#or if you know a fic that already uses any of these

[usedtobecooler]

live now, think later | steve harrington x afab!reader

a/n: thank you so much in advance to everybody who takes the time to read, reblog and comment on this fic. it's the first thing i've published in close to three months and i'm honestly a little nervous, i hope i've come back with a big enough bang! title is taken from think later by tate mcrae, and a massive thank you to @trashmouth-richie for making my header+dividers for me. 7.8k words.

summary: upon your arrival in hawkins to visit your old friend, eddie munson, his first idea is to drag you down to family video — where you ‘unintentionally’ meet steve harrington. a well timed deal, a fake friend date and a few drinks later, you find yourself in steve’s downtown apartment with lowered inhibitions.

warnings: sexual content 18+ minors dni, piv sex, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, bratting, spit kink, biting, hair pulling, very poor use of the pull out method. alcohol consumption, mentions of drug dealing and public heavy petting. no use of y/n and very minimal description of reader. eddie munson being eddie munson.

Eddie is all but dragging you into Family Video by your hand, the harsh metal of his rings digging into the webbing of your fingers as he pulls you in through the door.

Eddie Munson was easily the most excitable person you’d ever met in your life, and his sudden enthusiasm to get you into the video store is going to land you in the emergency room, because if he tugs you any harder your shoulder will detach from the socket. 

The buzzer above your head rings violently in an attempt to alert the staff that somebody has come in, and a mop of beautifully styled hair attached to an equally beautiful man comes into view as you edge closer to the rental counter.

"Hey, Stevie," Eddie grins, loud and unabashed, "you got that new one with Meg Ryan in it? Heard she cums at a dinner table and lady luck over here is desperate to see it." 

He's sniggering as you pull away from him and smack at his arm hard enough that he lets out an indignant yelp. Your face is burning hot with embarrassment as the boy's eyes dart back and forth between you both, confusion etched on his face.

He - Stevie, apparently - raises an eyebrow at you both, taking in the disheveled and most likely chaotic scene in front of him, "You mean 'When Harry Met Sally'?"

"Majorly concerning you know what movie it is from the description of 'Meg Ryan cums at a dinner table'," you quip, mouth running away from you before you can even stop it. Your face somehow burns even hotter, Steve crossing his arms over his chest with a small smirk.

He's in a preppy little striped polo shirt under his green embroidered work vest, and god his arms are bulging. His skin is tanned golden, a product of the heat of an Indiana summer, freckles and beauty marks prominent on his face, trailing down his neck and dipping below the collar. 

You stare for a beat too long. Taking in the man in front of you, who looks very sure of himself. 

Eddie knows you all too well, Steve is absolutely your type, which makes your first encounter all the more mortifying. 

"It's my job to know all the new releases, honey." Steve's smile grows smug, and it's breathtaking how attractive you find it, "You're both shit out of luck, it's been on rent all week. Romantic night in, is it?" 

Eddie scoffs from beside you, and it takes everything in you to not be offended by how quickly the noise escapes him, "Yeah, she wishes. She's not my type at all, Harrington. Annoying, clingy, pisses too lo-"

"God, shut the fuck up," you're mortified, covering your face with your hands, "I've been in town less than a day, are you trying to get me ousted?"

Steve looks all too amused by the encounter, struggling to hold back a chuckle. His pretty eyes never leave you as he speaks, "Munson's deflecting, I already know you rejected him and he's taking it like a dagger to the heart." 

Eddie points an accusatory finger, "Take it back, fucker. I've never been turned down in my life." 

Steve quirks a brow at him, then turns his attention back to you. You squirm under his strong gaze, "Is that true, doll? I feel like he's lying." 

"I'm not getting involved in this dick swinging contest," you hold your hands up, trying in vain to ignore the silly little pet name that really does it for you, backing away from the counter slightly, "what are we even here for, Eddie?"

"I was just making sure me and Stevie here were still on for drinks tonight." Eddie glances at Steve, who looks as confused as you feel, “You wanna join us?"

You shoot him an incredulous look, "This feels like a set up."

Eddie smirks, "Why's that? Can't three pals all go out for a drink together? I want my two best friends to get to know each other."

You narrow your eyes playfully, glancing at Steve who seems to have gotten with the program, all signs of confusion gone from his face, "I'm not sure I trust you." You huff, turning to Steve and nodding back at Eddie, "What if he's just setting us up so he can bail and I'm stuck with you all alone, Stevie?"

Eddie feigns offense, "Now why would I do that? Besides, even if I did, you're a big girl. I'm sure you could bully Steve into leaving you alone."

You smirk back at him, "Fine. But if you and Steve start getting all lovey-dovey, I'm bailing and leaving you to pay the tab."

Steve barks out a laugh, "Don’t worry about me, I can behave myself. Same can’t be said for Munson, he takes one look at the Harrington ass and loses all inhibitions.” 

“It is beautifully round.” Eddie admits in defeat, hand clinging to his own flat ass, a ridiculously deep frown etched onto his features.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face and stays firmly put as you exit the video store, every nerve in your body buzzing when Steve winks in your direction when you depart.

The black lace bodysuit you wear clings to your curves nicely, the nip of your waist accentuated by your mom jeans. Eddie had even wolf whistled when he saw you, which was his nerdy way of saying you looked really fucking good.

As you pull up to the strip, Eddie slows down to a stop outside what looks like a dive bar, "I'm gonna drop you off here and go 'round back to park up the van, 'kay sweetheart? Steve's already in there."

Your eyes narrow, "I don't trust you, Munson. This feels like a set up."

Eddie holds his hands up, "It's not, I promise. I just need to go park the van and-" he trails off, sighs and rolls his eyes, "I have to go make a deal super quick. Don't want you there for that, this guy is sketchy."

You huff out a sigh, understanding him completely, Eddie really was a good guy who wouldn't put you in harms way. He knew leaving you with Steve momentarily was safer than taking you with him to a deal, and you trusted his judgment. 

"Okay," you agree eventually, making to hop out of the van, "but I swear, Eddie, if you don't come back, I'm gonna be pissed. You'd better be dead." 

Eddie holds up his hand in a scouts honor as if he was ever in the scouts in he first place, and you roll your eyes as you shove the creaky van door open and jump out.

"I'll be back soon, kiss Steve for me, will you?" Eddie jokes, grinning maniacally.

You stick up the finger and slam the door shut deliberately, making the walk around the side of the van before he can say anything in return.

As you make your way inside the bar, your mind races. Nerves and excitement are almost getting the best of you. Steve was just so cute, Eddie knew exactly what he was doing by introducing you both. 

The place is surprisingly cosy, pool tables dimly lit by orange colored lights. It’s reminiscent of a bar from back home, all hard wood and walls covered in various pieces of movie and alcohol paraphernalia. There are people scattered here and there, in booths and at the bandits, playing games of darts and billiards.

Steve's sat at the bar on an old vintage barstool, side on to you. He's dressed in a tight black t-shirt, washed out Levi jeans clung to his muscular legs and a pair of Adidas trainers with green stripes on his feet. He looked relaxed, floppy hair falling into his eyes. 

You were a goner already. 

As you approach the bar, Steve must sense your presence, as he looks up with a grin, "Hey! Where's Eddie?"

"Parking up the van," you smile, taking the stool next to him and jumping up onto it, trying to ignore the way your tits bounce very obviously with the motion, "I wouldn't bother ordering him a drink yet, though. He's, uh, occupied."

Steve's mouth opens in an understanding 'ah'. It was no secret how Eddie made money, and you were sure Steve had to be used to this by now.

The bartender comes over and you order some fancy cocktail on the menu that consists of Coke, dark rum and cherry liqueur. It comes with a Maraschino cherry on top, and you can't hide the excitement on your face as you take your first sip.

Steve watches you with an amused grin, "You look like you're enjoying that drink."

"Oh, I absolutely am," you reply all too quickly, "a day of Eddie's shenanigans are enough to warrant a good drink." 

Steve leans in closer to you, his eyes flickering over your body none too subtly, the charm ramping up with every sip of his Bud, "I think we’ve spoken far too much about Eddie for now. Tell me a little about yourself, honey."

Honey. There's that damn nickname again, enough to make you melt in a puddle off your barstool. There was no denying that Harrington knew what he was doing.

You shrug, going for nonchalant as you lock eyes, "Nothing to tell, really. I work in a little coffee shop during the day, and at night I guess I'm still trying to figure things out."

Steve nods in understanding, "What kind of things?"

You take another sip of your drink, relishing in the way it buzzes through your body, "Where I fit in the world, I guess. What I wanna do with my life in the long term. I’ve been in a rut for a while."

"I get that. Working in a video store in my mid twenties wasn’t really the plan set out for me, either." Steve responds with a furrowed brow, brutally honest, "Has Eddie told you much about me?" 

You consider, "Not really. Just that you're a ladies man and you’re forever swiping the ‘hottest babes in Hawkins’ out from under him, but you know Eddie, he's a bit. Theatrical." 

Steve chuckles, a flush on his freckled cheeks, as he leans in closer to you, "Between you and me, he's not wrong. Just haven't found the one to settle down with yet." 

At the close proximity, you can really take in Steve. He's all tanned skin covered in gorgeous beauty marks, a strong neck with prominent veins, muscular arms but clearly on the softer side like he didn't take it too serious. He was like a Greek statue, his nose like it was carved from the same stone. 

You flush, taking another - albeit larger - sip of your drink, swirling the ice in the glass, "So, do you pick up all the chicks in Family Video?" 

Steve smirks, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "You recommend a chick flick to a girl and it's like a moth to a flame." 

You do laugh at that, rolling your eyes fondly and nudging his shoulder with your own, "That's how you knew what movie Eddie meant! Romcoms are your strong suit for flirting purposes?" 

Steve's hazel eyes run over your face softly, his soft, pink lips jutted out slightly, "Would it have worked on you, if Eddie wasn't there?" 

Your breath catches in your throat, caught off guard by Steve's question, if only momentarily. "Yeah, I think so. Y'know, if it was actually the movie I was looking for and not an excuse for Eddie to mortify me." 

Steve grins, big and wide at that. Your faces are so close together that if he leaned forward just a smidge more you could rub noses. At this distance, you find yourself being drawn into his orbit, nudging closer to him subconsciously.

"Guess Eddie's bailed on us, huh?" Steve chuckles, moving back a bit and looking at the clock above the bar, the time ticking past an hour with no sign of Eddie coming back, "Or maybe it was his plan all along?"

"He's a schemer." You hum, watching curiously as Steve flags down the bartender and orders you both another drink. You try not to panic about the lack of cash in your back pocket, hoping the drinks weren't too expensive.

As your conversation dies down, your eyes are drawn back to his neck. It's covered in an array of moles and freckles, and you find yourself becoming almost mesmerized by it as he swigs from his beer bottle.

His neck is strong and muscular, tendons protruding as he gulps down the warm beer. The dusting of week old stubble adds to the masculinity of it all. It's a beautiful feature, one that you can't help but stare at with hazy eyes, and the markings scattered across his skin just make it more attractive.

Without even realizing it, your hand lifts, drawn to the smooth skin on the right hand side. You trace your fingertips along a particular set of the moles, shaped like carved out fang bites, feeling the texture against the pads of your fingers.

Steve looks at you, his darkened eyes filled with curiosity and something else entirely. You can't help but blush as you realize what you've been doing, only to find your fingers continue to roam across the skin anyway.

"Is my neck really that fascinating?" He teases, a slight chuckle falling from his lips.

You laugh lightly, trying to play it cool as your fingertips slip from the stubble roughened skin, dancing across the open collar of his shirt playfully before falling back to your glass, "Maybe it's just a bit distracting."

Steve smirks, that look in his eyes causing your heart to rabbit in your chest, "You know, I could get used to having your hands on me."

The huskiness in his voice catches you off guard, and you subtly clench your thighs together, aware of the fluttering in your gut as he leans in closer. 

You roll your eyes playfully, trying to cover your blush by raising your cocktail glass to your lips, "You're such a flirt." 

Steve only shifts closer at that, his shoulder bumping yours gently, "And what if I am?" He asks, lips so close to your ear that you can feel his hot breath dampen the skin, "You're the one with your hands all over me, honey." 

Your breath catches in your throat, a hot spike of heady need and want coursing through your body. It's a momentary slip, one that Steve no doubt catches immediately, "I never said I wasn't enjoying it."

Your voice is barely above a whisper, Steve's close proximity somehow narrowing further as his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, "Trust me, honey. I know you're enjoying it, you've had those pretty thighs of yours clamped together for a moment now. Gotta relieve that ache, huh?"

You shiver visibly, goosebumps rising across your neck and down your arms, jolts of electricity coursing through your body. As if Steve can sense it, he lets his own - unfairly, painfully large, veiny - hand run over your thigh, just above the knee. He traces the curve of your thigh through your jeans, barely touching but it's enough to make you ache for more.

Two seconds or five minutes later, who knows, he pulls away from your ear. You gawk, unsubtle, as he takes a long sip of his drink as if nothing ever happened. He smacks his lips together, those hazel eyes landing on yours again, a playful smile on his lips, "Where were we again?" 

You try to play it cool, but your body is reacting to Steve, still reeling from the feeling of his touch all over you, "Uh. Um," you start, making yourself busy by tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "we were talking about our favorite movies, I think?"

Steve's face kind of screws up into a fake 'ah-hah!' as you blindly (and wrongly) fill in the blanks for him, seemingly completely unfazed by what just happened, "Right! You said your favorite of all time was Dirty Dancing, right?"

He’s making it up right before your eyes, playing along.  And it’s painfully unfortunate that he’s right without even trying, guessing your favorite movie right out the gate. It makes your brain go a little fuzzy. 

You take a deep breath, trying to focus on the conversation at hand. Even as Steve's own godforsaken hand continues to rest casually on your leg, his thumb running circles over your inner thigh, just above the knee, "Yeah, absolutely. Patrick Swayze, he's just swoonworthy."

You say it so casually, as if Steve himself didn't look like Swayze. More James Dalton than Johnny Castle, though. The hair, the tight black shirt, the jeans hugged perfectly to the swell of his ass and the curve of his muscular thighs. You had a type, clearly.

"Don't tell anyone, but Roadhouse is my favorite movie of all time." Steve grins, as if reading your thoughts from across the way, "Patrick Swayze, huh? Your type buff guys with a soft side?" 

"I would've thought me sticking around on this ‘date’ with you was enough of a giveaway on that front." You giggle, finally finding the courage to tip the last of your drink to your lips, swallowing it down in one fluid motion. You feel Steve's fingers dig into the meat of your leg, feel his eyes on you as you pretend not to notice.

You know you should move his hand away, but you can't bring yourself to do it. The feeling of his touch more intoxicating than the rum-filled drink you'd found yourself nursing, the hot feeling in your gut growing and growing the higher Steve's hand goes.  

"And here I was, thinking it was just my natural charm keeping you stuck in that seat." Steve says with a chuckle, running circles around your inner thigh like it's not making your insides squirm.

You roll your eyes, unable to hide your tipsy smile. There's just something about Steve, something so naturally charming that draws you in - he's confident without it being too much, and the way a stormy look swarms in his hazel eyes doesn't help with the physical pull you feel towards him.

The more he touches you, the more he looks at you, the more distracted you are by him. The alcohol coursing through your veins does nothing but amplify the warmth spreading through your body at his heavy petting.

He's beautiful, and you're blissfully comfortable in his presence, comfortable enough that the lull in conversation isn't even awkward. You look at each other through heavy lids, find yourself smacking your glossed lips together prettily, leaning your chin on your palm, elbow on the bar.

Finally, you speak, "So, do you always put these moves on your customers like this? Or am I special?" You drawl, teasing.

Steve leans in, his hand skating higher up your thigh, so close to the warm heat between your legs that you squirm a little, "Only the ones who make the moves first. You started this, remember?" 

Your heart rate kicks up a little more, and for a moment you forget where you are. All you can think about is Steve's wandering hand, the bedroom eyes he's giving you like he wants to devour you in public. You want nothing more than for him to pull you in for a kiss, to lose your inhibition and get lost in the heat of the moment. 

Somebody across the room begins hollering, crashing you back to reality, and it's a sobering reminder that there are dozens of people in this bar, who can see exactly what's happening right now. You clear your throat, shuffling back on your barstool a little, regretfully.

Steve's face falls, the flirty smirk gone in an instant, his hand dropping back down to your knee. You want to throw a tantrum like a little kid, tell him that it's not him, that you want it. Want whatever he's offering, just not here.

"We should maybe call it a night?" You offer, nodding towards the door, "I've probably gotta catch the bus back home, I know it leaves soon, so..."

You trail off and Steve nods, the disappointed look still on his face but a charming smirk gracing it once again, "Of course, I'll walk you over to the stop." 

Steve pays the tab like it's nothing, throwing bills and a nice tip on the bar for the guy who served you. As you leave the bar and walk out into the cool night air, it hits you fast just how much the drinks have gone to your head. 

"Hey, you okay?" Steve asks gently, a strong arm snaking around your waist. "My apartment isn't far from here, we can walk back there and sober up a bit? I can drive you home in a few hours." 

If it weren't for the fact you knew Steve, Eddie knew Steve, and he was known for being a decent guy despite his reputation, you'd have shot it down in a heartbeat. But, the opportunity to be in his presence a little longer was something you didn't want to give up.

And, honestly, you didn’t know which bus would get you back anywhere close to the trailer park, not knowing Hawkins from Adam. This was easily the safest option. 

You look up at him, snuggling into him on instinct, "Are you sure? I don't mind catching the bus, Steve. I'm a big girl, I can look after myself."

Steve beams at that, teeth shining as he looks down at you, his eyes fixed on yours, "You might be able to, but I wanna look after you tonight. And besides, I don't think either of us are ready for this to be over yet."

You hide your small laugh into his shoulder, unable to ignore the strong smell of cedarwood and bergamot wafting from his shirt, intoxicating in its own right. The giddy feeling that erupts in you is almost juvenile.

You walk down the streets quietly, taking in the pretty sunset that dims the strip in pretty pinks and oranges. There's a comfortable tension between you both, like you're both attempting to play it cool but the attraction is too strong to stop you from pulling into each other. He never once takes his hand off your waist, and that's a revelation all on its own.

Finally, you reach Steve's apartment, a cozy little bottom floor space. It's minimalistic, like a typical guy's apartment, but it feels homely. Smells like fresh laundry and the same aftershave you'd been smelling the entire walk over. 

Steve looks regretful as he untangles himself from you, throwing his keys down on a table at the front door, "Take a seat, honey. I'll go get you something to drink." 

It's all open planned, the entryway leading straight into the living room, where a simple leather sofa and matching lazy boy sit. You throw yourself down ungracefully on the sofa, tucking yourself into the corner with a leg pulled up under your opposite thigh. 

There's two pictures on a sideboard, one of Steve and Eddie with two women you don't recognize at what looked like an outdoor gig, amongst a crowd of concertgoers. Another with the Hellfire kids, who you wouldn't know if it weren't for Eddie. The lack of family pictures are telling, though you don't dwell on it.

"Lemonade okay?" Steve asks, a pitcher in hand and a few small cups in the other, "I mean, I do have whiskey and beer if you wanna keep the party going?" 

"Lemonade's great." Your voice is fond, unable to keep the smile off your face as Steve sets them down on the coffee table in front of you, looking so domestic it makes you ache.

Your eyes trail over the broad expanse of his back, his strong shoulders in that same tight tee, the way his moles and freckles even continue past the neckline. You wonder if he's covered completely, that same dull throb between your legs returning even as you sober up.

"Stop staring, you'll give me a complex." Steve drawls, not turning to look at you as he pours the cool lemonade into the glasses. You flush warm, averting your eyes. 

He throws himself down onto the sofa right next to you, body also tilted so that you're facing each other, though your legs touch, burning hot through layers of starchy denim.

"I'm sure plenty of girls have been caught staring at you over the years, Harrington." You counter eventually, mouth dry.

"None that looked quite as hungry for it as you do right now." Steve quips, that same flirty smirk on his lips as he hands you your drink, "I didn't say I didn't like it, though." 

Heat creeps up your neck, the need to take a drink intensifying. You do just that, sipping from the glass in your hand. 

Steve's a real handful, and the longer you spend in his presence, the less you know how to handle it. Your body reacting and taking over for your brain, any playful retorts dying in your throat.

"So," Steve starts, no doubt sensing your awkwardness, "tell me. How did you meet Eddie?" 

You pause for a moment, caught off guard by the question, "How did I meet Eddie?" You laugh a little, flippant, "Before he came to Hawkins to live with Wayne, he lived in my town. He came home last Christmas break and we met at a friend's party."

Steve raises an eyebrow, "A friend's party?"

You smile. "It's not a crazy story, just a guy we both knew at different times. We just clicked I guess, we have similar interests and he just has this way of making you feel comfortable and safe. I can see why you're friends, you're so alike in that way."

It's Steve’s turn to blush, a flush of pink spreading over his nose and cheeks cutely, "What a compliment. That's cool though, so you didn't know each other before he moved?" 

You shake your head, "Nah, he's a little older so we missed each other. But, our friend - Carter, told me this hilarious story about how he got kicked out of middle school that I've got to tell you..." 

You trail off, telling the story that Steve genuinely laughs at, this booming, goofy thing that is just so goddamn endearing. 

Steve listens intently, like he's genuinely interested. His gaze locked on yours, like he's trying to memorize every single thing you're saying. You don't miss his fond looks as you talk with your hands, gesturing wildly as you tell the story. 

And then, without warning, he leans in with a strong hand on the side of your neck, fingertips sliding into your hair. 

He gives you enough time to pull back, a moment to say no that you choose not to take. His lips brush yours, soft and tender at first until you're melting into his touch, deepening the kiss with a surge of your body. 

His hand almost engulfs your neck, thumb running gently over your trachea as your chest rolls into his, desperate to get closer. The light smacking sounds of wet lips making you light headed, your hand coming out to tug at the material of Steve's shirt to steady yourself.

Steve's tongue slithers out to swipe your bottom lip and you're a goner, climbing ungracefully into his lap, knocking him back against the sofa. He lets out a startled huff, both hands coming out to bracket your waist when you allow him entry into your mouth. 

It's raw, messy and a little bit gross. Steve tastes like beer and a tang of the lemonade he'd been sipping, a hint of something else under there, a heady cinnamon. It's intoxicating, more than the drinks you'd nursed in the bar, and you find your hips rolling down into his on instinct, desperate to show him how much you wanted him.

He grunts, hands rocking you and helping you along. He's not hard yet, not at all, but the way he's moving your body is clear enough that he's into it as your tongues slip back and forth. He pulls back a little, the kiss becoming light and you let him guide you.

"Sorry, I just," Steve looks up at you with wild eyes, hair fanned out around his face where he lies back against the sofa, "I couldn't help it. You're so kissable, y'know that?"

“Don’t say sorry,” you scold playfully, smirking down at him, “you have my permission to do what you want. Anything you want.”

His hand wanders over your breast teasingly, light touches that you can barely feel through the layers of bra and shirt over your taut nipple, enough to have you arching into the touch in a silent plea for more.

Steve chuckles, deep and mischievous, clearly enjoying how your body melts under the simplest of grazes. It’s clear as day that he doesn’t give one singular fuck as to how desperate you are, pleased and satisfied taking his time with you.

Your hands entangle in his thick chestnut hair, tugging roughly at the root until Steve is moaning, hand faltering to skate down your stomach. Landing on the button of your jeans, but not moving. 

“Steve.” You groan, impatient, “Don’t frustrate me or I’ll do it myself. Please?”

Steve tsk’s, his pearly whites gleaming in the low light as he smirks at your desperation, “You don’t like it slow?” 

You roll your eyes, tugging his hair again, using it as reins to grind down into him, the heat of your cunt enough to have him grunting quietly. “Slow is boring. Slow means careful. I don’t want you to be careful with me, Steve. Show me how desperate you can be, show me how desperate you are for me.” 

Steve’s eyes flash so dark they’re near black, the sweetness still lurking vanishing in an instant. He gives you one last squeeze to your ass before he’s using both hands to practically rip the button of your jeans, fingers slipping into the tight denim and beneath the satin of your panties. 

“I’ll show you, you impatient brat,” he grunts, fingertips sliding between your folds and his eyes roll back at the feeling, “like fucking velvet, honey. You’re so wet, how long you been like this for me?”

“Somewhere between entering the bar and you touching my thigh.” You breathe, crying out when his pointer and middle finger slide into you at once, a blissful stretch that takes your goddamn breath away. 

“So easy for it.” Steve coos, and it would be offensive if it weren’t for the way he looks at you with honey swirled irises, soft at the edges despite the bite of his words. 

The hand not preoccupied with your cunt grips for your throat, thumb pressing into your pulse point as Steve surges forward to capture your lips once again. It’s rough, intimate, the graze of Steve’s stubble rubbing your chin raw as he bullies his tongue into your mouth. 

Your brain short circuits, his tongue reducing you to a bumbling, sobbing mess as you grind down into his palm, clit catching and rubbing against the dry skin in the most painfully beautiful way. 

The air is thick with sexual tension, thicker than the strands of hair you pull and tug at, thicker than the outline of his cock that you can feel digging into the fat of your inner thigh. 

“That’s it,” Steve mumbles against your lips, the pads of his fingertips rubbing against that little bump on your frontal wall that has your hips jumping forward of their own accord, “don’t hold back, honey. Let me hear you fall apart for me.”

It’s domineering. He’s fully in control and you’re letting him as you rut against the palm of his hand, sweat coating your brow as you fuck your hips against him, desperate to reach the edge. 

The plushness of his lips kiss down your jaw, to your throat where he latches on and sucks his mark into your skin. Sure to be a beautiful purple bloom in the morning, a temporary reminder that he was there. You want to beg for more. 

So you do. 

“Mark me like I’m yours.” You cry, whimper, even. Your body runs hot, goosebumps erupting on your skin as your impending orgasm starts to build. 

You swear you feel the smirk against your flushed throat. Steve latches onto you again, this time lower down, wider. You pull his hair, sighing contentedly as he suckles, nibbles at your tender flesh to produce yet another mark. 

His hips jump up against yours, a momentary slip that makes you want to plead for his cock, your brain so fuzzy with the need to rut and fuck that you’re about to give up the orgasm you’re so close to getting. 

“You’re clenching so tight around my fingers, baby,” Steve moans, kissing soothingly over the thumping ache of a bruise he’s left on your neck, “you gonna cum for me?” 

The white hot flashes of want and hunger you feel prickle up your back only intensify with his words, the end in sight as you ride against the palm of his hand feverishly, your clit sliding beautifully over the flesh. 

Your orgasm rips through you like a fucking knife to the stomach, your fingers gripping and pulling Steve’s hair so tightly that his head snaps back with the sheer force. You sob wetly, riding his fingers with jerky hips as he fucks you through it, eyes bleary but focused enough to see the hungry way he looks at you falling apart for him, soaking your panties and his fingers in the process. 

“You needed that one, huh?” Steve coos, mocking you lightheartedly as his fingers deftly slip from inside of you. You try your best to ignore the way it makes you feel empty. 

You nod dumbly after a moment, the whooshing in your ears beginning to fade out. You collapse into his chest with a small, contented sigh.

It takes only a mere few seconds for you to get with the program once more, kissing tenderly at Steve’s mole flecked neck, burying in to nip with your teeth hesitantly. Your hips move like they have a mind of their own, grinding down into the incredibly prominent bulge that rests hard against his zipper.

He grunts, hips thrusting up into yours as you move in some sort of slow, aching rhythm. His wide hands practically engulf your waist, fingertips digging into soft, supple flesh to help you rock your tired body against his own. 

It feels so fucking good, your body reacting to his in a way that was genuinely concerning, the primal need to fuck and have him inside of you taking over any kind of inhibition you previously had. He feels big, thick and hot nestled between your folds through two layers of rough denim, and the desperation ramps up.

You whine, pathetic into his salty, sweat damp skin, “Need more. Need you inside me, Steve.”

Steve groans like he’s in pain, hips jerking up involuntarily like they have a mind of their own, knocking you both out of the rhythm, “You sound so pretty when you beg. I’ll take care of you, honey. Knock you dumb just like you need.”

The sound you make is so pathetic that you instantly bury your face tighter into his skin, fingernails biting at the back of his neck. Steve’s hands are under your ass in a second, gripping to your thighs as he flips you onto your back on the sofa, muscular thighs spreading your legs impossibly wide as he buries between them.

“You need these off.” He grunts, pulling at the baggy denim of your jeans with rough fingers. You barely have the coherency to lift your ass up to help him wriggle you out of the offending material, body practically limp after the bone melting orgasm he just gave you with practiced ease.

“This too?” He asks gently, reaching for your top. You nod, lifting yourself up so he can slip it over your head, leaving you in only your bra and panties. 

You don’t wait for him to ask before you’re unclasping your bra, pulling that off so that your tits are bared too. They look great, your best feature if you did say so yourself, so it wasn’t exactly a difficult decision to make. 

He marvels at you for a second too long, taking in the sight of your body laid out below him, and those stormy eyes of his look deeper yet again – he looks hungry. Instead of it making you self conscious, it only spurs you on.

You wrap your legs around his torso, thick thighs pulling him in until he’s losing his balance and having to lean one arm out against the arm of the sofa to brace himself over you. The gold of his chain dangles close to your mouth, cooling the plumpness of your bottom lip with every gentle sway. 

“Down, girl,” Steve scolds, though that cocky smirk still graces his features and makes him look so painfully hot it makes your pussy flutter, “I gotta go get a condom.” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes, “And risk ruining the moment? You’re clean, right?”

Steve nods, that cock-sure confidence faltering for a second, “Are you?”

You nod, biting at your bottom lip, “Haven’t done this for a while, big boy. You think you have the restraint to pull out in time?” 

Steve shudders visibly at your question, a heady whimper escaping his lips, “I can try my best, but no promises, honey. I felt how tight and soaked you were around my fingers, if you feel too good I’m not responsible for the consequences.”

You let out a shaky laugh, though it cuts off into a moan when Steve lifts himself up and away from your body for long enough to stretch his arms behind his neck, pulling his shirt off from the back of his head with one fluid movement. 

He’s a marvel. The moles and beauty marks extend the entire way down his torso, even below his belt line, arms sculpted beautifully and his tummy muscular yet still soft. He’s everything, your belly flutters looking at this fucking perfect man sat between your spread thighs like some sort of Greek marble statue.

“Holy. Wow.” Your mouth is dry, your hands having a mind of their own yet again – just like in the bar – and coming out to touch and squeeze the flesh of his torso. Steve smirks, like he knows what you’re so hung up about, arching into your touch. 

He allows you the seconds of indulgence before it’s back to business, his fingers making light work of his belt and jeans as he regrettably departs his space between your naked legs to push the material down his legs and away from your bodies. 

His dick is so heavy that even though it’s fully hard, it doesn’t slap against his tummy, hanging slightly forward with its own weight. He’s big. Alarmingly big. And did you mention thick? Really thick.

God. He was going to be a stretch.

Steve grins sheepishly, settling back between your legs hesitantly. He makes to speak, but you stop him in his tracks; 

“You’ve not gotta be gentle,” you reassure, reminding him of your words before he dipped his hands into your panties just minutes ago, “fuck me like you mean it.”

Steve groans, burying his face into your neck as he lines himself up with your cunt and pushes in with one fluid motion. It knocks the breath out of the both of you for a moment, and you whimper pitifully at the gorgeous, burning ache of him stretching you out to fit him perfectly. 

“Holy shit,” He breathes, panting into your neck, “so fucking tight for me, honey.” 

You preen at Steve’s words, arching into his torso and somehow pushing him in even deeper. He had no idea just how much it stroked your ego to hear those words, no idea that it turned your insides into goo to know you were doing so good for him before it even started.

He rolls his hips into yours, the wet heat of your cunt gripping him, and you pant like an animal in heat when the subtle movement causes the coarse hair nestled in his mons to catch onto your sensitive clit. 

Your hips wriggle a little after a moment, a sign to let him know it’s okay to move, and Steve takes that subtle movement and runs with it — pulling out only to slam back in again, knocking your body up the couch.

It’s maddening. Your body runs hot with want and desperation, insides molding to the shape of his – quite frankly, annoyingly big - dick with each thrust, driving you absolutely insane in the process. The cut head rubs against that damn spot each time, and you know he’s going to tip you over for a second time all too soon.

“Fuck.” You cry, hands coming up to bury in his mane of hair once again and tug him down, “Fucking — how does it feel to be Gods favorite?”

Steve grins, mischievous and lust bitten around the edges as he sinks into your cunt with a quickening pace, “Stroke my ego baby, I love it.”

“Don’t get cocky, Stevie. Or I’ll just shut my mouth.”

The grin turns salacious, a large hand coming out to wrap along the expanse of your throat, just resting and not pushing, thumb caressing the side of your neck soothingly, “Don’t you wanna be good for me, honey? Or are you bratting so that I’ll give you what you really crave?” 

You whimper involuntarily, and that's all the confirmation Steve needs to really drive into you. Your back arches so that your torsos flush together, and he snakes a hand beneath the curve to grip onto your waist from below. 

“Oh my God!” You moan, body jolting at the change of angle. You’re turned into a babbling mess, fingernails digging into each of Steve’s biceps as he fucks you deep, rough enough to leave a mind numbing sting that you swear you feel in your damn throat. 

He’s looking at you with this wild expression, eyes wide like he’s drinking you in, watching each emotion he evokes from you with his body, “That’s it, taking me so fucking good. You like being fucked like a whore, honey?”

You nod, knocked dumb, mouth hung open like a pliant slut, a constant steady stream of whines and shuddering gasps falling from parted lips with each deep slide of his cock inside of you.

“You trust me?” He whispers, lips hovering just mere centimeters from your own, and you nod again, going cross eyed. 

A drop of saliva hangs from Steve’s pursed lips, sliding down into your open mouth and onto your tongue. You cry out, pathetic and desperate as you swallow down the spit like it’s cool water on a hot summers day. 

Steve shudders against you, hips slamming into you as his thrusts become erratic. You pray his apartment is somewhat soundproof, for all you can hear is the wet slap of skin on skin mixed with dirty moaning and pitiful cries.

“You’re perfect,” Steve mutters, sloppily kissing your lips before moving back to your jaw, worrying the flesh between his teeth like he can’t help it, “a fucking dream, honey. See how you’re ruining me?” 

You don’t get a chance to reply before he’s dropping your body back onto the sofa, his thumb swiping over your clit in a desperate attempt to get you there before he does.

It’s all too much. Your body runs hot, static surging up your back, hot in your gut as he works you over. You have to clench your eyes shut, painfully aware of his sculpted body gleaming with sweat, the swivel of his hips as his cock buries deep into you. 

Your second orgasm hits you just as hard as your first, your legs shaking and cunt clenching sporadically as it washes over you like a fiery inferno, gasps and wet cries of Steve’s name and other incoherent nonsense spewing from your lips. 

“Oh shit, holy fuck, baby you feel so – so good, god I’m gonna cum,” Steve shallowly fucks into you, jerky and desperate, “where do you want me to– fuck!” 

You open your eyes within enough time to see Steve pull out of you, sloppily tugging at his cock two, three times before he’s spilling all over your stomach. Hot spurts of it cover you from your belly button the whole way to your chest, and you swear you’ve never seen a man cum so much in your damn life.

It’s so hot. Being branded by ropes of cooling semen, sparking over finger bitten skin and bruises made by warm and heavy lips. 

There’s a long second afterwards, where Steve sags heavily against the couch as his dick softens, both of you panting and trying to catch a breath. 

“I’ll be right back,” Steve’s voice shocks you out of the contented post-orgasm haze, his hand squeezing your inner thigh gently as he gets up from where he’s perched, off in search of what you don’t know.

He reappears with a wet washcloth, and it’s all very domesticated as he wipes you down gently with the cool towel, fingers gentle against your sore skin in a stark contrast to just moments earlier.

You’re both completely naked still. This should be strange, but it doesn’t feel that way. Steve makes you feel painfully at ease and that’s something your orgasm fogged brain can’t comprehend or bear to think about right now.

“This might be a bit presumptuous, but,” Steve hums, inspecting your body to make sure he’s cleaned you down good enough for his liking, smirking as you squirm under his gaze, “do you wanna stay the night? It’s really late and, uh, well I don’t wanna kick you out after that. It was a bit intense.”

Your eyes are bleary. Fuck. He’s going to ruin you for anybody else.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Your voice is soft, quiet as you rise from the soiled sofa to sit up properly, “You’ll need to call Eddie, let him know I’m okay.”

“I think he knows you’re all good,” Steve grins sheepishly, helping you to your feet and tugging you close as soon as you’re up, “I might’ve called him when I was in the kitchen earlier, let him know you were here to sober up.” 

You roll your eyes with a small smile, leaning into him with a heavy sigh, “You better have a comfy bed.”

“The comfiest.” Steve confirms, dragging you gently towards the door, “I also have a really big shower, and really good water pressure, so…” 

“Oh my God, I’m never leaving.” You mumble into his chest, giggling playfully when he lifts you up ever so slightly with his muscular arms and knocks the bedroom door shut behind you. 

part 2?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 11

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“How about dinner?” Steve asks as he stretches his arms above his head.

Your eyes wander the muscles of his arms, still bulging and round despite his age. He makes you feel lesser. You’re probably half his age and you’re all soft and cushy. You have nothing to admire. You scratch your scalp, itchy from the layer of sweat, and shrug.

Before he drops his arms, you catch a peek of his stomach. You look at the ground guiltily. You don’t even know why you were looking at him. It’s rude to stare.

“Sure, honey,” your mom answers as you follow Steve to the deck, “you been working so hard today.”

“You like barbeque?” Steve stops and nudges you with his elbow as you come up beside him. You shy away.

“Er, sure.”

“Oh,” your mom’s cheeks twitch, “mm, that’ll be nice. A little family dinner.”

You shrink down. You’re standing right there and she forgot about you. Or just doesn’t want you there.

“Ice cream for dessert,” Steve pats your shoulder and you wince again. He squeezes before he steps forward, “Holly, you okay?” He asks as your mother’s head tremors. “You’ve been sitting out here for a while. Maybe I could send you over something instead.”

“I’m good,” she insists, gripping the sides of the chair. She stands with an effort. She doesn’t look well.

“Alright, I’ll get stuff ready. Could use some help,” he looks at you. Your mother rubs her lower back and flutters he lashes in your direction.

“I can help,” she insists before you can answer.

“Really, Holly, relax,” Steve counters, “I know you want to help, but...” he pauses and reaches to grab her quivering hand, “you should probably just sit down.”

“Oh,” she looks at his grip before it falls away. “Yeah, I... you’re right. I’m... thanks.”

She sits down, uncharacteristically demure. You’ve never seen that in her. Any time you reminded her of her sickness, even unintentionally, she got defensive. Not this time. She almost looks sad.

“Come on, I’ll share my famous recipe with you, then you can make some for your mom,” Steve says as he waves you towards the doors.

You shuffle behind him, offering no resistance. You wouldn’t want to stay in case your mom chose to direct her shame at you. She won’t say it to his face but she won’t have any problem sharing her displeasure with you.

You leave your shoes by the door, overly aware of your surroundings. Steve’s house is clean and spacious. He might have just moved in but you suspect it’s as much his standards as the newness. He leads you into the kitchen and you stand awkwardly by the counter.

“Should wash your hands,” he goes to the double sink and grabs the dish soap, “come here.”

You near him, hunched slightly, and he squeezes soap into his own hand before aiming the nozzle toward you. You hold out your hands and he squirts the liquid onto your palms. The water scours from the tap and you wet your hands, forced to stand closer than you like as you lather up the bubbles. You scrub your nails and get between your fingers, making sure to get as much as the residue as you can.

You rinse off and he grabs a hand towel, offering it to you first before he takes it and dries his hands. He hangs it and turns to the fridge. That’s fancy too. The door is glass and you can see the contents without opening it. He pulls the door and reaches within.

You wait listlessly as he takes out his ingredients. You shy away as he moves towards you, opening cupboards to pick out seasoning, then bending to grab a bowl from below. He plunks the large dish on the counter near you.

“How about you make us a salad, sweetie?” He grabs several veggies from his horde and sets them by the bowl, “knives are right there.”

He points to the block then opens another cupboard. He takes out a spinner and sets that out as well. He has all these nice things and fresh food. Your salads come out of plastic containers or bags.

You rinse off a pepper and put it on the cutting board. You slide out a knife and stare at the veggie before you slice into it. You chop it in half and seeds spill everywhere. You frown as they stick to your fingers. You try to move the heavy wooden board but can’t budge it. Instead, you rinse the inside of the pepper then wipe the board with your hand.

“Here, let me show you a trick,” Steve turns and takes the knife, “Cut the sides,” he takes the yellow pepper, “like this.” He expertly trims off each side then cuts them into neat slices, turning them to dice into squares. You watch quietly and he turns the handle of the knife to you. “See.”

You nod and take the knife. Doesn’t matter much, the red ones already halved. You do your best to cut out the middle with all the seeds and slice slower than him, careful of your fingers. It takes you far too long to do the tomato, with no shortage of gushing juices, and the onion.

As you add them all to the rinsed lettuce, Steve adds some crumbled soft cheese and croutons. You clean up the remnants of your work and he points you to the metal bin. You step on the pedal and dumb it all inside. You return to the counter as he pulls out another bowl.

“Now the burgers, we got the meat,” he unfolds a paper package and dumbs the ground beef into the bowl, “bread crumbs,” he shakes the tin, “but most important is the seasoning.”

He takes each slender container, measuring out the powders and dried herbs by sight alone. He names them each but you can’t keep track. He caps the last one and spreads his fingers wide.

“Now the good part,” he proclaims and kneads it all together with his hands.

You watch his fingers work, deft and confident. He mashes in the bread crumbs and seasoning then holds up his messy hands.

“You can help with the next part,” he takes a handful and rounds out the meat into a patty shape. “Just like that. Think we’ll do what? Six or so? Might want seconds after all that hard work.”

“Okay,” you reach in and take the cold beef. The texture is unnerving. You mimic his own motion, rolling it into a ball then flattening it. He puts the first one on the plate and you add yours to it.

“You’re quiet,” he comments.

You flick your eyes up and back down, reaching for more meat.

“Not that it’s bad. Shy? I know we’re just getting to know each other. That’s cool. But I get it,” he says as he takes a handful, “you know, it’s really something the way you look after your mom.”

You nod then shake your head, “she’s my mom.”

“Yeah, but... not everyone... would,” he says. “You know, you should give yourself more credit.”

You grumble and put down the patty in your hands.

“Well, if I’m gonna be around, I wanna help out, you know? You shouldn’t be taking this all on yourself. It’s amazing you’ve done it so far but... you’re young, you deserve to have some fun.”

You press your lips and roll another patty. You focus on the task as you watch your hands. He sniffs and lets out a deep breath.

“One day, you’re gonna make some lucky guy a good wife,” he says, “so you might as well enjoy your free time while you got it.”

You blink, surprised by his suggestion. That’s a far way off, if it ever happens. You don’t really know what will happen... after. You only ever worried about today. Tomorrow can wait.

[youronlydarlin]

I know this is like short notice and you basically just posted the loser!simon Drabble but omg I need more. I’ve so far never seen a fic that lets Simon relax while you ride him or something. I’ve seen similar, but if you wouldn’t mind could you make a fic following Simon being super tired, and when he gets home you were a horny mess and then you make him a horny mess but he doesn’t have the energy to jerk it so you help him out. Fem reader please!! I really want him to use the rest of his energy to like play with your tits and then lay down.

Also you’re the only person I tolerate for the !! For smutty stuff. Usually it makes me cringe because it feels so childish. But you do it in a hot way. I think. Idk. I like the energy you put in ur writing if ykwim

warnings: fem! afab! reader, kinda subby Simon??, bro's down bad for you and thinks you're a goddess, relaxed Si :)

Wjahskshsjjs jus' somewhat lazy sex with the good ol' big british man. He's sure comes home tired and late. He has been for the past few days. It hadn't really affect you in a way that disrupted your everyday routine. But lately there's been a craving, an issue brought by your brain to your heart that lately it's been feeling... neglected. It starts as a distant feeling, an untouched part of your body that longs to be noticed. It's like chaising after a mysterious high while blinded, no sense of direction, and no chance of ever finding it. Leaving you feeling lonely and trapped, cold and empty. So, to put it simply. You're pent up. All hot and bothered and way too eager to slip your hands in your pants. Lucky for you though, your night won't end with just self satisfaction, because barging in through the door is your saviour, all tired eyes and gruff groans. Fuck. It's like you've pavlov'd yourself into getting incredibly horny at just the sight of your Si.

He on the other hand, feels like shit. Being away from you is more than enough torture, but having you pounce on him the moment he enters through the door is another new story on itself. He's neglected his baby :( his pretty girl. All quiet whimpers when you kiss him all over the neck "missed you s' much Si". Shit, he's already half chubbing in his pants at just hearing your tone. It's not long before he goes cum brained as well. Thinking with the wrong head and dry humping you in the hallway. You're squealin' n moanin' and oh shit he's going to cum. he's going to cum. he's going to cum. he's going to– You pull away. Now if it was any other day he would've shot you a glare. Maybe even disappointedly shaking his head. "Careful, love, you're playin' with fire.." he would've said, but right now he's red in the face, sweaty and desperate. Rolling his hips into nothing, hoping to get it to rub into you. Simon looks weak and he knows, slightly enjoys the power imbalance between you two because now you've grabbed him by the collar like a dog and dragged him towards the couch.

On his lap not a second later and you two are back to humping at each other through your clothes. He's tired. Limbs so heavy, bones weighed down with fatigue and he feels like he's already dreaming. You're like a wet dream that's come to life. There's just something about the way you look at him that makes it impossible to lay his eyes on anything else. Like a goddess on a thrown. That's how he sees you. Mighty and malevolent, feeling so small in your gaze but drinking it all in like a man parched, nothing can bring you down. Despite this– the tiredness of his bones– he wills his arms to move. To help you take off your top. It's intimate and it has his breath catching in his throat. He's seen you shirtless countless times before, but the thrill, the electrifying sparks it sends up his spine, it always feels new. Panting like a mutt he hasn't even noticed that he's already been let out of his pants, too busy admiring your chest. Reaching his hand out to toy with the soft peak, letting out an accidental whimper at the sudden contact of your hands with his hard cock. You shush him, remind him to relax, you can handle this, you promise with a kiss to the tip of his nose. And just like that he's sinking into the couch. Eyes closed in bliss and a handful of your mounds in his hands.

Heaven on earth. Blooming flowers in the harsh winter. Rain after months of drought. This is peace. This is pleasure. Simon's convinced that there's no earthly power greater than your hands, or your soft kisses. The gentle timbres of your voice. The way your pussy feels so hot and welcoming. So occupied and drunk off of your divinity that he hasn't had the time to prepare himself for your hot walls enveloping all of him inside. It makes his eyes shoot open and his back arch. You don't move, leaning down to put your mouth against his, swallowing every moan and whimper, and rewarding him with a teasing grind. He lays pliant soon enough, groaning at the way you bring yourself up till the tip kisses your entrance, before snapping your hips down to get him back inside. You ride him like you can't live without it. Sweet girl with an equally sweet pussy. He thought you well.

a/n: PHEW, I'm rusty as shits forgive me, I've got other stuff cooking in my drafts I swear I'm not lazy. This was kinda bad, written in two hours cause I sneaked this in between doing my papers. Hope y'all liked this, remember to always drink water n take your meds!!

Yours, truly,

–Dolly

[k3n-dyll]

On A High [Sevika Drabble]

||Men, minors, and ageless DNI

Masterlist | Divider Creds | Palestine Links!!

CW: 18+, wlw, not proofread, dom!Sevika x fem!reader, oral (S!recieving), drug usage (Shimmer), squirting

A/N: "You've written a drabble and a fic about Sevika fucking readers face and squirting all over it already!" Hey, maybe it's time to consider I'm projecting my desires onto you! Hope this helps! <3

Sevika, high on a more experimental dose of Shimmer, pushing you down to the floor of her office because she can't force herself to wait any longer. Her flesh hand is wrapped in a tight fist around your hair as she shoves your face into her pussy without much regard for your airway. Ever since she injected it, she's been heated, and taking down the dumbasses that had tried to smuggle a supply of the glowing purple liquid drug out of the factory to sell for themselves wasn't enough to calm her down.

She was just meant to be testing it out. It was a much smaller dose than she normally takes - barely half a vial, and yet she can still practically feel her own blood coursing at rapid speed through her veins. Each muscle in her body feels tense, the tips of her fingers are buzzing and it's all she can do to not start clawing at your scalp just to push your face harder against her dripping cunt, guttural grunts and moans escaping her throat through bared teeth

"C'mon baby, there you go....fuckin' take it, jus' like that" "Look so good strugglin' to breathe - fuck"

You try your absolute best to keep up with her, but her thrusts lack a true rhythm, her hips bucking back and forth against your tongue, which you eventually just leave flat and tense on the surface of your bottom lip. Deep down she knows she's probably hurting you a little, and she can hear how much of a struggle you're having in your attempts to take a full breath but she can't stop herself if she tried, and she knows how much you like being used.

"My little fuckin' toy, aren't you?" She taunts from above, her brows knit together in almost anger the longer it takes her to just fucking cum already. Though it hasn't been much longer than it normally takes, it feels like it's been an eternity to the point where she's on the brink of tears. The irritation only makes her go harder, sliding her cunt against you, forcing your nose to bump up so nicely against her puffy, impatient clit over and over again.

"C'mon c'mon c'mon, fuck, please"

Of course, the first time you hear the woman break down and beg for something is when she isn't even begging you. Instead, she's just begging her own body to let her get there. There's no sense of broken pride within her, no feeling of lost dignity, just the insatiable need to let go.

And when she does, it's fucking explosive.

Her thighs shake, then tense up hard on either side of your head, abs flexing, toes curling against the floor. She can barely keep herself upright, her wobbling forcing you to bring your hands up to her ass to help her stay in place. Sevika isn't normally a loud one but at the moment she can't help it, damn near whimpering in pure ecstasy as her juices squirt out all over your face in light bursts.

Sevika looks down at you, breathing still ragged and heavy and she just laughs watching the makeup run down your wet face. Her grip loosens around your hair and her irises transition back to their normal silver tint as she calms down, breathing out a sigh of utter relief as she feels her once tense and overwhelmed muscles relax.

Her body officially gives out, flopping down on her desk chair, taking a moment to gather herself before lazily patting her still twitching thigh.

"C'mere, let's get you cleaned up, hm?"

Wanted to put out more Arcane stuff since I feel like I've been more focused on my TLOU girlies lately

Reblogs are appreciated | Taglist: @archangeldyke-all, @delinthecut @sevsbaby, @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery

[reidingandwriting]

domestic > keigo takami/hawks (mha)

Word Count: 3.6k

Ship: Keigo/Hawks x Reader

Warnings: Corrupt hero commission (we hate the hero commission on this blog), keigo overworks himself, keigo & reader fight, miscommunication, some cursing, keigo’s a little shit (he has his reasons okay), mentions of a rescue mission and the aftermath, hurt/comfort

A/N: So sorry this fic is so delayed 😭 Have been going Through It lately but I’ve got a few fics queued up to make up for my absence ❤️ This is my favorite Keigo fic so far

“pro hero hawks is the first on the scene!”

“pro hero hawks took down the villain that’s injured dozens, including some pro heroes!”

“another takedown by pro hero hawks.”

“hawks is finally on the scene, this should be over soon.”

-

keigo wasn’t answering his phone. which was expected for the first night. he had just come home from a week long mission and on his flight home, another issue came up that he had to answer to. he didn’t get home until midnight, having refused any other hero’s offer to relieve him once his shift had technically ended, until best jeanist all but escorted him off the scene. you had hoped keigo had been resting when you walked into your office the next morning, until you looked at the news and saw he was already back out on patrols.

when you walked into keigo’s office, you expected to see a mountain of paperwork on his desk. you were fully prepared to work all day to catch him up, hoping to surprise him by finishing all his work for him. you were the one surprised when you saw only one paper on his desk, a note for you.

‘gonna be working late tonight, don’t wait up for me’

you scowled as you read the note, even if you had to fight the urge to melt when you saw the little bird doodle keigo had signed the note with. you once again called keigo, this time his work number, and you resisted the urge to throw your phone at the wall when your call once again went unanswered. you pulled up your text conversation with keigo and began to type.

‘you’re going home tonight. i will be outside at eight and you will let me in. i am not kidding when i tell you i’ll wait all night. please, just let me know you’re okay.’

you knew the text would go unanswered, but you hoped. you hoped that he would read it, at the least. that he would talk to you. your phone buzzed and you quickly picked it up, and you sighed when it was just another text from rumi.

‘i’ve seen him pass by once or twice, but he doesn’t stop. i’ve got a few others looking out for him, i’ll let you know if i hear anything’

you set your phone down with a sigh as you sat back in the office chair. this was going to be a long night.

you texted keigo a warning before you entered his apartment. you had been given a key by keigo to use in case of emergencies, and your chatty birdbrain suddenly ghosting you is an emergency in your eyes. it was two AM when you entered, and you felt your eyes begin to sting when you realized keigo wasn’t home. a quick search on the hero network showed that he was last seen a little after ten, and none of your own security alerts had gone off at your apartment. he was at his agency, avoiding you. it stung, the avoidance settling heavy in your chest, weighing you down as if there was a physical weight on your body.

you texted a quick update to rumi before you left keigo’s, and you made the walk back to your own apartment. keigo would definitely have lectured you any other time if he knew you walked home alone, and a selfish part of you hoped he’d find out. you’d take the scolding if it meant he would talk to you.

you flinched as you heard a voice speak from beside you.

“surprised he let you walk home alone at this hour,” you relaxed once you recognized the drawl of eraserhead’s voice. “your guard bird working tonight?”

“you’re going to sneak up on me at the wrong time one day and you’re going to get your shit rocked,” you replied, no real heat to your words.

“i’ll take my chances.” a hint of a smirk graced his face before it relaxed into his usual stoic expression.

“but no, he’s not working tonight.” you paused. “not patrolling at least. he is working hard at avoiding me, though.” while you and eraserhead, aizawa, had only met a few times, you had established a friendly relationship with the underground hero. you had also developed a friendship with present mic, which seemed to influence eraserhead’s opinion of you. odd.

“that’s… different.” eraserhead says after a moment. “i’ll keep an eye out for him, and i’ll have hiz- present mic look out for him as well.”

the two of you continued to talk as he escorted you to your apartment. minutes later, you opened the door to your apartment and let the door shut with a soft click, and you barely made it to the couch before you fell asleep.

-

“ooh, rough night?” one of the tech interns, kazuki, teases as he watches you walk in.

“hilarious.” you scowled. you knew you looked tired; you woke up frequently throughout the night, unable to sleep for more than half an hour at a time. you gave up on sleep around five thirty this morning, and you clutched to the thermos of coffee in your hands like it was the only thing keeping you alive. “didn’t really sleep much last night.”

“hawks working you too hard? i saw him walking around a few minutes ago. looks like he was headed to his office,” your heart stopped at those words. was he actually here?

“thank you, kazuki!” you called as you sprinted for the elevator, reminding yourself to send kazuki a proper thank you later. when you burst into keigo’s office, you jumped back as a sharpened red feather flew at you, stopping mere centimeters away from your neck.

“shit, you scared me.” keigo smiled when he recognized you, and the sight of it filled you with anger. “oh, sorry. let me just.” keigo’s feather returned to its natural state and you swatted it away as it went to caress your cheek, not in the mood for his usually sweet antics. “songbird? you okay?”

and you couldn’t help but laugh. full body, doubled over laughs. keigo tilted his head, confusion flashing across his face as you continued to laugh. your name left keigo’s lips, and you recognized the slight movements he was making. he was twitchy, like he wanted to move but he couldn’t decide which move was the best. you could practically hear the wheels in his head turning and you looked up at the ceiling as you felt the familiar sting of unshed tears in your eyes.

“you son of a bitch,” you whispered. you looked at him and his form became blurry, the tears now sliding down your cheeks. “you, you have me worried for days. you ignored my calls and texts, i even had other heroes looking out for you!” you started to walk towards him and you stopped just out of his reach. “you went to the point of staying here to avoid seeing me. why?” you finally met his gaze and golden eyes were filled with an emotion you didn’t recognize. his gaze was cold, distant. yet still, he kept the smile on his face, the smile he plastered on for annoying news reporters.

“i’ve been busy.”

“you’re running yourself ragged! you’re going to get hurt or cause someone else to get hurt because you’re working yourself to death.” you reached out and jabbed him in the chest.

“you don’t understand. you never will, so why are you even trying to? i can’t answer every call and text from my assistant.”

“that’s all i am to you? your assistant?” you asked. you were met with silence and you felt your heart begin to break. “look me in the eyes and tell me that’s all i am to you. and i promise, from now on, that’s all you’ll get from me.”

“what else would you be?”

wordlessly, you dug your key ring from your jacket pocket. you pulled off the key that belonged to keigo’s, to hawks’s, apartment and you set it down on his desk.

“noted. since you’ve clearly got a handle on things, i think i’ll be taking the next two days off for some personal days. i’ll be back on monday, hawks.” the name felt foreign on your lips and his wings twitched in response. you wordlessly spun on your heel and slammed hawks’s office door shut behind you. you could feel the stares from everyone in kei- hawks’s agency watching you, and you briefly shook your head when you saw kazuki before rushing out of the building, straight into the rain that had suddenly started to downpour. because of course it did.

as you walked in the rain to the bus stop, you ignored the frequent buzzing that came from your pocket.

“what else would you be?” echoed through your head, and you couldn’t believe that came from kei- his lips. what happened during his last mission? you shook your head to clear your thoughts.

“just an assistant,” you muttered under your breath. “what the hell, birdie?”

-

it was the middle of the night and you were sitting on your couch, eating from a carton of ice cream as you flipped through the channels on TV. you had finished your second movie of the night when you stumbled across the news. you paused when you saw hawks’s name flash across the bottom of the screen and you wanted to change the channel. but you couldn’t.

“eight hours later, the search and rescue has been completed. over 200 victims were rescued from the destruction thanks to the effort of our number two hero. thank you to pro hero hawks for being the first hero to respond, and the last to leave the tragic scene of the collapsed apartment complex.”

the reporter continued to talk about the injuries and the casualties, and you scanned the screen for him, not seeing a glimpse of red anywhere, save for some discarded feathers on the ground. you pulled out your phone immediately and searched online for something, anything about your- kei- hawks. your messages were full of texts from rumi and kazuki. a few from present mic, even a text from best jeanist’s assistant with a message from the pro.

suddenly, there was a knock on the door and you jumped off the couch. you glanced at the time, a little after midnight. you had hopes for who it was. you also didn’t know what you’d do if it was him. you slowly walked to the front door, willing your heart rate to calm down, and you reached forward to open the door.

you gasped at the sight in front of you, your phone clattering to the floor but you paid it no attention. hawks stood at your door, covered in dirt and dust and… blood? his jacket was gone, pants torn and ripped to barely there shreds of fabric. his flight goggles and headphones were gone, hair caked in dirt and sweat and he looked like he was seconds from falling over. he looked small without his massive wings behind him, most of the feathers left at the scene.

“‘m sorry. i tried, tried to go home. you were closer and,” hawks gestured to himself. “kind of grounded. i’m sorry, i can go.” he swayed a bit. you dove forward as he stumbled, and you held him up as he leaned into you. you kicked the door shut and you repositioned yourself to better support the hero as you walked towards your bathroom. “what are you doin’?” his voice was hoarse, and you made note to grab him water, as well as a million other things once you got him settled.

“first, im gonna clean you up. get some water for you, heat up some leftovers, and get you in clean clothes before i put you in bed.”

“what? no- i. i was horrible. you can’t… you can’t be nice to me. not after everything i said.” hawks said and you shushed him.

“shh, you’re going to wreck your voice more. we’ll talk once you’re taken care of.” you walked into the bathroom and made quick work of setting up a shower. you started to step away to grab towels and you felt a hand grab your arm.

“don’t leave me. please,” he rasped and you turned to face him, your heart aching at the sight in front of you. your keigo.

“not going anywhere. just grabbing towels, yeah?” you walked with him to the hallway, and you grabbed your fluffiest towels. you then grabbed a caddy full of keigo’s favorite toiletries. his shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and oil for his wings. he was missing a lot of feathers, but you’d take care of what was left. he was hurt, your birdie was hurt. it was your turn to be the hero, to make sure he was okay.

when you returned to the bathroom a minute later, keigo’s tired eyes lit up at your return.

“let’s get you in the shower, yeah?“ you set the towels down, put his supplies in the shower, and turned on the shower to his preferred temperature. you then walked to him and placed a gentle hand on his shirt. you glanced up at him and when he nodded, you gently began to peel his uniform off him. you quickly scanned him as you removed more articles of clothing, taking note of any new injuries and were relieved to see relatively little. once keigo had been stripped, you stepped into the shower with him, ignoring the fact you still had your t-shirt and sleep shorts on. your only focus was keigo right now, and you guided him under the shower head.

keigo’s exhaustion had seemed to hit as he leaned against you, and you supported him as you let the water get the top layer of grime off him. “there we go,” you soothed as you shifted, reaching for his shampoo. “there’s my birdie,” a weak chirp left him and you smiled sympathetically. “think you can sit so i can wash your hair?”

wordlessly, keigo moved to kneel down and once he settled, you began to scrub his hair. your hands worked in his hair until they ached, getting everything from the collapsed building from his hair before you added the shampoo. you took your time sudsing up his hair, and you smiled when you brushed some baby feathers in his hairline that caused keigo to coo quietly. keigo pressed a kiss to your stomach as you worked and leaned into your touch, much like a cat being petted. you helped him stand back up once you were ready to wash his body, and keigo practically laid against the wall of the shower as you worked to clean him off efficiently but quickly.

what felt like ages later, you turned the shower off and wrapped keigo up in a towel. you used the other towel to pat your own clothes dry quickly before you started to towel dry his hair.

“why are you… being so nice to me?” keigo asked and you frowned.

“i’m always going to care about you, pretty bird. you were a dick earlier,” you admitted. “but like it or not, you’ve wormed your way into my heart. you deserve to be taken care of, kei. we both know you don’t do it enough for yourself.” you moved to stand behind keigo and you looked at him in the mirror. “is it okay if i touch them?” you glanced at his baby wings and back at him. you held the oil in your hand, letting him see what your intentions were and you panicked when you saw his eyes fill with tears.

-

keigo couldn’t believe it. he had been horrible to you. he had tried to be horrible, he had never planned to come back to you this way. but he did and you? you dumbfounded him with how you treated him. as if you had just had a little spat over him breaking your heart. he could feel your heartbeat change during the conversation you two had in his office, he could practically hear your heart breaking over his words. but when he came to you, bloody and dirty, wings practically gone, and you treated him so tenderly. so… lovingly. when the first tear slid down his cheek, a dam broke. keigo chirped in surprise as you spun him around before he threw himself into your arms. he sobbed as he clung to you, as if you’d vanish into nothingness if he let go.

your arms immediately tightened around him and you used one hand to stroke his wing, the other combed through his hair so gently, sad warbles left his throat. “whatever happened,” you started. “we’ll handle it. me and you, yeah?” keigo tried to respond but couldn’t force any words out, more chirps leaving him as he nodded against your neck. “that’s my songbird.” you held him until his sobs turned into soft cries, and the cries into the occasional sniffle. keigo’s wing twitched as he felt you began to pay more attention to the feathers, and his eyes began to well up with tears again as he realized. you were preening him.

you’ve straightened his feathers out before a handful of times, usually for shoots or press interviews. he’s never had this much attention paid to them before, never in such a caring way at least. his body became lax against you, pleased coos and quiet chirps leaving his throat every now and then.

once you had finished, you led keigo to your room. you walked to the drawer with keigo’s things and he watched as you pulled out clothes for him to sleep in. “gonna change out of my wet clothes real quick, okay?” he nodded and you smiled softly at him before walking to your own side of the dresser. the two of you got dressed in a comfortable silence and you guided him to the living room, where minutes later, you settled onto the couch with dinner. keigo stayed curled into your side and you seemed perfectly content as you stroked his hair.

what felt like an eternity later, keigo was finally able to speak again. “i tried to come home. when i got off that mission. it.. it went horrible and i just wanted you. but i fail- they had told me i failed. i wasn’t as efficient as i should be, one of the villains had managed to escape before i caught him again. if i was a proficient hero, he never would have gotten a chance to get away.” you looked up as keigo spoke, and keigo struggled to maintain eye contact with you. you always seemed to see him, and that was terrifying.

“so i was already beating myself up when they sent me to another disaster, to redeem myself,” he quoted and you scowled at the words. “and i did better, that’s what they told me. and for a minute, i didn’t feel like a failure anymore. i felt worthy of my hero title so i…”

“you stayed busy, worked harder and harder to get rid of that bad feeling.” you finished for him and keigo nodded.

“but no matter what i did, how many patrols i went on, how many hours late i worked, it wasn’t good enough. they said i’m letting personal things get in the way of me being a good hero, that i was a better hero alone.” keigo trailed off and you looked sad, yet angry at the same time.

“they were the reason for our fight.” you said and keigo hummed in response.

“still. i never should have said what i did,” keigo cupped your cheek and you leaned into the touch. “i need you to know. need you to know you’re so much more to me than an assistant. maybe i’m a worse hero for it, but i love you. i love you, so much.” keigo’s voice shook and you scooted closer to him.

“i love you too,” you whispered. you glanced at keigo’s lips then back up at him, golden gaze meeting your own. you leaned in and brushed your lips against his, and keigo let out a soft breath as he kissed you. he had kissed you countless times, but none had ever been this soft. this slow, this.. vulnerable. there was no rush, nothing you were aiming for. just the two of you intertwined, and keigo didn’t break the kiss until he was out of breath, and he smiled at the quiet whine you made. “i think,” you said after a minute. “you need a few days to recover. bed rest, doctor’s orders.”

“you’re a doctor now, hmm?” keigo smiled as he pressed lazy kisses down your jaw and you pulled a blanket over the two of you. “can’t argue with doctor’s orders.”

“bed rest is the first step in treatment. cuddles could speed up the healing process, as well.” you said matter-of-factly as you tangled your legs with his own. keigo closed his eyes as you buried your face into his chest, and as you rubbed his back, keigo’s thoughts became fuzzy.

“careful, will stay here forever.” you nuzzled closer and keigo vaguely remembered your reply before you fell asleep.

“i’d love nothing more.”

[sixosix]

5k event request :P

Kazuha, light stick, and fluff please

a/n hi anon! when i saw light stick, i instantly interpreted it as those kpop light sticks,, im not sure if u meant something else like those glow sticks, so i am hoping this was what u meant HAHA

wc 700, idol!kazuha/fan!reader, im sure u guys have heard of the 6REEZE group somewhere, meet-cute; disclaimer i only know how auction works from my classmates roleplaying them so ignore accuracies for fic’s sake. bless.

5K EVENT SPECIAL | EVENT MASTERLIST

Kazuha, to be frank, felt a little embarrassed.

His features stood out too much, his friends told him. To go out and enjoy the fresh air of the day, he had to not enjoy the fresh air with a face mask, conceal his red streak of hair by clipping it back and burying it under a cap, and wear green-tinted sunglasses (also to disguise the red of his eyes) that he was struggling to get used to.

In his defense, His friends weren’t any better. Aether’s braid could be recognized with only that, Venti’s glowing braids weren’t any better, Heizou’s shade of hair and green eyes would stand out—if not his unique voice, and everyone knew Xiao even if he were to shave all his hair off. Scaramouche could be salvageable, but one word from his mouth and his fans would fall to their knees—it could be his voice, but it would be the attitude.

Kazuha felt a little too hot with his disguise, but he wanted this, so he would go through with it. He tugged his mask under his nose, relaxing at the scent of the open air. The mall had an open area with trees all over; the leaves fell to the ground, and the wind brushed past. Kazuha couldn’t feel it, having been stuffed under layers, but he was satisfied.

Although it felt embarrassing to be clothed in this disguise, he couldn’t go outside this freely before. He was going to make the most of it.

And then he passed by a stall that had him doing a double take. Kazuha took a few steps back, lighting up with recognition. He couldn’t be mistaken, not with that familiar symbol of Anemo. The stall displayed a light stick of their group, released only a few days ago.

His friends would have a blast if he came back with it, most likely, Kazuha mused. Maybe he could bring it back as a gift.

A hand shot out from the side, blocking his view of the light stick. Kazuha blinked, a little surprised. He followed the arm's stretch and came face-to-face with an angry stranger.

“Hey, you!” you said. Kazuha felt like he needed to stand straighter at the tone. “I had my eye on this one first, ‘kay? Whatever number you have in mind—keep it. I finally get my hands on one of these; I’m not letting it go!”

“Oh, this was an auction?” he asked curiously. The stall didn’t seem to be being run by anyone at the moment, and no one else was there.

“Well, no,” you sniffed, “but I would win. I already told the seller I called dibs on this one—wait until she gets back.”

Charmed, Kazuha smiled. “Two thousand.”

“Three.”

“Three-thousand, five hundred?”

“Five-thousand, three hundred.”

Kazuha had to wonder: “How much do these usually cost?”

“Five thousand, if you’re lucky. I’ll make it ten thousand, easy. Are you still not backing down?”

Kazuha laughed under his breath. Were you serious? Were you actually willing to drop that much for this? “Alright, I cede. I apologize for attempting to defeat you.”

You grinned, eyes sparkling quite literally as your gaze slid back to the lightstick. You were very pretty. “Yeah, I thought so.” You eyed him curiously; Kazuha suddenly felt a little shy. “Are you a fan as well?”

Kazuha nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from your genuine smile for a few moments. His eyes drifted down to your shirt, which had the same Vision of the lightstick—but there was something else. “You could say that.”

Your shirt had maple leaves swirling around the logo, and Kazuha could recognize it all too well because he was asked to sit down and draw it for their merchandise—something personal for each member. Did Kazuha have the right to suspect what it meant that you were wearing his?

Emboldened, Kazuha gestured at the lightstick. “As a fellow enthusiast, may I extend my offer to cover this purchase?���

You blinked and stuttered. “W-What— You don’t have to! I literally stole it from you!”

“So you confess that you pried it off of me?” Kazuha teased.

“That’s not—Listen—” You stared at him, then got flustered. “Hold on, are you hitting on me?”

“Yes.” He took off his sunglasses and tugged down his mask, flashing a sweet smile that he knew was utterly unfair. Your face bluescreened out of pure shock. Without the mask muffling his voice, it was clear as day. “So, will you let me?”

[yoonivy]

my house of stone, your ivy grows (and now i’m covered in you); part 1.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

genre. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, drama, angst, fluff, eventual smut. it’s a y/n fic but no use of y/n. heavily inspired by taylor swift’s ‘ivy’.

When a fierce blizzard ravages the North, a certain dragon rider gets caught up in it and crashes onto Bear Island.

And right to you, the youngest daughter of House Mormont.

warnings. no warnings yet!

wc. 10k+ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09

--

“It looks like a storm is heading this way,” Dorothea Mormont murmurs with a frown, her eyes set up above at the darkened sky, clouds of swirling greys gradually covering the sunlight. Sitting up from under a tree she had been reading by, she dusts herself off before picking up the skirt of her dress and then turns to the little girl close by her, drawing on the ground with a stick. “Come. We should head inside.”

You huff in frustration, ignoring your elder sister and continue on the mountains you already laid out on the dirt. You feel her stare for a couple more seconds before she calls your name sternly.

Stomping your feet, you cross your arms and glare at her. “But Dorothea … The day had just begun!”

You hated it. The start of the winter season in the North has been strange so far, but maybe even more so on Bear Island. 

Instead of the falling of white and soft snow, it had been raining slates of hail. The temperature going from warm enough to go on out without your furs in the morn to your fingers and toes feeling frost bitten once noon hits the horizon. Your favourite season, summer, came and went so quickly that you had not enjoyed it in the fullest like you had earlier years; and autumn was merely a blink of an eye. 

There is not much to do for a young lady such as yourself, only ten and two, when the cold comes around. Staying indoors is such a bore, and your mother would only allow you a few hours every other day to train with Ser Gregory and your brothers outdoors, unlike your older siblings who could stay out all day and night with duties they have outside the castle grounds.

A kind yet pitying smile spreads on your sister’s pretty face. She then walks over to you, taking a hold of your freezing hands, tenderly rubbing them in between her own to warm you up.

“I know, little cub. But look—“ you follow her gaze, at the training grounds a few yards away, where your three older brothers were practicing their swordsmanship with some of the others of the castle, but are now putting away their equipment. “It seems everyone else is done for the day as well.”

As if feeling eyes on him, the second oldest, Forrest, turns towards the two of you and waves, exuberant like always, before cupping his hands around his mouth to call out, “We’ve been called inside! A storm is coming!”

Dorothea rolls her eyes at her twin, mutters under her breath about how obvious that is. When she hears you giggle, she smiles your way. “Let’s go? I promise I’ll allow you to use my paints once we get inside.”

That has you excited, nodding happily, finally letting her guide you to your home, hand in hand. 

--

Much to your displeasure to admit, it was a good thing that your sister had made haste inside when you had. For only an hour later, the harsh winds and flurry of snow surrounded the area, rattling Mormont Keep noisily. This blizzard more ruthless than any you have seen before.

It is night now, you are back in your bedchamber after supper and a hot bath. The tubes of paint and easel that Dorothea had promised you is abandoned in favor of staring out your window. A deep scowl mars your young face – a perfect mirror of your father’s whenever he has a tough decision to make, like when he had to travel to King’s Landing for two moons just to bend the knee to the Dragon girl-queen to be – knowing it would days before you step foot outside again.

Glaring out the window, you could see nothing but snow. Even the Godswoods that would always greet you when you peered outside cannot be seen tonight. It makes you wary for the all the animals out there – especially the bears like in your House’s sigil – hoping they are safe and sound, hibernating comfortably. 

It’s too cold. You shiver, pulling the blanket you had draped around you closer to your body – and then that’s when you see it. 

The flash of red outside in the sky, like burning flames, so vivid that it is visible through the stormy haze. Then a magnificent roar, louder than anything you have heard before, leading to another burst of orange and reds bright enough for you to witness something falling from the skies. 

And as if something takes over your body — you don’t know what — that has you getting up, hurriedly lacing up your boots and grabbing your heaviest furs. You are already out the door and running through the halls when your older brother by two years, Jorah, exclaims behind you when he peeks out of his own bedchamber, “Did you all hear that, too?!”

You do not respond, almost colliding with your oldest brother, Braeden, when you reach the wooden staircase leading down to the main floor of the castle. By the look on his face, it seems that he too had seen whatever it was that fell from the sky. He checks you over, notices the furs you got on, and he just knew what you were about to do. He shakes his head slowly, says your name cautiously and then a warning, “ Wait— “ 

But it is already too late, your little legs carry you down the stairs, faster than he could catch up. You were always a spritely little menace when you wanted to be. Landing on the ground floor, you pass by your father who whips to look at you and the direction you are heading, calling out your name as well. But you don’t listen, don’t stop, not when you know that whatever it was out there that fell from the sky is all alone, out in the bitter cold.

You make it to the two large doors of the entrance, pressing yourself against it but it does not budge. The two guards on stand by on each of the two wooden pillars a few steps away from the doors are surprised at the sight of you, exchanging a look, but ultimately stays by their post because they know you, and this is not the first time you tried to escape the keep in plain sight. Besides, you are too small and weak to budge the door even slightly – especially now, with the winds outside pushing back against your hardest effort. 

But then suddenly, the doors do start to move, and when you open your eyes in astonishment, thinking it is all you – you see that it was actually Forrest. With a smirk on his face, he throws a playful wink your way. 

A wide smile spreads on your lips; of course it’s him! Being the total opposite of his twin, Forrest is always joining in your foolish plans, humoring you without knowing (or caring) about the consequences.

And this… This will probably have a huge consequence, you think as the double doors blow wide open, letting in the merciless storm inside your home. 

The guards are flabbergasted, both taking a second to realize what just happened, watching you and Forrest make a break for it.

“Lord Forrest! Lady—” 

You hear them behind you, following, but you keep running, surprisingly matching pace with your most athletic brother even if the blizzard is trying to slow you down. 

“Little cub, where are we going?” Forrest asks in between labored breaths, arm in front of him to try to block the heavy wind blowing against him that is making him exert so much more energy. 

You were faring much worse, the built up of fallen snow already at your kneecaps but you push through. So at his question, you try to pinpoint in your mind where on Bear Island that the fallen thing could have landed. You should know it. You know your home like it is the back of your hand… C’mon, you chastise yourself, THINK!

Then an image of a place pops in your head, and you know for sure that is where it should be. 

“Beyond the castle walls! In the woods! Where Jorah fell off the tree and broke his ankle!”

Forrest knows exactly where you mean, making him frown. “That is pretty far, sister–”

“Forrest! You imbecile !”

Forrest looks behind him, laughing at the angry Braeden hot on your heels. He could turn you around — knows he should, for every second spent outside more dangerous than the last — but something about pissing Braeden off seems a lot more fun at the moment. 

He runs a bit ahead of you, stopping with his back turned towards you and bends his knees. “Hop on!”

You do as he says, jumping on his back and he makes sure to secure his hold on you before he starts again. Soon enough the two of you are at the gigantic logged entrance of the castle walls, still open. They had not a chance to shut it earlier, waiting for some of the men to return from their hunt. But once they all got inside, it was far too late for the men still outdoors to close it together when they needed to seek shelter fast. 

Just as you pass the carving of the woman dressed in bearskin with a child on the gates, you feel yourself getting pulled back. At your shock, your grip on Forrest loosens and before you know it the both of you land on your backs on the snowy ground. It is Braeden’s seething glare you see when your eyes open after the big tumble. But although very clearly angry, he pulls both you and Forrest up on your feet. 

“What the hell are you two doing?!” Braeden seethes while looking between his two younger siblings. Neither of you look him in the eyes – Forrest looks down in shame and you are looking beyond him as if he is not even in front of you. “Are you trying to get killed or are you both just daft?!”

“We were just–”

“Don’t even answer that,” Braeden shuts Forrest down, not wanting to hear any dumb excuses for the rhetorical question he asked. “Now get your feet moving back to the keep or else I’ll kill you before the storm does—”

And your feet do get moving — but in the opposite direction of your home. Braeden swiftly grabs your shoulders from either side and makes you face him directly.  

“Are your ears broken?! Are you not gonna listen to me?!” He yells in your face. Braeden does not know what has gotten into you. Forrest, he can see him doing this. But you… You are always one to do as you are told. Sure, you would occasionally throw a fit but are never outright disobedient like this. But tonight, you are the mastermind of this stupidity.

And even now, even as he is up in your face, your eyes are still darting from his and then to the darkened entrance into the woods. His grip on you tightens, terrified that you’ll run off again if given the chance. He says your name to try to get your attention, and that is when another roar shakes up the island.

It sounds so mournful, wounded, and hearing it causes your heart to pick up in a panic, your breathing getting heavier.

“We have to…” You trail off, trying to pull away from your eldest brother. He keeps you in place, gesturing at the two guards who had just caught up for help with a gesture of his head.

“No, we have to go back inside.”

“But Braeden–”

“No,” he cuts you off, this time his word sounding more final. 

Or it should be. You know it should be because Braeden is not only the oldest but the wisest of your siblings and you should not argue with him. But you just can’t… You just can’t sit by and just let this go. 

You look him straight in the eyes, back straightening to feel more confident in your stance of defiance. “But you saw it didn’t you?! The thing that fell from the sky!”

“ And…? ” His brows furrow together as his head shakes incredulously. “What about it? What if it’s dangerous?”

Another beastly cry resounds, proving his point.

“You hear that? That’s a dragon—”

“And a bloody big one at that—”

“Shut up, Forrest. I don’t want to hear a word from you.” 

“But what if it’s—”

“What if it’s what?!” It was you who Braeden snaps at this time, only to turn to see your watery gaze, and he is not sure if it’s because of the harsh wind on your face or if it's something else.

“I don’t know! ” You choke out with a sob, and he gets his answer. You are upset and in distress, worried for the unknown. “But something – or someone – out there needs help! Our help! ” You scream over the wailing winds in your eardrums. The tears are flowing freely down your face now, and it is clear you are having a hard time breathing, on the brink of hyperventilating, “Please, Braeden, please… They’re all alone and probably scared and –”

Braeden is not one to be swayed by tears. And this will not be the first.

It is your bravery that makes him change his mind.

He takes a shuddering sigh, silently praying to the Gods that if you all make out of the woods alive, that his mother would not finish the job.

“Alright, little cub,” Braeden presents his hand to you with a small smile. “Then let us help them. Together.” 

Brightening up slightly, you take his hand, head bobbing in determination.

--

The journey to the far eastern side of Bear Island where the willow tree that Jorah fell from and broke his ankles just three moons ago is going to be quite a perilous task. Climbing down the steep jagged hills that borders one of the rivers that runs through Bear Island and then crossing across said river has always been intensely tough, more so now with the blizzard picking up. Luckily one the guards that accompanied you and your brothers, Tylor, used to be a part of the group of woodcutters that traverse that part of the island before he took the post to guard your family. He leads your group now, navigating a path that even you could easily keep up with. 

Soon enough, you make it closer and closer to where you needed to be, and another howl from the sorrowful dragon lets your group determine just how close you are. 

You weren’t far off from your prediction, passing the willow tree to go a bit more north. That is where you find the most gigantic and terrifying creature you have ever seen in your life. 

The dark green-bronze dragon laid on the ground and has made a clearing for itself with all the trees it had trampled flat. As soon as Braeden - who is the head of the group - steps foot in its newfound territory, its ferocious eyes snap your way, a low rumbling of a warning in its throat. “Well, shit…” Forrest blurts out in awe, exchanging a look with Braeden. “I do not think we are wanted here.”

Braeden sighs with a nod, glancing back at the dragon and seeing nothing amiss – except, you know, just the dragon – then looks down towards you. “I’m sorry, little cub. It seems this was all for naught.”

Your lips tremble, confused because you know you saw something fall. “But we saw it fall, and it wasn’t just the dragon!”

“It must have been its droppings,” Forrest jokes through his chattering teeth. “Scared shitless because of the storm.”

You glare at him, hating how he could be right. Is that really just what you saw?

“My Lords, my Lady. We should head back now before your Lady Mother has our heads,” the second guard, Howland, pipes up; sounding more scared of your mother than the beast up ahead. 

Braeden agrees with him, making a motion for you all to turn around to retrace your steps back to Mormont Keep. This time you do not argue.

But you glance back one last time, watching the dragon watching you, raising its head slightly off the ground as it huffs in satisfaction at your retreat. Then that is when you see it – a tiny hand, lifting up to caress the underside of the dragon’s neck before it falls back limp. You couldn’t really make out what it was, the snow obstructing your vision of whatever it is on the ground that the dragon is curled up around, protective. But it seems small – young. 

You are running again before you, yourself, could even comprehend what you are doing.

As you weave through the fallen trees, your brothers and the guards try to follow – but another angry growl from the now alert dragon freeze you all in your place. 

“Turn around now ,” Braeden seethes at you, eyes between you and the dragon that is now slowly getting up, looking like it’s getting ready to lunge. He moves his body just an inch, not even taking a step forward, and the dragon still gives a roar of fury.

But you were close enough now that when you squint your eyes to see better, you can see that the dragon is definitely coiled around someone. A human. 

“There’s someone there!” You call back to your brothers.

“What?!”

“The dragon is protecting them…” You trail off, notice them shivering violently.

 They do not look like they are in good shape.

The sight has the urgency coursing through your veins, taking a tentative and slow step forward. The dragon keeps its eyes on you, but doesn’t make a sound this time. Perhaps foolish on your part, but this has you rationalizing that it is��allowing you to come closer.

“Stop being stupid!” You hear Forrest behind you and the snap of a tree branch being stepped on. That has the dragon snapping its jaw forward – though not towards you but at your companions. When they stop moving, it focuses on you again, huffing and tilting its chin down, towards the child hidden underneath it to protect them from the cold. A whimper vibrates the dragon’s throat, and that is when you knew . It wants you — and only you — to help.

Your feet keep moving now, not in a sprint but faster than a walk. You hear your brothers calling your name but you just shout back that you’ll be okay, that you can do it alone. For some inexplicable reason, you knew in your heart that the dragon would not harm you. 

You are closer now, close enough to truly take in how enormous this creature is. Are all dragons this big? 10 of them can probably cover the whole entirety of Bear Island. Maybe less.

Shaking your head, you focus on the more important task at hand than mathematics. Getting to whoever it is the dragon is protecting. 

You quicken up your pace and you finally reach the foot of the dragon. It moves slightly, pushing a log aside to give you an easier path to where the child lays beneath it. It bends its neck down, pushing you with its snout with another huff as if saying, hurry .

You are not cautious anymore, running full speed ahead and find a young boy who looks not much older than yourself at the center of the nest the dragon had made. His hair and skin were as pale as the snow on the ground that was not scorched with the dragon’s fire and clothes dark enough to just seem like a piece of fallen wood or a big rock. It’s no wonder none of you could see him earlier.

Dread fills you up, noticing he is not moving at all. Not even a shiver shook him. You quickly crash beside him, knees hitting the ground in a way that should hurt but you don’t feel it. With your own decreasing strength — finally feeling the chill slowing and weighing down your body – you pull him towards you, his upper body lying precariously on your lap.  

“Wake up, please… Please, wake up…” you murmur to him, eyes filling with heated tears. You caress his face, your thumb rubbing across his cheek, just below the line of a scar running through his right eye. It is a healed one, so it wasn’t from the fall. At least there is that. But as you push his bangs off his face, you find blood gushing from his temple. Feeling sick, you try to check how bad it is, pressing your fingers around the cut. While you inspect, that’s when the boy starts to stir slightly. 

Frozen, you stare at his face as his unscarred eye starts to move from behind the lid. Then he is blinking, slow and blearily, until it opens and you are greeted with the most vivid shade of violet. Your heart jumps to your throat as his head tilts and looks at you with the softest gaze, murmuring, 

“ Enke..litsos... ? ” 

Before you can ask what he means, his eye flutters shut again, though not before you see the light in them dimming. A sob wrecks through your body, pulling him into a tight embrace. Hoping and praying that would not be the last time you see that beautiful lilac eye.

--

The murmurings at the other side of the wooden door that you have your ear pressed against is way too quiet. Your little fists clenched at your sides tightly so, frustrated that you are having trouble eavesdropping on the conversation. 

It has almost been two hours since you, your brothers, and the guards had burst through the entrance of your home, shocking your family at the sight of an unconscious young boy that they have never seen before carried on Forrest’s back. It has almost been two hours, and you still do not know the fate of the boy that you had saved.

Did you actually even save him? Is he even still alive ?

You try not to think about how he was so cold to the touch, the blue of his lips, the light leaving his violet eye. 

You have never been so scared before. It must have been evident in your sobbing and desperate calls for your brothers’ help as you struggled to lift the boy up by yourself that the dragon finally allowed them to come to you. 

You remember the intense look in the dragon’s eyes as it watched you leave its territory. You knew it had been holding back, choosing to trust you to take care of the boy who is clearly important to it. 

Was the dragon wrong to put its trust on you to save the boy it had been fiercely protecting?

You thump your forehead against the door, pressing hard on it enough to hurt as you blink away the incoming tears.

“Oi, stop doing that.”

You glance over to the side where Braeden sits cross-legged on the floor, back against the wall beside the door. He looks absolutely exhausted.

Being the oldest, Braeden got the brunt of the scolding. Your mother did not know whether to be angry at her children’s foolish venture or praiseful that said foolish venture might have saved a person’s life. So she settled for both, which was more frightening in the long run. 

“You should go to sleep,” you tell him, turning your head to once again frown at the door as if it offended you. “Forrest already has.”

He chuckles. “As you should, as well. A little cub needs to hibernate, you know? To grow big and strong.”

You take a deep inhale, ignoring him. Or you try to. Maybe if you were strong enough then maybe…

“He is in good hands,” Braeden says aloud after a few minutes of silence. “Remember, Maester Garland is the reason our great-grandfather lived to be 102.”

It is not that you did not think Maester Garland is incompetent, it is that you think you were not fast enough to bring the boy to the maester to treat to the best of his capabilities. Your group did take the riskier path back home, in an obvious hurry, but you are afraid that was not enough. 

You are about to tell your oldest brother what has been weighing down on your mind, when the door suddenly opens, startling you to take a step back with a gasp. 

At the sight of the two of you, your mother heavily sighs. 

“When did my two most obedient children stop listening to me?” She murmurs mostly to herself but obviously intending for you and your brother to hear her. 

“Our names are not Dorothea One and Dorothea Two ,” you remind her haughtily. You might be pushing it now, but you could not hold back, your frustration from waiting so long taking over you. When Braeden laughs at your jest, your mother narrows her eyes at the both of you. 

She could not even reply back, as you are already trying to push past her and into the room. You don’t get very far though, her arm barring you from entering. 

“The boy needs his rest, and you do too, young lady,” she says, foregoing your familial pet name. Whenever someone does that, you know they are obviously not in the mood to coddle you or they are seriously upset with you. Your mother is both at the moment.

But her tone does not even phase you, when all you could really focus on is her words:

The boy needs his rest.

So does that mean…?

“So he is alright?” Your brother asks, beating you to it. 

While he stands up from the ground, your mother answers, “He will be–” her stern gaze resting on you, “-- if his rest is uninterrupted–” 

“Did he awaken!?” You ask excitedly, and she hushes you quickly with a glare, pressing a finger to her lips. You quickly slap a hand over your mouth, looking into the room, but all you see is Maester Garland and your father coming out of it. 

Just as your father is about to close the door, you manage a quick peek into the guest chamber. They had moved the bed closer to the fireplace in the room, but you do not see the boy. The headboard of the bed hiding him from your view. At least you know he will be warm.

“He has not yet awakened–” Your face drops, turning to Maester Garland. Like always, there is a kind smile on his face, and he continues, “But if it will ease you, My Lady, he is breathing evenly and is even talking in his sleep. I will not lie to you, his left arm is broken and so are a few ribs. But all that will heal in due time.”

Your father clasps his hand on your shoulder, shaking you out of your worry. “Forrest broke his ribs and it only took a moon to heal, remember that?”

You nod, remembering it all too well. The heated fight that broke out between your brother and the youngest Stark boy, Willam. It was the first time you have ever seen your brother being truly angry and you often wondered what had really transpired between them, what words were exchanged. 

“And what of the wound on his head?” Braeden asks, breaking you out of the memory. 

“Luckily it is just a minor cut. There is no sign of a hemorrhage or anything too serious. But I will be checking again in the morrow to make certain.” 

Braeden hums, seemingly more at ease now with the new information. He smiles your way. “You hear that, little cub? He will be alright.”

Though you nod, you look downcast, gnawing at your lip.

You feel hands on your shoulders, and when you peer in front of you, it is not your father, but your mother bending down to be at your height. 

“You did well,” she begins, causing your eyes to well up. “Although I’m still upset at you; you were a very brave and wonderful girl today, little cub.” 

“I think she takes after you, my love,” your father says, chuckling. “You would have done the same thing in her shoes.”

Your mother laughs as she tugs you into her warm embrace. You squeeze her back tightly.

“Now, shall I tuck you into bed?” 

Feeling sleepiness overtake you now, you allow your mother to take you by the hand. As the two of you walk away, you hear the three left behind still conversing behind you.

“I really do hope the blizzard passes soon so I can send a raven to King’s Landing. His family must be worried sick.”

“King’s Landing? I thought the boy did not wake…?”

“He does not need to wake for us to know who he is. There is no doubt about it. The boy… He is who they call One-Eye. The King’s youngest son—” 

Heartbeat quickening, his name starts to echo in your head as soon as you hear your father utter it.

Prince Aemond Targaryen.

--

You had thought the stories you heard about the one-eyed Targaryan Prince were just that — stories. 

You had never believed them, always scoffing whenever Septa Earla caught you taking an extra piece of pie and her reminding you that your greed will someday lead you to be like One-Eye; the prince who stole a dragon from a dead girl and in turn lost his own eye for it. You had thought it was such a stupid tale. Who would not trade an eye for a dragon? How could you even steal a dragon in the first place?

But now, you think about that ferocious and colossal creature in that clearing. The mere thought of the young prince stealing it makes no sense to you. Not only is he smaller than yourself, but you highly doubt the dragon would allow anyone to just “steal” it, whatever that entails. No, you think about the protectiveness the dragon has over the young boy, and you have the feeling that whatever it is that transpired between the prince and the mighty beast is not a one-way devious act. They have a bond that your Septa’s silly, little cautionary tale could never comprehend. 

Then that has you thinking, wondering what made this Aemond Targaryen so special enough to have a dragon so loyal to him. It cannot just be because he is a prince, right? Is it because of his bloodline? You remember learning something about the Targaryens and their bloodline, how they came from an old and ruined city in the East. Or something like that… Perhaps you should have listened to those lessons closer, but you did not really care for history like Jorah does…

So you think, and think, and overthink so hard that you could not get a wink of sleep, tossing and turning in your bed. 

You need to know more about Aemond Targaryen.

Huffing, you finally sit up. It is early in the morning now, and if the blizzard was not still ravaging hard outside, the sun would be beginning to rise in just an hour. Which means that although there would be a few in the Keep slowly awakening to start their day, there would still be a chance for you to sneak out of your chamber without being seen.

Pulling your blankets off you and hopping out of bed, you are quick yet light footed when you leave your bedchamber. Luckily, the room that the Targaryen Prince is currently in is close by yours, just five doors down the hall. You slip into his room like a ghost, barely making any sound.

As soon as the door closes behind you, you find yourself pressing up against it. You have always been too hasty, not thinking your plans through. But this one might be stupider than the one you had last night, traversing out in the blizzard… Barging into a room without consent. Not only was it improper, but it was rude and you were taught better. If your parents were not disappointed in you before, they would most definitely be now. Besides, it is not like he is awake to answer all the burning questions you came in here to ask. 

So you decide to just leave, come back when he is lucid enough for company.

Though before you can open the door, you hear him start to stir behind you, whimpering in discomfort. You are swift to turn right back around, rushing to check on him. 

The young prince looks better than the last time you saw him – color has returned to his complexion – but he still looks unwell. He lays there, a pained look pinching his sleeping face and a sling around his arm. Although for you it feels sweltering in the room, Aemond is still shivering as if still out in the cold. It has your heart clenching at the sight.

Worriedly, you touch his face with the back of your hand, gasping when you feel just how cold he still really is. 

You take a hold of his hand closest to you - luckily, it is the one that is not broken - keeping it in between your hands as you start to try to rub the cold away. This always made you feel better whenever your loved ones did it to you, it always brought a warm feeling in your chest. 

It seems to be working. As you continue, the tension between his brows relaxes slightly due to your touch. The silver-haired prince looks a bit more at peace now. A sigh of relief falls from your parted lips.

You keep at it for a bit, only stopping when a yawn creeps up on you. That is when you realize how tired you are now, body feeling heavy and head full of fluff. You should go anyway, before anyone finds you in there.

But when you go to pull your hand away, the once loose hold of his hand in yours tightens, keeping you in place. You try again and again to pry yourself away but his grip on you will not let up. For someone so small, it surprises you how strong he seems. 

Finally, after a couple more minutes of trying and him not budging, you groan as you give up. Standing in place, you grow even more exhausted, and it has you looking around. You will not sit yourself on the bed beside him, even if there is room; but you cannot stand there anymore. That is when you spot a stool just beside his bed. It must have been the one Maester Garland had been sitting on when he was tending to the young prince. With your leg stretching, you manage to catch your foot around a leg to bring it closer to you.

Once you sit down, you heave another sigh, wondering to yourself how you got into this predicament. Then you laugh to yourself, remembering it was all you. 

Soon, you start to slump on the stool, eyelids drooping until it closes.

So it is there where you finally fall asleep, holding onto the prince’s hand.

--

“ Nngh..? ” The feeling of your hand getting squeezed causes you to stir awake. Your eyes blink open slowly, the wet feel of drool running down the side of your cheek that is pressed against soft fur. After wiping the gross feeling, you sit up, groaning with a stretch to alleviate the ache in your back — only to register that you could not, as the unfamiliar hand holding your own prevented you from doing so.

Confused, your gaze follows where your hand is connected, only half-remembering where you are. That is when you catch a lilac eye staring wide-eyed at you, a flush of pink high on the prince’s cheeks. The sight causes you startle with a gasp, so surprised to see him awake. The prince flinches minutely at your reaction, snatching his hand away from yours, head turning the other way, not facing you anymore.

You are too ecstatic to question it, not even noticing, so overjoyed that he is sitting up and awake and alive .

“Are you–”

“What happened to it?”

Your head tilts in confusion, but it is not like he can see it. “It…?” Then you realize, “Oh! The dragon?!” You glance out the window, the snow storm still wrecking havoc outside. You frown a little, murmuring as you look back at him, “I’m sure it’s fine… I hope so…”

His head to you, glaring as he snaps, “No, I don’t mean Vhagar. I know she’s fine. But…” He turns away again, for some reason unable to look at you for long, letting his hair fall to cover his face. “Where is it? My patch…”

“Your patch…?”

“Do not lie to me. It is an unforgivable offense to lie to a prince, you know,” he threatens. You see his hand that was once holding yours now clenching at the fur blanket covering him. “So give me back my eyepatch or else I’ll…” He takes a deep breath, and you are not sure if he is letting you fill in the blank to scare you more or if he just could not think of a punishment.

You sit up, pushing the stool back with the heels of your foot to create a bit of distance between the two of you. He lifts his head up slightly at the sound of the legs of the stool scratching the floor.

“When I found you, you were not wearing an eyepatch,” you let him know, frowning. It irritated you that he was accusing you of something you had no knowledge of, that all his ire is directed towards you. But you tell yourself to show kindness because of how terrified he must be feeling, being in an unfamiliar place – and injured, nonetheless. “It must have fallen off while you were falling. I’m sorry, but I do not have it.”

He takes a swallow at that, head turning to face you again, his violet eye on you while the other side of his face still obscured by his silver hair. “ You … You were the one that found me?”

You give him a tentative nod, nervous that he will accuse you of something else.

“So you are…” His face softens a bit as he mutters to himself just as soft, “ Enkelitsos… ”

Though quiet, you hear him. You were about to ask him what that means — for it is the second time you had heard him say it — but a knock on the door has your mouth clamping shut. Both your head turns, watching the door open. In comes Maester Garland, who stops short at the sight of the two of you. 

Attention on you, the Maester huffs out a slight chuckle, “I should have known you’d be here, Lady—“

At the sound of your name, the young Prince perks up, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. 

“I just got here!” You lie. Luckily, the only other one who knows the truth did not sell you out. 

“I’m sure…” Maester Garland says with a smile. “I think everyone is breaking their fast now. Would you like to join them while I check over our young guest here? And you can come back with some food for him as well.”

Though it sounded like a suggestion, you knew it was really an order.  So you nod, getting off the stool as you grin at the young Prince. “I’ll be back! I’ll get you the most delicious food, don’t you even worry about it!”

He looks at you in mild surprise, nodding back. Then you are running out the door, the Prince watching you until you are out of his sight. 

--

A few days pass before the blizzard also passes, and your father is finally able to send a raven to King’s Landing in regard to Prince Aemond. He writes about what had happened, how Aemond is doing, and Maester Garland’s professional opinion of allowing Aemond to heal on Bear Island for a moon before sending him back home. Your father also writes that he, himself, will be happy to take the Prince home with a few bannerman but if they have another plan, he is all ears for it. 

While waiting for a letter back from King’s Landing, your family welcomes Aemond to your home, trying to make him feel as comfortable as possible. By his fifth day at Mormont Keep, he was told that he was well enough to eat with your family in the dining hall. At first he had politely refused, but on the eighth day, he timidly joined in the middle of dinner. By the end of that dinner, you can tell he was well entertained by Jorah’s and Forrest’s antics, and it was nice to see him laughing despite doing so seems to hurt his still healing ribs. He joined every family meal after that. 

Prince Aemond and your brothers get along swimmingly, especially Forrest – which is not surprising because Forrest has a way of making a person feel like he is truly their best friend. Your parents and Dorothea also become quite fond of the young boy. Maester Garland likes how curious he is, always asking questions. Even Septa Earla has only nice things to say about him, warning you not to repeat the story she used to tell about him.

As you watch everyone around you get closer to the Targaryen prince, you can not help but feel envious. Ever since that first time the two of you talked, you never had again. But it is not like you have not tried. Because you have. Every. Single. Day. 

Like clockwork, you visit him in his chamber every morning, trying not to let it get to you when he allows you inside after you knock, only to look away when he realizes it is you . You push through the cold shoulder he gives you; telling him about your day, reading to him your favorite books, showing off your latest embroideries or artworks — anything you can think of that would interest him. Honestly, it is like talking to a wall, but at least you know a wall has no choice but to not talk back. 

It is upsetting. The only time you ever hear his voice is if he is talking to someone else. Even whenever you are in a group, he would only answer questions you asked if someone else repeats it after you. 

You are not sure why he is treating you this way. It cannot just be because of the eye patch he accused you of keeping from him, right? Does he really just hate you? It hurts, but you pretend to everyone else that all is fine, only allowing the tears to flow when you are alone in your bedchamber at night. 

You do not even know why you keep trying. You guess it is because the other kids on the island are either older or way too young to be your friend. Sure you have your siblings, but you’ve always wanted a best friend of your own like you have read in your books — and then Aemond fell from the sky, and it might be selfish but in your heart all this was fated for him to be that friend for you. Why else were you the one that saw him fall and the one who found him and the one his dragon, Vhagar, allowed to come to him? 

Still, it was disheartening to be ignored. One can only take a number of rejections before giving up all hope.

So on the day that marks the second week that Aemond has been staying at Bear Island, you decide that this day will be the last time that you try to get through to him to become your friend. If he once again gives you the cold shoulder then you will leave him alone, forever. 

Or at least until he leaves in a few weeks. Then after that, you’ll never have to see him ever again and with no effort on both your part. Because on that same morning, your father wakes you to tell you the news. They had just received a raven from King’s Landing and got word from the king himself that they trust your father’s words and are grateful for the care your house has given to the young Prince. He would like his son home sooner, but if the maester believes that a few more weeks to heal would be good for the boy then they’ll adhere to his suggestion. 

Before he leaves for this morning duties, your father hands you a tiny scroll, telling you with a smile that he is trusting you to deliver it safely to the prince. It is a very important note from his mother and sister and it will definitely brighten up his day. 

Maybe – just maybe – today will be the day , you think to yourself as you get ready. It is sunny outside, and you were also informed that Ser Gregory wants you to train with your brothers today. Not only that, you and Dorothea finally finished the little project you asked her to help you with last night. So once you are done getting dressed, you grab the scroll and the secret thing from inside your box full of your personal treasure before skipping excitedly out of your room.

“Come in,” you hear the muffled call out from the other side of the door you had just knocked. When you walk inside, you knew what you will be greeted with… Absolutely nothing. Once again, when the prince sees it is you, he looks away, pretending no one even came in the room as he quickly shuts the book he has in his hands.

You take a deep breath, trying to let it not bother you. At this point, you should be used to it by now. 

You stride with purpose into the room, stopping beside where he sits at the desk. You hold your palm out, presenting the tiny scroll. You can see him eye it curiously.

“It is from your mother and sister,” you tell him. At that, he glances up at you, sees the kind smile on your face before sharply looking back down to cautiously take the note from your hand. While he pulls at the string, you let him know, “You’ll be staying for a couple more weeks so you can heal properly, then my father and a few of our bannerman will take you home.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “Lord Mormont already told me earlier.”

Your father already visited him? Then why did he not just give him the note then? You can’t help but playfully roll your eyes at your father’s antics. He must have known how hard you have been trying to befriend the prince. 

As Aemond opens the note, you give him some privacy, turning away to look and touch at the knick knacks on the desk he has made his own. Some things you can tell are from your brothers, but most were given to him by you. That is when you notice that the book he had been reading is the one you told him is your favorite. It makes you smile a little, but you remind yourself not to make a big deal of it. He was probably just bored.

“What are you wearing?” You hear Aemond ask, and when you turn to him, he is staring at you, the note placed neatly on the desk. You almost want to point at yourself and go, ‘ who me ?’ because this is the first time he has ever said something directed at you without you having to prompt him first. But you guess your outfit for today is very different from your usual. Instead of skirts and dresses, you have dressed up in your new favorite pants.

Taking a step back, you proudly show it off, spinning for him. “It’s my new training outfit! Dorothea made it for–”

“Training…?”

Smiling wide, you excitedly nod. “Yes! Today, Ser Gregory is teaching me how to block–”

“Girls don’t fight,” Aemond says like it is a fact, taking you aback.

“Yes, they do!’ You snap back, getting a bit heated now.

“No, they don’t,” he says again, though a confused frown sits on his face. “My mother, the Queen, doesn't. My sister doesn’t. A lady doesn’t fight.”

You glare at him. If you weren’t so mad, it would have dawned on you that this is the first time he has held your gaze for longer than a second. 

“ I’m a lady too! I’m ten and two already, and they do fight, like my mother and grandmother and—”

“You’re ten and two?” 

You let out a frustrated huff, sick of his interruptions and his backwards way of thinking. So entitled and rude. Are all princes like this? Do you even want to be his friend anymore?

“What’s it to you ?”

He glances at you from under his pale lashes and says softly as if shy, “I am as well…”

Your eyes widen, eagerly asking him when his date of birth is. Turns out, yours and his are only a few days apart. And just like, everything he has done to you and the way he treated you prior to this is forgotten. You excitedly ask him a million more questions, and this time, he indulges you with the answer.

Some time passed and although you hated to halt this development between you and the prince, you had to get going to train with Ser Gregory. 

“I guess I should get going,” you tell him after the both of you had died down from a fit of laughter because of a story you told about Septa Earla and a hornets’ nest. 

Maybe you are imagining things, but you could have sworn you saw a flicker of disappointment on his face.  “I suppose you should…”

Even after bidding each other a good day, you shift in place awkwardly. Although you had been waiting for today’s training for so long, you just did not want to leave… But you should. With a sigh, you turn, about to head out, when–

“Oh!” You turn back to him, remembering you had something else for him. From your pocket, you take it out to give to him. Once he has it in his hand and is examining it, you start explaining, “I know this might not be like the one you lost but I hope you’ll like it! I don’t know what your old one looks like but I borrowed Butcher Pate’s for reference. You see, he lost his eye from a fishing accident way before I was born. But anyway, I think I must have weirded him out when I asked for it. Dorothea and I made it – well, okay, mostly Dorothea made it but look–” you proudly point out the little purple embroidery on the band of the leather eyepatch, “I did that! Isn’t it nice? I’m not usually good at lettering but I tried really hard to perfect your initials!”

You were talking so fast, a million words per second, that Aemond can’t help but giggle a bit. When you are done, you wait expectantly, nervous as well in the way you toy your fingers together. Then Aemond’s lilac eye is on you, a big smile spreading on his face, rounding his cheeks. 

“Thank you,” he says, so genuinely that it makes all of Dorothea’s chores that you did to have her make it worth it. Then he looks away, back at the eyepatch in his hands, fingers feeling the threading, “And I’m sorry… For being so… Unsavory towards you.”

Your heart warms at his apology, almost tearing up. But you blink it back when he looks up at you again and repeats, “I’m truly sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you forgive easily. This is what you wanted. All your hard work had paid off. Then with a toothy grin, you add teasingly, “At least you know that you were being a jerk.”

His head dips sheepishly. Before he can drown in sorrow, you hit his good shoulder playfully.

“Would you like to watch my brothers and I train?”

When Aemond nods, you hold your hand out, offering it for him to take.

He does.

[tac-the-unseen]

I love all ur blog sm!! Can I ask abt something with the slashers (specially Thomas <3) with an foreigner!reader that don't quit speak english very well and normally forget words?

(Sorry if something is spelled wrong, English is not my native language lmao)

Absolutely, I can!

And because the request didn't specify, this fic will strictly be about speaking a foreign language.

Sorry if this is inaccurate! I'm a native English speaker and don't know many who aren't. Sorry in advance!!

Slashers x Foreigner!Reader

Micheal Myers:

•This man will act like he doesn't care but in reality he's so intrigued. (It might be why you're still alive) 

•He’ll spend his time watching you practice your pronunciation and recognition patterns, like it's a movie.

•Is he a bit mean about it? Yes. Will he laugh? Probably.

•If you find yourself not knowing what certain words are and stumble around until you find the right word, You'd be surprised at how patient he is. 

•If you are very new to the English language he'll secretly get you flash cards and stash them into a place he knows you'll find them

•Despite everything, if you ask him for help, he will help. He might be mute but he can write and use TV to aid you.

Billy loomis & Stu macher:

•Stu is already romanticizing your language, but instead of using the actual name of your language, he calls it “Talking pretty to me”

•Billy asks if you want any text books or study equipment to help you on your English speaking journey 

•Both boys are a surprising help! Stuttering trying to articulate what you mean? They've already jumped in to, A) help save you some of the embarrassment, and B) give you time to think about what you're trying to say. 

•Someone making fun of you? They're either dead or a social outcast by the end of the week. 

•Are you struggling to remember a certain word? These boys are willing play charades until you figure it out. And they won't drop it either, Stu says ‘It’s bad to give up when you've already come so far.’ 

•Over all it's not so bad (Stu 100,000,000% uses Google translate to figure out how to say ‘i love you’ in your native language) 

Thomas Hewitt:

•When both of you met, he had never met an actual foreigner before.

•He knew people travel around and occasionally some valley girl would end up in their small town, But someone from a whole different part of the world?

•His interest in you spiked the moment he heard your accent 

•Thomas has so many questions but doesn't know how to ask you

•With him being mute and your struggles with English, It's not the easiest relationship. In the end both of you just end up pointing at things and making noises to get your point across. 

•Absolutely loves to listen to you speak in your native language, Even if he'll never understand it. 

•When he's first trying to court you, he leaves you slightly damaged flowers (he struggled to pick them) to communicate his affection. 

•even with a language barrier, he's gonna love you like no one ever could 

Bubba Sawyer:

•He had no idea people outside of America existed 

•When You fell into the palm of Texas and his brothers found you failing to remember the word for your favorite snack, They knew you would be an easy target.

•When they kidnapped you and brought you to the basement so Bubba could chop you up, he was fascinated by the way you desperately tried to beg him not to kill you. 

•It ended in a huge fight in the family, But he got everyone to let you live a bit longer.

•Sits Criss Cross applesauce while you speak for your life. You could babble about anything and he would listen intently. 

•He pulls out his alphabet soup machine and spends hours typing with you. (You help him finally get past the clown level)

Bo Sinclair:

•absolute meanie, stinky poopy head about it >:(

•will mock your stutters and say stuff like “Oh come ON! The word is Cat! C. A. T. CAT! What's so hard about that?” 

•If you speak your native language around him, He thinks you're insulting him or intentionally hiding something. 

•”If you could say it to my face in your language you can say it to my face again in mine!”

•The same sentiment is not shared when it involves bedroom fun

•Will eventually apologize, But that's going to take a while 

Vincent Sinclair:

•As another non-speaking fellow he takes his time to make sure you two can understand each other 

•He’ll mostly use body language and and little doodles to get his point across 

•Stuttering over a word? He doesn't care, he'll let you work it out without any judgment!

•Want his help? He has several books, Vincent will just pull out a book he knows as the word in it, flipped to the page, and point at the word. 

•Love listening to you talk, In English or not. He'll happily let you yap his ear off. 

Lester Sinclair:

•Poor boy was lovestruck when he first heard you talk!

•Full on heart eyes while you explain where you're from and how you ended up here 

•If you end up fumbling on a word he'll start shouting out potential words for what you're trying to say. 

•Example: “and then I had too…uh…um..” “Run? Pee? Eat? Were you hungry? Are you hungry right now?” 

•So helpful, I know

•But the guy is already googling restaurants based off your native cuisine. He's got the date set up. 

•”It's no biggie, I'm a native English speaker and I still can't get it right!” 

Billy Lenz:

•Billy 100% understands the struggle of finding the right word to say 

•He can't stop stuttering himself, so when you start stuttering you kind of reinforce us in his brain that you were meant to be together 

•He feels like he can bond with you over it, and even feel safer around you knowing that you also mess up 

•the thing is if you start stuttering, he'll start stuttering. If you can't get it by God he will.

•”W-we can't bo-oth be wrong.” 

Brahms Heelshire:

•this man will 100% try to learn your language as soon as he finds out you're a foreigner

•That man has a huge library, there's bound to be at least one book written in your mother tongue 

•He spends a lot of time practicing your native language so he can speak to you more comfortably

•You already know he has children's learning books he'll pull out if you ask. 

•Can't find the word you're looking for? He's already 10 books deep, he'll find it for you. 

•Brahms is a well-educated man and he intends to use His years of learning to help 

•If you want to take classes to better your English skills he will 100,000% throw money your way to do so.

Hannibal Lecter:

•Now Hannibal really understands 

•He's a Lithuanian who learned English as a 10 year old

•He didn't struggle as much, But for the first couple of months you bet he was stumbling. 

•If you're struggling with a word, He has a process of teaching you so you don't forget it again. 

1) Identify what you're trying to say 

2)Slowly begin to sound out the word 

3)Have you recite the word a few times 

4)He'll either teaches you a little tune to remember or he'll do something so you remember the moment 

•Does it feel a little condescending? Yes. But it works 

•He's also willing to pour an ungodly amount of money into your English education if you ask 

•He'll even teach you himself in his spare time

Will Graham:

•Doesn't really know what to do, He's a bit awkward about it 

•He'll also identify the word and repeat it a few times so you can get a better handle on it.

•He thinks it's a bit funny and a bit cute when you stutter or mispronounce something 

•He will gently correct you and move on like nothing happened 

The Lost Boys:

•holy fucking shit this is a cluster fuck, let's do this one by one 

•David

-David, having been around a while, has picked up a couple languages.

-If he does know the language you're speaking he'll speak it back to you and guide you into English better than the other boys could 

-If not, he'll just read your mind and tell you what you're trying to say. It's by far the easiest way to articulate what you mean. 

•Dwayne

-Dwayne being just slightly younger than David has also picked up a couple languages 

-It's really the same if he does know your language But with a little more verbal teaching 

-If he doesn't he'll patiently wait until you figure out what you're trying to say. 

•Paul

-as soon as you start to stutter over yourself Paul starts shotgunning words off 

-some slightly related to the situation and others wildly out there 

-”Drink? Food? Ocean? Horse? The unforgiving eyes of God and His kingdom???” 

-he'll do this to confuse you and have a nice laugh 

•Marko

-Marko speaks English and Italian, so if your language isn't one of those two you're kind of shit out of luck 

-”Come on babe, you'll get it” 

-He finds it a bit funny but still tries to help in little ways 

Thanks for reading <3

Sorry if this seems hastily written together, I haven't had the request in a while so I kind of jumped at the opportunity.

[pumpkinsy0]

tldr: @buddyaldridge is a 30 year old weirdo proshipper who talks shit about ppl behind their backs, block em and report if you can/want to

just wanna let everyone know theres a omegaverse mpreg dallyboy writer whos been an all around WEIRDOOOOO cause their brain is LITERALLY porn rotted and they cannot fathom ppl actually having fun at all, their @ is @buddyaldridge aka @pelopsides previously known as @madelynprior

in 2020-2022 the outsiders tumblr they used to be @madelynprior and theyre a hardcore dallyboy stan which is already fucking weird, but on top of that, they would make teen pregnancy omegaverse smut fics which??? and im not gonna give you the ss, nigga im givin yall the LINKKK to see it with your own eyes so you know im not crazy

how ik its them is bc on their acc RIGHT before they switched to their buddyaldridge acc, and before that acc was named “pelopides”, they used to go by “madeleinepryor”, how ik its the same person is bc on a good chunk of their post, theyd tag it as “#madeleinepryor dispatches” on top of that, they just straight up linked their ao3 acc😭😭

heres what the link goes to, they linked their ao3 acc, they just changed their username on ao3 as well from madeleinepryor to greasers

now me calling them a proshipper isnt me talking out of my ass, they say it themselves like ughhhhjjj

as for them talking about other ppl, i wont share ALL the screenshots bc idk if the ppl theyre talking bad about would rlly feel comfortable w those being posted, if they know, they can feel free to post it on their own accord, so like i said, wont share, but i HAVE seen some and i can conform that they have done it, its ABSOLUTELY NOT above them

for now ill post the ss i CAN post rn which just proves my point

now ignoring that theyre talking smack, theyre just so odd and obviously didnt rlly think this through bc 1967 is ALREADY IMPLIED in the 60s, youre just incapable of reading things that arent about teen boys getting it on w each other PLEASE get a grip on reality😭😭

theyve talked about 14 year olds and their post on their acc just to shit on them, once again, GROWN ASS PERSON TWEAKIN OVER THE IDEAS OF A 14 YEAR OLD🗣️🗣️

NOW maybe your asking “how do you know the discord user and the tumblr user are the same person” AND I WILL ADMIT, while i DO have strong feelings they are the same person, its not 100% proven, HOWEVER buddyaldridge DOES go by buddy and that discord users name is buddy, so while its not concrete, the link IS there, once again, feel free to come to whatever conclusion you wanna come to about that

but what ISNT disputable is the fact that theyre a proshitter

additionally just this??? reblog from them????

on its own, not MUCH, bit considering the fics they make this is SO weird like??????

and finally, ive heard that theyve specifically came for me about my haitian shepards and maybe even my heritage, saying that they hated race hcs??????like using me as an example, they ss my acc and talked shit, someone contacted me about it and they dont have ss of it specifically, but they can vouch for it, and im not just gonna dismiss that, bc while they dont have ss, they do have ss and proof of everything else, so i do believe them, and theyve said if they find it they would show them to me, do what you wanna with this info

ANYWAYS buddy, your brain is unironically pornrotted, ur being a lil baby who cant do anything but cry and moan online on discord of all places and ur doing all this as a 30+ year old, and its CRAZIER bc youre doing all this while having “minors dni” in your pinned post, while also writing about minors, in a fandom MOSTLY OF MIDDLE SCHOOLERS!!!! (aka minors!!! ik age is hard for you to grasp) on top of that, literally ANY and ALL race hcs is way more believable and enjoyable than any “ideas” you’ve been cooking up in that odd demented, shriveled up pea brain of urs

anyways yea, that all i have to say, and im speaking for myself here, but i mean this with every fiber of my being, i dont know how you function in life but i DO NOT want you to go any farther, and i think others would/DO feel the same, ive seen what makes you cheer and i am PROUUUDDD to make you BOOOOO, you shouldnt be near minors at all, fictional or non fictional, you should BARELY be near other adults

plus if you go onto their acc rn, notice how when anon called them out, buddy aint even say they were wrong?? JUST SAYIN🗣️🗣️

im tagging everything i can tag bc i DO NOTTTT want mfs interacting w their blog, and want as many ppl as possible to be aware, dont say anything to them, dont give them attention bc obviously they’ll think this is funny and post it on their shitty discord server or whatever and giggle like they arent a grown ass nigga w bills to pay, trying so hard to cling onto their high school days, making fics about a canon middle schooler getting banged and pregnant, pls block and report do whatever u wanna do, just plssss dont let this proshitter on this damn sight near kidssss😭😭

dont take this as me WANTING drama, i dont, i just dont want ppl coming in this fandom thinking posting this shit and doing this is ok, youre bullying ppl for doing harmless things meanwhile your just making straight porn about a weird ship left n right, thinking YOUUUUU of all ppl have the place to talk about anyone or anything like your opinion on anything is valid😭😭

you NEED stones thrown at you

if anyone has anymore ss send em to mmeeeeee, but in the mean time ill be doin my own thing wooooo‼️‼️🔥🔥

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! Ever since finishing season 2 of GO I have not been able to recover from THAT scene…any fics where the kiss scene is rewritten? Thank you!!!

Hi! Here are some fix-its for the kiss scene...

Do It Again by NudgeYourHeart (G)

A hand pressed into Crowley’s back before be could stop himself, pressing deeper into the kiss, wishing and hoping and begging this wouldn’t end, this couldn’t end- And Crowley pulled away. A fleeting touch. One Aziraphale already missed with such deepness that he felt words creeping up his throat, words he didn’t think he should say but knew he had to. Maybe he did have a choice. “Do it again.” — In which Aziraphale says what he wanted to say

please, let this last forever by actualchangeling (G)

Crowley should most definitely leave. But. There's always a but with him, with them, and he wouldn't have it any other way, no matter how badly it hurts. For six thousand years, Crowley has admitted defeat time after time, facing desperation and disappointment alike, and even if it ends like this, he would do it all over again. - (or: Crowley turns around and doesn't walk away after their kiss)

And I Know I've Kissed You Before, But I didn't Do It RIght (Can I Try Again?) by sat_rn (T)

“We've known each other a long time. We've been on this planet for a long time. I mean, you and me. I could always rely on you. You could always rely on me. We're a team, a group. Group of the two of us. And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't. And I…” He grunted, fighting against his own resistance. “I would like… I would love to spend the rest of my existence with you.” --- Season 2 Finale Fix-It because it made me so distressed I cannot stop thinking about it i am SICK over these gaybos.

A Version Where He Doesn't Go Back to Heaven by Terraific (G)

“Crowley…I…” The words still weren’t coming, and a sob poured forth. “I…I can’t…” ‘Can’t what…can’t WHAT?’ Crowley thought, squeezing him closer, fisting at his coat.

It has always been US by MetalMiez (G)

What if Crowley stopped time during the Confession Scene in the final fifteen, to say what he really wanted to say?

Sober Thoughts by Pink_October_Bones (G)

Aziraphale and Crowley are complete when they're together. Everything's right, and fine, and it doesn't have to be anything else for it to be perfect. Now that they can express that in more ways than just friendly affections, they discuss the reasons they fell in love with one another. And why they'll keep on falling, for the rest of their eternities. OR “When did’jou first fall in love with me?” Crowley asked.

- Mod D

[clairellie]

hii !! first off. love your blog ?? need to read your abby fic !! 🫶🏻🫶🏻 and i saw you took requests. so um. hear me out, mixing the streamer!ellie with some abby x reader content.

streamer!ellie who decides to invite her two best friends to play games and stream. abby and reader being close to each other, abby encouraging reader, cheering for her while being a dick to ellie. "you got it, you got it!" she'd say to reader as she plays. "you fuckin' moron! you lost!" she'd say to ellie. anyway !! chat starts to notice how sweet abby and reader are to each other and ellie reads them what people say. omg. and maybe after the stream, abby decides to take reader on a date?? sorry if this is messy. just thought it'd be cute !! mwaaah 🫶🏻🫶🏻💌

OUR CUPIDS . . .

a/n: i loveedddd this idea!! sorry if this seems bad, this was done in like 15 minutes.

includes: streamer!ellie with sweet!abby but also mean!abby..? y/n used once!!! abby being bad down.

"okay, so today, i invited 2 of my friends to play a few games with us. abby, and y/n. uhm, we decided to play a few games of fortnite, so no call of duty today. you all know y/n right, and abby, right?"

ellie was staring off into space as you and abby introduced yourself, looking at a few posters up on her wall, surrounded by a shelf full of figures.

ellie was seated in the middle, abby on the left of ellie, and you on the right of ellie. ellie didn't want you two to sit next to eachother. she despised those moments when abby was only focused on you. always helping you figure out where everyone is, reminding you to pick up some loot, and so on. she never did any of those things to ellie, because she was already "good."

as ellie was talking to chat a bit, needing help with choosing her skin before you and abby joined in. once abby finished helping you, although she was honestly just talking to you.. she sat back down in her seat and loaded in the game as you did.

ellie had a peely skin, and you had the poison ivy skin on as abby had midas on. abby said you two "had the same vibe." she liked how your two skins complimented each other, and looked like you were sort of matching, just a tiny bit.

"oh! get that loot right there." "you got it!" "reload real quick.. yeah, now shoot him in the head." abby was always cheering you on as you played. ellie side eyeing chat, knowing that theres some kind of vibe between you and abby.

it took a while for the match to end, none of you getting a #1 royale. somehow, ellie died first. you and abby kept looking at each other almost every time ellie did one of her high-pitched screams or loud ass gasps. then you died. then abby died.

"HAH, you fuckin lost." abby said in a joking manner. ellie was pisseddd off. she couldnt believe the fact that she died first. it was usually you who died first, but ellie?! "you can shut the fuck up abby" "well i wont."

you had forgotten about chat. completely forgetting that people were watching you play a game. ellie looked over at chat, a few things caught her eye.

"THE WAY ABBY LOOKS AT HER?!" "they should js get married alreadyyy." "plz dont start the ships again."

ellie grinned, ammused by the way chat is obsessed with you and abbys relationship. "chat loves yall together, start dating already."

abby looked at her with a confused face, "excuse me....?" "look at chat. the way you look at her, the way you speak to her compared to me? come on now!"

you looked over at abby, thinking about what it would be like to date her. you now realize you already had some feelings for her.. but those got stronger. you would love the feeling of abby's lips on top of yours, the feeling of her hands holding your waist...

time went by quickly now that you werent really focused any more. a few minutes later, ellie shuts off the stream. "yall wanna get some food realllyyy quick?" ellie asked, now standing up. "yeah just give us a sec." abby said, getting her shoes put on and her leather jacket.

abby looked at you, "you wanna go on a date with me?" you stared at her, confused and in shock now. how could this all happen so fast? first you were just hanging out with eachother, then you find out you reallyyy like her, and now she feels the same way?!!

"i-i mean sure! i would love that."

"what time works best for ya?"

[vicocaaisha]

Thrill

Baek Harin x Reader Fic.

Sypnosis: You chose thrill over comfortness. You knew she would only bring trouble, but it's her who you really like.

Warning: SMUT, slapping, fingering, mature scenes in general.

CHAPTER ONE // SUJI’S ENDING // LAST CHAPTER

“Get a move on!” You heard your homeroom teacher. Gulping as you see Wooyi walking towards the other left-out students.

You were going to join Wooyi, but they are already completed with five students already. With no choice between Harin and Suji’s group.

Looking at Harin, you saw her rolling her eyes, getting impatient. You clearly know that she wants you in her group; you wondered how that would go.

Fortunately for you, your other classmate beat you to Suji’s group. With no more choice, you walked towards Harin’s group. If looks would kill, you’re probably dead now because of Eun Byol’s stare. Whatever, you just have to keep up with this shit.

Suji seemed tense; you felt so guilty. She’s a nice girl, she probably made you feel like you’re worth the risk. But it seems for you, you love the thrill from Harin over Suji’s comfort of love.

“Alright, I’ll lead you to your designated rooms.” You heard your teacher say as he started to walk towards the hotel, and your classmates followed behind him.

Fuck.

Was the first word that came to your mind once your teacher told you that you would be rooming with Harin. Harin only.

How come you didn’t foresee this! You knew Harin would never share a room with your classmates. You only shook your head.

“Do you have a problem with us in one room?” Harin said, teasingly. “I mean you can always sleep on the floor, it looks comfy enough.” She added while smirking at you.

“No, I just thought that you would have a room for yourself only.” You replied timidly, trying not to show your dying insides because of the excitement you felt having Harin by yourself.

“Well, I’ve wanted you for so long.” Harin said as she started walking towards you, caging you in the room. You really felt at that time that the room was sooo tiny. “Now, I get you to myself.” You can possibly read her thoughts behind her eyes, she wanted you, so bad.

You really don’t know how to react. When you were in a relationship with Harin, she never really showed any affection or sexual interest to you. You never really kissed, how come she has sexual interest with you now? Or you’re just assuming things.

With that, you opened the unlocked door and ran outside. That’s one way to cockblock the love of your life. You regretted that quickly, especially when you saw Eun Byol blocking your way.

“Having fun fucking my plans?” She asked as she shoved your shoulder.

“What the fuck? What did I do now?” You were so stressed about Harin and now this bitch is causing you more stress.

“Don’t mess up my way with Harin! I wanted to be in a top university so that I could date her and now you easily get your way with Harin? What does she even see in you? You’re not even that big time unlike Doah, her father is a–”

“Oh my God. I don’t have time for this; I’m not your therapist that you could yap to.” You said walking the other way. This girl is so messed up. It’s not your fault that Harin likes you or Harin’s probably just playing with you.

“Hey, wait!” You heard Eun Byol but you just flipped her off as you walked inside in the elevator. Thankfully, the elevator’s door closed off and she didn’t get to enter.

You were going to the cafeteria to buy a hot chocolate or coffee, but you saw Suji’s group. They were gathered around her.

Suji is visibly sulking, it must be because of you. Hm. Your thoughts were confirmed when Yerim looked at your way; she looked at you as if you broke the law.

Damn, you can’t even stay in one place because you’re avoiding a lot of people at the same time.

With no choice left behind, you decided to just walk outside of the hotel, since it has a nice view anyway that would keep you from getting bored.

Your thoughts were so scattered from Harin whether she is playing with mind right now, disappointing and leading on Suji, Eun Byol making you an enemy of hers. Ugh, you joined this field trip to have a good time and now you’re on your own!

The sun is setting, it’s getting cold. You’re so dumb for wearing a skirt and a t-shirt that is also very thin. So much for having a good outfit.

You decided to sit near the lake. Sitting on a big rock, you felt as if you were being stalked. Okay, this is either Harin, Suji, or that bitch, Eun Byol, plotting your death.

Testing your luck, you decided to call out the pair of eyes you’re feeling from.

“Okay,” you paused for a second, thinking whose name you’ll call out. “Harin.”

You sighed, “Come out, I know you’re somewhere behind the rocks.” you said trying to sound annoyed.

“How’d you know it’s me?” Harin asked, feeling her presence behind you.

“I know you’re a stalker, duh.” Your sass came out of nowhere.

“Harsh.” Harin said as she sat down besides you. The wind blew past the both of you, inhaling her scent. You felt the butterflies grow wild inside your stomach. You never really moved on from her, huh?

“Penny for your thoughts?” Harin asked you.

“Sure, a thousand won per word.” You tried to joke.

“I’m serious.” Harin deadpanned.

“Okay then, are you serious with me?” You tried to fireback, but when you looked at her, she was staring at you.

“Yes.” She said with that face again that you hated. Her emotionless face, you can’t read whether she's just playing some sick joke again with you.

You sighed loudly enough for her to hear, “I really like you, Harin, and to be honest I like Suji too. I’m scared of picking you and then when you get bored of me, you’ll just leave me as if I’m just an old doll.”

“I, I’m…” You can feel that Harin is getting uncomfortable from her loss of words, “I don’t know, Y/N. I don’t know how to express my feelings.” Harin confessed.

“It’s okay. I really like you, Harin. Even if you treated me like shit before.” You said, staring afar the sea.

There was a long silence, an uncomfortable one. The silence finally cut off when Harin talked, “I’m sorry.”

“Mhm.” You tried to acknowledge her apology.

“Can I make it up to you?” Harin asked. You looked at her eyes. It looks like she is really sincere.

“I only want you to explain to me what you really feel, Harin.” You knew she struggles with showing her feelings so you expected her to walk away after saying those words to her.

“I like you too, Y/N. I swear.” Harin replied. She answered you? That was shocking.

“It was at first that I…” She paused, hesitating again. You figured you let her talk out her feelings and you stayed silent.

“At first, I wanted you to be mine because everyone in the school is fond of you. I know, I treated you like a trophy and when I was satisfied with everyone knowing I have this power even on you, I left you afterwards.” Harin stands up, walking towards the sea and picking up some pebbles to throw on the sea.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. I mean it.”

“How come you like me now?” You asked her.

“Suji.” was the only word she replied to you. You were confused, what’s with Suji?

“I saw Suji and you…” she cleared her throat before continuing, “kissing.”

Oh?

“Was she your first kiss?” Harin asked, getting aggressive on the pebbles she was throwing.

You stayed silent, not knowing what to do. Suji is your first kiss. There’s no denying that.

“Silence means yes?” Harin asked.

Getting uncomfortable in the position you were currently in, you bid goodbye to her.

You thought you finally escaped that awkward situation. Well, it’s a wrong assumption because as you were walking away, Harin yanked your hands and trapped you in between her and the big ass stone behind you.

“H-harin, I need to go.” You said, your face getting flushed from the position you were in.

You struggled as you were trying to break free against her hold. Her restraint against your hand, which was in the same level as your head, is getting tight.

“Tell me, Y/N, did you fuck her?” You can feel Harin’s voice getting ragged as she was whispering those words to your ear.

You were definitely getting horny from this.

Harin is so possessive. You didn’t even know how it ended up like this.

Harin kisses you as if there is no tomorrow. You can feel her one hand snaking underneath your skirt, playing with your panty.

“H-harin!” You accidentally moaned out loud when you felt her fingers play your clit with your panties on.

“Shush, baby, you don't want Suji to see us like this, right?” Harin teases you.

“H-harin,” you said, getting breathless and trying to stop her from fingering you out in public, “I don’t want my first to be like this.”

That sparked something in Harin’s head. You’re a virgin? Harin thought to herself. Oh boy, she definitely is happy learning this new information from you.

With that, Harin pulled you and practically ran towards the hotel room she reserved for the both of you. You forgot that there was some activity your class had to do that night, so everyone saw the both of you running as if someone was chasing behind.

Harin is excited. When you entered the room, she wasted no time and undressed you immediately.

You were left in your panty and bra. Thankfully, you always wear a set of underwear. Well, who cares? Harin is crazy about you, and now that she sees you in your undies, that feels heaven to her.

She basically threw you on the king-sized bed, and she started to remove her top. Leaving her in a bra and still wearing her jeans. God, she looks so good with her toned stomach.

She hovered over you; kissing you, hungrily.

You felt her hand behind your back, and she easily detached your bra. How is she good with this? Was she with someone before? Your thoughts got cut off when Harin started to suck on your left boob.

“A-ah!” You can’t contain your moans anymore because she’s sucking off your tit and massaging your other tit with her soft, delicate hands.

“Be loud for me, baby.” Harin said in a seductive tone. Kissing your body gently while lowering her head towards your heated core.

She slowly and gently removed your panty. You are getting impatient with what she’s doing with you. You never felt this incredibly horny before.

“God! Just do it already!” You said so suddenly that you earned a laugh from Harin.

“You have to earn it, baby.” Harin said as she slapped the side of your thigh.

You know that Harin is such a bitch, but you didn’t know that even in bed she is even more bitcher. You wanted it so bad that you obeyed her and rolled over to your stomach.

“Pick a number, baby.” Harin giggled. She’s enjoying this, such a sadist bitch.

“One.” You answered, trying to get this over with.

“What about five?” Harin said, caressing your tender butt.

“Oh my God! Just do it. Let’s get this over with.” Your patience is very thin, and it doesn’t help that you were so horny that you just wanted to finish this sadist part and get her started to finger you.

“That’s ten, for being a brat.” Harin said.

You were going to say another sly remark, but Harin beat you to it when she smacked the hell out of your butt. Gosh, that hurts, but it somehow felt good?

“Count.” Harin demanded as she slapped again.

“Two!” You squeaked, “Three!” You continued as she continued being reckless to you.

“...ten.” You said in a whispered manner. You were so tired over that, but it also felt good, to be honest.

“Sleepy, baby?” Harin asked you because of your tired expression that is written all over on your face, “We can continue it tomorrow.” Harin teased you as she massages your butt with her handprints all over it.

“No, please finger me, Harin-ah.” You tried to plead.

“Tell me what you want me to do with you.” Harin said, getting in position in between your legs.

“Just do whatever you want with me, Harin.” You said, slowly.

“I want to sleep now. Can we do that?” Harin said," Oh, she thought she was smart with that reply. If you weren’t so worn out from the slaps, you would have taken control over the shit she’s trying to do.

“No, I want you to eat me out, finger me, use me however you want, Harin.” You said in a low voice.

“Use you?” That’s a word she can do every day to you.

“Please.” With that, she dived onto your core right away. She was very aggressive. You tried to help her by guiding her head where you wanted her to eat you out.

You were practically pulling her hair so hard because of the pleasure you were feeling right now. This is definitely better than you masturbating.

“F-fuuuck!” You dragged out your words.

You thought it was getting better and better until she inserted two fingers into your hole. You’ve never inserted your finger before in you and now she’s rushing. Gosh, that hurt so bad.

You were a whimpering mess when she bit your clit too. Why is she so rough with you! You thought to yourself.

As time passes, the pain that you are feeling finally turns into pleasure.

“O-oh! Right there! There!” This is the most pleasurable you ever felt in your life. Where the fuck did she learned this?

“F-feels soo good!”

Harin suddenly stopped licking your clit and went up face to face with you, still fingering you using the same motion that kept hitting your g-spot.

You kept your eyes shut because of the so much pleasure you were feeling, but you can feel Harin’s stare under the moonlight that is the only source of your room’s light.

“Did Suji make you feel this good?” Harin taunted you. She knows the power she holds over you, and she’s not scared to push it.

You didn’t seem to understand her question, too fucked to understand.

You yelped when she removed her moving fingers inside. You opened your eyes, seeing her slurping your wetness that was coated around her fingers. That. Is. So. Hot.

“Please, let me finish.” You squeaked, desperate to have your climax.

“Answer me, did she fuck you like this?” Harin smirked at you.

You were so put up with her bullshit.

You pushed her down to the bed and were now on top of her, “No, I already told you that this is my first time!”

You started to grind on her thighs. You weren’t satisfied, though. Still, it’s better than nothing!

Harin is impressed over you taking control. She’s not the type of person who submits easily, obviously.

Harin knew that you’re getting tired because your movements became slow. She decided to help you out by rubbing your core with her fingers.

“Mhhm! Mm-oore, please!” You embarrassingly moaned right after she started rubbing you.

Harin is satisfied with what had happened tonight, so she didn’t tease you anymore and just let you reach your climax.

“Fu–ck! I’m so close, ooh!” She was hitting that spot again where it makes you want to pee. With a few more pumps of her fingers, you reached your climax.

You were so out of breath and so tired. As the pleasure slowly fades away, you can feel the sleepiness and soreness start to come over you.

You were falling asleep, fast.

Clink

You hear a lighter sound, and then you smell a cigarette smoke. Harin must be smoking again.

“No smoke, please.” You said. You were expecting her to ignore or leave you now that she got what she wanted.

No words were spoken out of her, and instead, you heard the bin open. Harin must have thrown something.

You felt her lay beside you. Removing the hair that was on your face.

“I’m sorry.” was all she said as she was fixing your fucked up hair. You didn’t reply, just enjoying the soft quietness and the fact that she didn’t leave you after getting what she wanted.

“Are you asleep?” Harin asked as she was positioning to cuddle you. You laid in silence, not having the energy to talk anymore.

“The truth is, I was jealous of Suji. That day when I saw her kissed you…” Harin said, hoping that you were awake listening to what she’s saying.

You were awake.

“Right there, and then I realized that I like you. It’s not an infatuation. When I saw how happy you were with her, I just needed to have you right away, but I can’t because I’m not good at showing my affection.” Harin continued.

“I think I love you, Y/N.” Harin felt more comfortable speaking her feelings now that she thought you were asleep.

“Mhm, take me out on a date first.” You replied groggily.

Harin was dumbfounded when she realized that you had heard her whole confession.

Oh, to be loved softly by Harin.

I'm alive!!! Just went through the worst break-up, and that's why it took me so long to update. Sorry for making you wait and enjoy!!!

Requests are open ^^

[graciereadshannigram]

hey fam, welcome to the April 2024 roundup of the best hannigram fics i've read this past month! i read over 100 fics total, and these were the cream of the crop.

as a reminder: the ingredients for a five star rating typically (but not always!!) include some combination of a.) believable characterizations of both Hannibal and Will, b.) compelling plot and/or character arcs, and c.) high quality smut.

that being said, my judgment of the aforementioned ingredients is powered almost exclusively by vibes and as such, is incredibly subjective.

you can find past recs below:

February March

and if you have any recs of your own for me, PLEASE SHARE.

anyway, in no particular order, let's go!

~

A place you can never go by det395

Word Count: 84,596 Summary: When things don’t go according to plan, Hannibal makes a wish. He finds himself a year-and-a-half in the past and seemingly given another chance with Will. His feelings about the situation only get more complicated when he realizes he may not have completely lost access to his old timeline after all. A Digestivo canon divergence.

If you follow me, you probably saw me already raving about this fic. This was so fucking good, holy fucking shit. And also heartbreaking. Made me think a lot about the nature of reality and what does it mean for something to be "real." Plus, I really love fics that explore their shared mind palace because I genuinely think that is one of the more underexplored aspects of their relationship. Definitely heavy on the angst, but there is a happy ending!

even though our love is doomed by bleakmidwinter

Word Count: 82,427 Summary: Hannibal solves the mystery of time travel and he and Will decide to go into the past and take opportunities previously missed along with rewriting the regrets they each hold. Changing the past does not effect the future and they have free reign to play as the please.

GIVE ME MORE THAN FIVE STARS PLEASE. I am obsessed with this fic. I've mostly stayed clear of time travel fics (aside from, you know, the one right above this) because the execution can be hit or miss, but let me fucking tell you. This was a god damn home run. There's a little bit of angst, but then there's also a chapter where Will challenges Hannibal that he wouldn't have been able to seduce him while Will was still working in Louisiana fixing boat motors. And obviously Hannibal decides to take that challenge.

Railroad Romance by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles

Word Count: 12,400 Summary: Hannibal is still Hannibal, and Will is still Will. Except Will is not part of the FBI and they meet on a two day train trip from New Orleans to Baltimore.

Dirty. Talk. In. FRENCH. Holy shit. Okay this was excellent. EXCELLENT. Perfect characterizations, and wonderful dialogue. Wow. Also, I love trains. Who doesn't love trains?

patroclus in furs by bleakmidwinter

Word Count: 130,185 Summary: If Will and Hannibal hadn't gone into their respective careers, they would have become porn stars.

I had my doubts about a pornstar AU, but I've really enjoyed everything else by this author and it was over 100k, so I gave it a shot! And WOW. The characterizations of both Will and Hannibal were spot on and believable. A good mix of fluff and angst, and the author clearly put a lot of thought into the porn scenes. Tbh I'm probably going to reread this shortly.

Pavlova by nbcravenstag

Word Count: 33,369 Summary: It’s not like Hannibal didn’t know that Will was hiding something. It was after the third body drop a week ago that it became clear that Will had a secret that somehow involved the case, one he wasn’t willing to share yet, not even with Hannibal. At 6:43 AM, Will had texted Hannibal that a fourth body had been found and that he was on his way to the scene with Jack. At 8:06 PM, Will had stepped into Hannibal’s office, thirty-six minutes past his appointment time, and practically shouted “I used to be a stripper!” as loudly as his hoarse voice would allow him to. Hannibal Lecter, though not phased by much in life, has never been entirely able to predict Will Graham, but this is just… getting out of control. Alternatively, the FBI is hunting a serial killer targeting male strippers, and Will decides to throw himself into the fray. Hannibal is beyond pleased.

An AU where Will was a stripper in college and now he's working a case where he can be live bait as a stripper? Shut the fuck up. Mostly told from Hannibal's perspective, and it's just *chefs kiss*. Who knew Will giving Hannibal a lap dance would be so HOT. (I could have guessed.)

Lessons In Submission by wyldefire

Word Count: 5,173 Summary: Hannibal was stubborn, independent, and Will had always loved that about him, but there were times, times like these, in the midst of heat, in the midst of such a thorough breeding, when lessons in submission were necessary.

My only thought at the end of this was, "Shut the whole fuck up" in the best way possible. Smut. Just all smut.

A Very Special Guest by LesBeanBurrito

Word Count: 56,660 Summary: Season 1 AU in which Will stays for Hannibal’s dinner party after bringing the bottle of wine at the end of 1X07 Sorbet. Embarrassed and Sassy Will Graham meets Smitten Hannibal Lecter.

I LOVE a good season 1 AU and this was checking all of the boxes for me! There's a secret relationship, Hannibal actually gets Will treated for his encephalitis, Will finds out about Hannibal, etc. Very much loved the plot, and the characterizations were spot on.

lover to your nightmare (look what you made of me) by merrythoughts and ReallyMissCoffee

Word Count: 123,367 Summary: Driving back home, it’s then he reflects on Hannibal asking him to run away that night. To forgo their plans altogether, to slip away. [Canon divergent. Will confesses his betrayal and asks Hannibal to run away with him, but Will has a plan of his own...]

You want dark!Will mixed in with some incredibly jealous and possessive Hannigram? Hooo boy do I have a fic for you! The ending was a little abrupt, but it was the perfect mix of gut-wrenching angst and toxicity + smoking hot smut. I genuinely had to stop and focus on my breathing more than once.

On the Lam by shotgun_sinner

Word Count: 63,992 Summary: Post-Fall (Hannibal)season 4Crack Treated SeriouslyOn the RunWill Graham Discovers FanfictionExplicit Sexual Contentsexual identity crisisThat's Not Really A CrisisWill Graham is HannisexualMurder HusbandsHomophobiaMurder of a HomophobeHannibal Lecter Loves Will GrahamWill Graham Loves Hannibal LecterPower Bottom Will Grahamthey love each other your honorvery meta

This was such a fun read – I love the implication that hannigram fanfiction exists and it's all there for Will to accidentally discover. I adore this author and just thoroughly enjoyed how Will learned a thing or two about himself by reading smutty fics (same dude).

Golden Promises by shotgun_sinner

Word Count: 68,488 Summary: Hannibal (TV) Season/Series 01Alternate Universe - Canon DivergenceEpisode: s01e07 SorbetHallucinations?Will Hopes SoLELOplugSexuality CrisisThat Ends Up Not Being A CrisisWill Graham Has EncephalitisHannibal Gets Will TreatmentDeveloping RelationshipWill Graham's Dogs - FreeformBonding over fooddoting hannibalEventual SmutHannibal Lecter Loves Will GrahamWill Graham Loves Hannibal LecterAlana DisapprovesRimmingOral SexBottom Hannibal LecterTop Will GrahamBottom Will GrahamTop Hannibal LecterWill Graham KnowsNon-Consensual Drug UseWill Gives Him Shit For ItMurder HusbandsCannibalismis that tag even necessary?Hannibal Lecter Loves Max

This was fluffier than I typically read, but I told y'all I love this author. Pretty much no angst, and the smut, as always, was next level. Also, the idea that Hannibal would wear a solid gold butt plug to his dinner parties had me laughing before I even started reading.

What Hatches by HotMolasses (@snazzymolasses here on tumblr)

Word Count: 107,847 Summary: There is a village, nestled on the edge of an ancient forest where it is always winter. Few of the townsfolk ever venture into it, except for one lonely hunter named Will Graham. A loner who makes his living selling stag meat and spends more time with dogs than people, he finds his life changing when he comes face-to-face with a magical beast, one that he cannot get away from, and isn’t even sure he really wants to.

What started out as a curiosity about the monsterfucking tag on AO3 brought me to one of the most unique and interesting hannigram AUs I've read??? I'm as surprised as you are, if not more. I adored this fic and I loved how both Will and Hannibal were characterized and the plot and the smut (oh my god, the smut) and the ending? Phew. Go read this.

lay like a flood spills away by bleakmidwinter

Word Count: 35,733 Summary: Will starts going to a nude beach that happens to be for gay men, even though he considers himself straight.

This was highly enjoyable. I LOVE AUs that manage to keep the characters true to canon. Also nude beaches. Hannigram and nude beaches. Eating ass and public sex with some actual plot sprinkled in. Say LESS.

Now, What Should We Do Next? by HigherMagic

Word Count: 51,116 Summary: Kinktober 2018

Smut. All smut. I showed this fic to a friend who has literally never read fanfiction, let alone Hannigram, before and she is now hooked. So. Do with that what you will. And it's so clear that this author has actual, real-life experience with kink and it comes across so well! Bonus point: there is also an equally good sequel.

To Mend With Gold by beforethedawn, ConstructFairytales, Destinyawakened

Word Count: 98,863 Summary: Will and Hannibal have been living as a gay married couple for three years, but they haven't slept in the same room let alone the same bed. Will Graham has a reckoning, one way or another.

THIS WAS TENDER. Fluffy, angsty, smutty, I loved it. Molly showed up with Will's dogs and decided she wasn't going to turn them in, which was a little weird, but I really loved this fic. Just them learning how to be with each other. Also EXCELLENT marathon smut scenes. Like yesssss, of course they can each cum like three times in a row.

A Clutch at Balance by Deverauxs_Disease

Word Count: 25,466 Summary: When Will Graham storms into Hannibal's house muttering about kissing Alana Bloom, the good doctor makes Will an offer: Pretend to date Hannibal in order to prove to Alana that Will is not only stable but capable of being in a relationship. When Alana is convinced Will is the man of her dreams, Hannibal will step aside and Will can get his girl.

Y'all know I love fake dating that all of a sudden, whoops! Isn't so fake anymore! Sprinkle in some jealous and possessive Hanni and Will? I'm sold. Say less.

~

And that's a wrap on this month! See ya next time!!!

[theroundbartable]

(sending hugs)

what are your thoughts about aithusa? personally i love her way to much, but she rarely comes up in fandom discourse

HEY :D Thoughts about AIthusa, huh? I have many of those. Thoughts, I mean. In my brain. They like to swim around and create a whole mess of things sometimes.

I think the reason why Aithusa doesn't come up in fandom discourse often is because there isn't very much to say. Aithusa was born, then color coded as a sign for the golden future of Camelot and was then abandoned by Merlin. Tortured by a crazy guy. Then raised by Morgana and used to create the sword that later killed Arthur. Whenever they come up in fandom discouse, it's mostly about Merlin doing his job as Dragon Lord right or wrong. But you wanted my thoughts, so I'm gonna allow my head to spin weird shit around the ungendered Dragon. (That is why I will use they/them pronouns for Aithusa.) When it comes to Aithusa's name, not the canon translation, I mean what it literally means, it's hard to find, since they used old English for the language of magic, and I think Greek for the language of the Dragon Lords (which doesn't necessarily have to apply to the Dragon names) and I haven't seen anyone make a post about it. All I get from Google translate is "Hey you" in Gaelic and that's a bit useless. Or well, this:

The automatic language recognition in Google would let me interpret Aithusa as a gift to the world. Or Arthur, depending on your shipping interests. Or, you know, if I could make up the Old English maybe pseudo-parts of the word (the writers were very lazy in BBC Merlin, they are literally quoting Beowulf when Merlin magics the blue ball in the poisoned chalice.). Something fitting I found in my old English dictionary is agan, meaning to possess, and to own, and thus (spelled with a thorn which my keyboard doesn't have) meaning as follows. So, in my absolutely amateurish and interpretational, and way too far reaching ways, I would say Aithusa could mean: A(gan) thus (a): To own the future.

(Again, you asked for my thoughts, this is not canon and probably pointless, I just needed to go down this route first.)

In the fandom wiki, we find THESE informations on Aithusa.

So, things we do know are very few

Aithusa is a baby

Aithusa was tortured and is therefore crippled

Aithusa cannot talk

Aithusa probably has Stockholm Syndrom because of Morgana

But you know, I think it's very interesting to know that Aithusa is the Light of the Sun, the literal sign for a Golden Future and that very sign can be hurt by a mere human. Not only does this mean that humans can kill Dragons (the Dragon lore doesn't make any sense, I swear to god) but it's also meant to be symbolism. Merlin, just like Arthur, is shown to be his own doom through Aithusa. They are hidden, tortured, kept from living their truth, abandoned by everyone who should be leading and protecting them.

With Aithusa being born it means that at that point, Merlin had already fulfilled his destiny. At this point in time, the golden age is already there and it should have been a sign for Merlin to speak up about his magic. He never did, that's why Aithusa remains mute. And just like magic itself, when harmed or in danger, Aithusa can easily be used for evil.

Apart from the symbolism and their part in Arthur's death, Aithusa doesn't contribute much to the story, I think. Yes, they console Morgana and they are like the continuation of the Dragon lineage, but that's ultimately pointless. Aithusa will be, inevitably, be the last Dragon. Which is honestly really cruel, but again, parallel to Merlin himself. That's where Aithusa's arc ends, unfortuntaley. Personally, knowing all that, I find Aithusa hard to use as the character they are in canon. With what little defines their character, you have to ultimately change everything about them to use them in fun fics and comics and stuff. That's why they end up as a little dog creature so often.

Don't get me wrong, I love Aithusa. But I love FANON Aithusa, just like I prefer fanon Sir Leon over canon Sir Leon. Because fanon Aithusa is like a domesticated chicken that Merlin keeps in his rooms or fights custody over with Morgana while Arthur is either oblivious, supportive, or being gaslit. But maybe I am overlooking a lot of things. So, if any of you like to disagree or add anything to my points, feel free to engage ^^

[laylajeffany]

Crying at the Texas Roadhouse | Wenclair One-Shot for @cruciokilljoy

Rating: G WC: 4,500 Summary: Enid’s feelings are hurt and Wednesday tries to resolve them, requiring her to find her soft spot (in public) when Enid starts sobbing in the middle of a chain restaurant in Jericho. Enid's POV, established relationship, unrelated to any of my multi-chapter work TW: Esther Sinclair being herself

@cruciokilljoy You were probably looking for more physical hurt/comfort but both my multi-chap fics have explored that pretty throughly and I am tired of writing the girls in physical pain so I put them through emotional pain instead. Certainly not based on actual, recent conversations with my own hateful mother not at all ☠️

“You were crying.”

Duh.

“Like, an hour ago,” Enid clarified, looking at Wednesday as she stepped into their room with her jacket draped over her arm, sleeves rolled up, hands filthy. She could only imagine what her girlfriend had gotten into (literally, looking at the caked-on mud on her Oxfords that ran up to her stocking-covered knees). “I hardly think that’s the most pressing thing we need to talk about. Why are you covered in dirt?”

“Mud wrestling,” Wednesday replied dryly.

“Not enough on you for that.” Enid rolled her eyes and crossed her sweater-covered arms. She almost didn’t want to know but would certainly rather discuss Wednesday's potentially illegal antics than herself after the challenging evening that she’d already had.

She wasn’t in the mood for bickering, either way - so maybe quiet time would be best.

“Why were you upset?” Clearly, she wasn't going to drop it with her own deflection. Wednesday draped her jacket over the side of her desk chair and toed off her muddy shoes, forcing her to lose the small boost of lift they gave her, putting her squarely two inches beneath Enid. She stood directly in front of her, a kiss away – bearing into Enid with her eyes and forcing truth out of her.

Knowing her lower lip trembled a little, hating her tells and trying to frown the feelings away, Enid looked at her own feet. There was no use lying to Wednesday about an actually serious subject when the evidence was still in the bloodshot veins of her eyes. “My mother called. It was…it’s just always upsetting,” She glanced back up with a forced, sad smile. Wednesday’s eyes lost their intensity from curiosity, but gained something that was largely new for her – sympathy.

How Enid hated it. Deciding to dangle a tantalizing offer in front of her, she forced her pitch to remain neutral as she stated, “I don’t want to dwell on it. Can we skip the part where I rehash how my mom is a miserable person and…just go to dinner? You could edit my lycan paper after, I could use the help…”

Wednesday’s stare continued to be gentle and Enid was about ready to march out of the room if she didn’t quit. She couldn’t stand that. “Stop, please? Wednesday, honestly. I don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t want you to pacify me this evening. My mother always manages to upset me. And even if I stand up to her on the phone, I sometimes need to cry it out after. It’s like…” Deciding to use a weapon analogy, Enid expressed, “Like a fuse. She lit it, I detonated on her, and now there’s some debris to clean up, but I’m actually fine. I want to move on.”

Obviously a little put out by the way her jaw shifted just slightly, Wednesday disappeared wordlessly, returning from the community washroom down the hall with clean hands and sans her stockings, which Enid assumed she’d tossed rather than get any more flak from the on-site laundry service about soiling other people’s clothing.

She disappeared into her closet, coming out in a pair of wide-legged pants and an oversized black sweatshirt that fell nearly to her knees. If Enid could hide her emotions, she supposed she couldn’t comment on Wednesday hiding her body.

To her surprise, Wednesday actually let her not speak about her feelings and folded a hand into hers as she waved to Thing, nonverbally communicating that she wanted to be alone with Enid. Thing had been quite helpful to the whole affair – had heard her mother’s hurtful words, passed her tissues after she finished crying into her pillow, patted her back sweetly…

Wednesday led her to the foyer but didn’t turn to the right to take them to the cafeteria. Enid blinked a few times when Wednesday tugged her right out the front door and down the front steps. Confused, and really not in the mood to go investigating anything, particularly to discover whatever had Wednesday so dirty, Enid whined a little, “Can’t we just eat?”

“It’s Monday,” Her voice was just a touch darker than it had been in their room. “Nevermore’s infamous attempt at cowering to the vegetarians is tonight, and I don’t think their imitation beef is going to help you feel any better. We’re heading into town – I’m getting you a steak.” Well, that certainly perked her up just a little bit. “Withdrawing red meat once a week in an effort to be more environmentally friendly when ten percent of the student campus requires it as part of their metabolic diet is cruel, performative activism and we don’t need to be part of it. It makes as much sense as banning plastic straws. You don’t create systems change by following trends. Meatless Monday is going to meet my full-meat fist one of these days. But tonight, we’re going to crush peanut shells underfoot at a chain restaurant instead.”

More than okay with getting that salty coating in between the grooves of her furry, pink boots, Enid pulled Wednesday to her in a hug when they arrived to the edge of the forest trail that would take them into Jericho. Wednesday sucked in a breath of surprise at being forced into her hold but returned it after just a second of processing what was happening to her. “I don’t mean to take my bad mood out on you,” Enid apologized.

“I do it to you all the time,” Wednesday mumbled into her shoulder, sighing as she hooked her arms around her middle, hanging on just as tightly. “Usually for far-less valid reasons.” She pulled away to put her palms on Enid’s shoulders and met her eyes without that sympathy…instead…

Wednesday’s brown gaze in the setting sun was highly empathetic and made Enid drop half the tension in her shoulders. “I might also be a little hangry,” She confessed as her stomach roared suddenly between them.

There was a flirtation of a smirk on Wednesday’s lips at the noise and she said nothing, merely took her hand again, leading them boldly through the woods for a twenty-minute walk into town.

Enid swore she felt better just at the sight of the neon lights outlining the state of Texas with a cowboy hat perched on top of it when the restaurant was in view. Inside promised at least a feeling of satisfaction for the wolf within her, and that could often soften the meltdown of her personhood, too.

“Two, please,” Wednesday politely replied when the hostess, a too-cool Jericho High student with rapidly growing roots sticking out of her bleach blonde hair snapped her gum and looked irritated to have to ask how many were in their party.

Holding back her own growl of irritation, Enid would admit, she was relatively surprised by how well-behaved Wednesday could be in spaces like public restaurants. She often claimed that staff were simply victims of the State or something about labor rights, and generally tipped far more than Enid would’ve thought that they had earned.

Enid watched a basket of rolls be taken into a waitress’ hands and swallowed the saliva that threatened to slip out of her lips, thinking Wednesday was about to drop her hand as she often did in public – but not that day. She must’ve sensed some of her mother’s conversation had been about, willing to take on any bigot that might’ve had something to say about the two of them in a relationship. Vermont might’ve been one of the more progressive states in the country, but – certainly, so was California, and her mother had a whole lot to say from there that evening…

Once they were seated, Enid took a roll without waiting even a beat for the young woman who would be taking care of them to go through her required spiel, while Wednesday simply gave a curt nod at her before giving all of her attention to Enid as she went to return with water. (Enid could hardly wait for the day she could down one of those massive margaritas in the advertisements all over the establishment.)

She was halfway through with her first roll when Wednesday’s harsh stare asked the question before she needed to confirm, “You missed lunch with that extra dance practice today.”

“I’m sorry,” Enid said, just about ready to own up to anything – even things she hadn’t done, in an effort to just keep everyone from blowing up at her anymore that day. She really couldn’t handle Wednesday being frustrated with her, too -  

“Next time, tell me,” Wednesday ordered, her voice clipped; Enid stared hard at the rings on the wooden, lacquered tabletop, willing her next round of sadness to stay internal. “I’ll bring you something to class. Don’t apologize to me.”

About to say ‘sorry’ again, Enid just bit her lip, seeing the tears that were threatening to well up in her gaze. She tried to blink them away, and was grateful when the waitress asked if they needed more time with the menu when she brought their water over. Enid just shook her head, while Wednesday started, then said her name in a very gentle tone – and all the up and down of soft and hard was really –

“Um, the twelve-ounce New York strip, please – rare.”

“You know that means pink, possibly bloo-”

Wednesday was quick to defend her. “She knows what her body requires.”

Enid let out a shuddered breath, quietly asking for her sides before the waitress left. Wednesday reached across the table and took both of Enid’s hands, clearly needing to understand more about what was making her act so small and miserable. “Tell me what your mother said.”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Enid argued, feeling her tone rising as hysteria was pouring out of each vein, flooding her body.

“You obviously already are. It’s weighing on you. Release the burden, and you’ll feel relief.”

As the first tear fell, Wednesday’s face contorted from intensity and certainty to overwhelmed and near helplessness as she obviously hadn't thought through the fact that Enid was going to cry in public. She squeezed Enid’s hands, but the gesture only caused the second one to dribble, then the third, and the fourth, and Enid brought her sweater up over her face to keep from letting out an audible sob in the restaurant.

Thankfully, Wednesday had some sort of awareness about what to do – they’d been dating for months and friends for so long, she’d seen her fair share of Enid’s breakdowns and generally knew what did and didn’t help. When the preventative measures clearly weren’t working that Monday, she stood up and rounded to the space beside her, putting an arm around her and letting Enid fold herself into her chest. The unexpected display of affection was actually bringing out even more of her release. God – that hug to soothe her emotions into was exactly what Enid needed, and the fact that Wednesday had it in her to be soft enough around her to let her break down, in a half-full restaurant, into her arms? She loved her more than anything, and Enid knew that, she just wished, maybe – well, Wednesday was probably right. She did just need to talk about it to work through it.

When she met the black strings of her hoodie, Enid knew she let out a cry of a sniffly sound. It was embarrassing, devastating, really, to be having a full breakdown at the Texas Roadhouse. But Wednesday had been determined to try and make her feel better that evening and was going to have to finish what she started, even if that meant snuggling her in a vinyl-covered booth while the waitress awkwardly put their salads down on the same side of the table a few minutes after the crying began.

Wednesday unrolled one of the fabric napkins, shaking out a knife and the forks. For a brief, split-second, Enid thought she really might eat one-handed while she continued to snivel all over her chest, but Wednesday instead used the square to dab Enid’s cheeks, soaking up the tears that hadn’t been absorbed into her sweatshirt. She adjusted her hold on her girlfriend and looked at her with something new –

Sincerity.

Almost blubbering again, Enid just nodded, knowing it would do well to admit what Esther had said to her on the phone. “My…mother – she was …on her weekly rampage, about…everything. Nevermore, administration refusing to split us up – you not receiving any consequences from last semester…the usual. Then…it shifted,” She sniffed. “She brought up my late blooming, how I’d been so privileged to have been even have parents who cared enough to offer to send me to lycanthropy conversion camp…”

Wednesday’s hand curled on her upper thigh at that.

“And when she wasn’t getting a rise out of me for that, she dug deeper – the normal line of inane ramblings of how she couldn’t believe after all that time, ‘that Addams girl’ was what got me to shift for the first time…and, when I reminded her, ‘that Addams girl’ is Wednesday, my girlfriend, she…she…just said, ‘we don’t talk about that,’ and started bitching about the value of a Nevermore education not matching up to the price tag, not that it mattered – since none of her pack were scoring above a 3.5 on the ‘mediocre’ grading system, moved on to my scar tissue and wanting me to come home to have a consultation with a plastic surgeon for a revision procedure, and I said that wasn’t going to happen and hung up on her. Then I cried.”

Watching Wednesday respond to the entirety of the call was like discovering something new hidden in a sensory tube every other second. While she was short for words, Wednesday’s eyes always spoke volumes about what she would say if she dared to put her thoughts out verbally. Mr. Addams had described her tongue as that of a viper to Enid more than once when telling stories about her, so she was pretty sure it was often for the best that Wednesday focused on taking in all the information before reacting. She knew that Wednesday tended to get into it with administrators and authority, but at least with Enid – she was far more even-tempered in how she responded to hearing words she didn’t like.

Enid let out a long breath and picked up one of the forks that Wednesday had shaken out of the napkin, needing to channel her energy into anything but crying again. She speared leafy greens onto the tines, trying not to visualize doing the same to any of her mother’s more vulnerable body parts, for that matter – wondering which Wednesday would fantasize about ripping out first in her defense.

“I’m sorry, Enid,” Wednesday spoke through a near whisper of a tone.

Hearing those words come out of Wednesday was like hearing foreign language that she needed to interpret. Her fork fell out of her hand. Not wanting to startle her anymore, Enid brought her longing, hopeful sort of gaze to Wednesday’s. “Why are you apologizing now?”

Wednesday drew her hands into her lap, staring straight ahead. It took her some time to form her response, likely, if Enid had to guess, because of the emotion that was pooling in her own eyes. She knew her damn well enough that she wouldn’t shed anything close to a tear in public, but Wednesday was very much on the edge. It didn’t make sense – she’d done nothing wrong, aside from maybe push her into talking about it when Enid knew what that would unleash, but even then – it’s not like she had been the one to say all those hurtful things…

“I suppose I am not apologizing with my sorry. But I am sorry that I contributed to enough of your mother’s ire that she took it out on you. I’m sorry that she continues to refuse to acknowledge that you are in a non-traditional relationship, let alone demonstrate any sort of positive feeling about it. I’m sorry that she continues to bring up painful events of the past, and attempt to shame you for them, or think you should have been grateful for her wanting to send you to an abusive situation. I’m sorry that she thinks your grades aren’t good enough – you’ve got a 3.87 right now, which is Magna cum laude and I’m really proud of you for working diligently at increasing your grade point average. I’m sorry that she thinks you need plastic surgery. If you wanted to, that would be your choice. But I love your scars, and I think they’re beautiful.”

Enid could barely breathe. She wasn’t sure if Wednesday had ever said so many words consecutively, let alone that indicated her true feelings on any subject matter…that she was harboring so many about her, in particular. Trying not to let herself curl up into the faux-wooden logs that made up the side wall of their booth, Enid finally found the ability to expand her lungs and release the last of the tension she’d been harboring. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”

“It’s not in pity,” Wednesday clarified. “It’s not. It’s…perhaps a feeling that I don’t have a schema for.” She gave a rare blink as she seemed to be trying to find the emotional vocabulary within her to better explain herself, staring at Enid, who was pretty sure she was going to need an inhaler by the end of dinner at the rate Wednesday was taking her breath away. Finally, she gave a nearly-invisible shrug as she further clarified, “I just know, that I love you. And I despise that anyone would attempt to make you feel small, or anything else negative, especially someone who is also supposed to love you unconditionally. And I am sorry, that you were forced to endure that. All your life. So…I’m sorry, and I hope to make it up to you.”

Tilting her head, sniffing just a little, finding the shiest hint of a smile, Enid promised in a watery whisper, “You are. Right now. You…knew that I needed to take care of myself, and that school wasn’t going to cut it, and you brought me to the Texas Roadhouse,” She let out a small bubble of a laugh. “Here, I’ll get what I need to sustain me, but while we’re waiting,” She paused, reaching over for one of Wednesday’s clasped hands, forcing them apart so they could squeeze one another’s. “You’re giving me the opportunity to release what doesn’t. Thank you, Wednesday.”

There was a new wave on Wednesday’s features – a distinct mark of relief in her gaze as she swept it, unblinking onto Enid again. “It is hardly my forte to make someone who was sad return to baseline, let alone anything akin to happiness…”

“You’ve done a pretty remarkable job for me,” Enid assured her when the waitress brought out their main courses, looking a little awkward as she put them near their still-full salad plates.

“Uh…anything else I can bring you girls?”

“A total end to the heteronormative, compulsory, traditional society we continue to find ourselves existing in,” Wednesday said without hesitating.

The waitress blinked.

Enid shook her head. “I think we’ve got anything we need, right here.”

The woman left with wide, confused eyes and Enid sighed, cutting into her steak without thinking twice, watching the red ooze out onto her plate. The sight grossed her out, but she knew it would do her body good.

Sure enough – halfway into the steak, she was feeling remarkably better already. “Try to finish it,” Wednesday prompted her. “The full moon is on Thursday, you should be nearly doubling your caloric intake.”

Kissing her cheek, earning the slightest twinge of red to her cheeks, Enid thanked her and followed through, polishing off the meat, picking at her vegetables while Wednesday ate with a distinct sort of raised-higher-class slowness that she usually did.

After finishing and watching Wednesday tip the waitress almost double what the bill had been, Enid took her hand and made it her turn to lead them – the yellow glow of a Dollar General sign across the street tempting her. “I feel like properly finishing up my breakdown by making a frivolous, five-dollar purchase.”

Wednesday’s eyes rolled but she didn’t fight her. Mid 2000s soft-pop radio was playing as they stepped into the nearly desolate discount store, one that Enid liked because of the deadstock that featured some of her favorite comfort characters from her childhood. Knowing exactly what she wanted, she led Wednesday through precariously stacked makeshift aisles of cardboard boxes filled with inventory that would be put out by the one employee working there over the course of several weeks. She hummed along to the music, singing along softly with Colbie Caillat, feeling a little bubbly herself as Wednesday refrained from spewing out comments on late-stage capitalism or some such true, but nonsensical arguing that would accomplish nothing between them. “Here they are,” She said, gesturing to a host of children’s coloring books. Wondering if Wednesday's limited access to traditional children's media would kick in, Enid playfully wondered, “Anybody look familiar to you?”

“Even someone who spent a significant portion of her childhood exploring the caves below the house like myself can recognize the ultimate example of corporate greed, the mouse that is Mickey.”

“Yikes,” Enid commented, “I’ll steer clear of the Disney characters.” Mentally retracting her statement to herself about Wednesday being able to hold back full-punch societal comments, she smirked, spotting what she wanted pretty much right away, taking a pink, Strawberry Shortcake book into her hold. “Will you color with me?”

“I cannot promise that I won’t be giving the fruitcake a makeover. And a knife.”

Giggling, then singing along a little more as she took Wednesday’s hand and wove her through the maze of mess before checking out – spending a whopping two dollars and twelve cents to achieve the final release in neurotransmitters that would complete her night.

After a walk back to Ophelia Hall that included a great production of sneaking back into the campus as they’d left without permission, Enid and Wednesday both found themselves in their pajamas and ready for bed before Enid took her art supplies out from a basket, revealing about three hundred colored pencils in different shades.

Wednesday flipped through the coloring book with a touch of a nose wrinkle, staring at the smiley, fruit-themed girls. She was going out of her way, clearly setting every intention of getting through the moment to make her girlfriend happy as she'd claimed. Finally letting out a real, whole laugh, Enid earned her perplexed stare. “You did it,” She promised. Wednesday waited and Enid winked. “You didn’t just reset me to factory settings, but you made me happy. I promise. You totally do not have to color with me. You can read or edit papers or whatever else is going to make you happy, too. So long as you’re not out solving mysteries, but here with me.”

There was a beat of relief as Wednesday took out a book she’d been reading through, curling up beside Enid, who took some creative liberties as Wednesday would have, forcing a picture of Lemon Meringue, the pigtailed character, and Strawberry Shortcake to look as close to herself and Wednesday as possible, even adding a little knife into Lemon’s hand. Wednesday let Enid pick the music, but she went with one of her playlists of cello covers as a compromise for both of them.

When she finished and flashed the coloring sheet to her girlfriend, Wednesday almost smiled, amusement evident in her eyes as she took a knife out of her pajama pocket (naturally – everyone needed a bedtime knife), evenly slicing it out of the book. She tacked it up on Enid’s bulletin board before putting all the coloring supplies away while Enid watched. Finally, she turned off all the lights except the strand of twinkling ones she’d magically learned to tolerate once they started dating.

She brought Enid to the floor-bed they’d made with a roll-away mattress that was more comfortable than cramming into either of their twin beds, lying on her back as usual, and inviting Enid to curl up with her with silence, just vague gestures – a pat of her own chest, a small nod…

“Wednesday, I love you. Thank you, for making me feel one hundred percent better. I feel even better than before my mom called,” Enid said softly, nuzzling into her.

Wednesday’s fingers instinctively wove into her hair. “I’m tempted to block her number on your phone so she can’t get a hold of you. I can’t promise that if I’m in the room the next time she calls, I won’t make her feel something about herself that is more than true.”

“Good,” Enid encouraged with a contented huff. “She deserves that.”

“You didn’t deserve what she said or attempted to do to you in the past. And I hope that…her comments about…us, don’t make you second guess things. I am always here – to repair and comfort what she has hurt or damaged, as long as you want me to.”

Enid squeezed her affectionately. “You are excellent at comforting my hurts.”

There was a small breath of alleviation she felt from Wednesday. Wanting her to really understand that, she added, “You went out of your way for me tonight. You could’ve just given me a hug, taken me down to the dining hall, and come up to edit my paper. But you didn’t. You knew what very specific things would make me physically feel better, then opened yourself up emotionally for me, too. You’re the best. I love you.”

Wednesday clutched her tightly with one palm wrapped around her back, the other gently tracing the skin near Enid’s scars. Her words felt a little surprising when she added, “I would like to apologize for forcing you to talk about what happened before you were ready. I’m sure you would have liked to not cry in public at the Texas Roadhouse.”

“I think it’s a perfectly lovely public place to have a breakdown,” Enid said with a giggle at her own expense.

Wednesday said nothing other than a quiet, “I love you. Go to sleep.”

Closing her eyes so she could follow the direction, Enid sighed very contently, reflecting on the evening as she drifted off to have the chance to start over in a new day.

Layla is working through prompts and determined to write the Black Menagerie epilogue for the weekend - stay tuned for more ✌🏼

[excalibur-gone-missing]

Paring: Tsukishima x fem reader

Requested: no

Genre: smut

Warning(s): cheating, unprotected sex, degradation

Summary: just smut

Word count: 837

Other works

Beta reader: none

a/n: I would greatly appreciate it if all of you could take a moment to comment on this fic. As an author, I find great value in your feedback, as it allows me to better comprehend my readers, and I thoroughly enjoy interacting with all of you. Constructive criticism is always welcome, so don't hesitate to talk about this fic or send me an ask. Moreover, if you loved it, don't forget to reblog and help me reach a wider audience.

[permanent taglist] [only for those interested, don’t fill the form otherwise]

Tsukishima knows you like him. He’s aware that given the chance, you’d let him take you to new heights, letting him make you see stars. I mean, he’s already experienced your passion firsthand, so there’s little to no one to stop him from seeking it again, except perhaps your boyfriend.

Now, don’t get him wrong. Tsukishima isn’t one to tolerate adultery, especially when one of his friends does it. But for you, he sure can bend some rules. It’s not as if he’s in love with you; no, you’re not the type of woman he could fall for. But that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the intense pleasure he feels when buried deep inside you, releasing all his pent-up frustrations.

He’s aware of the fact that you love your boyfriend to death, despite all his flaws. As a matter of fact, he also knows that your boyfriend loves you just as much. Who else would forgive a cheating bitch like you over and over, even after she says she would change? Could never be him, but it doesn’t matter to him at all. All he cares about is getting his dick wet, and as it seems, you are one of the best pussies in the city, so why should he not use you to your full potential?

“Does your simp of a boyfriend have any idea that you are getting your insides rearranged by me right now?” Tsukishima taunts, thrusting into you with such force that it leaves your mind reeling.

“N-no,” you stutter, your grip on his shoulders weakening under the intensity of his movements. With a swift motion, he flips you over on the bed, positioning you to his liking, and plunges back into your slick, eager flesh, continuing his relentless assault.

“Can’t fuck you like I can, now can he?” he mocks, feeling your pussy clenching his cock like never before.

“N-no,” you barely manage to answer, your mind going hazy with pleasure.

“Tell me, who fucks you this good, huh? Who fucks you so good that you are fine with cheating on your bitch of a boyfriend, you whore?”

“You, Tsuki- ah-,” you manage to utter, your words barely coherent as he hits spots inside you with a precision no other man has ever achieved.

“Yes, you cheating whore, scream my name. Let everyone know who fucks you better than your boyfriend,” he groans as he slaps you hard on your ass, making you scream even more.

“God, you’re squeezing me so tightly,” he groans, his member throbbing inside you as your walls tighten around him, creating a velvety ring at the base of his shaft.

The sound of intense skin slapping fills the room, mingling with your wild cries of pleasure, making him almost come to the edge.

“Creaming my cock so well like the slut you are, gosh you are one of the best pussies I have had,” he says gripping onto your neck to cut off your air supply, as your insides start spasming.

Sensing that you were about to come, the man immediately went to rub your clit, making your body tense up even more. Without warning, you spill out on his cock, milking both of your juices.

It doesn’t take Tsukishima much longer to spurt his load inside you. With some more thrusts, he empties himself fully inside you. Plopping beside you, he slips his soft dick out of you and scoops the mixture of both your cums leaking from your pussy and makes you lick it off his fingers, as you whine because of overstimulation.

After some time, he chirps up. “This will probably be the last time we fuck. Yamaguchi wanted to set me up with this girl, and I don’t want to do this while going out on dates with her.”

You look at him bewildered, “but what about us?”

“Huh?” he asks, clearly confused.

“About us, Tsuki, what will you do about the fact that I’m not with my boyfriend but you?” you ask.

“Maybe teach him how to fuck you for real. Also, if you think I would be in a relationship with you, you are wrong. You cheated on your boyfriend! I don’t want that shit in my life; I would very much like my partner to be loyal, unlike you,” giving you a look of disgust he continues.

“I fucked you because you are a good booty call, and are always available, but it’s time you get your shit together and stop involving me in your problems, plus it’s better if we don’t talk anymore. I don’t want my potential girlfriend to get insecure because of our past.”

With that, he collects his clothes and is out of the apartment in seconds, leaving you rethinking the decisions you had made and what exactly brought you to this place you are. What turned you into this cheating, lying woman, so much so that the boy you had called your best friend for the longest time ever, now looks at you with disgust.

The end