#is that not a tag I’ve used before??? nothing came up implying such

[fatesundress]

⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader

part i here.

summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)

tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.

note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡

word count. 6.3k

The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.

You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and not-at-all entitled request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying, doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.

“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”

You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”

Pot. Kettle. Whatever.

“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”

You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — yes, that too. Slipped your mind. So easy to forget.

You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”

She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”

And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through her head.

“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.

You have, of course, trained for this. 

It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was completely inconspicuous to wear such a thing in December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it. And he’d smiled, like he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a short moment, made you want him dead.

Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.

His, he’d called you. A very funny thing.

“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same. 

You deserve applause for this.

“Tired?”

“Mhm — Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and it’s been keeping us up all night.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.

“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.

“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”

“...Hm.”

That’s it. That’s all you get from him.

And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.

“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”

He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth.

You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.

Well. Perhaps not, then.

You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches.

And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.

You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.

“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”

“Buy a doll, Selwyn; you can dress them however you like.”

“You are such a —”

You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it. 

“Just — go then, before I hex you.”

“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”

“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle stares at you all night.”

You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.

“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.

You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they must be enchanted with something.

Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of different lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of Slytherin pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you haven’t been to an event like this at the school yet, and that’s exciting on its own.

It’s another degree of training (is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), a step up from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.

“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps!”

You’re spared Tom’s closeness by a Ravenclaw couple sat in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from their goblets, and you only realise the length of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet and pretending to enjoy Slughorn’s bitter wine.

You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, wait, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet instrumental begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.

What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction? 

You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.

Where is the bottle of wine? No. Nevermind. You behave regrettably enough sober.

You manage a simple, “And yet.”

“...And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a drink from his goblet. 

You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your neck.

“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”

Expect you… No, yes — revert to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.

It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.

“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”

Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.

“Pity.”

Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.

You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —

"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"

“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”

God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive — you don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner. 

There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.

“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s hardly charity.”

“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”

You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.

“You look lovely.”

It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”

And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know little about his personal life but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes.

He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best.

His eyes drift over you appreciatively, quick enough not to be rude but — enough. (Enough that you daresay you might never recover from the horror of it.) You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”

What?

You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —

“Unbelievable…”

He quirks a brow. “What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”

“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Do forgive my uncertainty.”

He — that was —

“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”

“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”

You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt thing: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that your empty goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.

Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”

You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s quite late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs.

“I’m taking my friend to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”

Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.

“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself will need to be carried!”

“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Oh, no trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”

No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint.

But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”

Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.

“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”

You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your goblet. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and he looks positively thrilled.

“It’s hardly charity, sir.” He holds out his arm.

You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.

Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”

You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party. 

Neither of you say a word on the journey, and that’s very well.

If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.

And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your walk stutters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.

And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.

And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as his fingers clasp yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left.

He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.

His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re allowing it all again. You’re leaning in, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.

You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.

You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.

“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.

The moment you say his name — the instant — he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what his lips feel like. You’d almost forgotten. 

This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it asks you to push, to plead, to take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into it when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit in your hands as his wander appreciatively over the back of your dress, pulling you into him as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine on his tongue and you’re still here, aware enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.

“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking about how long it might take before you need it again." 

You gasp at the sensation, and god, god, you've been wondering too, haven't you?

You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt as you moan into his mouth. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you like this all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without aim, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it needs, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.

You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works, but it’s still funny to think it would apply to this.

It hurts to remove yourself from him to watch in dumb awe as the door forms in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips), and Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.

His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; his free hand at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him. 

He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses down on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. You shiver as his mouth starts to move down (a cheap trick — he hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time) from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.

You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and someone else begins. 

This is not like that.

You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.

You’re tugging at him blindly again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling down onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you into the mattress.

His mouth is molten hot as you squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.

How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?

And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly so he just bunches it around your waist instead. There’s a moment where he stops to look at you, your chest exposed to him in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth returns to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that seeks to escape you. He hums around your flesh, and then he’s at your sternum, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.

You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.

His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.

“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks. 

At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them. 

Tom smiles. “Hm, you did." 

And then he spreads your legs apart, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he ever wanted you to want.

“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"

Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.

His head moves happily between your knees, holding them apart, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.

And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his chin dips. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.

Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.

You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. And with his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”

That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your peripheral where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”

His mouth returns to you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more, more, more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to.

But he pauses, observant as he starts to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.

You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.

“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.” 

Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)

He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. What you're feeling now — the need, the want, everything —  is more than rational thought. Your mind goes blank, and all that matters is this, him, right here and now; nothing else exists, not even for a second. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too intense; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.

More, you agree; it's almost an obsession in you now; more, more, please, anything and everything.

It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands helplessly to his hair.

“Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his mouth finding you again is something destructive.

As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is dropping open.

His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s watching you between your thighs as your eyes clench shut, and you’re coming.

Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, electric down to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting. 

He takes all of you, and you think this is destruction — creation — both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.

His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches them from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. You’re dripping down his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.

But he just rolls off of you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t.

You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still fucking sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers damp on your chin as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.

And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.

When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.

A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers. 

When you can finally shrug his shirt off, press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to even conceptualise, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and — yes, there’s more.

Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll and you — fuck. You’re tugging desperately to remove his belt and he smiles against your throat as he takes your hands and guides them to him. You can feel his bulge against your thigh and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without even meaning to.

Tom’s taking off his belt, and he’s pulling down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops his assistance like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious, in a way, about the way he's looking at you now; it's a kind of focus and intensity and withheld hunger just for you; and you're more than happy to give yourself over to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own. To claim him for yours, at last.

You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient. 

But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, pained exhale, his hands clutching your waist.

There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still. 

Your lips quiver over his pulse, and your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable rate of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”

Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.

And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in. 

It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.

Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.

His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him. 

“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your own claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he says it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.

You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.

It’s there again when you need it most; the heavy, swirling feeling inside you as he snaps his hips, his fingers returning to your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, low in his throat, and you push harder against him. Your vision is gone again, head held in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with his head between your legs — with his eyes on yours, with every broken moan you let out so close to his face he can feel the breath of each one.

You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.

“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”

Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. He’s very eager to oblige you.

He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, trembling like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is gripping around him, fingers carving halved spheres into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy — you’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.

And you're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.

The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.

You’re both lost in each other for a moment that feels detached from time, feeling his hips stutter to a halt, feeling your body soften. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss, the sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think — and you actually sway like the mere idea is too strong — that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.

But he sort of lifts you off him, lays you down and watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before he's laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.

You did say he was yours.

[vessel-token]

— sugar, i’ve got a taste for you now.

Sleep Token Vessel x F!Reader x III.

Tags ; Explicit Sexual Content. Dom/Sub Undertones. Implied Polyamorous Relationship. Implied Established Relationship. Fingering. Cunnilingus. Threesome. Hints of Exhibitionism & Voyeurism. Minor Breathplay. Aftercare. Fluff (at the end).

AN ; did you see what i did there with the title. smirks. do you like that. lmao man idk why i’ve been writing so much with the reader getting eaten out, it’s just lowkey fun to write and i don’t think there’s ever enough of it ykwim?? so enjoy this nasty idea that came to me while listening to sugar and remembering that time when vessel straddled iii on stage. they’re highkey gay for each other in this, hence why i went ahead and tagged it as poly, but they’re also down bad for reader so??? also, before anyone asks, i do plan to write a part 2 and maybe 3… as always, this is NSFW, so MDNI. ⚠️

Divider ; @benkeibear-deactivated20240529

How you got here, splayed overtop Vessel’s lap, largely remains a mystery to you. What you had been doing, why you had been doing it, all of that has essentially left you. All that registers in your clouded mind — all that is important enough to register — is the sensation of Vessel’s hands groping at your naked body and the sight of III kneeling between your parted legs.

Your back is flush to Vessel’s chest and his thighs are hooked beneath your own, ensuring that they stay open nice and wide for III. It puts you on a downright lewd display, worsened only when Vessel decides to tease III further by reaching his hand down and spreading your slick folds apart. Almost instinctively, you clench around nothing, terribly aware of the invitation Vessel is making out of your evident arousal. You can’t help but squirm against him, equal amounts shame and desire painting your face with a red flush. It crawls down your neck and reaches the tips of your ears, but there is little you can do about your current predicament.

Vessel’s arm remains a firm barrier around your middle, keeping you trapped against him. It’s not that he’s holding you there against your will, but rather to keep you from thrashing in the midst of whatever he has planned for you. You’ve already got a pretty good guess, seeing the blatant hunger that burns in III’s eyes as he drinks in the near-pornographic view Vessel is presenting him with. You’re unsure which of you he aims to torment more, yourself or III. It’s likely both of you, if you’re thinking realistically.

Vessel isn’t exactly a sadist, quite the opposite in your opinion, but he is most definitely a tease in almost all that he does. Whether it be his performances, his rituals, or his general appearance, all of him seemed to be designed to leave one wanting more. Perhaps that was why he’d snagged the attention of Sleep, having been enough to entice even an ancient deity.

“Look at you,” Vessel murmurs, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “So eager for us.”

You make a noise that ends up sounding like some pathetic amalgamation of a whine and a moan, agreeing but begrudgingly. You hear III laugh between your legs, but the clear strain in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You shoot him a pointed glare, hoping to convey your feelings of faux betrayal. He holds your gaze steady and unwavering, his mask pulled up just enough to reveal smug grin.

Bastard.

“Go ahead. Taste her,” Vessel instructs, nodding to III. He rests his chin on your shoulder, making sure to give himself an unobstructed view of the other man as he retracts his hand. He places it instead on III’s cheek, stroking the revealed skin beneath as he guides him closer to you.

Whether III’s quick response time is due to him receiving permission or because it’s a command from Vessel, you don’t know. You sure as hell don’t care either, not as you watch III delve between your thighs. You feel his tongue before you see it, swiping across your neglected cunt in broad strokes. All at once, your head falls back against Vessel’s chest, a punched-out moan ripping free from your throat. Hearing it only spurs III on, no longer simply teasing but instead devouring you.

Much like Vessel had appeared to predict, you begin to squirm in his lap, trying in vain to grind yourself against III’s face. Both men take notice, with Vessel groping at your tits and III giving an acknowledging hum against you. The sounds the latter makes are nothing short of perverse, sucking and licking at you like you’re a delicacy and he’s been fasting. His nose bumps against your clit a few times, but you can tell he’s purposely avoiding it, something which nearly makes you cry out in misery.

“Please,” you beg, too caught up to give a damn about your pride. “Please, I’ve been good. I’ve been patient.”

Vessel’s lips graze your ear. You can’t see him, but you can tell he’s smirking. “This isn’t about punishment, my love.”

Just when you’re about to protest because that’s exactly what this feels like, you catch sight of Vessel’s free hand sneaking down, blackened fingertips dancing over your skin. He’s almost graceful as he does it, like this is some kind of intimate ritual he has to be mindful to perfect. You watch with heaving breaths as he seeks out your swollen clit, rubbing at it while III groans into your cunt. You can’t stop your hips from bucking this time, a broken cry fleeing your lips as both of them work at you. This time, Vessel mercifully doesn’t stop you from moving.

Not one to be outdone, III adds his own fingers, pushing two inside you. He curls and flexes them, seeking out the same bundle of nerves that Vessel is currently targeting on the outside. The dual stimulation has all kinds of sounds leaving your mouth, your eyes squeezing shut and your brows furrowing. The arm that once wrapped around your torso finally departs, Vessel’s hold relinquishing in favor of migrating further up your body. You feel all five points of contact from his warm palm as it closes around your throat, squeezing just enough to make breathing difficult.

All at once, your orgasm hits you with blinding force.

Both men release gutteral groans as they feel you cum, fingers and tongue insistently working you through it. Vessel abandons your clit in favor of pressing down on the back of III’s head, practically smothering the other against you. III doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, if the way his hips jerk against nothing is anything to go by. For a brief moment, you swear you see stars behind your eyelids, your moans trailing into whimpers once overstimulation begins to set in.

“Too much,” you choke out, floating on the border between pain and pleasure. It mixes together to create a heady sensation, giving you a high like no other as Vessel and III finally begin to ease back.

III presses a featherlight kiss to your lower lips before resting his head against your inner thigh, panting just as heavily as you. Vessel soothes you both, loosening his grip on your throat and massaging it instead. He mirrors the action on III’s cheek with his other hand, murmuring soft praises to you both. He’s often like this with the two of you, ignoring his own needs in favor of tending to you both.

That isn’t to say he can’t be selfish when he wants to, the man can be one hell of a brat, but he’s nothing if not devoted. You can still feel his hardness pressing against your ass, silently pleading for some attention. You can clearly see III’s in the same predicament, but neither of them make any moves without your permission or request.

As your senses gradually return to you, you release your death grip on the couch cushions beneath you, flexing your aching fingers. You shift on Vessel’s lap, angling your head back to place a kiss on his jaw. You can feel III’s gaze on you and before he can dare pout or complain, you reach down to take him by the chin, gently urging him up to meet you. You can still taste yourself on him, but it’s a very small price to pay to kiss him. Vessel hums from over your shoulder, basking in the mutual affection as he kisses your cheek and then moves to III once you’re done.

Their lip-lock, you notice, is much more heated than yours had been. You watch as Vessel tongue swipes across III’s lips, undoubtedly enjoying the combined taste of him and you. As III moans into Vessel’s mouth, you find yourself reminded that this night has yet to be over.

Taglist ; @that-unfortunate-crow @moni-cah @avagraceiossi @miss-multi45 @adenobabe @swissy23 @justarheaslut

(Let me know if you’d like to be added to future fics!)

[tsukimefuku]

the letter ꕥ higuruma hiromi

summary: reader writes a letter for an absentee. one that she will never send.

tags: f!reader, implied past relationship, higuruma x reader, angst, break up, longing and general heartbreak.

wc: 1k

notes etc.: this is actually my original style of writing in my native language before i began writing in 2nd(?) + 3rd person pov on ao3 and tumblr this year. it’s different from what I’ve written so far, but I hope you guys enjoy it. the style translation was hard, holy shirt. song → shake it out (florence + the machine).

ꕥ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist

i like to keep my issues drawn ꕥ it’s always darkest before the dawn

I was debating if I should start this with “hey, Hiromi”, “hi, Higuruma”, “dear” something, and I still haven’t arrived at an answer. The first sounds too casual for what we have become — and what are we now if not strangers? The second, however, is just too impersonal, and I don’t need such a stinging reminder of how much I’m not entitled to your first name anymore. At last, “dear” to start a letter is just tacky.

Alas, I digress.

I don’t quite know what possessed me to pick up a pen and a piece of paper (analogical, just like you’ve noted me to be) to blurt out the swirling hurts in my mind, but I guess I still had a lot to say, even if you weren’t here long enough to hear it.

Here goes nothing.

You might be wondering how I’m doing (at least I hope so), so I thought I’d let you know.

Tonight, more specifically, I’ve been for an insurmountable stretch of time — were it hours? Minutes? Days? Out of my priorities, tracking time has not been one of them — staring at the empty vacuum making its presence known by my side. It seems to mock my stare, that longs, against all odds, for a miracle — for you to simply materialize right there, out of thin air.

Seriously, you should see the mess you’ve made when you left.

You left an emptiness of shoes, black suits, wet towels on the bed, cup marks on the furniture, scratches of morning beard, warm legs under the covers — an emptiness of body that has been giving me nightmares. You came in, flipped everything upside down, blew up my walls and made so that every edge, vertex, color and smell of this heart and bones surrounding our leftover life would incessantly scream for you.

It’s like my misery extended beyond myself and resoundingly expanded against the walls of this house.

But… even though I wish you were here with every tiny part of myself, I couldn’t ask for you to stay. I know it wouldn’t be fair. You’d never ask me to betray myself, and the least I could do was to love you in the same earnest way. 

You wouldn’t be the man I loved if you didn’t go. I wouldn’t be the person you loved if I asked you not to (I apologize for the past tense, it’s one of those truthless comforts I’ve decided to give myself for the time being).

You still linger here, though. I still keep your gaze close to my chest, your face pressed against my skin, your warm voice caressing the edge of my ear and your hair stroking through my fingers, even if it’s just my soul pretending for a minute.

A long minute.

You know, it has been hell without you here. The couch cushions wrap around me like your arms, the bed always bounces by the time you used to get up, and the kitchen smells like your favorite take-out meals (because God knows we’d set fire to this building if we so much as dared turning that stove top on). The window reflects two back at me when only one is looking at it, and my hiking boots are dearly missing those black oxford shoes. My coat hanging on the edge of the closet is also dearly missing your crumpled black ties sprinkled around the room (of course you took weeks to properly wash and organize them — when you ever did).

Oh, and the bed.

The bed is just not the same without that stupid, ridiculous blotch of water your towel would always leave on it.

A huge chunk of our house is missing.

I know I can’t let my selfishness kidnap you from what you need to do — and I do know you need it. But damn, sometimes it’s hard to fight the urge of hopping on the first train your way, grabbing you by your wrist and asking you to become once again part of my wallpaper, my duvet, my pillows. Just promise me you’ll make all of this pain worthwhile, even if you ran away with ten thirds of me.

Ever since you left, though, I learned a few tricks to mask your ever so present absence. I can pull the pillows towards the middle of the bed, eat in the living room and read in the kitchen, being sure to slowly put all my pieces back in place. 

It’s harder to notice an empty chair across the table when you willingly choose to sit on the ground.

However, I didn’t want to do that. Not today. Call it insanity, clarity, or just meet me in my madness like you always so kindly did.

Today, I wanted to let you invade me, come into my house with my full permission and go on turning everything upside down once more. That way, I can almost feel you there. To me, at least for now, that’s good enough (or as good as I know it’s gonna get).

Your muted way of sharing our space could be so, so silent. That quietude brought me the deepest of peaces.

Unfortunately, I never anticipated the silence from your absence would be so loud, and not peaceful at all. It has been hammering at my breathless heart for days. 

I miss you.

I love you, too.

***

With a sigh, you put the pen down and stared at the paper sheet for a minute, your own calligraphy so foreign with a pain you hadn’t let out properly ever since Hiromi… actually, Higuruma stepped out that morning.

Considering your options, you resigned, and pulled the letter in a crinkled messy ball, tossing it in the garbage can.

No need to talk to a voluntary absentee. No need to bother him, either.

You got yourself back up and picked up two pairs of keys, the blue buttoned shirt and made your way out of the apartment, not failing to hear the rumbling echo the door made when it slammed closed.

An echo that only happens in truly empty places.

[steddieas-shegoes]

swindled for the hole

for @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘hole’

wc: 404 | rated m | cw: sexual innuendo, implied sexual content | tags: modern au, established relationship, date night, Steve is actually very good at top golf but lies about it to win a bet

⛳️⛳️⛳️⛳️⛳️⛳️⛳️⛳️⛳️⛳️⛳️⛳️

“And that’s…nothing.” Steve sighed. “How are we both so bad at this?”

“Well, I’ve never been good at sports. Not sure why you thought taking me to Top Golf would be the start of my shining golf career,” Eddie mumbled, chewing on a fried macaroni and cheese bite. “Food’s good, though.”

“But I’m usually good at this stuff!” Steve huffed.

“When have you ever golfed?” Eddie sipped his beer.

“Not golf necessarily! Getting balls in a hole!”

Eddie snorted so hard, beer came out of his nose. “Sweetheart, you have to know how that sounds.”

Steve clearly didn’t, the redness on his cheeks spreading rapidly down his neck.

“I do now.” Steve sighed, setting his club back in the compartment. “I have 4 points. And I don’t even think they’re supposed to be mine.”

“Well it’s better than my 0.”

Steve took a sip of his Long Island iced tea, then another, then drank the rest.

“Let’s make this interesting.”

Eddie glanced up from his mozzarella sticks and smirked. “Yeah?”

“Yep. I get one ball in the middle circle of any hole and I win. I win, I get in another hole.” Steve winked. “You win, you get the same.”

“You got a deal.”

Eddie chugged the rest of his beer and stood up to take his next turn.

He randomly chose the driver, figured maybe if it was bigger, he’d have a better chance of getting the ball further.

On the first swing, it did actually manage to go far, but it landed in the grass and got stopped by another ball.

He could feel Steve’s eyes on his back, but didn’t turn around, didn’t want to be distracted from winning.

He had two holes to get into.

His second swing was slightly better, and he managed to get the ball into one of the outer rings.

His third and final swing was terrible. His confidence was gone.

Steve brushed past him with a mozzarella stick in his mouth, smirk on his face.

“Wedge? Or nine iron?”

“You don’t even know what that means.” Eddie rolled his eyes.

Steve raised his brows in a challenge before grabbing one that looked smaller than the driver, but bigger than the first one Eddie used.

Steve swung.

The ball flew through the air.

It landed directly in the center of the middle circle.

He turned to Eddie with a smile.

“One hole down, one to go.”

[hypnoneghoul]

Sundown: Chapter 10

WC: 1K

Relationship: SwissAlps

Tags: AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain, Transfeminine Mountain, Implied Dissociation, Hurt/Comfort, Grief

“She was the brightest person I’ve ever known. It’s like…she lit up every room she walked into.”

Playlist here. / Chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 10 under the cut or on AO3.

Swiss has never expected to have to think about a day such as this one. He has never expected he would have to go about his day with the knowledge that on this exact day, just a year prior, his baby sister was being murdered to be left for him to find mauled in a puddle of her own blood.

Alas, here he is. Here it is, the first anniversary of Sunshine’s death.

He told Mounty a few weeks ago so she would understand that him distancing himself has nothing to do with her. She understands, but she’s not one to let her lover drown in misery while she watches from a distance. She’ll give him all the space he needs, but the moment she sees he needs her, she’ll be there.

The barmaid wakes up first to Swiss’ head resting on her chest and his arms tight around her waist. She looks down at him as much as possible, and wishes he could always be as peaceful as he is in that moment. Still, he soon wakes up.

Mounty sees in his eyes and expression as he comes to and realizes the date. The hurt flashing across his face jabs her straight into her own heart and she squeezes the man’s arm reassuringly. He doesn’t speak—none of their usual morning sappy giggles ensue—but he looks up at his girl and simply blinks and it’s more than enough for Mounty to know what he means. It’s a ‘thank you’ and an ‘I love you’ and an ‘I need you’ and so much more.

The barmaid nods, whispering as to not disturb the reverent silence too much, “I love you, too.”

Swiss lays his head back on her chest and sighs. It’s not going to be an easy day and it feels like hours before Mounty feels the man shift again.

“Do you want to talk about it? About her?” Mounty proposes, approaching the topic very carefully. “I’d love to hear something, if you’d like to tell me.”

“Yeah, I–I think I do,” Swiss rumbles after thinking about it for a little while, with his voice gravelly from unuse.

Mounty’s soft kiss on his forehead is more than enough of an encouragement, but Swiss realizes he really does want to talk about Sunshine. He never did, after her death, and now it’s been a year. She deserves to be talked about, though, she can’t be forgotten, the memory of her can’t simply fade. The cowboy owes it to her and maybe, just maybe, it’ll help him, too.

He sits up and turns to lean against the wall by the window, so she can look at his girl as he tells her the story.

“Her name was Sunshine,” he starts after clearing his throat, “Sunny for short. And it fit, she was the brightest person I’ve ever known. It’s like…she lit up every room she walked into, ya know?”

Mounty nods, smiling softly.

“She was six years younger than me and she was a…huh, a surprise let’s say. I don’t know about my parents, I doubt my mother wanted to have more children with my failure of a father, but I was over the moon. I wasn’t as happy when no one could sleep for months once she was born, but once she got quieter I was her biggest fan.

Then, uh…our parents sucked so I was mostly taking care of us both. Mom died when Sunny was around five. We were good, but you already know how my father fucked us over and how it all ended.

She was very creative. She liked to sing and always came up with new funny songs and new ways to make noise. Everything was her instrument, even the wind and rustling trees themselves. She was a…a true gem, ya know? There’s not enough people like her in the world.”

Swiss’ breath hitches and he outstretches his hands, desperately needing Mounty’s touch. She puts her own in them and laces their fingers together, silently saying that she’s with him and not going anywhere.

“I never told you that your voice–” his own cracks, “you sound very similar to how she did. You laugh the same.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, sorry. Should’ve told you sooner.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Mounty finally speaks again, “there was no reason for you to tell me, I don’t mind.”

“Mhm,” Swiss hums in acknowledgement.

It’s quiet for a few minutes before the barmaid admits in a quiet voice, “I wish I could’ve met her.” 

“I wish you could’ve,” Swiss agrees, even quieter, and Mounty doesn’t like the far away look in his eyes. Silence falls again as she tries to think of an appropriate thing to say.

“You wanna know what I’m thinking?” she speaks after a moment, squeezing Swiss’ hands in an attempt to ground him.

“Hm?” the man hums, barely there anymore. There’s tears in his eyes waiting to fall, but his stare is blank. The barmaid hates seeing him floating away further and further away with each passing second. She’s afraid that there’s not much she can do to hold him back.

“Look at the weather,” Mounty points out regardless, having to try. Swiss is slow to oblige, but he does, eventually peeling the curtain away to look out of the window. He doesn’t notice anything particularly special, though. Mounty clarifies, “it’s nearly summer and yet it’s been all gloomy for weeks.”

Swiss furrows his eyebrows. She’s right, but he still can’t grasp the point she’s trying to make.

“It’s sunny today. She’s here, Swiss. She’s here to remind you that no matter how gloomy the world is, there’s always going to be more sunny days. I bet she’d like you to think that every sunny day is her doing, her trying her best to make your day brighter. Dare I say you getting sunburned it’s her teasing you? She didn’t really go anywhere, my darling, she’s still with you. She always will be.”

Life returns to Swiss’ eyes when his tears fall.

Thankfully Mounty is there to wipe them all away.

[noforkingclue]

Hi!💕 I looove the way you write River Cartwright!!! Would you be able to write something NSFW with the prompts:

"Can you feel how much I want you?" & “Stop looking at me like that or my knees will not hold me any longer.”

Note: requests are currently closed

Thank you so much anon! I love writing for River and I hope you like the fic! :D

Title: Wanting

Warnings: nsfw

Slow Horses tag list: @cillmequick

You and River staggered into his flat. As soon as the door was firmly behind him River attacked your lips with his. You let out a gasp as he sunk his teeth into your bottom lip, granting him access to your mouth. You let out a low moan and River smirked against your lips. You were pressed against the wall, his body keeping you firmly in place. You turned your head to the side, breaking the kiss and gasping for air. River let out a frustrated noise but pressed a trail of kisses down your neck.

“River-” you said but cut off when he bit against the soft spot on your neck

River smiled against your skin and said,

“Yes?”

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Against the wall? We can always-”

“No,” this time it was you who cut River off, “this.”

You pushed at River’s chest and he immediately stepped away. He watched wordlessly as you moved further into the flat. Well, this certainly wasn’t the way River had expected (or hoped) the evening to go. Still, if that was what you wanted.

“You can take the bed,” he said awkwardly, “I’ll take the sofa.”

“No, I’m not kicking you out of your own bed.”

River opened his mouth, about to suggest the two of you could share it, but closed it quickly with a click. No, now wasn’t the best moment for comments like that. You sat down heavily on the sofa and River sat down next to you, keeping a measured distance between you. After a moment you said,

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I should’ve asked before I…”

He trailed off and looked away. The awkwardness increased between the two of you. There had always been an underlying tension between you and after one too many near death experiences it all came to a head.

“It’s just,” you sighed and ran a hand over your face, “this is all so new to me. I’ve never…”

You cut yourself off and River edged closer to you. When didn’t move away he pressed a leg against yours. You gave a small smile and pressed back. Ah, right, River was now slowly understanding the situation. He grabbed your hand and put it on his lap. When you didn’t pull away he said,

“Never what?”

You licked your lips and immediately River’s gaze was fixed on them again. He wanted to feel them against his but knew that now wasn’t the time. You shook your head and stood up, pulling your hand free from his. You hugged yourself tightly and said,

“In our line of work, people have ulterior motives when it comes to sex.”

“Ulterior motives?”

You gave River an unimpressed look and raised your eyebrows. It took River a second to realise what you were implying and his face turned red.

“We’re at Slough House,” he said, “no ulterior motives.”

He stood up and walked over to you, putting his hands on your shoulders. He pressed his chest against your back and you shuddered when you felt his erection press against you.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he asked softly

“River.”

“Shh,” his lips brushed against your neck as his arms circled around your waist, “I want this. I want you.”

You turned around in his arms and put your hands back on his chest. River’s arms were still circled around your waist but you could feel his grip loosening. You blinked at the expression on his face. You had never seen River looking like that before. You were so used to seeing his downtrodden, bloodied and bruised. To see something so soft, dre you say even loving, looked alien on him.

“River-”

“Yes?”

“Stop looking at me like that or my knees will not hold me any longer.”

“Is that a yes?”

“And if you don’t kiss me right now I’ll-”

River interrupted you by roughly pressing his lips back against yours. You closed your eyes and let out a moan as one of your hands tangled in his hair. One of River’s arms remained firmly locked around your waist while the other snaked up to the back of your head, keeping it firmly in place. You felt your knees weakened slightly but River’s arm kept you firmly locked in place. When he broke the kiss he remained close, lips brushing against yours.

“Bedroom?” you asked

“Bedroom.”

You let out a gasp as River suddenly lifted you into his arms. You wrapped your arms around him and he staggered back slightly.

“Show off.” you said teasingly as he carried you to his bedroom

River dropped you on the mattress and you landed with a bump. You gave him an unimpressed look which he returned with an apologetic one. He straddled you and pressed a soft kiss against your lips.

“Sorry.” he muttered against them

“You can make it up to me.”

You moved your hands under his shirt and tugged at it. River smirked and leant back, taking it off and throwing it to the side. He swiftly made work of your shirt, it too soon joining his on the floor. River’s hands fiddled with the button of your jeans. You shifted your hips up, aiding him in slipping them down as you popped open his jeans. You delved your hands in, grasping his erection and moving your hand. River let out a shuddering moan and pressed his forehead against your shoulder.

River ran his fingers between your folds, circling a thick finger around it. He glanced at you, silently asking for permission and when you nodded he slowly pushed it in. You groaned, clinging onto River tightly as your nails scratched down his back. River slowly pumped his finger in and out, eventually adding a second. You groaned at the stretch and River pressed a kiss against your cheek.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, adding a third finger, “I want to make sure you’re prepared for me.”

After what felt like far too long, River finally removed his fingers. He sat back and pulled off his jeans before seeing to yours. He ran a hand up your legs and pressed his cheek against your thigh.

“I love you.” he said softly

“I love you too but River?”

“Yes?”

“Please fuck me.”

River’s smirk widened and he crawled up, pressed the tip of his cock against you. When you gave another nod, he pressed in achingly slowly. The two of you groaned as you clenched around him. River stilled, breathing heavily as you got adjusted to his size. When you bucked your hips River slowly pulled out. You moaned at the delicious sensation but then yelped as he slammed back in roughly.

River kept up the bruising pace and you were forced to wrap your legs around his waist. You moved one of your hands down and circled your clit, bucking into River’s hips. River’s pace faltered as he felt you clench tightly around him.

“River,” you gasped, “I’m going to-”

“I know,” River propped himself up on one hair and stroked your cheek with the other, “come for me.”

You came with a cry and River gave a couple more harsh thrust before groaning and practically collapsing on top of you. Neither of you  moved for a second, both heavily breathing, before you tapped River on the shoulder. River moved his hips, sliding out of you but not moving off of River.

“River,” you said, with a hint of a whine, “you're on top of me.”

“Oh, I know.”

River trailed a finger lightly up your thighs. You rolled your eyes and said,

“You’re kinda squishing me.”

River sighed and rolled over, dragging you with him. You rested your head on his chest and he wrapped an arm around you, keeping you locked against him. He pressed a kiss against your temple as you felt yourself drifting off to sleep.

“You know,” his voice cut through your sleepy haze, “if you wanted to be on top so much all you had to do was say.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Glad to know there’ll be a next time.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Fucking hope not.”

[fallingfromthe-sky]

Cold

Cw // implied abuse, alcohol, suggestive(maybe?)

“Such a loyal dog” “would never betray me” “blindly loyal” all compliments, at least in my eyes they were, everything I did, I did it for them, in return I got rewarded. Anything they asked I would do for them, whether that be using my body as a shield, a punching bag or to show off. They could bruise me or cover me in makeup but I don’t get to complain when they’re all I have. I don’t know anyone else, I have no memories from before I met them. All of my memories are of them. I see other people coming in and out.

It was early, the sun should be rising but I couldn't see it from my room, I was alone and curled up on the bed wrapped in my one and only blanket. It was cold and I needed some form of warmth, I couldn’t focus on much of anything even when the door opened. I didn’t notice much until a hand ran through my hair, “good morning pup”

I sat up quickly, realising that it was them and I could lean against them for warmth, “good morning ma’am”

That earned me a smile as their arm wrapped around me to hold me close, “you cold there pup?” I didn’t get a chance to respond, she stood up, let go of me and I needed to resist the urge to reach for her, “I’ve got someone who’ll help with that.”

After that she left me alone and I wrapped the blanket tighter around myself, cold again.

It took a few minutes until a younger woman walked in and sat next to me, pulling me closer until I sat against her and she too ran her hand through my hair. She was warm too but I don’t think this is what ma’am had planned and I was right, I felt a cup against my lip and took a sip. I took a few long sips until it processed what the flavour was. Fuck. I hate alcohol and I definitely don’t want to be drinking it myself. I swatted at her hand only to have more of the drink shoved down my throat. I coughed and by the time I was done the entire bottle was finished. The state I was left in, I was in tears and drunk beyond comprehension, desperately trying to hide under my blanket. I was still cold but now I was cold and unable to defend myself.

After some time, the woman left and ma’am returned, she ran her hand through my hair once again, fixing it as I clung onto her now. She planted a few kisses on my head and cheek before dragging me up and dressing me in the usual manner, nothing much, fairly revealing and tying a rope from my wrist to the bed again. I was left alone for a few hours before she came back with a client..

[ @pinkcherryblossomphonecase @oscarsgallery @shopping-for-casino-rats @respiratory-kristem I don’t remember who I usually tag lol. I dunno how good this is lol ]

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

TTD - First Meeting 3/4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 and end

Let's carry on with this. This Hero and Villain have now their own tag and masterlist.

*

Hero was waiting, their back against the bars, their fingers nervously gripping an talkie-walkie. They were still on the cage on the warehouse. Villain had refused to let them free; they had decided to confront Supervillain alone. Before going, they only had given them this piece of old technology “so you can be the witness of my devious genius”. Until now, Hero hadn’t heard much of – of whatever “devious genius” implied, only a lot of meaningless sounds. This thing incessantly crackled.

During that time, they had examined their cage, but there was no use. The bars fit into metal holes that had come out of the floor as if magically when Villain had triggered the cage. You had to hand it to them: they were good at building traps. Hero was not going out on their own.

Regret began to creep into their mind. What they had done was insane. Sure, Villain’s power protected them from Supervillain, but what then ? Maybe they should have waited for actual backup up from the hero agency. Witnessing the disappearance of dozen of people had done nothing for their practical sense. No, they couldn’t think of that right now.

(How could they not think of that right now ?)

Time passed. It had to pass somehow. Nobody at the agency called and their phone line was busy. Hero was on the point of trying once more when the talkie-walkie crackled more loudly than ever:

“ Greetings, honorable colleague.”

There was some unidentified sounds that made Hero wince. At least they heard Villain shout:

“I came in peace, esteemed peer !”

“What are you ?”

“Just like you. Exceptional. Above laws and common people. The darkness that surrounds me has no equal but the blackness of my own heart.”

“...What ?”

“I am what common, lowly people call a villain.”

“I’m not a villain. I’m only doing the cleaning that no one will dare to do at my place.”

“I certainly admire your ambition. There is too much people in this world. What is a crowed place but a picture of sordid, graceless hell ? I can’t but shudder at the mere thought of a post office.”

“If you agree, what are you doing here ?”

“I do not want to fight. I wish to strike a deal.”

“I work alone. I don’t need help and I certainly don’t need another lackey.”

“I wasn’t offering you one. I simply desire for my humble abode to be spared. I do enjoy my workshop. In exchange, may I offer you a little present. Hero, would you like to say a few words to your new owner ?”

Hero stayed silent, but they knocked their head against the bars of the cage, their lips fashioning a silent “fuck”. This day was getting better and better.

“You give me a Hero ?” asked Supervillain in a skeptical tone.

“Indeed I do, and all wrapped up, too. I have no use for them. But you do, don’t you ?”

There was a quick silence, then a chuckle.

“ I have ideas.”

Then the connection was cut off. Hero let the talkie-walkie fall on the ground. With sweating hands, they grabbed the bars and give them a good shake. It was no use. They knew it was no use. But what else could they do ? There was no door and no lock. The mechanism that pulled the cage off was well out of reach. Their strength was above average, but that wasn’t enough to break sheer metal.

Yes, they still had their phone. Yes, the agency official phone line was still occupied. Yes, they were afraid to try every number of the list. What could they say ? “Hi, I’ve surrendered myself to a villain and it turned out that it was a bad idea, could you risk your own life to come to my rescue please ?” It didn’t sound very convincing. They would just distract the other heroes from saving citizens.

So they waited, sick with guilt and shame. They were nearly grateful when at last the door opened. Villain was, as usual, hidden in their own shadow. Supervillain, apart from the magenta suit, seemed quite ordinary at first, but then he got closer, and Hero could see that his eyes were not gray, but silver. The pupils looked like they were forged in the temple of some forgotten deity. Hero clenched their fist to prevent it from shaking, turned their head, then said to Villain:

“You shouldn’t have done this.”

“ Who are you to give me orders ? I’m a villain. Did you really think I was going to show you mercy when I never had any ?”

There was nothing to answer to that. Not now.

“So you didn’t lie,” whispered Supervillain, glancing at the prisoner with curiosity. “That’s a Hero...of some sort. You were in that building. How can you still be here ? You can resist my power ?”

Hero shrugged.

“I’ll have to kill you the old-fashioned way then. Hmm - I never actually drew blood.”

“That’s a good thing. You should keep doing that.”

“Don’t pay attention to them”, declared Villain with contempt. “As you can see, they have a disappointing lack of flair. They don’t even swear revenge or anything. You should rage against your cruel fate a little, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“See ? Far from me to flaunt my vast knowledge, dear Supervillain – perish the thought ! - but I am exceedingly skilled in making the deaths of my foes a masterpiece of horror and grotesqueness. Let me orchestrate this for you.”

“With your fake torture room ?” politely asked Hero.

“Let me remind you, humble prisoner, that to manufacture these tools the way they are, you need to learn how the true ones works. The noble art of torture has few secrets for me. I was thinking a televised show. I can hack the main channels that the plebe watches easily.”

Villain made a gesture towards the back of the warehouse:

“I’ve got all the equipment we need to make the performance we deserve. I’ll settle the camera and some dramatic spotlights, and while it’ll broadcast on the main channels, we will kill them.”

Villain gave a cold stare to Hero:

“That will be quite the appropriate fate, I think. It’s outstanding what you need to do to earn at least a little respect out there.”

Hero shook their head, but the two figures were still in front of them when they opened their eyes. It wasn’t going to be that easy to get out of that nightmare. Although they were well aware of how useless it was to try and reason them, they whispered:

“Please. Don’t do this. The public see enough horrors as it is.”

“Horrors ?” softly said Supervillain. “You have an inflated sense of your importance. Do you think that people will regret your death ?”

“I- I think. Maybe ? A little... I hope ?”

“ Did you forget what happened ? Forty-three persons lived in that residence. You’ve done nothing. Will they think it’s a murder or will they think it’s justice ?”

“I -��

“It’s your fault.”

Supervillain slowly stepped towards the cage. Hero didn’t move – Hero couldn’t move. They couldn’t break their attention from the cold glare.

“I want to hear you say it.”

Villain cleared their throat and said with a thin smile:

“So do I. Let them think about it so they’ll be ready for the show tonight. Won’t it be delightful to hear them say it in front of the whole world ?”

“ Maybe you’re right.”

“Let me show you my equipment.”

Supervillain walked behind them, but Villain went to the end of the corridor first.

“Halt ! I need to open this door first.”

Supervillain stopped. His feet froze on the ground.

“Your cooperation is most appreciated,” said Villain.

They pushed a button on the wall. A second cage fell on the ground, trapping Supervillain before he had the time to react. While he was thrashing around, Hero saw a sort of black smoke covering his eyes like a blindfold.

“How many of these cages have you got ?” they couldn’t help but ask.

“A reasonable and correct number.”

“You were going to betray him the whole time ?”

“Naturally. Did you think that I speak of my devious genius just for show ? That that I was going to break our pact ?”

“Yes. Completely.”

Villain stayed still a moment, then shrugged:

“Well. You underestimated me. Or at least how much I can’t bear to go to the market.”

“Will you free me now ?”

The shadow didn’t move and didn’t answer.

“Villain ?”

“I -”

This conversation was going to be difficult. However, Hero felt that it was going to be much harder because of two things that happened at the same time: one, a metal bar flying across the room, and two, the booming voice of Supervillain who yelled:

“Do you really think this was going to be that easy to keep me in ?”

*

Sequel and end here

These Two Dorks masterlist

Or back to Hero x Villain Masterlist.

[veronicaphoenix]

Chapter tags & trigger warnings: slight angst, best friends' comfort, alcohol intake, sexual innuendos, mentions of praise kink and spankings, discussions of rope play, implied depression. | Word count: 6.2k | Cross posted on AO3. | Series masterpost. ✧.*

General trigger warnings: This work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction and violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

As I cleaned the house that Sunday and meticulously removed the dust from the desk in the studio at the back of the house, I stared at the useless standing calendar that Jesse’s mother had gotten him for his last birthday. It had been used for nothing, except to reduce the space in the already cluttered desk and now to remind me that two weeks had slipped away since I last saw Lia. We had never spent so much time without seeing each other, and her absence now felt like an unfamiliar void that was expected whenever we weren’t immersed in our shared work or entangled in the demands of a hectic tour schedule.

I sighed, my frustration finding a target in Jolly, whose scattered dirty socks littered the hallway. I damned him out loud only to be answered back from the living room with a retort, his voice dubbing me a “you’re an annoying housemaid.”

I contemplated picking up the socks and throw them at his face. Instead, I gathered them with two fingers and deposited them in the hamper before hastily retreating to my room.

After washing my hands, I perched on the armchair in the corner, a book in my hand. However, the attempt to lose myself in its pages proved useless as my mind incessantly replayed the echo of Lia’s absence. Giving up, I took out the phone from my pocket and dialed her number for the fourth time that day.

I hadn’t talked much to her lately because Lia had been staying at Mitch’s place. The subtle shifts in her behavior, her guarded glances, and the way she dodged spending time alone with me or the way she avoided certain topics made me aware that Mitch and her had probably talked about our friendship, about our situation and what it meant in their relationship. It was no secret anymore that Mitch didn’t like it when Lia and I spent too much time together, especially if he wasn’t around. It was only natural that Lia didn’t want to disappoint him or give him reasons to think about something that wasn’t there. After all, they were together —had been for nearly a year now—. I understood why she had lied to him that night, as I understood that this year-long relationship had undoubtedly solidified his claim over her. Mitch had more rights to have Lia than I did, even if I knew her better than him and knew how she liked to take her cereal in the morning, what temperature she wanted her tea served at, the idiosyncrasies that made her fidgety or prompted her to nervously bite her lip or nails, what smells bothered her, and how little control she had over alcohol.

That Sunday, I knew she was back at her apartment. Mitch had left two days ago with his band. Lia was alone, grappling with the remnants of her former self; the person she had been before he came into her life.

I gave her a graceful forty-eight-hour window. When I looked down at my phone again and still didn’t see any calls or messages from Lia, I called her, anxiety growing, and kept on calling until I got her to answer.

“Fuck, Lia, what’s going on?” I blurted out as her voice reached my ears from the other end.  

“Hello to you, too, Noah.”

“Save it. I’ve been calling you for hours. Are you avoiding me?”

“Why would I be avoiding you?” She questioned. I could hear her movements against the backdrop of her flat.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” I replied. I was slouched in the armchair, attempting to contain my anxiety and frustration, yet I was tempted to jump from my seat and start pacing around.  

“I’ve been busy, Noah.”

“Listen,” I asserted, rising from the armchair and starting the unnecessary pace back and forth. As I spoke, I straightened the cupboard door and aligned the books on my desk. “I’m sick of you telling me you’re having business meetings, or writing, or drawing, or taking care of your flowers. I know you’re alone, so drag your ass over here so that we can spend some time together or I plan on kidnaping you, I swear.”

Silence. I anticipated a stifled laugh, but none came.

It took me ten minutes to convince her. When I did, I was tempted to throw a fist in the air.

Within thirty minutes, she was on her way.

“You’re borderline desperate for you best friend, dude. I can only imagine how it would be if she were your girlfriend,” Jolly mentioned casually after I told him that Lia was coming. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to him the number of times I had checked Lia and I’s conversations on iMessage and how many times I had tried contacting her throughout the day.

I shot him a disdainful look.  

“Can’t you stop it?”

He responded with a nonchalant shrug, comfortably settled on the sofa, engrossed in his phone while drinking from a can of beer, and throwing occasional glances my way.

“You’d understand if you had grown with her. I don’t feel right when she’s away for so long,” I admitted, a sensation of sickness settling over me each time she went MIA. I was literally falling sick like an old man.

I was feeling particularly good that day when it came to my physical health, but the days prior I had been dealing with my usual flower madness.

“I would get it checked, man,” Jolly replied, sensing the need to address the escalating situation. “This level of dependency you have with her is going to end up driving you insane. Who’s to say that this weird-ass disease of yours doesn’t have something to do with your obsessive attitude towards her? You’re tired of picking up my dirty socks? I’m tired of finding dry flowers everywhere. Sure, I get the whole ‘growing up together and sharing childhood traumas’ thing, but I’m afraid this is only going to lead to another one if you don’t sort yourself out.”

“Are you saying this is psychological? That I’m coughing up flowers because I want to?” I scoffed.

Jolly leaned forward, his eyes fixed on me from the other side of the house, the end of the living room. There was a seriousness coloring his tone when he spoke.

“It’s a psychosomatic disorder, that’s for sure. Otherwise, someone would have been able to tell what’s wrong with you by now.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting my best friend’s company.”

“You say that, but you don’t know what other effects that constant cheesy longing is having on you. I’m starting to consider that maybe we should really start taking your grandma’s folklore stories more seriously. You’re walking a precarious path, dude. Coughing up flowers, incessantly messaging and calling Lia… Listen to your grandmother, I’m sure she’s got something wise to say regarding this. There has to be a connection…”

“Jolly, I’m not in the mood for this shit, honestly.”

“Well, then, are you going to keep calling Lia ten times a day when she’s married and has children?”

His question left me momentarily speechless. I’d never considered that, never seen that future, that possibility; Lia building a life without me.

A sudden wave of panic crashed over me.

I swallowed hard.

“I didn’t call her ten times,” I defended, even though I knew it was a lost battle.

Jolly, in his slouched position, merely raised an eyebrow and chuckled. I wasn’t sure if the whole situation thrilled or tired him.

“Whatever you say, man,” he concluded, returning to whatever he was doing on his iPhone and taking another sip from his beer.

Walking around the kitchen isle, I tried to shake off his words from my head. He had pissed me off. Those insinuations… Fuck it.

I grabbed one of the tea boxes from the cupboards and started preparing Lia’s favorite tea, purposedly refusing to offer Jolly any drink.

“Do you want me to leave you two alone?” He quipped without looking up.

“Now what do you mean by that?” I asked, stopping on my tracks, tea bag in my hand.

“I don’t mean anything,” he said, raising his voice. “Why are you getting so defensive, man? I’m just offering you some time with her. It’s not so crazy after all these years of you two living in a bubble of your own and excluding the rest of us on your outings to the city center, concerts, or museum dates. If you prefer I don’t say anything, then good, I’ll stay. We can watch a movie together or cook something. I miss her, too, in case you didn’t know, and I’d like to catch up with her.”

"You don’t have to go,” I conceded, dropping my shoulders. I was aware that Lia’s increasing absence had affected everyone, not just me. Mitch seemed to be pulling her away from our collective lives. Thank God the band was still her priority.

“I want to see her,” Jolly stated, rising from the sofa. He turned off the TV —that had been playing in the background uselessly— and tossed the remote onto the empty space beside him. “You think I haven’t noticed something’s off with her? Hell, even Steven noticed. He told me she spent two hours in silence while sorting out the merch boxes the other day. Two hours without saying a fucking word. He freaked out.”

A chill ran down my spine. When did that happen? Had it been last week? Last month?

“Why didn’t he tell me?” I questioned.

“I don’t know. The point is, I do know what’s going on. I know you’re worried that her relationship with Mitch isn’t going that well.”

I dropped my shoulders once again, letting out a sigh as I swayed my head tirelessly.

“She doesn’t tell me anything, that’s the fucking problem,” I told him honestly. “If I ask her, she’ll tell me everything’s ok, and I can tell by the look on her face she doesn’t want me to ask any more questions, so what am I supposed to do?”

“Maybe you could talk to her about it today. I don’t know Mitch that well to come to any conclusion. The dude seems pretty decent to me,” he shrugged. “But you and Lia need to talk. Tell her how you feel.”

As if it was that simple, that easy.

“Dude, it’s Lia. She adores you. Hell, she has you on a pedestal. Before Mitch, everything was Noah this, Noah that. Maybe she’s pent up because she’s in a relationship and she doesn’t know how to manage a boyfriend and a best friend simultaneously, but I’m sure if you sit down with her, ask the right questions, she’ll tell you and both of you will release some tension.”

“Maybe,” I responded, still feeling uncertain. I was scared to realize that we weren’t the confidants we used to be.  

“Listen to me and do it. I’ll stay for a while, then I’ll go get some stuff from the supermarket. Jesse has eaten all the chocolate chip cookies again, that bastard. Maybe I’ll go spend some time with Folio and his dad and leave you two alone.”

I sighed, not knowing what else to say.  

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem. Now, can you make me a coffee? Or you’re only here to serve princess Lia’s wishes?” He asked, pointing with his eyes to the mug she usually had her tea in whenever she came over.

I rolled my eyes.

“I’ll make you a coffee.”

Lia arrived not long later, donned in snug black leggings, a black and red flannel draped over a white tank top, her hair open and falling graciously over her chest. Jolly, ever the exuberant host whenever required, opened the door and offered her a boisterous welcome with a hearty “hi, Gremlin” following by a hug that she reciprocated. The delightful sound of her shy laughter wafted from the entry to the kitchen as I poured hot water from the kettle into two mugs.

As Jolly ushered her inside, her eyes flitted around looking for me. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw me, her smile faltering, and her eyes widening in surprise.

“No,” she uttered, mouth agape.

Jolly shifted his gaze between Lia and me, attempting to piece together the situation. Then, an amused expression appeared on his face. “You didn’t know?” he inquired, standing at her side.

She blinked in disbelief, still looking at me in the open kitchen.

“Hi, Gremlin,” I greeted. “No hello? Nothing?”

God, it was so good to see her. I couldn’t contain my smile even though I knew she was probably unhappy about the change she was seeing in me.  

“You… When did you—? Oh, my goodness,” she gasped, bringing both hands to her mouth. “When did you cut your hair?”

“Last week,” I replied.

“You didn’t tell me…”

I shrugged. Then, noticing she was frozen in place, I gestured for her to come to me. When she was at arm’s reach, I wrapped my arms around her. Her response was delayed, arms hesitantly wrapping around my neck. When I pulled back, her fingers found their way to my recently shortened hair, lightly grazing the strands on my forehead.

I was amused at her commotional reaction until I realized she wasn’t feigning it. She was about to cry.

“Hey, it’s just a haircut,” I gently touched her elbow.

“But… It was so long. It took so many years to grow.”

"It’ll grow back,” I reassured her, although the truth was, I had no intention of letting it reach the previous length. I was done with long hair for now, at least.

She let out a sigh and dropped her hand.

Jolly noticed the silence and the low energy that Lia brought with her, and immediately intervened with light-hearted jokes.

I appreciated that even though Lia wasn’t having much of it, he put on an effort, and he kept us entertained as we enjoyed some pastries and cookies with the coffee and tea I prepared, with stories from his childhood in Sweden and customs different from the ones we had here in the States.

Even though childhood was something that neither Lia nor I remembered as a happy time in our lives, we held onto the memories of our days spent together, the bicycle rides when she had learnt how to pedal, the hours spent in my bedroom where she had started drawing pathetic funny things —a unicorn with socks, a lion with braids— and where I had learnt to play guitar and later on I had taught her how to use the instrument. There was so much we had learnt together… My heart warmed up when I heard her talking about our experience learning to swim together with an excitement that had been missing lately. Grandpa had enrolled me in some summer swimming course, and he had managed to convince Lia’s mother to enroll her as well. On one occasion, I almost drowned due to the teacher overestimating my abilities, and Lia had momentarily panicked and jumped in the water after me impulsively, even though her swimming skills were also limited. That day we returned home totally frightened and traumatized, only to burst out laughing a year later when we remembered each other’s faces and the scolding the teacher gave Lia for her unnecessary rescue attempt, which only prompted another teacher to get in the water to save the two kids.

While I cleared the kitchen from our small tea party —if you’d call it—, Lia and Jolly escaped to his room. He had recently acquired a new guitar and Lia was thrilled to see it. She had been actively helping him to select options before he purchased the one and she was glad to see that finally he had his hands on the one he fell in love with. 

I overheard part of their conversation, and one of Lia’s comments made me smile widely as I closed a cupboard, letting out a giggle.

“Your room is so messy, Jolly. Bring in a few girls and this would easily turn into bedlam.”

“Oh, God no!” he interjected. “Spare me from having another annoying housemaid. I have enough with that one. Let me be, alright?”

“I heard that!” I replied.

Approximately an hour later, Jolly left, taking a handwritten list of groceries with him and slyly winking an eye at me before closing the door behind him. I rolled my eyes at him one more time, even if he couldn’t see me. As I turned around, I was suddenly overcome with the weight of Lia’s presence in the house.

She was standing a short distance away from me, having said goodbye to Jolly moments ago and now looking like a lost puppy unsure of its next move. Where was her confidence? The melancholy etched across her face didn’t escape my notice. My gaze traveled over her subtly, without being too obvious. Had she lost weight?

“Hey, I got you something,” I announced, suddenly remembering my purchase of two days prior. “Wait here.”

I left her standing there with an arched eyebrow as I dashed to my bedroom. I reappeared holding a flowerpot. Lia’s eyes widened as I handed it to her.

“I got it the other day from a new flower shop next to the photography store where Bryan buys his stuff. I’d seen this flower before, but I had no idea it was called Black-eyed Susan. I bought it just because of the name, of course,” I let out a laugh, only to realize that Lia was holding the plant and had frozen again.

She blinked, looking down at the yellow flowers, and a solitary tear traced a path down her cheek.  

“Wha—? Are you crying? Lia, why are you—?”

Before I could finish the sentence, Lia placed the pot in the isle and threw herself into my arms.

“Whoa, hey. What’s—"

Fuck. Maybe these were the type of flowers she had cared for in her garden when she lived with her mom and now they were reminding her of that time. What did I know? I was just into flowers enough to know that jasmine and black petunias were her favorites. Maybe I should have chosen those. Damn it.

“I thought you would lik—"

“I miss you so much,” she interrupted, her voice muffled against my chest as she let out a series of sobs. Her hands fisted the back of my hoodie and her body pressed flush against mine.  

I frowned. For a second, I stood motionless. Then, I tightened my grip on her and buried my face in her hair, inhaling her. Good god, had I missed having her like that. Knowing that she had missed me, too, filled a hole that had been empty for weeks. Months.

Holding each other, I thought about how things would be if they were different. How often I would get to have her like this, how often I could hold her and lose track of time in her arms, losing myself in her scent, her warmth; the feeling of her body wrapped in mine.

I wondered if this was how things were supposed to be between best friends. If others found themselves in this situation, in this predicament, if this was the dance of life. Was it merely friendship if I yearned for her to be tightly pressed against me and I admitted it wasn’t solely for warmth? If I longed for the sensation of her breath on my neck every time we had drifted to sleep together on the couch or even in bed, where our fingers would interlace beneath the covers and we would assure each other that it was just to ease the nightmares?  

I closed my eyes, letting a wave of relief spread through me. I needed this. I needed this honest reaction from her.

“I miss you, too,” I whispered into her hair.

I let myself float in the sensation of the hold we had on each other. Her fists were gripping the back of my hoodie and her nose brushed below my neck when she moved to find deeper shelter. Why did it feel so comforting? So… good?

Lia was so much like home.

We clung to each other tighter, harder, reaching a point where it felt like we might die in that place, in that position. If Death were to come for us, this would be a strangely peaceful way to go.

Lia pulled away first, wiping her tears and grabbing a paper napkin to clean her nose. After a heavy sigh, she offered me a watery smile. Why did I sense it was more to reassure me than her actual feelings? We took one step forward to take two backwards.  

“What am I going to do with you?” I mumbled, looking down at her tenderly.

“I’m such a baby…”

I didn’t say anything. Just walked back to her and wiped the last tear that escaped her eyes with my thumb.

“Don’t do that.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it’s going to make me cry again.”

“All right then,” I raised my hands in surrender. “I don’t think I can’t take more of you crying, so no more wiping tears. Got it.”

I managed to coax a smile from her, a small victory that helped us to get out of that ethereal moment we had been caught in.  

A couple of minutes later, after drinking some water, Lia suggested pulling out some board games from the drawer in the TV stand and spend the afternoon entertaining ourselves with Scrabble and the whimsical chaos of Unstable Unicorns. She had gifted the game to Jolly last year for Christmas. I couldn’t resist a wry comment about how the game seemed to mirror ourselves, how unstable we seemed to be.  

When my stomach grumbled after an entertained forty minutes, sharing playful banters, laughs and playful shoulder shoves, I rose from the carpet where we had been seated to get us a couple of beers and prepare some popcorn, given that Lia refused to eat the mango that Jesse had peeled that morning and had kept in a container in the fridge. By the time I came back, she was seated on the sofa, legs crossed in a lotus position, the game forgotten. She had a book in her hands.

“What is this?” She asked.

No sooner had I recognized which book she was holding than I tried to retrieve it from her grasp, Lia skillfully evading my attempts.

“Nothing.”

“’The Seductive art of Japanese Bondage’,” she read. Slowly, she looked up at me, tilting her head to the side. “You’re into tying girls?”

“That’s not what it is,” I attempted to clarify.

“Isn’t it? Then, what is it?”

“Lia…”

“What? You had the book just casually laying on top of the magazine pile underneath the coffee table.”

“Put it back, come on.”

“Why?” The situation definitely amused her. Any trace of the vulnerable Lia I had in my arms an hour ago completely gone. “It’s yours, isn’t it?”

I took a moment to reply.

“Yes.”

“I knew it.”

“What did you know, exactly?”

“Jesse and Jolly are not particularly known for reading too much. But you…” She looked up at me after opening the book. After seeing my exasperated expression, she rolled her eyes and her tone got more serious. “I know you’re into kinky shit behind closed doors, Noah.”

I rubbed my forehead. Yes, I was very uncomfortable with her having that knowledge, but I wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

“I’m not the only one, I dare say,” I replied, raising an eyebrow at her.

She frowned and put the book on her lap.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not gonna tell me you don’t enjoy being a good girl and getting praised while, you know…”

“Oh, God,” she exclaimed, dropping the book at her side and putting both hands in the sofa, straightening herself up, suddenly commotional. “No, I don’t.”

“I know you well enough to know that you do. Now hand that book back. Come on,” I insisted, extending my arm and hand to her and wriggling my fingers.

“I’ll hand it back when you tell me what it is about,” she continued. She wasn’t one to give up that easily, was she?

“I don’t want to have that conversation with you,” I honestly said.

“Why not?”

“Because… It’s not right. Just hand it back, or I swear I’m going to have to tackle you down until I take it from you.”

“Wow, are we getting there? What else will you do to me?�� She teased. Her playful self was back again.

Really?

“For fuck’s sake, Lia. What did you drink?”

“Just the tea you prepared, and the beer” she said sarcastically. “Did you pour something in it?” She arched an eyebrow at me.

I narrowed my eyes at her and placed my hands on my hips.

“You’re being so feisty, girl.”

“I’m just pushing your buttons.”

“You do not want to do that,” I warned.

“Maybe I do,” she retorted with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

The conversation had definitely taken an unexpected turn. Was it normal to have such a conversation with her? There was a subtle flirtation waving through our words that couldn’t be disguised. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was attempting to distract herself from the sadness she carried when she crossed the door, but there was something more. She wasn’t merely seeking momentary fun with me. I had a dangerous feeling telling me that she really meant it when she said that perhaps, she did want to push my buttons.

Where were we headed?

“Okay, then,” I decided, crossing my arms over my chest. “Do you want to know what I’d do if you were mine and you kept up with this?”

“Yes, I do want to know,” she replied, like an attentive student, eyes fully open and undivided attention fixed on me.

“Good, brace yourself,” I stepped closer, towering over her. Her eyes following me, her head tilting upwards. I could sense her getting intimidated. “Lia Parker, I’d bend you over and get your ass red until you apologized. And maybe later I would keep you on the edge for hours until you begged me to…”

Her face flushed crimson.

“OH. MY. GOD.”

I stared at her for a few seconds, scrutinizing her reaction, contemplating her face, her lips. The imagery of bending her over my lap, or over the kitchen isle maybe, flashed through my mind but reality hit me. This wasn’t right. She had a boyfriend. I was her best friend.

“This was a bad idea. Jesus Christ, Lia,” I muttered, grabbing the book from the sofa and stepping away. “I’m just curious about this, okay? It doesn’t necessarily have to be anything sexual. I can show you to do some interesting knots and you would see what I mean, but it’s just weird discussing this with you.”

“We’ve always discussed everything,” she replied, standing up.

“Not everything, Lia,” I responded, silently acknowledging our unspoken boundaries.

Whether it was about sex or the aspects she concealed from me concerning her relationship with Mitch, it was clear that we hadn’t discussed everything in the past few years.

“Please?” She implored, effortlessly swaying me with just the flutter of her eyelashes.

She could bring me to my knees with barely that innocence.

“Sit down. I’ll get us another beer and we can talk.”

"Okay.”

She did so, settling back into the comfort of the sofa and its cushions. I tossed the book back into her hands. From the kitchen, I regarded her with a smirk, unable to resist teasing her with a “good girl”. She blushed again, though she was quick to shake her head in dismissal and look away from me.

I cracked open two beers and placed them in front of us. Taking a seat on the couch next to her, I mentally braced myself for the impending conversation.

“All right. What do you want to know?”

“What is Shibari?”

I answered her question by giving a quick explanation on the matter. Shibari was a form of artistic rope bondage originated in Japan, used by samurai in the Edo period to restrain prisoners. However, over time, it evolved into something else, an art to create visually appealing and aesthetically pleasing patterns on the body. I told her that now it had become certainly something more erotic, being involved in certain sexual contexts.

Her interest was palpable, evident in the sudden seriousness that replaced any earlier levity.

“Isn’t it dangerous?” she asked.

“Not if done right,” I reassured. I shook the book as if to emphasize my point. “It’s supposed to be executed with the comfort and safety of the person being tied as a priority. And with the right partner. Trust —and consent, of course— are the main thing. So, you have to fully trust that person before you give yourself to them. And it connects the two. One ties, the other one gets tied up. It’s a kind of meditation practice.”

“It’s hard to see it as a meditation while you’re tied upside down,” she remarked, eyeing a picture on the book where I woman hung from the ceiling in an empty room.

“Well, I guess we’ll never really know until we try,” I replied, and we shared a serious look.

I felt her shifting next to me, as if a tad uncomfortable. Clearing her throat, she asked if she could lay on my lap, alleging that she was tired.

“Of course.”

She laid down, using my thighs as a pillow. I adjusted my position, too, ensuring I wouldn’t get hit accidentally where it hurt the most.

“You know, you’re pretty comfy.”

“Gee, thanks.”

We held the book together and she turned to the next page. I resumed my explanations. Although I hadn’t learnt that much, I tried to give her an insightful overview with my words. I realized I wanted her to learn about this so much, to share my same interest. Seeing her genuine attentiveness to the topic warmed me.  

“Shibari isn't just about remembering knots; it's like magic with ropes, a unique way to connect. It's all about how you handle the ropes, playing with speed, tension, and tempo to create different vibes and feelings for yourself or your partner. Using ropes in a playful, sensual, and slightly challenging way helps us understand our own desires and intentions, as well as those of our partners. It's a cool way to explore and connect on a deeper level,” I read from a passage.

“That sounds... lovely,” she made a face as she moved her eyes to look at me and we both shared a laugh.

I kept on reading as she shifted on my lap to get her head to get more comfortable.

She slowly drifted into a peaceful slumber, and then, she was asleep. I couldn’t bring myself to wake her up. I remembered hearing Nicholas, who treated the stillness of his cats with the reverence one might give to sacred moments, saying that it was a crime to disrupt the sleep of his cats if they chose to rest on him, so I chose to let Lia sleep without moving an inch.

The entrance door of the house opened a while later. Jolly entered; a cardboard bag cradled in his arm. His furrowed brow increased as he took in the scenario in the living room. 

“What are you two doing?” he inquired.

“She’s asleep,” I whispered, my voice hushed.

“That’s not exactly what I told you to do,” he retorted, feigning confusion.

“I know,” I said wearily.

But I couldn’t bring myself to move. My hand rested gently on her shoulder; arm draped across her chest. With the other, I’d been using my phone, and the only other time I tried to move was when her phone started buzzing on her pocket. It was Mitch.

I wondered what he would say if he knew that her girlfriend was lying in another guy’s lap while he was away. I scoffed at the thought. The douchebag deserved it. I put her phone on do not disturb mode and left in on the table.

Without uttering a word, Jolly placed the bag in the kitchen, then approached the sofa, grabbed one of the blankets that lay on the pile at the end of the sectional and draped it over Lia’s body.

“She’s passed out.”

“Totally,” I concurred, our voices having no discernible impact on her rest. Her breathing was as steady as a boat navigating calm waters. 

Getting back to the kitchen, Jolly announced that he had brought stuff to make tacos, to which I reply with a simple “great.” 

“Did you talk to Matt?” He continued, emptying the items from the bag onto the counter.

“Yeah, he texted. 10am tomorrow?”

“Yep, but he said he’ll drop by first.”

“No problem.”

I laid my head back and closed my eyes for a few seconds, only to be disturbed by his voice coming from the kitchen again.

“What have you been reading?” He inquired, pointing with his gaze to the book that laid forgotten next to me on the sofa.

“She was interested,” I told him, knowing very well what he would say next.

“You kidding me? And she didn’t run off?” He pretended to be shocked, but he scoffed as he said it.

“No, she fell asleep while I was reading it to her,” I said, my voice still calm because I didn’t want to disrupt the peaceful moment Lia and I were sharing while she slept on my lap.

“There’s something really wrong with her,” Jolly mused.

There’s nothing wrong, I wanted to say. She was probably just tired. And about the stuff we’d been discussing… There was nothing wrong in being interested in it, in learning about it. Jolly was talking as if he was a saint, a vanilla dude in bed while we all knew he wasn’t.

He excused himself by saying he was going to change. The closing of his door was what finally jolted Lia awake.

Her eyelashes fluttered a few times, and she rubbed her cheek against my thigh before adjusting her eyesight to the light in the room and remembered where she was. Her cheeks were reddish, and she looked so sweet.

“Hi, sleeping beauty.”

She smiled sheepishly, rubbing the sleeve of her flannel over her eyes. She noticed she was covered in a blanket and instinctively she tightened its edges against her chest. After a minute in silence, she touched the hair that fell over my eyes.

“I think I can get used to it. I like it.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I responded.

She stretched like a cat when she sat up, her muscles grateful.  

“Have you not been sleeping well? You were in a deep sleep for a good hour,” I inquired, instantly missing her weight and warmth pressed again my legs.

She sidestepped my question, expressing a certain shock at the realization of her long nap.

“Shit,” she muttered as she checked her phone and saw three missed calls from Mitch and several texts. “I need to get back home.”

“You can stay the night,” I suggested.

“All the rooms are occupied,” she explained, standing up and running her hands through her clothes, her movements marked by a subtle grace.  

“Not the studio. You can sleep in my bed; I’ll use the pullout sofa.”

She shook her head, a delicate cascade of chestnut hair accompanying the motion.

“I’ve got an online meeting tomorrow morning and I’d rather be home,” she said, heading towards her stuff. “I also need to take care of this beauty,” she continued, looking towards the Black-eyed Susan flowerpot waiting for her in the kitchen.

“Lia,” I followed her quietly, rubbing my hands on my sweatpants, fighting to preserve the sense of her warmth on my body. “I have to ask. Is everything okay with Mitch?”

She was not expecting the question; I saw it in the two seconds that she held my gaze, the subtle widening of her pupils.     

Lia deftly veiled her emotions with a nonchalant response.

“Yeah…”

“Just ‘yeah’…? What is it? I can tell you’re upset. You’ve been super sad all day, and I know it’s not just because I cut my hair.”

I managed to earn another small laugh from her, but it wasn’t a big smile. It faded away quickly. She started fidgeting with her fingers, her touch grazing a ring on her left hand.  

“We just had our first argument a few days ago and… Well, we just got heated up, that’s all.”

I closed the distance and stroked her hair, and I swear I could feel her leaning into my touch only to retreat the moment she realized what she was doing.

“Is Jolly back?”

“Yeah, he just got back. He got stuff to make tacos. Want to stay for dinner, at least?”

Her negation felt like a bucket of water being poured over me. I decided not to insist.

That night, right when I got into bed, I opened iMessage and I texted her.

“I loved having you home for a while today, even if you were passed out for like an hour. Take good care of Black-eyed Susan for me.”

“I will defo do, thank you very much. Black-eyed Susan sends her regards, a big hug and a kiss. Good night, Nowah.”

I typed one last message. “Sweet dreams, Lia.” I locked my phone, left in on the bedside table, and tried to sleep.

[spidercookie18]

Hey there @spidercookie18 I have a request for you! It’s about max wanting to “spend some quality time” with the boys and takes them to a bar and the boys not having any money makes max pay for their drinks and they get very drunk to the point where they don’t want to leave the bar and max have to drug them out the bar which leads to them having temper tantrums like they are children and causing a seen on the boardwalk!

If you want to do it! 😅

Summary: Max feels bad about not bonding with the boys, and invites them out to the bars. Word Count: 5.7k Tags: Implied drug use, drinking, mild homophobia/racism, mild gore, swearing.

Sorry for taking literally (hypothetically) forever to answer this. I actually had a bit of a hard time wrapping my head around it bc I’ve had to drag people out of the bar before and it is a...not fun experience. But! I’ve also had some really fun experiences being kicked out; just cause me and my buddies were being headass and harassing the bouncers. I do really like this concept (any concept of the boys absolutely fucking with Max and his money), it was really fun to write. Again, sorry for the late response. <3

Max stood on the porch outside his home. He rubbed the brass key between his thumb and his index; almost unwilling to walk inside. He heard the soft sound of the tv and the clinking of dishes. Lucy was insistent on having home cooked meals; it gave her some ease by reminding her of who she used to be.

He exhaled slowly; putting the key into the lock and turning the knob. He was immediately greeted by the warm smell of Lucy’s cooking, her humming became a cheerful, “hi, how was work?”

Max grumbled some kind of, “fine,” and walked off to avoid his wife. Thorn wagged his tail as Max walked past him too, hoping for some kind of recognition from his master and best friend. The old vampire walked off to the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands in defeat.

His mind wandered to the young family that came into the store that night, hoping to rent something all six of them could watch together; a mother, father, and four young boys.

He recalls greeting them, and offering some help picking a movie, relating to them through the fact he also had four boys.

He watched as the boys ran through the aisles of the store, grabbing and shouting at everything they saw. The mother apologized profusely, and Max assured her it was no problem.

Max: They’re quite a handful at that age.

Dad: You have no idea

Max: Actually, I do.

Max pulls out his wallet and shows the father a picture of his four ‘sons’.

Dad: Oh wow, does it get any easier?

Max chuckles as he puts his wallet away. He continues to speak in his friendly demeanor.

Max: Not in the slightest.

Dad: That’s tough to hear. They were so cute when they were little, but it’s tough now that they have all this energy.

Max: Oh, I know how that is!

Dad: …how do you keep up with them? I mean, they never want to spend any time with me anymore…

Max stared off at the four boys tearing through his store, a nightmare for their mother.

Max continued to sit on the bed. He heard the sound of Thorn scratching at the bedroom door. “Go away Thorn,” he sighed, apathetically.

A soft knock came soon after. Lucy slowly opened the door and poked her head into the room to check on Max. There was a soft patting of her slippers on the floor as she walked over to her husband. “Hey, what’s wrong?” She placed a hand on his shoulder.

Max groaned, not looking up from his hands. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled. Lucy did not close the door when she came in, and Thorn was now nudging his wet dog nose into Max’s lap. “Thorn, get down,” Max protested. His furry friend sat by his feet and continued to whine and poke his nose at his master’s legs.

Lucy: Max?

Max: It’s just the boys…

Lucy: What did they do this time.

Max:

Max: Nothing, I just feel like I’m failing as a father. I mean a proper ‘human’ father.

Lucy: What do you mean?

Max: There was this family that came into the store, and the father asked how I stayed close with my boys.

Lucy: And? What did you tell him?

Max: Well, I’m close with David but-

Lucy: Are you?

Max: What do you mean?

Lucy: Are you actually close with David?

Max sat, dumbfounded. Staring at the dog by his feet. Thinking about the meaning of Lucy’s words.

Max: Well, he listens to me.

Lucy: But are you close?

Max: I suppose not. But what do you expect me to do? They never listen to me! Every time I’ve tried to bond with them, they bite me, break my things, and run away!

Lucy: Well, maybe it’s time to do something they would like to do.

Max: …what do they like to do?

Lucy: Hm, maybe talk to Mike?

Max took Lucy’s counsel and sat down with Michael. He asked what his sons liked to do on their off time. Michael started rattling off a list, “speeding, stealing, fighting, f-cking, playing tricks on people, jacking cars, drinking, video games, I dunno man, just crimes in general.” After the short brainstorming, Max decided the best way to get them to open up would be by loosening them up with drinks. Michael immediately let him know that was a terrible idea and advised that they go on a hunt instead.

“No no, a father knows best,” Max stood firm on his decision. He wanted him and his boys to rekindle their relationship at their favorite bar.  

Michael saw the boys before Max did, and he let them know what their father figure intended for them.

The little devils immediately started scheming. They decided that if Max was insistent on ‘hanging out with them,’ they were going to do their damndest to make him regret it.

A few nights later, Max informed David that they were to wait for him outside their bar… and also, he wanted to know where it was. David, still half skeptical Max would be stupid enough to do something like this, asked if he was sure he could keep up.

Max assured him he wanted to enjoy some ‘fatherly bonding’ with his broodlings and that he could keep up with the way the boys drank.

David half felt bad for his sire. He was sure he had no idea what he was really getting himself into. David insisted to Max that ‘their bar’ was something he should work his way up to and told him the name of a different bar. Max agreed, and when the day came, he waited outside of the bar David told him to.

He made sure to tell the boys to be there before he did. He told them be there at 8, which meant they would show up at 9. He didn’t want to wait for them long, and he stood on the corner by the edge of the bar.

Max was incredibly nervous. He knew the boys didn’t like to be around him for more than a few minutes. Hell, he couldn’t remember a time where they’d willingly hung out with him.

Max stood anxiously, his back to the alley. He almost felt bad for choosing to go on the weekend as there was a short line of people beginning to form outside the bar. He was listening for the boys’ bikes; anxiously waiting for them to show, but they dropped in on the ground behind him. The gravel in the alley shifting under their heavy boots. David clasped a hand on Max’s back, startling him.

David: Woaah, didn’t mean to scare ya, old timer.

Max: Oh, boys, it’s just you.

David: Were you expecting someone else?

Max: Well no, bu-

Marko: I’m thirsty! Let’s go in already.

Marko pushed through the crowd of people, with Paul and Dwayne following close behind him. The humans huffed and shouted as the biker boys walked through the line. The short, curly haired blond stood in front of the bouncer, who was waiting for their ID’s.

Max stood behind the boys, waiting to see what they would do. Marko pulled something out of his pocket. Max couldn’t see what it was, but he assumed it was a fake ID. They were much too old to have a ‘proper’ ID, something that their human documents wouldn’t be able to give them. The bouncer was tall, and burly. He was a young man, but his presence did a good job at warding off troublemakers.

The human man held the card up to the light under the doorway and turned it in his hands. He bent it a bit, then handed it back to Marko and gestured for him to go inside. Paul stepped up next, and as his sons slowly went into the bar, Max could hear the music inside get louder. He got a peak into the building as Dwayne went through the door. David pushed Max ahead of him, trying to make sure he didn’t chicken out at the last second.

The bouncer waited impatiently for Max to retrieve his ID from his wallet. He handed the card to the man and the human looked suspiciously at Max and his picture.

“I assure you; I’m legally allowed to drink.” Max tried to ease his nerves with a joke.

The bouncer didn’t laugh. This only helped to make Max more uneasy. The human handed the card back to Max, “you look good for 63.”

David snickered behind Max, and the older, embarrassed vampire stepped out of the way. David tried to hand his ID to the bouncer, but the man declined. “Please David, I know you. I just had to make a show for all the damn people you guys pushed out of the way.”

 “S’my bad, Kev, we’re taking our gramps out on the town,” David chided. “The boys are just excited.” David dapped up the bouncer, and the human moved to hold the door open for David and Max.

Max followed David into the bar. It was a dimly lit, low end lounge bar. There was a green under light wrapped around the length of the bar, which Marko, Dwayne, and Paul were already at. The floor was some type of cheap vinyl faux wood, and there was a half stage at the back of the room. The place was moderately packed for a Saturday night.

David leaned over the counter to grab something from behind the bar, and the green haired bartender immediately snapped at him.

David: Woah, take it easy, stud. It’s just one bottle.

Bartender: Not tonight, David, my boss is up my ass about givin’ you guys free stuff.

David: Well darlin’, if you didn’t want me around, you wouldn’t keep the bottle chilled for me.

The bartender rolled his eyes and continued to pour shots out that Marko had already ordered.

Paul: We’re celebrating tonight, we got our ‘daddy’ with us. Paul snickered.

Max: Oh, no, please don’t call me that. I’m their father.

Dwayne: So, just put it all on his tab.

Dwayne, Paul, and Marko turned to Max, waiting for him to pull his credit card out.

Max: Ah, yes. I invited you boys out, so… I suppose it’s my treat.

The bartender took the card and dropped the five shots in front of David.

Marko: Drink up, ‘daddy’.

Max grimaced, and watched the boys take their shots like it was nothing. He looked down at the clear liquid as it gently swayed inside the glass. He crinkled his nose and knocked back the shot.

Max: Holy f-wow! I forgot how hot that was. Max coughed.

David: Ha-ha, how long has it been since you drank? David twisted the cap off the bottle of jaeger he got from behind the bar.

Max: Gee, I don’t know… He watched as David called the bartender back from the other end of the bar.

Bartender: What do you want? He sighed.

David: So mean tonight. Does somebody need an attitude adjustment? He raised his eyebrow and flashed his toothy smile. Just give me that Red Bull back there, I don’t think I can reach it.

Paul: Oh, and those beers I like!

The bartended grabbed two Red Bulls from the mini fridge behind the bar and handed them to David. He turned and grabbed five long neck bottles and popped the caps off for them.

David: Thanks, hot stuff. David winked at him.

David finished pouring out the jaeger bombs and him and the boys eagerly gobbled them up. Max was not nearly as eager as his ‘sons’, but decided to drink; wanting to keep up the appearance of comradery.

He immediately gagged the second the liquid finished flowing down his throat.

David and the boys laughed at him.

“Christ! What was that?” He continued to gag.

 “Yeaaaaah, you’ll get used to that.” Paul joked. They moved to a high table near the back of the bar, and once they were seated, David poured another round of shots.

Max tried to make small talk with his sons, but he had no idea where to start. The boys were not much help easing the tension; especially with Dwayne eyeing Max the way he was.

David assured him it was just because they weren’t used to being around him. Which was true. David was the first turned. He spent almost 40 years with Max, so he was used to the uncomfortable silence. But the others had David, they had each other. After they were turned, they never had to worry about being alone in a room with Max; they never learned to be comfortable around him. He sat quietly, and sipped on his beer.

Max shifted nervously in his seat. Unsure how to break the ice. He tried to think of some of the conversation pieces he’d memorized earlier in the week, but the liquor in his system seemed to keep them from his grasp.

The boys had no problem entertaining themselves though. Marko and Paul were taking turns pulling down the zipper of some girl that was dancing near them. They were not doing this physically, no, they were employing their magic to pull on her zipper.

After a few minutes, in her drunken state, she’d seemed to have danced her dress off. She shrieked and picked up her dress around her body. But the devil twins, chortled at her Spanx. 

“Oh, don’t start,” David half groaned, half laughed.

Max turned around to see the lady duck and scream into the bathroom. “What just happened?”

“Oh? You wanna see it again?” Marko grinned deviously. He turned back around and yanked a young man’s pants down. His stained underwear exposed to the bar.

Dwayne and Paul laughed at him. Max turned to the table, confused how they were so eagerly playing pranks on the bar patrons.

“You don’t worry about being caught?”

They scrunched their faces at him, confused by his nervousness. “Dude, shut up,” Marko sneered. He turned David’s bottle over and poured out another round of shots.

“Just drink,” Paul reassured him. They all knocked back another round. Max was really starting to feel a buzz through his body. He watched as the boys continued to subtly mess with the patrons around them.

In his half-drunk state, he felt his lips begin to loosen. “How did you boys get IDs?”

“We don’t have IDs?” David said, puzzled. “Oh, you mean,” him and the others began to pull their wallets out.

They showed Max varying plastic cards. David had the driver’s license of a woman from Idaho. Marko had a blood donor card he stole from a young man’s wallet. Paul had an In-N-Out gift card, and Dwayne had a casino Player’s card.

Max stared at the boys’ ‘IDs’ in amazement. He’d always been envious of their magic. Moreso than he would ever admit. Ever since they were turned, he could feel their potential exceed his. Especially in David. His magic was more potent and more powerful than he could have ever hoped to be. And that’s part of why he was so hard on him.

Unfortunately for Max’s ego, letting them run wild only let their magic grow wild too.

Max’s train of thought was derailed by the sound of blaring music. The ambiance that the bar was playing was completely drowned out by the DJ booth.

“Ugh!” Marko groaned, “he’s back.”

Max covered his ears, the loud, piercing music hurting his sensitive vampire ears. The boys all winced with how loud the pop music was playing. Their ears twitched and they turned to look at the DJ that was playing a combination latin dance and country music.

“Is it 10 already?” Paul whined.

“This guy suuuuucks!” Dwayne hissed. Dwayne and Marko started loudly booing the DJ. Uncaring of his feelings, and the scene they were making.

“Hey knock it off!” The bartender hollered at them.

David made no move to stop his brothers. He just twisted the cap back on his mostly full jaeger bottle, and got up.

Paul followed David, and Max, not wanting to stay with the other two who were yelling and arguing with the DJ, followed David as well.

Max stood outside on the sidewalk behind David and Paul. David handed the large bottle of jaeger to Paul and pulled his cigarettes out.

“Was that it? Are we done being at the bars?” Max asked the two blond boys.

Paul belted, “not a chance,” he patted his stomach, “we’re just done with that bar.”

David lit the cigarette in his mouth and put his lighter back in his pocket. He half turned to Paul, stepping aside away from the line of people, “where do you wanna go next?”

Paul shrugged, thinking for a second. He picked at the wet label on the side of the bottle that was starting to peel. “Hey, what about X?”

David nodded silently, a soft smile held the lit cig, the smoke twirling up towards the streetlight. They waited there for Marko and Dwayne to finish harassing the DJ, and when they strolled out of the bar, Dwayne showed David he managed to grab some wallets from the other bar-goers. 

David chuckled, “we’re going to X’s,” he said plainly, ashing the cigarette and holding it at his side between his fingers.

“Hell yeah!” Marko started pumping his fists into the air. He jogged across the street to the park, he planned to cut through the park on the way to the next bar. “Ducks! Ducks! Ducks!” He started chanting, and the others followed him across the street.

“You leave those ducks alone!” Dwayne shouted. They watched Marko jog off into the distance, a good bit ahead of the group.

“Ducks?” Max asked David.

The blond slowly puffed on his cigarette as they strolled through the dark park. “Yeah, Marko likes to… feed the ducks at the pond.”

Max was confused by his disposition. Feeding the ducks sounded fun and wholesome. Something he didn’t think his sons were capable of.

They soon happened upon the pond in the middle of the park. Marko was already crouched down petting some of the ducks. They quacked softly as they formed a half circle around him. As they got closer, Max heard a noise coming from Marko, it was a half gagging, half clicking noise. He noticed the other boys didn’t stop to watch their brother. They walked around the pond and continued to sip on the alcohol they took from the bar.

Max stood a bit behind Marko, and he heard the noise get louder. He decided to walk to where the other boys were, his unease making him wander away. When he was further in front of Marko, he turned back to watch him regurgitate something for the ducks.

Max stood, horrified. As his second eldest spat up eyeballs for the greedy ducks below him. He could hear the other boys laughing ahead of him, but he was transfixed on Marko. The slimy, goopy liquid that came out like thick maple syrup, it coated the soft wet eyeballs and sloshed when it hit the ducks and ground.

Dwayne and David were laughing at their sire, he was stuck watching the littlest vampire, and the nasty thing he was doing.

“Yeah, we’re pretty sure that’s where geese come from,” Paul chuckled.

Max watched as Marko bent to pet another duck and then sprinted to catch up with the rest of the group. Max was a bit afraid of him now, and the display he just watched.

“God, I think I need another drink.” Max spoke, distressed.

David shoved the bottle into his hand, and Max eagerly put it to his lips.

The next bar laid ahead of them. This bar was very loud compared to the last one. It appeared to have several garage doors and a wraparound patio. The walls, or garage doors, were open, and the flashing lights and pop music was very noticeable from the park. As they walked up to the bar, Max noticed the very long line that seemed to be 30 or 40 people deep.

Paul was the first to walk up to the bouncer.

“Long time no see, X, how you been?” Paul put what Max thought were some cigarettes into his hand and did the same weird handshake he saw David do at the last bar.

The bouncer nodded, “can’t complain, s’good to see ya brother.”

“Likewise, man,” Paul patted the human’s forearm and walked past him, he waited near the bouncer for Max and the others.  Max noticed as each brother walked past, they did the funky handshake. Max was unsure what to do, he stood in front of the bouncer who eyed him suspiciously.

“Back of the line sir,” the bouncer sternly spoke.

“He’s with us!” Dwayne hollered over the music as he walked inside.

The bouncer gestured for Max to go inside, his demeanor changing immediately. He moved his hand to his jeans to pocket the spliffs that Paul handed him when Max put his hand out.

“Thanks…homie.” Immediately as the words left his mouth, he knew that was wrong. The bouncer just stared at him, his smile fading.

Paul immediately came to collect Max, “sorry, he doesn’t get out much.” He apologized for his sire’s ignorant behavior.

As the two walked into the building to meet the others at the bar, Paul tried to correct Max. “Hey, you can’t talk to strangers like that, it’s not cool man.”

“But Marko said it,” Max tried to defend himself.

“Yea, but they’re friends.” Paul gently shoved Max to the bar, the wood hitting him in the sternum.

Now he felt bad emotionally, and physically. He knew he embarrassed himself, but he didn’t want to embarrass the boys. He knew how bad it felt to be embarrassed by someone you know; he didn’t want to make them look bad. Paul stood next to his brothers, and leaned in to tell them what Max’d done.

“He said what?” Marko shouted.

Max groaned. The bartender finally made her way to Max and the boys.

Bartender: What can I get for you?

Max: Um…just one sec.

He turned to the boys who were arguing amongst themselves. The bartender groaned as she was about to move on to the next people in line. Noticing her out of the corner of his eye, Marko stepped up to the counter.

Marko: Lemmie get three red bulls, fou- five adios, and a double of Malört.

David: And five Coors.

The bartender made a face at Marko, then shrugged, and started making the drinks. Max placed his card on the counter and waited for the bartender to drop off the drinks.

Max: What’s Malört?

Paul: A punishment.

Max: Pun-for what?

Paul: You know what you did.

Max:

Marko: Take your Malört first then you can wash it down with an adios.

Max: What’s in an adios?

Dwayne: You’ll find out.

The bartender dropped off the drinks and took the card. David signaled for her to keep it open, and she put it back in front of them after she swiped it. Max sniffed the Malört and felt his eyes begin to water.

Max: I do not want to drink this.

Paul: It’s not that bad, just do it.

Max unwillingly took the shot. The second it touched his tongue he immediately felt like he was going to throw up.

Dwayne: If you hurl, we go home.

Marko: Do it! You know you want to.

David: Is he gonna do it?

Paul: I think he’s gonna do it!

Max swallowed hard, and panted, trying to fight away the urge to throw up. His stomach felt hot and painful. Like he’d just taken a punch to the gut, or like he just drank bile.

Max: I thought you said that wasn’t going to be bad??

Paul: Oh yeah, I lied.

Marko: Don’t be a wuss, just keep drinking and it’ll go away.

The boys picked up the red bulls and their drinks and walked over to a booth by the dance floor. Max swayed uneasily side to side. He was a vampire, sure, but he wasn’t used to this heavy drinking. It was really starting to get to him. He played with the straw in the blue drink and felt a flush come to his face. The boys took notice of his demeanor, and how he giggled at the colored strobing lights overhead.

David: You good?

Max:

Paul: You like your drink?

Max looked down at the blue drink. He put the straw in his mouth and eagerly sipped on it.

Max: Wow this is way better than that other thing!

Dwayne: Why did you want to hang out with us?

Max: Because you’re my sons.

Marko: But you’ve never treated us like your sons.

Max: … I know. And I’m sorry for that.

TLB:

Max:

David: So now you want to play ‘house’?

Max: No, no. I…I always wanted a family. I just…I’m envious of you boys.

TLB: The boys looked at each other, unsure of Max’s honesty.

Marko: Why would you be envious of us?

Max: You have each other, You’re brothers, peers. You’re never alone, and you are all so strong, and intelligent, and young.

David: Well, you’re 200 years older than us. You made us to be sons not peers.

Max: I was young when I set my mind out to have a family… I thought it would be easier than this.

Marko: Well, you suck at being a dad.

Max: I know, I’m sorry. I know I never taught you anything about being a vampire. I… feel bad that you had to learn things by yourselves. Especially you, David.

David: Well, apology not accepted.

Max: But-

David cut him off, his tone of voice angry, holding back his rage as best he could, David spat at Max.

David: You were a shitty sire for 200 years. One “I’m sorry,” and a few beers isn’t going to make it okay.

Max:

TLB:

The group sipped on their beers, and Max continued to sip on his blue drink. He felt so low in that moment. Maybe it was a mistake to try and bond with the boys after all this time.

David stood up, taking his beer with him to the patio to go smoke. Marko and Dwayne nudged each other, trying to break free from the uncomfortable silence. The two stood and walked over to the dance floor, trying to find partners for the night.

Max and Paul stayed at the booth, nervously avoiding eye contact. Max watched the curly haired blond and the brunet quickly find a pair of red head coeds. After a few minutes of grinding and bumping, the girls led the boys out to the parking lot.

Max stared at them, confused. “Wait, I thought you boys were still….” He asked Paul, too embarrassed to say the word.

“Homos?” Paul chuckled at Max’s embarrassment. He took a long sip of his beer as they watched the two vampires and their ‘dates’ duck behind some cars. “Papa, your baby boys are whores, s’all you need to know.”

“Huh,” Max stared off in the direction of the parking lot. “You boys really just do whatever you want?”

Paul turned his attention away from the cars and switched from drinking his beer to the adios. “Yup, s’a pretty sweet life,” Paul looked over to the front of the bar, he noticed X leave his post and waved him over to where he was sitting.

The bouncer leaned over the table a bit to talk to Paul, “where’d everybody go?”

Paul snorted, “you know Dwayne.”

The bouncer smiled and gestured for the blond to follow him to the patio. Paul scooted from the booth and grabbed his drinks. He looked at Max, who sat by himself now, dejected. Paul invited him outside, he felt bad for the old guy.

He never had anything personal against Max. Paul, being the youngest, never actually spent any real time with Max. He just learned to avoid him because all the others seemed to distrust him.

Max cheered up a bit. On the way out the patio he apologized to the human. He felt weird apologizing to a human, but if he was someone important to the boys, then he was important.

The trio found David sitting outside, staring at the shaking cars in the parking lot. He was swirling his beer around, trying to ignore the emotions that tried to bubble to the surface.

They sat at a table with David, and he rolled his eyes when he saw Max was with them. Max sat across from David, next to Paul. X pulled the spliffs from his pocket and Paul handed him a lighter.

“Oh, Paul rolls your cigarettes?” He asked, too drunk to notice what it was.

The boys chuckled, “yeah, I roll his cigarettes.”

“Paul has a real steady hand,” X joked. He took a long inhale and handed the paper to Paul, who did the same.

The blond looked over at Max, “you wanna try?”

David scoffed, “he’s not into that kind of stuff.”

Max was on a mission to prove to David that he was more than he thought he was. The bleach blond vampire took the spliff from Paul and replaced the cigarette in his mouth with it.

David took a long drag and blew the smoke in Max’s face. His sire coughed, “I told you boys at the beginning,” he continued to cough, “I can hang.” David looked at Paul, who motioned for David to pass it to Max.

Max took what he thought was a ‘funny’ smelling cigarette. He took a long drag, like he’d seen the rest of the table do. He could taste the tobacco on his tongue, and as he took the smoke from his mouth down his lungs he tasted something else. The boys chided him on, encouraging him to hold it in his lungs as long as he could. Not that he needed to breathe, but he started coughing with the new feeling of this ‘odd’ smoke.

“Wow, that’s good,” he complemented Paul. The table encouraged him to take another drag, and hold it for longer this time, and that if the taste kept bothering him, he should drink his adios.

The rest of the night is a bit of a blur for Max.

He remembered Max and Dwayne coming to sit at the table… at some point in the night.

He remembered laughing with them, and telling them about his childhood, and his sire. He talked about how proud he was of them, being successful ‘vampire’ and terrors of the night. The boys didn’t need to explain anything to X, he just assumed Max got cross-faded and blacked out. Which, he was.

Max remembers flashing lights, glowsticks. The night was like a blur, but there were blips he could remember. Were the flashing lights neon, or red and blue?

Max laid in bed, tasting his dry mouth. His head ached, and so did his stomach. His clothes were dirty with blood and mud. He tried to sit up, and he noticed his shoes were missing.

He had no idea what time it was, or what exactly happened last night. The last thing he remembered was that cigarette. He groaned, looking into the mirror he noticed his hair a mess. His glasses were cracked, and his lips were bright blue from the adios.

He called for Lucy, who came to check on him. Thorn came too.

Max asked Lucy what happened, and what time he came home. Lucy was proud when she spoke. He commended the boys for bringing him home, and they made sure he was okay, and got to bed safe and sound. Max smiled at that.

“They wanted me to tell you thanks for last night.” Lucy handed Max a cup of water and started unbuttoning his shirt to help him relax. Max eagerly took the glass with one hand, and pet Thorn with the other. His furry friend happy to be getting attention.

“Oh,” Lucy added as she finished unbuttoning his shirt, “they wanted me to also tell you that they would be back next week.”

“Pardon?” Max was confused. He did not remember them talking about going somewhere last night.

Lucy explained to him that he had given the boys his cards and told them to go on vacation.

“I DID WHAT???” Max started fumbling with his phone, trying to open up his credit card app.

“You told me yourself that you wanted them to enjoy themselves. What’s wrong with that?” Lucy remarked.

The app finally loaded. He was devastated by what he saw.

He had no way of finding them now, as he was sure they pulled all the cash out in a lump sum and turned off their phones.

He sighed and threw himself back against the bed; they really got him good with that one.

The boys were sitting pretty in Las Vegas by now. They dropped Max off at home, withdrew all his money, and them and Michael took off for the Bellagio to book a suite.

Michael’s words echoed through his mind, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He covered his face in his hands and wailed.

Max would be lucky if they came back in a week.  

[tinytalkingtina]

Oath of Devotion

Infernal Light (Steddie Dnd AU)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (can be read out of order, trying non-linear story-telling)

1546 words | rating T | Ao3 Link

Tags: Fantasy DnD AU, Tiefling Steve Harrington, Half-elf Eddie Munson, Steve has bad parents, Eddie has a bad father (child abandonment), past Steve/Nancy, implied self-harm (not described graphically and took place in the past), sex/loss of virginity (discussed as events that occurred in the past but nothing happens/is described in this chapter)

Added some author's notes under the cut as well because I love talking about this AU!

Steve lay limply on top of his lover, sated. Eddie stretched out beneath him on their bedrolls, idly stroking a hand through his hair and up over his horns. This deep in the woods, only birdsong and crickets echoed through the trees. It was just the two of them completely alone in their tent, in this little bubble. Safe. For the first time in his life, he didn’t choke down a purr from rumbling out of his chest.

“You like that darling?”

“Mhm, it feels nice.” He nuzzled his face further into Eddie’s chest. “Dangerously easy to get used to this though. Those I’ve paid to be with in the past wouldn’t stick around after the deed was done.”

Eddie’s hand stilled. “Paid? But why did you have to…how did you…” Steve opened one eye.

“Well I couldn’t have bedded noble folk, that would have been too risky. But I was hardly pure the first time we—I thought that was obvious?”

“That’s not what I meant, how did you get away without someone realizing? Kind of hard to hide this when you’re close,” Eddie joked, with a gentle tug to his tail.

“Oh.” Steve smirked. “That was the easy part, I put on a different disguise.” He sat up and drew the familiar incantation into the air, fizzy sparks trailing out of his fingertips as he did so. They swirled around for a moment before settling over his body, changing his bright red skin to a pale purple, and his horns to stag-like antlers. From one blink to another, Sir Stephen Harrington, heir to the Barony of Loch Nora, replaced himself with the face of a stranger.

Steve wiggled his fingers. “So long as I went to a brothel in towns with a port, I could have come from anywhere, so I pretended to be a sailor dropping by for some companionship.” He winced a bit, thinking of the honestly awful lies about sailing he’d come up with to uncaring ears. “Safe enough wearing someone else’s face if the prostitute already expects to touch a tiefling.” 

“And for my first time,” Steve's face flushed as he dropped the spell. “My parents arranged to have her brought into my chambers blindfolded, and instructed me not to speak during. As far as she was concerned, I was some sort of important prisoner being given a pity fuck. Never got to learn her name.” 

She had been so gentle with him when she felt him tremble. Hadn’t even flinched when she found horns in his hair. He hoped she was well.

“That’s a little fucked up, sweetheart.” Steve was startled out of his thoughts. With a snort, he reached to tug Eddie closer.

“I don’t think that even scratches the surface of the ‘fucked up’ things my family has done. But I made sure to ask the servants what happened after she left. She was just paid and sent back to the village.” Steve gently tucked a stray curl behind Eddie’s ear, before stroking his claw tip carefully along the outer shell. He paused as he got to a jagged divot near where his ear came to a tapered point.

“Hey, here’s a scar you haven’t told me the story for. What was it this time, a wild unicorn taking a valiant swing at you and only just missing your pretty face?”

Eddie grabbed at his hand, pulling it away. “Nothing to tell about that one. It’s not very interesting.”

“Oh come on, you can’t just leave it at that, you silver-tongued minx.” Steve teased.

“I…really, you don’t want to hear it.”

“Uh huh, I see. Too embarrassed to admit you got caught cheating at cards or something?”

“Because I did it to myself, okay?”

The words seemed to explode out of Eddie’s mouth. Steve froze in place, all thoughts of teasing gone.

“Eddie, why?” He reached out a comforting hand but Eddie shrank back. His anger evaporated as quickly as it had come on, leaving a well worn look of grief in its place. He slumped over in a corner of the tent.

“It was stupid and I know it was stupid, but I couldn’t take looking like him for another second back then. I’m not sure why out of the whole kingdom, he picked our village, and why out of all the lovely faces he could have shared a bed with, he singled out my mother. But I guess she held his attention long enough for them to have me.”

Oh. Steve remained silent. Eddie had barely brought up the subject of his parents before, dancing around the topic.

“I was young still when she got sick. He stuck around for a little bit after she passed. But I didn’t progress fast enough or something. Too much human in me to learn what he wanted me to learn. So, he just. Left.” His lip curled in disgust as he sneered. “Haven’t heard from him since. I’m sure by now he’s picked up on something else shiny and new.”

Steve chanced moving closer. Eddie let him, shifting to clutch at one leg.

“I didn’t…I was the only person with any non-human or dwarvish blood for miles around. And so everyone just looked and saw my ears or my face and assumed.” He said brokenly, facing the floor. As if on instinct, he grabbed at his hair to hide in.

“I was only good at the lute because my elven grace gave me an advantage. Or they’d whisper, ‘Careful around that Munson boy, don’t get too close. Or else he’ll bewitch you, just like his no-good father did to his mother.’” 

Eddie reached up to grab at Steve’s hand. Steve let him, stroking his thumb soothingly over his knuckles as he continued: “They pretended like they knew everything about me. And I. I don’t know anything about that part of myself. Only know a couple words of Elvish. He didn’t stick around long enough to teach me anything. And the few Elves I’ve met while traveling haven’t given me the time of day. They don’t want to deal with someone so. So human. Can’t win with either culture.”

Steve had envied how Eddie was able to wear his emotions so freely most of the time, never shying away from what he was feeling. But curled up like this, he looked so small, so fragile. He wanted desperately to help take on some of that burden.

“As a noble heir, I was tutored in a lot of subjects,” he said slowly, as the plan stitched itself together in his mind. “For diplomacy, I had to learn a few languages. The Elvish I was taught was mostly the sun elf dialect but it could be a start, if you want to learn the basics.”

Eddie startled, his big expressive eyes opened wide. “Steve…you—“

“I mean, if you want to stick around now that we’ve lifted your curse.” Steve rambled on, flushing. “I know the Order wants me to undertake another mission immediately, but Dustin hasn’t been able to see his mother for quite some time and I know he’s missing her. If we ride to Loch Nora, I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to find a teacher who is more familiar with the wood elf dialect. Now that I’m grown, my parents usually try and claim they’re busy with official duties to avoid me, so you shouldn’t have to worry about interacting with them.”

He was met with total silence. The lack of any response from Eddie unnerved him.

“You. You would do that, for me?” The question slipped out so quietly Steve nearly missed it.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

“Because, you’re going to be a baron one day, and the Order couldn’t stop raving about all the great deeds you’re destined to do in the future. And I’m…just a bard from nowhere. I’m supposed to sing about folks like you. Or abscond with my lover to live a simple life. Not be a noble’s, be your, your—“

Steve cupped Eddie’s face between his hands. “Don’t sell yourself so short. Do you know how many people in my life have been content being kept at arm’s length? They just wanted to be in the aura of the baron’s heir. And if that didn’t satisfy then, well. You saw what happened with Nanc—with Lady Wheeler.”

“That was not really all on you Steve, she never asked for you to open up.” Eddie said flatly.

“No, she didn’t. But you, you stubbornly shoved past all of my walls so easily. You found out about this,” he gestured to his face. “And stayed in spite of it. So no, you’re not a nobody, Edward the formerly Banished. Never a nobody, not to me. Please, come back with me.”

Eddie stared into his eyes for a few moments, searching for something. Finally, he broke to place a soft kiss on his forehead and bury his face into Steve’s neck. “Okay. When do we leave?”

Steve couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Well that depends on how early you’re able to get up. How does an hour before dawn sound?”

The inelegant squawk Eddie made in response was the most wonderful sound Steve had ever heard.

Author's Notes

Still not sure how I want Robin to fit into all of this, but gunslinger Lady Nancy Wheeler, badass, will now be coming along for the Final ShowdownTM when that piece of the story gets written!

I love that purring tieflings is a tag on Ao3, since I was debating whether to keep that aspect of Steve's biology in or not.

The spell Steve casts is Disguise Self. At least in 5th edition, tieflings with heritage from Glasya or Dispater can cast this once per long rest. For the sake of the story, I'm going to pretend he can cast this several times a day, and that it lasts longer than 1 hour at a time.

Didn't really find a good place to mention him without breaking the flow, but after his mother died and his father left, Eddie was in fact raised by his Uncle Wayne! Wayne works in the mine like most of the other villagers, but he always encouraged Eddie's musical and magical talents.

While cities in this world are melting pots for various cultures and species, the small mining village Eddie grew up in was almost entirely human and dwarven. After his birth father left, he didn't encounter another elf until he left to go travel as a young adult. Loch Nora has a bigger gnomish population, as it borders the Gnomish kingdom.

Tagging a few folks who have shown interest (but please let me know if you don't want the tag/want to be added)

@augustjustice @devondespresso @kaspurrcat

Thank you to @/steddiecameraroll for the divider!

[barmadumet]

So, @underacalicosky and @wibzenadarksiderwithasoftheart tagged me in the WIP Tag Game, AND THANK YOU FOR THAT, but I don't have any new WIPs since the last time 🤷🏻‍♀️and you all know about all of those. . . BUT I have been working on option 3 from that poll quite a lot - I have about 75k words, but I am nowhere near ready to post a first chapter. But you know what? I think part of my slump right now is that I haven't shared any of my writing in almost 6 months since I finished Streets. So, though I am nervous to do this - because knowing me, I'll probably end up changing this or scrapping it - here is a small sample of that fic I've been working on:

Ferus awakes to the smell of brewing tea, and he’s not even sure how Obi-Wan has achieved such a feat when he doesn’t even have a kitchen, but the aroma is unmistakable. He glances at the parallel palette a few feet away – Anakin is still sound asleep, and the first sun is not yet peeking into the interior of the cave.

When Ferus stirs, he sees Obi-Wan perched on the plateau in the entryway of the cavern. He sits beside him and the Jedi Master slides him a cup.

“I had another ready,” Obi-Wan comments evenly, but cheerfully. “I thought you might be up soon. . . Your Master used to talk of how you’d wake with the suns.”

Ferus’ lips curl at the mention of his former, deceased Master, Siri Tachi. “She was like Anakin, and could sleep all day if you’d let her.”

Obi-Wan smiles softly. “And he needs extra rest these days, it seems.”

“He does. He gets worn out so quickly. . . It’s strange to think it’s Anakin – always so competitive, pushing himself to the limit. Needing to be the best. To win.”

“That need for victory,” Obi-Wan somberly tsks. “I do believe that’s where I lost him.” He sighs. “His fear of losing. . . It impacted him in more ways than one, but now that he’s lost so much, I don’t think it frightens him anymore.”

“Well, he hasn’t lost you – and it’s clear you’re what matters most to him.”

“You mean a great deal to him as well,” Obi-Wan reminds intently.

Ferus marginally shifts the subject, “Obi-Wan? You don’t have to answer this, but. . . I saw the two of you last night, the way you. . . I know I only implied it before, but did the two of you have a relationship?”

“Not a romantic one, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“That is what I’m getting at – the way you held him, and the way he was curled up against you – I can’t say it’s a position I’ve ever been in with my Master, but I’ve surely slept beside my husband in the same manner.”

“I never touched him,” Obi-Wan defends sharply. “Especially not when he was seventeen. But when he got older, when the war started. . . Well, we became less like Master and apprentice and more like. . . something else entirely. But nothing ever came of it. There was tension there, and to be honest, I think it caused problems between us. This chirpy Anakin is one I’ve not seen in a long time, and I’ve missed him terribly. I honestly don’t know what possessed us to curl up together last night, because it’s not something he’d remember us doing; it’s not something we did until he was older. We’d seek comfort during the war, but it was never really romantic so much as just comfortable – natural. . . and I suppose that’s why we ended up that way: it just felt natural. I’m sorry. I’m rambling, and I know that’s not much of an explanation, but when it comes to Anakin. . . in light of this situation. . . I’ve just never before been so confused and so sure of myself all at once.”

Ferus laughs ironically. “That’s exactly what I was trying to explain to you about taking him under my wing. It felt both wrong and right. I’m still conflicted at times. . . and I. . . I can’t stay, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan’s head turns sharp. “You can’t go,” he protests.

“I can’t stay,” Ferus reiterates. “I need to get back to the base – check on things there. Try to get back home and make sure Roan’s family is safe.”

“But you don’t intend to return.”

“I. . .”

“Anakin will be crushed. Please don’t do this. Not right now. Let him get settled.”

“He doesn’t need me, Obi-Wan; he has you.”

“Do you not hear how he refers to the two of you as one unit? Do you not see the way he lights up when you enter the room? Do you not see how he hangs on your every word? ‘Well, Ferus says. . . Ferus thinks. . . Ferus wants. . .’ ”

“That’s just because we’ve spent so much time together. I’m all he’s had for the last few weeks. He’ll be fine. I know you’ll take care of him.”

“You aren’t so sure. I can sense it – your worry for him, but you’re running away because it scares you –because of what he used to be, and I’m. . . I’m scared, too, and maybe I need you just as much as he does right now. You’re the only one that— Don’t go. I want you to stay.”

Obi-Wan and Ferus go quiet when they sense Anakin awake and approaching.

“Good morning, dear one,” Obi-Wan beams when a sleepy looking Anakin appears. His eyes are tired. His face is blank. His arms are folded, buried in his Master’s robe, head covered to hide his scarred face.

Anakin’s gaze is on the horizon, where the second sun is just starting to rise, the shadows of the cave now absorbing soft morning light. Both men have turned to watch him. Now, he watches them back and smirks. He wedges himself between the pair, then puts his head on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

Ferus is just about to stand when an arm comes around his waist and pulls him closer. A cybernetic hand snakes up his back and rubs it gently. Ferus slowly turns to look at Anakin just as he lifts his head from Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and Ferus finds he can’t look away from the intense and engaging stare.

Anakin lets his forehead tenderly bump against Ferus.’ When he feels Obi-Wan’s arm stretch around him, he boldly decides to now use Ferus as his personal pillow instead, supremely content with having contact from each side.

Obi-Wan’s knuckles brush back and forth against Ferus’ ribs, an indirect way to communicate, a way to say he understands. He knows Ferus is wrestling with the very same qualm he himself had struggled with for many years: craving Anakin’s touch, while simultaneously fighting a guilt-ridden urge to push it away. He sees Ferus’ dark eyes peer at him from over the hood of the robe Anakin is still snuggled in – tethering between satisfaction and indecision.

Ferus is rigid, neck straight and chin high. But at Obi-Wan’s faint, but soothing smile, and with Anakin burrowing further into his side, he can’t help but rest his cheek to the top of Anakin’s head, shamefully giving in to the warmth and solace they both provide.   

The three remain huddled together as they watch the sky change colors in a comfortable silence.

*

*

*

*

Thoughts?? Any interests? I feel like this will be a fic about 4 people will read lol, but I've been wanting to write it for almost 2 years now. I feel rusty! Idk if I can pull it off, but I'm going to try.

Thanks again for the tags, friends! It looks like all of your WIPs have been inquired about (or I already have knowledge of them! 🤩) These all look DELISH!!!

[kybercrystals94]

The Depth of Shadows

By KyberCrystal94

Read on Ao3 here!

Whumptober 2023|Day 9|Prompt 9: “You’re a liar.”

Bad Things Happen Bingo| Prompt: Betrayal

Rating: G

Words: 626

Summary: Sequel to “I Won’t Hate You”…Crosshair struggles with memories of the chip.

Before, he felt like a shadow, the absence of light, a shape that moved in tandem with its caster. He felt stretched and ominous...enslaved.

Oppressed.

Weak.

Good soldiers follow orders.

And while he became imprisoned, his brothers walked away from the chip’s influence, minds strong and adamant against it. Even Echo. A reg. Though, perhaps, the Techno Union’s kriffing around in his head helped with that.

But Crosshair was weak. Is weak. And he became a shadow cast by the Empire.

Good soldiers follow orders.

The mantra still haunts him, taunting him, again and again and again in his mind. Good soldiers follow orders, good soldiers follow orders, good soldiers follow orders...His brothers hadn’t heard, hadn’t understood, hadn’t listened. Crosshair tried to tell them, warn them, goad them into staying. But they left. They left him. But they went back for her.

“She’s one of us. We’re not leaving her there.”

Hunter said that a lifetime ago. Crosshair had thought at the time that he was one of the collective, one of them. That he would not be left behind; however, he should have known there were conditions, a limit to the loyalty of a brother.

Liar, Hunter. You’re a liar. You left me! I needed you, and you left me!

“What are you thinking about?” Omega asks, her soft voice screaming into the abyss of his dark, circling thoughts.

Crosshair doesn’t look at the clone child. “None of your business.”

“I know,” Omega agrees, “but you can still talk about it if it would help you feel better.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“I didn’t say I could help you,” Omega says.

“It was implied,” Crosshair hisses.

Omega rolls her eyes. “Fine. Don’t talk about it.”

They sit in stoney silence, side by side on the cot. Crosshair wants to be angry, to hold the bitterness of abandonment against the child at his side; however, she truly is innocent. She asked them to leave, she never asked them to come back, or to leave Crosshair behind. It isn’t her fault. It never was. “I know what you are going to do, but please don’t…I know it’s not your fault. You can’t help it.” Her words in the Kaminoan holding cell, a wistful almost hopeless plea against the inevitable.

“You knew about the chips…” Crosshair says.

“Yes,” Omega agrees.

“You knew mine had activated, when we came back for you on Kamino.”

Omega looks up at him, nods, but says nothing.

“Did you tell the others?” Crosshair asks.

Omega watches his face for a moment, as though gauging how her words might make him react. “After we left Kamino…we didn’t have time before. Not without being overheard. But Tech made a device to find the chip,” her voice catches on Tech’s name, but she presses on bravely, “he never said so, but I know he made it to help you. And Hunter felt so guilty leaving you behind. Wrecker would tell me stories, and Echo wanted to help other clones escape the chip too.”

“But they thought it was me that turned against them, before you told them it was the chip,” Crosshair says, deadpan, emotions carefully hidden.

Omega frowns and blinks. “Is that what you were thinking about? About them leaving you?”

“It’s all I’ve thought about,” Crosshair hisses. “Being betrayed by your squad doesn’t sit well with most soldiers.”

“The Empire betrayed you,” Omega counters, “The Empire betrayed all of us. And as soon as we found out you had turned on the Empire, we tried to come for you. And if our brothers are still out there, they won’t stop trying until they’ve found both of us.”

And for a shadow of a moment, Crosshair almost believes her.

END

Tag List: @isthereanechoinhere96 @followthepurrgil

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[jokeringcutio]

Alright i just watched a wholesome reels of this

Now here's the plot : Imagine Harrow finally getting better that he doesn't need to stay at the asylum 24/7 anymore, basically allowed to leave and take meds to his home. Now that he got more time with his little family, he decided to bring his daughter and his wife (the reader) to a beach. Your daughter wanted to hunt some seashells on the beach, then suddenly so many pretty seashell magically appeared. Turns out Arthur bought a pack of perfect seashells and quietly dropped some to make his lil girl felt so happy that she found those sea treasures. He may a cult leader that once declared to be legally insane, but he's still a great dad you could ever had for your kid ;)

Here it is: Fandom: Moon Knight, Arthur Harrow X Reader Drabble: Daddy Harrow & Daughter, Reader Insert. ~*~SeaShells~*~ Rating: General Tags: Fluff, Family, Cute, Adorkable, beach.

“Oh, daddy! There’s another!” Your daughter couldn’t pronounce the word shell yet. Or well, not the way it is supposed to be said. She had invented her own little word for it and it melted both your heart as well as that of your husband.

Arthur Harrow’s hair had turned grey almost completely and the lines on his face had multiplied. But at least he could walk again. And with the medication, Ammit’s voice and anger were kept at bay enough for him to have left the asylum and live a somewhat peaceful life at home. With you. And with your little family.

“Really?” You heard Arthur say with feigned surprise. He could act, you had to give him that. The way his eyebrows lifted and his grey eyes lit up in surprise. He’d almost fool you. He certainly fooled your toddler, for she ran up to him on chubby legs to show the shell she had just found on the beach.

“ ‘Ere,” she said, showing him the long and twisted seashell that was almost too big to be held in her tiny hands. Her eyes glittered with joy. “It is perfect!”

“It is,” her father concurred, his voice a soft hum. Then he knelt down on one knee to be at eye level with her. He had to use his cane for support, and rested one elbow on his raised knee to keep his balance. His hair fell in front of his eyes, a few hairs stuck to the side of his lips as he spoke to her. “It seems you have found the most perfect of all seashells,” he pretended to study the cone in her hand, then smiled up at her. “Well done.”

She was beaming with pride and closed her tiny hand around the seashell before she came dashing towards you. “Mommy, mommy, look!”

“My, such a pretty seashell!” you exclaimed, happy to play along and see your daughter beam even more. “It’s almost as if I’ve seen that one before,” you added sarcastically, knowing your daughter didn’t hear. She had already turned around to look for more seashells and was walking ahead of you, head bent and hair dangling in front of her face. A mirror image of her father.

Said father was pushing himself up with a groan, but managed to stand straight despite his injuries. His feet worried you the most. You knew they’d never healed properly. He used his cane, which was hard to use on the sandy beach. It kept slipping away between the grains of sand, but he insisted to take it along. You hadn’t seen him carry it around while he was still at the asylum, but once he got out, he brought it along wherever he went.

His brown shoes creaked as he walked. You were glad he wasn’t wearing his sandals and the risk of sand getting in was small. He came to stand next to your side and flashed you a crooked smile.

“Well, now,” he started as he leaned his head closer to yours. “And what is my dear wife implying?” he teased, voice sultry and smooth like honey.

You couldn’t help but blush as you looked up at him, noticing how close he stood to you. “Nothing!” you chirped. You definitely were implying something. This wasn't the first time your daughter had found the perfect shells after all. You knew how Arthur had collected them, bought them just so he could plant them during your walks.

Arthur grinned while he brought his hand into the pocket of his plain wine-red pants. Then he pulled out another seashell, similar to the one your daughter had just found. You were watching her with hawks’ eyes and hadn’t noticed Arthur’s gesture until he gently pressed his elbow against yours. Then you looked at him again and noticed the seashell in his hands.

You smiled up at him, knowingly and conspiringly, while he smiled back at you.

“You know me,” Arthur murmured while he gently put the shell back inside his pocket. “I only want the best of the best for my sweethearts.”

You gently grasped his wrists, halting him in his movements, then stood on your tiptoes to place a kiss on the tip of his nose. With a smile, you retreated. “I love you,” you knew you didn’t even need to say it. He knew. His eyes shimmered with something dark, something between love and lust.

It felt good to say it.

“I love you too,” his words, a daily ritual. But hearing these words always felt like they were new. Even after all these years spent together. You'd never get enough of saying them and of hearing them being said to you.

The two of you started walking along the beach, following your daughter’s footprints while you listened to her happy cries of joy and the soft sounds of the sea.

~*~Fin~*~

AN: Hope you enjoyed my bestie @nicktremblaywayfu I haven't written a lot of fluff yet on this account, as I love to go dark with my tales, but I can do it. I can be homely and cute and sweet :) Happy Easter 💛 And I hope you have a lovely day 💛 To All Readers & Followers on here: Feel free to hit me up with more drablle and imagine requests. Love you all and have a good day (Though I might be uploading a bit more soon ;D )

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Got any prompts for John Thomas Ward from Faith meeting a Paranormal Investigator! reader, who was Amy Martin's childhood friend and wants to stop Gary?

At first, you were in it for the thrills. That's all. 

Paranormal investigating was just a hobby you enjoyed, although most of your discoveries were just candles being mysteriously blown out or unintelligible whispers replayed on a spirit box. But you were content with whatever you found and what little communication you made with spirits.

Now. Things have changed.

Never in your life did you expect to join a priest in his mission to save a girl’s soul and stop a horrible evil from breaking through into this world.

Yet here you both were, investigating the clinic where your friend Amy once worked. You were searching for demons or clues as to where Gary could be attempting to perform the Profane Sabbath.

You had a bone to pick with that cultist freak for what he did to her. Learning of her possession when you came over to visit one day had you furious. Gary used her and now she was gone...with some beast using her face to carry out its misdeeds and terrorize her family.

The tapes you have of it speaking in her voice still haunted you to this day. It was the clearest recording you’ve ever gotten of an entity from the other side, but god..you’d trade it for anything else in the world.

Anything but her.

So you decided to come to the clinic to do your own investigations into what happened there--where things might’ve gone horribly wrong between your childhood friend and Gary.

That’s when you ran into Father John Ward: the priest who allegedly killed Amy one year after the brutal murder of her parents and an elder priest.

At first you had nothing but insults for him, especially when he revealed he attempted an exorcism twice on her and failed both times. You thought he was just a fraud posing as a pastor.

Though..you could see his guilt, and he explained to you in great detail of the horrors he’s seen. But even then you weren’t fully convinced that he was capable of undertaking this mission to find Gary and stop doomsday from coming--as evident by his copper-colored crucifix.

He begged you to believe him, insisting he wants to save Amy’s soul just as much as you do, showing you a note that implied Father Garcia trusted him.

Eventually, you caved and refused to turn him over to the police..

Under the condition that you tagged along in his quest.

Reluctantly, he accepted. But only because you may help him find answers about what Gary’s done at these locations by contacting any resident spirits there. Plus if you could get proof to clear his name should he need it...that would be especially helpful.

So together you snuck into the dark and decrepit clinic, curious as to what you may find lurking inside. There were many boarded-up doors and ultrasound photos strewn across the floor.

As John walked past a lone IV drip, you stopped as your EMF device emitted a beeping noise. You took it off your belt loop, aiming it towards the stand.

The beeping persisted.

Jackpot.

“Oh! I caught an EVP. There’s a spirit right here.” Your eyes lit up, though you frowned as the priest took out his crucifix. You waved him off. “Save it. I gotta know more about this before you do your exorcism thingy..assuming you can do that.”

“I can. I’ve done it many times.” He huffed, a bit annoyed that you refused to trust him. “You know, I read of other investigators similar to you. They were at Snake Meadow Church-”

“I know what happened to them." You cut him off. "It’s a shame but..there’s consequences for getting too greedy with capturing spirits on film. I’m only here for answers and to help give them some peace, knowing someone's listening to them. Whatever evidence I take home is just a bonus.”

That seemed to shut John up for the moment. He just watched you prepare your equipment near the IV stand while looking out for any demons that could sneak up on you both.

Once you were all set up, you kept tabs on the spirit box and EVP recorder, doing your best to communicate with the spirit once it made its presence known on the radio frequencies. You asked a few questions regarding what happened here and if it knew of Gary.

John remained behind you, silent. All he heard was static, whispers, and a slight crying noise on the spirit box. Though he was impressed. 

You clearly knew what you were doing.

After some time you decided to stop, not wanting to overwhelm the ghost with too many questions. And he blinked as you packed up your things. “What did it tell you?”

“There’s a lot of interference. I’ll have to parse through it when I get home. But I did hear a voice....it sounded miserable. Like it was crying, almost.” You frowned slightly. “It mentioned Gary and needles. Maybe his freakshow cult is pumping patients full of drugs and getting them high.”

“It would explain why they infiltrated the clinic.” He remarked, raising his cross. “Now will you let me free this poor soul?”

“Do as you wish, Father.” You backed away, bowing slightly in a mocking gesture. A smug grin graced you face as he rolled his eyes, but he proceeded with purifying the IV drip.

You were caught by surprise as it flickered bright yellow, before a ghost rose out of it and vanished into the heavens. ‘Huh..guess he’s not lying.’

John then picked up a note that had fallen to the ground and read it out loud, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

Note to self--

Pills do not dissolve in IV drip well.

Too weak; patients waking up before process is complete

Sooner or later they will realize they are having the same hallucinations

Suggest concentrated, injectable version

“..you’re right. Gary is drugging innocent people. We should continue investigating. I sense many more evils within this place.”

“Sounds like you should’ve gone into this business instead, pastor.” You joked. “But yeah, let’s keep going. For Amy.”

“Yeah..for Amy.” He nodded, feeling a bit more determined than before. “We cannot fail her.”

It seems like you two were already forming a quick alliance.

[up-in-space-reading]

Average Weekly Screentime - Chap 9: It's Snowing

pairing: Jake Peralta x Amy Santiago

word count: 3458

warnings/tags: college au, texting, drunk texting, text fic (mostly, there's prose a few chaps in), bets, bisexual!jake peralta, jake peralta has adhd, parties, drinking and alcohol, sexual references, implied sexual content (nothing explicit, just suggested its going to happen/has happened), friends to lovers, swearing, mentions of cannibalism, lighthearted threats of violence (typical rosa stuff yk), fluff

read on ao3

Average Weekly Screentime masterlist

Story Summary: texting fic college AU with the squad! It's the beginning of the school year and while everyone else thinks it'll be the same as the previous year, Gina has a feeling things are going to be different and wagers a bet with Rosa and Charles. Told through all the various group chats everyone is in.

Chap 1 | Chap 2 | Chap 3 | Chap 4 | Chap 5 | Chap 6 | Chap 7 | Chap 8 | Chap 9 | Chap 10

authors note: N/A

Unnamed Chat

[10:30am, Monday]

Jake: hey ter what do u do when ur scared

Terry: Um.. Terry: I don’t know if I’m qualified to give advice about this

Jake: idk if i can ask amy out

Terry: Ah, right. Now this I’m more qualified for Terry: If you think that taking a risk this big comes with not being scared at all then I’ve got bad news for you man

Jake: shit.. for real?

Terry: Real Terry: If you try and plan too much or overthink then you’re gonna psych yourself out Terry: Just ask her when you’ve got a moment alone

Jake: we just had a class together alone and then walked to the next class together alone.. Jake: and i still couldnt do it

Terry: Give yourself a pep talk right before you hang out and when you’re all pumped just go for it

Jake: hmm okay Jake: i can try

Terry: I don’t know what else to tell you, this isn’t a dip your toe in and check the water kind of situation

Jake: ur right ur right

Terry: Best of luck, it’ll be fine

Jake: thanks ter

Terry: And if it all goes wrong then you can listen to Taylor Swift and cry ;)

Jake: im gonna kill gina

-

He’d already spent all weekend making himself feel guilty that he hadn’t asked her out yet, and his determination was waning each day that passed. All of Saturday he kept thinking how he should’ve asked her on Friday, and how he should ask her today instead. Then when Sunday rolled around he kicked himself for not asking on Saturday, and over again by the time Monday came around.

The excuse he made was that he didn’t see Amy in person on the weekend, so how was he supposed to ask? He couldn’t text her, he was a gentleman and wouldn’t do Amy the dishonour of asking her out via text.

Sunday night he tried to hype himself up that he’d ask on Monday, then he saw Amy on Monday morning for their classes that day and once again the cowardice took over. They had come so far since their toleration of each other a year ago, Jake was so scared to ruin it all.

The two of them sat in their classes, Amy took diligent and detailed notes as per usual while Jake tried to keep up with her. But he couldn’t stop the smile creeping across his face knowing that Amy would automatically make a copy of her notes to give to him, and how he found hers to be less confusing than his own disjointed notes.

Everything was colour coordinated between topics and headings and classes, she would use the copier in the library so Jake had the pages too, she even started sending him the ones she typed up. He had mentioned once that he felt bad, like she was doing all the work and he just benefited from it.

“Notes are nothing, you have to actually complete all the assignments I’m just giving you the information told to us written down. Besides, I like doing it” was how she had responded matter-of-factly, as if it wasn’t the biggest thing in the world that she went out of her way to help him.

How he probably would need to repeat classes and would be stressed from head to toe if it hadn’t been for her just giving him notes. But the pages also felt like parts of her, her handwriting and always correct grammar. The colours of her specific highlighter set which Jake would borrow to colour in the pictures he drew in the corner of his copies when he was bored.

She had woven herself so easily into his life and Jake was in no way eager to untangle himself.

-

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[03:26pm, Monday]

Cameron: Phone break over Cameron: Back to the essay plan

Ferris: 5 more mins???

Cameron: You’ll feel bad about yourself if you don’t do it

Ferris: uuggghhh ur right

Cameron: I know I am, now look up from your phone and talk to me like a normal person

Ferris: u got it

-

“When was the last time you ate?” Amy asked seemingly out of nowhere when Jake had put his phone down.

“Uh I don’t know, like one-ish” Jake answered, confused.

“Have this” Amy reached into her bag and pulled out a granola bar, handing it to Jake.

He held it and just stared at it, unable to form words at the gesture.

“You focus better when you’re not hungry” She answered his unasked question while returning to her studying.

“Thanks” He said quietly, opening the bar and eating it.

He ate the granola bar and mused on the metaphorical weight of it. She had it in her bag just for him, he knows that because she doesn’t like this brand (he had to listen to the five minute long rant about it) so she had it just for him. She knew what helps him focus, although now his mind was transfixed on a damn granola bar so much he barely had room for essay plans.

Finally, after at least 20 minutes of mild crisis and definite overthinking he’d hyped himself up, Amy wouldn’t have brought a granola bar for nothing and she wouldn’t copy all her notes for nothing, and she wouldn’t help him for nothing.

She wouldn’t spend nearly five hours with him on a Thursday evening while they had dinner together and laughed and told stories for nothing. She didn’t even suggest inviting their friends to dinner.

Jake cleared his throat.

“Hey Ames, can I ask you something?” He tried to mask the nervousness in his voice.

“Yeah sure” She didn’t look up from her book but her pen did notably stop moving.

“I was just wondering if-“

He was cut off by the sound of a phone vibrating against the table, Amy’s screen lighting up with the contact name ‘Mom’. She quickly pressed a button to stop the vibrating and let the call go to voicemail.

“Sorry about that, go on” She said hurriedly, now looking at him directly.

“Um I was just gonna ask-“

Her phone started vibrating again, same contact name and Amy groaned in frustration this time.

“Sorry I’ve gotta take it, she’ll just call again if I don’t” She was holding her phone, annoyance written all over her face at having to take the call.

“That’s fine, go ahead” He smiled at her, not quite reaching his eyes, “tell her I said hi” He joked, making her laugh lightly before she got up and walked off to go outside, answering the call on her way out of the library.

Jake sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, he rubbed a hand over his face and groaned in frustration probably a bit too loudly for library etiquette. The confidence was gone, when she got back he was going to brush it off and move on.

So much for psyching himself up over a damn granola bar.

-

Jimmy Jabbers

[08:10am, Tuesday]

Pineapples: good morning sluts

Queen G: whats got u in such a good mood

Pineapples: idk just feel like today is gonna be good

Mr Grapes: Love that energy! Today IS going to be a good day

Four Eyes: Good morning!

RoRo: i am not on board with this energy

Queen G: yeah idk about this

Pineapples: u two are no fun

RoRo: good

-

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[08:55am, Tuesday]

Ferris: i hate to do this to u but im gonna be late to class

Cameron: Seriously?? Why??

Ferris: thought i had time to go get coffee but the coffee shop did not have time for me

Cameron: Fine, I’ll let the professor know

-

[09:10am, Tuesday]

Cameron: You can’t show up to class late bringing coffee for both of us!

Ferris: but i did and u cant do anything about it Ferris: and i havent gotten a thank u yet

Cameron: …Thank you Jake

Ferris: ur welcome! Ferris: now stop texting me ur distracting me

Cameron: Oh my god

-

She was embarrassed he had walked into class late, sat down next to her and handed her a cup of coffee in front of the whole class and professor. Amy didn’t want that kind of attention on her during class, the only attention she wanted was when answering a question correctly.

But she couldn’t stay mad for long, he had bought coffee for her too without her even asking. The coffee wasn’t the only thing warming her up on what was a severely cold morning, her heart over the moon at his thoughtfulness.

Jake wouldn’t have just bought her a coffee for no reason, right?

The lesson continued on and Amy was thankful for the distraction, getting to focus completely on her notes and the work assigned instead of Jake. Although, he was always there even if she didn’t realise it – the smell of his cologne mixed with coffee on his breath, his foot almost touching hers as they sat next to each other and the occasional bouncing of his leg which caught her eye.

They walked out of class together and as Jake told her about the coffee shop situation, she decided that today was the day she asked him out. She had to do it before she lost her nerve or was left alone long enough to over think and talk herself out of it.

She swore she was going to do it, they walked all the way to Amy’s next class together. He had just followed her there, despite not having the next class together. There was finally a break in the conversation.

“Uh Jake?” She tentatively approached.

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to know-“

His phone pinged with a notification, and she just about wanted to destroy every phone in existence.

“Sorry just a sec”

“No problem”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen quickly, eyes going wide as he began swearing under his breath.

“Shit, I’m late” He shoved his phone back in his pocket and looked back up at Amy, not noticing the way her next class were filing into the classroom, “What were you saying?”

He asked her to continue, and Amy wanted to so badly but he was late and she was nearing to be late. The moment had gone and she’d lost her steam.

“Don’t worry about it, get to class” She shook her head and smiled, trying to play nonchalant and being thankful that Jake didn’t seem to notice.

“Okay, see ya”

Amy said goodbye back as Jake started to rush away towards his next class, once his back had turned she deflated and sighed before walking into her next class. Once again, grateful for a distraction from Jake.

To make Amy’s luck even worse, her and Jake didn’t get a moment alone for the rest of the day. Charles joined them to study and then he and Jake had dinner together – Amy was invited, but after the failed attempt earlier that day she wasn’t in the mood to socialise.

That evening instead of studying she spent her night getting lost in a book, a romance one where she childishly pictures her and Jake in the positions of the main characters. She goes to sleep hoping tomorrow she’ll have the courage to ask him- tell him how much she wants to be with him.

-

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[08:35am, Wednesday]

Ferris: hey uh will u have a spare minute at all today? Ferris: i know we dont usually study today but yeah

Cameron: Um I’m not sure, I have a few classes and then I’m having a meeting with one of my teachers

Ferris: meeting??

Cameron: I wanted to discuss some of the syllabus for this semester and this is the first chance she’s been able to fit me in since we got back from holidays

Ferris: ah ok fair enough

Cameron: Why do you need a minute? Is something wrong?

Ferris: no nothings wrong i was just wondering :)

Cameron: Okay, have a good day!

Ferris: i will try

-

As it turns out, Amy didn’t have a spare minute all day.

Jake was fidgety all day, he had woken up and decided once again that today was the day he was going to ask her out – but he’d thought that for the past two days and so far hadn’t been successful so the hope was dwindling.

He ran into Gina at the coffee shop who said he probably didn’t need any more caffeine judging by how nervous he looked.

“What do you mean?” He asked with an offended look on his face.

“You have the same look on your face when we’re in line for a rollercoaster” She had responded.

“How do you even remember information like that?”

He order was called out and Gina waited until he was standing next to her to answer.

“Because I’m a good friend and you always look so scared before a rollercoaster it’s a bit funny” She smiled deviously upon saying her last point, “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

Gina’s order was called before he could answer and when she had picked it up she dragged him to sit down at a table together, Jake has resigned himself to the notion that he wasn’t getting out of this conversation.

“So spill, you never keep secrets from me” She punctuated her sentence with a sip of her drink.

“I know but I dunno if I wanna tell you this one… yet” He fidgeted with his cup on the table, not being able to hold eye contact with Gina for too long.

“Alright fine. It’s nothing bad, is it?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No it’s not bad, it’s actually pretty good but I’m just feeling… a lot” He had trailed off, unable to find a better word for the tornado of thoughts and emotions he felt on a daily basis.

“Well I’m here whenever you need” There was a few moments of silence between them as Jake gave Gina a smile that showed he understood her.

“Now that the gross stuff is out of the way I gotta tell you about my date on the weekend”

“I don’t know why you dragged yourself into Sasha’s business but I need to hear all about it-“

-

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[05:25pm, Wednesday]

Ferris: hope ur day hasnt been too hectic :)

Cameron: It kind of has unfortunately Cameron: Sorry for not being able to chat more

Ferris: thats okay

-

He was lying on his bed and wondering what to do, he hadn’t seen her all day or spoken to her much and it made him miss her. Finally, he was fed up with being scared, Jake gave himself a pep talk.

You’re gonna tell her and it’s gonna be fine. If she doesn’t like you back then that’s okay, you will just pretend it never happened. If she does like you back then… we’ll cross that bridge if we get to it. You are not a coward, you aren’t your father, you can ask out the girl you like. It’s not even that big of a deal- except that it kind of is- but it isn’t so its fine. You can do this Jake Peralta, don’t be a coward.

A newfound excitement surges through his body and without much further thought he’s slipping his shoes on and leaving his dorm in a rush. He all but runs through the building to get outside, hoping the frosty air will cool him down a little as adrenaline pumps through his veins.

He exits the building and the first thing he notices when he gets outside is that it’s snowing, lightly falling and probably getting caught in his hair. He pays it no mind as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and begins typing furiously, not bothering to look where he’s going – he knows the way to Amy’s dorm like the back of his hand.

-

Skipping School Is(n’t) Cool

[06:23pm, Wednesday]

Ferris: r u in ur dorm? Ferris: can i come over? Ferris: draft message: plea

-

He wasn’t able to finish his frantic messages as he bumped into someone also walking down the path looking at their phone. Without thinking Jake’s arms go to steady the person he bumped into, ready to apologize profusely and keep speed walking to Amy’s dorm.

Upon looking up at the person who’s shoulders he now had a hold on he realised he’d bumped right into Amy. Her nose and cheeks were red from the cold, a scarf wrapped around her neck and Jake noticed how pretty the snow looked as it fell into her hair.

She instinctively reached out for him to steady herself, her hands settling on his biceps and Jake felt like his skin was on fire despite the harsh cold. Amy breathlessly said his name as they stood there holding onto each other and not moving.

“Where were you-“

“What are you-“

They had both started speaking at the same time and then stopped to laugh at the mistake.

“I was on my way to your dorm” Amy spoke first.

“I was going to your dorm” Jake responded in slight disbelief.

Her eyebrows rose in surprise at his explanation, and her lips were slightly parted as if about to say something but not knowing what.

“Why?”

That was the response she had finally settled on and Jake swore there was a look of hope in her eyes, her hands holding onto his arms just a little bit tighter. He knew it was now or never, and how could he lie to her any longer. Amy was all he wanted.

“I was coming to see you, to ask you on a date, and- if you’d be interested- ask if I could be your boyfriend”

It was rushed and frantic sounding, but Jake smiled the whole time because it was finally happening and as he said it Amy’s face didn’t turn into one of disgust but something softer – one of relief and joy.

“That’s a bit of a coincidence then” She joked, earning a laugh from the both of them.

“Oh” was all Jake could manage in that moment, trying to process how Amy was on her way to ask him out.

He immediately felt so silly for all the hesitation and trepidation he had been feeling, he was scared for nothing. Amy liked him back, Amy had been rushing to ask him the same question he wanted to ask her. He wasn’t being rejected.

“Well in that case-“ He was able to speak now that his brain had caught up, and pretended to kneel down, Amy still holding onto him.

“Don’t you dare kneel” She scalded him, but there was no bite or malice behind it as the smile spread across her face gave her away.

Jake laughed and stood again, using his hold on her shoulders to bring her closer and carefully sliding his hands down to her waist.

“Amy Santiago, will you do me the pleasure of being my girlfriend and going on at least one date with me” He looked into her eyes, trying to stop tears of joy welling up in his.

“Jake Peralta, I would love for you to be my boyfriend, and I will happily go on a million dates with you”

They both laughed again as Jake brought his forehead towards Amy’s, touching lightly with their noses so close he could feel the heat coming off her. He didn’t know why they were laughing, nothing particularly funny had happened but he supposed this is what it’s like to be so happy you don’t know what else to do.

But he knew what else he wanted to do.

“Can I kiss you now?” He asked quietly, so only she could hear.

“Please” Her response was immediate, no hesitation and Jake could only guess she had been waiting a while for this moment.

He leaned in and pressed their lips together, and it was everything Jake had imagined it to be. Her lips were soft and she tasted like how her lip balm smelled. Amy’s arms moved to wrap around Jake’s neck as she fully leaned into him, while his wrapped around her back to hold her even closer.

Jake could feel her smiling into the kiss and couldn’t help but smile back, when they finally pulled apart he was out of breath and trying to figure out whether it was all a dream.

Amy placed one more kiss to the corner of his mouth and finally Jake could confirm it wasn’t a dream.

Chap 1 | Chap 2 | Chap 3 | Chap 4 | Chap 5 | Chap 6 | Chap 7 | Chap 8 | Chap 9 | Chap 10

authors note: Another chapter out so quick because the passion with which i wrote this section is craazzyy! last chapter i said there would probably only be one more but that was a lie! This is probably the second last chapter and i'll have one last one to wrap it all up!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was so fun to write and i'm really happy with it! Thank you so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos - i'll have the next chap up as soon as I can <3 <3