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aegoniiwifey · 1 year

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Chubby Aeg Request: Heavy Targcest, Aegon and his daughter, Aegon love to make his sweet girl ride his thigh, then bury himself inside her, bringing her to pleasure over and over, before holding her to him, showering her with love in the aftermath, making sure his dominance didn't overwhelm her

Daddy’s Princess

PAIRING: King!Aegon ii Targaryen x daughter!Princess!Reader

WORDS: 3,014.

WARNINGS: incest, mentions of death/war/suicide, mentions of depression, dark!Aegon ii, thigh riding, mentions of p in v sexual intercourse, cream pie, breeding kink, Daddy kink, praise kink, dom!Aegon ii, swearing, possessive!Aegon ii. mentions of pregnancy/birth.

A/N - I’ve never done this trope before but something is making me feral & I— must admit, this was hot… I got very carried away, but still hope you enjoy xoxo

credit to the original images/art work 🤍

The Targaryens were undoubtedly known for their “queer” customs, this had been widely yet sceptically recognised. Your own grandmother, the Dowager Queen, even uttered the words herself, despite having played a major role in marrying your late, beloved mother, Helaena to her elder brother, your father and the rightful King, Aegon the Second.

The Dance of the Dragons had begun to churn, when you were still nothing more than a child, however it progressed well into a few solid years throughout your adolescence, only for your father to come out victorious against his treacherous half-sister and her family of “bastards and traitors”, as he spat. The Gods had answered your endless prayers, regardless, rejoicing in success.

Once the Dance had reached its end, you had transformed into a young, modest woman, of the age two-and-twenty. Your handsome father, fifteen years your elder, conceived you during his own youth, robbing him of freedom and instilling responsibility instead, likewise with your dear mother. You had always been plagued with the pestering thought of feeling like a burden unto the young couple, as their firstborn, however your father reassured you otherwise, that you were nothing more than a blessing to him, otherwise.

Regardless, the fearsome battles determinedly fought throughout the decades, came at an inconceivable cost: the cost of the innocent, defenceless lives of your younger siblings who tragically perished in horrendous manners. Your late mother, Queen Heleana, wrought with mad grief and depression for the witness and loss of her babes, she could not bear the reality of life itself, taking her own life as a means to end her suffering.

Excluding yourself, you had no one else other than your grandmother, the Dowager Queen, who kept much to her seldom self these toiling days, isolated in her lonesome chambers, and your father...

Throughout the entirety of the ceaseless quarrels, your dear father had always ensured keeping a close eye and ear on you. Warmly reassuring your frightful self, that he would burn the world before any harm could be done unto you. He kept you close by him at all times, if he had not attended the battle himself on dragonback, Sunfyre close by your chambers, despite having a broken wing, with your own hatchling, Morghul, constantly beside you. It tore him to pieces when he made the harsh decision of having to entrust you to Larys and his unsavoury men, to sneak you off to Dragonstone where he would meet you eventually.

The most skilled guards posted ceaselessly hours on end, day and night, outside your chambers, not a single action went by without Aegon knowing, for all matters regarding your whereabouts went directly through him. During this time, you had solely instilled a perpetual trust in your father's decisions, that laid foundations in your bond with one another, which lingered even post succession of the war. It would be an understatement, that you had become heavily reliant on him, most of the time having been denied the autonomy to think and decide for yourself at such a young age, you grew to much prefer your father taking action, trusting him and only him with decisions regarding your own life. He was highly protective of you, in a way no lord nor knight of the realm could pledge and devote their lives to. You were his kin, his blood, his possession: you became his sole purpose and will to survive during the Dance.

There was, however, only one decision, you had ever made purely yourself, that would change the dynamic of the realm itself...

"Come, my sweet angel. Come to Daddy, and let me ease your mind..."

Despite the realm returning to some ounce of normalcy and peace, the nights you still endured adversity with. Troubling nightmares engulfed your slumber mind of the haunting memories of the Dance. Stirring you awake in a state of distress and panic, sweat beads drenched your forehead and mottled hair, your exposed, plump breasts accentuated in your silk, white nightgown, heaving with every haste and dense breath. Despite the adoring, relentless company of your dotting father by your side in bed, he immediately awoke in tune to your disruptive motions, persisting to remain awake, until he was assured you were comforted and sound of mind, lulling you himself back to sleep.

"Baby, sit on my lap. That's it- Another nightmare, my love?"

"Y-Yes, father."

"I know the feeling all to well, precious... Do you wish to speak about it?" Aegon huskily uttered, as his rough hands gently whisked away the odd strands of hair out of place, his other hand caressing soft circles at your lower back.

Since his heroic return from battle, despite the brutal injuries sustained, and since recovering, your father found himself constantly at your side, even in the late hours of the night. He dared not to trust many despite promisingly pledging fealty to their King, Aegon could only open up to you without the reason of duty, intimidation, or responsibility binding him to you. He wanted you. Since losing Helaena, despite never having been openly romantic with her, he had lost a companion, and had always considered you more of one than a daughter, as you grew wise with age.

Your strong-willed father had always been a man with brawn, unlike your late Uncles, Aemond and Daeron. Aegon was portly and having been raised by him, you grew familiar with his shameless, gluttonous habits. These habits exacerbated during his recuperation, as the maesters including yourself had taken to encouraging your father to eat copiously, often hand feeding him yourself with generous amounts of delicacies, rationalising that it was to regain pure sustenance.

You took pride in his recovery, aiding the maesters to heal your father back to good health, he openly stated that it was your devoted presence and love that made him whole once more. Deep in slumber with milk of the poppy to ease the pain, only he could hear your sweet, angelic voice in the blissful distance, yearning for him. Your gentle touch, as you religiously applied naturopathic ointments to his fresh, raw burns, that eventually healed his scars. He soaked in your warm presence thoroughly, mirroring your reliance on him, he too, became deeply infatuated with you.

Since becoming a mature woman, having grown into your Valyrian-esque features and physique, Aegon saw you in a fairly different light now. You noticed by the manner in which his violet, stern eyes lingered over your body for far longer than what was used to, even if it was for a few, fleeting seconds. You became a distraction in council meetings, as he vowed to have you attend, even if you were merely a cupbearer, standing aside though in proximity of him, a mere shadow: his unfazed attention oogled over you, his mind pondering over lustful, sinful thoughts, only to be beckon called back to reality by the repetitive call of his title, your Grace.

You had always admired your father, and believed there was no man that could exceed the expectations he set in stone… You were made for him, as he had sought to it himself. Blood of his blood, the Gods kept you both alive for a reason, you had discreetly believed.

"I do not wish to speak of it right now... I just need you to hold me, just for a little while," You weakly whispered with a shaky breath. Aegon, with a new found strength, a fuller and sturdy frame, lifting you effortlessly onto his lap, as he laid himself back to rest against the wooden bedframe.

"That's okay, my sweet girl. It will get easier, I promise..."

Adjusting yourself atop of Aegon's wide, meaty thigh, as you gripped and rested your head against his broad, fleshy shoulder, the friction stirring as your bare cunt grinds against his clothed thigh, slowly igniting a familiar, throbbing ache between your inner thighs.

"Hmm, how will it get easier, Daddy? Will you make it easier?" You utter, your lips lightly grazing over his plump cheek, gently guiding his head to turn in your direction: eyes inevitably meeting, your lips passionately crash against his. Aegon does not resist in the slightest, relishing in the kiss, as he shoves his tongue deep into your mouth, swallowing your taste, before his teeth teasingly bite and pull at your lower lip.

"I can distract my baby. Give her a pleasure no other man in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms can. I'll give my princess the finest treatment she deserves... But only if she listens and obeys her Daddy, like the good girl I know she is."

"Mhmm, yes, Daddy-" A helpless plea closely mistaken for a moan escaping your mouth, Aegon's pudgy hands, steer your legs to spread apart: you find that you can only spread wide enough to saddle one thick thigh at a time. Without needing to spell it out for you, you begin to sway your meek frame, rhythmically bucking your hips backwards and forwards, as Aegon harshly yanks your gown up, enough for your bare cunt to be completely exposed more thoughtfully, and in contact with his thigh.

"Deeper baby, you know you need to push yourself deeper or else I can barely feel you on top."

With haste obedience, you try to plunge your weight deeper against him, your arms embracing Aegon’s stocky frame tighter. His swollen, bloated gut pressing flatly against your own chest, earning a sensual growl from your father.

“Good girl… My good, little princess. Going to listen to every word Daddy says, so I can make her feel so much better.”

Your whimpering moans, and slow nods in agreement, as your head instinctively rocked back, eyes closing with pure pleasure, you could feel Aegon’s rough hands exploring your waistline, before one snaked behind your spine, keeping you steady by a careful grip on your neck. The other began to tug and pull at the silk strands of your nightgown, loosening the knot, to expose more of your obvious, ample cleavage.

“Look at how beautiful you have become. My little princess is not so little anymore, such a divine grace, a woman. No other beauty roams the Earth, as you do.”

The outstanding appraisal oozing breathlessly from Aegon's plump, blush lips, echo in your thoughtless mind with intense gratification. Treasuring each word, he worshipped you dearly, often placing you on a pedestal as great as the Iron Throne itself.

"Yes Daddy, t-tell me more."

Your helpless moans begin to sob from your mouth, filling the void of the vast room, other than the faint crackling of the dying fireplace. Your eager pace quickening, feeling the burning sensation erupt from the friction against your tender skin. Your body leaned forwards with Aegon's generous shove, as he in turn plunged his handsome face between your sensitive breasts. Feeling his lips trailing across your soft skin, hungrily suckling and lapping down to your nipple, as his other hand playfully massaged and kneaded at your other tit.

"Does princess want Daddy to fuck her stupid? Make her so full of me, she'll be dripping, begging for more, for nothing to be spared? All the princess needs to do is ask Daddy, like the polite girl she is."

"A-Aeg-"

"Words, princess. My cock isn't even inside you yet, and you're already hopeless. Didn't I teach you to use your words?"

"Hmm, Daddy, I-I need your cock, I-I need you inside of me, p-please."

Incoherent, you knew how weak and feeble you felt against your father, a formidable man, both inside and outside the confines of the bedroom.

"My beautiful baby, using her manners, makes her Daddy so, so proud. How did I get so lucky, being blessed by you?"

"D-Daddy blessed me."

Your hands clawed their way across his muscular shoulder blades, nails sharply dug into Aegon's bareback, as he often enjoyed sleeping shirtless, his natural body warmth radiating from his scarred body. Now one hand snaked its way into his short, unkempt hair, avidly tugging at his silver strands, begging for more.

"Easy baby, so needy for her Daddy, huh? Never change baby, Daddy's always going to take care of you okay? No one can take care of you, like I have..."

"N-No one. Daddy protects me from cruel monsters, a-and evil men. I-I could never leave, D-Daddy."

Groans and growls pooled from Aegon's lush mouth, as his tongue teasingly lapped and pulled at your perky nipple.

"My perfect princess. That's right, baby... Now, you ready to take Daddy's cock? I'm feeling pretty big, princess. You've been getting me as hard as Valyrian steel."

His hand found yours, firmly guiding it down to where his stiff, rigid cock throbbed densely with enthusiasm, beneath his pants, desperately aching to be taken.

"Y-Yes... Only I deserve Daddy's cock."

Rightfully earning a low, jovial chuckle from Aegon, scoring his mutual amusement and agreement, nodding to your proud notion.

"That's right baby... Only you."

Heaving himself and you atop with such vigour, you aided Aegon in pulling his pants down, as his cock sprung into full action. The sight made you shiver and whimper instantly, how its reddened tip flashed in the dim light, with pre cum already oozing generously from the raw tip. His length modest, its width had always been a wondrous vision. Regardless of the preparation or the amount of times you had taken Aegon before, you could never quite adjust to his glorious girth.

"Easy baby, that's my good girl. D-Don't be afraid, I got you. You can take it, I know you can. Making Daddy so, very proud."

Carefully positioning you atop, as you began to gently settle down, the sharp jolt of pain, as its tip etched between your silk folds, made it subtly easier for him to slip his full mass in.

"Wet for me already, my cock's practically drowning baby... So tight for me, my sweet princess. I can feel you swallowing up my fat cock."

Witlessly yet diligently, bobbing up and down on Aegon's lap, as your father vigorously thrusted his heavy mass upwards, craving to shove himself deeper into your slick folds.

"Good girl, Y/N. Daddy's going to fuck you so hard, fill you up to the fucking brim with my seed. Want to carry Daddy's babes, like a good princess? Make Daddy so proud, huh?"

"Y-Yes, I'll do w-whatever Daddy says, whatever D-Daddy wants. Anything to m-make you proud."

The rough texture of Aegon's battle-torn hands, cooed and caressed at your back, one hand gripping your neck once more, keeping you steadily mounted against his body. His other hand, continued to firmly squeeze at your tender breast, almost mimicking a wringing motion, as though anticipating for milk to ooze.

"Making me the proudest Daddy in the realm, princess. But you are far from being done with your royal duties... I'm going to fuck you day and night, till I see your belly swell greatly with child, with our child... Not till we fill this entire keep with the future leagues of the Targaryen dynasty. And if anyone dares to question our customs... They can play the fucking fool and answer to me."

Aegon, in a breathless, heated rut, finally reached his almighty gusto. His fresh, hot seed spilling up into you, as it oozed out of your tight crevices, clenched around his achingly, pulsating cock. In turn, your cum released in a liberating gesture, pouring over Aegon's rigid, thick cock.

"Hmm, Daddy spoils me s'good. Blessed I am th-that you want me to carry your heirs. Blessed I am to be carry on your legacy, Daddy."

Just as you were about to dismount from Aegon's sturdy lap, and tense cock, still stretching out inside of you, did you feel his strong embrace pulling you back down, keeping you situated over him as you were before.

"Daddy's not done yet, princess... I told you, I am fucking you endlessly till I see this belly-" His palm lightly grazing over your lower stomach in circles.

"-swell and these beautiful tits, leak with milk as I knead and suck. I will fuck you day and night, till you reek of my scent, exhausted of pleasure, and drenched in my cum and sweat. Princess belongs to Daddy and the whole realm shall know of it. I won the war, and I shall win the heart of the realm... That is you, my angel."

The remainder of the night, into the sleepless, bright dawn of the morrow, Aegon had kept his rigid cock buried deeply, and warmly planted inside of you. As the hours nudged on, you could feel yourself repeatedly peaking inside, as did your father, growing more and more numb to the cramping sensation. Your wincing and whimpers did not go ignorantly unnoticed, as Aegon would lull you, praising how proud he was of you for taking him so well. The only time he released was to clean up the god awful mess strewed across the sheets, and the minor bleeding pooling from your inner thighs.

In the morrow, he commanded the servants to fetch you a warm, floral scented bath, with the condition that he bathe you himself. Breakfast was brought to you directly, as you remained bed bound resting and recuperating.

"Now it's Daddy's turn to take care of his princess. Just as you took care of me during those dreadful months. My sweet, precious angel never left her Daddy's side, like an obedient, loyal girl. And Daddy will never leave you, okay."

Words had spread like wildfire, as your belly and tits had swollen healthily with a growing babe inside. The maesters to confirm and seal your fate, Aegon and yourself could not have been happier. Despite the relentless, whispering gossip alongside the timid side glances, no one dared to speak against Aegon's decision to marry you lawfully in tradition of your Valyrian customs, otherwise. Blessing the King a long-awaited, hearty male heir, the prophecy his late father often uttered about in his ill, deluded state: Aegon believed the Prince that was Promised, would emerge from his bloodline, thanks to you.

credit for dividers - @/saradika 🤍

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uroboros-if · 1 year

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hellooo!! scrolled so far down your blog, i witnessed the creation of the chaotic universe. so! i am quite interested in this angle of the lore and worldbuilding of your if: gods serve humans, and exist almost intimately with them to the point of the former having a parental role, and even celebrating the ceremony of the twelve with them present.

this is refreshing from the familiar concept that gods are superior to mortals and only interact and bless who they deem worthy; in contrast to these deities that appreciate gifts but don't demand them and smite people (unless...? do they grant boons too?). i don't know how to tie this in with what i'll say next bc my thoughts are a mess but i hope i get them across properly aaaaaa and you don't have to answer this because i'm sure it's heading into spoiler territory and i just wanted to get this out so:

with what i said above, there has to be some sort of flaw. things between nero and ellera are tense*, and rafaele would like them to reconcile. similarly, nero thinks (or will think) alessi is doing the right thing (and doesn't like ellera's rules), while rafaele believes otherwise. just what about their divine rule is oppressive, or wrong, to the point where one of their own disapproves, and mortals started to rebel?

"Since time unknown, the same gods have existed to bring order to the world; could Alessi disrupt the current pantheon of divinity?" is what it says on alessi's profile. i have a few other thoughts on why as humans (in this setting at least. a nearly utopian and united world from what i can tell so far) they wouldn't want to be under the jurisdiction of gods, power dynamics aside. when rafaele said "Humans are happy now, anyway," i immediately thought, "or are they, father? ಠಿ_ಠ" because i think that with a prosperous group of people, there will always be others who have been overlooked. my mc would be the type to witness all of this from the sidelines (watching it all crash and burn!!), but since i'm guessing that isn't an option, they'll have to woo alessi into being accepted into their... army? (on that note, imagine the look of betrayal on salvatore or rafaele's face when they realize which side you chose haha ;-; ,,, assuming that you didn't win them over to yours. can we do that?)

i haven't even started on the existence and creation of gods,, how do you kill a god anyway? "with another god." ** "Normally, humans do not withstand a chance -- but in the right circumstances and with the right tools, along with will of the universe..." hmmm BUT i also saw that one ask with "The creation myth of the Kono people and Uroboros are both "ex nihilo", in which the world was in a state of Chaos -- a violent, turbulent time until the deities gave order to it." would that mean that without the gods...? is this similar to alessi defying death? (which i guess is related to the universe being in pain during the prologue, something that i speculate might have happened as well when that mortal ascended, because the universe was Defied) and!! "ex nihilo" literally means "out of nothing", deity of eternity, however nothing lasts forever,,, are you mathing with me

insert into this rambling, the seer, noemi. it would break my heart for the mc to hope that they might hold the answers to mc's role in all of this, what, if anything, went wrong with their revelation, if anything is wrong with them and their connection to the universe, and is there really nothing else you can tell me?

this became longer than i intended oh god,, normally i'm more of a peace and harmony enthusiast but the conflict in this if just stimulates me so much !! i'm sorry if this is a pain to read through—this is my way of telling you your work activates my happy brain chemicals xoxo

*i've always found disputes and general animosty between gods entertaining, and i'm sure my mc would love to meddle with all of that. from afar, though. they wouldn't want to get directly involved or found out. (i'm envisioning a relationship chart of all the characters just for this haha) **did the link work?? i had to come out of hiding since my sole ask about ellera's dress and reveal myself from the safe bubble of anonymity this is so scary

Aaaah thank you so much for being so enthusiastic about the conflict and lore of the IF!! I will answer your question under the read more and split it up by answers to your questions and my general remarks!

Questions ✨

They can't grant boons! Think of offerings merely as gifts for their service. They exist to serve.

just what about their divine rule is oppressive, or wrong, to the point where one of their own disapproves, and mortals started to rebel? 🌿

I think you got quite close to the answer with what you said!—"i think that with a prosperous group of people, there will always be others who have been overlooked."

You will know more details as the IF goes on, but I will say — those who remain nonchalant to the world's state of affairs are those privileged enough to not have it affect them negatively, or live in a world that benefits them.

imagine the look of betrayal on salvatore or rafaele's face when they realize which side you chose haha ;-; ,,, assuming that you didn't win them over to yours. can we do that? 🌿

I won't say anything for Salvatore, but as for the fathers, they will always support you even if they ultimately disagree with you! :)

"The creation myth of the Kono people and Uroboros are both "ex nihilo", in which the world was in a state of Chaos -- a violent, turbulent time until the deities gave order to it." would that mean that without the gods...? is this similar to alessi defying death? ... and!! "ex nihilo" literally means "out of nothing", deity of eternity, however nothing lasts forever,,, are you mathing with me 🌿

Yes! Theoretically, without the gods, the Universe would not be in order anymore. It is Ellera who orchestrated its unity, and the other gods who came together as each instrument of the world's symphony. She truly believes that, without the gods—without her—the world cannot go on.

Alessi feels a little differently, or perhaps knows.

it would break my heart for the mc to hope that they might hold the answers to mc's role in all of this, what, if anything, went wrong with their revelation, if anything is wrong with them and their connection to the universe, and is there really nothing else you can tell me? 🌿

Noemi is... a strange and reclusive deity. And held back by she Who Rules All.

Remarks ✨

scrolled so far down your blog, i witnessed the creation of the chaotic universe. 🌿

This made me giggle!

normally i'm more of a peace and harmony enthusiast but the conflict in this if just stimulates me so much !! i'm sorry if this is a pain to read through—this is my way of telling you your work activates my happy brain chemicals xoxo 🌿

No no, believe me sass-sage, you've brought me so much happiness with your ask!! Thank you so much for thinking so deeply about the IF. It means more to me than you know! 🥺🥺🥺

I always love a little drama between the gods too, it's so delicious!! As the IF progresses, your MC will be thrown into the middle of this chaos... but who knows! Maybe you'll find that your MC will find the will to take control of their destiny, and thus the Universe's.

Also, if you're ever interested, I have a family tree of all the gods... not a relationship chart just yet, but it might be interesting anyway!

**did the link work?? i had to come out of hiding since my sole ask about ellera's dress and reveal myself from the safe bubble of anonymity this is so scary 🌿

The link worked and I must say it has SO much to do with Uroboros and I'm eating it up!! It actually called me out on so many things about the concept of the afterlife in the IF... I can't say too much, but I'll say Hera and Apollo in your post's link are onto something when it comes to mortals, whereas Hades is closer to the concept of death for gods!

Again, thank you so much sass-sage, I'm actually a little emotional 🥺🥺 I didn't answer this immediately, but I promised I read it right when you sent it and I love it!!

#uroboros-if #uroboros #asks #sass-sage #long post #long #lore #worldbuilding

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shesailsships · 1 year

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TXT Freefall

Did a listening party with my younger sister and cousins and like that was an experience because damn did Freefall deliver:

Growing Pain: LOST MY MIND!!! It was suddenly 2006 and I was listening to my fave alt rock track?!?! BLOWN AWAY who is doing rock like them HMMMM??

Chasing That Feeling: lives in my head rent free. Like I'm singing it under my breath without thinking, humming it, I am so hooooooked!!! The 80's vibe sexy synthy moodiness of this track is just what this world needed [chef's kiss] ps: all the love to Taehyun's high note, bless xoxo <3

Back For More (TXT ver.): this one can get it. WHEN I'M WIT CHU- all I know is that the TXT verse is killer dude that harmony YEEESSSS

Dreamer: MY QUEEEN. I knew. I knew from the preview that this one would come for me and it DID!! I mean the VIBESSS...so sexy and dreamy and smooth...such control on all those breathy vocals and killer falsettos...like we really stan vocal kings ya'll!

Deep Down: this one was so atmospheric and felt so layered I LOVE IT and like the drop was so PERFECT like again with the nostalgic 2000's feel except instead of a rock concert I'm suddenly at a dance party and just yaaaaass <3

Happily Ever After: I'm such a sucker for all the la-la-la-las like yup sign me up I'm here for iiiiiit!! The BPMs for this one are insane it's so upbeat and fun, but then the contrasting lyrics looool

Skipping Stones: AND BACK TO THE ROCK. Let's gooooo! TXT is made for this genre I swear to yoooou and the lyrics on this one were so goooood like daaaaamn hit me right in the feels!

Blue Spring: I knew it was on the album from the preview but I still screamed because OH MY GOD this song has had me by the heartstrings since they debuted it at the Seoul concert and I have been pining for a recorded version ever since then and now to have it is like such a gift I swear it's been on replay all day and the adlibs in the album version make me want to cry happy tears I CAN'T

Do It Like That: such a fun funky track, still makes me smile even after listening to it a million times- idk feels like summer and I dig it :D

#txt #tomorrow x together #freefall #I AM IN LOVE YOUR HONOR

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imagine-that-100 · 2 years

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babe. the nriacc endings. my heart. i am so unwell. i absolutely ADORED both of them. can i just say thank you for writing this masterpiece of a fic. ive read way too many fics at this point and nriacc is without a doubt the best one ive ever read and my absolute favorite. the entire thing is phenomenally written and i truly am unable to express how much i love every bit of it. these two bands have basically been my personality for the longest time and the fact that this fic blends the worlds of my two absolute favorite bands is complete perfection. every single song refrence was spot on and so well incorporated that there were many many times i found myself gasping or squealing. the story building and plot? so amazingly written. oh my god and the nicknames? i never imagined myself liking nicknames or petnames until i read this fic. my favorite part though is the relationships written throughout. not just between matty and alex, but between all the other boys in both bands - it makes me beyond happy that they got their well deserved attention. you did everyone so much justice. so well done. i absolutely love alex and wheels, and their ending is perfection; but i have been team matty since he walked in on wheels changing and i must say- that ending is my lifeline. the references to bfiafl? holy shit. i actually squealed when i read the about you line. and the end of the ending? oh my god i was sobbing by the end. this fic has meant so much to me and i just want to say thank you and CONGRATULATIONS. you did it!! you made it to the end and it is absolutely amazing. on that same note- i am also 10000000% team george first and foremost bc george and wheels are iconic and i will patiently be waiting for his ending, i just know youll do him justice. (this is by no means any pressure to do it bc you definitely dont have to i am very content with what you have given us) anyway that was a lot but THANK YOU for writing this magnificent piece of art. mwah mwah <3 im sending endless love your way! xoxo-k

Ahhhhhhh I’m so so thrilled you enjoyed the endings!!! Bless you🥹🥹🥹 thank you for reading my rollercoaster of a fic! Also bless you so much, NRIACC is definitely my favourite that I’ve written because like you say the bands are practically my personality too😂 yessss their nicknames are one of my favourite parts of it too!!! I’m so sorry for making you cry, if it’s any consolation I was crying writing all those points too😂 thank you so so so much!! Thank you for reading and giving your reactions they mean the world to me🥹 yassssss big up team george I can’t wait to write his ending! Thank you again for reading, I’m so thrilled you’ve enjoyed it all, sending you lots of love 🥹🥹🥹💜💜💜

#NRIACC ask

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filthy-reckless-rp · 1 year

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♛ Spotted on the Upper East Side…

Name: Ceren Çelik-Montgomery Pronouns: She/Her Age: 22 years old Hometown: Upper East Side, NY Occupation: Artist, Model & Influencer Social Status: Insider Faceclaim: Ayça Ayşin Turan

Who Is Ceren?

“Have you ever been so lost? Known the way and still so lost...”

Well, well, if it isn’t the missing piece of the triangle (square, really). Once an It Girl, always an It Girl and you Ceren are no except. Even out of the walls of Constance, you’re still the most popular kid at the table. You always kept your feelings close to your chest- keeping secrets from even me- so you could stay out of the drama. You’ve been known to be a little too cool, brushing off other people without giving it much thought. You may not go out of your way to hurt feelings but you’re not afraid to ghost ‘em. When people matter to you though, they really matter. You give your whole heart over, become the fierce protector and shoulder to cry on when needed. I know it’s been hard trying to keep the group together but things are finally looking up now, right? Hope I don’t re-burn any bridges for you, Ceren but I’m not making any promises. XOXO ---Gossip Girl

A Little Extra

Born into generational wealth had Ceren living the life of bliss. Life was easy when you had Ece Çelik (a Turkish model and socialite) and Walter Montgomery (an oil tycoon) as parents. Walter is her stepfather through marriage to her mother, but Ceren sees him as nothing less than her father. He gave her the most amazing childhood, adores her mother and has created a strong family unit both socially and economically - what more could she ask for? From the moment Ceren was born, her mother swore that God had blessed their family with pure perfection, and perfection was what Ceren strived for. She would accept nothing less. With overburdening pressure from her parents, she aimed to be nothing but the best. Not a hair out of place, not a stitch loose on her clothing and a walk to rival those on the runway, Ceren was a force to be reckoned with; and yet, no matter how perfect she is, it’s never enough. She places obscene amounts of pressure on herself, but pressure makes diamonds as they say. Throughout her time in education, Ceren was top of the scoreboard and graduated with honors, though she surprisingly found fame in the art world with her artwork.

Carrying the burden of pressure, Ceren gets in her own head and it’s tough to get herself out of that spiral once she falls in it. She’s not someone that tends to open up to people whether she’s struggling or not, preferring to keep to herself in the world of the inner circle of New Yorks elite. However, once you manage to find and in with her, she will go to the ends of the earth for you. Ceren is fiercely protective of her love ones and her ‘found family’ as she dubs her nearest and dearest friends who she trusts with her life. That being said, she pours so much love towards her friends that she feels like she has no time for relationships. That’s the excuse she tells herself anyway. The reality is that her standards are so high that no one ever reaches them. Its a form of self-preservation. She knows this. She’ll dabble in a little flirting here and there, but she gets bored and relationships are a no go, letting someone in means they can hurt you, and that’s less than perfect. Focusing on friends helps curb the looming loneliness, but that sometimes means having to meet new people and that’s not Ceren’s vibe. She despises idle chit-chat and small talk, she finds it a waste of time and she has no patience for it. She doesn’t suffer fools lightly and will make it known if you’re grating on her nerves, public setting or not. Underneath the hard exterior is someone soft that wants to be loved and loved for who she is, she just struggles to see it for herself. But that’s something she’ll never tell.

What Does Gossip Girl Have On Them?

In her determination to be perfect, Ceren got a nasty little drug habit of pills and other substances that helped her stay awake and high alert to allow her to study and work on extra credit projects when she was in school. She hasn’t shaken the habit, for a woman on the go 24/7, she needs constant energy and she’d rather be doing this than fall from grace in the eyes of people watching her. When she was dating Jackson he had found out about the pills, it was part of the reason of their split whether Ceren admits it or not. She’s thankful that he’s kept this to himself, the last thing she needs is for GG to get her paws on the information.

Connections

Jessica Knightly, Isobel Prescott and Logan Hunter - the found family, the very best friends, the hottest and most iconic quadruplet on the Upper East Side. These are Ceren’s people and she’d do anything for them! She’s so glad that things have finally gotten better for them. Ceren knows that Isobel lying to the group to cover up what she did to Jess (sleeping with her then boyfriend) was a mess but now they’re finally starting to heal. To become an ‘us’ again. And at the end of the day, Ceren loves Is. And she loves Jess. She wants all of her besties to be happy. Logan and Isobel are even #together now, you know? Everyone is moving on and up. She just hopes so badly it will last.

Jackson Cohan - Sweet, sweet Jackson. Even ‘Gossip Girl’ didn’t catch wind of this whirlwind romance that happened between these two back in their high school days. Jackson was a part of the ‘inner circle’, their paths crossed all the times and well, who didn’t like Jackson? It ended amicably, they’re still friends. She still has a soft spot for him.

Oliver Andrews and William Huntzberger - demons. Remember that protective side of Ceren? Well, no one brings it out like the bad boyfriends and hook ups of her BFFs. Oliver was Jess’ high school sweetie until the whole mess with Isobel. And sure, we’re moving on, it’s in the past but in Cer’s book, his name is still in red underlined. William Huntzberger is big, red, ‘Do Not Trust’ flag and she so does not appreciate him being in and around their group.

Carter Baizen - Carter was also once a part of the ‘inner circle’ and Ceren always thought that they had fun (although, whether she’d admit that...). When Carter decided to cut himself off from his family’s money, name and the rest of it, he bailed on the Upper East Side. Ghosted everyone-- including Ceren. And you know what? It stung.

#c: ceren celik montgomery #t #ues #insider #jessica #isobel #logan #jackson #oliver #william #carter

4 notes · View notes

sheraphic · 3 years

Note

hiii could you do one of these instagram things with eve.frsn and harry, i just love her style xoxo ♥️♥️♥️

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

◃────────────────────────────────▹

author's note; hi there anon, sorry for the waiting but here it is your request, hope you like it.

warnings; there can be a few mistakes with the grammar.

「 REQUESTS ARE OPEN 」

It would be wonderful If you ~reblog it~ that help me a lot, it inspire me for write more.

// masterlist //

◃────────────────────────────────▹

Liked by nickjonas, barbarapalvin and 3,633,820 others

yourinstagram walked all day and couldn't find the rainbow

View all 32,712 comments

harrystyles I'm looking at one right now

⤅ynfan992 he calls her rainbow 😩

⤅harryfan672 who gave you the right to be the most perfect boyfriend in the world?

⤅harryfan888 @harryfan672 only on this world?

⤅harryfan672 @harryfan888 you're right, let me correct it; the most perfect boyfriend in the whole universe

barbarapalvin love how you guys match in a heavenly way

yndaily I'm not gonna say who took this picture bc y'all know it already

⤅yourinstagram a stranger

⤅harryfan623 @yourintagram omg hahaha poor harry

⤅ynfan018 @yourintagram like, who's harry?

harryfan540 but- her eyes... so damn beautiful

stinegoyastudio lovely lady

yourbffinstagram saw it from my window 🌈

harryfan092 PROOFS!

⤅ynfan176 @harryfan092 what do you mean?

⤅harryfan092 @ynfan176 that they walk all around the city and no one saw them

⤅ynfan176 @harryfan092 uhm?? it's not like every single person in the city gonna be looking for them... You know, everyone have their own bussines

⤅harryfan800 @ynfan176 exactly! Why someone have to confirm that they were walking?

⤅harryfan092 @harryfan800 bc then it's not real

⤅ynfan176 @harryfan092 omg... Get outta here

lookitsnyoh i'm the blurry spot behind you

ynfan388 everyday passed by without being blessed to be beside you

ynfan729 ok but I want the beanie and the scarf

Liked by yourinstagram, gemmastyles and 8,629,820 others

harrystyles In the middle of a rainy june

View all 52,913 comments

yourinstagram all that green and your eyes are still my favorites

⤅harrystyles @yourinstagram I'm blushing. On my way to... Where am I going?

⤅harryandyn guys stop, i can't cry all day

⤅yndaily she's a poet and he's her inspiration

⤅harryupdates @harrystyles love, i think you got a little bit flustered

⤅harryfan723 i want what they have!

harryfan811 when it will be my turn?

kaiagerber can she be my photographer?

harryfan402 everybody, say thank you to yn for took this picture of a lovely man

⤅harryfan331 @harryfan402 just imagining that he posed for it 🥺

alessandro_michele what a cutie

harryfan101 can- can i be god's favourite for once?

cazoff model material, naturally

adamprendergast_ what a pretty boy smiling at the void

⤅harryfan699 now i now that adam is the annoying friend of the gruop

emiozmen @harryfan699 don't even doubt it

harryking may a offer you an umbrella, my lord?

⤅harrynews one fan said he had an umbrella, but he just doesn't use it

⤅harryfan782 let the boy get wet

⤅harryfan226 @harryfan782 YOU DIDN'T

⤅ynfan335 @harryfan782 this is my favorite comment ever

troyesivan my life is brighter now

⤅harryfan602 @troyesivan we need a collab

⤅columbiarecords indeed

⤅harryfan602 @columbiarecords wait wtf

Liked by gemmastyles, emmalouisecorrin and 5,290,214 others

yourinstagram contrast 🔹🔻

View all 30,171 comments

florencepugh = 💜

⤅yourinstagram :)

harryfan222 omg i get it now

ynfan889 this is so adorable

yoursisterinstagram this is a lot of chaotic energy for my board

yndaily we love their eclectic little world

zendaya big fan of your hair

ynfan022 how can i not love this two weirdos?

harrystyles you said crazy pose, not dramatic

⤅yourinstagram @harrystyles your smile it's crazy delightful

⤅harryfan700 @yourinstagram can i be you girlfriend too?

⤅harryfan191 @harryfan700 same, i fell in love because she knows exactly what she's doing

⤅ynfan748 this man won the best woman ever

harryandyn god, i see what you do for others

charlotteanneclark a mood

harryfan882 i really love that he feels so comfortable with her and their relationship to let us see this.

⤅harryfan525 @harryfan882 ikr he finallt let us see this side of him and I'm an emotional mess

⤅harryfan106 @harryfan882 i think we finally understand that he has a life and can love whoever he chooses

rosalia.vt happy but confused at the same time

harryfan441 ugh, they are so foolishly in love

t_chalament it's a yes from me

⤅harryfan722 timothee represents me

ynfan831 she matches his personality so perfectly

annetwist lovely pics!

⤅ynfan029 she loves her 🤍

Liked by dualipa, harry_lambert and 8,190,644 others

harrystyles The route was traced, the playlist was ready; and even like that we get lost.

View all 76,882 comments

yourinstagram told you to give the map and you said no

⤅harrystyles @yourinstagram I wanted it to be a surprise!

⤅harrynews i can't bear too much cuteness

⤅ynfan551 these two are the only couple that made me belive that true love exists

⤅yndaily ow, an older couple having a disagreement🥺

⤅ynfan670 @yndaily i have high hopes for them getting married

mitchrowland I explained to you three times how the gps works...

⤅harryandyn harry and technology doesn't mix well

harryfan661 @mitchrowland he's a baby, you know?

⤅ynfan771 I'm from the future, and i came here to tell everyone that mitch doesn't know how a gps works either

⤅harryfan880 @yourfan771 I CAN'T WITH HITCH

pillowpersonpp oh, to get lost with great music in the background because your boyfriend it's too stubborn yo let you be the guide... Yes, it happened to me too

⤅yourinstagram @pillowpersonpp i hope god receives us both in paradise for having dealt with these men

⤅harryfan720 stoooooop mitch and harry twins

⤅ynfan182 @yourinstagram you're just a genius with your comments! 🖤

⤅harryfan788 @mitchrowland you gf exposed you, what are you gonna do about it?

⤅lookitsnyoh @harryfan788 the best thing he can do it's to bake some bread for her

helenepambrun so that pic was while you guys stop for indications or...?

⤅harryfan693 HELPPPPPPP

harryfan this it's so harry you can't tell me otherwise

harryfan ok but her dress, the vintage car and the vibe of being lost with your lover-💗 ugh, please leave alone with my singleness

mrbenwinston "the route was traced"

⤅harrystyles It was.

⤅harryfan837 HAHAHAHAHA STOP

⤅harryfan681 all his friends are roasting him lol

⤅harryfan716 he's upset, someone quick give him a lollipop!

⤅ynfan682 i really love this side of his fans

⤅harryfan346 @ynfan682 it has to be this way, otherwise he'll throw a tantrum

zanelowe harry mate, you better start listen to your girl

harryfan380 i'm laughing more than i should, sorry for them, but this it's golden comedy

Liked by harrystyles, jefeazoff and 3,190,644 others

yourinstagram excuse the sunburn

View all 38,672 comments

harrystyles sorry, didn't know the lipstick would be waterproof

⤅harryfan806 did he just say that he kissed her cheeks while wearing lipstick?!

⤅traceeellisross @yourinstagram your boyfriend burned you sweetie haha

⤅harryfan992 i need the name of that lipstick, no matter if i have to give all my money

⤅harryandyn I can't, i just can't stop thinking about harry pecking kisses all over her face

⤅yndaily @harryandyn just thinking how funny It was the moment she realized that the kiss prints couldn't be wiped away and give harry a look like 😠

⤅harryfan714 @yndaily shut uppp! And he just giggling like the fckin demon that he is

harry_lambert ok guys you need to stop because i can't spend the whole day liking all your comments...

⤅harryfan782 then tell them to not be this iconic 🤧

dovecameron it's like seeing an angel in her own heaven

ynfan602 this queen and her eyes are the only reason i'm still alive

reiflerpaige you and italy are old lovers

harryfan503 i love that her hair it's the exact same color as her eyes! It's insanely accurate!

harryupdates you dind't hear this from me, but someone said that harry made that neacklace for her

⤅ynfan101 please don't do this me, i don't have enough tears to express how happy that makes me

⤅harryfan559 I KNEW IT!

⤅harryfan883 @harrystyles do you ship internationally? I would like to order one piece, pretty please 🤍

Liked by arianagrande, annetwist and 7,380,721 others

harrystyles Malva thoughts.

View all 82,110 comments

gemmastyles I'll never share my favorite color with you again.

⤅harryfan733 this is so funny

⤅harryfan892 yep, that's something aquarius would do

⤅harryfan019 @harryfan892 no proof but i have zero doubts

yourinstagram Isn't that my white tablecloth you're painting on?

⤅ynfan129 someone is in trouble

⤅harryfan899 no in a white tablecloth harry!

⤅harryfan782 i can see a storm coming

⤅harryfan673 @harrystyles hey lad, i think they looking for you

⤅harryfan018 @harrystyles that's it, you'll sleeping on the bathtub tonight

zoeisabellakravitz Try periwinkle.

⤅harrystyles It's already in my notes

⤅harryfan820 most iconic interaction

anthonyturnerhair need to know where i can get those flower pots

⤅harryfan675 omg me too!

⤅harryfan772 i bet he has really cool items all around his place

⤅harryfan099 @harryfan772 i bet he was an interior designer on his past life

⤅ynfan681 @harryfan772 those are yn's flowerpots actually and you can find them on amazon! 🤎

⤅harryfan772 @ynfan681 wait, really?? They're sooo cool omg

⤅harryfan388 @ynfan681 so that means they're living together?!

mollyjane_x Prodigy

⤅harryfan819 he can sit on a rock and we'll say he's a fucking legend

⤅harryfan912 where's the lie?

claraamfo music, reading, painting... Leave some for the rest of us, the mortals.

⤅harryfan891 right? It's like, why he has to be so good at everything?

⤅ynfan723 And he's also @yourinstagram broyfriend 😩

⤅claraamfo @ynfan723 that's what hurt the most

sammywitte I never knew you knew how to paint.

⤅jefeazoff leave the kid explore.

⤅harryfan662 hahahaha i can't with jeff's comment

⤅harryfan982 @harryfan662 it's like they just comment to roasting him

⤅harryfan222 @harryfan982 and we are loving it!

⤅harryfan116 true friendship it's this

flammedepigelle inspired.

⤅harryfan671 oh, well...

⤅harryfan927 now e news it's going to write a ridiculous post about a love triangle between yn, harry and sharon

⤅ynfan813 @harryfab927 don't give them ideas! 🤫

⤅harryfan927 @ynfan814 omg you're right, I'm gonna delete it!

jennynails delivery will be this wednesday!

⤅harryfan712 harry's nails will be malva?

⤅harryfan991 omg that's so cute

Liked by tchalamet, zendaya and 4,375,092 others

yourinstagram I'm Malva.

View all 42,713 comments

harrystyles In fact, you're the whole palette, my darling

⤅yourinstagram 🤍

⤅harryandyn he loves his little rainbow

⤅harryfan881 yep, that's my heart full of happiness to see him be so in love with her

⤅harryfan092 she is perfect for him. I mean it.

⤅harryfan330 she will take him to the moon for us.

⤅harryfan445 @harryfan330 and all we can say is thank you to the wonderful yn.

⤅harryfan672 @harryfan330 you should stop with that because it's ridiculous... She already took him to the whole milky way 🌌

⤅ynfan168 @harryfan672 omg i thought you were about to say something nasty about their relationship

⤅harryupdates @harryfan672 we thought that too, we were ready to reply back

⤅harryfan610 @harryupdates to fight back*

⤅harryfan777 @harryfan672 your comment was genious

⤅harryfan672 @harryupdates omg, didn't expect my comment will attract so much attention.

⤅harryfan672 @ynfan168 the only nasty thing i could say about their relationship it's that i'm deeply jealous

yndaily yeah yeah, so cute. When is the wedding?

massimobottura Undeniable expression of love.

⤅ynfan220 now i picturing them eating massimo bottura's delicious food... leave me alone please

⤅harryfan688 @ynfan220 this warms my heart

selenagomez Oh, he draw you ❤️

⤅harrystyles He indeed did it

⤅harryfan672 I can't with this man referring to himself in the third person

⤅harryfan339 @harryfan672 he's a weirdo

⤅harryfan980 thank god it's yn's problem now

⤅harryfan100 we finally can have some peace

⤅ynfan764 good luck honey @yourinstagram

⤅harryandyn this comment section it's gold

glenne_azoff now is when you decided to post in b&w?

⤅yourinstagram aesthetic

⤅harryfan771 I'm laughing more than i want heeelp

⤅harryfan821 @yourinstagram idol

annetwist I will need a copy of it

⤅harryfan111 guys I'm crying and it's just 8am

⤅harryfan337 if queen anne loves her, y'all need to do it as well. No excuses

⤅ynfan008 @harryfab337 has been decreed

harleyweir Didn't know i needed to see this, but I'm happy

charlotteanneclark You two put my expectations so high

⤅harryfan723 someone finally say it

⤅ynfan092 now i need a harry to my yn

spaceykacey lovers in their little birdhouse

tylersamj I see a stubble :)

⤅mitchrowland don't give him hopes, @tylersamj

⤅jefeazoff don't crash his hopes, @mitchrowland

⤅gemmastyles stop defending him, @jefeazoff

⤅harrystyles I want to grow a lumberjack beard :)

⤅yourinstagram we already talked about this, Harry.

– comments have been limited –

#harry styles blurb #harry styles fake ig #harry styles fake instagram #harry styles fake social media #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #my wtiting

186 notes · View notes

pedros-mustache-main · 4 years

Text

the arrangement

summary: it is all clear and simple—until it isn’t.

word count: 6.6k+

warnings: sugar daddy relationship, age gap (john is ~35, reader is ~23), angst, language, innuendo, suggestive themes & moments (not 18+ but be mindful—probably more so than with anything i’ve written!)

a/n: for the sake of this fic, veronica et al. don’t exist. i refuse to write infidelity. okay i hope you enjoy because i am very upset about the cottagecore!brian fic that i wrote which was eaten unceremoniously by the monster living in this website. xoxo!

1986.

he doesn’t kiss you; you won’t let him.

it’s all a part of the minutiae of your arrangement. he has his rules: a shower before and after—sometimes together, but mostly alone; meetings out of the public eye, normally his london flat; no contact with his colleagues. you have your rules: no outside arrangements with other women (or men, for all you care); no spur-of-the-moment visits; and above all, no kissing.

he can—and does—have a field day with the curves and contours of your body whenever he gets the chance. his mouth knows your skin well, and you’d like to think you know his in a similar fashion. you know what it feels like to be touched and held and loved by him, but his lips have never so much as brushed yours, and you intend to keep it that way. it’s just a quirk, a bothersome little thing you carry with you to all of your arrangements. kissing is too intimate and, though you’ve been more than intimate with john, there’s a line in the concrete you are unwilling to cross. he respects that, so the arrangement works.

you like him. he’s charming and intelligent, thoughtful when it matters. he never forgets a date despite his busy schedule, and he seems to anticipate your moods, knowing just when to spoil you a little extra to ease the pain of a ruined portrait or sour customer. he supports your art endeavors, though you are firm about him staying away from your studio apartment. like kissing, it’s too intimate, too personal. he pays the rent, though, and is admittedly happy when you confess he has inspired a piece or two.

still, he’s confounding. there’s a pervading sadness about his person, even when he’s laughing. it runs deep—that sadness—and you can’t pinpoint the origin. you suspect he must be lonely even though he’s one of the world’s foremost musicians. why else would he dote on you endlessly? why else would he throw his hard-earned money at the feet of a girl too young to be his proper lover and too guarded to ever give him the chance at something real?

not that he’s tried to move the arrangement to something deeper. he hasn’t. for that alone, you’re more than content to stay with him. you’ve had strings of other arrangements before, but never one that’s lasted this long. it always falls apart eventually—unmet expectations, dangerous feelings, the unfortunate death. a year and a half with john is a long time, and you’re surprised he’s not bored with you yet. you’re surprised you aren’t bored with him.

but truly, he is kind and well-off—physically and monetarily—and so long as he’s keen to have you around, you’ll stick around. you aren’t complaining.

of all your arrangements, you like john richard deacon the most.

he’s been gone for some time, consumed by the magic tour and promoting the latest queen album. he’s tired, ready for a break, and when he calls you a week before his return, you can hear the shoulder-crushing weariness in his tone.

“i’m getting too old for this, [y/n],” he says.

his sigh is heavy, and it gives you pause. you hold still, the paintbrush between your fingers suspended in midair. you twist on your stool in discomfort. though you know your role—and you play it splendidly—there’s always a flare of uncertainty in the back of your mind when john muses personal.

you shift, cradling the telephone between your shoulder and your ear. “you’re only thirty-five, john,” you say after a moment. “hardly an old fart.”

“well, i feel one.” something crinkles over the line. “i think we’ll be on break for a good while after this. freddie is—” he sighs again. “when can i see you?”

you can’t help but smile. you dip your head to the side as you study the foot of the angel in your painting. there’s something not quite right, so you lift the corner of your smock and wipe away the top of her big toe.

you like it when your men are eager; it means they still intend on supplementing your income and leaving you fine gifts. as soon as the eagerness begins to fade, as soon as the meetings are less and less frequent, you know it’s time to look elsewhere. nearly two years later and john is more eager for an evening with you now than he was at the start. you have nothing to worry about.

“when do you get back?”

“thursday.”

“then you can see me thursday.”

he exhales in something that sounds a lot like relief. you bite your lip to keep from smiling wider. he’s wrapped so tight around your pinky; neither of you seem to care.

“good, good. i’ll bring you something from barcelona. what do you want?”

"hmm. surprise me.”

“you don’t like surprises.”

“you’re right. how about some of those fun little tiles? the colorful ones, y’know?” he hums in agreement. “i can put those in my kitchen.”

“tiles? my baby wants tiles?” he laughs, and you’re thankful for the thousands of miles between you. the affectionate term, spoken normally in jest, sends your thoughts straight to the gutter every time, loathe as you are to admit such a thing. “fine. tiles it is. see you thursday.”

“it’s a date, mr. deacon.” you pause then add, “get some rest, john. you sound knackered.”

“i am.”

“i’ll see you thursday, handsome.”

he says goodnight, wishes you sweet dreams, and hangs up. you drop the phone to its base and sit back, stretching your arms over your head.

the canvas before you is taller than it is wide—twenty-four by thirty-six. the customer, a repeater, requested something angelic and bright, a new addition to their marble villa in the south of greece. you’re happy to oblige, but you’re stuck on the bottom portion. should the angel be in flight? poised on a cliffside? in a garden? you know it doesn’t matter, that the buyer will be happy regardless, but it matters to you. each painting needs to tell a coherent story, and you like for that story to fit well with the piece’s ultimate home.

your mother says you are blessed with a gift by god. john says you have natural talent. you think you’re just good at copying. it’s not forgery; all of your paintings are as unique as they are original. still, you’re excellent at replicating dead-and-gone styles: renaissance, rococo, romantic, hell even the odd modern piece. whatever the customer wants, you can reproduce it for a fraction of the cost. your work pays handsomely, but averaging only one painting a year doesn’t pay all the bills that pile up on your kitchen island over the months. that’s where john comes in. it evens out in the end, with more than enough on the side to play with.

rising from your stool for a much needed break, you cross the concrete floor, the stone cool beneath your bare feet. the evening has gone drafty, so you shut one of the tall windows looking onto the side garden. you pick up your mail from beneath the flap on the front door and rifle through. nothing urgent, though there’s a letter from your mother. you tuck it to the side.

john would detest your studio if he ever saw it. it’s unfeeling, bare bones and vaulted ceilings and exposed beams. most of the open floor plan is used for your painting endeavors. there’s discarded portraits along the wall, a few untarnished canvases tucked in a corner. there’s a worktable that doubles as a kitchen table, and a cramped kitchen shoved beneath the loft which houses your bed and wardrobe. you don’t mind the gray walls and gray floors and metal and lack of personal touches. if anything, the simplicity allows your creativity to explode.

after a piece of jam and toast for supper, you return to your painting. the angel should be on a cliffside overlooking the sea, you decide; after all, her home will soon be greece. dipping your brush to the mixture of tan and dark brown you’ve been using for her skintone, you curl a leg beneath you and set to work. only this time, you struggle to keep the excited smile from your face.

john’s coming home. you missed the bastard—him and his money.

thursday evening you find yourself on john’s front stoop, fist poised to knock on the door. the dress beneath your coat is silky, like water against your skin. you feel underdressed for the turn of the season but you’re likely to be without clothing entirely within the hour so you grit your teeth against the chill on your legs. you clear your throat, adjust the curled ends of your hair, and knock on the door. the bottle of champagne in your hand grows heavy as you wait, and you finger the small string of diamonds around your neck.

john inhales through his nose sharply when he opens the door. “[y/n],” he breathes before sweeping you into a tight embrace.

you laugh, crushed against his chest, your arms snug around his shoulder. he smells clean, like soap and fresh tea. you lift your legs, giggling further as he spins you about the rowhouse foyer.

“okay, okay!” you squeal. “put me down!”

he drops you to the floor, your heels clicking against the hardwood. “let me take your coat,” he says, sliding behind you to remove your outer layer. you shimmy out of the garment and bite you lip on a smirk when he sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“like it?” you ask, twirling on the ball of your foot in a slow circle. your dress—pale pink, short and open in the back—leaves little to the imagination.

“you’re a sight for sore eyes, angel.”

he steps away from the coatrack to circle his arms around your waist. he settles his hands in the curve of your spine and drinks you in, his pupils expanding with appreciation. you preen under his gaze and rest your palms on his brightly patterned shirt. you never tire of this—no matter who your benefactor is. the glazed look in their eye when they see you wearing a necklace newly bought or sporting a handbag of your choice or simply pushed against their strength is intoxicating. you feel powerful and desirable and unstoppable all at once.

“missed you.” john lifts a hand to brush a lock of hair away from your face, and the gesture is decidedly intimate. it sends a chill down your spine, your mouth tightening. you know if this were any other relationship he would bend forward and capture your lips, marking you as his and erasing the weeks apart with a single touch. you know he’s fighting the urge to do so now; you can see it in the way his eyes flick to your mouth and hold there.

to ease his yearning, you wind your arms around his neck and squeeze him tight, curling your fingers in the base of his recently trimmed perm. you like the fluff; it’s quirky—like him. “missed you, john.” you kiss the corner of his jaw and pull away, trailing to the kitchen.

he’s hot on your heels.

lifting your rump onto the kitchen island, you cross your ankles and grin as he enters the room. “did you bring me my tiles?”

john blinks, as if he’s not sure what you’re talking about, but then recognition lights his eyes, and he snaps in remembrance. “ah yes, the tiles! hold on.” he slips into an adjoining room before returning with a brown box tied with a white ribbon. “here.”

you take the box, smile at him where he leans against the counter opposite you, and tear off the string. within the box there’s a small index card covered in john’s neat script. you lift it and meet his eyes again; there’s a faint blush on his cheeks as you read aloud.

“[y/n], i thought you deserved something better than a few titles. love, john.” lowering the card to your side, you push back the tissue paper to see a framed pencil sketch of a woman mid-gown fitting. the seamstress is crouched against the floor, her back to the viewer. the woman being fitted is twisted, glancing over her shoulder as the seamstress works, her reflection visible in an invisible mirror. you squint and push your nose to the corner then nearly drop the frame to the floor.

your head snaps up so fast it cracks. “john, you didn’t.”

he just beams, nodding.

tucked in the right hand corner of the sketch is the artist’s signature, a signature you know well. mary cassatt.

“got it in paris,” he explains. “thought you could use an original from your favorite.”

you brush your fingertip along the signature and feel the sting of tears beneath your eyelids. of all the gifts you been handed—holidays in rome, designer bags and jewelry, luxury rides to and from the city—this, this, is the best. part of you hates the sudden rush of emotion that spreads through your chest, but you allow the feeling to take hold, opening your arms to him. he steps between your legs, and you curl yourself around his body.

“thank you, john,” you whisper. your voice is muffled by the fabric of his shirt, but the way he presses his hand against your shoulder blade tells you he heard you loud and clear.

he hums against the crook of your neck. the vibrations tickle your throat, and you flush. you draw back, far enough to meet his gaze, but close enough to feel his breath against your face.

god, you could kiss him.

the thought strikes you like a bolt of lightning, and you resist the urge to gasp. you’ve never thought it before; the rule of no kissing is ingrained in you so deep the mere idea of breaking it sends you for a loop. but there he is—generous and gorgeous and yours. he knows you well, spoils you well, and all he asks is you entertain him in return.

how did you get to be so lucky?

clearing your throat, you brush past him to hop off the counter. you tug the hem of your dress down a smidgen and touch his shoulder. “want me to go shower?” you ask, cocking your head toward the bathroom.

he turns to face you and shakes his head. “no.” his arms are around you again, as if it pains him to keep his distance for a moment too long. you can feel it in the thrum of his heart against your ribcage. you swallow hard.

your brow pinches in a frown. “but you—”

his mouth is already tracing the lines of your neck, warm and wet and dizzying. he grips your hip, his fingertips pressing through the satin of your dress. “forget it, [y/n]. i’ve missed you,” he whispers, a tattoo on your skin. “come to bed.”

“but the sho—”

he pulls back and lifts a hand to grasp your chin. the touch is not angry, not possessive; it’s just firm. the words in your mouth dry up, and you meet his gaze with wide eyes. “i said forget it.”

you nod, mute.

his eyes lower to your mouth. his tongue darts out to swipe his lower lip.

he steps away, his fingers trailing down your arm until they circle your wrist. he leads you through the house, silent, until you reach the foot of his bed. moonlight washes through the open terrace doors. a misty rain drifts into the room, bringing with it a chill and a whisper of autumn.

you toe off your heels, run your finger down his grecian nose, over his straight jaw. there’s this feeling in your stomach, one you can’t quite place. it’s a mixture of contentment and nerves, joy and apprehension, all at once. it’s a foreign feeling, and there’s no time to dissect it as john leans close.

his nose nudges yours. “i missed you.”

you sigh, wistful, and pull him onto the bed.

come morning you are sated and sore. you groan through a stretch, curling your back like a cat as you adjust to the morning light. you slept well, better than you have in several weeks. you can’t be sure if the dreamless slumber was due to exertion from your evening activities or pure tranquility. you missed sleeping beside john; he has a comforting way about him, even in the throes of pleasure or sleep.

you turn your face to see john already wake, propped up against a pile of pillows. you grin and reach for him.

“morning,” you mumble on a yawn.

he blinks contentedly at you, a half-smile on his mouth, a lit cigarette between his fingers. “morning.”

“sleep well?”

he nods. “that was the most sleep i’ve gotten in weeks.”

with a chuckle, you pinch his bicep. “funny—i thought the same for myself.”

he pats the space beside him, and you shuffle to lie perpendicular to his body, your head on his bare chest. he drapes an arm across your torso, and you lift his hand to fiddle with his long fingers.

the terrace door is still open, allowing mid-morning warmth and the gentle hum of the street below to fill the room. you sigh and smile when john takes a drag of his cigarette and tilts his head to exhale in the opposite direction. he knows you hate the smoke, thoughtful boy.

when he turns back, he catches your eye, furrowing his brow as he studies the look on your face. “what?”

you shake your head. “nothing.”

he grunts, shifts a little lower along the pillows. “tell me about the paintings you’ve got going in that pretty head of yours.”

“just one for the moment—an angel near the sea. it’s for the olsons and their villa in greece.”

“olson? wasn’t he the one who bought that nudie fashioned after his wife?”

“precisely the one!”

john smirks. “how’d you feel if i had you paint something like that for me?”

you guffaw, flipping over onto your stomach to slap his breastbone. “john!”

he holds up his hands in surrender, though there’s a mischievous twinkle in his gray eyes. “oy! it’s just a thought!”

you huff. “continue like that and i won’t finish the painting i’ve started for you.”

he leans back against the pillows in surprise. his neck is contorted in the effort it takes to properly meet your eyes as he sits, and you poke the double-chin that’s popped up beneath his jaw. he swats your hand away, though his fingers wrap tight around your wrist. he presses his pointer finger against your pulse point.

“you’ve started a painting for me?”

“course i have. don’t sound so surprised.”

“what’s it of?”

you narrow your gaze. “don’t know if i should tell you. it’s supposed to be a birthday gift.”

“my birthday’s not for a while, [y/n].”

“my paintings take a while, john.”

he sighs, squeezes your wrist, lifts it to kiss the bone on the side of your hand. “tell me,” he mumbles, his mouth against your skin, eyes locked on yours.

on an inhale, you give in. “it’s victoria park. well, victoria park seventy-five years ago.”

his eyebrows rise, and his fingers tighten around your hand. “victoria park? my victoria park? from leicester?”

“where else, silly?”

he goes quiet.

the air in your lungs stills, and that funny feeling you had the night before flares in your stomach. you feel your jaw slacken as he rakes his gaze over you in such unabashed adoration it makes your gut twist. there’s an overwhelming desire to be near him, to feel him as you’ve never felt him before, rising like the tide, and you are pulled to it like a baby sea turtle searching for the safety of the ocean. it’s a natural pull, but you are determined to ignore it.

you sit up, brush a lock of hair behind your ear, and turn your back to him.

he runs his finger along the curve of your shoulderblades. you shiver.

sensing your discomfort, john sits straight in bed, the covers around his lap rustling with the movement. “you know,” he says, pulling on his cigarette again. “freddie would like one of your paintings.”

“what?” you look over your shoulder with a frown. “you told him about me?”

he shakes his head. “no, i just mean what you do is his style. he’d be thrilled to have something so… romantic.” he pauses and lifts a brow in question. “i could mention it to him, ask if he’d be interested?”

your frown deepens. this is not the john you know. john rarely speaks about his bandmates, preferring to keep his exploits with queen separate from your arrangement. when he does talk about his job, it’s normally a complaint here, a silly little story there. though you’ve been with him more than a year, you know more about his life before queen than his life during. he’s private, like you, and you respect that. it’s why your arrangement works: mutual respect for the other’s boundaries.

but there’s something different about him. you noted it the night before. first no shower. now suggesting he introduce you to freddie. it doesn’t make sense.

or maybe it does. maybe this is his way of shifting the relationship, subtly, under your nose, done before you realize what’s happened.

a thread of panic weaves itself around your spine.

“what’s this about? you’ve never wanted me to meet freddie before.”

he shrugs, playing innocent. “just an idea. we’re on break now, will be for some time. i figured meeting you would give freddie something to fuss over.”

“you know how i feel about my studio, john.”

“i know, i know. you like your privacy.”

john stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray on the bedside table then scoots closer, drawing you close with an arm around your waist. his mouth works idle patterns along your shoulder, the spot where your neck meets your back, the ticklish spot behind your ear.

you tighten your hold on his arm, your nails biting his skin. when you speak, your voice is but a whisper.

“i don’t want things to change.”

he stills, lifting his head from your skin. “sorry?”

“i said i don’t want things to change.” turning, you meet his eyes, nearly losing your breath in the process. he’s close; you can practically taste him on your lips. “what we have works. don’t you think?”

“’s just an idea, [y/n].”

ducking your head, you play with the hair on his arm. your heart squeezes tight. “i know. but i say yes now and tomorrow you’ll be…” you lift your face.

he seems to understand without needing you to finish the thought.

he untangles himself and swings his legs over the side of the bed. you watch his movements, stiff and irritated. he pulls on a pair of ratty joggers, rising from the bed to shut the terrace doors. you startle at the sound of glass rattling in the windowpanes.

“john, i—”

he cuts you off. there’s another cigarette between his fingers now. “better take a shower,” he quips. his eyes remain planted on the cigarette packet in his hands. he taps the thin stick against the cardboard several times before jamming it between his teeth. “you didn’t take one last night, and we wouldn’t want things to change, now would we?”

the door slams shut, the blast echoing in your empty stomach.

you don’t hear from john for a week and a half. it’s not uncommon, the length between visits. he’s busy, you’re busy. sometimes you can barely find time for yourself, let alone him. still, there’s no box of chocolates delivered to your doorstep, no flowers dropped off at an inopportune time.

there’s just silence.

it worries you at first, and you wonder if he’s dropped you like a hot potato. it wouldn’t be unheard of. one arrangement ended in a similar fashion, and you nearly lost your studio in the process. but john is better than that. he wouldn’t leave you on the verge of homelessness, would he? he cares about you too much to do such a thing.

your fears are assuaged when a bouquet of flowers does arrive one afternoon. you have paint smeared along your forehead, and your neck cracks as you stand to answer the doorbell, but the sight of sunflowers in a pretty blue vase erases all your uncertainties. the note tucked in the ramble of flowers makes you smile—sorry for being a dick. give me a call if you forgive me – j—and you tape it to your refrigerator.

john is still yours; you are still his.

you call him that night, and after reaffirming your boundaries, the phone call devolves into a mess of heavy breathing and whispered encouragements and sinful sorts of pleasure.

as you fall asleep, you’re struck by something he said in the hazy cloud of post-bliss: even if this is all you give me, i’m happy.

even if this is all you give me…

he wants more. how much you aren’t sure, but enough that you can’t fall asleep as readily as you normally do. frustrated, you slip from bed and finagle your way down the stairs to the kitchen. you warm a glass of milk and lean against the counter, sipping slowly. your eyes fall along the mary cassatt print, now housed on the kitchen wall above the vase of sunflowers. the milk in your stomach curdles.

john deacon loves you; and if you tarry any longer, you’ll be close to loving him, too.

the decision to call the arrangement off does not come lightly. you mull over it for days on end, even as a sliver of your heart warms to the idea of allowing john to love you as he pleases, of letting yourself love him back.

it’s all you can think about the next time you see him face-to-face. as he pours you a glass of wine and lays you out on the living room floor, your thoughts are elsewhere. when he takes you shopping for canvas frames, you let him hold your hand, but you can’t focus on what he’s saying about the best fit. even when he mentions your studio and you find yourself willing to invite him inside, you cannot shake the feeling that you are losing a part of yourself you will never regain.

but would it be so bad? giving in?

you’re interested in john, that much you will concede. he’s good and kind and generous and a hell of a good romp and you enjoy your time with him. but the stubborn part of you refuses to let go of your own autonomy. you will not become his plaything, his arm candy at all the queen functions he so dreads. you value your independence too much—the safety of your well-crafted walls—to be anything other than his dirty little secret.

you’re prepared to shove your concerns aside and continue on until john makes the decision for you. he gives freddie your studio address, and freddie shows up one morning unannounced. you invite him in, sketch out a painting over the worktable, smile when necessary, and ignore his wonderings about your connection to john but on the inside you’re reeling. you’re livid and you’re hurt.

you’ve never been hurt by one of your arrangements before.

after freddie leaves, john answers the telephone on the third ring. “hello?”

“we can’t see each other anymore,” you say, your voice firm.

he’s quiet for a moment. “i’m sorry—what?”

“you heard me, john. i’m calling it all off.”

“why on earth would you do that?”

unbidden, an answer rises to your mouth: because i think i like you as much as you like me and i’m scared.

with a harsh clearing of your throat, you instead say, “you sent freddie here. i told you not to do that.”

“he did what? no, [y/n], i didn’t send freddie to you.”

“then how else would he know who i am? my clients don’t run in his circles.”

panic laces the edge of john’s voice as he rushes to explain, but you grit your teeth against the sound. “i swear, angel, i didn’t tell him where you live. i might have told him about you, yeah, but he’s my best friend, and i needed some advice.” he hesitates, sucks in shaky breath. “don’t do this. don’t call it off.”

you swallow hard. for the first time in a long time, you feel a wash of tears over your eyes. “you want too much from me, john. i can’t give you what you want. i’m not the girl for that sort of life.”

“oh, baby, i—i’m sorry. i know i’ve been pushy lately but i—” he sighs. “god, i love you so dearly. i’d give you the world if you let me.”

at this you choke on a sob. surprised by the sound, you press a hand to your mouth.

oh god, you love him too. the feeling crashes over you like a wave, and you’re the sea turtle who has found the safety of the sea. john is your sea. he envelops you, carries you to safety and uncertainty all at once. but you know him—he will protect you, guide you, with everything he is and all that he has.

you love him, you love him, you love him.

but it’s not enough. it’s not supposed to go like this, and you both know it.

“i’m sorry, john,” you whisper. you didn’t remember that tears taste salty. “please don’t call me, okay?”

you hang up before you can hear his protests any further then you crawl into bed and weep.

several months pass. autumn fades into winter, and you grow colder by the day.

you’re stressed. you cut john off entirely, opening a separate bank account and shuffling your monies and generally working to disentangle him from your life. but no john means no stable income. you’re fine for the time being, your painting for the olsons paid for and gone; but you’ve taken to rushing your artwork now, allowing customers to sit for hastily and poorly arranged portraits with their dogs and children. the paintings are lovely, yes, but they’re not you. it pays the bills, though, so you can’t complain.

you continue on freddie’s painting. he paid you upfront, so you owe him that much. in the evenings, after shooing the last snot-nosed kid and yippy dog out of your home, you turn on the lamp above the canvas and return to the sort of art you yearn for day and night. the painting screams freddie mercury all over.

there’s a man, mustached and tan, draped against a purple chaise in the center of the canvas. he’s flanked by a tall gentleman with wiry hair who is focused on a globe in the corner. to the far right, two other men—one blond, one brunette—whisper amongst themselves. you realize, belatedly, that you are painting queen in some sort of ridiculous nineteenth century daydream. it makes you snort every time you sit down to work.

you struggle to capture john in the painting. you know his face better than you know your own. you dream of it every night and wake to an image of it every morning.

you love him. you miss him.

you’re not certain when you started loving him. maybe six months in when he took you to new york and the moma and the empire state building. maybe nine months in—your first christmas together—when he gifted you a song. maybe a year in when he confessed his deepest fears—fears of loneliness and isolation and an empty old age—and made you promise to stay by his side. maybe when he came back this last tour and you wanted to kiss him so badly it hurt to hold back.

you’ve never been in love. you don’t quite understand the way it works, but you know enough to know that you love him. perhaps you always will, your disco deaky, the thoughtful boy.

you finish freddie’s painting come the first of the year. it’s been four months without john, four months entirely on your own. you have no compunction to find another arrangement. no one could fill the shoes of john deacon even if they tried, and the idea doesn’t appeal to you like it once did. you’ll go it alone for a while and revel in the autonomy you so desire.

freddie invites you to dinner when you call and say the painting is ready, and you reluctantly go. you’re half afraid he’ll pull some trick and invite john as well, but he swears he’ll be on his best behavior. the night of the dinner, you dress warm and gently arrange the framed canvas in the boot of your car. after losing your way twice, you eventually find his house and park outside. jim helps you carry the painting through the tight gate and into the front parlor where freddie waits, hands clasped in excitement.

“oh, i could just piss myself i’m so thrilled!” freddie squeezes your shoulders when you unveil the completed work. “i look so divine, like bloody oscar wilde!”

the edges of a smile lift your mouth. “yes, divine indeed.”

“you are more talented than you know, [y/n],” freddie says. he boops the end of your nose. “you shouldn’t hide your talent.”

“i don’t! i sell my work.”

“yes, but you could be a star, darling. i could make you a star.”

“i don’t want to be a star, freddie.”

“then what do you want?”

you sigh, shrug, and curl your lips in a wry grin. “not sure anymore.”

“perhaps dinner will help you figure it out. come on, it’s ready and we don’t want it getting cold.”

you follow freddie to the dining room. what awaits you sends your blood running cold as the frost outside. john richard deacon, handsome as ever, sits at the table, a smoke in hand. he looks up when you enter, surprise painting his face at the sight of you bundled in a winter coat in his friend’s dining room.

you twist in the doorway. your fists tremble with rage. “fuck you, freddie!”

he cringes. “okay, i can explain. you just have to hear me out before you slit my throat.”

john rises to his feet. “[y/n]…”

you ignore him and keep your gaze on freddie. “you promised!”

freddie nods. “yes, i know, but you see it was my fault that this whole thing fell apart.”

at this, john turns his head. “what are you on about, fred?”

“well, when you told me about your relationship with [y/n]”–-he lowers his voice to a stage whisper, looking at you from the corner of his eye—“when you told me you loved her”—he returns to his normal voice—“i got very distracted by the idea of a painting of the four of us. so i ignored your issue and looked her up and then it all fell apart.”

john sucks in a deep breath, shaking his head. he runs a hand down his face, and you note the weariness etched along his eyes. “fuck, fred.”

“so, you see, it’s my fault. if i had just left well enough alone, you two might still be shagging like rabbits and spending all that hard-earned money instead of moping like a pair of silly-pants!” he sobers, his nose twitching. “i really am sorry. it was selfish of me.”

“freddie—” you start.

he shakes his head. “no! i won’t hear any excuses—not until you’ve made up.” a timer somewhere in the kitchen dings, and he snaps. “now… if you’ll excuse me…” he slips from the dining room, shutting the door behind him with a tell-tale click.

you look to the floor. you should get your winter boots polished. they’re horribly scuffed.

john speaks first. “you look good, [y/n].”

lifting your head, you scoff. “you always were a flatterer.”

“no, i mean it.”

you run your eyes over him and feel your heart trip. god, you missed him. “you look good, too.”

“what have you been doing?”

“oh, this and that. mostly painting portraits.”

“you hate portraits.”

“i know.”

outside, the cricks chirp loudly, but you wonder if john can heart the beating of your heart over the chorus of insects.

“[y/n], i—”

“john—”

he smirks. you look to your toes again.

“you go first,” he says.

lifting your head, you dare to step further into the room. you steel yourself, biting the inside of your tongue to keep from spilling your guts at his feet. “i was wrong, too.”

he cocks his head to the side in confusion. “what do you mean?”

it’s time, isn’t it? seeing him now... how could you ever live without him?

“i was foolish and stubborn and willful. i knew what i wanted, but ignored it for the sake of my own stupid ideals.” you step closer and catch a whiff of his cologne. it sends a thrill straight to your belly. “turns out i need people just as much as you do.”

“what are you saying?”

“i’m saying i was wrong to turn you away. i was scared. i’ve only ever known love with a price tag on it, never real love. not until you anyway. as complicated as it is, you have loved me better than anyone else, and i was blind to it for so long. and even when i wasn’t blind to it, i pushed you away. i’m sorry.”

he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing. “what—what are you saying?” he asks again.

“i’m saying i miss you and i’m a right git and i love you and i’m sorry.”

he reaches for you, his touch like fire on your wrist. “i shouldn’t have pushed you.”

you shake your head in disagreement. “i needed a good pushing. i didn’t realize how much i needed you until you were gone. and fuck all about the money. i don’t care about that. i needed you. i need you.”

john moves his hands to cup your face, his palms warm on your cool cheeks. he leans downs and presses his forehead to yours. you exhale, sure that if you open your eyes, if you move an inch, you will wake from whatever dream you inhabit. you don’t want this moment to end—him and you and no one else, all the possibility in the world stretching out before you.

“you don’t know what it means to hear you say that,” he whispers. “i would be content to love you silently, but, god, i love you.”

you laugh and open your eyes, blinking back tears. you pull away to meet his gaze. “even though i’m a stubborn fool?”

“i’m more stubborn and more foolish than you ever could be.” his thumbs work over the apple of your cheeks. “i love you,” he breathes.

“i love you.”

you grin. he matches your smile.

“kiss me,” you whisper.

his eyes widen, his mouth parting. “but—”

“it’s part of our new arrangement. you can kiss me whenever you like so long as you promise not to smoke in bed.”

“fuck. i—” he shakes his head, eyes fluttering shut. you lift a hand to his cheek, and his eyes open.

“i know. me too.”

he captures your mouth, the touch soft and everything you have waited to find, everything you have searched for in all the wrong places. he kisses you, holds you against his body, weaves his hand in your hair. he moves his lips in tandem with yours, and you feel like you’re floating.

he kisses you, and you are home.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #queen #queen fic #j writes #the arrangement

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 5

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Revenge is sweet but a well-timed dick joke is sweeter. xoxo gossip girl. Please supervise one Bucky Barnes on the internet. Questionable music taste. Detention is the price we pay for justice. Bruce Banner is too precious for this world, too pure.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! 🎶🎵I love you biiitch ain't ever gonna stop loving you biiitch 🎵🎶

"Initiate phase one," I added a growly undertone to my whisper, holding my phone inconspicuously, as if I was making a simple phone call. There was no answer but I didn't expect one: I was testing the voice recorder app that I had downloaded for the sole purpose of documenting and relaying the inevitable fall of one Flash Thompson.

Making my way through the crowd of students during the busiest time of the day, I made the most intrigued and outraged facial expression I possibly could. Spying my targets, I leaned against a nearby wall, putting a hand over my mouth in fake outrage, keeping my eyes wide and trained on the opposite wall. Just as I had predicted, the two sophomore girls started giving me side-eye by minute two of my staring and finally approached me as I contemplated the wall for whole five minutes.

"I'm sorry, are you okay?" The brunette asked, her blonde friend hanging a step back.

"Yeah, totally," I mumbled. "I'm, like, shook beyond imagination, but nothing, like, bad."

The girls traded a curious look, seemingly coming to some sort of conclusion. The greedy gleam in their eyes had me internally cheering. "What happened?" The blonde one asked, coming closer.

"I'm not sure if I should tell that to anyone," I stammered, watching them bodily move forward. "Well, okay, I can't keep quiet. But you must never, ever speak of it or I'll get expelled or something," I said nervously. They both nodded so rapidly it reminded me of Funko Pop figurines. "You know the senior guy, Flash? Brown hair, kinda hot?" Again, they both nodded, conspicuously grinning. "I think I just saw him in the closed girls bathroom on the third floor with, like, some brunette from Ms. Johnson's History class," They both gasped. Predictable. "But that's not the worst! They were like, y'know," I made an obscene gesture with my hand and they instantly covered their own mouths with their palms in shock. "And the chick was like 'is it in yet?' and he was like 'yah' and I just closed the door and ran, oh my god I hope they didn't hear me," I squealed at the end, playing the part of a mortified teenager.

All three of us giggled uncomfortably for a moment. The blonde girl stared at me suspiciously. "And what were you doing there?"

I faked a nervous stammer, looking around briefly and showing them my lighter for a moment. They both gasped and nodded in recognition. "Don't tell anybody or my mom is going to have kittens," I pleaded. Both of them nodded solemnly, noticing their own group of friends approach. I used the brief moment to get lost in the river of pupils and by the time they turned around to introduce me, I was already at the opposite part of the hallway.

For the time being, everything seemed peaceful. There were a few giggles and side-eyes directed towards Flash Thompson but nothing out of the ordinary. He was disliked by most of the student population even if nobody dared to admit it outright. I took care to walk around without my earbuds for the day and pulled out my phone to record the most interesting conversations around me whenever I caught the tell tale signs of a gossip mill beginning to run its course around the school.

"Oh my god, I heard about this girl that was caught fucking Flash in the girls bathroom and she literally said 'is it in yet', can you imagine the shock, jeez!"

"Some chick literally just rejected Flash because his dick was too small."

"Rebecca from AP chemistry told me someone saw Flash's micropenis. Poor guy!"

"I wonder if his girlfriend dumped him because he can't do shit, I mean, he doesn't look like the type to eat the kitty."

Those were just the highlights of the Friday afternoon. Come the weekend and the news of Flash's unfortunate condition will make the rounds through every single group chat that the school has and by the time Monday rolls around, nobody will have a clue who started the rumour in the first place. I had to carefully select the girls who were to distribute the rumour and I was happy with the outcome: Marissa and Layla with their squad of chatty, bored rich girls were the perfect choice. I thought they would jump at any opportunity to cause drama and I was right.

It was sufficient to say I was bristling with pride as I cut and compiled the audio track from today's school day before sending it to the group chat.

Clint, Peter and Natasha appeared online as soon as the message delivered and I was delighted at their response. Romanoff's kind words, specifically, made me all warm and mushy inside. I didn't resist the feeling, basked in it even as I did a happy dance around my room. Peter's nonsensical string of emojis was another point of laughter for me.

It wasn't exactly the smartest way to go about killing Thompson's reputation... Alas, simplicity is the way to success when it comes to large crowds of teenagers. That tiny little vindictive part of me was very much looking forward to the weekend and the results of the inevitable distortion of the rumour I had started. Who knew, maybe by Monday Flash Thompson would not only have a micropenis but horns and hooves as well.

Near bedtime, I had all the avengers send me their regards and thumbs up. I answered the flurry of texts as quickly as I could but there was no point in keeping up with ten or so people constantly streaming their questions, opinions and comments.

I settled on a single easiest response: pulling my dad's old uni sweatshirt over my tiny lacy pajamas to preserve some modesty, I settled in front of my mirror, turning on my Bluetooth speaker to play "Boss Ass Bitch". In true gen-z fashion, I put on my best resting witch face and solemnly lip-synced to the song's eponymous chorus. My eyeliner was sharp enough to cut paper and my prismatic highlighter glittered enigmatically in the cold light of my blue lava lamp.

The response was, once again, delightful and I genuinely belly-laughed at the adults' attempts to meme after Peter. His blushy face emoji started a whole nother conversation that I didn't participate in but watched from the sidelines with glee, snorting every time his friends and mentors gently teased him about the very obvious crush he harboured on me.

Seeing Peter starting to go absolutely nuts, I interjected with an offer (more like a dare) of a lip sync battle. He jumped on the bandwagon, immediately going offline to undoubtedly film an epic video of what I thought would be dorky-dancing to some hipster song. I was pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be a pre-recorded tik tok video of him and Ned fighting with lightsabers while mouthing the words to Fergalicious that played over the Imperial March.

Weirdos. I still followed him on the app, though, it was pretty funny.

Bucky interjected with a very well executed rendition of "Bring Me to Life": he was wearing his full Winter Soldier get-up, complete with an AK-47, dramatically serenading Steve who looked seventeen shades of done with his partner's antics. Wanda's following twenty second voice message consisted of nothing but pure hysterical laughter, summing up everyone's reaction to the video. Bucky was going to go viral one of these days...

Obviously, I had good competition and nobody else seemed to want to participate so I rearranged my surroundings a little bit and stood up at my full height and swapped the old sweatshirt for a cute crop-top hoodie. My thigh-highs were on display and with my make-up, I looked like a proper internet e-girl. I leaned against the mirror as I mouthed along to the song with my best interpretation of the famous Lucifer smirk, seasoned with a tiny bit of angelic innocence: "Doctor, doctor, give me the news, I got a bad case of loving you..."

Needless to say, I won the competition. Eventually Wanda joined in, looking menacing and ominous with her dark clothes and Natasha's red hair flashing somewhere in the background; even Tony did a round (AC/DC as his soundtrack of course) with one of his Iron Man suits but nothing beat my stunt and the reaction that it caused.

I had accidentally called out Bruce with the choice of my song and his teammates gave both of us a lot of cheeky comments about it. We relented and flirted with each other a bit as the conversation flowed into more mundane discussion; I said my good nights somewhere between Tony's bitching about the hobbies of my generation and my nightly skincare routine. The little green heart that I'd become accustomed to over the past few weeks greeted me just as I was about to lock my phone.

Bruce was really too precious for this world. My crush on him was different than the one on Tony, it mellowed out in comparison. I wanted him to hold me, to stroke my hair, to call me his darling and wrap me up in one of those dorky button-ups that he insisted on wearing in spite of Tony's unwanted, however very valid, fashion advice.

For all that's worth, the scientist probably knew or at least suspected and had the good grace to play along just enough to satisfy my deep need for attention... Without crossing any actual lines. It was frustrating, it was disappointing but I had virtually nothing to complain about. Besides, I didn't want to lose the quirky friendship that we had. Banner was, probably, the least judgemental person I knew and I wasn't about to trade that for an awkwardly stolen kiss.

Monday and Tuesday passed in a flurry of giggling and snorting every time Flash walked by. His girlfriend broke up with him, very publicly, accusing him of cheating and he didn't even deny it - just insulted her and stormed off, leaving even his friends looking lost and clueless. I started dragging Peter and his two pet nerds along with me just about everywhere I went in case Thompson decided to do something stupid again. If judging only by the looks he was throwing our little company, he was on his way to figuring out who began nibbling at his reputation.

The week was coming to an end and the rumour began dying off, slowly. That just didn't sit with me, I wanted the fucker gone. Due to the obvious time constraints, I approached MJ regarding Peter - after a brief argument, we came to an agreement regarding Peter's safety should I need to leave him alone in the hallways or at lunch.

I needed to do this alone so if I got caught, I won't drag them down with me. Granted, I would probably get something like a suspension and the school will attempt to call my mother (she never picks up) but that's about it. That's where her reputation comes in handy-people consciously avoid dealing with her, she can be that unbearable.

But first, I needed to get a teacher that's on my side. After carefully considering the candidates, I settled on my Social Studies professor - he taught the college-level classes and was overall a very chill, nice dude. And he disliked bullies with a flaming passion. So it didn't take me long to work him into a righteous fury - just a quick chat over a cup of tea in his homeroom and a few pictures of Peter's bruised face, complete with my own pleading puppy eyes. We agreed Mr Davies would "accidentally" leave the teacher's lounge unlocked during third period and I would sneak in. The plan wasn't foolproof but if it worked, not only Flash, but also his whole misogynistic, bigoted family would go down.

As I was leaving, Mr Davies looked up at me with a bright smile: "Give them Hell, alright?" And I suddenly noticed he was, in fact, very attractive. The smile brought out the fine wrinkles around his mouth, the crow's feet around his eyes - he smiled a lot. Silver strands mixed in with the wooden brown of his hair.

I let my eyes slide over him briefly before baring my teeth in return. "I owe you one," I don't know what possessed me to say that. My mouth really had a mind of its own sometimes. The room suddenly became hot.

"Sure," He replied, totally oblivious.

On Friday, I made myself a small nest in the empty classroom opposite the teacher's lounge and sat waiting for the signal from Mr Davies - he'd tap on the door once and I'd quietly go inside the teacher's lounge, retrieve Thompson's file and make my way back to the empty classroom to grab my backpack and carry the file to my locker for further examination.

The first part went successfully and I managed to snag Thompson's file. It was heavy and hefty, all the evidence of his rowdiness compiled into one flimsy plastic folder. There were A LOT of pink slips and I rejoiced internally: at least there was a paper trail of his exploits. The principal didn't do anything about it which was... If not against the rules then at least frowned upon; the plan was to take copies and anonymously submit them to the school board prompting at least an investigation into the blatant disregard for Flash's immoral and illegal behaviour.

On my way back I stumbled upon the principal herself which got me not only a stern talking to, but a whole detention for skipping class. Whatever, I was too elated from potentially ruining the life of a dumb fuck who ruined my friend's face.

Surprise came in the face of Mr Davies, who, having heard the commotion in the hallway, stepped out of his class and saw me being lectured by the principal.

"I'll take her for the detention," I heard the familiar voice behind me. The principal nodded solemnly and I had no choice but to sigh in resignation. "Three thirty, be here," He nodded to me, walking back, looking way too smug for his own good. So I wasn't the only one excited about the successful completion of stage two of my nefarious plan. Cue evil laughter.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x reader #Stephen Strange x y/n #bun writes #party favours #author doesn't advocate for small dick jokes but tbh the abusive fucker deserves it

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douxbebearchives · 4 years

Text

Meet the Author: Jayismz

Hi, J / Jayismz!

Stories can be found here.

Twitter.

Wattpad.

__________

When did you start writing Olitz? I started writing Olitz a year ago around December 2019.

Tell us about yourself! What do you want readers to know about you? I want the readers to know that I’m a pretty humble, easy going guy who loves writing & wants to one day make a career out of it. It’s become a passion of mine. I dislike unnecessary drama & disrespect, & I’m obsessed with fruit snacks. I’m also very easy to talk to, so don’t hesitate to reach out.

What drew you to Olivia and Fitz? It wasn’t the immediate connection for me. It was the drama between them that pushed & pulled them apart. To see them triumph over all the darkness to show each other a love they never experienced was beautiful.

What made you want to write about them? Honestly? I didn’t plan on writing them but my girl Muses pushed me to do so and I don’t regret it. I love being able to bend and shape them how I please. In ways that the show didn’t.

How would you describe your writing? Drama, Romance, Action, Adventure. Angst as well, depending on the storyline. It’s easy to follow, too. Some points are a bit more subtle but if you read for the sake of the story & not just for olitz smut/fluff then you’ll get the fully painted picture.

What inspires you to write / create? Honestly? That’s a difficult question. Sometimes watching certain episodes of the show will give me an idea/inspire me. Other times, it’ll be late night inspiration, when I’m supposed to be asleep or life in general. My mind never stops creating, but every idea that I have doesn’t make the site. Also music. That’s heavy inspiration, too.

Favorite movies, shows, music?

Favorite movies? 1. Dawn of the Dead. 2. The Halloween film series minus one. 3. Jennifer’s Body. 4. The Incredibles film series. 5. The Friday the 13th film series. 6. Insidious 1-2. 7. The Avengers / X-men film series. Even the bad X-men films give me something. 8. Call Me By Your Name. 9. 4th Man Out. 10. Mulligans.

Favorite shows? 1. The 100. 2. The Witcher. 3. American Dad. 4. Scandal. 5. Kingdom.

Music? Alternative, pop, electronic, hip hop and r&b, soundtrack, dance, rap, light rock. A little bit of everything.

How long does it take you to write a chapter? I used to be on a once a week schedule but that doesn’t give people time to miss a story and digest the current chapter(s). So, now I wait until I’m ready. Sometimes it takes a week to write, other times it’ll take longer. Depending on how tired, busy and inspired I am. Time limits stress me out.

Did the show’s themes and plots encourage you or discourage you from writing? The themes I looked for always inspired me.

Writing AU or Canon? AU.

Reading AU or Canon: some canon is really good, but mostly AU.

________

A favorite line, scene, or paragraph you’ve written.

Though there are many moments I love from all of my stories. The speech Ryan gave to Olivia in Herstory is one of my favorites.

Ryan: "Option three, we let them bicker and whine and panic because it's you who calls the shots. You are the leader of the free world. You make the tough decisions that mold and shape the world. You break down the barriers of what it means to be president." He slowly strides around the office.

"You're not like the countless men who came into this office and paraded their power as if they were some Gods here to bless us with great fortune and progress only to leave us with broken promises and lies. No, you are Olivia fucking Pope. You are light and you... have more guts than any man I know." Words unwavering, filled with fire.

"Babying everyone with an opinion is not how I see you running this White House. Your White House. So, what's it going to be?"

Reason being is because he sees her for the woman she is here. There’s no underestimation or denial of her skills. Just pure, unadulterated passion and the will to stand by her side knowing that she’s going to make history.

________

Fave Olitz moments? The season 7 conversation when he asked her if he crossed the line. The trail, of course. The lawn kiss in season 6. And also the deleted scene from season 6 where she was leaving the residence and they talked about him having two weeks. OH! And the dug the phone out of the trash moment.

Fave Olitz fanfic moments? I read too much to remember all of them, omg. Don’t hate me y’all 😭. But everyone I follow in the site gives me some of the best moments and they inspire me to write in all honesty.

________

Do you like it when readers engage with you via comments / social media? Of course! It helps.

Story Reviews: Love them, hate them? I’m indifferent about them. Sometimes they’re so negative but other times, they’re good— constructive even. I read them once every so often before expressing how grateful I am to have people still enjoying my works. Negative ones get deleted without a thought.

What advice would you give to a new Olitz writer? Just write! Perfection should only matter to you and you only. If it’s perfect to you then I’d say you’ve done a good job. Also, write the story that you want to tell. People tend to scream that something’s not good if the idea they had in their mind doesn’t happen. Stay true to yourself and never let anything dictate the words you write.

Outside of your fics, do you have any fave Olitz stories or authors? Anything by Musesoftheminds, labellebeaucoup, sweetness04fj, anonolitz, glamour02, loveoverpride, annnnd Keke thegoddess.

Do you talk to other Olitz authors? If so, do you like the camaraderie? I talk to a good 4 of them. Muses I talk to almost everyday off Twitter, of course, but the other three I’ll reach out and check in or they will. I do like it— the camaraderie. It makes me feel wanted here which means a lot.

Have you made friends (people you talk to outside of fanfic) because of Olitz / Scandal fanfic? I have, yes.

Before you go, anything else you’d like to share?

Yes. To those that read my stories and newcomers. I’m glad you enjoy my work and I’m happy to continue writing for you all. I know it was a big change with me adding new characters and turning the tides a bit but the reception to them has been so heartwarming.

I’m happy Ryan has been received well in the fics. He’s an extension of me if I were to put myself in those settings. I used to be so afraid to admit that but it’s nothing to be ashamed about. Adding myself or a fraction of myself in some way pushed me to continue with writing these stories. It’s like I become one with the character thing. Plus, it makes for good dynamics.

As far as other characters, I tend to use people I know as blueprints as well as other celebrities. For example, Rose / Viper is based on my girl Musesoftheminds if she were in those settings. In When It All Falls & its sequel, Danny is portrayed by actor Marcus Rosner. In Hunted, Walker is portrayed by Charles Melton & Mike is portrayed by Trevante Rhodes. In Herstory, August is portrayed by Henry Cavill and Rose’s husband is portrayed by Jason Mamoa. She picked him herself, LOL.

And if anyone wants to be in a story of mine, let me know! If it works with the story, we can make it happen now that you know my process.

Lastly, I want to thank the community for being so open and accepting of me and my ideas. I was afraid that me being an openly gay man and incorporating every facet of that from presentation to relationships to sex would’ve pushed people away, but you’re still here and it means the world to me. And to the writers I speak to personally, thank you for always having my back and for encouraging me to continue. You’ve been nothing but kind & I love you.

Thank you to DouxBebeArchive for this writer’s spotlight, for always being kind enough to share my works and for being a kind soul.

xoxo, J

________

Thank you, J, for allowing us to feature you!

#Olitz fanfic authors #Jayismz #Olitz fanfiction #Olitz fanfic writers

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tirednotflirting · 3 years

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okay okay okay let's do it. 4, 24, 25, 26, 35, and 39 bc you deserve to be nice to yourself. yes i read the entire list of questions. give me your answers at your leisure love you the most xoxo bella

lol thnk you my love u are Right i just forget that sometimes <3

okie dokie here we go:

4. Link your three favorite fics right now.

heck yeah okay RIGHT NOW? okay.

i have been LOVING ! off the wall by @ilovegolden from the very beginning. warped tour au is a god tier au, alright? i love how the whole thing is so romanticized by everyone who was ever involved in it, especially as someone who never got to go it brings me a lot of joy. the characters in this are all so vibrant and bright and i wanna be their best friend and also just give them a hug (and probably a nap and shower lol). the detail in this is so special and carefully crafted like i feel the love in it. i read so little harry fic nowadays like keeping up with this has made me so nostalgic too. really looking forward to where this guy goes :)))

(i stg i’m not kissing ass here) i fucking love daydream jalex (aka right now could last forever (just as long as i'm with you) like quite literally babe it’s my emotional support fic i almost have a ritual of reading this probably once a week. the story telling in this is unreal like you’re sucked into their little world from the first line where they’re throwing fucking cheese at each other. there’s so much history woven into every line like it’s wild i don’t know how you do it. there’s so much love and joy between all the characters and it’s just FUN. this fic really highlights all of the best things about your writing like i could go on for days. <3

lastly, bc i was beginning to reread it the other day, i think i’m going with the one and only britpop malum (orrrr i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) by @calumcest) (god helen your url never fails to make me giggle at least a little bit). one of my favorite things about helen’s writing is how fly on the wall i immediately feel in every scene. she shows and tells it all and i can see the lights from the show and heat liam bitching about the band and football and it’s such a good time living inside of her writing for a little while. i’m always going to hold this fic close to my heart i think after spending the entire summer sitting in the doc. (side note - it still kills me that every once in a while after reading this fic i forget the gallaghers are real people ANYWAY.) excited to get caught up on this thing i miss this little world <3

(sorry idk how to provide short answers on Anything : )

24. What’s a trope that you’d like to never hear about as long as you live, let alone write?

see this is hard for me because i know for a fact that there are LOADS of tropes i would never want to write but i’ve read a ridiculous number of them and i’m not necessarily opposed to much (something for everybody, ya know?). i guess like a True enemies to lovers is a little bit lame and hard to do well, imo (i say true bc i almost feel like something like sugar on the asphalt - fucking fantastic and a Classic from @justanchorandhope i must say - could fall into that category except not really though bc grace probably doesn’t have the word enemy in her vocabulary, bless her heart). so okay we’ll go with that bc you probably couldn’t pay me enough to write it and i’m bored of trying to read it (said w love)

25. Do you listen to music as you write? If possible, link your writing playlist.

only if i’m writing songfic tbh! otherwise it confuses my brain. so all too well is still in my on repeat and currently it’s cornelia street (lol i rlly need THAT to go somewhere sdkfsfdjkl). i do have this playlist from when i tried writing this ashton fic last spring that went literally Nowhere but ya know good tunes. (god i came up with the coolest OCs last spring, miss them)

26. What’s your biggest distraction when writing?

oh god basically everything sldkfjsdlk i guess like i kinda just said, i cannot listen to music 95% of the time when trying to write. i wish i could but it would making 3248290x more of a headache and it also usually just gives me other ideas and then i can’t focus on the doc in front of me lol.

35. How much has writing fic changed your life?

like more than i could ever even begin to describe, dude. so i’m a stem girl, right? but when i was younger, my creativity was a lot more present and living inside my head and reading and writing little stories was so much fun. there was some kinda switch as i got older and i think those around me started preaching practicality a lot more and like, i was good in science and it was an easy route to a career and heeeeere we are. but it also meant i didn’t get any practice at being creative and i think at some point the jokes about not being good at or being allowed to be creative really got to me? so i just gave up the idea of the ideas i had ever really becoming anything. idk exactly what it was (something mixed into my conversations w helen last spring, probably) that got me to open up a doc one day and give it a shot but jesus christ, i’m so happy i did. writing fic is quite literally the biggest thing that brought me joy and community and some of the kindest souls (like yourself, miss bella) during a year that was set to be potentially pretty shitty. i wasn’t sure how i would be able to make friends in ‘adulthood’ but a creative outlet like this appears to be the answer. it’s also provided me a confidence in myself and my ability to create things that i never knew possible. like you said, i can be pretty mean to myself but like. i’m good at this. and that’s fucking cool. happy to be here.

39. What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

ya know that luke/lashton thing i wrote with a single line of dialogue? that. i pride myself on that. fkjsdlkf but really i think i’m pretty damn good at descriptive writing and i kinda dig how it’s become ~my thing~. i like showing rather than telling in my writing i think, it feels like a challenge. lemme talk about a sunset for dayyyyyys i swear i would.

#thank u for these miss bella this was fun #i fucking love fic you guys it's such a blast #god tagging sota really made me realize how long ago i read that fic for the first time #i was around as that thing was being updated guys #i am Old #oh my god i just went back to the story page for that and it links to 1dff #rip our fallen hero #Anonymous

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decembermoonskz · 4 years

Text

Hello moonbeams~! Writing letters is something I’m good at, because even if I stumble in all other forms of communication sometimes, my writing, my words never fail me. The overall negative energy, annoyance and sometimes hatred towards the pandemic, the social/political topics and the year in general can be very draining and or taxing on me and you all. Of course we’re upset too but seeing so much hate can be draining for people like me, and maybe you. So for a moment, grab a seat and a blanket and listen as I read this letter to you. This is a letter from me, to you, and I offer a blessing from her majesty the moon herself as well.

2020 has been one hell of a year that’s for sure. I experienced a lot of sadness, fatigue and overall lower moods as I tend to take on the energy of the world heavily. There has been so much that’s happened to us all, sadness, fear, anger, heartbreak; but even still we survived it. There were so many that felt we wouldn’t make it through this year or make it to the end as it felt like it would go on forever, but we’re here now, to write these letters, to tell these stories.

Even in this hectic year, I experienced so much, I felt happiness, joy I cried a lot and released so many pent up feelings, I came to terms with things I had locked away, I laughed a lot, I found passions that I thought were long lost. So much has happened to me in this year both ups and downs and I’m grateful for it all. You may be wondering why I would be grateful for downs as well, they helped teach me things, how strong I am; how it’s okay to give in and feel your sadness or pain; to validate my emotions; and a lot more. I hope that with all that’s happened you were able to take in some lessons yourself.

Below this cut, I wanted to thank some people who made my experience on tumblr as wonderful as it has been, more amazing than I had ever expected it to be. I came on here extremely nervous about sharing my stories and these people have been so warm and welcoming and honestly I wouldn’t have enjoyed my time as much without them. I’ll have my ending message at the bottom of this.

@sleepylixie Lily darling, my brain twin!! you’ve made my short tumblr life so much fun! sharing brain waves one moment, soundboarding ideas the next, and having so many things in common between us it’s crazy (wolfie gang). You’ve become one of the best things to happen to me on this site! xoxo thank you for always sharing your wonderful ideas with me and for sharing my love of fantasy!! Oh and I can’t forget all the shared screaming we do over skz and anything else xD I’m so glad we started talking and even in just a short time I feel so close to you already!! Thank you for letting me vent out all my ideas and for letting me be that person for your ideas too, thank you for always giving such good feedback and opinions and thank you for just overall being one of my favorite people to talk to. I hope we can make more wonderful memories in the coming year and beyond it. love you darling have a beautiful 2021~ 💜💜💜 ⟪ song rec: Another Day - Stray Kids ⟫

@rebecca-noona Becca! You were the first person to interact with my blog and when I look back on it, I’m so thankful you did. I love our talks about Korea and skz and writing. Your support has always been incredibly helpful, thank you for always being a cheerleader for me, it means the world. I hope you know I love you and support you and your works and whatever you wish to do so much as well!! I’m so happy we started talking and you make me so happy. Thank you for being my friend and when I finally get to Korea you gotta show me around when you get back!! I hope your process of getting back is smooth and easy, stay as optimistic as you can love!! xoxo ⟪ song rec: motive - Ariana Grande (ft. Doja Cat) ⟫

@skzctnightnight bel! bel! :DD it’s your words of encouragement that helped me create this blog, you’re one of the reasons I’m here!! your works have been some of my favorites and I was so happy when I first reached out to you. Your kindness really touched me and being your anon at the time was so much fun >v< Prowl will forever be one of my favorite series and you inspire me with your works!! I love talking with you no matter if it’s a quick chat, or a long convo, I always love talking to you. Thank you for making my 2020 so nice! I’m glad I know you and let’s talk more soon! <3 ⟪ song rec: Clarity - Kim Petras ⟫

@aliceu Alice!! I’m so thankful we met by chance when replying to one of Lily’s posts LOL I think it was an ask of yours about fantasy, and we shared a mutual love for it xD I want you to know that I always smile and I’m always happy when you send asks or dms so please I hope you never worry about being a bother and keep sending them hehe >v</ Thank you for always taking some of your time to check out my stories and for always leaving such wonderful feedback too!! It makes me happy to read your mini reviews about them!! Thanks for having little chats with me too. I enjoy them always and I hope we can continue to chat more 2021!! Please have a great new year and stay safe and comfy uwu ⟪ song rec: TMT - Stray Kids ⟫

@t-toodumbtocare Bar! xoxo I’m so glad we finally started talking and I’m hoping we can talk more soon >w<b You’re so fun and sweet and your stories are cute!! I wanna read more soon!! >^<9 Thanks for our little chats and thanks for checking out my stories as well I appreciate it. I hope to get to know you better in the coming year and I hope you have the best 2021!! ⟪ song rec: Cruel Summer - Taylor Swift ⟫

@delicatewerewolfsoul Vicky!!! I’m so happy we started talking! I loved talking about animals and pets with you and I loved all the skz soft hours asks you sent (I hope you send more of them psst psst) they made my day!! You’re such a sweetheart and you’re a master of heart memes xD I hope your 2021 is wonderful just like you are!! Stay safe and warm you cute bean xoxo ⟪ song rec: Inception - ATEEZ ⟫

@dreamescapeswriting Hi M!!! Okay full disclosure!! I’ve actually read some of your works before having tumblr LOL Like I really enjoyed them (Lucky and You Love Me are so cute) and honestly I was shy about reaching out but I’m so glad I did because now I wanna continue to talk and send you hugs! >V< I’m so glad we’re both gamers and your asks make me so happy! Thank you for being the sweetie you are and I hope we can talk more in 2021!! Have a great new year cutie!! <3 ⟪ song rec: False God - Taylor Swift ⟫

to my mutuals and other moonbeams who I wanna talk to more and love and support so much!! @mikoto-ica-fics @hanflix @chogiwow @redsandroses @meiiyue @missskzbiased @rosieecheeks I hope we can talk more in the new year and I love you a lot!!! You’re all such beautiful souls!! Know I’m sending you love and hugs and all the support I can muster \>v</ xoxoxoxoxo ⟪ song rec: Breath - GOT7 ⟫

To my beautiful nonnies, I’m super happy you’re here. I miss you all and hope you’re well and to the new ones welcome welcome!! I hope you know all your messages make me so happy! When I started my blog, I didn’t imagine I’d have as many anons as I do now, I didn’t think I’d have many, maybe 2 or 3? You guys make me so happy and I hope to see you more in my inbox when you have the time!!! <33 ⟪ song rec: You Can STAY - Stray Kids ⟫

To all my followers, my darling moonbeams!! Thank you so much for joining on this journey of practice and self-love that I’ve been trying to embark on. The comments, the reblogs, the likes, the asks, all of it, it means the world to me. To re-learn that it is possible for people to enjoy what I do, and not tie it to my own self-worth has been something I’m so thankful for. You all helped me learn that so thank you. I hope you continue to enjoy the stories I put out and feel free to reach out anytime! I’m so happy to have 300+ (almost 400) of you lovely moonbeams here! I hope you all have a wonderful 2021! It doesn’t matter who you are, how old you are, where you come from, what you identify as, what you believe in, or who you love; you are all precious moonbeams here in this haven. ⟪ song rec: Haven - Stray Kids ⟫

I know I say it a million times but since this is a wrapup letter I’ll share it again shortly. My blog was made for the main purpose of learning to appreciate my passion for writing and to not cage myself from posting and sharing my stories. I wanted to learn to write for myself and that posting stories in and of itself was the main victory, and everything else was the bonus, instead of thinking when people like it, only then is it good. I’ve done that before and having learned from it I now feel more prepared to tackle this. Thank you again for all the warm welcomes and the love I’ve received it still hasn’t quite sunk in for me and it feels so unreal. To know you all enjoy my stories and give me so much love, it’s crazy and it’s happening and I am so happy. I’m very thankful I took the leap of faith even though I was scared and decided to create this blog! 2020 challeneged me as well as pushed me and supported me. I experienced hard times yes, but I also experienced some really amazing things. I found comfort in things new and old, I feel like the quarantine made me come to terms with myself more, not run from things I wanted to confront and talk to myself more. I feel like 2020 albeit really draining in all ways, helped shape me and I got stronger because of living through this year. Now before I get any more preach-y than I already have LOL Thank you for being a part of my 2020 everyone!! I hope to have you with me in 2021 and I hope you experience the blessings of the moon like I feel we all do. See you in 2021 y’all! We’ll get through next year and the next and the next, I know it! 💜

Love Izzy

#my 2020 love letter to you #izzy's 2020 wrapped up #izzy doing stuffs #izzy be rambling #I love you all my moonbeams #🌕 may her majesty the moon watch over you always

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stusbunker · 4 years

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Questions: Who?

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Series

Featuring: Sam Winchester x Wife!Reader

Setting: Starts in Season 12, ends in Season 13

Sixth and Final Chapter of my Questions Series

A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading this through! I really appreciate the support and feedback! xoxo Stu

Warnings: Torture, blood, vomit, hospitals, fate, free will, pregnancy and childbirth, stupid levels of fluff at the end, which I meant to write all along.

You had worn many hats through the years: Daughter, Friend, Orphan, Hunter, Cousin, Fraud, Thief, Prisoner, Girlfriend, and now Wife. But nothing held the power of who you were like looking into his eyes.

This was it, this is what it meant to be insane, possibly feral. It was beyond reason, beyond anger or fear. It was a desperate, frustrating lack of control. The moment she came into the room you snarled at the woman. Prim and proper and utterly infuriating.

God, you wanted to snap her neck. That thought stopped you in your tracks, rank air pulled through your nostrils as you tried to get back to yourself. It would have been easier, if you weren’t still bleeding from the gunshot to your calf.

“We seem to have started off on the wrong foot. Understandably, a woman must defend her home,” she driveled on. “Now, we came to bring in the Winchesters, but you don’t really count.”

She paced in front of you, crisp suit unsullied from the dingy basement. You tried to remember what her partner or partners looked like, they couldn’t be very far. She hadn’t be the one to drag you in, let alone Sam. Sam. Where had they taken him?!

Your mind flitted through the chances of an escape, for either of you, while she prattled on.

“You know those boys stir up trouble wherever they go. We can help you. Give you a fresh start,” Toni attempted to give you a reassuring smile.

“Who do you think you are, lady? If you think I am going to turn on either of them, you are clearly not as smart as you look,” you spat out, chills racking your body, accentuating every aching joint bound by unforgiving knots.

“Give it time, some bacteria growth, and you’ll be crippled. Not much for hunting by then. I wonder what happens to those too weak to keep up?” She eyed you suspiciously. Then continued with breathy exasperation, “I’ll be back. Maybe then we can talk about where your loyalties lie.”

You woke to the sound of Sam’s screams, muffled and haunting. Lips chapped and with barely enough strength to lift your head you called back.

“Sam! Sam! Don’t--- don’t let her win! You hear me?!”

He broke off suddenly, the fear and rage resurfacing as you came back to your surroundings. Your head throbbed and you realized someone must have gagged him or knocked him out. You counted your own shallow breaths waiting for them to do the same to you.

The pain in your leg had changed, slowly you were able to squirm to see that they had sewn you up. The fact that you had been unconscious long enough for them to do any number of things to you made your empty stomach clench. You waited for the British Barbie to return as you worked through your options.

No one had come for you, despite the obvious rounds of torture Sam had endured. You sat and waited, pain and thirst battling for your attention as you tried to undo the ropes at your bleeding wrists. Suddenly a very different sound was pulled from Sam’s throat, a moan so specific that you finally lost the acid that had been building in your gut.

What the hell was going on?

You started to spiral, possibilities of what was to come scaring you more than anything else had ever before. As you slipped into unconsciousness once more, you started to dread waking back up.

Everything blurred, one moment you saw Sam’s face bloody and alarmed then Dean’s barking over the backseat. Cas’s voice was stern, but you couldn’t understand why he was so insistent.

Then there was a woman’s voice, one that was as soothing as it was foreign.

The air around you was clinically comfortable. The morning light slanted as it peeked through the vertical blinds, you were still tied down, but these were very different bindings. The I.V. and heart rate monitor kept you on a short leash. Sam’s snoring at your bedside the only thing that told you this was real. The sight of your husband so mutilated brought tears to your eyes.

The fact that you were in the hospital bed when he wasn’t told you how bad you must have been.

You cleared your throat, mouth sour and voice hoarse. Sam startled awake, wincing as he adjusted in the vinyl chair.

“Hey,” you whispered.

His hand snaked over the rail and grabbed yours, heavy and familiar.

“How you feelin’?” Sam asked, brow pitched.

“Surprisingly not bad. Why am I here, Sam? Couldn’t Cas---,” you started.

Sam cut you off, “He said it was best to bring you in, you were really dehydrated and needed two blood transfusions.”

“What about you?” You tried to sit up, brushing your fingers over the places where you remembered he had been bleeding.

“I’m fine. Cas took care of me. Listen, Baby, the reason Cas insisted you got to the hospital is, well,” Sam cleared his throat and cocked his head, debating on what to say next.

“Because I’m pregnant,” you answered.

“You knew?” Sam gaped, floundering so much that you almost laughed in his face.

You nod. “The world was ending, I wasn’t sure it was going to last. And couldn’t put something else out there to worry about.”

“You still could have told me.” Sam sniffed, the news overtaking him in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” you breathed out, gripping Sam’s forearm as you braced yourself for reality. “Am I still? Did we lose--,”

“Hey, it’s okay, you are. The doctor had strong and steady heartbeats from both of you.” Sam smiled down at you as he leaned forward to kiss your forehead.

“Is it bad that I don’t know how I feel about it yet?” You asked nervously, praying he wouldn’t judge you for your honesty.

He barely even hesitated, bless him.

“Of course not. The lives we lead, this is going to take some adjusting. For all of us. But if you’re in this, I’ll be right there beside you,” Sam gave you a watery smile. “Alright?”

You nodded and leaned in to give him a simple kiss, lingering in the calm of sharing his oxygen.

“Sam?” You asked. He hummed in reply. “Who was the woman in the car with us on the way here? I don’t remember seeing her, just a voice.”

“Well, apparently Amara decided Dean needed something in return for him, I don’t know, reconciling her and Chuck, God, whatever. So she, uh, she brought back my mom.”

Being benched after the Brits kidnapping you was understandable, your body and psyche needed a breather. But now it was getting frustrating.

“Sorry, pregnant chicks don’t get to hunt, not on my cases,” Dean tossed you one of his petulant company smiles.

“You’re being ridiculous! I’m barely showing, no one needs to know,” you argued with your stubborn brother-in-law as Sam and Castiel shared apprehensive looks behind Dean’s back.

“Yeah, well, I know. Look, I get it, you can take care of yourself. But this is big, alright? If Lucifer gets wind that Sam’s got a fresh meat suit on the way,” Dean puffed himself up to unload on you.

“That’s enough, Dean,” Cas chided.

Sam was visibly stunned by Dean’s comment, the possibility of Lucifer using you or your baby made him recoil with disgust.

Of course you hadn’t thought of that. Vessels were linked by bloodlines, you carried a part of the fallen archangel’s true vessel. As you processed the gravity of what Dean was saying, Sam seemed to slump with guilt.

“Oh, god,” he said underneath his breath.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll stay back on this one,” you tried to reassure him.

“I didn’t even think--- you have to be careful. I mean it, until Lucifer is back in the cage or dead, none of us are safe.” His hands latched onto your hips, thumbs rubbing tight circles over your growing belly.

You pulled his jaw up to look him in the eye, the man you trusted beyond all others, the love of your life, your rock.

“We will be fine, Sam. Go do what needs doing and come home safe. All of you.” You looked to Dean whose jaw was set in agreement. You nodded to Cas and leaned up to kiss Sam goodbye.

It hurt to watch them go where you couldn’t help keep them safe. But you had a different job to do now and it just kept getting bigger.

Days turned into weeks and there were no leads on Sam or Dean. Mary and Cas were doing everything they could, but nothing would ease your anguish until you had answers.

Your body continued to grow, the constant reminder that time progressing was just one more thing beyond your control.

The fear of raising your baby alone increased with each passing day.

Jody called out of the blue and a tidal wave of emotions hit you. You had a village, even if they were widespread. You could do this if you had to. You would do whatever it took to keep your family safe, even if it meant eventually having to give up on finding Sam and Dean.

They charged in through the garage on a gray afternoon, gaunt and exhausted. Time, finally seemed to stop as Sam’s face flushed with relief as you ran into his arms.

“Do you know what you’re having?” Kelly Kline’s bright eyes flitted to your matching bump.

You shook your head. “Nope, decided to let it be a surprise, we aren’t really the decorating type. You?”

“Half spawn of Satan, but I feel like it’s a boy,” she teased, you appreciated her snark.

“What’s that like? Do you have to deal with wings in there along with all the kicks and elbows?” You pulled your knee up on the couch in the cabin’s small living room. Getting as comfortable as possible as you got to know Lucifer’s baby mama.

She groaned out a sigh. “Probably? Who knows? He’s growing so fast!”

You caught Castiel’s eye as the unspoken worry passed between you.

“The baby is human shaped, his wings are not corporeal on this plane,” your angel friend explained dully.

“Who needs an ultrasound when you’ve got this guy?!” you broke the awkward silence as Kelly internalized that her son, in fact, had wings.

“I’m sorry, how is it you know Castiel, Y/N?” Kelly tried to change the direction of the conversation.

“Uh, well, I’m a hunter. Do you know what I mean by that?” You offered.

“Like the Winchesters?” Her voice grew tighter as she looked to Cas to ensure she and her baby remained safe in your presence.

“Like the Winchesters. In fact I--,” you tried to ease into it.

“She is Sam’s wife, Kelly. I brought her here for you to understand that though their actions might seem extreme, they are good men,” Cas explained.

“But they’re also idiots,” you broke in. “We all have our baggage, for Sam, a lot of that baggage is Lucifer. Do you know who my husband and his brother are?”

You let your guard down, breathing through your inner defensiveness and spoke to Kelly as a civilian. Because she was still such an innocent, despite everything that had happened since Lucifer jumped into her boyfriend.

Kelly looked to Cas before shaking her head.

“Sam was Lucifer’s power suit, his true vessel. He was destined from the beginning to bring forth the apocalypse. And Dean was Michael’s. Two sets of brothers meant to end the world.”

“I don’t understand, why wasn’t he--,”

“Because Sam, and Dean, chose a different path,” Cas concluded.

“And so, I’m here to let you know that your child will be allowed to chose the right path for himself.” You sighed, feeling the weight of destiny in your words. The offer to bring her child into your family despite his parentage as a sign that the world held more good than chaos.

You didn’t know who you were reassuring more, Kelly or yourself.

It was nothing like you had expected, yet just as horrendous as you had imagined. Your muscles seized as you bore down, again. The clothed faces of the doctor and nurses were a sea of unfamiliarity. You needed Sam.

But he wasn’t there.

You groaned, trying to push harder than ever before. You had to be nearly done. You needed your baby to finally arrive so you could rest. As much as you wanted to meet them; you were exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally depleted.

“And relax,” the doctor coached. “Great job, Mrs. Campbell. Breathe.”

You nodded, mouth closed as you tried not to cry.

You had never felt so alone in your entire life, not in foster care after the wendigo had slaughtered your parents or in the years after losing Rafe. Not even the dank cell that Crowley had left you in, had you felt this terrifyingly and helplessly alone.

You were going to be a mother. And there was no one at your side. No matter how certain you were that Sam wanted to be there; he wasn’t.

Before you were ready, you were pushing through another contraction.

“Big push, keep going, that’s it, don’t stop,” the doctor’s voice was firm and insistent. You wanted to swing your machete. Or a solid baseball bat.

You screamed as your body burned, clenching and pulsing against the child inside you. You needed it out.

“That’s it, you’re doing great,” a voice like heaven broke through your anguish as Sam peeled your hand from the bedside rail.

“You prick!”

“I know,” Sam acquiesced, giving you his determined furrowed brow as the doctor regained your attention.

“Glad you could make it, Dad. Mom? We need another series of big pushes from you. Are you ready?”

“No--- I need a break--- fuck!” You felt the contraction attack your body and you couldn’t help but whimper.

“You can do this, just a few more, Baby,” Sam promised with quiet insistence.

You gave a faltering effort, which the doctor acknowledged.

“Alright, we missed that one, don’t stop again. Let’s go, big finish,” the doctor barked, her voice insanely controlled.

You were not made for the calm approach; you unleashed, grunting and pushing through as you fought with every once of strength you had left. It hurt so much suddenly you had stepped away from the moment, trying to focus on the effort without maintaining a full grasp on your body.

Your hearing muffled as your body resisted.

There was no way around this, but through it. You bucked against the stirrups and bore down one last time.

“We have a head!” The nurse exclaimed, excitement blooming in your chest.

You looked at Sam. Your tears of relief and wonder matched in his eyes. You pushed again, teeth clenched as an unholy growl escaped from deep inside you.

“It’s a boy!” The doctor cried.

You fell limp as they moved to clean up your son. Sam was called over for the cord. Somewhere in the chaos, the doctor got you through the afterbirth. Then, at long last, you were able to hold your baby.

Sam handed him to you as you adjusted to lay him flush to your chest, feeling his clammy skin to yours. He was so tiny, and warm, a wrinkled bruiser, and the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

“Ohhhhh,” you cooed through more tears. “Hey, buddy. It’s good to see you.”

You kissed his downy head, feeling peace float through you. You looked up to Sam, who remained standing, watching you with such reverence in his expression that you laughed at him.

“We did it,” you gushed.

“Nah, this one is all you,” Sam winked before he brushed his thumb over the back of the baby’s head.

“Where’s Dean?”

“He and Jack are in the waiting room,” Sam answered, not looking away from the baby’s face.

You nodded before you looked down to find the baby squirming against your breast. “Let them wait.”

Sam hummed in agreement.

“Alright, little man, this is your first lesson: driver picks the music, while carseat sleeps the whole way home. Ya got it?” Dean crooned down to your son as you snapped the last latch in place.

“That’s cute that you think I am going to let you drive him home,” you teased.

“What?! Come on, you can’t drive; I heard the doctor! You guys can ride with me and my baby! It is only right that his first car ride be in the Impala,” Dean argued. Sam sighed and Dean spun on the spot. “No, not you too.”

“There isn’t really the right kind of hook ups in the backseat, Dean,” Sam reasoned.

“Oh don’t you get all safety patrol on me now,” Dean huffed.

“I mean, we could always install some brackets----,” you started, smirking at Sam.

“I’m not even going to let you finish,” Dean cut you off. “Fine. Take your crappy import back. But Little Bobby is going to ride with me, sooner or later.”

You knew he was right. And you would have bet that Dean was already figuring out what hidden adjustments he could make without “yuppifying” his prized Chevy.

“Little Bobby?” Jack questioned, looking to Sam in confusion. Your husband just shrugged.

“What? You name my nephew Robert and don’t like it when I call him Lil Bobby?” Dean looked between you and Sam with an exasperated dead eye.

“We named him Robert Rafe John Winchester, Dean,” Sam clarified.

“We’re calling him RJ,” you finished.

“That’s nice,” Dean replied before leaning down and fist bumping your son’s little knuckles. “See ya at home, Lil Bobby. Your folks are nuts. Tough break, kid.”

“Right,” Sam chuckled as he picked up the handle on the bucket carseat, following you as the five of you made your way out of the hospital room. You walked behind Jack, who was lost in thought, as he kept up with Dean.

All your boys.

The only person missing was Mary; you felt her absence like a proverbial gray cloud hovering over your heads. There was still work to do, baby or no.

Sam and Dean wouldn’t quit until the world was safe. Their mother’s safety was only the next hurdle.

And you wouldn’t expect any less from your family. You knew your child would be protected; he didn’t need normal to be happy and healthy and neither did you.

You had everything you needed, you had your husband and your son. The hunt was out there waiting for when you were ready to get back to it.

You were complete.

Series tags: @dontshootmespence @ericaprice2008 @chucksnotonanyflatbread @reid-fiction @madlu45 @mogaruke @akshi8278 @mrswhozeewhatsis

#questions: who #spn fanfic #sam winchester fanfic #sam x reader #sam x reader series #sam angst #supernatural fanfiction #questions series #sam winchester fanfiction series #sam fluff #we're going to let uncle dean be ridiculous #we need a happy ending here okay?

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whyaretheyfictionalcharacters · 4 years

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Kinktober - Day 5

Ok so, second Sterek instalment. Good stuff.

Originally posted on AO3.

xoxo Lexi

“I don't think anyone is really taking this seriously”, Stiles comments, stepping over a tree trunk with the same grace Derek has just showed. Exactly the same. He flays around his arms a tid bit but apart from that? They could be mistaken for the same person.

Derek twists around and goes to help him. “Are you?”.

“Well, considering who thought about this you're damn right I am”.

The treasure hunt was Lydia's idea, a way to build in-pack relationships and create a more stable net of connections among them. If Stiles thinks her intention was to simply prove again to everyone else who's the smartest in the pack—he's certainly not going to tell anyone, he's not suicidal. And that's exactly the same reason he's taking this (honestly a bit ridiculous) relationship building exercise seriously. Or as seriously as he can take it, anyway.

“Lydia scares you?”.

“Of course she does! Doesn't she scare you?”.

“Oh, I'm terrified of her”, Derek answers with a frown. “And she's tiny”.

Stiles laughs, dried leaves crunching underneath his sneakers. “Don't let her hear you”.

“She's not a werewolf”. A small shrug. “Jackson is the only one around and he's at least a mile away”.

As they walk in silence, the only noise around them being their footsteps thudding on the ground, Stiles finally finds some appreciation for the quietness of the preserve. Being here with Derek, letting their shoulders and fingers brush against each other after the messy few weeks they've had with threats in the supernatural world feels comfortable and surreal. And probably it's his leftover-teenage hormones speaking but he can't wait for this treasure hunt to end so Derek and he can run off to his room and blow off some steam. Or blow off something else. That does sound like a plan.

His dad would not come back until later that night, probably after dinner, and that'd give them – Stiles calculates quickly in his mind – five hours to get funky, to jelly roll. Scrog a bit and schtupp together. To take old one eye to the optometrist. To play hide the salami. To dip Derek's cookie in Stiles glass of milk. Numerous times, if the werewolf's refractory period gives any clue. They could start small; make out on Stiles bed and test the sturdiness of the frame – which they've already done, by the way and sneaking out a broken bed slat out of the Sheriff's home is not as easy as it might sound. Which doesn't sound easy. At all. So one can only imagine the uncomfortable conversation he's had to have with Mrs Wunderby from across the road – and then get rid of their clothes because Stiles is a selfless person and Derek's body is something that needs to be cherished and admired. Keeping it clothed would be like...like clipping wings off of a mighty eagle. Or shut down the Smithsonian. It'd have that much of a cultural backfire. It'd be immoral.

So Stiles would take Derek's clothes off and admire that chest of his, all wide and muscly and warm and furry in a sexy way. He'd dip his hand down to follow the line of hairs to his navel, go over it and open his jeans because if unclothing Derek's chest is a cultural aid for the entire state of California, than the sight of his cock is a spiritual experience.

Derek Hale is big. Not impossibly big – Stiles is sure he doesn't live in one of those ridiculous stories people read with enhanced and horse-sized dicks – but nevertheless he's...gifted. Must have something to do with those werewolf genes of his and if that's the case, dear Mother Nature, wolves are a gift to them all. What turns on Stiles though it's not just the size of his shaft – still has a pretty high place in the list of 'Reasons why Derek Hale is a gift from the gods and Stiles is grateful he's his boyfriend' – it's the utter difference there is between the two of them. And that's not a euphemism about his own cock, Stiles is pretty content with his genitals, no complaints there. No, that's not it at all.

Stiles still remember when he recognised what the issue was and he probably has to thank Erica for that.

“You're such a twink, Stiles”, she had said once during their weekly coffee meetings and Stiles has seen enough gay porn after his surprising epiphany in high school to know what a 'twink' is. He's not oblivious, or his name would've been Scott McCall.

He had tried to deny that in front of his salted caramel frappuccino but as usual Erica had her own arguments. “You are, Stiles. You and Derek are literally the epitome of a bear-twink relationship”.

And God, was she right.

The werewolf might be only slightly taller than him but his presence is mightier, his shoulders wider and his arms definitely bigger. Stiles always feels dwarfed every time he's in close proximity with Derek and he does not complaint about that. Not. One. Bit. Dude can pick him up without breaking a sweat and fuck him against the wall as if he weighted less than a baked potato with bacon sprinkles on top. Jeez, those are good times. Hot times. As in Death Valley hot.

“Stiles”.

Surely they can do something like that today. There are so many options to spend five hours sexing up a werewolf Stiles gets a bit dizzy sometimes: this is literally his teenage dream, with no skinny jeans on and a comfy mattress instead of bedsheets forts in a motel room. Take that Katy Perry.

“Stiles”.

“What? Whassup?”, he asks turning to look at Derek.

Who is currently staring angrily at him. He seems pretty pissed actually, if Stiles has to tell the truth. Unfortunately he thought he had left all those annoyed stares and growled words in the past so this is turning out to be a shocking turn of events. In a not-so-sexy way.

“Uhm...Der? Everything okay?”.

Green eyes seems to struggle to not turn bright blue, flashing dangerously between the two shades. “Where's your head at?”.

Okay, this does seem like a trick question. Lydia taught me about this sort of things. “On my...shoulders?”.

Derek does not seem impressed. “You smell—you're stinking up the place”.

“Oh. Sorry”, he mutters self-consciously.

He thought Derek liked his smell. Sometimes he also finds him with his face deep into his own pillow when he comes back from the bathroom after Derek spends the night; or he would dip his nose along Stiles' neck while they're watching a film on the were's laptop in his apartment. When they're in public and Stiles thinks about sexy-times-ensuring things Derek always can smell him and he gets this intense expression that almost resembles his old…

Oh. Oh.

“Oh”.

“Yeah”, Derek agrees tightly as he steps forward. “Oh”.

“I think—I think my head is not taking this, uh. This treasure hunt as seriously as before, big guy”.

One step forward. “Really now?”.

“Mmh-mm”. Stiles steps back. “I mean. Can you blame me?”.

“I don't know. We were just talking about Jackson”. Another step.

Urgh. “Let's not mention him, deal?”. Last step backwards and Stiles' back hits the thick trunk of a tree. “I really don't wanna think about him and sex together. That's just plain wrong”.

He can see a gleam of amusement and coyness as Derek stops in front of him, face just inches away from Stiles'. “Oh, is that what you were thinking about? Sex?”.

“Uh, duh. I was thinking about, you know, when this stupid treasure hunt is other and we can go back to mine and the fact that my dad is going to be out for at least five hours – I know, I counted them – and we could, you know. Get some stankie on hang down—”.

“God, Stiles”. Derek's face scrunches up horrified. “No”.

“No? You don't like that? Okay, how about I ride your flagpole?”.

“Stiles”.

“Storm the cotton gin”.

“Stiles”.

“Hit a home run”.

“Stiles”.

“Sorry!”, he says with a small smile at Derek's exasperation. “Thought you'd appreciate the baseball reference. But another thing I was thinking was—”.

Derek glares at him. “I swear to God, Stiles. If you say one more—”.

“—you said Jackson is at least a mile away and we're all alone now”. Stiles looks down bashfully and hooks his finger in Derek's waistband. “And who knows when this awful thing is going to end. Might not have time when we get home”. Looking up from under his eyelashes he smirk a bit. “We could save time and...do this. Now. Here”.

He sees a shiver running up Derek's arms just before they're placed on the tree caging his head. “You want to do it here?”.

“Yes”, he whispers.

“Now?”.

“Yeah”. A breath and a whimper.

He has enough time to think about the possibilities when a mouth descends on him and sharp, human teeth bite his lower lip, pulling reverently before nipping it. Stiles gasps when Derek's body presses up against his through the many, too many layers of clothes they're currently wearing. Derek takes that opportunity to slip his tongue between the other's lips, teasing the wet muscle and probing the mouth with deep, hungry movements.

“Lydia's—shit. Lydia's going to be so angry”, Stiles weakly comments before moaning as Derek's hips press against his, trapping him between his warm, strong body and the cold trunk behind him.

“Do you care?”.

“Fuck no”.

He snakes his hands underneath Derek's t-shirt, revelling in the heat of his olive skin, the softness of his hairs and the hardness of his muscles. One of the wolf's thighs gets between his own, providing some blessed friction for Stiles' awakening cock. He rubs himself against Derek, feeling the need to open his legs for him and the sensation of emptiness is starting to get too uncomfortable to be ignored as they're kissing. He's never been an exhibitionist (he thinks, though he's discovering all kinds of kinks in his relationship with Derek) but the idea of having the wolf inside him, right here and now in the middle of the preserve with the afternoon light out still, the terrifying possibility of the pack finding them out—it seems to be exciting in all the wrong ways.

“Derek”, he sighs, lips sensitive from beard burn. “I need—God—I need you to—to fuck me. Like. Yesterday”.

Derek's mouth descends on his neck and at the deep inhale of his arousal Stiles shivers, feeling like the teenager he used to be five years ago. “We don't have anything”.

AH! With a dramatic flourish – probably more ridiculous than dramatic. If only that Sourwolf would stop doing what he was doing with his mouth on his ne—oh. Oh, that's nice – Stiles takes out his phone from his back pocket and slips off the case. “Speak for yourself”. The small packet of KY seems to shine in their eyes, a little lost treasure, their own small miracle. “I think I have a rubber in my wallet as well”.

“Have you always had lube inside your phone case?”, Derek asks with a shocked expression. “And do we need a condom?”.

“Don't want to leak all over my underwear. Especially not around a pack of werewolves, thank you very much”. Stiles takes out a wrapper from his wallet and hands it to Derek before he resumes touching underneath the other's shirt. “And the answer is yes. From the moment we've started dating”.

They kiss, lips open and sharing breath. “Nice to know”.

“We need to—god—”. An aimed thrust sends shivers up his legs. “Derek—we need to move”.

He gets one of his hands down, slipping in the tight fit of Derek's jeans and the hard, big cock he touches through his underwear makes him moan and spread his legs as he leans back to push his hips outward. Stiles has touched it an endless number of times yet every time seems like a new experience, a new discovery.

At Stiles' touch Derek exhales, relieved and aroused. Those lean, slender fingers massage his cock with experienced motions and the grip they use after teasing it into full firmness is heaven for Derek's spurred mind. It doesn't matter if they're in the middle of the woods with a pack of werewolves only a mile away and probably listening in, the Beta can't help but await impatiently to be inside Stiles body and thrust into that heated tightness in abandonment. Maybe there's a part of him – the wild wolf that seems to constantly seek out freedom and nature – that is turned on exactly by that fact; the possibility of being found out while collecting his prize and marking his territory, his mate in the open.

The moment their jeans are undone and their erections brush against each other, Derek grabs Stiles slim hips and turns him quickly but not violently, his cheek now resting on the roughness of the bark and ass pushed back to rub on the wolf's cock. There's only their erratic panting for what feels like ages as Derek rips the lube open and then, “God, Der—Fuck me already”.

“I'm not gonna hurt you, Stiles. Especially not out here”.

“Then shove your fingers in me!”, he cries out turning at an odd angle to plead the wolf with his eyes. “Please, I need you inside. Right now. Please”.

Derek wants that. Oh, he so wants that. And from around that pale, sinewy body he can see Stiles' red dick skim slightly against the trunk of the tree. It can't be comfortable nor pleasurable and even though Stiles seems to have other things in his mind, Derek pulls his hips back a bit more to put more space between the delicate part and the pine husk. He doesn't spend much time warming up the lube and the moment his forefinger touches the puckered hole in front of him he sees Stiles jerk up before quickly settling down again. He prepared him as swiftly and efficiently as standing in the preserve half-naked would allow, Stiles moans and whimpers accompanying each thrust of his fingers.

“Please. Please, just fuck me. Just fuck me, Der”.

Through his lust-fogged mind Stiles hears Derek opening the condom wrapper and sigh deeply as he rolls it on. He wants to reach behind him and touch his shaft, feel the girth of it and its size. Wrap his fingers around it and when noticing he can't fit it all in one hand envelope it with his other one as well. He wants to feel its thickness opening him up, make him almost worry he's gonna split in two.

The first few inches are painful, they always are: Derek might not be overworldly big but he's certainly packing down there and every time he slips inside Stiles needs to relax, bear down and bite his lip until the head is in. It's what happens now, particularly because it's not the most convenient place to have sex despite the packet of lube and the arousal he gets from being so exposed to the elements. After the head is in though...that's when Stiles can remind himself why he craved it so much in the first place. Derek is inside him balls deep and at Stiles' nod he starts to move, thrust in and out. In and out. It's slow at first, careful but they do need to be quick in this situation. The aim is a bit off, the head of the hard cock pounding him simply caresses his prostate in the most heavenly torture sending abortive shivers up from his toes, shocking through his hips and reaching the tip of his own erection like an electric shock. Each thrust, each withdrawal forces moan after moan from his mouth, noises he can't control. Mumbling reaches his ears and with a small sense of amazement he notices it's him.

It's not the best sex they've had but Jesus if it's not the hottest. Derek's hand gripping his hips in a tight hold, his puckered hole contracting around the fat shaft sliding inside and out of him in pure abandonment. Derek slides closer, t-shirt covered chest shaping around Stiles' back, and the slight change of angle causes the wolf to groan in the brunet's ear. It's a sound so primal, so inborn in Derek that Stiles needs to close his eyes not to come right in that moment.

He's so close, though. So close. After getting used to Derek being inside of him without a barrier the rubber desensitises the feeling of being fucked a bit but it's not totally unpleasant; it's smoother and easier. Stiles doesn't know if it's the build-up, the idea of being out here in the forest in broad daylight or Derek's fat, big cock beating into him but he's about to come. He spreads the legs as wide as he can manage with the jeans around his knees and he almost brings his hands back to grab his cheeks and expose himself even further. He doesn't. He needs an anchor and right now the roughness of the bark on his fingertips, under his nails is the thing that keeps him grounded.

“Oh, my God. Der—Derek. Oh, God. Fuck me. Please, fuck me”.

“I am. Shit. You're gripping me so tight”.

“What if—oh, fuck. What if they see us? What if they find us?”.

Stiles senses Derek breath itch next to his ear. “Let them. You're mine. Let them see”.

Oh. My. God. Possessiveness is certainly a kink he didn't know he had. “Say that again”.

“You're mine. Let them see, I don't care. I want them to see. I want them to see you're mine”.

Oh God. Oh God, oh Godohgodohgod.

The orgasm hits him like a blinding light. His back snaps and he arches with the force of it, his cock pulsating and trembling as his cum sprays white on the dark bark. It's seemingly artistic in an erotic way. His insides constrict around Derek and through the condom he can feel his rod vibrate as his thrust become irregular. Slower. Deeper. He misses the sensation of Derek's come hitting his walls but he guesses they still have five hours if they leave now.

“Derek—shit”, Stiles pants out after they both regain their breaths, cheek still against the tree and hips still held by Derek.

“Yeah”.

“Who would've thought? Public sex is hot”.

“What the fuck guys?!”.

They both jump at the disgusted shout from behind them, Isaac currently standing there dumbstruck, hand on his eyes. “I'm gonna need bleach”.

Yeah. Maybe not as hot around a pack of werewolves.

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chateautae · 3 years

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SAMMY SAMMY SAMMY WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN?! okay so like many others, I check your blog more than once every day, not just for the fic but also how you interact with the readers and how you answer the asks, they're all so muahhh ❤️😭 and chapter 10- oh GOD what did I ever do to deserve you, seriously sjsjsjjsba and there was this one scene that HAD ME SWEUALKING SQUEALING* ( I can't even type properly while thinking about that scene ) that part when Tae was leaving her office and she was like "Oh god he's so f-ing hot" and all that? GOD KILL ME I am UGH I don't know how to put it into words. YOU'RE A BLESSING ISTG 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 and I haven't read the rest of chapter yet because I want to take my sweeeeeeeeeeet time like MID Tae is EVERYTHING and sorry for sending such a long ask, I just couldn't help myself. Thank you so much for everything you do 💖

SLASDHASD PLEASE YOUR ENERGY IS SO INFECTIOUS!! AHH I'm so happy maybe I do makes you feel this way muah muah thank you for reading and REALLY?? LMAO THAT SCENE WAS LEGITIMATELY JUST ME AS THE AUTHOR SAYING "god he's so fucking hot" because taehyung is just 😭😭 imagine him casually strolling out of your office after fucking you so good your legs shake and he's got the smirkest smile on his face cause he KNOWS he just fucked you that good oh my gOD. AHH please lmk what you think of the rest of the chapter my love, I'd love to hear from you! 🥰❤ and noo thank you for reading hun, it means the world <3 xoxo

#anon #inbox #feedback: maybe i do #fic: maybe i do

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saelwen · 5 years

Text

Eonwë x Modern!Reader

Request by a lovely anon:

Hi! Can we get Eonwe and a modern!reader oneshot ❤️

Masterlist

Warning: Death, Fluff

Words: 2k

“I can’t see shit!” you snarl under your breath as you drive your old car through a heavy storm.

It has been a particularly awful day for you. When you got to your workplace in the morning, you were met by a tone of paperwork on your desk. By the lunch break, your boss had come to you and start yelling at you for something that your stupid coworker had done.

When you were preparing to drive home, a big storm broke. Pouring rain so heavy that you couldn’t anything in the road. You were grumpy from your horrible day, all you wanted was to go home and have a lovely hot bath with a delicious wine to go with.

Your phone ringed, making you look down for a second. You took from your bag and look to the flat screen, seeing your boss number on it. A grunt fell from your lips and you throw your phone back to your bag.

“Whatever he needs, it will have to wait.” you murmured.

You turn your gaze back to the road and a curse fell from your lips as you see the front of a massive truck in front of you. You don’t know of what had happened next since you blacked out, only feeling a sharp pain on your stomach and hearing screams along with ambulance sirens.

----

A soft hand cup your cheek gently, making you groan and turn away from the gentle touch.

“Just more five minutes!” you mumbled, trying to push the cover-up to your head but not finding it.

Your eyes shot open and you sit up, looking around with wide eyes. Remembering the awful pain on your stomach and the warm liquid falling from it. You look down and notice that there wasn’t any wound on you, not even a single scratch. You were wearing a white sundress that goes down to your ankles.

“What the fuck?” you whisper quietly, confused.

“That’s not very nice to say.” a rich gentle voice sounded beside you, make you jump in surprise.

Beside you stood a beautiful man with long light brown hair. His eyes were radiate golden, something that you’ve never seen at anyone. The man was wearing some kind of armor, long delicate feathers coming out from his shoulder plates. Was he some kind of cosplayer? And why was he so close to you?

“Who are you?!” you asked, your voice firm.

The man stood up, his muscled body towering yours. “I think I'm the one who should make that question, Human,” he said calmly.

“Human?! Excuse me but I have a name!” you said while standing up, trying to seem intimidating but failing since you were a tiny thing beside the massive man. You looked more a tiny angry chihuahua.

“Then enlighten me with your name, Human,” he said with his brow lifted, a small smirk on his lips as he said human.

You roll your eyes and put your hands on your waist, puffing your chest. “I’m Y/n L/n! And who are you? And why are you cosplaying?” you said while looking up and down to his strange armor.

The man tilted his handsome face, totally confused by your words. “Cosplaying? What’s that?” he asked.

“Don’t joke with me! I’m not at my best mood today!” you sigh tiredly. “Cosplay is what you are wearing!” you said while pointing to his clothes.

He looks down at his clothes, still confused by what you mean. “Excuse me but this is my armor! Forged by the best craftsman in all Arda, Aulë!” he said with a proud smile. Arda? Aulë? Where the fuck are you?!

Looking at your surroundings, you notice that you were in the middle of a beautiful valley. Tall green grass shaking with the soft breeze. The sun shining high in the sky, bathe you two in his warmth.

“Oh, God...I really died!... I died and now I'm at heaven with a cosplayer angel!” you whisper, your breath coming out in little puffs. Panic and fear spreading through your body like wildfire. “W..Where am I?” you asked quietly to the man.

“You are in Valinor! The blessed lands!... Lands that weren’t made for humans which why I want to know how did you get here?” his voice deep and dark, make you shiver.

Taking a deep breath, you put your hand on where should be a large wound from the accident and look to him. “I..I don’t know how did I get here... I just had a car accident, which had taken my life, and then I woke here.” you sigh and look down. “I just wanted to go home,” you whisper.

The man sighs and begins walking towards a huge gate, nodding for you to follow him. “Well, that didn’t answer my question very well. I take you to my King and see what he thinks.” he said more gently this time. “And by the way...I’m Eonwë.” a small grin appears on his rough lips which made a light blush spread through your cheeks.

---

Your meeting with King Manwë and Queen Varda was the most incredible and terrifying thing that you ever made. When you enter in the Throne room, you were amazed by the architect of the room. It was like something from a medieval movie.

Your eyes almost jump from your face when you saw Queen Varda. She had long beautiful black locks that were decorated with small pearls, making it look like she had stars on her hair. Her skin was pale like the moon which highlights her dark blue gown.

Her husband, King Manwë, was also something from another world. He was contrary to his wife, he had long white hair and light brown skin. He was wearing long white and grey robes, with a beautiful silver crown on his head.

Your arrival was also a huge surprise to them, confused by how a mere human could enter in the blessed lands.

You told them your story and that earns you a sympathy gaze from Queen Varda. They told Eonwë to keep an eye on you and to not tell the other Valar and elves of your existence. He nods and took you to your hiding chambers which were in his room, almost like a walking closet. It was larger than your old apartment.

“They were cool!” you said cheerfully while jumping on your new bed.

“Cool?” he tilts his head, confused by your strange vocabulary. “What’s that mean?”

You let out a giggle and roll your eyes. “It means that they were good people,” you said, yawning loudly.

“Well, I will let you have some rest,” he said while walking out of your room. “Have a cool rest, Lady Y/n.” with that he closes the door.

You let out a chuckle, trying to not laugh like a maniac from him trying to huge your vocabulary. As your head hit the soft pillow you were out, sleeping like a baby.

---

Weeks pass by with you closed in your room. You were told that you can’t roam freely in Valinor since no one except Eonwë and King Manwë and his Queen, knew about you.

You try once to convince Eonwë to take you outside but he only shook his head and told you that he had to follow his King orders.

With nothing to do, you pass your days reading some books from Eonwë’s room or listening to his stories which you adore. You two had become really close since you almost share the room.

He was quite patient with you, trying to teach you his language and his culture. You were shocked when he told you that he was freaking God....well not exactly a God but he was immortal and have freaking powers! You had asked him once to teach you how to use a sword but he said that he had to ask his King first.

A groan fell from your lips as you look out from the huge windows, seeing the beautiful large moon high in the dark sky.

“I would give a leg for just to touch the grass.” you murmured.

“That won't be necessary, Lady Y/n.” a familiar smooth voice sounded behind you.

You look back and saw Eonwë standing by the door with a smirk on his face. His long brown hair styled on a messy bun. He was wearing a long robe which was a surprise since you only see him in his armor. You liked to see him like this. He looked more ...relaxed.

“What that’s means?” you asked while walking towards him.

He grabs your hand gently with his and pulls you, leading out of the room. “I have a surprise for you but you have to keep silence about this,” he said with his perfect eyebrow lifted. You nod quickly and let him lead you to your surprise.

After walking down the large hallways and walk down long stairs, you were standing outside. A huge grin broke through your face, happy to feel the warm breeze hit your skin.

You two were standing in the middle of a beautiful garden. A sweet smell hovered the air, making your body and mind relax. Eonwë leads you to a bench stone and you two sat there, hearing the smooth water falling down of the fountain beside you.

“This place is amazing!” you whisper, looking around in awe.

“I thought that you would like it,” he said, looking up to the large moon. “You are a very strange being, Y/n”

You look up at him, frowning slightly. “How so?” you asked.

“From the day I found you in that valley, you haven’t cry not even once.” his voice was soft and calm. “Not once wished to go back to your old life...to your world.”

You took a deep breath and look down at your hands. “My life wasn’t great there...didn’t have family or friends. No one to miss.” you clean a small tear that had escaped from your eye. “While here had a friend... someone to call family,” you whisper, looking to him from under your thick lashes.

A gentle smile was on his face, his golden eyes shined with the moonlight. He puts his large hand on yours and squeezes it gently. “I’m glad to hear that, Y/n...I also have found a friend in you...even more than that.” the last words come out in a whisper but you caught it.

You smile and rest your head on his shoulder, sighing happily. He wraps his strong around your waist and pulls you to him, kissing softly your head.

You two stay all night there, looking at the moon with gentle smiles on your faces. Happy to be on each other arms.

Hey Guys!!! Here’s a new one-shot with Eonwë!! I hope you like it and feel free to comment and tell me what you think!

XOXO

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