#so i should probably work on at least giving my brain distractions

[mossyivy]

Ballet Shoes and Bulletproof Vests

CW: Recovering from alcoholism (Leons just trying to better himself man

Words: 1k

A/N: 👛anon I've had brain rot because of you. But I still love you pookie.

Blue leotard... Gunmetal blue, his favorite shade. It was almost like you were trying to send a signal through the glass windows of the studio attached to the apartment building gym.

Every weekend for the past few months he'd come down and workout for a two hours without issue. Until you moved into the building a month ago. Walking through the gym in leotards and the same skin tone tights straight into the small studio space.

Leon picked up quickly that you don't seem to be doing mindless pirouettes, pliés or chassé. You practiced the same routine, which means you probably do this for a living. Or at the very least a hobby.

He tried his best to not come off creepy but sometimes he couldn't stop from staring. Leon rarely found beauty in life anymore, something he was trying to fix. His sponsor suggested that life could be worth living if you find something meaningful to live for.

Besides surviving or being a living breathing weapon.

At first, the staring was for more "primal" reasons, but it soon turned to him admiring how gracefully you could move. How sharp your movements were. The clean movements were mesmerizing and very distracting. It certainly didn't help that you were pretty either. But every time you stopped and turned back towards the windows, Leon would turn away immediately. Scared you'd think he was some kind of weirdo or worse...

A pervert.

You were probably way too prissy for him anyway. Why bother window shopping?

You're too pure, jumping around in white satin ballet slippers and him in bulletproof vests with tactical gear. Your worlds can never mix, you're too different. Far too different.

So, with his better judgment, Leon got into the habit of changing his routine and getting up at the crack of dawn like in his army days. Just to go workout first thing in the morning. Leaving the gym as you were coming in.

But one morning you didn't come in as he was leaving. And as usual, he stops at his mailbox, fishing in his jacket pocket as he walks into the main lobby.

And there you were. Stood in front of the mailboxes, sorting through a few envelopes with your tiny mailbox door hung open.

Shit... This is gonna be awkward.

Leon approaches slowly, walking up to his mailbox and ripping his keys out of his jacket pocket. Something round flies out of his pocket with a clatter as it hits the floor. You lift your head to see the green chip rolling across the floor, quickly you step past him and pin it under your shoe.

Leon stares, realizing he forgot to take his chip out of his pocket after his meeting last night. Too tired from a long day at work to remember before passing out in bed as soon as he got home. He can feel his neck heating up, he hasn't even said a single word to you, and now you'll know he's an alcoholic trying to get his life together.

And he's sweaty and gross?!

What a fantastic first meeting...

You bend down, grabbing the green chip from the floor as you walk back. Giving it a glance, you hold it out for him. Slowly he raises his hand, chest tightening as he nods a “Thank You” while taking it.

"90 days is a big accomplishment, you should be proud of yourself." He stared for a moment, fully expecting a dirty look or pity.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks. I-I am." His lips drew to a line as you walked back around him, shutting your mailbox and locking it. He gives you a glance as you grab your bag from the floor and give him a small smile.

"You're from 3D, right?" You question, his eyes glance at his mailbox, his lips part slightly. Brain trying to process how you knew his apartment without even talking to him.

"Yes?" His eyebrows raised, your eyes fixed on his uneasy response.

"Hmm." She looks him up and down, almost like she's trying to size him up. Or even taken him in completely.

"A little scruffy for my taste, but you'll get the job done." His nose wrinkled as you stepped past him, and headed for the door.

"The hell do you mean by that?" You turned your attention back to him, smiling again.

"The old ladies in the building, they talk about everyone. Well, anyone interesting at least. And they said you're pretty cute. I'd have to agree." He feels his neck burning again, embarrassment of another kind seeping into his collarbone and rising to his cheeks as he smiles a tiny bit.

He was never great with women.

"Thank you..." He clutches the chip in his hand, running his thumb across the bumped out embossing of the metal.

"And um... I know we don't know each other," you step forward again, gesturing to his hands, "but I'm here if you ever need to be talked down... 3 years for me, still have my bad days, but it gets easier with time. I promise."

He looks a little surprised, not expecting you to know his struggles in some way. He just nods, watching you lean to the side, looking behind him and turning back to leave again.

"Congratulations again on 90 days, Leon." You smile, pushing the door open.

"Whoa, wait. What's your-"

"2B!" You yell back without turning around, watching you leave through the doors leading to the gym. His head swivels, looking at the mailboxes. Seeing your name printed a piece of tape stuck to your mailbox.

His mind wanders, thinking of you as he pulls his bills from his mailbox. A folded over flyer was wrapped around the envelopes. Pulling it off the envelope, he gave it a long look. Your face staring back at his as you're leaping in a beautiful flowing white dress and veil.

Giselle printed in fancy font under you pointed toes along with show times for next weekend.

Staring for a second, he thought, pondering over the words of his sponsor telling him to try new things.

Maybe he should try theater.

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

I'll Show You Just How Sad I Am

a raymond smith x reader quick little blurb, just 1k words

there's mentions of smut in this so read at your own risk <33 who knows, maybe raymond will make a more regular occurrence on my blog over the next few weeks

here's my masterlist in case you want to check out my other works

"Should be the door to your left, honey."

Your voice is sweet in his ear, a pleasant distraction from the run-down building Mickey had sent him off to. It's smelly and dirty and even though he knows he should most likely feel pity, he's still just as disgusted. He'd be with you in a heartbeat if he could, safe and clean in the comfort of your home.

"Mickey should've sent a cleaning lady", he grunts as he knocks at the door, your chuckle almost making up for the very truthful, thinly veiled anger behind his words.

"Mickey wanted you because you're the best", you recite - you've told him often enough by now that it really is reciting. "And because he trusts you to keep this clean."

Which is easier said than done.

Twenty minutes later, the whole thing's anything but clean.

Sure, he'd very much accomplished bringing Laura home - but he'd also left a dead teenager in a puddle of blood about two stories down from where he should've been sitting.

"Left, left!", you call into the mic. Even though you're far from panicking, you're still much too loud, your voice flowing from his earpiece and stinging his brain.

"I'm trying, darling", he grunts back, breathless and panting as he pushes on, one foot in front of the other on the pavement of some random South London streets.

"I know, I know", you sigh. He isn't sure whether he's actually hearing you chew on your lip or imagining it, but he doesn't really have the capacity to think too much about it at the moment. "He's right in front of you. You've got him, Ray."

Yeah... The only problem is that what you must be seeing as a moving, flashing dot on a digital map, he's seeing as a bunch of teenagers trying to look intimidating. Probably feeling intimidating too. God, this is exactly why he didn't want the job. He isn't made for the fucking low-classed youth.

"You've seen enough?", that bastard of a boy spits at him. "Now I've got backup."

Raymond steadies his hands on his thighs and takes a deep breath in.

"You couldn't back up a phone, you cunt", he rasps, his erratic heartbeat slowly starting to calm back down.

"Raymond", you scold. "That's a child."

"That's a bastard", he mutters, before he finally straightens and tries his best at a somewhat mannered bargain. He's really only here for the fucking phone. He needs those pictures, then he's gone. He doesn't want to leave more unnecessary corpses to take care of.

So he offers them money. Which is something that they should definitely take, just judging by how they look. Plus a visit to a very good psychiatrist. But they don't. It's the same fucking bastard who's taken the pictures in the first case and got him into this mess that refuses - and in such a really stupid way, too: "How 'bout you give us that bag and be gone anyway?" - god, even you let out a choked up laugh at that, your breath carrying through the mic and into Ray's earpiece.

He drops his chin to his chest and shakes his head. What a fucking bunch of idiots. Goddamn it. He can feel his blood boil, hot and hotter.

"It's bait", you mutter, your voice low. "Calm down, love. You've got a machine gun. Use it."

Yeah, fucking hell, it's bait, he knows that. It doesn't change the way he's feeling. But your voice in his ear at least brings him back down to reality.

"Right", he grunts, then he swipes his coat to the side, closes his hand around the grip of the gun and steadies his fingertips against the trigger. He pulls it out in one swift motion, points it at the sky and shoots. For a good three seconds longer than necessary.

"Just like that", you breathe, your grin dripping down onto your voice and melting into his ear like honey. You've really got to stop that, he actually loses his focus for half a moment there and in his line of work, next time that means sure death.

The entire bunch of teenage boys flees - as expected - and in less than a minute, Raymond has the phone pressed into his palm.

"God, sometimes I really hate that I'm not there", you sigh, something in the background ruffling, probably as you shift into a more comfortable position on your chair. "Kinda wish I could've seen you."

"Run after a little cunt like that? You didn't miss anything, darling", he says, turning his head left and right before he strides back towards the car, his steps long and purposeful.

"Turn the corner here", you mutter, your voice taking on that specific tone that tells him there's a lazy grin licking at your lips. He can just imagine how you're looking (especially now that he has the time and freedom of mind for it) - one foot propped up on those bar stools that you'd bought for the kitchen, your equipment organised on the table top in front of you, his shirt hanging from your shoulders and pooling in your lap, your head tilted back and your eyes half-closed as you talk to him.

"I don't mean the little idiot", you go on, undeterred even as he narrowly avoids a trash can. Fuck, you really distract him too much. "I'm talking about you. God, you sounded so hot I wanted to jump at you. Actually scratch that, I still do."

He lets out a chuckle as he spots the car, his steps slowing. He should hurry up, he knows that. But he's got you in his ear, talking in that sweet voice of yours about just how much he affects you. He can't pass up on that.

"You're a little fuckin' minx, darling", he mutters with a grin, throwing a glance over his shoulder to check if there's any possibility he could be overheard. He doesn't necessarily feel like making your conversation public, even as you hum into the microphone.

"Yeah, but yours", you mumble. It sounds like you're almost proud of that. "Here's an idea, love: Get back home before I finish my shower and I'll show you just how sad I am that I couldn't watch you."

[echoalyssa]

First Heat | Brett Talbot

Warnings: Unprotected sexual Intercourse and crude language. Please do not interact if you are under 18. Alpha Brett x 1st person Reader

Brett can’t think straight. Every single part of his body felt like it was on fire, crawling with need. It’s under his skin, an itch that can never actually be itched. A thin sheen of sweat covers his forehead, and he pants, feeling all too hot considering it’s the middle of an autumn night.

Scott had wanted to lock him up. To prevent him from coming in contact with anyone, even if they were inside the pack. Brett had been an alpha for less than a few weeks, which was adjustment enough. Scott had not wanted to fill Brett in on why he should be locked away, but the message could be found in all of Scott’s anxious whispering.              Brett would go into heat. And the only way to relieve it…

Scott hadn’t been successful in locking up the new Alpha. He had gone missing just before Scott could get to him, his heat beginning earlier than expected. 

Brett isn’t entirely sure where he’s going. He just knows that he can’t stop himself. He passes house after house, looking for something but his brain is too foggy to tell him where he’s going. He groans softly as the minutes pass, growing more desperate than he had been previously.

He rounds a corner, almost smacking into a streetlamp because he’s so distracted. And then he sees the house and he can’t enter the house fast enough.

~~~

The music is cranked up high, almost too high. It’s just warm enough in the house that I can wear only a thin oversized t-shirt and a thin black thong. Considering the season, I can’t complain. I’m attempting to rearrange my bookshelves, which had seemed like a much easier task before I had begun. It has to be at least two hundred and fifty books, separated into piles on the floor and my desk.

I pull another stack of books from the shelf, wandering past piles to determine where the books in my arms should be sorted. As much work as it was, I could probably do it forever. Something about the smell and feel of the books was comforting.

My music stops playing, and I turn around to reach for my phone. I stop short, a scream halfway up my throat. Brett is standing in the doorway to my bedroom, his knuckles are white as he grips the frame of my door. He stares at me, eyes glazed slightly but flared red. His eyes roam up and down my body. His chest heaves with his breath as he slowly sidles closer to me.

Something is wrong. I can feel it.

“Brett?” I ask, “What are you doing here?” 

He doesn’t respond. He instead circles me, his eyes catch on the hem of my t-shirt, hitting at the tops of my thighs. This wasn’t the Brett I knew. There had to be a reason that my Alpha had entered my house in the middle of the night unbeknownst to me. 

His eyelids flutter when I look at him and I can see something there. Something wild and animalistic. He moves towards me again, so close now that I can feel his body heat radiating from him. The tips of Brett’s fingers touch my wrist, and he gives me a saccharine smile. My Alpha trails his fingers up my arm, continuing until he wraps them around the column of my throat. His thumb strokes the pulse point there.

Brett dips his head to the notch of my throat and inhales slowly, his body shivering in reaction. It hits me then. I knew exactly why he was acting like this. Brett was experiencing his first heat as an Alpha. The heats that Alpha’s experienced were more extreme, they lasted longer. He would be insatiable for the next week.

I swallow hard. “Brett.”

It’s useless, I knew. I knew that he was past reasoning. 

He’s kissing up my jaw now, his other hand coming up to snake around my body and pull me flush to him. “You smell so good.” His voice is a breath-y moan.

It’s as if a switch is flipped because he had been holding back before. Something in my scent had pushed him over the edge. He brings his hand up, wrapping his fingers around my jaw to get me to look up at him. “I won’t be able to stop.” He warns.

I suck in a breath and look into his eyes, searching for a trace of him behind his unrivaled desire. Brett is my Alpha, but he was also my friend, and his heat would be excruciating if he wasn’t able to relieve himself.

I tilt my head up to meet him, and that is all he needs. He surges forward, grabbing my face to press our lips together. The world stills for a second and all I can think about is him and this fortuitous happening that had gotten us here. 

The kiss is open-mouthed and desperate. His hands are everywhere, not able to touch enough of me fast enough. He walks us both backwards until the backs of my knees hit the mattress. In between his kisses I catch sight of his claws, starting to peek out as he fights his shift.

He uses the tips of his fingers to slice the thin strap of my thong and it falls to my ankles. His hands press up under my shirt and he grabs a handful of me under the shirt. I gasp, my back arching off the bed and into him. Something primal and old in me just wants me to give myself over completely to him. He’s rutting against me and the more that he does the more my legs fall open for him.

“Please, Brett.”

That’s all the convincing he needs. Brett growls low in his throat and then pulls away to shove his shorts and boxers down his legs. He’s back on me in a second. I don’t even have time to take in his size before I feel the head of him press against my entrance.

He presses his lips to mine and with one fluid stroke of his hips… he takes me. I gasp, nails fighting for purchase on his back in response to the sheer length of Brett Talbot.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

The pace he starts is brutal. He pulls one of my legs over his shoulder, turning his head to kiss at the inside of my calf. All I can do is hold on to him and stare at where are bodies are connected.

His abs flex with each thrust and he’s chewing on his lip, staring down at me with a certain expression that I can’t quite place.

“Been thinking… thinking about you for…”

He rips out of me suddenly and I whine at the loss of contact. In a flash he’s flipped me around so that I am on my stomach. Brett wraps and arm around my hips to hold me in place while his other hand pulls my ass cheeks apart so that he can get a better view of him entering me again.

I cry out for the second time, fisting the sheets underneath me.

“So deep!”

“Look so fucking pretty like this baby. S-stay right there.” He whispers it against the shell of my ear, and it makes my breath catch.

With one hand on the back of my neck he presses me into the mattress, angling me so that the angle is to his liking. Then, once again he resumes his brutal pace. I can feel the threshold of pleasure drawing closer. It trails up my spine, just out of reach.

“Please, Brett!”

He snakes a hand around the curve of my hip, and it trails down down down until it hits that sensitive spot. I stifle a sob into the comforter below me.

I’m close. I’m so close. 

“You can do it baby. Make me proud. Come on baby, cum for me.”

I scream, my fingernails clutching at the sheets below me. My core is pulsing around him, over and over as I gasp for breath. He tucks himself against my back, still working me through my orgasm with his thumb and brutal pace. The following moans that slip from my mouth are sinful. I couldn’t remember the last time I had cum this hard, let alone at the hands of a man.

Brett doesn’t even wait for the shaking to subside. He removes his fingers from between my legs and grabs a fistful of my hair at the scalp. He tugs my head up, working my body into just the right position. 

The tidal wave of pleasure is flying back to me already. The room is filled with the sound of skin on skin as he works towards his own release. He drops his head to mine to start whispering those filthy little words again and that is all it takes for me to reach ecstasy for the second time. It knocks me silent, and I arch off the bed. My eyes roll back into my head and all I can say is his name over and over again like a prayer.

Brett is close behind me, managing to drill into that sacred spot deep inside me before his hips stutter and the most guttural noise leaves his mouth. He holds my hips firm against his and presses close to me, ensuring that every inch of him is sheathed in me. I can feel the thick ropes of him release into me, so much that I knew the sheets would be utterly ruined.

Brett lands a slap on my ass as he shudders again, his release drawn out more than he is used to. It takes time for me to float back to reality after two of the strongest orgasms of my life. My thoughts are jumbled, floating just far away enough that I can’t reach them. All I know is the Alpha still buried balls deep inside me from behind.

“I’m… stuck.”

That draws me back somewhat and I peer over my shoulder at him, watching him stare down at where we are connected.

“What do you mean?”

“I…” He moves to draw his hips back and I hiss at the sudden sharp tug. “I knotted you…”

I wrack my brain, trying to decipher his words. Vaguely I remember Scott mentioning that an Alpha would knot his mate to ensure offspring.

I force down the rising panic that is climbing my throat. “For how long?”

“I-I don’t know. This has never happened to me before.”

I nod and take a breath to calm myself. It would be fine. I was on birth control, and I didn’t mind Brett keeping me full. It was fine. I can feel sleep trying to pull me under, so I let my body relax.

Brett lays draped over my back, his mouth pressing lazy kisses to my shoulder blades as he waits for the swelling to go down. He tests the connection every couple of minutes, drawing a gasp from me each time. I can tell that his release has cleared his head slightly but the longer he has to recover, the less lucid he becomes. 

I’m perfectly sated and spent, feeling as if I could sleep for the foreseeable future. However, this was a week-long event. When the swelling finally does go away, he slips out of me slowly. Brett licks a line up my body and when he clears my clavicle, he’s ready to go again. Those red eyes peering at me with lust already.

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

kneeling on the floor

han version

pairing: han x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: 1.7k

warnings: pet names, oral (m. and f. receiving), i think that’s all?

an: this is me procrastinating writing the royal au i’ve been working on. but this was definitely a happy distraction. i couldn’t choose between the two banners i made.. han is just so handsome. so you get both. one at the top of the post and one at the bottom 💕😘

masterlist • chan •

your knees were beginning to ache. but you didn’t care. you would wait here for him all night if you needed to. had you told him that you would be waiting, naked, on your knees for him when he got home? no. that would ruin the surprise. and knowing him, he would stress out about it all day or he would get so excited that he came home immediately and neglected his work. so you kept it to yourself and have been waiting in the same position for a little while, but you knew he should be home any minute. and that time could not come fast enough. were you ovulating? yeah, probably. at least, you felt like you were. you needed him, bad.

thinking about how he looked in the selfie he sent you earlier.. his hair falling in delicate waves into his eyes, his glasses precariously perched on the bridge of his nose, his lips in that little pout you loved so much. you wanted him to use you. or you wanted to use him. depending on what kind of mood he’s in, it could go either way. you wondered what it would be tonight.

you heard jingling keys. the metallic sound of his key sliding into the lock, the mechanism turning as the lock gave way and the door creaked open. he came in looking sleepy. shrugging his oversized jacket off of his shoulders and hanging it on the hook before slipping his shoes off. that’s when he turned and saw you, on your knees, fully nude, your big doe eyes looking up at him.

“hi hannie.” you said quietly.

he approached you, towering over you for only a moment before dropping down to his knees with you. he brought his hand up, brushing some hair out of your face. “hi baby. this is a nice surprise.” he said. his hand settled on your cheek, cradling you in his palm, while he took a moment to look over your body. “you are so beautiful. how did i manage to get you? hmm?”

“you’re beautiful too, hannie. and so much more.” you told him. “but i can’t think of the words right now. my brain is fuzzy.”

he chuckled, staring at your chest. “mine too.” he says. you took his hand in your own and brought it to your chest, holding his palm to your breast. he cupped it in his hand, squeezing gently. “fuck, baby.” he said, breathless. his thumb ghosting back and forth over your nipple caused your breath to come quicker. “you feel so good in my hands.” he said softly.

you reached for his other hand and guided it to the drippy mess between your legs. “do i feel good here too?” you ask him.

he gently runs his middle finger through your folds, gathering your slick and then starts circling your clit with the pad of his finger. “you feel good everywhere, jagi.” he looks into your eyes, but you’re having a hard time keeping your eyes open, the pleasure he’s bringing you is forcing them to shut. you give in, your eyes closing, your head falling back. the wet sounds of your pussy fill the otherwise quiet room and han leans in to place a wet kiss on your exposed neck. he places a couple of open mouth kisses down your neck and down your chest, briefly flicking your nipple with his tongue. you’re a shaking moaning mess as he slowly slides his middle finger inside you, curling it slightly, to hit that spot he knows you love.

“hannie..” you moan, your voice sounded pathetic to your own ears. so full of desperation.

“baby.. the things you do to me..” han whispered against your neck. he bit down gently, before pulling away completely. leaving you empty and panting. you opened your eyes to see him slipping his shirt off over his head. he folded it neatly before leaning in and kissing you gently on the lips. “lay back for me, okay?” he said against your lips. “put this under your head so you have a little pillow.” he kissed you again before handing you his shirt.

you did as he asked and used his shirt as a pillow, laying flat on the floor, the wood cold against your bare skin. “there we go, baby.” he said, running his fingertips down your body slowly. starting at your collarbones, down over your breasts, down your torso, until he was spreading your legs. his eyes locked on your glistening center. “look at your perfect pussy, baby.” he said, his eyes dark. “my mouth is watering. let me taste it? please?” he asked, his thumbs rubbing up and down the outer edge of your labia.

“you don’t have to ask, hannie. i always want you. please lick my pussy. please.” you wiggled underneath him, raising your hips off the floor, trying to get closer to him. he held your hips down, and got flat on his stomach. it felt torturous, how slow he was moving. he kissed along your thighs, before blowing on you gently, the air feeling cold against your sensitive wet skin. he slowly leaned in and licked a stripe from your opening to your clit and you shuddered under him. but one taste was all it took and he was no longer taking his time. he couldn’t resist. his tongue was moving in and out of your hole, savoring every drop of flavor you’d give him, before licking his way up to your clit. he quickly flicked his tongue back and forth across the bundle of nerves. he slid his middle finger back inside you, pumping quickly to match the speed of his tongue.

there wasn’t a coherent thought left in your head as your hands intertwined with his hair, holding him in place. after a moment, he pulled his finger out and flattened his tongue against you. you began rocking your hips up and down, grinding on his face. using his tongue to chase your high. you could feel it approaching, your core getting tighter and tighter.

“fuck, hannie, i’m gonna cum.” you tell him, riding his tongue faster and faster. he was dry humping the floor, trying to get any friction at all on his leaking cock, still too many layers of clothing covering it up. he moaned against you, the vibrations sending you straight over the edge. “fuck- fuck-“ you panted, and then you came. your entire body shook with it, you convulsed under him. but his tongue never left you, not even for a second. he was still moving at the same speed, occasionally sticking his tongue inside you, determined to drink up every drop of cum. you were writhing in overstimulation, squirming trying to get away from him but he wrapped his arms around your legs and held you firmly in place. “hannie- please. it’s too much.” you cried.

reluctantly, he pulled away. his face was covered in your slick, his eyes were hazy, and he had a goofy smile. he was on cloud nine. he got back on his knees, his cock painfully stretching his jeans. he reached down with his index finger and poked your clit. you jolted, still too sensitive. “stand up.” you told him, settling back on your shaky knees. he stood, and you reached out and unbuttoned his pants. you hooked your fingers over the waistband of his jeans and his briefs, pulling them both down in one motion. he stepped out of them, kicking them to the side.

his poor cock was aching. red and angry and leaking. you leaned in and kissed it gently on the underside, looking up at him, his cock laying across your face. he could bust right then. “baby, i’m not going to last after tasting you.” he warned.

“thanks okay, hannie. i want to taste your cum too.” you wrapped your hand around his base and licked his tip. he whined above you, his hands in fists at his sides. you licked him again, just his tip. he whined again, desperate, pleading, shaking. he thought he may cry if you didn’t give him more soon. he looked down at you with the softest eyes, and you couldn’t make him wait anymore. you slowly took his tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, shoving him deeper down your throat.

his knees were weak as you sucked him, the pleasure of his cock sliding in and out of your wet mouth was enough to make his legs give out. but he stood strong, not wanting you to stop. he moaned and whined, breathy whispers of your name falling past his lips. “please.. don’t stop.” he said. you gagged around him, spit dripping down your chin and onto the floor. “fuck. baby. fuck. i’m gonna cum.” he whimpered.

you sucked your cheeks in, putting more pressure on him, and he released with a moan. his body shook as his warm cum filled your mouth. you slowed down, gently coaxing every last drop out of him, before you made eye contact and swallowed.

once he was out of your mouth, his legs finally gave out and he collapsed back onto his knees in front of you. he was panting, his cheeks flushed. he cradled your face in between his palms. he kissed you slowly, you could taste yourself on his tongue, and he could taste himself on yours. “i love you.” he said in between pants. “i. pant. love. pant. you.”

you giggled. “i love you too hannie.” you kissed him again. “i’ve been waiting all day for you to get home.”

“all day?” he sounded shocked. “you should have told me! i would have rushed home.”

“i know, baby. and that’s why i didn’t say anything. you have a comeback coming. you needed to focus on work.” you told him.

he pouted. “don’t give me that look.” you poked his pouty bottom lip with your finger. “come on, let’s go shower.”

“but my legs are jello.” he complained, slumping down on his side, a post orgasm crumpled heap on the floor.

you tickled his tiny waist. he batted your fingers away. “cmon, hannie. the sooner we shower, the sooner we can cuddle in bed.”

“you make a valid argument.” he said. he reached his hand out to you. “help me up.”

🚨reminder: this blog is 18+ only. i’ve been getting a lot of new followers (which i greatly appreciate) but if there’s no age identifier on your blog, i’m blocking you no questions asked. (for my own sanity and peace of mind.) ik some people don’t actually go to my page to read the warnings, so im going to start attaching a warning at the bottom of all my posts. thanks for understanding. 💕

[moonshynecybin]

Hi! I have been thinking about Marc and the ways he expresses his anger... giving the cold shoulder... the silent treatment if you will (he will speak ABOUT vale but not TO vale let alone WITH vale)... need your input please....

hmm good question.... this got. STUPID long sorry

uhhh marc is, in general, good at keeping his (negative) emotions in check. like i think marc loooooves to think of himself on track as a mature, controlled, and rational dude. above distraction. a killer. a cyborg. idk his dad has talked about how he doesnt really complain much about injury and there's also allll these stories about what a mature kid he was... so i think that when he was young - ESPECIALLY in a racing sense because he was so much younger than most of the people he was competing against - he internalized that in order to do all the stuff he wants to do racing-wise, he reallyyyy has to keep a level head and not well. act his age! and i think that extends to a lot of how he manages his emotions today (at least in a public setting). even in places where im pretty sure hes PISSED (sepang. phillip island 2013.) he just kind of. visibly contains himself. not a confrontational dude in the outright sense he'll clench his jaw and try to work through it.

which is part of what makes his valentino-oriented crazy so interesting. bc people were noticing that marc in 2015 was kind of. being weird. as his and valentino's relationship deteriorated. like they were both outwardly very much like we can keep it on track :) until the big fallout towards the end of the year but uhhhh. well marc has said that vale started pulling back in september of 2014 like he was noticing SOMETHING, and they clashed on track A LOT in 2015, and i think marc sensed vale cooling on him and freaked a lil. hashtag neurotic 22 year old moments. he is my favorite crazy ex girlfriend. like usually he IS good at separating that stuff out and managing his emotions in the racing sense but in assen that year when vale overtook him off track after they made contact he raised a BIG stink with race direction and actually had some uh. not especially chill quotes about it. (it should be noted marc was also flopping for the first time in his motogp career. like in his brain he stopped winning AND vale stopped talking to him he was goin through it) adn all the reporters noticed too they were like. why werent you sucking and fucking in parc ferme. like vale's left turn wrt to spaniard sabotage comes outta nowhere but people WERE noticing that things were changing. i bet marc noticed too. BUT they are not the type of people to talk about these things so they keep it to vague flirting in presscons and escalating on-track tension slash proxy wars waged in race-direction contexts... liek truly you are 22 you are not going to keep your championship title and your hot sports idol bestie is no longer flirting with you on twitter and you COULD just talk to him about that but you'd rather DIE so youre going to ask honda to back you up to race direction about your last race where you DEFINITELY lost bc winning is the ONLY thing thatll make you feel better. even though thatll help convince your hot sports idol that you are engaging in a benedict arnold level betrayal scheme against him. an insane time to be marc marquez. 2015 really kind of is a study on how both of them handle losing: NOT WELL.

and then the thing about sepang is that then the lid is blown clean off and marc spends the ENTIRE race being annoying on purposeeeee. hes so fucking pissed and hurt at valentino that he decides to get under his skin for REALSIES instead of focusing on his race. like idk he probably would have fought hard for the win without the drama that how he works but uh. i think he was being annoying specifically to bite at vale's edges. and part of that is bc marc is naturally and effortlessly annoying. but i think part of it was SPITE. like his team advised him not to speak on anything from that presscon and he didnt, but he can still fuck him over on track. get under his skin. like he cant tell vale to his FACE that he's angry and confused and hurt. but he CAN let him know on that fucking racing line. where he cant be ignored. idk like i cant see marc letting anyone else get under his skin like that.

AND another big ass exception to the marc marquez anger management philosophy is from misano 2019 where vale messes with his qualifying lap. a lovely anon sent me some videos of marc talking to the press and jesus christ i dont think ive ever seen him angrier oh my god. AND the anon also linked the race from that weekend where he won and he celebrated harder than ive seen him celebrate some TITLE wins like he went. notably nuts. the commentators were all like uhhhh. he mustve REALLY wanted to get one over on vale adjfhlkdh... idk if any of this answered your question but his relationship to his emotions fascinates me hes so weirddddd. and its interesting to me that he can shrug off jorge ruining his last race at honda and be friendly but also be like. kind of aloofly pissed at bezz. because of valentino! he can repress the rest of it, but valentino shines through the cracks.

[billiedeansbitch]

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

(𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐇𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

a/n: this was supposed to be a wholesome fic but uh my brain got a little too carried away... anyway here's some smutty goodness.

warning/s: NSFW. SMUTT! public sex.

Miranda was in the break room, taking off the top of the cupcake just to put it back upside down, "It's a sandwich!" she defended when Robin was giving her a dirty look.

A sandwich.  A sandwich seemed delicious.  Should she have gotten a sandwich instead?

From across the room, you watched her shrug and took a hefty bite of the cupcake, leaving only a tiny portion. It amazed you how she wasn't choking.

When Griffin left the room, you sauntered toward the constable and tapped her shoulder, "Come quick"

She furrowed her brows, "Where?" and munched on whatever was left of the chocolate cupcake before dusting off her palms.

"Outside" Quickly, she was behind you exiting the room. Miranda indulged the way your hips swayed while you walk. Heat crept her face, extending down her throat and tip of her ears.

"Why?" she followed up, trying to at least not be distracted. "I want to watch you smoke" Still confused, she agreed nonetheless. However weird, Miranda would do anything you asked of her if it meant spending time with you.

When you both reached the parking, you sat on the makeshift chair from an old car seat. Miranda got into business and lit a cigarette.

She had long, slender fingers, you noted. Clean, and well groomed. No ring...

"What's happening? Are you okay?" Your eyes flutter back to her face.

You looked down, unable to meet her eyes as you said the words, "What's the deal?" you paused briefly, giving yourself some time to think if this was the right time and place to confront her. Decided, you continued, "With you and Robin."

"Griffin?" Miranda was genuinely perplexed. Why were you asking her about her partner?

Quietly you mumbled, "Yeah, her."

Miranda shifted, flicking the ash from the tip of the stick, "My colleague. We work on a case together. Personally? She's a friend as far as I know. We hang out every once in a while. Why? What is this all about?"

She wasn't sure why she was answering these things, but when the visible frown lessened on your gorgeous face, she knew it had something to do with her. What had she done to upset you now? 

Did you assume the worst? Probably. "Just friends?" you asked again, wanting to confirm it the second time because the first wasn't just enough. 

You had seen the way the blonde spoke to the short detective, the physical closeness and affection in their eyes. How they appear to perfectly perceive one another's thoughts without verbalizing them. 

"Yeah—yes." she nodded, "Wait, are you jealous?" Miranda, who had just connected the imaginable dots in her head, had finally come to her own conclusion.  

It suddenly made you feel abashed, your true feelings exposed to the constable. You couldn’t take that back now. 

"You're jealous.” It irked you to hear how right she was.

“Why are you jealous? Did you think I was fucking her?" Hilmarson, who was simultaneously bewildered and amused, couldn’t keep the fucking grin from showing up, so she bit her lower lip in an attempt to dial down her excitement at the prospect of you reciprocating her unconfessed feelings.

The abruptness when you stood up stilled the breath in her throat. You walked up to her, pulled her toward the far corner where it gave you two some privacy and successfully pinned her on the wall, and pulled her face down to kiss her.

"You are fucking clueless how much I want you, don't you?" 

From the brief time you both stopped assaulting each other’s lips, she took it as an opportunity to catch her breath. She had her eyes closed, hands firmly cupping the back of your head keeping you close, her forehead pressed flat on your own. She didn’t exactly think she would get to kiss you the exact moment you confessed to her, let alone initiate this.

The kiss was brutal, none too soft. You both fought. Real hard. Bruising each other’s lips. 

The second time it happened, the taller woman initiated it. She grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back, it caused a mix of pleasure and pain to surge in your core that pushed the nastiest of moans from your gaping lips. 

Miranda felt herself getting wet.

She grabbed your jaw while her lips worked toward your ear, "I fuck you in my head every night before I sleep and touch myself to the thought of you." 

Your body arched toward hers in response, "good to know.” 

The images of her, inserting those long luscious fingers into her own cunt while she whispers your name made your own fingers desperate feel her juices. 

Neither of you had the luxury of rationalizing things at the moment, you were far too deep in lust and she was far too wet to care. You both needed each other.

Her lips descended to your neck. Hands groping both of your breasts.

You unbuttoned her pants, pulled the shirt up and stopped to look at her in the eyes. God, her eyes were lust-blown, so beautiful and hungry.

“Do it.” She said, surging to kiss your lips once again.

While both of her hands were busy indulging the softness of your breasts, your own fingers worked between her thighs, doing long languid strokes. 

"Fuck,” she breathed against your skin, “If you're going to do it. just do it." she growled.

With a taunting smile, you pecked her cheek, "a little impatient now, aren't you?" and you bit her earlobe the same time you plunged a finger into her dripping cunt. Her body jolted, hands flying to your shoulders to steady herself. It didn’t last long until you pushed another finger making her bite the junction of your neck and shoulder to stifle her moans.

It was short but blissful. She came in just a couple of angry thrusts while your thumb moved deftly to play with her clit adding more stimulation causing her to cum.

When she finished, her arousal that coated your fingers was licked clean. She watched you savour her taste before you offer your tongue to her which she gladly sucked. 

Shortly, after fixing both of your appearances, the elevator dinged which meant someone was coming.

You weren’t surprised to see the small detective awkwardly making her way toward the constable. She stopped when she was close, “Detective,” she said, acknowledging you.

“Detective Griffin.” You retorted.

The tall woman painfully watched the awkward exchange.

You looked at Miranda, your hands tucked in your back pockets. “I’ll see you later.” 

“Okay.” She watched you leave for the elevator. Once you were in, she gave you a small wave. Which to you was pathetically adorable.

“What were you two doing here?” Griffin asked, intently watching her partner whose cheeks were flushed and hair was unkempt.

“Nothing...Just talking.”

“Is that a hickey on your neck?”

“Crap! where? is it too obvious?

Robbin smiled, smug after confirming her suspicions were true, "There's none. You panicked and asked instantly which means before I was here you two were screwing up." She said a matter of factly.

Miranda, who was guilty, kept rubbing the sides of her neck. Her eyes narrowed at the small woman, “What did you need me for?" And oh boy, she was grumpy.

"I found some lead on the case. We’re going to investigate now.”

Griffin casually said before she followed it by, “So, since when has this been going on?" 

"Oh we're not going to talk about this, Griffin."

But later on, in the car, Miranda could not stop talking about how much she fancied you, and just then, Robbin knew she made a terrible mistake bugging her about you.

[simlicious]

Personal update!

Hey everyone! I started to write this at 9:40 am, then I got distracted and did not post it right away but I guess activity on tumblr at that time is low anyway.

I am happy to report that I am still going strong with my changed day/night cycle. It's not always easy, I don't get into bed early enough on some days and feel pretty groggy the next. But this is always where I get defeated - I think okay, sleeping in for half an hour won't be a problem... but then I go to bed even later and the cycle goes backwards really quickly. This time I am determined to stay strong even if that means I walk around like a zombie and drink 1.5 liters of black tea on some days to keep me awake 😆

I guess it takes time to adjust the evening routines too. On these "useless" days, I often play Anno 1800 which is engaging and relaxing at the same time. I often quit the game to mod this and that in the game, so my brain is pretty engaged still and this is how I like it most days.

Since new habits need at least 6 weeks to be counted as a new stable habit, I will focus only on my sleep rhythm for the time being and allow myself to take a mental break from other projects to eliminate the inner expectation of working on those when I know it is unreasonable at this time. It also does me good to let go of any pressure to create TS3 content. I know it has been a while but it does nobody any good if I guilt myself because of it. I often get negative feelings around my simblr lately and it sucks, like I am really unsure about the few AI patterns I made and the poll made me really question what I should do since it is pretty divided. I do not know whether those are more random people who answered the poll or people who often engage in my blog anyway. So I don't really know if I should release those patterns at all or if people come and harass me over them if I do. But not releasing them would mean that energy to create them would be truly wasted, I think? If the images exist already, shouldn't they be used to make it count? Because thinking of that makes me uneasy, I put my creative energy into Anno 1800 for the time being which is not emotionally loaded. I am way too disorganized to really do beauty building, and most of the time I am just happy when my population get the goods they want 😆but modding another item that helps with that or editing other people's mods to fit my needs is fun and satisfying. It's a bit like editing tuning mods for Sims 3 (just with some more complicated layers added depending on the mod).

Knowing myself, I will get another pattern idea soon enough though, and sweater season is fast approaching which means I get into the mood of creating more cozy patterns, hopefully! I want to give a shoutout to people who have shown my patterns in screenshots lately. I admit I am not very active on tumblr at the moment and do not see everything I should. Memorable ones were @martassimsbook and @gittessimsadventuresog, but anyone else please feel addressed too! It means a lot to me to see my patterns in use, it makes me feel validated and useful and lifts my spirits. It also helps to dispel some of my negative thoughts (maybe patterns do not go obsolete after all if people are still using them). I'm really happy they are so useful to you! A lot of you probably do not post many gameplay screenshots but use my patterns anyway, I cannot forget about you 💜thanks for all the support!

[teabunnee]

i would like to ask you to write anything with Cassadee! that cute nerdy girl has invaded my brain

Cassadee

I loved how she reacted when she realised her idol was right in front of her. She’s so cute. I'm going to assume she's at least 18, but to be safe, no NSFW for her.

Nerdy girl absolutely reads romance books to try and understand how to be a good girlfriend, but it just confuses her more. 

Library dates, study dates, magic lab dates…Cassadee is always torn between having you with her or having you around. On one hand, she gets sad when you aren’t around, on the other hand, she gets distracted when you are around. Poor Cassadee. :(

She tries to make sweets for you but…well she tries. They look cute too, 

You likely have to force her to stop studying, she can’t help it. This magic circle has to be perfect-! 

Cassadee really appreciates should you support her research, give her a drink and a kiss on the cheek, or getting books for her and she blushes a pretty pink, squeaking out a thank you and hiding her face. 

She knows she rambles sometimes especially about her 50 thesis, and should you tell her it’s fine, she gets very happy and smiley. It lights a fire in her, actually, and gives her motivation to work on her magic. 

She gets so happy should you actually read her thesis, though probably a bit embarrassed should you read her older ones, the ones she wrote when she was six. 

She’s always willing to answer any question you have about magic, and if she goes too technical, she can reign herself in and explain it to it better to you 

If you know anything about magic, and initiate a discussion with her, she’s absolutely thrilled. You could spend hours just talking about the nature of magic and she’s living it up. 

Her favorite dates are either the ones where you are sitting next to each other, cuddling and cozy with a nice drink in hand, or one where she’s able to use her magic to her full extent, to show you a new spell or a new method of magic. The look of wonder on your face is something she treasures deeply. 

On the days where everything doesn’t seem to be working, she needs to be pulled out from her desk and taken outside. She puts her head on your shoulder, as she rambles about her frustrations. 

When she finishes a thesis, her reward is always a date with you. Your reward is her giving you her thesis to proofread. It’s a big sign of trust, and any input you have will be listened to and considered. 

Cassadee always turns to find you should she make a discovery. “Look! Look!” Or “I did it! I did it!” With a big hug. The way her face sparkles as she talks is beautiful. 

Cassadee also loves to give you gifts, enchanted magic items she created personally! Don’t worry, they’re safe. Probably. 

Sometimes the dolphins and fish that appear when she casts her spells will magnet themselves to you, at first she was terrified they would hurt you, but they mostly nuzzle you in a very familiar, very embarrassing way. Cassadee blushes at the sight. Well, magic is always influenced by the caster…

[climbthemountain2020]

Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Chapter 9

Part 9/? | Ao3

As always, thanks to my best beta reader @witch-and-her-witcher I adore you!

Feyre was panting, laying on the ground and wishing, perhaps, that she could simply pass out and enter a dream. She was already sweating and frustrated; she might as well see if she could tempt Rhys to appear, too.

Instead, Lucien’s massive shape blocked the sun, reaching a hand out to pull her up.

“You probably should have seen that coming.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She winced, waving him off and holding her ribs as she rose up.

They’d recently begun interspersing their daily physical training with the fire magic, combining the two so that she could double down instead of separating them into different sessions. It was more practical, anyway, learning to use both at once. If she ever actually had to fight, she’d want to know how to use both physical combat and magic to give herself the best chances of survival.

Normally, Feyre loved the practicality of this. She enjoyed working her body, and she was enjoying feeling herself grow stronger in more ways than one. Today, however, Feyre was dragging.

She had skipped the library this morning to practice shooting with Calla, her arms feeling like jelly and her fingers nearly numb before she even entered the training rings with Lucien. When he’d shot fire from his hands at her face during sparring, she’d been too busy containing that to notice his foot swinging at her torso and knocking her onto her back.

“You‘re distracted today.” She bit back a snarl in response to the judgment on her sparring abilities. She’d been spending too much time around the fae.

“I’m tired. Training from sun up to now has not done me any favors.”

Lucien smirked at her. “Can’t handle it, Feyre?” He knew the taunts would help, and she hated that he was right.

“I can handle it just fine, Lucien.”

He grinned, watching her fall right into the trap. “Line up again.”

She did, dropping into the stance that muscle memory provided her with now. She was annoyed and fired up, but her brain still fought to stray.

She was also not helped along by the fact that every night this week, she’d dreamt of Rhys. Every single night it was the same– light, caressing touches, kisses in the dark, and then she’d abruptly wake alone in her room with nothing but the comfort of her own hands beneath the sheets.

Feyre was frustrated in more ways than one.

She shook herself off and tried to focus, her and Lucien circling each other in the ring.

“Tear him up, Feyre!” She tried not to follow the sound to the edge of the ring where she knew Calla was sitting on the wall eating an apple next to Tamlin, who was leaning in and watching. Tamlin usually just offered constructive, if not bland, criticism from the sidelines while halfheartedly making conversation with Calla.

Feyre and Lucien had both offered to bring Calla into their training too, considering that if she was that good with a bow, she might also be interested in learning how to fight. But she had declined repeatedly. She had no interest in fighting or violence now that it wasn’t something required to survive.

Ever since the day with the naga, things had been a little easier between Calla and Tamlin, at least. They weren’t exactly falling in love, but at least they could be in the same room without everyone being able to cut the tension with a knife. Progress was progress, as slowly as it was happening.

“Hands by your face, Feyre. Where is your head today?”

“Off my back, Lucien. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“They certainly look friendly.” She pretended to widen her eyes at Calla and Tamlin, then swept Lucien’s feet when he looked over his shoulder to see.

“Cheater.” He huffed from where he’d inelegantly sprawled onto the ground.

“Where’s your head today, Lucien?” She asked mockingly, holding out a hand which he took then yanked her to the dusty ground with an oof next to him.

“You’re a dick, you know that?”

They just lay there breathing heavily under the waning afternoon sun. Lucien turned his head to look at her, his voice lowered.

“It does seem to be going better though, doesn’t it?”

“It does. Not great, but better. She’ll need a push, I think, though time is helping.”

“He’s never been good with the ladies. Not everyone is gifted like me.” Lucien’s smile was sharp and feline as he wiggled his eyebrows, currently covered in dust from the ring, at her.

“Gifted with idiocy, perhaps.”

“We’re going in for dinner!” Calla called, rousing the two from their resting places.

+++

Tamlin and Calla walked towards the manor while Feyre and Lucien watched, Calla looking a little shy and uncomfortable and Tamlin looking stiff and awkward.

“Gods, he isn’t doing himself any favors.” Lucien rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Give it a week, then we’re stepping in.”

“Deal. See you after dinner?”

“Of course.”

They split off at the manor, Feyre choosing to eat in her rooms and take a hot bath to soothe her aching muscles.

She eased herself into the near-scalding water, just how she liked it, and allowed her head to tip back against the rim. She couldn’t go on distracted like this. She had to focus, but these fleeting moments with Rhys in her sleep were not enough.

How long would she need to stay here? Until the curse was lifted or time ran out? Either way, she guessed the end was near.

If her theory was correct that the dreams weren’t just dreams, then Rhys was aware something was wrong–different–but did he know she was already in Prythian? Did he have any inkling of what she’d traded? Of what she’d done?

She trailed her hands to the ring on the chain between her breasts, glittering with the light bouncing off the droplets of water.

Soon.

She couldn’t tell him if she truly wanted a chance–he’d never even give her the opportunity to try. He would spirit her away back to the human lands where she would be safe and alone without him forever.

No. She couldn’t even contemplate it as a possibility.

The dreams and evasion would have to do for now.

Instead, she turned her attention to her practicing, much of which she did in the bath these days to ensure privacy. Shapeshifting was proving to be the power she struggled the most with, unable to practice efficiently when she had to do it alone. She didn’t want to commit to any big transitions when she didn’t have help, and she couldn’t have help when none of them knew she possessed magic beyond her fire.

Mostly, Feyre practiced little changes, the bargain tattoo glamour, hair and eye color, and occasionally the position of freckles across her shoulders and face. Once she had managed to mimic Tamlin’s claws momentarily, then panicked when she couldn’t get them to go back in. It had been a stressful two hour “bath” before she exhausted herself, falling into bed and passing out while the claws retracted in her sleep. She was too anxious to try again.

She’d be changing powers and books soon, moving on despite her discomfort with the Spring magic. She needed to keep going and push forward if she was going to get to all the courts with ample time to practice them all. After all, she could always go back once she was done.

Instead, Feyre let herself relax into the heat, the dust and dirt of the day washed into the soapy water already, the magic tub refilling with clean, warm paradise. She might as well get an early night tonight and hit the ground running tomorrow with Dawn Court. In the meantime, she could relax here in the tub, letting her mind and hands wander, and hoping to finally, blessedly, find some reprieve when she went to dream.

+++

Feyre had skipped training the next afternoon, still sore from yesterday’s ass beating. She had spent her morning in the library finishing up what she could, but she still needed to get those final extra shelves from Tamlin to complete her reorganization and cataloging. She wondered if there was something else around the manor that she might do once she finished here, but the thought of not spending every morning in the library made her a little sad. She’d really enjoyed the task, and even more, she’d enjoyed having fairly unlimited access to all the knowledge of Prythian. Every step brought her closer to Rhys, who, notably, she had still not been able to conjure a full dream about again last night.

Feyre sighed, making a mental note to ask Tamlin about those extra shelves when he and Lucien returned from patrolling. Without them there, there was no pressure to train once she’d finished, so she used the extra time to stay in the library and relax across the couches while Calla worked on her writing. Feyre wondered if she should also perhaps pick up another hobby when she was finished with the library and books. Maybe she could start painting again. Certainly the towns nearby had access to lovely paints. She made a note to ask Tamlin about that, too.

She was currently spread across the lush couch with her book on the Dawn Court, speeding through this one, but with no real way to practice their healing magics. She had some minor success this morning mending a scratch she’d gotten from the rose gardens before Calla came to join her, but past that hadn’t had much opportunity and wasn’t sure how she could create one without injuring herself on purpose.

Calla grumbled from the table, and Feyre sat up to pop her head over the back of the couch.

Her reading and writing were improving, but very slowly. Her skills needed more time and attention than Feyre had previously thought, but Calla was a hard worker, and she was throwing herself fully into the task. Feyre was certain that Calla was competitive by nature, even with herself, and she often grew frustrated and snippy as she worked.

Right now, Calla’s brows were furrowed and she had an angry expression as she scraped the pen across the paper, nearly tearing it up in her vigor and rage. She was clearly struggling with today’s sentences. Feyre was watching her, wondering how she might intervene, when she suddenly heard Calla’s voice, unsure and weak as she’d never heard it before, echoing in the air around her.

I’m not good at this, I can’t do this, why am I here, why are they wasting their time on me, what is the point, why keep me here, I have no worth to them, to anyone–

“Okay, enough for today! Let’s go for a walk. I want to show you something.” Feyre had to put an immediate stop to whatever had just happened; she slammed her magic back, pulling at it until she felt it simmer and recoil. Calla looked up, a little surprised as though she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone. Feyre grabbed a large, thin blanket from the couch, rolled it beneath her arm, and motioned for Calla to follow her.

She knew there was a stretch of rolling hills lined with massive, ancient willow trees nearby, and what better way for them to take some time and relax? The air was fair, as it always was, the skies shining and blue. There had only been a few rainy days since she’d come to Spring, but most were the same lovely weather and endless cerulean sky. The puffy, white clouds reminded her of her days at the lake at her own home, and her heart wrenched suddenly with how much she missed her sisters. She wondered what they were doing now–how they’d been since her departure. Thinking of them on top of what had just happened was giving her emotional whiplash.

Though Feyre had plastered a smile to her face, her mind was spinning violently the entire way.

Had she been inside Calla’s head? How had she done that? Was she a daemati, the very thing she’d just been wondering about Rhys? Did that mean one of the High Lords was, too?

For a moment, she had a terrifying thought that it might be Tamlin.

Could she try to get into his head? If he was a daemati, would he know then that she could do it, too, if she tried?

She hadn’t seen it listed anywhere in her reading so far, so perhaps it was a secret if one of the High Lords did possess the power.

She shook herself off. She was focusing on Calla right now, and she could worry about the implications of what had just happened later on.

They crested the final hill and Feyre laid the blanket out for them. “I thought maybe it would help to get away from the manor for a bit.” Gods knew Feyre could use some relaxing time to clear her mind, too.

“You want me to just lay here?” Calla asked with a hint of condescension in her voice. She reminded Feyre of Nesta so much sometimes it hurt, but this time it gave Feyre a small smile to hear it.

“Can you just relax? I promise you won’t wither up and die if you do.” Feyre had never really had a female friend, if she could even call Calla that. She thought Calla liked her as much as she was able; she was prickly and somewhat petulant, but Feyre got the impression it was a matter of circumstance and not choice.

After a few moments of silence, she attempted to get Calla’s mind on something other than writing.

“Tell me about your life before you came here,” Feyre asked without opening her eyes.

“You know what it was like.”

“I still would like to hear more about it from you, if you’d be willing to share.” The silence went on so long that Feyre was sure Calla wasn’t going to answer. Finally, when she’d all but given up, Calla started in a quieter but hardened voice.

“We lost all our money when I was a child, like I said. It wasn’t much, but we lived comfortably up to that point, I think. I don’t remember much. I had only just started my lessons when things fell apart.” She paused, and Feyre let her. She continued to keep her eyes closed to give Calla a sense of privacy and comfort if she wanted to go on.

“My parents weren’t bad people, but they didn’t know how to take care of themselves. My father was crippled by the bill collectors when he couldn’t pay. And my mother is….” She sighed. “My mother is a simple woman. She loved me as well as she could, but she was never meant for this life. A local boy in town taught me to shoot a bow and arrow one day, and I sold some of our remaining fine silver to afford my own. After that, it just got worse and worse. We sold everything we could, and my parents began to depend on me to survive once they saw I could hunt. That’s what I was doing in the woods the night I shot…your friend.”

“Andras.” The name still hurt.

“I thought he was going to steal the deer I was about to shoot. We had barely eaten in weeks. We were out of food.” Feyre could still hear that pleading in her voice, that desperation for absolution.

Feyre alone could not give it.

“I know.” She wasn’t sure what to say. “Your parents should have taken care of you. Not the other way around.”

The silence stretched between them, and Feyre knew Calla had spoken all she planned to about it.

“Do you ever think something else is going on here?” The question took Feyre by surprise.

“What do you mean?”

“I wonder, sometimes, if they aren’t letting me stay for a reason.” The words stirred within Feyre.

Could she be figuring it out?

“They let me stay, too.”

“You’re only half human.”

Feyre decided to push. “What do you think they’d keep you here for specifically?”

“Nothing, it’s stupid, forget I said anything.” And just like that, Calla was closed again. Feyre wondered, though, if this line of questioning might not be the key. They couldn’t tell her exactly what was happening, but if they could help her figure it out herself? She would ask Tamlin and Lucien what they thought about it when they returned.

In the meantime, she didn’t need Calla thinking that she wasn’t welcome here. Every inclusion was another step forward to accomplishing the goal they all wanted. Another step closer to Rhys.

“Have you considered that perhaps we ended up liking having you here?”

Calla immediately averted her eyes, then turned her whole head another direction. The silence felt heavy, and Feyre wondered if what she’d said had been taken as a taunt.

Finally, when Feyre was about to break and suggest they venture back to the manor, Calla spoke, her voice rough and harsh, as though she were using it to ward something off.

“I am not good at this, Feyre. I have never been able to depend on anyone but myself. I don’t know where to even begin.”

That Feyre understood. She’d had all her basic needs met her entire life, but had she ever been able to count on anyone for anything more than that?

She felt bad for not pushing Calla to seek the truth further, but she wouldn’t do it without discussing it with Lucien and Tamlin first. Even if she’d wanted to, she wasn’t sure she could confirm anything for Calla, at least not in any way that mattered. In the meantime, though, she couldn’t have Calla feeling like she was here as a pawn, even if, mostly, she was.

“We want you here, Calla.” It wasn’t a lie for Feyre, and it wasn’t entirely a lie on Lucien and Tamlin’s behalf either. If she ever wanted to reach Rhys, she needed Calla to believe enough to at least be open to Tamlin’s advances. The least Feyre could do was sow the seeds.

The honest, open look in Calla’s eyes nearly broke her heart. She knew what she was doing was for everyone’s greater good, but as Calla slipped her hand into Feyre’s, she couldn’t help feeling sick as another string in her web of slight deceits fell into place.

+++

Feyre woke with a jump, the vision of the attor holding her down and tearing her flesh still halfway in her mind. She could smell the rot on its breath, the scales of its rough skin. It still came to her from time to time, but sometimes, now, she could fight back. It was never enough to survive, but at least it reassured her that her training was working in some small way.

She wished, as she did every single morning, noon, and night, that she could return to her dreams of Rhys.

One step closer to you, Rhys. Whether I see you in my dreams or not.

She pulled herself up in the bed, rubbing her hand over her face and looking out the windows. It was still dark and the moon was hardly across the sky.

What had woken her?

She pulled herself from the bed, grabbing her clothes off the chair back and stepping into the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face before going to investigate. As she was pulling on her trousers, already softening with the regular wear and washing they were getting in Spring, she heard a loud commotion outside. Screaming, so much screaming, and the loud, commanding voice of Tamlin, barking orders.

Suddenly, every part of Feyre was at attention, the threat of horror seeping into her bones as she hurried out of her room, pushing the door shut behind her and rushing down to the foyer. She rounded the stairway just as the front doors burst open, Tamlin rushing in with a blue faerie over his shoulders and Lucien running in close behind.

“Open the dining hall!” Lucien obliged, rushing over, and Feyre sped down the remaining stairs, taking in the huge pools of blood littering the floor. The screaming continued, the walls of an animal not put down correctly, pulsing through the air and grating against her senses in a way that felt primal and painful. She could hear their yelling as she made her way across the bloody room, but it was Lucien who burst out of the doors, slamming into Feyre and knocking them both to the ground in the great hall.

Lucien was pale as a sheet, his hair flopped over his eyes as he looked up and beheld them. She thought he might say something, his lips as bloodless as paper, but instead he turned his head to the side and vomited all over the floor.

She’d never seen him so undone. Not in the days when Tamlin was gone, not when he learned of Andras, never. Her instincts to help him took over, her hand finding his and her other on his back.

“Come. Come on, let’s get some air.” He stood and dazedly walked to the back doors with her, the screaming ripping through the air behind them like knives through a canvas.

As soon as they stepped into the open air of the night, a soft chill dancing on the breeze, Lucien took a deep, gasping breath. He pressed his hands to his knees, bending over as he gagged again. Feyre rubbed a hand down his spine.

“What’s happened?”

“He was left on our borders. She cut his wings off.” He gagged again through the tears.

“Come on. Come sit down.” She led him over to their chairs, wondering why unshakeable, unflappable Lucien was taking this so hard. Had he known the fae? If he had, wouldn’t he have wanted to stay?

They sat in silence for a few minutes while Lucien caught his breath, the gasps evening out.

“It’s getting closer, isn’t it? If she’s getting this bold?”

“Yes, it will be soon.” Lucien’s voice was hoarse.

“We have to do something. I kept thinking we could let it be organic, but it isn’t happening quickly enough. It may never happen if we don’t step in.”

Lucien turned his head to look up at her. “She’s in there with him now.” The shock must have been evident on Feyre’s face.

“I saw her coming down the stairs when we were walking out. I assume that’s where she was going.”

It was quiet for a beat, then another, the crickets chirping the only sound to be heard.

Feyre pushed up, rubbing Lucien’s shoulder once more.

“I’m going to go see what I can. I’ll be right back.”

She went inside, hustling down the back hall from where they had come, the air now eerily quiet around her. The foyer looked like a war zone, the blood pooled and smeared all over the marble floors as Feyre crept around them.

There, right past the still-open doors of the dining hall, were Tamlin and Calla, crouched on the floor in the low lighting. The blue, bleeding fae was dead, his body draped listlessly across the table, the screaming now stopped. Blood had flowed openly over where they ate their meals down onto the floor into a massive puddle the color of an onyx sky.

Feyre, too, fought the urge to vomit.

But there, amidst the gore and chaos, Calla and Tamlin were close. So close, in fact, they could be mistaken for being in the act of a lover’s embrace if one didn’t know what had happened here.

She suddenly felt as though she were intruding on something very private, turning away to go back to the porch. She detoured to the cellars on the way back, grabbing two massive bottles of aged liquor. Feyre doubled back and grabbed a third, thinking of the state she’d left Lucien in.

When she returned to the quiet night, Lucien was leaning back in his chair, eyes on the sky. She handed him a bottle which he graciously took.

“You looked like you could use this.” She sat back into her own chair, turning her eyes back to him as he cracked his bottle open, swigging deeply and cringing.

“Thanks, Feyre.”

“Of course.” The silence stretched on between them, Feyre not sure what to say. She was, as she often found herself, at a disadvantage by having not had many close friends in her lifetime. She cursed that it was so hard for her to find the words to say to comfort a friend. Because Lucien truly had become that to her: a friend.

She was saved by the silence by Lucien, his voice quiet and hoarse.

“When I was younger, I was in love, Feyre.”

She focused all her attention on him, but he was still looking at the sky.

“She had the most beautiful wings.” His voice cracked, ragged with emotion.

So that’s what his reaction had been about. She’d read in the book on Autumn what had been the catalyst for his escape from Spring. She couldn’t imagine it–the pain of his own family doing such a thing.

“I read about your escape from Autumn. Will you tell me about her?” Lucien looked at her strangely then.

He told her of how he met Jesminda, the woods singing his name until he came upon her sitting in an old chestnut tree near the farms near the Forest House. He’d been enraptured by her immediately, and every time they met thereafter he’d fallen more and more deeply in love. He told her about how, despite how ready he was to give it all up for her, despite his meaningless place as seventh in line, Beron wouldn’t abide by the shaming of his family line for someone he deemed lesser.

Lucien got quiet again before he finished.

“I think she was my mate. And she died because of me.”

“Lucien, she died because your father is a cruel male. Not because of you.” He shook his head.

“I should have kept her safe–kept her far away from it all. I was careless and reckless, and she died because of me.” The parallels were not lost on Feyre as she set her hand back on his.

“Lucien, I have been dishonest with you, and you deserve the truth from me.” She was an idiot for thinking it, for saying it aloud, for doing it at all. But he did deserve more. She could give him the bare minimum.

“I am here for someone trapped with her, but it isn’t my father. I have no idea who he was, and I likely never will. There is a male there that I love, and I came to Prythian to set him free.” Feyre chose carefully what details to share and how. Prythian was vast and populated with many fae, but she wouldn’t risk sharing his name, holding as many cards to her chest still as she could get away with while still feigning telling the truth.

Lucien’s eyes shot to hers in disbelief. “You’re in love with a fae male?”

“Yes. He came to the human lands, and we promised ourselves to each other. He has no idea I am across the wall, but when I found out how he suffered, I couldn’t let him face it alone.”

“That’s suicide, Feyre. You’re half human. You’ll be killed before you can even blink.”

“I care about him, Lucien. If I do nothing to help him, what does that say about it?”

“You are a brave half-human to risk it at all. Or an idiot.” He chuckled hollowly

“You’re missing the point, you great buffoon.” She whacked him lightly. “She loved you, did she not?”

He sighed, inhaling deeply and loosing it through his nose. “With all her heart. With everything she had. Until her dying breath.”

“Then it was a gift she gave willingly to set you free. It doesn’t change the tragedy of it, but if what you told me is true, she would not have wanted you to blame yourself for a moment. If R–if he knew I was here, he might actually kill me himself.” She laughed a bit, trying to picture Rhys angry. “It’s just like you males to break yourselves trying to keep us safe and a million leagues from harm. But if I did not try at all, I wouldn’t have believed myself worthy of his love anyway.”

Lucien looked at her for a long time, as though he was trying to find an answer in her face to a question he hadn’t asked.

“I meant what I said when I told you I thought you belonged here, Feyre. If you don’t die, of course, you and your male will always have a home in Spring.” He clapped a large hand over her shoulder, squeezing her close while he drained the last drops from his bottle.

Feyre felt as though a weight had lifted off her shoulders. She’d shared just enough of the truth with Lucien to feel like she didn’t have to hide.

When they returned inside, the blood and body were gone, along with any evidence that Calla and Tamlin had been there at all. She bid Lucien goodnight as they ascended the stairs, breaking off to their own bedrooms. Despite the chaos and gore of the night, Feyre felt something at peace within her that she hadn’t since she’d crossed the wall and come into Spring. She didn’t even remember shutting her eyes before she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The following morning, Feyre had sorted out the last of her remaining books, setting aside the three for Dawn, Day, and Night so they didn’t get filed away. The rest of the books lay stacked on the enormous library table, waiting to be shelved. Lucien and Calla were still sleeping off the night before, and Feyre had sent off a letter with one of the staff asking Tamlin to come assist her when he had some time.

He came in just as she was wiping the sweat off her brow and placing the final book, ready to be shelved.

“You’re already finished?” He asked in shock.

“Yes, well, almost. I need a few more shelves for these final books, and I kept meaning to ask you if you knew of any in storage we could bring up. I’ve plotted some room over here by the windows, and thought one or two might fit her nicely for the last of it.

“Of course. If you would like to come with me, we have many pieces of furniture in storage for you to choose from. It might be a bit dusty, though.” He smiled as though teasing, and Feyre didn’t miss that his demeanor seemed a bit more open today despite the events of the night before.

“Sure, I have some time now, if you’d like.”

He motioned for her to follow, winding down the halls of the second floor to an entirely different part of the manor. She’d never ventured this far into the east wing before, but it seemed like more rooms, perhaps for guests or even more studies.

“Any more libraries for me to sort?” She asked lightly.

He chuckled. “No, that’s the only one. But if you must insist on working, I am certain there is more I can find for you.”

The walls here were long and bright, the hall full of windows on one side and letting the warm, Spring sun illuminate the gilded green wallpaper.

As they turned a final corner, coming down yet another hall, Feyre stopped dead in her tracks. A portrait filled the entire wall, floor to ceiling, done in amazing oils that seemed to leap off the canvas, the texture begging Feyre to reach out and touch it.

The painting portrayed a woman sitting on a plush settee, her hair swept back into an elegant, low, braided chignon. Her face was old and weathered, but regal, strong, omniscient eyes seemed to jump from the painting and follow Feyre as she moved closer. The thick paints captured the texture of the old woman’s skin, ridges and valleys deepening and lightening to show the years of age and work that had gone into them.

She held a young boy with green eyes and bright blonde hair, scarcely older than four or five, on her knee. He looked mostly solemn-faced, but with a smirk captured just in the tipping of the corner of his lips that belied his amusement and childlike joy. The woman’s arms were around him, a protective and loving gesture, and Feyre’s heart threatened to jump from her chest.

Tamlin had come back to stand beside her, noticing her pause and returning to her side. He cleared his throat.

“This is me, and my nursemaid, the nanny for our family. She practically raised me from birth, taught me all my lessons, how to not become an entirely wild beast.” He smiled sadly. “She was more of a mother to me than my own ever was.”

The emotion threatened to eat Feyre alive. Those hands, ridged and weathered, were ones she would recognize anywhere, even when the accompanying face didn’t wear the detailed mask of an elegant bird.

“I sent her away, banished her for her own safety, after the blight took hold. It was the only way I could get her to leave for herself. Otherwise, she would have stayed here and died here, and I couldn’t bear it.” He stepped forward, pressing a hand into the painting next to Feyre.

“She sounds lovely. I am sure she is still championing your cause somewhere and wishing you well.” Her eyes met Tamlin’s, the barest flicker of hope set in with his sadness. He cleared his throat again.

“Come, let’s get those shelves. I need to start setting things up today before the sun gets too high in the sky.” They began walking again.

“Setting up for what?” she asked, jogging back up next to him.

Tamlin sighed deeply. “Calanmai is coming.”

Taglist:

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[pixelm0on]

Admit it pt2

Pt1/Pt2

Had to get this out of my head. In my zoro era for no reason.

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and weed, f!reader, suggestive, smutty but softly, zoro has an active imagination.

*Pls forgive the mistakes English is not my 1st language sorry if it’s not great I’m pretty new at writing smut sorry*

He couldn’t tell you when this started, and it really wasn’t a problem most of the time… but as you sit right in front of him, your hair framing your face just the right way, smug look on your face after a cheap joke… he was in trouble. The slight shift in his sit barely noticeable by both your friends and his was a desperate try of looking unbothered.

He couldn’t tell when or even why it started at all but he can’t seem to forget every little image his brain comes up with. Painfully detailed flashes of you. Worse… flashes of him with you. Fuck sake. He swore up and down, at every single one of those flashes, it wasn’t a problem. It’s not like he was lying at first either... God

--

The first time you just moved your leg a little slower, your skirt laying a bit too high, and his mind immediately wondered how soft you would feel, how warm your skin must be… he might have stared a bit too long wondering how pretty you would sound.

It's not a problem he kept trying to convince himself. To be fair it really wasn’t, he took a sip of his drink, shook the thought away and you went back to look just like you did before. No more wondering for a while, until the next movement. He never gave it too much thought. Or at least he tried not to.

--

Get a grip

It works most of the time. If only you didn’t wear that top today he might have been fine. Why does she have to move like that? Just the way you sat down left him lost in his thoughts, head tilted, looking you up and down. Trying to focus enough be cool it’s fine

“You are staring” Nami piped up next to him. He fixes his pose after giving her a stare.

“Distracted not staring” he pointed out. Or tried to.

You flirt back to the cook, one of your little jokes apparently, zoro knew he wouldn’t be jealous, why would he? But he didn’t really expect to think about how you taste simply because of the way your half lidded eyes fell on the cook’s. His mind betrayed him producing images of those eyes on him as he drags his… He sips his bottle again trying to distract himself, the alcohol inevitably making it harder and harder.

C’mon man get a grip

His poor brain banging against his head. You were friends why would he be wondering how pretty you’d look under him? How could he even begin to lose himself in the thought of your sweet voice breaking for him? He couldn’t. This is dumb

Sadly for him tonight his imagination was going into overdrive. Maybe it was because both your friends and his are becoming closer and closer and from one night a week to three was messing with him. He refused it. Maybe tonight you just looked better than usual? He refused that too…

"you OK?" shit The music is loud but he could never miss the hypnotic sound of your voice, he mouths some form of confirmation and you go back to smiling. His mind betrays him once more. If you could see into his mind he was sure you'd never talk to him again. His arms tense at the vision of your hair wrapped around his hand as he fucks you into his bed.

He literally needed to walk away from the table after the last one. Am I going insane? Why can't i get it out of my mind today? he not So secretly stole one of sanji's cigarettes and headed outside. I'm probably just too drunk. Just need some air. Easy.

--

The air did help believe it or not. He picked up two bottles before joining you guys back at table. He drops one in the middle of the table disrupting the game going on, keeps the other to himself. God he should have looked around a little more before he sat. His instinct took over, sitting right in front of you. Oh fuck The sight of you might be too much for him. The way you lean on the table leaves your low cut shirt in perfect view for him, and as if that wasn't enough, when he finally focused away from your boobs he gets to see the way your back moves as you prop yourself up, and the way your tongue runs across the joint you hold.

The pictures swirl in his brain, your eyes staring back at him for a second just intensifies his sudden crave. He almost loses it when he sees your smug look that no one else seems to notice. He should be trying to play it cool but his mind won't give him a break. As he slides down in his sit, eyes trained on you as you prepare to light it. He could only hope no one talked to him because the only thing on loop in his brain is how much he wants to break you. The image of wiping that smug look of your face, making you beg for him.

--

" 'm gonna fuck you till my name is all you can say pretty girl" he mumbles grabbing your hair pulling slightly. His chest fully against your back, tongue sliding on your neck...

"zoro... Zorro..."

--

"Oi zoro" he snaps out of it, a hint of blush in his cheeks "you good?" your voice sweet as can be contrasting with the smirk on your lips. Does she fucking know?

"yeah why?" he chugs his drink and you just smile.

Fuck. The cook was fucking right.

[harryforvogue]

Tbh i care a looot if its yas and harry🐒

okie here this is just for you <333 i just wrote it <333

***

Though Yasmine's complete attention is on the TV, she keeps tilting her head back to give Harry better access. Well, to give him better access for his kisses at least. She’s not letting him do anything else.

He’s got her trapped in his arms, and every single time his hands slide under her shirt, she sends him an icy look that has him retreating immediately. He gets the idea, really, it’s just that it’s so cute to see her with that signature frown and semi threatening eyes. It’s so adorable.

And he’s done it so many times that he’s chosen to stick to kissing her neck. At first, he started off with the slow pecks that were so tender, Yasmine relaxed into his arms as she continued to watch the movie (which, it’s necessary to add, is probably the fucking scariest horror film Harry’s ever seen). She held his hands in her lap and snuggled right up against him.

But then, one of Harry’s hands slid up her torso to rest against her jaw, and then his kisses became more severe, more passionate. He pressed himself against her, kissing her cheek not unlike the way he does when he really just wants to shut off his brain and make love to her.

The movie is loud on the screen, and they’ve shut all the lights, so at the first jumpscare and loud banging noise, Harry jumped, moving away from her. 

Yasmine, infuriatingly, only patted his knee absently and continued to watch the movie with wide, delighted eyes.

In return, Harry has been holding her tightly, so focused on just kissing her face because 1. it’s so cute how concentrated she is, and 2. because he thinks that despite her attention on something, he’ll still be able to divert her thoughts back to him.

And okay, his plan hasn’t been working great. Especially with the death glares she sends him when he plays with the hem of her shirt one last time. Obviously they both know he’s not going to take off her shirt, but he does want to touch her some more. He feels so needy, it should be embarrassing.

She leans her head back when he kisses across her throat, her breath catching (though he’s not sure if it’s because of him or because someone just got stabbed on screen). He pulls her tight against him so she’s practically in his lap, kissing over her jaw and cheek, all the way up to her temple, and then back down to the back of her ear. He could do this all day long and never grow tired, his only form of sustenance being the sound of his lips kissing his girl’s skin.

She’s holding his hands in her lap again, and occasionally she’ll make small noises in the back of her throat, so small that Harry wonders if he’s imagined it. He keeps kissing her, turning her jaw so he can kiss her lips softly, but briefly so she can turn back to the movie.

Half an hour into the movie, Yasmine whispers, “You know, I waited so long for this movie to start streaming.”

“Mhm.” He’s too busy right now.

“I didn’t see it in the theater. Do you remember why?”

“Too busy grading papers,” Harry says, recalling how he offered to grade half her class papers so she could go see the movie with a friend. She’d declined because she wanted to go see it with him.

“Right.” She sighs softly when Harry pushes her hair off her shoulder and bites down gently on her neck. “And now that it’s here– you… you’re…”

“I’m not doing anything,” Harry whispers, ignoring the sound of someone getting stabbed again on screen. “You know I don’t like horror movies. I’m just keepin’ busy.”

“You are…” She shudders when he kisses her throat again. “...such a baby.”

Harry’s grinning. “Am I?”

“You are.”

“Your baby?”

“Shut up.”

“Am I distracting you?”

“You always distract me.”

Harry pulls away and laughs softly. “How romantic of you.”

“Didn’t mean in a good way.”

“Shall I leave you to watch your movie in peace, my delightful little psychopath?” he murmurs, turning her head towards him. She looks at his lips, leaning in slowly. “I can go away.”

Her hands let his go and grab his shirt instead. “I will kill you if you leave,” she whispers. 

Yasmine kisses him to the sounds of someone dying in the movie, and when she pulls up for air, she’s glaring at him. “We’re finishing this movie tonight.”

“Understood,” Harry says, leaning in for another kiss. But she pulls away, returning to her original position. 

Harry smiles and kisses her head, then her forehead, her cheek, and the bridge of her nose. “I love you, Yas.”

He can see the corner of her mouth tick up just the slightest. “Yeah yeah. Keep yourself occupied.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he smiles, and then kisses her again.

[chrisbangsbf]

Chan/Felix

Mature | 755 words

Tags and Warnings: au, new vampire chan, domestic bfs, teething, dog toys, teasing about pet play

AO3 link

“I thought you hated those,” Felix teases, leaning against the door frame. He's grinning, hands in his pockets. The bastard. 

Right before he’d arrived home, Chris had been gnawing on a particularly squeaky toy, lounging on the couch. But as soon as he heard Felix's soft steps come down the hallway, he stuffed the toy between the couch cushions and pulled a throw blanket over him to try and mask some of the humiliation he felt. He'd greeted Felix with a smile– asked him about his day at work, offered to order him some dinner while he washed up. But as soon as he heard the bathroom door shut, he'd been right back to cautiously pinching the toy between his teeth to relieve the pressure in his gums.

He feels silly now, as he somehow managed to get distracted enough by the sensation that he didn't hear Felix approaching.

Although embarrassed, ears red and cheeks dusted pink, it helps relieve his nerves to see the absolute fondness spread across Felix’s face. 

Chris huffs and spits the toy out, holding it up to examine the array of teeth marks on it. “They actually help," he admits begrudgingly, sniffing at the toy and scrunching his nose. He should probably brush his teeth. Blood breath doesn't smell pleasant, even to him.

“Well, I'm glad they do," Felix walks over and runs his fingers back through Chris’ hair– it's dry and fried, but the conditioner he bought recently has been doing some serious work, "'cause it's actually pretty cute." Felix's fingers get stuck on a small knot, and Chris hums contentedly, leaning into the touch and letting his eyes flutter closed. Having Felix close to him is like a balm, soothing over his brain in such a comforting way.

“I do prefer the ones that don’t make noise, though." He gives the toy a squeeze. "These kinda make me feel like a dog.”

Felix grins and kisses the top of Chris’ head, scratching behind one of his ears. “You mean you don't wanna be my puppy? How sad."

Chris whines and cranes his head back, staring up into Felix's dark eyes. He still has makeup on, smudged from the day and still beautiful. "At least I'm not chewing on your fingers, right?" He pouts, tilting his head in a way that's certainly not doglike.

Felix can't help but to bend down and kiss him. Even has the audacity to chuckle into Chris' mouth. "Not like I'd complain if you were."

"I'll keep that in mind," Chris whispers, nipping at Felix's bottom lip with a soft chuckle. Felix swats him half heartedly as he pulls away.

He swings himself across the corner and picks something up in a little bag. "Speaking of, by the way–" Chris perks up, scooting over so Felix can join him on the couch. "–since you're basically teething–"

"–I'm not a toddler!"

"Since you're basically teething," Felix repeats, amusement in his voice as he places the bag on Chris' lap, "I figured something like this might work a little better."

Opening the bag, Chris' eyes go wide. It's another dog toy, but this one appears to be made out of... rope? Or something similar in material, at least.

"It's a fucking tug of war toy," Chris says, mildly exasperated but not at all upset. He's actually sort of ecstatic about it, especially now that he's really feeling how rough the texture is. He's almost starting to drool just thinking about how satisfying it'll feel against his itching gums.

"Bought it on the way home," Felix says, smiling happily. Always glad to be helpful, always trying to make Chris' life, or afterlife, better. "Try it," he encourages. And Chris certainly can't deny him.

Chris turns the toy in his hand and tentatively nips at the edge of it. His fangs poke into the material slightly, but at least this one can’t deflate (which is good, since he's popped at least three of the plastic ones in the past few weeks). After a few experimental chomps, he takes it between his cheek and teeth and chews, audibly moaning as the scratchy surface scrapes his gums. He can't even help it, it truly feels that good. A relief he hasn't had in days.

"I love it," Chris mumbles around the fabric, reaching out to pull Felix closer. Melting into his embrace.

Felix giggles, moving a hand up to scratch gently at Chris’ scalp again. He leans in close, lips brushing the shell of his ear, and whispers, “Good boy."

[thicc-ray-of-sunshine]

Anyway bitches enjoy the beginning of my Egon fic. My brother said it was good and I trust him. Lmk what y'all think

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

To say it was frustrating was an understatement; being attracted to someone so emotionally unaware was as infuriating as it was depressing. The fact that you literally worked with him made it tenfold, it's like there was no escaping the wild cacophony of feelings you had for the man. In all honesty it was probably a fruitless endeavor since he quite literally embodied the phrase "married to their work" and wasn't known to show any remote interest into anything in the realm of romance.

Yes you were hopelessly infatuated with a one Dr. Egon Spengler; esteemed parapsychologist, nuclear engineer and Ghostbuster. He was strictly logical, a literal genius and held an austere demeanor that you found positively charming. Not to mention that he was extremely easy on the eyes; which was exactly what was leading you astray currently. It had become increasingly difficult to focus on the task at hand due to your wandering gaze that consistently landed with you staring at Egon's strong profile instead of typing up the notes on the sample of psychomagnotheric slime he was studying he had so nicely asked you to transcribe for him. Typically this wasn't really part of your job and normally you'd be working the phones and dealing with clients with Janine but it was an especially slow day so here you were in Egon's lab, attempting to type up an official copy of his lab notes. Attempting and failing that is. It was always like this now, he just drove you to distraction. Those high cheekbones, prominent, almost regal nose that held his very out of fashion glasses you found so endearing, the ones that magnified those beautiful chocolate brown eyes; he was just downright dreamy. Especially now, in his lab, jaw tensed and brow furrowed looking intensely at a small sample of the mood slime through his microscope.

You were so lost in your own head you nearly jumped right out of your seat when he let out a noise of frustration and moved away from the lense of the microscope to sit back in his chair. Snapping back into reality you quickly turned to right yourself and get back to the task at hand before you were caught either staring or slacking off. Unfortunately for you Egon caught the tail end of your gaze before you could completely look away and made an odd face that you couldn't quite decipher.

"You've already finished?" He asked quizzically. His expression warring between doubtful and being mildly impressed, eyebrows lilting.

Turning to look back at the stack of papers to be transcribed and your current progress on the computer you frowned. You had gotten pretty far but you still had another dozen pages to go at least. You felt shame for both not dutifully completing the rather simple task put forward and for essentially oggling your colleague. You shook your head, snapping out of your inner turmoil to face Egon who was patiently awaiting your response.

"Uhm not just yet, I should have these banged out within the next hour or so. Just a little out of it today."

You added a little smile at the end to deter any suspicion to your activities just for good measure. There was a brief flash of concern that immediately dissipated into his usual cool exterior.

"It's getting late and past our typical operating hours. Perhaps it's best you leave, I can finish this on my own."

You looked up at the clock and frowned again. It wasn't really that late, just past 8 in fact and you knew Egon would still be in the lab for at least another 6 hours given his track record.

Looking back at the stack of papers on the desk you sighed. You still had a ways to go and you really hadn't made a lot of progress in the last hour since your brain refused to cooperate. Realistically you probably didn't have it in you to finish but you didn't want to let Egon down and you were reluctant to give up on spending more of the evening with him.

"It's not a problem I assure you. I can handle these on my own."

He said, walking over to the desk you sat at to grab the notes in question, emphasizing his statement.

"You sure?"

"Perfectly."

You turned in your chair to face him better before giving him a half smile and standing up to stretch your limbs. Trying to shake off the guilt you felt about leaving him alone in his lab again.

"Thank you Egon. You have a good night okay? Please remember to eat something that isn't out of your snack drawer and try to get a reasonable amount of sleep please."

Staring up at him you could see the hint of a smirk, probably because you both knew he would not be getting anywhere near the recommended eight hours before you saw him again in the morning.

"Thank you for your help today (Y/N) it was appreciated."

He graced you with a small appreciative smile that highlighted his dimples that you gladly returned before clicking your heels together and making for the stairs. You said a brief goodbye to Ray who was still working on the Ecto while making your way out of the firehouse.

The cold night air bit at you while you hailed for a cab, it was too late and too cold for walking home so you opted to grab a ride. It was a short ride home despite the detours due to the massive hole in the street the city was currently trying to fix thanks to the Ghostbusters little slime excursion.

After stepping into your apartment building and a brief ride in the elevator you were finally home. Following a brief meal that included takeout from the night before and changing into your pyjamas your mind wandered it's way back to your feelings for the scientist.

You seriously doubted he was aware of it, regardless to the fact that it wasn't like you made your attraction blaringly obvious but considering everyone else at the firehouse were in the know about your crush and he wasn't made it pretty clear he either didn't know or worse: wasn't interested. That was the part that stopped you from acting. The idea that he didn't feel the same; something that would inherently damage both your working relationship and your friendship with the man, something you cherished deeply. Damn you and damn your crush on the good Doctor.

[be-with-me-so-happily]

Chapter 6

Series Summary: There are moments in our lives that have a major impact. The interactions, the adventures, and the love, all make up who we are. But when Harry can't remember those moments with YN, they are both left wondering what that means for themselves and their relationship.

Chapter Summary: This is (again) from Harry's point of view. Harry is at a crossroads now and he knows that whatever decision he makes, someone will end up being hurt.

Thank you to @runway-to-my-aid and @behindmygreyeyes for the brainstorm sessions for this chapter!

~~~~~

Chapter Warnings: Some explicit language, ex-girlfriend, mentions of cheating, ANGST

~~~~~

It's been a week since Harry has seen YN, and while he would like to say that time is exactly what he has needed to get clarity on this entanglement of his mind, he can't. If anything, it's only made things more difficult. Besides a doctor's appointment and a midday meetup with Tabitha, he has been sitting in his childhood home and alone with the tormenting confusion he has been so desperate to resolve.

He thought the familiarity he feels with Tabitha would instantly make her the one he chooses, but the guilt he is experiencing over the situation with YN has caused him to wonder why he feels it so deeply. He knows that the memories his mind has hidden away would answer that question, but he doesn't know where to find that lock box in his brain. Hell, he doesn't even know if he has the key.

As selfish as it probably is, he can't help but pity himself for how unfair this is on him. At least YN knows how she feels. At least Tabitha knows what she wants. Everything else, the things that change everyone's lives from here on out, are all on him and he has never felt his life more turbulent than it is right now.

He can't decipher what's holding him back. Does he actually want to be with Tabitha, or is the comfort just too difficult to give up? She is sociable and determined, both good qualities that he admires. She is someone he knows, someone he can understand, someone he would be able to jump back into a relationship with. However, even though she stated she wanted what they once had, there hasn't been an extraordinary amount of effort put into rebuilding anything. She can become distant, he has experienced that before, always attributing it to her busy schedule. However, there is a little frustration in Harry, thinking that she should at least try to work this out if it's what she wants. Then again, he could simply be reading too much into all of it due to the stress he is experiencing.

On the other hand, does he want to be with YN, or is he just feeling guilty for being so hesitant with someone who has been so kind to him? It really is amazing the effort she has put into helping him with everything, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally too. She's been abundantly supportive. However, he wonders if it's only due to the accident and his injury. What would happen if they start over again and it isn't as good as it is being made out to be, or he can't be who she expects him to be? What if he doesn't like who she knows him to be?

He finishes his morning coffee and decides that a distraction is something he desperately needs. It's possible that it could help clear his mind, since constantly letting his thoughts and feelings run rampant, yet trying to make sense of them all, is hardly the best technique. An idea pops in his head, and it is something that he knows will, at the very least, allow his mind to temporarily focus on anything but his current turmoil.

•••

"Alright everyone, I know you're excited that Mr. Styles is here, but we are still running class as usual." Sarah states to the students. "Jeremy, come on… just sit down. Drummers keep the beat, man, be a leader."

Harry chuckles as he watches his students compose themselves and get back to their lesson. Edison Academy of Arts was at the top of Harry's list in terms of a career. He loves the structure they implement, allowing him to stay with the same students throughout most of their time at the school. This means, much to Harry's immense pleasure, that he knows the kids in his class. The missing memories are not keeping his love of music and his class from him, and considering everything else he has forgotten, the relief he feels about that fact is overwhelming.

"What've you lot been working on?"

He listens as his students perform pieces they've been practicing, and beams with pride. Finally, he feels some uncomplicated joy. Finally, there is something he does remember and knows that he still has. Finally, there's a moment in his life, since the hospital, where he feels balance and stability.

The bell rings to dismiss for lunch and Harry says goodbye to each student as they walk out. Sarah suggests they go to the teachers lounge to eat but Harry timidly asks if they can stay in the room, not wanting to ruin the peace he feels by getting overwhelmed with questions from the other teachers, as well-intended as they would be.

"So, why are you at your mom's?" Sarah asks, taking a bite into her sandwich and staring at him with an expectant expression.

"Bloody hell, y'just gonna dive right into it, hmm?"

She chuckles as she finishes the food in her mouth, wiping off her hands and staring straight into his eyes. "Well, yeah. What else would we talk about?"

"Literally anything else." He responds, sending her a glare before looking down at his own food and sighing. His moment of joy and balance is quickly dissipating. "I dunno what to say."

"Alright." She states, suddenly softening her tone and her expression. "We don't have to talk about it."

"S'just… I feel like I'm fucked either way."

"What do you mean?"

Her brows quickly furrow in confusion, and Harry's body tenses with the realization that Sarah might not know the details of the situation he is in. The situation he has put both himself and YN in. In fact, as far as he knows, none of his mutual friends with YN know what has been happening.

"Umm… shit." He runs the back of his neck, hoping that the motion will bring him some kind of comfort, or help him to disappear and avoid this conversation. "I… have been having a hard time… choosing…"

"Choosing what…?" The stern expression still plastered all over her face.

"Choosing… who I want to be with…" He admits, immediately dropping his gaze out of shame, as his chest tightens.

Sarah doesn't immediately respond, continuing to stare with the confused expression that had appeared a few moments earlier.

"Like… between YN and… who?"

Harry knows and loves Sarah, and Mitch, and trusts them with so much in his life. He has kept all of this from everyone, but Sarah is someone he does feel he can confide in about this.

"And Tabitha."

She suddenly sits up straight in her chair and presents shock throughout her features. They know him well, more than most of his friends do, but this is something that he is concerned could potentially strain the close friendship they've all had. Because, as much as he knows they love him, it has been made very clear that they love YN just as much.

"You can't be serious, Harry." She shakes her head in disbelief. "Why… why is she even an option?"

He sighs and clears his throat, wishing some sort of residual effects from the accident would cause him to pass out, or combust if possible, and take him away from this awkward conversation. But, as close as they are to YN, he feels as if she can understand his need for familiarity.

"I just know her. Y'know?" He shrugs, looking up to see her understanding, but being met with an even sterner look.

"No! I don't know!" She scolds, causing Harry's body to tense completely, and his breath to momentarily leave his lungs. He was not expecting her to be so upset. "It's stupid!"

"Ease up, Sarah. I remember being with her, and loving her. It's hard to give up the relationship I remember being in."

She scoffs, causing a slight frown to form on Harry's face. He understands her closeness to YN, but she knows Tabitha as well, and he's not asking her to choose between them.

"Okay, so what about YN? You said you're having trouble choosing… so, what about her?"

"YN is…" He pauses, really wanting to be thoughtful about his answer. Not just because he is explaining it to someone who is friends with her, but also because he wants to understand it for himself. "Comfortable… in the way that… that we were able to just hang out and it was good. We didn't, like, have to do anything fancy."

That may have been the first time Harry was able to articulate his feelings and reasoning for wanting to stick around YN.

"Yeah." Sarah responds, a subtle smirk appearing on the side of her mouth furthest from Harry. "That's YN."

"That's what I've been told." He replies, wishing that his memory wouldn't have been taken and he remembered, if only for the reason that this entire situation could be so much easier. He takes a big sigh. "Why does this have to be so difficult?"

Her demeanor quickly changes, at a pace that almost shakes Harry in his seat. She leans forward, the most unreadable expression on her face, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"I don't know, Harry. I honestly don't know what's wrong with you!"

"What the hell is that s'pose to mean?"

"I just don't understand why this is even something that's confusing to you."

"Because I only remember loving Tabitha…"

"Right. But you also broke up with her…"

"I know. Well, I don't know, but I've been told." He sighs and spins one of the rings on his finger. Everyone remembers this, everyone remembers the hurt and heartbreak he supposedly went through with Tabitha. Everyone except him. "But it's what I know, or remember. I wish I remembered YN, but I don't. Tabitha feels… safe…"

"Safe? What the fuck? She cheated on you!" Sarah states blankly, causing Harry's entire body to freeze. He knows they had some issues at times, every relationship does, and the week before that Christmas Gala had been a bit rough, but this is not something he ever thought possible. He's not even sure Sarah has her facts straight.

"What?... No… She-"

"Didn't you talk to her about this? YN said you met up with her to clear things up!"

He thinks back to that day in the cafe, sitting across from Tabitha, and hearing her explain what happened between the two of them.

"She said I broke it off."

"Yeah, you did. Because she cheated on you." She replies sternly, not necessarily towards him, but seemingly towards his ex.

"She said… fuck… she said I didn't like her working so much-"

"Kudos to her, that isn't completely untrue. But it was because she was fucking her coworker."

What Harry had been worried about with Tabitha, what he had been trying to push aside and blame on the stress of the situation, was all starting to culminate into one big knot in his stomach. He expected sadness to fill him up, but instead it's a pool of anger. She hurt him, then lied about it, and then tried to convince him that they were good together… that they would be good together again.

He immediately stands up, not even feeling fully in control of his body. He thought he knew Tabitha, he thought he remembered Tabitha, he thought his feelings for her were valid and reciprocated. And now, if anything, he feels like an idiot.

"What are you doing?" Sarah asks timidly, a friendly concern apparent in her voice.

Harry's mind is racing, to the point that he doesn't even have a clear answer. Everything since the accident is replaying in his head, and it fuels his anger even more, leaving him unable to solidify any sort of plan before he grabs his things and pushes the chair in.

"Dunno. But I'm going to see her." He growls, quickly glancing at Sarah to see her nod, and turning to leave. "Thanks Sarah."

"I'm always here for you Harry."

•••

After charming his way past the receptionist, Harry stands in front of Tabitha's office door, doing what he can to regulate the rhythm of his chest due to his rapid breathing. He decides she doesn't even deserve the decency of a knock, so he grabs the handle and swings the door wide open.

"Harry!" Tabitha exclaims, a similar shock to Sarah's instantly plastered all over her face.

"You cheated on me." He states, not asking and giving her a chance to deny it.

"Harry…" She begins to reply, motioning him to close the door and sit in the chair on the opposite side of her desk. Harry's body is so tense that he almost doesn't move from his spot, but he isn't one to make a scene in such a public place, so he gives her this one courtesy.

"Tabitha, you told me that I broke up with you. You told me that it was my decision. You told me that I insisted we were different people and that I ended what we had!"

"Yeah." She shrugs, her elbows resting on her desk and her chin propped up by her fists. "It's true…"

"Except you left out the most important part!" He growls, his palms clenching tightly into fists in his lap. Suddenly, for the very first time since the accident, something pops into Harry's mind that he didn't realize was even there to begin with. "It was Devin, wasn't it? It was your boss, Devin!"

She lets out a sigh and his anger rises as he notices a subtle roll of her eyes.

"Yeah. It was."

"I can't fucking believe this." He runs his hand through his hair, shaking it in disbelief. What surprises him about the gesture is that it's not due to her actions, but instead due to how easily he trusted her without question. He just let his desperate desire for normalcy and familiarity blind him from the reality of what their relationship had become. He hid their recent hangouts from his friends, not wanting them to convince him to do otherwise, but he never stopped to think about why he was afraid of them attempting doing so.

"Geez, Harry, what do you want me to say?" She snaps, causing Harry's eyes to send her a heated, piercing glare. She's so casual about this, as if she picked up the wrong kind of cereal from the grocery store.

"How long? I just wanna know how long you were seeing him while we were together."

His knuckles turn white as he grips on to the armrests of the chair. Not that he remembers everything, but he is certain he has never been this angry before, ever. She used him, she took him for granted, and betrayed him. And as he waits for her answer, he feels rage as she bites her lip as she ponders his question and prepares her answer.

"Six months."

"Oh for fucks sake, Tabitha! We were together for just over a year!" He exclaims, once again uncontrollably shooting straight up from the chair. "And for almost half of our relationship you were fucking someone else... Wait…"

A sensation runs through Harry's brain, almost like the tiniest spark has just ignited inside and it almost drops him to the floor. Suddenly, a picture runs through his mind and his heart almost stops beating.

"It was the Christmas Gala…" He almost wants to cry. Not because of the words he is about to say, but because of how he is even capable of saying them. "I found out at the Christmas Gala. That was the night we broke up."

He has finally remembered something.

"Harry… look… yes, I made a mistake, but I still think we can be together again…" She smirks, standing from her own chair and slowly making her way around the desk. She reaches out to grab his arm. "I can end it with him if yo-"

"You're still with him?" He begins to shout, no longer caring about the discretion he wanted to give her earlier. "God you're unbelievable! You're so fucking selfish!"

Suddenly, something else pops into his head. It's not a memory that had once been hidden, but it's of something he had recently experienced. It was of YN. She had never once been selfish since the accident. She took care of him, she never hoarded his time, and she waited as she hoped he would regain his memories and come back to her. As if he didn't already feel like an idiot before, he feels like he didn't even deserve a brain at this point, because he clearly hadn't been using it at all. His chest quickly tightens as he moves out of Tabitha's reach and towards the door. He hurt the one person who, as far as he knows, has never hurt him. Not like this. Definitely not like this.

"Whatever this was going to be, it's not." Harry replies, swinging the door open once again and stepping out, clearing his throat in hopes that he will be loud enough for her coworkers to pick up on. "Try not to sleep your way too high up the corporate ladder, yeah?"

With that, Harry turns around and heads out of the building, feeling another sort of contradictory emotion as he walks a few paces down the street and presses his back against the wall. He is proud of himself for what happened, no longer feeling inferior to the person he was once with, and giving her exactly what she deserves. But there is a hurt there. A hurt, not because of Tabitha, but because of YN. Because he hurt her. Because she deserves way better, and he wants her to know it.

•••

He didn't waste any time heading over to the flat. He doesn't know what he is expecting, except maybe a door slamming in his face, and he doesn't even know what he will say, but he wants YN to at least know that he is sorry for putting her through all of this.

The closer he gets to the building, the more he thinks about how amazing she has been to him, and how comfortable he has actually been with her. He probably won't stop scolding himself for how he let someone from his past, someone who really wasn't good for him, enter back into his life and overshadow everything YN had been giving him.

He likes the comfortable nights they spent having dinner together, watching a show or reading books. Even though they were often on opposite ends of the couch, it always felt easy, and natural. He likes the way she looks at him with a little sparkle in her eye, shying away when he meets her gaze, which he realizes was her way of not forcing herself back into his heart. He likes the way she got excited about the littlest things that meant so much to them, even if he couldn't remember. He definitely regrets snapping at her that night it started raining. He likes how she is so passionate about her work, but never lets it take over her life. He likes how she, from what he's been told, encourages him with his own passions, especially with music. He likes how she gets along with his friends, having made them her own, and bringing a few others into their tight knit group.

He likes YN.

Not for the first time today, he feels like an utter fool. From day one of waking up in the hospital, she has been there for him, and he didn't even give her a full chance. He would say he has been missing out on all those good things, but truthfully, he hasn't. She has been doing them for him the entire time, and he took it all for granted. It wasn't his intention, but it also wasn't right. So no, he wasn't missing out, but he wasn't experiencing it to the fullest. He was too scared to allow himself, which in hindsight seems ridiculous. There's a reason his mum, his sister, and his entire friend group love her so much and tried so hard to get him to see why. Because she was so good. She was so good to him and for him, yet he has been anything but good to her.

He is so deep in his thoughts that he doesn't even realize he is standing in front of the door to the flat. He raises his fist up, no longer having keys to what was once a shared space, but stops and runs his hand through his hair. He doesn't even know what to say, and he doesn't even know if he deserves the chance to anyway.

He takes a big inhale and slowly breathes out, trying to ground himself before he hits his knuckles against the door and waits anxiously for a reply.

He didn't know if he expected YN to be home, but he didn't necessarily expect to see the person that answered his knock.

"Oh god." Adhira states.

"Hey. I know… I mean… I'm sure I'm not anyone's favorite person, but is YN here?" He mutters, suddenly feeling less enthusiastic and confident about this interaction.

"No."

"When will she be back? I just… I have a few things I want to say."

"She's not coming back for another week."

"A week?" Harry replies with a loud, shocked tone. "Where… where did she go?"

"She went to visit with her parents for a bit." Adhira sighs, her gaze flickering all over his figure as he begins to fiddle with his rings, then rub the back of his neck. "Come… come in, Harry."

She moves to the side as Harry walks through the doorway and into the flat. He knows it hasn't been long, but nothing has changed. Even with all of the things he has taken to his mum's, it still looks like the place they had apparently made their home, together. The coffee machine that admittedly didn't make as good of a latte as Way Cup, a few framed photos of them together throughout the last two and a half years, and as he looks over to the couch, he notices his favorite blanket sprawled across the back of it.

"So… are you staying here?" He asks, eyes still fixed on the couch.

"No… I just came to get the mail." She replies. He had forgotten to take the blanket as it had been tucked away out of sight. But seeing it laying out there in the living room, now knowing Adhira wasn't using it, means that YN has been, and the guilt he feels for everything will be what stops him from taking it back. "What are you doing here Harry?"

His eyes snap back over to be met with Adhira's questioning look and he knows the pain he has caused YN has also spread to her friends. Their friends.

"I want to tell her that m'sorry."

"Okay… Sorry for what?" She replies, crossing her arms across her chest. He senses her caution, and her guard of YN, and he can't blame her. She is testing him, to see if he truly knows what he is apologizing for.

"For how I treated her. For how I took her for granted. For how I couldn't make a decision, and it hurt her." He actually feels mildly proud of how quickly and effortlessly he was able to explain himself. With how jumbled his thoughts have been over the past few weeks, this is the clearest he has felt in a long time.

"Okay…"

"Look, Adhira, I told Tabitha we weren't going to be anything. And even if YN never wants…" The sadness he suddenly feels when he begins to make his statement is a little out of left field. He had only just recently realized, or rather acknowledged, that he likes YN, but the thought of her never wanting to see him again made his breathing race faster. He knows he doesn't deserve a chance to start things over with her, but he is now discovering that he wants that chance. "If she never wants to see me again… I just want her to know that I know I fucked up, and m'sorry."

Adhira stands there for a moment, studying his face as he shifts his weight between his legs, unable to stand still for more than just a few moments with the amount of anxiety flowing through his veins.

"Why did you cut it off with Tabitha?" She asks.

"Some things were bothering me. And then Sarah told me that she cheated on me, and I was done."

"You didn't know she cheated on you?" She replies, a wide and seemingly mildly judgemental look on her face.

"No. She lied to me. But I don't wanna get into that. I just wanna talk to YN."

"Well, she's not here. But I don't know if that's a good idea. I think she needs… space… and her own time to think about what it is that she wants now."

Harry's heart stops for a moment. Maybe it's too late. Maybe she already doesn't want to see him anymore. He can't blame her, he did this to her to a much deeper degree, and this is his consequence. But his mouth drops open and he can't hold back what he says next.

"We're supposed to be together." The sentence rolls out, one similar to what she had said to him, that he is supposed to want her.

"This isn't an obligation, Harry. She doesn't want to be that!" Adhira throws her hands down to her hips. "And she doesn't want to be your second choice."

"She's… she's not!" He shouts, instantly becoming aware of his volume and clearing his throat as he tries to compose himself. "I want… I want to be…"

The words get stuck in his throat as his mind begins to swirl again. All the positivity and small amount of hope he had been feeling have disappeared, like his memories, potentially along with his chance to make things right with YN.

"Be with her?" She asks, only being met with a nod. "Harry, she was hurt by not being remembered by you, then she was hurt by not being chosen by you…"

"I know." He lowers his gaze to the ground, feeling as if his body could follow along with it.

"I'm just saying that I don't want to see her get hurt again." She explains, Harry quickly gazing up to see her softened features.

"And I don't want to hurt her again." He whispers. He begins to feel hopeless, and helpless. He shouldn't have hurt her in the first place, it was unintentional, but he doesn't want her to go through anymore. The accident in itself was enough for her to have to deal with, but the stress, the nightmares, and his indecisiveness piled on top was just cruel, and it was his fault. He wants to make things right between them, but he doesn't really know how, and now he definitely doesn't think he deserves the chance to. Because he doesn't want to fail her anymore. "I should… I should go."

"Harry… I'm just-"

"No, s'alright. I get it."

He shoves one hand in his pocket and the other one throws up a little wave.

"Oh. Wait. I've got something for you." Adhira quietly states, jogging into YN's bedroom and returning with two shoeboxes in her hands. "I, umm, I was cleaning her room and found these in the back of the closet… they have your name on them."

He grabs the items and opens the lid of the box on top, seeing a stack of his writing journals inside. They are filled with all sorts of melodies and lyrics for songs, something he turns to a lot when he needs to express himself or an idea just pops in his head. He has a feeling that there is a decent amount in there about Tabitha, but probably way more about YN.

"Thanks." He mumbles. He should've known things would end up this way, without either of the people he had been torn between, even though there was really only one good choice in the first place. He doesn't pity himself. This is what he deserves- slinking out of his old flat, literally caring all of his feelings with him.

•••

A knock on his old bedroom door awakens Harry from a sorrow-induced nap. He honestly never thought he'd feel this low, especially about someone he still doesn't remember before the accident, yet here he was. He hasn't stopped thinking about how truly idiotic he has been, not truly giving his supposed relationship with YN an actual chance. Hindsight is evil in this case, as he becomes so aware of how amazing YN was to him. She really is someone who is beautiful inside and out.

"Harry?" Anne's voice vibrates through the door, pulling him further out of those sleepy, regretful thoughts.

"Come in, Mum." He replies, sitting up and scooting to the edge of the bed.

Anne opens the door with a hot cup of tea in hand, making her way to sit next to her son and offering it to him, which he gladly accepts.

"What's going on, sweetheart?" She asks softly, placing her hand on his shoulder. "You've been grumpy since you moved back, and mopey since you got home today."

The comforting beverage in his hand serves another purpose, keeping Harry from throwing his hands up to his face. Instead, he looks quickly over to his mother, and then straight down to the ground.

"I fucked up."

"How so?" She asks lovingly, though he is fully aware that she can sense some of what is to come in this conversation. Not the details, but certainly the underlying tone.

"With YN. I was such an idiot." He replies, trying to take in a few breaths to keep himself and his thoughts together. Everything has been racing the last few weeks, and he reveled in the slightest relief he had from it as he made his way to the flat today, only for it to be snatched away from him and replaced again by the swirling tornado inside his mind. "I was too scared to try and make it work."

"Why?"

"Honestly, dunno. Afraid of the unknown maybe." He shrugs, disappointed in himself for how he handled it all. "And I let the familiarity of… Tabitha… keep me in that state of fear."

"Tabitha?" Anne replies, a bit of a hiss behind her words. "Harry… no…"

"I know. I know. It was the relationship I could remember, so I grasped onto it. But it was so stupid. I was so stupid." He winces, partially at the recollection of his poor choices, but also in anticipation of a scolding from his mum. Instead, there is silence, which causes him to look over to her. He can see her opening her mouth slightly, only to stay silent, and it makes him feel even worse that his own mother doesn't even know what to say. "Oh god… did you know? Did everyone know?"

"Know what?"

"That Tabitha cheated on me?"

Anne pulls her lips in and Harry notices an apologetic look in her eyes. His stomach knots tighter the longer she stays silent.

"Fuck! So… that means YN knew too…"

Harry suddenly feels as if he's been punched in the stomach as he watches Anne nod, painful to the point that he curls over himself, bending at the waist and almost dropping his cup of tea. YN never said anything about it, though to be fair, she also didn't know that he had been hanging out with Tabitha until recently. But even still, she didn't acknowledge it. No wonder she kicked him out. "I hurt her, Mum. Fuck. Now I dunno if I can make it right."

She places a hand on his thigh and gives it a couple of pats, something she had done throughout his childhood when they were engaged in a serious conversation.

"Harry…" She sighs, turning her body slightly more towards his and giving him a small smile. "I talked to her yesterday…"

He straightens up, unsure how he feels about the statement she just made. Is he hopeful that the connection they have with each other could give him a shot at making things right, or is he afraid that she is now cutting ties with anyone that has a connection with him?

"Y-you did?"

"Yes." She nods, giving his thigh another pat, which only causes his uncertainty to rise to the next level. "I probably shouldn't say anything."

He drops his head. That doesn't sound like a statement that would be positive for him, and he squeezes his eyes shut, letting in a large amount of air into his lungs to attempt to stay somewhat stable.

"Okay." He sighs.

She removes her hand from his thigh and begins to fidget with the hem of her jumper, clearly being the influence of his own nervous habit.

"She still loves you, Harry. Of course. But you're right, she is hurting." She states, looking to Harry with a complicated expression- compassionate yet concerned. "Do you have your memories back?"

He shook his head, furrowing his brow at the reminder of the only lost one he has managed to regain. "Only one, of the break-up with Tabitha."

"So… you want to work it out with her… even though you don't remember her from before?"

"Yeah." He softly mumbles, surprised at how well she communicated that statement. He hadn't thought about it like that. It made a smile form on his face, knowing that it means he truly does like YN, but it quickly disappears knowing that it might not matter anymore.

"Well, maybe not all hope is lost. Give her some time."

He nods, but his stomach turns in knots again and his heart sinks. He told her that he needed time, which created this painful position he finds himself in now. Time wasn't what he should've asked for, and if she ends up needing it herself, he is afraid that it won't end the way he hopes it would.

~~~~~

Series Masterlist

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[afreakingdork]

Backfire

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader One-Shot

Tags: Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Fire, One Shot, Gift Giving, Short & Sweet, Tactical Turtles (TMNT)

Synopsis: As Don stokes the flames to warm the house, you try to finally pull one over on him in the form of a gift.

Also Available on Ao3

A Secret Santa gift for @amutantturtleenthusiast

@crackedpumpkin fielded me with the idea and @morning-sun-brah stayed with me in the word doc to make this bad boy happen!

To Pen! Your tactical turtles changed my brain chemistry and, though I can't imagine doing them an ounce of justice as you do, I hope you enjoy this gift! Everyone go read Pen's series!

There was no way this was going to work.

Getting home from a veritable blizzard, Don had left you to warm the space. The day away had chilled it down to its very brick bones and the little hearth he’d constructed for the sake of the holiday no longer seemed like a silly one. You saw its practicality now, especially if the power went out as it threatened. You craved the flames that would lick up from the pit and his distraction was exactly what you needed.

“I’m going to wash up.” You told him.

His vague nod was one that spoke volumes.

It was always like that with him.

So little, too much.

By all accounts he should have been a fortress and, in many ways he was, but there were small tells that kept you going.

Not necessarily cracks in his emotional facade, but instead leaks that he allowed.

They were gifts.

Just like the one you were on your way to get.

Winding through the hall, it felt like all was for naught.

He was a genius.

He was beyond you in literally every way.

The fact that you had even purchased something, wrapped it, and hidden it was a marvel in and of itself.

Just shy of going to anime-like feats to make sure he hadn’t tampered with it, you knew he’d probably circumvented those too if he really wanted to know. There was a real chance that he already did. There was a chance he’d tailed you physically or visually via his network of security cameras. There was even a chance that he’d given the shop keep who’d smiled at you a little pep talk before you ever entered the store with an intent to buy him a single thing.

You hadn’t minded it.

It was a simple fact of being with your turtle.

It came with the territory.

It didn’t mean you didn’t want to circumvent him once in a while.

In all the years you'd been together, you hadn’t once seen surprise pass over his features. He always knew in some small way what you were aiming for and some version of you accepted what was never to be.

You also wanted to blow something up in his face once in a while.

So you’d gone through the secretive motions. You’d played your part. You’d gone above and beyond any and all spy thrillers, just for the lotto numbered chance of surprising Don. You decided that was enough. If you couldn’t get him with all this, it simply wasn’t within your power, but at least you tried and that counted for something.

Kicking out a bench from the edge of the guest bed, you dropped down to all fours and fondled under the mattress. Between some slats you’d wedged his gift and it came loose without a crinkling noise. A good sign, you checked that the wrapping was still in place before you hugged it close to your chest.

Now came the hardest part.

Creeping along a wall and just shy of pressing your body to it, you approached the room he was in. A small peek found him moving logs, and on instinct, after years together, you knew that he was aware of your presence. You watched him get hold of a poker and your body animated, as staying still was a tell in and of itself.

“I had a good day.” You moved behind him, hoping with every fiber of your being that he wouldn’t turn around.

He gave a tepid hum of agreement.

“We gonna snuggle up by that fire?” Small, innocuous steps brought you behind a couch, placed to look upon the hearth.

Only a puff of air followed. Something of an ill-formed chuff, it said that depended on your behavior.

A titillating thought in and of itself, you shoved those butterflies down. Squashing them with the net, you looked down at the present as he lit a match. He smoked the tinder and, in his squat, he revealed the mailbox for your postage.

It just had to be the stockings hung with care. 

Pinned above his head and all too obvious, you almost laughed.

The odds were already abysmally against you making the free throw from half-court, but now you had the other team’s star player on defense.

What could you do?

The best you could.

As you’d already decided.

Sauntering up behind Don, you knew he was watching you even though you weren’t truly in his periphery.

Your intent was the only thing you could mask at this angle so you moved to work with your only option.

Steps that you hoped seemed natural brought you just beside his back.

A direct approach from behind a poor one, you made a show of reaching out with your free hand to skim his shoulder.

It was with the weight of your digits that you meant to translate what you felt and you sent it all towards distraction.

“Not now.” He grunted and stabbed one perky flame to give it a chance at life.

He needed to warm the house for his mate.

He wouldn’t let even you, said creature, get in the way of such a task.

It brought a smile to your lips and you left your hand there for a faint squeeze of that affection. “I’m just thankful.”

He didn’t move and allowed your question to be prompted by the air alone.

“A holiday with you.” You bent at the waist. “Spending time, the whole thing. I know it’s not your favorite.”

A flick of his pupil said he, in fact, hated it.

“But!”

His eyes returned to the growing fire.

You were running out of time.

Trying not to rush, but knowing your breath shook, you felt his muscles contract as he adjusted the smoldering pile.

He knew.

You’d deal with that later.

All that mattered was getting your gift into the stocking.

Whatever it took.

“I appreciate that you did it anyway.” You punctuated your point with a stolen kiss to the side of his head, and, at the same time, you were just barely able to shove your gift into his stocking.

Retreating, the gift dropped down the length of the garish boot shape and the fire cackled loudly as if to help you out.

Thanking the flames for all they provided, you released him. Don found the growing flame suitable and stood.

You took a step back to keep from stumbling and watched as he sized you up.

Always feeling dwarfed by him, you gave the smallest tilt of your head which metered your chin. It was an act of fealty that he preferred and, though he couldn’t give the exact of a smile, there was a twitch to one of the corners of his lips that said the gesture was one he preferred. You were rewarded for it, in that moment, as he dipped down and scooped you up. A movement you knew with a deep muscle memory, he approached the lone couch with your body held in the easy circle of his arms. Heat from the fire chased him as he gave minor adjustments until you were cozily tucked into his lap.

His body relaxed in the only small way he ever allowed and you knew this to be comfort for him. Snuggling into his chest since it also meant you could be a little extra selfish and get away with it, he turned into you. Awaiting a scolding, you readied yourself for a complaint when he instead kissed the side of your head as you had done to him.

Heart flipping, your breath caught in your throat as he nuzzled into your ear with what should have been the heated promise of what was to come in.

He continued to subvert you with a few whispered words.

Just enough to set you aflame, but not in the usual way, he was able to stoke you like the fire.

“If I were anyone else, I might have been surprised,” he rumbled in your ear.

You let out a sigh, deflating a little in his arms.

He gave a short chuckle that you hardly ever got to hear and laid a kiss across your cheek. “I appreciate it.”

Alit, it was the way his arms tightened around you, the way his snout pressed into the corner of your neck, and the way a low churr purred against your skin, that worked as a coordinated effort to soothe your disappointment.

You sighed anew, this time giving into satisfied relaxation of a job well done that the flames joined in on.

[unreadpoppy]

I should preface this post by saying that a lot of this is just me straight up taking shit out of my ass. No basis in canon whatsoever, only my interpretation and theory on things. So yeah, this is more of a opinion piece/headcanons than anything.

Haarlep says they were only ever sent to distract Raphael. Not gather information and report back, just distract.

And like yeah, sex can be a distraction but in the long run, I don't think it's that effective, like eventually, someone's gonna tire. And yeah, incubus do have that irrestible, charming thing, but idk if it works on other devils? I could be wrong but anyways, maybe it's to a lesser effect on devils than mortals and also, Raphael's a pretty smart guy, so he could figure out Haarlep wasn't a gift out of the goodness of Mephisto's heart but to serve as a distraction.

And like, giving his status, maybe Mephisto could have sent something that would really keep Raphael distracted for a long time, or at least, keep sending things/people, but he only ever sent one incubus and then a balloon thought popped into my head.

What if Mephisto sending Haarlep was a sort of "two birds one stone" situation. Like ok, stick with me as I explain this crazy ass thought that began occuring.

Maybe Haarlep did something to anger/upset Mephisto, and as punishment, he sends Haarlep as a gift to his son, who he also needs to be dealt with. And like why punishment? 1) so, based on what I said on my other post, I don't think Mephisto thinks that highly of his son, so sending soemone to a person he doesn't like could be kinda like "now you deal with this little shit" 2) I mean, you're taking someone from freaking Mephistar and throwing them to fucking Avernus, that is constantly being wrecked by war, i'd be pissed, 3) Haarlep is a full blooded fiend, so it could be seem as as slight to him to have to service a half-devil and 4) i think there's a humiliation aspect.

I think saying Haarlep was a "gift" is a strong word, considering what gifts are supposed to mean, but it could be the use Mephisto used like here take this incubus as a gift (even if the reality was to distract raphael). Giving someone to another person is dehumanizing them in a way, you don't seem them as a person, but as something that can be gifted around to others, so it could, in a way, almost be seen as Mephisto saying "this is how much you're worth. nothing."

And like, maybe Mephisto sent Haarlep, knowing/thinking/expecting them to not last long, for Raphael to kill them eventually and since they were in the hells, he wouldn't respawn. Like maybe he just wanted to get rid of Haarlep, with the added bonus of possibly distracting Raphael for some time.

And ok, this is where I get on that stuff about Raphael and Haarlep's relationship being more complicated than what we think. (again we are reaching headcanon material here).

Because ok, what if Raphael sees that this incubus that was sent to him is obviously a ruse, that he should probably get rid of them but despite everything, he sees potential. Haarlep can change his form, can 'suck people's souls out' (in quotes bc i'm paraprasing the game) and charm them. They could serve as a really good asset to Raphael with the added bonus of sex as a reward. Like we know he straight up will send his important clients directly to Haarlep, he doesn't just keep him around for sex or see them as just a toy.

Maybe, despite everything, Raphael lowkey gives back some agency to Haarlep? Like, I've said it before but I'll say it again, these two are like a constant game of contradictions in my eyes: they hate each other, they love each other, they can't live without the other, they drive each other mad. Maybe this is one of the """"sweeter"""" sides of their relationship (idk like that word for this but it's the only one that's showing up in my brain rn).

To reitarate: this is all my brain going bunkers, so don't take it too seriously and don't come for me.