before he's turning back around to grip the wheel once more.

Simon merely smiles, his calloused hand reaching for your own before your fingers intertwine and your rings meet with a clink of nothing but holy matrimony. "I know."

[anxiousnerdwritings]

If Daemon’s bby ever died on the battlefield so young: how would her loved ones react? And would anyone (the dragon literally symbolizes their house ofc) fight over her humongous three-headed dragon? Just imagine if it just casually flew away after the funeral without giving anyone a opportunity to claim them.

Daemon would absolutely lose it if his beloved child died in any way. There would be a sense of pride and respect for his bby dying in battle and fighting till the very end, but you can bet he will absolutely destroy whoever had a part in his child’s demise. And he will burn them all to the fucking ground. He wouldn’t rest until the entire lineage of the people involved in his child’s death were wiped out.

Rhaenyra would be in such a severe state of mourning for her most treasured friend/cousin. She would want to fight alongside Daemon and bring down the people who stole their beloved one from them. Rhaenyra’s hurt and anger would be more than enough to fuel her till the end to see the downfall of everyone involved in her cousin’s death. And she would make damn sure she got her vengeance for her late loved one. No one would go unpunished for taking away her bestest and dearest friend.

Given that I imagine this happening before the Dance of Dragons takes place, I can’t help but imagine Viserys’ reaction and how he would be towards Daemon. I feel like this would be something that would very well bring the two brothers together. Viserys can understand the state his brother would be in and he can’t possibly imagine going through it himself. He wouldn’t know what he would do if anything happened to Rhaenyra but he knows damn well he would go to war over it too. He wouldn’t hold anything against Daemon for what he does afterward, he can’t bring himself to knowing he would do something of the same level himself if his child faced the same fate. Viserys would ensure that the Reader got the most deserving funeral of any Targaryen there ever was.

Don’t even get me started on Rhea’s reaction. She would 1000% blame Daemon. Whether she blames his blood running through their child’s veins or his teaching them to never run from a fight. She puts it on him but she blames herself just as much for not keeping her child by her side. There really wasn’t much she could do but that doesn’t stop her from ripping herself apart. I don’t doubt that Daemon blames himself too but Rhea really throws it in his face, especially if this happened in a battle that Daemon and their child were fighting on the frontlines together. Her loss and grief would be too much for her, Rhea wouldn’t know what to do with herself once her child is gone. She would demand their child have a funeral fit for a Royce while Daemon fights tooth and nail that his child deserves nothing less than a true Targaryen send off. The death of their beloved child would only drift the two further apart and bring nothing but more hostility and hatred towards each other.

When it comes to the Reader’s dragon, I can’t help but think of two things. The dragon either pulls a similar stunt to Drogon and takes its’ treasured rider away to somewhere for just the two of them to be, or it sticks around until after the funeral and goes off on its own to live the rest of its days in mourning in solitude and forever being without its beloved companion again. No matter who had the gall to even try and claim the Reader’s dragon for themself the dragon would have absolutely none of it. I could see it taking on a similar disposition to Cannibal after its rider dies. It becomes extremely hostile towards anyone or anything that comes near it, all three of it’s heads retaliating and going after anyone and anything. Hell, I can even see the poor dragon going after itself and the three heads turning on one another in a form of self destruction. Just overall the Reader’s dragon acting out in its own way of suffering and being grief stricken by its detrimental loss.

Honestly, I really can’t see the Reader’s dragon allowing the Reader’s funeral to take place. I could see the dragon seeing this as the Reader’s family and everyone else in attendance further harming the Reader more, especially in the sense of the other dragons being the ones to set alight the Reader’s funeral pyre for their send off. The Reader’s dragon taking this as more of a threat to the Reader than what it’s actually supposed to be and a chaotic dragon fight ensuing with the Reader’s dragon trying to take its’ rider’s body back with it where it can be forever safe and protected.

[whoreish-behaviour]

Steven Grant + Marc Spector x Reader

Warnings >~< = Hair pulling, mild brat taming

Not proof read

Shutting your eyes, you attempted to breathe normally - anger radiating off you in waves as you sat criss cross on the sofa - gaming controller almost on the brink of breaking in your tight grip.

It's just a game, it's just a game, its-

Marc's scolding words repeating in you head as you (forcefully) dropped the controller on the floor, the satisfying sound of the plastic doing little to ease your frustration.

'Just a game.' You murmured, shutting your eyes momentarily so you didn't have to keep staring at the DEFEAT! on the tv screen.

However, as soon as you reopened them - the anger flew right back.

'Fucking assholes! Spamming the same controls doesn't make you a better player-.' You rambled, face flushing as you felt yourself getting worked up.

'And my stupid fucking team, like seriously-'

'Darlin’?'

You snapped your mouth shut at the sudden voice of Steven, turning your head to look at where he was stood by the front door. He was dressed in his usual oversized attire, brows pinched together.

'You okay there?' His voice was soft, head tilting in that adorable way when he was unsure.

You pursed your lips, one side of you knowing that you should just take your loss and move on. But, you couldn't shake it off, it was too fresh.

'I'm fine.' You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning back against the sofa as you looked back to the tv.

DEFEAT! PRESS 'X' TO CONTINUE

You heard Steven's footsteps as he migrated through his apartment, the sound of something heavy dropping on the counter before the tapping of his shoes made their way to you.

You felt slightly stupid for staring at the unmoving tv screen but made no move to change the channel or start a new game.

You felt him loom over you from behind, hand coming up to rub the top of your head lovingly.

'Aw darling, you know its-'

'I know Steven.' You yourself almost winced at the bite in your tone.

He didn't respond, a pregnant pause hanging in the air before he gently removed his hand from your head.

'Okay, well let me know if you-'

'Uh huh.' You cut him off, the rush of being an utter brat going straight to your head.

While Steven was sweet, you also knew that he loved to ring you back and put you in your place - problem was that it took a long time before that switch would set off inside him.

Giving you the perfect open window to let your frustration spew with no consequences.

Uncrossing your arms, you leaned forward and away from Steven to reach for the remote - lips set in a pout.

You weren't expecting the tight grip your hair was succumbed to, fist unforgiving as you were yanked back to your original position, back flat against the sofa.

'That any way to talk to Steven pretty girl?'

You swallowed thickly at the sound of Marc's unmissable American accent, throat bobbing at the sudden nerves racking your body.

'Hm?' He probed, hand pulling your hair even more taught as he leaned down into your space, running his nose over you jaw and then down to your neck.

Your body immediately shut down, Marc's intimidation and dominance usually having that effect on you.

'And now you're ignoring me, just digging yourself a deeper hole.' He reprimanded, using his hold on your hair to give himself more access to your neck.

'I'm sorry.' Your voice was quiet and meek, complete opposite to your earlier coldness.

Shutting your eyes, you accepted your fate when you felt him chuckle into you - lips brushing your skin and making you feel like an exposed nerve.

'No you’re not.' He pulled away, cold air cooling your warming skin.

You gasped, eyes shooting open when the hand in you hair somehow tightened, pulling your head back until it was rested over the edge of the sofa, Marc's displeased upside down face coming into view.

'But you will be sweet girl.'