#this is about how weed has been saving my ass the last few days and how no matter how much it costs i sure do just love going to

[landofgay]

I love you THC I love you CBD I love you CBN I love you CBG I love you CBC I love you all the other minor cannabinoids. I love you cannabis. :^)

[xfgpng]

𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢’𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 —

— : [ nsfw ] fwb, mutual pining, pet names, unprotected sex, implied infidelity, eren is whipped, fingering

— wc : 1.6k

a/n : none of my mutuals will believe me now if i say i still don’t like eren 🧍🏻‍♀️

your friends frown anytime they see his black srt parked outside your house. he has tinted windows but they don’t need to see inside to know who he is. that car has been parking outside your house for at least 2 weeks now and judging from the way your neighbours stare over the fence, they know exactly who or what he is.

while you both came from good homes, eren had a lot of issues with his parents and he found himself moving out at 18 with no actual plans for his future. he had wanted to attend college like this older brother did but when the older of the yeager siblings moved out, eren was left alone and he was over his parents, specifically his father, trying to run his life.

they threatened to cut him off but he had enough money saved up and eventually, got into business with his best friend, jean, from high school. you and jean were in the same major and that’s how you met eren at one of their house parties.

you were his type. the shy and reserved kind, or at least that’s what he thought until he had you bouncing on his cock that same night, long acrylic nails digging into his shoulders so hard it left indents for a few days that stung whenever he showered. he still shivered thinking about how you often liked to scratch him up.

he was a bit of a pervert but he kept the ring and middle finger nails that had snapped off in his wallet. the baby blue nails made him think of you more than he’d like to admit.

you weren’t like the other rich kids he’d fuck around with. you didn’t care what he did or the way he dressed. you loved his long hair, it was nice to grip and pull whenever he was eating you out and the whole “i’m too cool for you” vibe he had going was a turn on.

“your parents aren’t home again?” he asks, watching you move around the house with ease. you’re wearing nothing but a loose sweater and panties, the same panties eren had bought for you when he ripped your pair the night you met.

“hm” you hum, getting a can of beer for him and a glass of wine for yourself. he was so carefree around you and he hated to admit that he was falling for you fast.

“i saw your old man the other day” he grins, “you know he buys weed from jean?”

that causes you to laugh. you loved your parents but your mom could be a pain in the ass sometimes so it was no surprise that your dad needed some form of a stress reliever. you were glad he wasn’t chelating.

“you break up with your boyfriend yet?” he asks, leaning against the kitchen counter as he looks down at your bare legs. he enjoyed having them wrapped around his waist but he could admire you from afar too. he couldn’t get enough of you even if the man tried.

“why, you want me to be all yours?” you tease, half expecting him to laugh it off or roll his eyes like he does whenever you two get a little too serious. you liked him enough that you could settle for whatever this was.

the bonus was free weed so you weren’t necessarily one to complain. at least he made you laugh.

“maybe” he grins, raising a brow at your shocked face. you weren’t the only one who could tease.

“we broke up last week” you shrug, “i couldn’t cum without faking it”

“what, can’t cum unless i’m the one fucking you?” eren chuckles. he wasn’t about to admit that he could only get off if he was thinking about you and if he happened to be fucking another girl, he’d have her on all fours so he wouldn’t have to look at her face. pussy these days seemed mediocre when he thought about it. he was content with whatever you had going on, even if he denied it whenever jean asked.

“you like when i stroke your ego” you scoff, taking a sip of your wine. you didn’t need him to know the effects he had on you or your body.

“i like when you’re stroking something else” he smirks, moving around the kitchen island to stand right behind you. you press your ass into his crotch and shake your hips teasingly.

“i especially like when you let me fuck you raw and cum inside you” he adds, trailing his fingers up your bare thigh. he kisses the side of your neck and inhales a little. you always smelled so fucking good that he thought about buying your perfume and keeping it stashed in his bedroom. “you ever let him finish inside you ma?”

“no” you gasp, biting your lip as his fingers dance across the hem of your sweater, “he’s never even fucked me raw”

“wow” he grins, “so you really let me hit it without a condom on the first night too?”

“yeah” you moan for him as he slips his middle finger into your pussy. you’re already wet and he’s only teasing you. it was obvious he had an effect on you and by the bulge in his grey sweatpants, you definitely had the same effect on him.

“want me to fuck you now hm?” eren whispers, right into your ear which causes goosebumps to rise all over your body, “want my cum spilling out and making a mess all over your kitchen floor?”

you can’t even think straight when he adds his index finger beside the other. he’s so skilled with his fingers and usually you’d enjoy some four play, you enjoyed sucking his cock as you played with his balls but you had all night.

maybe forever if he kept things up like this. you don’t think you could ever be with anyone else ever again and he knew that too.

“dirty little girl” he grins, biting your earlobe as his free hand pulls his leaking cock out. he strokes himself once, twice before he can’t wait anymore. he doesn’t bother pulling your panties down, choosing to rip it off you, the poor flimsy material tearing easily.

“eren” you pout, “i liked those” they were from him after all but you wouldn’t say that.

“i know baby, ‘m sorry” he groans as he slips inside you, not sorry at all. “i’ll get you new ones okay?”

you nod, gripping the counter as he sets a brutal pace immediately. you didn’t even care that your windows were wide open or the fact that your curtains weren’t closed and your nosy neighbours would definitely see if they looked which they always did whenever he came over.

“fuck baby, you’re always so wet for me” he moans, whimpers a little and that’s enough to have you clenching around his fat cock. you loved that he was so vocal, not shy to let you know just how good you made him feel. he really was the best at fucking you.

the best you’ve ever had.

he lifts your leg up, pushing you forward so your chest is squished against the counter and fucks into you harder and faster. your moans echo throughout the kitchen and your eyes cross. he fucks you like it’s been years when it’s been 2 days.

2 long days. it took everything in him not to show up and fuck you in his car. he hated when he got busy, it was less time between your thighs and he would rather spend his free time with you.

he moans at that, startling the both of you. he hasn’t realised just how much he was starting to like you. he wanted to be around you even without the intense fucking.

he liked you. a lot

“do you remember that pretty dress you wore that night?” he asks, slowing down as he gripped your waist.

“huh?” your frown, brows furrowing as you try to catch your breath. you were so close to reaching your high, your body was buzzing with the need to release but he was always persistent. “‘ren” you whine. you can’t even think properly, why was he asking that right now?

“come on ma, i’ll give you what you need in a moment, answer me” he chuckles, rubbing soft circles into your waist to help you calm down.

“i do” you say after a moment, “the green one”

how could you forget it? jean had joked about how it matched eren’s eyes perfectly and later that night, eren had you biting the hem of the dress as he bounced you on his dick, eyes trained on where his cock was disappearing in and out of you.

“what about it?” you turn to look over your shoulder at him. it still surprised you just how good looking he was. it should be a crime to be that hot.

“can you put it on for me again?” he smirks

“right now?” you pout

“no baby, later” he smiles, “i want to take you out”

you can’t help the smile so you turn away from him, hiding your face in your arm that’s perched on the counter.

“is that a yes?” he teases, touching the place where you’re stretched out on his cock. you moan as your legs shake, trying to fuck yourself. he licks his lips and you moan for him, nodding your head.

“good girl” he slaps your ass hard and then grips it tightly, holding onto your waist as he fucks you harder. he won’t stop until you’re creaming his cock and begging him to let you take a break.

[munsoninthedark86]

Kinktober 2022 Day 8: Threesomes(Three's A Crowd? Nah)

warnings: smut, threesome, unprotected sex, Steddie!, mentions of alcohol and weed, fellatio, vaginal fingering, swearing pairings: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader x Eddie Munson/ Steddie x Fem!Reader word count: 1.7k

The three of you sit in the living room of Eddie’s trailer. You’re seated on the floor, your back against the couch. Eddie sits on the armchair and he is sipping his beer. Steve has just returned to the room, two beers in his hand. He throws you yours, and you catch it with ease. It’s been a good few months since Eddie’s close call in the upside down. You were so fucking worried about him when they all returned without him. But Dustin had begged and pleaded for someone to go save Eddie, and you and Steve ended up being the ones to save the metalhead.

“Ahh, what a great way to spend Saturday night.” You croon softly.

Eddie laughs, “What? Drinking my beer and smoking my weed?”

You scoff, “And who saved your ass?”

Steve frowns as he begins drinking his beer. He knows that you’re teasing one another, but he was so afraid of losing either one of you when you and Steve went to save Eddie. The worst thoughts and scenarios went through his mind when he realized he might never see the charming dungeon master ever again. He’d have to console you. But now, with the two of you here, maybe Steve can finally tell you how he feels about the two of you.

“Fine fine,” Eddie ceases his jabbing. “You’re both welcome to my beer and my weed.”

You smirk, “Awhh thanks Eds!”

He blushes at your nickname for him, “anything for you, dollface.”

You look over at Steve, who seems incredibly lost in thought. You don’t want to interrupt the thought process, but you are a little concerned. So you lean up and sit on the couch with Steve, and you place a hand on his shoulder. He jumps a little from the touch, but he’s happy that it’s just you. Steve has been through so much in the last few years, he has grown a little jumpy.

“Cat got your tongue, babycakes?” You ask him, your tone flirty.

He sighs before chugging half his beer, “No. I’m just so happy that you two are alive.”

You smile, “Hear that, Eds? He’s happy we are alive.”

Eddie laughs, “Awhh Harrington! I didn’t know you felt that way about me.”

But something snaps inside of Steve, he is ready to bare his soul to both of you. A near death experience to one of his favorite people will do that to him. He leans over to you and he presses a gentle kiss to your lips. You’re rendered speechless, and Eddie isn’t really sure what to say either. The kiss deepens a little and you come closer to Steve. Eddie feels something deep down inside of him growing. Watching Steve kiss you is proving to be almost a little too much.

“What’s going on, Harrington?”

Steve is a little breathless when he pulls away from the kiss, “Look when you were down there…in the upside down, it practically wrecked the both of us, Eddie. Now that you’re back, and you’re both safe…I just want to show you what you both mean to me.”

Steve doesn’t hesitate to pull you onto his lap. He begins kissing you once more, and you can feel his love and passion coming out with every little move he makes. He’s gentle when he pushes some of your hair out of your face. It’s not long before Eddie comes to sit next to the both of you.

“Yeah? You were that worried for me, huh?” Eddie asks him, and he reaches down to take Steve’s hand in his.

“Like you wouldn’t fucking believe, Munson.”

This warms your heart. You’ve always had a crush on Eddie, and when you met Steve, you were immediately drawn to him. You knew of him, but you were never formally introduced until last year. Steve was charming and sweet and you could tell he has changed a lot since he “king” Steve.

You can’t keep your eyes off the pair. Steve leans in a little closer to Eddie, and soon he closes the gap between the two of them. Eddie lets out a sweet moan when they begin making out. You are truly mesmerized by the sight.

“Shit,” Eddie says breathlessly. “You are such a good kisser, Harrington.”

Steve smirks, “Yeah, I’ve got a lot of practice.”

This prompts you to pull Steve in for a kiss. His hands come up to tangle in your hair as you begin to grind against him. This leaves Eddie a little impatient, so when he gets his chance, he pulls you onto his lap and you begin kissing him.

“Fuck baby,” Eddie moans. “Feels like we’re in high school all over again. ‘Member when we used to sneak off in third period to have a quickie in the forest? Mmm, fuck your little pussy was so good back then.”

You slap his chest playfully, “And it’s not good now?”

Steve and Eddie share a mischievous glance. You’re almost a little worried about what they have planned, but you don’t have much time to react before Eddie gets up and throws you over his shoulder. Steve is following behind you two. Eddie brings you into his bedroom and he tosses you onto the bed. It’s not long before he’s crawling on top of you.

“Let’s see if her little pussy is still good, Harrington.”

Steve watches from the doorway for a few moments. Eddie begins undressing you, and he caresses your body wherever he finds exposed skin. His cold metal rings feel so soothing on your hot body. Steve finally comes into the bedroom and he leans down to kiss you. While Eddie continues undressing you and exploring the rest of your body, Steve is playing with your tits.

“You are so fucking adorable,” Eddie mutters as he finally pull

You’re blushing now, “Don’t say shit like that.”

Eddie moans as he parts your thighs. You're so sticky and so wet. His tongue pokes out of his mouth as he is practically drooling at the sight of your glistening pussy. He takes a few moments to adjust his rock hard cock in his jeans before leaning back in to inhale your sweetness. Steve groans when he sees the full sight of you naked.

“Jesus,” Eddie grunts. “Fuck you’re just as beautiful as the day I fell in love with you.”

You giggle, “Yeah? When did you fall in love with me?”

Eddie blushes, “The day we met.”

Steve coos at your softness. He never knew how deeply infatuated you two were with each other. Steve leans in to kiss Eddie, and Eddie groans. All of this pleasure is going to culminate into something very passionate and explosive soon. When Eddie pulls away from Steve, this is when Steve takes his chance and begins kissing you.

“He’s right. You are as beautiful as the day I fell in love with you,” Steve confesses. “You’re both beautiful.”

The two of them get off the bed and help each other strip. Your mouth is watering as you watch them begin making out. Steve reaches down to begin stroking Eddie. Eddie squeaks but that soon turns into a guttural moan.

“You’re so cute, Munson.” You quip, and he flips you off.

Steve guides Eddie to join you on the bed. Steve kneels in front of your face and he begins stroking his thick cock. You feel yourself get even more wet; aroused and left wanting from watching Eddie and Steve. You let out a surprised moan when you feel Eddie’s fingers at your entrance.

“How about we find out just exactly how good she is together?” Steven asks Eddie, and Eddie nods his head eagerly.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Eddie grunts. “I love that big brain of yours, Harrington.”

Steve chuckles, “I��ve had a few good ideas in my day.”

You’re about to say something when Steve pushes the head of his cock to your lips. You whine softly before suckling on it, making him groan. Eddie watches in a daze, all while rubbing your clit so teasingly. Soon he can’t help himself, and he grasps his cock. It twitches against your pussy and he thrust it between your soaked folds.

“Just fuck her already, Munson. Show her you meant it when you said you love her.”

Eddie smiles softly, “You’re right.”

The metalhead slips into you slowly, whining at how tightly your walls are clamping down on him. When he’s bottomed out and his balls are plush against your ass, it’s only now that Steve begins thrusting into your mouth. The two of them work in tandem; coaxing you towards your release. Eddie’s long cock keeps rubbing up against your sweet spot, making you see stars.

“Shit, you feel good.” Eddie moans, and Steven grunts in response.

“Good little mouth on her,”

This makes you blush. You are having a hard time not choking on Steve’s thick cock, but he keeps praising you. These soft words fall from his mouth, while Eddie can only grunt nonsense between his panting and whining. If he was with anyone else, he’d be so embarrassed to sound like that. But with the two of you, he knows he can feel safe.

Eddie’s long fingers trail down your body, stopping only to begin rubbing your clit in sloppy circles. You moan around Steve’s cock, making him shudder at the wonderful vibrations that pass right through his cock. He doesn’t know if he’ll actually be able to hold on for much longer.

“Fuck,” Eddie whines. “Fuck fuck fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum if she keeps squeezing me with that cunt of hers.”

Steve moans, “Yeah, I’m close too.”

Eddie looks down at you, “You close too, baby?”

With the nod of your head, the two men begin doubling down on their efforts. It’s not long before your walls begin wildly fluttering, and you are shuddering and shaking. Steve moans as his balls tighten first, and you and Steve fall off the edge together. Eddie isn’t long after, cumming hard with loud curses falling from those pretty lips.

Warmth fills you as Eddie and Steve both paint your inside white. You swallow every last bit of Steve’s cum as your cunt receives Eddie’s hot load. As they both come down, they pull out of you gently. Steve lays beside you as Eddie goes to the bathroom to get you something to clean you up with.

Steve pulls you closer, “I’m so glad I didn’t lose you. I’m glad I didn’t lose either of you.”

[roseverdict]

Hi everyone, My name is Likuyani, I am Palestinian born and raised in Gaza city, I moved to London Ontario 4 years ago with my husband. I am raising this fund to help my family flee the war and come safely to Canada and reunite with me and my kids again. I'm writing to you at a really critical and urgent moment. Presently, my family is in Gaza and is dealing with unspeakable conditions. My family and I are fervently requesting your assistance so that we can help them flee to safety and reunite with me in Canada. I live in Canada with my 2 kids , yet I feel like I'm thousands of miles away from my family and are helpless to stop the suffering caused by ongoing aggression in Gaza. The situation is getting worse every day, and I worry about their safety. Any donation will be highly appreciated. The donation link is in my pinned post. Kindly help where possible.

Which is it? Are you Likuyani? Or maybe George?

Or maybe, and I'm leaning towards this last one here, you're just a fucking liar. I searched for the following snippet, weeding out everything that was not a perfect match:

I am Palestinian born and raised in Gaza city, I moved to London Ontario 4 years ago with my husband. I am raising this fund to help my family flee the war and come safely to Canada and reunite with me and my kids again.

and the only pages I was able to get to pull up were the two on display in my screenshot. How lucky for me, then, that @insanelyadd was able to find a GoFundMe that's completely separate from your Linktree, older than any of your alts, and has this text word-for-word in it, save for the altered name you're using?

Likuyani isn't even a given name. It's used as the name of a constituency in Kenya and as a surname, which you would know if you did even an ounce of research before trying to con the compassionate and the monetarily bankrupt out of their last couple of dollars.

Of course, I'm not discounting the idea of someone naming their child Likuyani- there've been plenty of Madisons running around over the years, even in my home state of Wisconsin, which has its capitol in the city of Madison, and my pasty ass is unfortunately not fluent in anything but English- but combined with the blatant plagiarizing of Yasmeen's GoFundMe and the multiple names that have been inserted into your scam over the past few months, I'm not exactly inclined to believe you're one of those potential Likuyanis.

I think you just picked a name that sounded "African or Arabian," then decided not to even do the research necessary to make sure it was actually a believable given name, all in the belief that nobody would think twice about it or dig deeper.

Shame on you. You are a despicable person and an objectively terrible con artist.

Now, as far as Yasmeen's GoFundMe, she's had it up since December 26 of last year and isn't anywhere near her goal, so if anybody wants to donate to a person whose history actually lines up with the text of this ask, I'd recommend donating to her.

[anotherdayforchaosfay]

As many of my followers may be aware of at this point, I have ADHD. It's severe, and I began meds in December at the age of 40. Fucking life changing.

The medication, however, doesn't treat my "impressive" insomnia. Mine is bad enough that I stayed awake for seven days when I was a uni student. I don't remember anything after day three. My flatmates drugged me on day seven, then hauled my ass with benadryl (itthe active ingredient in OTC sleep meds btw) to the ER because sleep deprivation results in my seizures getting really fucking bad.

I have tried different prescription sleep aids. Thry each resulted in hallucinations, sleep paralysis, and exhaustion, and no actual sleep. One med caused me to basically roofie myself; the last thing I remember from that night was my husband glowing in the dark. He's rather saddened by this because apparently we had some seriously outstanding sex. Next night, seventh night on the med, I had what I thought was a dream. A fairy queen invited me to her kingdom if I could find a way through the bathroom mirror. I tried climbing through, but she kept blocking the way. When I woke and went into the bathroom, there were footprints all the way to the ceiling, and everything on the sink counter space was all over the floor. I could've fallen and broken my neck! Decided then and there I'm never using prescription sleep aids again.

Melatonin? I spoke to my neurologist and regular doctor about it. They both highly recommend never using that stuff. Your brain will stop making it naturally and demand higher and higher doses. It will get to the point of being completely ineffective, and you will have to stop using it in order to force your brain to make it naturally. Seeing as my brain is already plenty fucked up (epilepsy, brain damage from seizures and now black listed seizure meds, 10 years of klonipin because my previous doctors decided that was fine), I'm not touching the stuff.

For the last four or so years, I've been using a hemp-based edible made by Moonwlkr. It's 25mg CBD and 5mg THC in each dosage. No high for me because I'm asleep within about 10 minutes of it kicking in, followed by six wonderful hours of sleep. This stuff has been life changing! I wake up with less pain, not even remotely sleepy, and it's amazing!

Unfortunately, I have three doses left. It costs $40 for a month's worth of this. Not bad, really, unless you're broke. This stuff is vastly different from weed-based edibles. I don't quite know how to explain it other than weed-based makes me silly, my heart rate goes up, occasional paranoia, munchies, hard time physically relaxing enough to sleep, hard time waking up because I don't feel like I slept, dry af mouth and eyes. With my hemp-based sleep edible, I basically melt into slumber, no hunger or munchies, and wake up with mild dry mouth and dry eyes.

I'll have to use weed-based until I can afford my regular stuff, which has me very unhappy. Do not suggest using the OTC meds found at any pharmacy. The active ingredient is the same as benadryl, and it doesn't play well with two of my meds.

If you would like to help me get my medicine, I have my shop here. Prices start at $0 for digital downloads, and everything comes with the option to pay more. There are a few quilts there as well, and the lowest cost is just $85 for a miniquilt/mug rug. There are also several original paintings I'm selling.

Any funding beyond my medicine will be applied to bills and my ko-fi goal.

Before anyone suggests I try this or that to help me sleep, save your energy. I cannot do yoga due to being entirely unable to put weight on my hands, my knees dislocate, thighs dislocate, and I have a back injury that makes most poses extremely painful. Meditation has triggered some of my worst seizures, and three neurologists I've had all said thr same thing: my epilepsy doesn't play well with meditation. There's a reason people who provide guided meditation warn people who have epilepsy that meditation can result in seizures. Many herbal teas made for sleeping fuck with my meds, my brain, and my allergies. Chamomile is in the same family as ragweed, and if you're allergic to ragweed you should avoid chamomile due to a very real possibility of a bad and even deadly allergic reaction. Valerian root can be dangerous for those on seizure, mental illness, and antipsychotic meds as well. I've had insomnia for 41 years and have tried everything. This medication works for me, but I cannot afford right now.

I'm not making this rebloggable simply because last time this happened, I received a deluge of bullshit asks. It's exhausting, and I have better things I can be doing with my time.

[bugbyte]

Starving Artist Conundrums

I need to figure out how to try and expand my income streams, which you would think would be fairly simple as an artist because there (should be) are tons of ways to sell an image, but not necessarily. I'm tired of constantly playing games with SNAP and healthcare couple of months because I have no safety net if these things fail. This month is getting really, really close to losing it all, through no fault of my own, it's just one person who won't answer their phone and keeps "losing" documents. So, somehow, I have to figure out how people do this. For everything I learned in art school, there wasn't a moment of business education, which is wild considering how many of us were like, painters or sculptors. I was neither, but, how. The irresponsibility of it.

I've had to weed out Society6 and Redbubble from my circle of shop sites because of the weird fee structure they both implemented. I don't have the energy to figure all that out. I'm starting to put things on Threadless, which I've had for a while but haven't used much. I've been investigating Inprnt which I've heard mixed things about lately. Teepublic has done good by me for the most part, but since they're part of Redbubble I don't know how long that's going to last.

I would really like to get back into streaming, because I'm theoretically like halfway or better to a Twitch payout, but I need a few things to make a setup that works for my pain situation, namely a long-ass ethernet cable so I can keep up a fast enough connection. I used to have one, but I think it got given away when we moved for bonkers reasons I cannot remember. Anyway, I have one on my wishlist now that should be the right length, I hope: https://throne.com/radiochio

I really need to knuckle down and finish Follower Volume 1, not that it'll save me financially (probably the opposite) but at least there's the hope that I can at least make, like, a little grocery money from it now and again, or pay the phone bill.

All of this is complicated by the fact that my drawing days are limited/unreliable until I can get my pain under control, which is totally at the whim of doctors' referrals ending up in the right places and/or people actually calling me back as they're supposed to. Also on the medicine working, which thus far nothing has. Let me tell you, it is deeply frustrating to go to appointment after appointment and repeat that no, even tripling the normal dose of ibuprofen doesn't touch what I have happening and I don't want to destroy my organs so I just. Don't deal with it anymore. I am begging for help and no one cares or believes me.

Anyway, life's rough when you're physically pretty limited and perpetually broke. At the very least the new meds they gave me don't make me want to sleep all day, instead they just do nothing at all. Is that a win? I'm not sure.

[ruleofrosethorns]

notes for kuwtm!! (since some of yall seem to really enjoy this au)

the main au takes place a few months after SH3

james is here because harry kinda just felt like visiting sh after a couple of years and lo n behold

CAR IN TOLUCA LAKE FEAT. DEPRESSED WET CAT!!

he saved wittle old james and the rest is history

Harry DID NOT DIE because his protective bf (james) saved his sleepy ass

they decided to go on a road trip to Silent Hill and fuck around for a bit

(i might start writing a separate thing for that hehe)

anyway at some point harry got separated from the gang(tm) and went to alchemilla hospital

AND HOLY SHIT LISA IS HERE SHE IS VIBING

(oh and Maria was out and about terrorizing James like old times <3)

pretty much there's just a group of monsters who are kinda just hanging out and smoking weed

they're cool w/ the gang and through undisclosed plot developments i'm still tryna work out in my brain-

the weed-smoking sh group survives the purge of Harold Mason and move into the human world

not directly next to but in the same area as the Masons (much to their concern (except for Heather))

and thus, the mlm wlw rivalry begins /j

Heather enjoys hanging out w/ them but Harry and James are UNDERSTANDABLY conflicted

like idk bro letting our adopted daughter hang out with the manifestations of my guilt seems kinda wack...

but regardless they all love Lisa because she has never done anything wrong ever

Harry's alright(???) w/ Maria and PH?? James is mostly just annoyed by Maria and PANICKED BY PH

Harry and Lisa are honorary siblings <3 they didn't really get to know each other during SH but that all changed when Lisa moved in

Maria and Lisa are in love and sort of formed a found family with the monsters. co-workers of the otherworld ig

the monsters sort of look up to Maria and Lisa as mother figures, PH being the weird uncle that they all love bc he supplies them weed

James & Harry tend to COINCIDENCELY run into Maria & Lisa whenever they go on a date its an ongoing issue

Most of the monsters can't really go outside?? (y'know because grotesque eldritch horrors aren't "allowed" in public SMH)

So Maria, Lisa & Heather usually go on shopping sprees to get their demonic buddies things that they want

Unfortunately Lisa sometimes starts leaking blood so that's sometimes an issue

(she has to inhale & hold her breath to keep it at bay for long periods of time)

She is like a balloon

ALSO Harry is still an author!! He's moved away from murder mystery's and works on supernatural horror & non-fiction novels about certain cults...

NOT BECAUSE OF SH OR ANYTHING HAHA

James doesn't really have a job.

he just sort of fucks around and gets a new part time job every time the last one realizes he has been legally declared missing for 12-13 years

Heather's still in school (doing her last year), had to repeat once because of SH3 kinda resulting in her family needing a REAL vacation

Maria and Lisa don't have jobs. No one knows how they managed to rent a house. James thinks they probably killed the landlord.

Like seriously, where does their money keep coming from.

Heather asked one day and Lisa spoiled the mystery by admitting they sell random demonic items they find in the Otherworld.

SPEAKING OF HEATHER. she is a girl liker. i don't make the rules (i do)

Harry is also teaching her piano (yknow for puzzle related purposes), James "trys" to help her maths homework to various degrees of success.

James does most of the cooking, but can and will resort to eating dirt if needed.

(He doesn't cook because he's good at it or enjoys it tho. it's not like he is better than Harry at cooking-he just REALLY wants to help out around the house)

Oh also James &  Harry got married a few years before the events of SH3. It was a tough decision for them at first but Heather helped them work things out

(She also hijacked the music at the reception and played My Chemical Romance)

Maria n Lisa had thought about marriage but they're sort of stuck with each other for eternity sooOo

LEMME TALK ABOUT HARRIA REAL QUICK (yes harv i have coined that name it is TOO GOOD)

So Maria is directly, y'know, connected to James' subconscious, so she can go back and forth between the forms

Again, James fell in luv w/ Harry and SH panicked and said "FUCK MARIA CHANGE UR PFP"

At first she didn't have much control over it?? So like a year after SH2, Maria's just chilling w/ Lisa and then POOF

HARRIA. And Lisa's like "AYO :O I KNOW THAT GUY?!" So they found out about the boyfriends PRETTY early on

It took a few months, but she managed to figure out how to shapeshift at will. Turns out shes genderfluid!

But after SH3 she doesn't use it that much (yknow considering harry is RIGHT THERE) but she will shapeshift just to fuck w/ people

James is ashamed to admit he actually fell for it once (he was SLEEPY and half-awake, okay?!)

Harry was a lil bit freaked out at first but now he just thinks it's kinda cool

Heather just thinks it funny that this eldritch demonic horror from another world is basically just a yassified vers of her dad and James' ex-wife

>:3

[0nlinejournal]

November 11, 2022

6:50pm

First of all, I cannot believe it is only 6:50pm. Daylight savings has absolutely ruined my perception of time. I am sleeeeepy. I went to bed at like 9pm last night. I turned 26 and immediately became a sleepy old lady.

Today I would like to rant about my supervisor. I dislike him so much. I cried on the way to work today thinking about having to interact with him, because my goodness he is so unpleasant to talk to. He is so fucking condescending. Any interest anyone has (or maybe it's just me I don't know) he has to immediately be judgmental about. He has the disposition of a guy that I would have wanted to impress when I was in high-school. The guy who looks down on everyone around him because he thinks he's too cool. He's an sculptor, and he smokes weed every fucking day. He fucking reeks of weed every god damn day, and...

....I don't know when this started to bother me so much, but my god it does. I don't share my judgement about this with people, because ultimately I don't actually give a shit, and I don't want to make anyone think I do. People smoke, they can handle their weed, and they like going about life like that, fine. But at what point are you drowning out your ability to enjoy life without being high? At what point are you killing your ability to just fucking exist and enjoy existing without smoking? The constant smoking irritates me more when it's someone like him. He's not an anxious person, he's a fucking asshole who says whatever the fuck he wants because he thinks he can, he doesn't need weed as an anxiety soother, he just likes it. It's gross to me.

That was not what I meant to rant about but whatever, I guess that's part of it.

This is harsh but I find him a revolting person. The way he deals with anger is pathetic, and he is angry nearly everyday. He throws shit, he marches around the place all pissy and complaining about having to do his fucking job, and if there is any minor inconvenience he'll hit whatever is nearest to him with whatever he has in hand. I've seen him throw a tape measure after knocking the table saw wall back a fucking centimeter (meaning he has to recalibrate it). I've seen him violently hit a table with a mallet because someone put too long of a nail in the tip of the bondo tube. I see him often all huffy and puffy talking about, "I am so tired of having to tell people this," even though we have new fucking employees every few months and it's his fucking jooooobbbbb. It's frightening to be around him when he's in a bad mood, I really can't imagine what he's like with his girlfriend.

He's such a bad supervisor. If someone does something wrong he addresses everyone about it instead of just addressing that person. Oh he's tired of telling people shit? I'm tired of hearing the same shit every time we have a new hire and they're still learning how to do our job. And he doesn't explain how to fix the issue, EVER, he just says stop it. So if someone isn't wrapping bundles of sticks right, they're not gonna learn how but they know that they need to be wrapped tighter... somehow. Fucking idiot. He does that with new people but when it comes to me??

He is always on my ass. On myyyy ass. He checks up on me multiple times throughout the day while he only checks up on my coworkers once a day. And like 8 times out of 10 he has something to fucking say. What irritates me about that is what he has to say usually has something to do with something that has never been an issue before. He just wants to fucking say something to me. Just to fuck with me. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I swear to god it's true. He just likes to fuck with me. Every fucking day, and I am so fucking tired of it. To make it worse, if it is an actual issue, and he needs me to be doing something a specific way, he just tells me to not do it the way I'm doing it, but literally nevvveeerrr shows me how to do it how he wants me to. I always have to ask for him to show me how he wants it done. Which sucks, because I do not want to speak to him. Sometimes if he leaves me that opening to ask, I won't, because I don't want to prolong conversing with him.

Which brings me to his general unpleasant disposition. He sucks. He is nearly always pissy. And if he's in the mood to chat then he's a dick. He's form of conversing is playfully making you feel like shit for your interests. Like, oh, you like x genre of music? That's so silly, I only listen to nu metal. Oh you like watching tv? Psh, why would you waste your time watching mind numbing entertainment. Like what the fuck do you want me to do man? Why the fuck would I want to talk to you if you make me feel like I'm beneath you for my interests??? He's so fucking dumb too, because he makes so many assumptions.

My coworker burned a massive burn pile we had, and I asked if he had taken any pictures (because I like large fires) and my supervisor chimed in with, "Not everyone films everything, people like to live their lives without having their phones out. Some people don't feel the need to take photos of every second of their life." He was laughing, playing it off as a joke, but he does this shit all the time and it's so fucking annoying. He doesn't know how I behave on social media, so I don't know why he's speaking to me that way. He also walked in while I was talking to my coworker about Love is Blind, the literal only reality tv show I watch, and on top of that one of the only tv shows I watch in genral, and proceeded to ask me why I'm letting a reality tv show control my life. Like fucking excuse me? I want to complain about someone's crazy behavior on tv for funsies and for a conversation at work, and you're assuming it's eating away at me?? What the fuck is wrong with you? Was I speaking to you? Did I ask for your fucking input? Why are you so god damn condescending?! What am I supposed to do with my free time? Smoke weed in my RV? Fuck off man.

My resentment for him is growing rapidly and I don't know what to do about it. I feel bad because I've been getting snippy with him as of late. My coworker was training me on how to build crates, and my supervisor walked in, made a snarky comment basically saying I wasn't doing something right, and I kind of yelled (while trying to keep a joking tone), "WELL IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO SHOW ME HOW TO DO IT CORRECTLY INSTEAD OF MAKING SNARKY COMMENTS THAT WOULD BE FANSTASTIC". He chuckled and walked away I think sensing that I was genuinely upset. On Monday I walked in, he made a snarky comment, and I told him I was not in the mood for that in a very flat tone and his whole demeaner shifted because I shut him down.

I've run out of steam for now. I started complaining to my coworker because I need to talk to someone about it.

This next week is going to be stressful, my supervisor is going to be the worst, but then he will be gone for two weeks.

8:05pm

[dearest-sapphics]

Mmm yeah screw it

Jeff the killer rewrite chapter(?) 1

It doesn't make much sense on it's own but this section takes place a few years after the whole incident

My phone's alarm goes off, my obnoxiously loud signal to wake up. I silence the noise, but the damage is done. I'm awake and so is Keith. "You're gonna start sleeping somewhere else if you don't turn that shit off," he says.

"What do you want me to do, be late to class?" I ask. He kicks me under the covers, and I'm starting to remember how much of a bitch he is in the mornings.

I force myself up, grab a random shirt and pair of jeans out of the basket and go into the bathroom. I do all the morning jazz, hair, teeth, making sure I smell decent enough. I probably should've showered last night, I reek of weed and cigarettes. Not that I usually don't smell like weed and cigarettes, but I think Travis Gramble is starting to regret sitting by me in math or whatever they wanna call it. Colleges give everything weird ass names. I change and coat myself in cologne, which will hopefully mask my odor.

I walk to the very small kitchen and start a pot of coffee. I hate that I thought morning classes were a good idea. Oh I've done it since I was little, it won't be any different. Turns out it's a lot easier to sell drugs and stay up all night in high school than in college. More customers, though, so more money. Which means I get to rub it in Keith's parents' faces that I can provide for myself.

The coffee finishes and I fix it how I like (which is apparently to bitter if you ask Troy.) I need breakfast, but soggy cereal and a cold sandwich isn't to appetizing. Maybe we still have some leftovers. I open the fridge and it's the emptiness fridge I've ever seen. We need to go grocery shopping, I guess I can do that after classes. Guess I'll just starve myself until then. I shut the fridge and go over to the door, grabbing a pair of socks out of the sock basket. It's time saving to keep your socks and shoes by the front door. Troy hates it because ever time he comes over he knocks the basket over but who gives a shit about what Troy thinks?

I try drinking my coffee, but I burn my tongue. "Fuck!" I yell. "Shut the hell up!" Keith yells back from the bedroom. I'm regretting our bunking decisions.

I probably don't even have time to finish this coffee, I'll just put it in the fridge until I get back. "I'm leaving, I love you!" I call. I get no response. "Dick," I mumble to myself. I put my coffee up and leave, making sure I have my key on me so my lovely boyfriend doesn't lock me out again. There's some hipster couple in the courtyard making out, and some kid running with half a sandwich in their mouth. I kinda hope they trip. Is that to mean? I've been working on that, been trying to be nicer. It sucks ass. Why is being kind preached to us? I haven't gotten a single thing out of it so far, though I guess karma from high school is due. It's a shit tone of karma.

"Randy!" I turn my head and almost fall when Troy knocks into me. "Dude, watch it," I say. "Sorry, thought I was gonna stop sooner," he says, "But hey, now we can walk to English together." "It's to early for me to have a conversation," I say starting my way to class. "That's fine, since I wanted to talk about this cute girl I met a few days ago" Troy says. "Another lesbian?" I joke. "Shut up, this one isn't going to be a lesbian," he says. "You said that about the last one," I tell him. "Yes, but I have a good feeling about this. I got her number!" Troy says. "What's her name?" I ask. "It's Ivy, and she's super cool! She's a huge sports fan, but she also reads a lot of comics. Mostly DC, which I don't get because I like Marvel more but whatever. Oh! and she has the cutest dog I've ever seen! His name is Brutus, and I think he's a bulldog mixed with a pitbull. And she recently started her own business, she help people decorate their homes," Troy explains.

"Mhm, how old is she?" I ask. "She's 28," Troy says. "She's nine years older than you," I say. "Yeah, but it's not like she's old," he says. "28 is pretty old," I say. "Sure it is," Troy says. He holds the door open for me and I walk to the classroom. "I hope Mr. Grays' hungover so he won't make us do anything," I say. "We already don't do anything," Troy says. "Yeah, but I'm tired of asking Madeline for notes," I say. "Then write your own," Troy says. "To lazy," I say. I take my seat, Troy settling beside me. Mr. Grays is holding his head at his desk, so I'm leaning to no work today.

After a few minutes, everyone else is in the class. Half of them have coffee from the cafe, lucky bastards. I take my phone and text Keith.

R: tell me what you want from the store

R: I'm going some time today

He surprisingly answers fairly quickly.

K: A new boyfriend

Asshole.

R: they don't sells those

R: dick

He sends a picture of him giving me the bird, but I could care less. He's just upset because my alarm woke him up and he can't fall back asleep. He'll go back to normal soon.

"You guys can do whatever, just do it quietly," Mr. Grays says. "Guess you got your wish," Troy says. "Mhm, do you think he'd care if we left?" I ask. "I mean, Carlos usually does and he doesn't say anything," Troy says, "Why?" I put my phone up before standing up and grabbing my bag. "I've got somewhere I need to go," I say. "Where? Back to your dorm?" Troy asks. "Nope, somewhere else," I say. "Can I know?" Troy asks. He sounds genuinely curious, but I'm to stubborn and proud to tell him. "Maybe later," I say.

I leave out of the classroom and head to Ms. Winifred's room, the campus counselor. I knock the door, just encase she has someone else in there. Look at me, being considerate and shit.

"Come in!" she calls. I open the door and walk in, and Ms. Winifred looks pleasantly surprised to see me. "Randy, you're back. I'm glad, got worried you wouldn't," she says. "Yeah, well I guess I have more I want to get out," I say. I sit down, setting my bag beside me. "How have you been?" Ms. Winifred asks. "Uh, okay. Nothing really big has happened. Well, Keith's parents want us to come visit for Thanksgiving," I say. "Ah, the parents who don't like you?" she says in a way that's a mix of a question and statement. "Yeah, those ones,"I say, "I'm not looking forward to it." "Mm, well there's no real doubt they'll be rude, but there's ways around it. You could give very short hand answers to anything they say that's weird or wrong," Ms. Winifred tells me. "Yeah, I guess so," I say, "but I actually wanted to talk about something else."

She swirls in her chair a little and grabs her coffee cup, "What is it?" "Well..." I'm fidgeting with my hands, and flashes of all of it are coming back to me. I tried to help, I did, I just... didn't.

"There was an incident when I was in high school, me and my friends were involved in it. A kid got hurt, really hurt. There wasn't anything anyone could do, I guess, but I wanted to help. I couldn't, or I-I didn't. I really did try to, though," I say, "It just didn't work."

Ms. Winifred looks sympathetic, which I guess it's her job to be. "Can I know what the incident was?" she asks. If I tell about the house fire, I'll have to say I caused it, which would tie me to him getting burned and someone loosing their home. And sure, legally she can't tell anyone, and it's been years but still. Someone else would know what I did, someone else would know what I caused. "No, I can't say it," I tell her. "Randy, this is a safe place to talk. No one else will know what you say except me-" "I just can't tell you, not now," I say. She sighs softly but nods, "Okay, well can you tell me why you think it was your fault?" This was a bad idea, there's no way to talk about it without her knowing. I'll have to tell her if I want help for this. "I hurt him, the boy, and it caused him to get hurt more. I tried helping him before he got hurt again but I couldn't." "And you blame yourself for him getting hurt?" she asks. "Yes."

"You tired helping him, though," Ms. Winifred says, "just because you weren't able to doesn't mean it's your fault. You can't blame yourself for something you couldn't have controlled." That'd be more comforting if it was true, but it's not. I'm sure when I said I hurt him she thought like a punch or two, which is far off. I beat the shit out of that kid, probably didn't help that he couldn't fight back. Always get your friends to hold back your victim, life lesson kids.

"I still could've done more," I say. "You *tried*," Ms. Winifred says, "You can't beat yourself up over the past, especially if you tried changing it. You can only heal, only learn from it." If I told her the truth, the full truth, she wouldn't be saying that. She'd be calling the cops on the boy who caused another to go crazy and... I'd be thrown in prison, that's the important bit. And as tough as I'd like to give myself credit for, I wouldn't survive in jail. I'd end up dead on the shower floor. Plus I leave Keith alone in the real world, he can't handle himself without me. Or maybe I'm just telling myself that so I don't think about him finding someone his parents like and doesn't have a troubled past. Those assholes probably wouldn't approve of anyone, though. Whatever, parents shouldn't be so expecting of their children. Keith is great person, his parents need to realize that. Maybe they have and just still hate me.

I spend the rest of English in Ms. Winifred's, the rest of my classes for the day I actually work in. Not to fear, though, I still have plenty of grocery shopping to do. I walk to the small store down the block from the college. It's owned by this very sweet old lady who I can never remember the name of. I grab one of the green baskets and go to the milk. Keith's weird ass doesn't drink actual milk, so I have to get almond milk. He's actually lactose intolerant, so it's not his fault but it's still a dollar-fifty extra. Damn him and his health conditions.

"I believe it, I mean he went mad."

I look over my shoulder to see a girl talking to another. "The cops are saying it's just a copycat, and I'm gonna take their word first," the other one says, her hair's in bun. "Well, do that, but the cases were basically the same," the first one says.

What the hell are they on about? Cases of what? Who the fuck watches the news to find this out? Why do I even care? I don't, curious but not enough to research or ask. I grab the expensive, fake milk and put it in the basket before moving on to the eggs and grabbing a carton. I grab some mixed vegetables in a bundle since it's cheaper than buying them all separate. So what if it's a small pack and will only last two nights, I'd argue that's better. I get some 99 cent noodle packs for us to barely live off of and some cereal. I grab some other small things for us and then check out, making my boring way back to the dorms. I walk in, almost hitting Keith with the door. "Welcome back, dick," he greets me. "No way to talk to the man who just bought your groceries," I say setting the bags on the counter. "It is a way to talk to the man that woke me up, though," he says. "God, Keith that was hours ago," I say, "It doesn't even matter." "It matters to my beauty rest," he says. I put the cold stuff away in our barren refrigerator. "That beauty rest ain't doing much in the beauty department," I say.

I feel a shoe get thrown at my back, it doesn't hurt but it does startle me. "You're being an asshole," Keith says. "I was messing, baby, you know you're the prettiest person I know," I say. "I better be," he says. He kisses my cheek, "I'll see you later. Don't forget we're going to my parents tomorrow for Thanksgiving." I groan, "Do I gotta? I mean Thanksgiving isn't until next Thursday and your parents don't like me. I could just spend it with Troy and his moms, I mean I have every other year." "Randy, I didn't argue with my parents for you to drop out last minute. C'mon, we're always talking about proving them wrong," Keith says. "And your siblings?" I ask. "Fuck 'em. *Ignore* them, they won't bother us," he says. I sigh, "Fine."

Keith grabs my hand, rubbing his thumb over it. "If it gets bad we'll leave. I promise," he says. I kiss him and I feel his hand move to my face to cup it. I pull back from the kiss, "Okay." Keith smiles at me before leaving for his classes.

[a03bkdk]

fantasy bkdk fic rec list

a certain kind of magic by eatdirt

((4590-1/1))

“Forgive me, kind witch! I—I do not wish to disturb you, but I’m afraid it's urgent!"

Katsuki will later blame his bewilderment that anyone—let alone a human boy in filthy rags—would drag themselves all the way out to his home on the outskirts of civilization, for why he stalks down the stairs and cracks open the door.

“Are you a fucking idiot?” he growls.

Or, the one where Katsuki is a witch in a weed-infested swamp and Deku won’t stop coming around.

the shrinekeeper and the harvest god by bkdkwritingsdump

((smut-30148-18/18))

Izuku keeps the shrine of the harvest god, a minor god mostly worshiped by farmers and ignored by everyone else until the yearly harvest festival. During a spring thunderstorm one year, a mysterious man named Katsuki shows up at his shrine seeking shelter from the rain, but ends up over staying his welcome by a few months. In that time, Izuku not only begins to become suspicious of his identity, but finds himself longing for something more between them.

cupid, draw back your bow by almasaga

((i dont remember if there is smut-16496-2/2))

Cupid remembers the oath he took, remembers the broken arrow, remembers the wrath of his mother and goddess, remembers his roots, remembers that he is a god.

But when he hears him he forgets it all.

“Are you there still?” Asks a voice, clear and never wrong. The only voice he wishes to hear.

“Always,” he says and it blows through his beloved.

solar by kindaopps

((smut-7037-1/1))

Here he is, a god, wanting a mortal.

deku by mirachadoodles

((smut-20852-9/9))

Neither seemed willing to look away in the tense silence that fell, drawn to one another as if by a thick and brilliant thread.

The boy viewed him thoughtfully, as though he recognized him from another life, as though he knew him.

It was odd—he felt the same way.

---

Or, shortly after Katsuki's dragon went missing, a naked man attempted to break into his family barn. Izuku had no memory of his past life, and apparently had no idea how to be human, either. He was just acting on instinct.

a cat named deku by  silentsongbird

((6662-1/1))

Bakugou begrudgingly takes in a stray cat that has been hanging around his home. He says he's motivated by the weather turning colder, but he just can't resist the little fur ball. One night, Deku decides to let him in on a little secret.

if the stars align, then for us they were meant by runawaydeviant

((smut-17485-6/6))

Katsuki and Eijirou crash land in a forest to the south of their homeland. Injured and stranded, they befriend a local nature spirit, who is much more than he first appears to be.

soulmates in steel and (p 2)mine is yours by lalazee

((3000-1/1)) (p 2(smut-2509-1/1))

Midoriya Izuku returns to a tribe long lost and forgotten to claim his rightful throne. At least, that's what King Katsuki assumes of him.

(p 2) One large, calloused hand spread sparks down Izuku’s chest, ribs, rested at his lightly bruised hip. Izuku knew fingerprints still remained from last time, and the last, and the time after that. He felt more like a dappled deer now, all those spots smattered across his thighs, ass, hips, wrists. King Katsuki was certainly a man who marked his territory.

but the entrails are the best part! by supercrunch

((15278-1/1))

The boy straightens up. He’s about half a head shorter than Katsuki, face soft and youthful and sweet. He turns to look at him properly. His dark hair shines in the dying light, basket of blooms looped over one arm and mouth quirked into a tiny half-smile. The sun hits his face and makes his eyes a bright greeny-gold, just like emeralds.

Katsuki likes emeralds.

“Pretty,” he says, reaching out and picking the stranger up around the middle. He’s surprisingly heavy, although Katsuki doesn’t mind. “I like you. Come see my nest.”

The boy hits him.

He’s stronger than he looks, turns out. Katsuki drops him and falls onto his back, pain blooming across his face. Birds sing. The sky’s a lovely shade of orange, clouds floating lazily by. The boy scarpers. He leaves his basket of flowers behind, footsteps thumping on the ground and fading away as he escapes.

The sun sets. Katsuki, lying flat on his back with a bloody nose, decides he’s just fallen in love.

happenstance by merrywetherweather

((78566-22/22))

When Katsuki was just a child, his mother, the King of Lucia, took him to enact diplomacy with the Midoriya's, the royal family of the neighboring country of Tayloria. After that day, his fate was sealed, his marriage arranged to the Midoriya's elusive omegan child.

At the age of twenty, he leaves for Tayloria again, this time, to finally wed his fiance and cement the allyship of the two kingdoms indefinitely. Only, his fiance turns out to be the child he had met on his very first visit, a naive, idealistic young prince who wants nothing to do with marrying the prince of Lucia.

Good thing he just assumed Katsuki was only part of his fiance's entourage.

An arranged marriage between two princes aob au where Katsuki tries to abide by Izuku's desire for a natural romance to develop without letting Izuku know his true identity.

plums by Ivillpunchyouinthethroat

((14116-3/3))

There’s a boy stealing plums from the garden below the balcony Katsuki’s lounging at for the night.

Correction.

There’s a boy stealing plums, very badly, from the garden below the balcony Katsuki’s lounging at for the night.

mermaid AU breathe In by contrarybee

((series-smut-3 works-45236 in all))

Midoryia Izuku was born in captivity. He's never known the ocean.

His human carer Yagi-san tells him they're getting a new merman in the aquarium, one that they hope Izuku might like. Having been alone since his mother's death, Izuku is beyond excited to have a new mer around, but Bakugo Katsuki might prove to be too much. Or maybe he's just right.

fishy by warschach

((smut-19417-1/1))

Izuku’s convinced his hot co-worker/neighbor, Katsuki, is a mermaid-or merman- you gotta consider genders even with mythical creatures- and plans to prove it.

(or this is kinda like the show ‘Monster Quest’, except Izuku actually finds said monster, falls in love, and have sexy times.)

home is where the waves crash. by tiredwrites

((4105-1/1))

Izuku thrashes in his cage, the fins that line his large tail flare with a dangerous purpose. The claws his fingers taper into slice through the water and catch the light that filters into the clear water of the aquarium tank he's in.

His gills flare in irritation as he flips around, muscled tail ramming into the three-inch glass barrier with a thundering BAM!

Bioluminescent sacs under clear scales flare and glow, flashing a brilliant toxic green. The team that had brought the merman into the tank watch the mer flail and roar, flexing the powerful jaws that can often unhinge, like a snake.

only the roses know by katyastark

((13193-5/5))

Izuku didn’t want to marry a foreigner. The person he wanted was here… somewhere. He didn’t have a face or a name to ascribe to his admirer. Only roses. For every name day and holiday since he was thirteen, he had received a perfect orange rose. He’d never seen anything so beautiful. The roses never failed to make him feel doted upon. It was their secret, and Izuku cherished it more than anything else in the world. He didn’t want to give that up for some stranger, for an alliance through a loveless marriage.

torn fur, blunt teeth by scribespirare

((smut-43013-17/17))

After eight months of being collared, Izuku is finally free. But a dark, stormy city is no place for a lonely shapeshifter on the run.

ignorance leads to bliss by nikawithspice

((smut-3941-1/1))

A brave wandering adventurer swoops in and saves a beautiful prince from danger, gets dragged to a celebratory bonfire and has a night that he could only have dreamed of!

Or, the one in which Midoriya Izuku accidentally gets married to a Dragon Prince but wouldn't have it any other way.

[clareguilty]

Coal Fires and Snowstorms

This was a request fic that was originally for the Overwatch cowboy but I changed to Arthur Morgan for... apparent reasons Arthur Morgan/F!Reader (reader also has big enby vibes) Rating: Mature | No Warnings Word Count: ~2,200

Arthur wakes with a wheeze, bolting upright and smacking his chest with his fist as he tries to pull in enough air.

He’s shirtless, but a woven blanket had been draped over him while he was unconscious. A ray of light cuts through a grimy window. The angle is harsh enough that it’s probably late in the evening.

The last thing Arthur can remember is the dark of the night and the clamoring of the law on his heels. So he’s been out for at least a day.

His lips are dry and cracked, and his muscles groan in protest with every movement. God, his head is pounding like he was hit by a damn train.

A door creaks open, and there’s a squeak of surprise. “Oh! You’re awake!”

Arthur blinks in the harsh sunlight that’s streaming into the small cabin. Whoever is there is bundled up in furs and a jacket with a bow over their shoulder. They’ve got two armfuls of game practically swallowing them.

“Who are you? Where am I?” He means for it to sound rough and demanding, but it’s more croaky and pathetic when the words pass his lips.

“I’m not really anybody, and this is my cabin up in Cumberland. The law chased you a long ways from Annesburg didn’t they? You must have done something real bad.” The hunter dumps all the game onto the table and rushes to the bedroll where Arthur lays. “You aren’t hurt too bad or nothing, but you’ve got a real nasty cough. I’ve got tea and herbs that should help. I bandaged up all the bleeding bits as best I could”

Arthur is bewildered. He knows there had been a fire in Annesburg -- the coal had gone up in a pyre in seconds. Somehow, he had gotten separated from Dutch and the others. The smoke had taken him like crows to a carcass, and he was lucky to make it across the ridge with the way his eyes and lungs were burning.

The last thing he remembered was the pinkertons still on his heels and the darkness of the trees as he tried to hide in the brush. He must have made it to cover before the smoke and the soot finally got him.

He flinches as the hunter sticks an open flask under his nose. “Tea. It’s bitter but you’ll need it.”

Arthur sniffs the mouth of the flask, but it sure does just smell like weeds and water. He takes a sip and wrinkles his nose. But the flavor is a small price to pay for the way the liquid soothes the burning in his mouth and throat.

“Thank you,” he says. “You could have left me in those woods to rot. I appreciate you dragging my sorry ass back here.”

You grin and pat the bandage on his arm. “It weren’t much trouble, but you sure are one large fella.” Arthur thinks you must be a young boy -- it’s hard to tell. Your hair is short under your cap but your voice isn’t all that low.

You turn to the game on the table and grab a knife from your belt. “I hunted enough for the both of us the next few days. It’s gonna be a while before you’ve got your strength back, and a snowstorm is rolling in off the Grizzlies anyways.”

Arthur frowns. “Bit early for snow, isn’t it?”

You shrug. “Winter never listens to me. At least the game was out. Everyone is trying to feed as much as they can before it gets too cold to hunt. That includes us.”

Arthur grunts and struggles to his feet. “I can help with those,” he offers.

You watch him with narrowed eyes, obviously skeptical of Arthur’s strength. “Take the small ones,” you offer up the rabbits and squirrels.

Arthur usually doesn’t have a problem skinning game, but the smoke must have gotten to him more than he thought because he finds himself having to take a rest after just a few minutes. He finishes off the flask of tea and sorts through his pack and weapons.

“My horse…” he asks after a while.

“She’s fine,” you say. “I found her not far from where you were unconscious and she helped me get you back here. She’s out back with my Old Girl.”

“Thank you,” Arthur sounds genuinely touched. “She really means a lot to me.”

You shoot him another smile. “You’re nothing but a big softie, ain’t ya? What could you have done to have the law chasing you all the way across the damn country?”

Arthur rubs the back of his neck, flushing in embarrassment. “My folks might have blown up Annesburg? I don’t actually know how much of it is left…”

“Ha!” you bark. “You’re with them van der Linde folks?”

Arthur’s silence is answer enough.

“I won’t judge,” you shrug. “You’re safe as long as you want to rest here.”

And rest Arthur does. He’s confined to the bedroll, rolled out on a warm pile of furs near the stove. You’re good company, witty and friendly and far too nosy for your own good. Arthur learns that you’ve has been living in these parts for a few years now, trapping and hunting and crafting to sell in town every few weeks. It’s more of a living than Arthur could ever ask for. Arthur thinks he might be sweet on you.

It’s another day before he’s got the strength to walk. He makes it outside to his horse, glad to see that she’s well taken care of. You had said you were going off to bathe in a nearby stream, and Arthur follows the sound of the water.

He’s not expecting what he finds. The water is shallow but fast moving, and he sees a familiar jacket hung on a branch by the bank.

You’re turned away, rinsing in the ice cold water, and Arthur can see the gooseflesh on your skin.

But when you turn slightly, it’s the swell of breasts and the curve of hips that catches Arthur’s attention. He averts his eyes quickly, darting back towards the cabin with his cheeks stained pink.

Now that he thinks about it, you had never said that you were a man. Arthur had simply figured it was most likely. The soft voice and gentle features make more sense now.

“You had better wash up if you want to,” you say when you return to the cabin. “The snow is coming in tonight. I can smell it. I stocked up on herbs for your cough and we’ve got plenty of provisions. I’m gonna split some more wood to bring inside.”

Arthur can’t help but find it attractive that you’re so knowledgeable and well prepared. He makes his way to the stream on his own and washes up in the frigid water, pushing through another coughing fit when the cold makes his muscles seize.

It’s already getting colder when he gets back inside. His weak breath fogs even inside the cabin and the little stove can’t do nearly enough to warm the small space.

“You’re going to freeze,” he tells you. He’s big enough to handle the cold -- spent a damn month up in the grizzlies without much of a problem -- but you surely won’t last the snowstorm.

“I’ve made it before,” you say with a huff and a glare. “I’ve got plenty of furs to keep me warm.”

“Put your bedroll beside mine,” Arthur insists. “We can share the blankets.”

The snow begins to fall, sticking to the ground in wet clumps, and you brace yourselves for the days to come. You’re practically strangers -- save for the fact that you had dragged Arthur out of the woods and saved his life. Now you have no choice but to rely on each other until the snow melts.

Arthur wakes in the night to your violent shivering under the blankets. He pulls you so that you’re pressed against his chest, tucking both of you under the quilts closer together. “I thought you said you’d made it through this before?”

You huff, teeth chattering. “I survived. I never said I kept warm.”

“Stay close to me. It’s my turn to keep you alive.” He drifts back to sleep to the howl of the winter winds.

The next morning he’s greeted by a bowl of piping stew that makes his sinuses burn. “I had some jarred peppers I keep for weather just like this. You’re in no condition for liquor so this is the best you’re gonna get.”

Arthur accepts the stew graciously. He’s not ready for the way you stand on your tippy toes to kiss him on the cheek when he offers to wash both of the bowls.

You pass the time snowed in with several rounds of cards. Arthur tells stories about him and the gang until his throat aches and he starts coughing again, and so the you regale Arthur with your life’s tale and a few stories you picked up over the years. You’re curled up next to each other in front of the stove, and you have no shame about burrowing against Arthur in a quest for body heat. He lets you steal as much as you want.

“I thought you were a boy when I first woke up,” Arthur says.

You shrug. “Most people do. I find it makes things easier a lot of the time. How’d you figure me out?” You don’t seem to feel too strongly one way or another about how Arthur and others see you.

Arthur hides his embarrassment behind a cough. “I, uh, caught you washing up in the stream.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “that’s pretty solid proof, ain’t it.” You’re smiling, not shy at all. “You’re not mad at me for lying, are you?”

“You never lied,” Arthur says. “I just came to my own conclusions. Doesn’t matter much to me anyways, whether you’re a man or a woman.”

You frown at that. “Doesn’t matter?”

“Nah,” Arthur ruffles your short hair. “You’re cute either way.”

It’s the right thing to say. The frown disappears and you settle back against him, humming contentedly.

He wakes in the night to the feeling of your breath on his neck. You shift and your lips brush against his skin. He can’t help the way his whole body tenses at the sensation. His arm is draped around your waist, holding you close because he knows you’ll freeze if he doesn’t.

He pulls you in closer. Every inch where your skin touches his feels oversensitive and hot. You’re still asleep -- he can tell from how slow you breath against his skin, but you reach an arm around his neck and burrow against him.

His heart begins to race. He’s flushed and half asleep and you fit against him so well in this tiny cabin that you’ve made your home. One of his hands slides down your back. You moan as his palm passes over the small of your back and the curve of your ass. His hand comes to the back of your thigh, but you shift again and rock your hips against him.

He gasps, then has to fight back a cough. He doesn’t want to wake you, but your quest for warmth has you plastered against him in a very compromising position. It’s starting to make his long johns downright painful, and he thinks he’ll combust in shame.

You rock against him once more, mumbling sleepily into his skin.

“Darlin’” he croaks. But the sound doesn’t wake you. He tries to wriggle an arm between you so he can push you off, but instead he winds up with a handful of your breast, and the most gorgeous sound he’s ever heard escapes your lips.

He freezes. He’s painfully hard now, and you’re still gently rocking against him in your sleep, perhaps even more so now that he’s got a hand on your chest.

“Arthur, please,” you whine.

He’s pretty sure you’re awake by now, so he readjusts his hand and rubs his thumb over the peak of your nipple. You let out another breathy moan against his skin. This time when he runs a hand over your ass he lets himself take a moment to appreciate how it feels under his palm, they way his fingers sink into the soft skin beneath your winter sleep clothes. He once again places his hand on the back of your thigh and pulls you so that your hips are lined up with his, straddling him under the blankets.

You whine against him once more and grind your hips downward. The friction does way more for him than he imagines it must for you, and his vision whites out momentarily at the heat and weight of you against him.

He loses himself in the motion of your hips for several long moments, but then your whines grow frustrated and unsatisfied and he knows exactly what your after.

Gripping both of your hips tightly, he flips you both so that you’re laying back on the bedroll and he’s kneeling over you.

Your eyes fly open.

“Arthur?”

“You were asleep?” he looks absolutely bewildered.

“I thought so? I was having the best dream.” Your eyes look past him as you remember.

“I don’t think you were dreaming, sweetheart,” he chuckles. He leans in to place an open mouthed kiss against your neck. You gasp and dig your nails into his shoulder.

“Then I think you had better keep going, cowboy.”

[wevegottogetaway]

El Patrón

I’m so excited to finally be posting this piece. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and it’s been consuming my mind. If you like angst, smut, art student Harry, and great plot twists, this story is for you, so buckle up, cause you’ve got 13700 and then some waiting for you! And on that note, I don’t thing I have many words left in my brain... so, hope you enjoy xx

TW: smut, fool language

After her first day back to classes, Y/n is not surprised to see Harry Styles’ lanky frame standing behind the bar of Bottom’s Up. She hoped that he would bugger off to work some place else but alas, all her summer prayers were unanswered. For yet another semester, she would have to endure bartending by his sides, trying with all her might not to jab a corkscrew at his throat every time he opened his gob. Granted, she could have switched jobs herself, but the pay is too good to turn down and the bar sits literally right around the corner from her place; a match made in heaven if you ask her. Besides, she’s been mastering the art of tuning out the insufferable green-eyed prick for two years now, so what’s one more? Of course, knowing it is likely to be the last - having just kicked off the final year of her psychology major - makes the news easier to stomach. And with any luck, the fool did some sort of soul-searching over the break and came back a changed man.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her delightful presence again. Knew you couldn’t stand to live without me, y/l/n." Harry greets her with a smirk as he looks up from his phone. 

Well, some much for change, but luck has never been on y/n’s side anyway; she knew it was wishful thinking to entertain the idea of a pleasant or even tolerable Harry. "Shut it, Styles. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit," she quips back and goes straight to the employee’s locker room to dispose of her stuff and swap her top for one bearing the bar’s logo. Once done, she takes a brief look in the tattered mirror still hanging by the door to readjust her ponytail, before joining her co-worker behind the counter. The bar is rather quiet for now, clock having not chimes 6pm yet, but y/n expects the place to be soon crawling with students drinking the classes’ return off their mind. 

The next few minutes are spent in unexpected peaceful silence, y/n prepping for the upcoming rush while Harry idly sits by, not lifting a single finger to help her out. Admittedly, he’s completed all his pre-shift duties during the last hour, but y/n doesn’t think it warrants the smug look painted on his face as he watches her battle a jar of olives with an old opener and  a concentrated frown. So peaceful silence was a bit of a stretch, maybe.

Then to make matters worse he decides to taunt her, "I see you’ve grown zero muscle strength over the break. Too busy vegetating on the beach?" 

The surge of anger triggered by the provocation is enough impetus for her to crack the can open, but it doesn’t stop her from turning to face him, "I see you’ve grown zero neuron in that thick head of yours. Too busy making people miserable instead?" she counters with flaring nostrils and a look of disdain hardening her features.

"Ah, still got a feisty mouth on you. ‘Was worried you might turn soft on us." Harry sasses back, but y/n doesn’t bother telling him off this time. No matter how strong her comeback, he’ll just brush it off with that smile of his that irritates her to no end. That’s the thing with Harry, the bastard has the thickest skin of all, he’s downright unattainable. And believe it or not, bad-mouthing doesn’t come naturally to y/n, he just seems to draw it out of her, perhaps as the trigger of some kind of survival instinct. Time and time again she’s tried to come up with a quip that would leave him speechless, tail between his legs, but he always has a wittier reply to throw back at her. For so long they’ve been playing this debilitating game of ping pong and she has yet to claim a point to his countless wins. 

It’d been the case since their first meeting on that dreadful Friday two years ago. Y/n was about to embark on her second year at uni and decided to get a job so she could afford her own place instead of the dreary dorms she’d gotten used to. Bottom’s Up had seemed to be the perfect choice, a 2 minutes walk from the sweet little apartment she’d just visited a few days prior. She’d been excited for her first shift that night, air still warm from the Indian summer sun drawing a plethora of eager students to come enjoy their last day of freedom. Her happy jitters had quickly dissolved once she’d made her way in the staff-only area located behind the bar though. There, she’d walked in on a very frustrated Harry vociferating at a lost-looking colleague, "how many times do you have to fuck up before doing your bloody job, Steve? Stop sitting on your lazy ass, or I swear I’ll-" 

She’d come to this Steve guy’s defense then, furious at the tall curly hair jerk for bullying his way around, "stop it, you asshole. You can’t talk to people like trash, who do you think you are?" Granted, she didn’t know it at the time, but the lost look on Steve's face was in fact pretty standard for the amount of weed in his system; nor did she know that the lad could actually win the Olympics of lazy asses hands down, should such a discipline be appended. It was too late to call off the hostilities though. War had been declared, and aside maybe from that one time he had graciously accepted to cover for her when she’d had a trip to Brighton planned for one of her classes, no truce had ever been reached. Besides, she’s sure it was more so because he was low on cash rather than to fulfill the hidden desire to help her out for once in his life.

Now, as she finishes wiping her work surface with a wet cloth, y/n wishes more than ever to be teleported in a parallel universe where she doesn’t have to work with the bane of her existence, much less see his annoyingly handsome face four times a week. (Also, exams would only be optional in this alternate reality of hers, but that’s another fantasy for another day.) Mainly, she’s just glad she doesn’t see him around campus ever, the art building standing all the way across from the psychology department. At least she’s Harry-free the moment she steps out of the bar; she’d probably have a nervous breakdown if she had to put up with his antics outside of work.

                                                       ***

A month in the new semester, the novelty of it all has finally worn off to make way for routines to settle in. Y/n’s weeks now consist in a well-practiced cycle of sleep, study, eat, work and occasionally go out with her best friend Mia. Her shifts at Bottom’s Up still prove to be challenging because of the company she’s forced to keep but things seem to have calmed down at the bar too. Students are now less inclined to party the week away, mainly indulging during the second half of the week, but more importantly, Harry appears to be less of a smug bastard and more of a sulky sod. For some reason, the lad has been stuck in a sullen mood, constant frown wrinkling his forehead. He has reverted to distant one-word answers as though he is saving a dictionary worth of words for whatever conundrum is going on in his brain. Y/n doesn’t mind though, and almost welcomes the transition if it means less digs taken at her expense.

Now y/n finds herself on her way to the campus library for a much needed paper-writing cramming session (the assignment is due the following day and she barely has two thirds of the work completed). After a quick stop by the coffee shop down the block, she finally strides in the lobby of the library, ready to dive nose first into the riveting matters of cognitive psychology. She’s already so focused mulling over concepts’ definition in her mind, that it takes her a minute to realize something is going on.

It’s nothing major really, no big fire rushing around the premises or fist-fight breaking the crowd into a frenzy. No, just everyone seemingly hushing and gasping, bewildered expressions etched upon their faces as they keep pointing towards the nearby study room. Truthfully, y/n might have been completely oblivious to it, it she weren’t a psychology major; but reading people’s feelings and interactions is kind of her thing, so she does notice the bubbly energy infiltrating the usually quiet space. What could possibly have them so intrigued, she wonders as more students come out of the room with the same looks of wonder.

Her confusion is finally quelled when she steps into the study room in question and her eyes fall on what has everyone so engaged. On the wall to her right, between two sets of shelves brimming with decades-old books, hangs a life size canvas of audacious shapes and bold colors. Not one seems to have been left out, the painting seemingly transporting the viewer in a psychedelic albeit appealing trance. It’s full of contrasts, an embodiment of serenity and boldness at the same time, and y/n can’t stop ogling the masterpiece for the life of her. The amount of passion is so obviously overwhelming, yet she can feel all of the artist’s emotions underneath each of the brushstrokes.  

After another minute of wondrous observation, her thoughts are interrupted by a foreign voice. "El Patrón? I wonder who that could be," the stranger wonders aloud, and her eyes immediately drift off to the bottom right of the painting to catch the small but unmistakable signature: black cursive letter spelling the two words withholding the real artist’s identity. The mystery only adds up to the appeal of the work and y/n already feels a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of ever finding out what beautiful soul is responsible for such mind-bending work. She hopes this won’t be last she sees of it. 

                                                       ***

It’s Friday night and unfortunately for y/n, she’s stuck at work with her least favorite person in the world. It’s all the more unfortunate that Harry seems to be back to his usual annoying self, his thoughts finally free from whatever trouble had plagued them, and eager to fall back into nuisance mode. Less unfortunate for y/n and much to Harry’s discontent, Mia decided to stop by and keep her company. Though she feels slightly sorry for her having the act as her buffer for the night, y/n figures she’s more than making up for it with every free cocktail she keeps sliding towards her friend. Their conversation is scattered at best since patrons keep interrupting them for a fresh pint of ale, but as the night slowly dies down they manage to talk longer than 20 seconds.

The manager of the bar has long clocked off and gone home, as per usual on Friday nights, leaving both her and Harry the pleasure to indulge in a few drinks of their own. They don’t do it every week and always keep it low-key of course; Mia’s tonight presence mostly accounting for y/n’s partaking while Harry just likes a nice glass of tequila when the week-end comes around and there’s nobody to tell him off about it. One thing they never do though, is drink together, like two friends celebrating yet another week they survived at uni. Come to think of it, the only thing they do share is a job position and their never-ending bickering. Cheers to that, y/n takes another sip of her gin martini in sarcasm. 

She’s brought back to reality by Mia as the tipsy brunette lets out a loud gasp before she inquires in a slightly high-pitched voice, "y/n! totally forgot to tell you, went by the library today and you’ll never guess what was there!" 

"Oh my god, you saw the painting too, didn’t you" y/n answers, excited at the idea of discussing the whole thing with her best friend. Truth be told, the majestic work of art hasn’t left her mind since she’d first seen it a few days before. 

"Yes" Mia squeals in confirmation, "I mean, it’s kinda impossible to miss. I wonder how they got it there without anyone seeing."

Y/n has wondered the same thing and she came to one conclusion, "they probably sneaked in last Sunday after the library closed, it’s the only time the building is empty," Mia humming in agreement. The campus library is opened 24/7 all days except on Sundays, so realistically speaking it is the only window of time that would allow for such an experiment. Whether said experiment required an actual break-in or was conducted in full legality remains a mystery but that is just bygones in y/n’s eyes. She’s much to mesmerized by the work to give a damn about how it got there in the first place. 

"Oi y/l/n! What are you two fawning over this time" Harry chirps in the conversation, uninvited as always, and y/n hates how condescending he just sounded.

"Not that you could ever understand something with substance, if your lack thereof is any indication, but it’s none of your damn business," y/n spats out dismissively but Mia’s Margarita-induced brain seems to have forgotten all about their concerted hatred for piss-taking bartenders.

"Harry, you’re an art major aren’t you? D’you know who’s behind that beautiful painting at the library?" 

Y/n tilts her head back in a sigh at her friend’s behavior before turning to watch the puzzled look on Harry’s face. He seems to silently gauge the both of them; for what, y/n doesn’t know, and then his whole expression switched to a blasé look. He shrugs in disinterest, "who cares? ’s just one more Banksy wannabe who’s trying at it too hard ‘f you ask me." 

Y/n takes it as a personal offense, her admiration for the painting outweighing any instinct she has of avoiding the brazen man taking a sip of his tequila on rocks across from her, "of course you’d say something like that. You’re just jealous you’ll never compete with his talent."

Harry raises a brow at her accusation, "and how would you know since you’ve never seen any of my work?" 

It’s a valid point, but not enough to rebut her. "Doesn’t take a genius to know a shallow mind like yours could never create something as deep and transcending. That would require actual emotions from you Harry and we both know the only emotion you’re capable of spreading is irritation." 

For once she’s confident she’s gonna have the last word, but in true Harry fashion he just gives her a bored look as if to say ‘is that all?’ towel thrown over his shoulder, "right, and here I thought talking to people like trash was a bad thing. You should really take a page out of your own book, y/n, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re as big of a jerk as I am." Then he turns back to face the room full of customers, and tends to one disheveled looking guy slurring out an order. 

Y/n barely registers the friendly "alright Joe, but ’s the last one," Harry rasps out to the guy, her ears are still ringing from the last words he’d said to her. More specifically, the little truth they held despite how much he deserved the backlash, and y/n absolutely loathes the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself. She’s afraid she’s turning like him, bitter words at the ready and always trying to outdo his own taunting spiels. Before anxiety can settle in her bones though, she swallows back the knot tightening in her airways and goes back to serving customers and conversing with her friend.

                                                        ***

The next time it happens, she expects it even less. A couple weeks have passed since her gruesome interaction with Harry at the bar, and along with her doubts, all thoughts about art have seemed to vanish from her busy mind. She’s had a few tests occupying all her free time and now that they’ve been done and over with, all she can think about is calling Mia up to plan their next night out; she needs a few drinks that she didn’t make for once. 

She’s about to take her phone out of her pocket to send her best friend a text, when she enters the lecture hall of her Monday experimental method and research design class. The déjà-vu feeling that creeps up her spine stops her from completing the action, and y/n frowns at how her fellow students seem to be all entranced in deep conversation, exchanging baffled looks with one another. Even the sleeping kid that sits at the back seems to be more alert than during their last fire evacuation procedure test. 

It’s then y/n turns around to see what is hanging at the front of the room, covering the large board. This time, the colors were carefully handpicked by the artists, flashes of pink and yellow dancing along to a frenzied rhythm of salsa as their union creates powerful jets of oranges across the canvas. It vaguely reminds her of the pendant she wears on a daily basis, rose gold laurels wrapped around a delicate sunflower, an orange topaz incrusted in its center. The painting is of abstract nature much like the last one, but the movements of the brush still bring her mind back to the jewel presently nestled between her collarbones. How odd.

The piece is slightly smaller than the last but no less impressive, catching the attention of even the least artistic eye. The sensibility of the artist is so distinct, intentions clearer and more in touch than most people with their own. For a second, y/n thinks she’s glad the pieces have only been ones of unadulterated happiness and colorful bliss so far, because god knows how heart-wrenching the outcome would be if all this uncorrupted honesty was used to fill canvas with pain.

As the professor enters the room, everybody settles back on their seat, and wait for the chap’s reaction. "Well, that sure is something. It seems we have a bit of a mystery painter on our hands, don’t we; and a talented one at that," y/n’s professor smiles at the class as he pulls a computer out of his satchel and places it at top of the front desk. His words make her look back at the artwork, this time settling on the small signature reading El Patrón on its corner. And it’s all it takes for Y/n’s obsession with the anonymous artist to be back in full force.

                                                       ***

That night she can’t stop raving about the painting as she starts closing the bar after a long and tiresome shift. She’s got a shoulder pressing her phone to her ear, Mia on the line, while she absentmindedly sweeps the floor. Normally the exertion of the job would have her stifling yawns and her bones aching but tonight her voice is perky as ever as she recollects the pinnacle of her day, "you shoulda been there Mia, it was gorgeous. And same as last time, like you’d be minding your business, doing your thing and then boom, it’s there. Damn, this guy is a genius."

As she comes back around the counter, Harry makes sure she notices the roll of his eyes. He’s been wiping and tidying the bar space after making sure everything is stocked up for the next day, all the while listening to her drone about El Patrón and his stroke of genius, praise after praise falling from her lips. She completely brushes off the patronizing gesture and that’s perhaps what irritates him the most. She’s barely acknowledging him or his stunts with all her attention placed on the mystery painter and well, Harry quite likes riling her up. Doesn’t do it out of spite, but merely because he likes the way it ignites a fire in her that he’s seldom seen in people. But now, all her fire is directed elsewhere and he doesn’t know what to think of it.

                                                         ***

Over the next month, the rumors around El Patrón spread like wildfire as more and more of his works are found scattered around campus. Much to y/n’s delight, she always seems to fall upon them as though they’ve been placed specifically on her path. It didn’t start as obvious though; the first following pieces hung in common areas around campus such as the lunch hall or the student center but as time went by they tended to follow her whereabouts somehow. Y/n knows she’s probably fabulating but when she’d stumble across two absolutely stunning pieces in the lobby of her gym and at the entrance of the psychology building, she couldn’t help but feel deeply attached to them. And the possibility that this mystery artist might have the same attachment to her, only fuels her obsession further, sending her reeling with all but one nerve-wracking question: who is this guy?

And it’s not like she’s the only one pondering over their identity either. Hell, the genius has literally everyone on campus under their spell, trying to uncover the enigma of the year. Everyone seems to be determined to find clues, easter eggs hidden within the paintings that could lead them closer to the truth. El Patrón has effectively turned the whole uni into a large-scale game of Cluedo, people speculating left and right and swapping theories about who it can or cannot be, what year they are probably in, or whether they have an accomplice. Nobody has ever executed such a tour de force in the history of campus, and it has everyone one edge, y/n included, desperate to be in the loop.

The fact that each painting is more beautiful than the last and always seems to connect with her in personal ways doesn’t help her daydreaming either. Take the one she found at the gym for example, for a few second she’d sworn she was looking at a familiar piece of the English South Coast, dark hues of blue fighting dots of white, reminiscent of the way foam always seems to top even the most raging waves as they crash along shores. She’d only had to close her eyes to feel the wind blowing her hair in a thousand directions and the sand engulfing her feet, making its way between her toes and every crevice of her skin. She was still in the middle of her gym when she reopened them though, her sport bag straddling her shoulder as she kept gaping at the painting in adoration.

Her suspicious keeps nagging at her head, the desire to unveil the identity of her beloved artist getting stronger by the day. The feeling is almost unbearable when she spots yet another work of his across from Bottom’s Up. The coincidences keep piling up and the more she mulls it over, the more she’s convinced this mystery guy is talking to her. Damn, is it possible to have a crush on someone because of their work? After months of this cryptic scavenger hunt, she’d dying to know if all her theories are right and the fact that she has no way to find out, is positively killer her.

That’s why when she stumbles across a flyer for a midterm exhibition gala hosted by the art department as she waits in line at her favorite coffee shop, she doesn’t think twice before jotting down all the info. In a week time, most of the uni’s art students would be gathered up in one place to present their term’s work. The chances are too high for y/n to pass up the opportunity, her guts telling her he’ll be there. It makes sense doesn’t it? Surely, this El Patrón ought to be an art student if not a teacher. How else would they have access to all the campus amenities most of the paintings were found in? 

As she goes to pick up her coffee from the counter, y/n walks with a newfound spring in her steps; she really can’t wait for this gala to happen.

                                                       ***

Y/n stands at the entrance of the art building, a black floor-length long-sleeves open-back dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Her heart speeds up at the nervous jitters crawling underneath her skin, and the million question swarming her frantic mind. What if he actually doesn’t know her and doesn’t give a damn about her thoughts on his work? What if it’s actually a woman and she’s been hiding a man’s pen-name to consolidate her deceit? Is she about to make the biggest fool out of herself by coming to this exhibition? She doesn’t know anyone here, nor has she ever been to this kind of event before but she’s decided this guessing game has run its course. Maybe this all thing has nothing to do with her and that’s okay. All she really wants is to have a chance to tell this exquisite mind how remarkable their work is; the rest be damned.

Y/n slowly makes her way inside, and after a quick stop at the coat room to dispose of the unnecessary garment, she is finally greeted by a room full of dressed-up people roaming  and chatting around, champagne flutes in hands. How cliche, she thinks with humor, before picking up a glass of the bubbly beverage. It’ll help sooth the nerves, she reasons as she starts walking around the place to observe each of the displays. Despite not having had a glimpse of her number-one painter yet, she finds herself having a good time. Most of the work offered to her is engaging in one way or another; some pieces quite provocative is their depiction, others straight out pushing the limits of 2D, with structures coming out of the canvas as though they were about to grip at the viewer. 

Turning at a corner, she comes across his art before she sees him, having almost forgotten art was supposedly his thing too, and she realizes she actually knew someone here apart from the mysterious painter. She takes a brief look at his tall frame, the baby blue suit over his crisp white shirt fitting him perfectly. A black tie is completing the look, and it makes y/n waver for a second. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and the bar’s t-shirt every employee is supposed to wear on call. Granted, even that he can make work better than anyone else she can think of, but that suit is something else altogether. 

Her eyes shifts back to his work, not wanting to waste too much time on his appearance; she is here on a mission after all. She can’t deny his painting is good as much as she wants too. It’s made of a perfectly executed optic illusion that has her pause for longer than she intended to. The colors are picked wisely only adding to the entrancing design, tempting the viewer to reach out to the painting to convince themselves that this is fact a pretty subterfuge and no reality; the frontier between both worlds much too hard to distinguish. Just like for the rest of the exhibition, a single plaque hangs underneath the canvas, introducing the title of the piece above the name of its artist: Fine Line by Harry Styles. Damn, the bastard had to be talented…

"Is it as depthless as you thought it would be?" A hoarse voice interrupts her inner thoughts. She knows it’s his at the first word and already she regrets ever thinking positive things about him.

"Funny, I would have shared a compliment but you just had to go and open your stupid mouth," she bites back as she fully turns around to face him. She can feel is eyes shamelessly scanning her body, sending her nerves on overdrive. She wants this exchange to be as curt as possible, she’s got important matters to tend to.

"Here for you mysterious bloke, I presume?" he inquires in a taunting voice.

"What’s it to you, anyway?" y/n dodges the question with another, hoping it’ll steer the conversation toward its end.

She’s answered by rosy pouting lips, a hand on his heart in faux vexation, "ouch, was just hopin’ you’d come to see me, and now you’ve just crushed my dreams, love."

The pet-name is not lost on her and Y/n has had enough. In own gulp she downs the rest of her champagne and forces the glass to his chest for him to hold as she makes her way past him, "just leave me alone and go be a pain in someone else’s ass, Harry." She doesn’t wait to see if he’s following her as she marches across the room in long and purposeful strides. 

Something in the corner of her eyes catches her attention right then. Halting abruptly, almost making someone walk right into her, she turns her head to the side and that’s when she finally sees it. A whole part of the wall has been dedicated to his work, a shrine of his most outstanding pieces randomly hung against the white surface. Y/n recognizes each and every one of them, but then her eyes take in the extra work added for the exhibition: next to each of the pieces are displayed a bunch of photos capturing the students’ expressions as they first discovered the paintings. Dozens of faces lighting up in amazement, widening eyes and finger pointing at the unexpected intrusions; some show confusion and puzzlement while others simply behold laughter and animated conversation.

In the center of the wall, a video is projected. It’s a compilation of those same moments but this time captured on tape. The sound was removed, but as y/n takes in the faces of her fellow students she can almost hear the sound of their laughters; she’d been there for most of it after all. She thinks the idea is amazing, El Patrón has managed to make the viewer a permanent part of the art. The paintings are marvelous of course, full of emotions and passion, but the mysterious artist has gone one step further by also displaying how those emotions had reflected back on the audience. It is an ode to art, to the power of sharing, and proves art is limitless; not owned by museums, not bound between walls and certainly not restricted for trained-eyes only. Because art isn’t all about beauty, it speaks for the need for sharing that human have but often forget, and this is a perfect reminder of it.

The next tape playing has her eyes doubling over the video, a small gasp escaping her lips as she takes in her own figure. It was taken the day she found the painting at the gym and unlike all the other videos she’s alone. No group of students by her side elbowing her in disbelief, or sharing a puzzle look with her. Just her doe eyes gleaming at the painting, lips slightly parted in pure wonder, as she studies every inch of the canvas. And the feeling that this might mean just as much to him as it does to her comes back crashing on her. She’s not paranoid; this artist his using her as some kind of inspiration, she’s sure of it. Random cannot be this accurate, it would defy any laws of statistics. 

After the slideshow finally moves on to the next video, y/n looks around in the hopes of finding the man that has wormed his way into her heart. She’s imagined it a thousand times over during the past week. A young man would be discretely standing on the side, watching the evening pan out and waiting for her to find his work. Then they would make eye contact and he’d make his way over to greet her and share more of his beautiful mind with her. That’s the happily ever after she’s hoped for since that first painting in the library, but alas everyone around her seems to be engrossed in conversation about this and that. 

"I thought he would be there too," the unexpected voice makes her jump. She recognizes the student from that first day, she’d also be intrigued by the mysterious man.

"I know, all of his work is here, he has to somewhere around," y/n tries to convince herself. She hasn’t given up yet, she won’t let herself unless she goes home tonight empty-handed. Only after that will she stop searching, she promises herself. If he doesn’t show up tonight, then that’s because he doesn’t want to be found.

The girl next to her has the same disappointed tone when she explains, "you’d think so, but I’ve been asking everyone around and nobody has a clue still."

Before y/n can come up with her own rationalizations, someone starts speaking in a microphone, asking for everyone’s attention. It’s a man in his early fifties making a speech about the whole reason behind the exhibition so y/n pegs him as the head of the art department. "Thank you all for coming tonight, it is always a pleasure to see so many of you supporting our young talents. As you may know, tonight’s exhibition signs off our students’ final work for the semester, and will also see one of them receive a one-time collaboration with a renown art gallery in the city. Now, before the judges finish deliberating, let me tell you a bit about the topic of this exhibition which, by the way, serves as the main criteria for this contest. Our artists were asked to work around audience engagement and crowd reaction. The task was to produce art that would prompt an active response from the viewer and go beyond a passive experience. I hope this info helps this event take all its sense, I’ll let you all meander for a couple more minutes before we announce the winner. Thank you for your presence." 

Since she has a couple more of minutes, y/n decides to take advantage of the fresh insight she was just given about the artwork and goes around the exhibition one more time. The whole thing does take on a new meaning, now that she knows what was going one in the students’ mind as they first got their assignment. But what has her in awe really, is El Patrón’s coup de maître in all of this, because unlike any other applicant here tonight, he’s had the strongest reactions from the public for months now and had even documented it. So really, in a way he’s already won, no bias to blame. The amount of work and planning behind such a tour de force surely has exceeded everyone’s expectations and secured the number-one position for the still-to-be-revealed artist. In the pocket, as they say.

"Alright everyone, without further ado we are going to announce the lucky talent selected by the judges tonight," the head of department speaks up again. "On behalf of the whole department, I would like to salute each and every one of the students that presented their work tonight. Skills are certainly not scarce among you all, and as always it gives me great pleasure to see you all grow into yourselves alongside your craft. As you know, there can only be one of you coming up to this stage tonight and I must say, this semester has proved to be full of surprises. Never in my 26 years working here have I ever seen something of the sort, so ladies, gentleman, I have no idea who is about to join me now, but please give a warm round of applause for El Patrón!" 

The room explodes in loud cheers as people clap their hands in honor of the mysterious artist. Y/n probably the loudest amongst them all, is still craning her neck in every possible directions trying to catch sight of anyone moving towards the stage. The standing ovation quickly fades into silence as everyone realizes nobody is coming to claim their prize. The usual hushing following any of El Patrón’s stunts is once again spreading across the room to match people’s incredulity at the situation. It was one thing to keep their identity a secret, as it was clearly a crucial condition for the plan to work, but now that it is all over and done, prize ready for the taking, it doesn’t make much sense.

"Mister El Patrón? I think you more than deserve to drop your mask and receive your prize," the host reiterates in hopes that the much awaited artist comes out of his lair, but he’s met with the same result. Perhaps he’s not here after all, or perhaps y/n was right to think he might not want to be found, but regardless a strong feeling of disappointment takes over a body. He won’t be coming, she knows. No matter how many times the host calls for him, he won’t be coming. 

She lets out a long sign in frustration then, she really thought tonight was the tonight. But now that the evening is coming to its end, tears pearl at the corner of her eyes and she just wants to go home and forget all about El Patrón. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and twisted anyway? Maybe she just dodges a bullet, she tries to make herself feel better, but no amount of sarcasm can save her from the painful pinch at her heart. As she comes to term with the fact she won’t get any more answers by staying (and possible ever), she decides it’s her cue to go. 

On her way to the exit, her eyes fall upon Harry’s slightly hunched figure. He seems deep in his thoughts, eyes fixed towards the floor though he’s not looking at anything in particular. For some unknown reason, y/n is not irked by his presence like she usually is. He’s just lost a great career opportunity so his preoccupied disposition is understandable. Feeling as though she needs to end the night on a different note - whether positive is yet to be determined - she approaches him slowly as not to startle him. "Your painting is really good. I’m sorry you didn’t win, but you should still be proud," she softly tells him to cheer him up. At least, one of them might get to go home in higher spirits. 

He looks up at her then, curls bouncing on top of his head, as he aligns his two glistening emeralds to her own gems. He seems quite surprised to hear her voice, probably rightfully so since he can count on one hand (scratch that, one finger) the number of times she’s actively sought him out for conversation. She can tell he’s debating whether to say something or not, as they keep their eyes locked. It’s probably the longest and only civil exchange they’ve ever had, and somehow it manages to soothe some of her sorrows. 

Y/n likes this reflective side of him, she realizes. Not that she wishes him any torments (at least not tonight) but his quietness makes him look vulnerable in that beautifully human way for once. That’s twice he’s proven her wrong about the assumptions she had on him, tonight: first his talent, now his character; she doesn’t know what to make of it. Silently, she accepts the timid smile and light nod he offers her in gratitude, before making her way to out at last.

                                                       ***

Two days after the night of the exhibition, y/n still has a hard time to let her grievance go. Her mood has yet to upgrade from crappy at best, and the fact that all the artwork has been removed from their previous spots is not helping much. Of course she knew they had been put down for the big night, but her heart still missed a beat when she went to the gym only to find the walls of the lobby bare of any craft that would liven up their otherwise dull and colorless structure. Just like her state of mind, she’d joked. And y/n is not one to throw pity parties, especially to herself; but then again, she’d never fallen under the charms of a faceless virtuoso because his art brought to life parts of her that she’d believed otherwise dormant, only to be metaphorically stood up at the end of the process. So really, what does she know anymore?

Now that she’s back at work, she revels in the constant effort she has to provide. The ever-growing list of task to complete gives her mind reprieve and focus, but she still hasn’t budged from her unusually distant and withdrawn self. Even harry’s own standoffishness hasn’t caught her attention; a week ago, his awkward demeanor would have flashed red flags all over her radar. An unfiltered narcissistic prick he could be, but y/n has never known him to be anything even resembling reserve; apart maybe from that one fate-less night not even 72 hours ago when she found him on the outskirts of the attention even though she knew full well that he is more of center kind of guy.

As they’re about to start closing, the awkwardness becomes more palpable by the second. They’ve skirted around it during the whole shift, the steady solicitation of customers enough to ignore the growing tension; but as the last of the patrons finally make their way out of the bar, an eery silence settles in their wake, making them both want to crawl out of their skin. Even the heavy-served drinks they’ve indulged in, despite the absence of their respective motives, hasn’t help assuage the strain between them. Instead, they start their usual routine in overrated silence, y/n in charge of the floor while he tends to the bar. Then before long, Harry bursts the uncomfortable bubble they’ve locked themselves in, voice void of its usual teasing tone, "so, what’s got you so grumpy?" he inquires.

"Please don’t start, Harry. I really can’t be bothered tonight," y/n sighs in response, failing to recognize the note of concern in his question and thinking she wouldn’t survive another bickering session. It hasn’t been the lad’s intention though, so her false accusation has his thick skin itching against his will. To be honest, Harry’s never taken much offense from any of their past squabbles no matter how hard she’d come at him, but this one he can’t brush off. Not when for once, he’s trying to be decent, dropping the attitude he knows rubs her the wrong way and she responds by telling him to get lost.

"Fuck sake, I wasn’t tryin’ to start anythin’" he berates her for lashing out unjustifiably, "you need to take a chill pill." The hostile reaction as her pausing mid-swipe in the middle of the room. He was always so unbothered by everything she said, she hasn’t expected him to be so hard on the defensive (or even know what a defensive is in the first place). 

Still, she doesn’t appreciate the same chastising tactic he’s used on her countless times, especially because given his serious temper, she knows he means it for real now. "Oh I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t know what sympathy actually sounds like coming from your mouth," she quips back in sarcasm. 

The response makes him livid, "you tell me I’m a jerk every chance you got, but you sure know how to be a bitch, y/n" he spats before finishing wiping the counter. As his hand reaches the end of the surface, he finds his half-empty glass of tequila, most of the ice completely melted through the amber liquor by now. He takes one long sip in a vain attempt to calm his nerves but the alcohol merely tingles the back of his palate and warms its way down his stomach. His mind is still burden with frustrations he doesn’t know how to alleviate; the end of term, the exhibition, his career’s future, and y/n’s stubborn nature all wreaking havoc in his tired brain.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry. I didn’t ask for your attention," y/n retorts, trying not to expose how bruised her heart is. While he’d mocked her plenty during the past two years, he’d never resorted to calling her names, unlike her; so the insult does more damage than she’s willing to admit, even coming from Harry. And to think she’d thought of him as a half decent being not three days ago…

"Right, I forgot only anonymous bastards are worthy enough of your attention," he replies before checking the shelves behind the bar to make sure they’re stocked enough for the next shift. "And even when they turn out to be cowards, you still choose them over the people that are actually around you. You need to open your eyes and wake up, it’s pathetic."

Y/n has almost finished cleaning her area but at this point, she’s ready to call it quits and run as fast as she can, away from him. "Go fuck yourself, you don’t know anything you’re talking about," she manages to croak past her swelling throat and quivering lips. The man in front of her is breaking her heart even though he’s never had it in his calloused hands, and y/n doesn’t know why. 

"Fuck this, ’m done," he quite literally throws in the towel, leaving it in a bowl on the counter before making his way back to his drink. In a swift movement, he grabs the bottle of tequila to pour himself a new one. "You keep blindly mopin’ about your precious painter, I don’t care, you’re probably right anyway," he says before chugging the bitter spirit in one go and slamming the bottle of tequila down on the counter in a loud bang that has y/n jump in fear. "I don’t anything about bloody anything," is all Harry says as he locks eyes with hers, before making his out of the bar, not bothering to put the bottle back to its rightful place.

Y/n is still trembling from the exchange, and it takes her a hot minute before she can finish what she was doing. As she resumes wiping the floor with shaky hands, she tries to even her breath out. Why had he been so hurtful? What could have possibly impelled him to utter such malicious words? The questions are still reeling in her mind as she twists water out of the mop  for the last time. Once the floor is spotless and all the tables are no longer sticky with spilled alcohol, chairs stacked up onto them upside-down, she makes her way back behind the bar, checking that Harry didn’t leave any of his duties unattended before his theatrical exit. She spots the bottle of tequila sitting lonely on the counter but just as she goes to reach for it, she freezes. 

It’s a cold shower pouring over her body all at once then, dots finally connected as her eyes read over the label of the fat bottle she’s seen him take out of the stack countless times before. Everything that happened for the last few months falls into place and suddenly there is no mystery left to be solved. ‘You’re probably right, I don’t know anything about bloody anything’ Harry’s final words keep playing on a maddening loop in her head. 

Y/n takes in the small bee design printed under what is unmistakably the last piece of the puzzle she’s been craving to complete: one word that has her stomach churning in a myriad of emotions she can’t possibly untangle. Anger, relief, surprise, fear, curiosity, warmth and more, are all rushing through her in one colossal wave, because printed on that bottle in black capital letters is the brand of Harry’s favorite drink: Patrón.

                                                       ***

The next day, y/n navigates through her classes purely on autopilot mode. She doesn’t quite remember picking the floral blouse nor the light-shade pair of jeans she’s wearing, and barely recalls the brief conversation she had with an old lady during her bus commute to campus. One thing she sure as hell hasn’t paid one iota of attention to, is the behavioral psychology class she’s just got out of. Two hours she spent pacing up and down every twist and turn of her mind only to come out more lost than she’d started. Add to that the fact she’s running on 4 hours of sleep, she’s quite simply a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for y/n, she isn’t due at work tonight, having called sick this morning, because sleep-deprivation aside, she still has no idea how she’s supposed to face Harry.

The revelation of the night prior is still something she has trouble wrapping her mind around, as it goes against every constructed opinion she’s made about her life. Harry is Patrón, she’s pretty sure. Harry, the allegedly conceited asshole she’s been bickering with since their first minute spent together, is the mind-blowing painter that had taken residence in y/n’s heart since the first time she set eyes on his art. The two characters have yet to fully merge into one in her mind, despite the fact it makes perfect sense to her. 

The Brighton painting, the one inspiring her necklace, it was all true. And with that revelation comes two intimidating truths y/n is kind of scared to delve into: one, all this time she’s been right to think she is the muse behind this all scheme; two, if Harry is the mystery painter, that makes her Harry’s muse more specifically. And that’s the part of the equation she struggles the most with, because up until last night she was pretty positive that the twat despised her (the night in itself being prime evidence of that) but now she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s like there are two versions of Harry battling in her brain, splitting her heart in halves; the one that made her miserable at work for years and made her cry last night, and the one she’d gotten a glimpse of at the night of the exhibition. The one that hid a fully blossomed bouquet of emotions behind teasing banter to protect a diamond-rough talent that had the power to touch just about anyone’s sensibility. The one that had her wrapped around his finger in awe with that beautiful mind of his. The question is, can she or will she see this Harry the next time she’s facing him or will all their bad-blood history come crashing down on her instead? Y/n doesn’t think she’s ever fit more the definition of having mixed feelings about something.

On her way home, she makes sure she doesn’t fall asleep against the bus window, despite yawning every thirty-seconds. It feels like the trip is taking forever, she almost lets out a cry of relief when the automated voice finally announces her upcoming stop. Once she’s thanked the driver and stepped out of the bus, she’s met with a gust of brisk air, instantly blowing her hair all over her face. She draws the lapels of her coat tighter around her shivering body and starts making her way towards her apartment building. 

It doesn’t take her long to complete the walking distance to her place and tread her way up the stairs, but the sight greeting her in the hallway of her floor almost sends her down on her ass. Because right across from her door, is Harry hanging yet another one of his chefs-d’oeuvre. He’s dressed casually in his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble, with a thick grey hoodie covering his broad upper-half in a feeble attempt to combat to cold weather raging outside. As he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sharpie - no doubt to apply his trademark signature - the movements of her feet on the laminated floor catch his attention. Spinning around in a jolt of surprise, he realizes too late that he’s been caught red-handed. There was no going back this time, but he doesn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing.

There is a short moment where they are both just standing in front of each other a few feet apart, as their eyes bounce back in silent conversation, before y/n softly breaths out, "so it is you." The weight of her words has him swallow in nervousness, "of course it’s me," he replies in a gentle tone. A smile pulls at his lips when he realizes she’s not running for the hills or bursting out in a furious rant. 

"I just…how? why? I mean, you gotta help me understand Harry, cause I’m pretty fucking lost over here," she blurts out with wide doe-eyes begging him for answers. Her obvious jitters earn her a soft chuckle., and for a hot minute all he can bring himself to do is study her snuggled figure and the way she keeps fiddling with her keys. It’s so endearing to him, if they were at his place, he would have offered to make some tea. The thought has him hesitantly looking at the door across from them, "can we maybe talk inside?" he inquires, beckoning his head towards her place. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to let me in, but I promise I’ll explain everythin’," he feels the need to convince her, " after that, you can kick me out if you still want."

The last bit has her smile timidly, "yeah, let’s go inside. I wanna hear what you have to say," y/n admits as she steps to the door and unlocks it. She’s intrigued by how gentle and well-mannered the man following her to the living room seems to be, light years away from the rowdy lad she’s come to know. 

For a second, y/n is worries about the state she’s left the apartment before she rushed to classes this morning, but her apprehensions quickly go away once she takes in the sight of her rather tidied living space. A velvety throw blanket is covering the couch in a makeshift comforter from the way she spent the night on the couch, and apart from a few class notes scattered across the coffee table, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be. 

They both discard their top layers on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Harry slipping his hoodie off above his head in one swift gesture, while y/n simply lets the sleeves of her coat slide down her arms. He brushes his hair back into submission with one swoop of his hand, before sitting down on the couch and directing his attention back at her. She decides to leave some distance between them, taking the other end of the sofa and the move desperately makes him wonder what thoughts are running through her head. The only way to uncover them  however, is if he starts talking first; and so he does.

"So uhm," he starts clumsily, clearing his throat, "remember the first day we met, you walked in on me telling some stoner guy off," he watches closely as y/n nods. "It was our first ever conversation and we fought through the whole thing. I was pretty pissed when it happened, not gonna lie, but once I got home and slept it off, I thought it was really cool how you’d stand up for that random guy." The admission has her eyebrows raising but he keeps going, "and okay maybe, just maybe, I found it a lil hot, the way you tried to put me back in my place." 

He stops to make sure he hasn’t offended her, "tried to?" she challenges instead, Harry laughing at her objection. 

"Right, maybe you did. My poin’ is, no-one really calls me out on my bullshit, so it was kinda refreshing that you did. But then the next day, you were still mad at me, an’ we bickered that time too. It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So in a way, all I had left was doin’ this thing where I push your buttons and rile you up. Know it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way you’d interact with me so I kept doin’ it, because being jerk-Harry was better than having nothin’." 

He pauses for a minute and waits as y/n swallows all the information. All this time he’s been teasing her just to have some sort of connection, no matter how perverse, while she thought he just hated her guts. When she shares this thought with him, he shakes his head with a smile, "never hated you. If I ‘ad, I wouldn’t have bothered talking t’you."

Suddenly, her chest feels lighter, as though all this months of anguish had evaporated from her mind, now that she knew their rocky relationship was the result of miscommunication, "sound logic, Styles," she replies in good humor. Then she remembers the El Patrón’s fiasco so she urges him to go on.

"My final. Right. Well as you know, we were given the assignment at the beginning of the semester, and I came up with the idea of creating this alter ego that would plant his work around campus. I thought by taking people’s by surprise I was guaranteed strong genuine reactions. People are always more opened when they don’t expect it. Like if I had just brought my paintings on the night of the exhibition, the same people wouldn’t have reacted that way, probably because they’d know they’d be observed so they would have adjusted their behavior accordingly." They both know he’s getting slightly off trail, but watching y/n so enthralled with his words makes it hard for him to stop. Fact is, for month she’s dreamed of meeting and picking at the brain of this mysterious painter, and now that he’s sitting on her couch, walking her through his thought process, she finally feels like she is. 

"Anyway," he resumes the storytelling, "I started with that painting in the library and it worked so perfectly, I knew if I followed the plan I would have somethin’ really good. But then you just had to go on an’ rave about the paintings without knowing they were mine, and it was killin’ me inside. Because I knew if there was a real chance I could change your mind about me, I’d do anythin’. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t jeopardize my final… so I tried to tell you through the art. I started painting stuff that made me think of you and placed the pieces in locations I knew you’d pass through. It was the only way I could tell you."

Harry’s confession had Y/n’s heart beating so hard in her chest, she can almost feel it thumping through her ears. Her next question is on the edge of her lips, but she takes her time tracing each of Harry’s graceful features until his eyes catch hers, "tell me what, Harry?" she asks barely above a whisper. 

His response comes in three bashful steps: first his lips curve into a shy grin that has him look down with rosy cheeks; then his hand inches its way along the soft fabric of the couch to gently hold her fingers, thumb grazing over her knuckles; and as he looks up from their joined hands to connect their gaze once more, he finally spells it, loud and clear, "tell you that I like you, y/n." 

The sentiment sends her own emotions reeling in a tornado of passion. This is it, this is what she’s been half-knowingly wishing for, and now that she knows the truth in full, she’s ready to embrace it. Her eyes twinkle in bliss, a growing smile illuminating her face as she squeezes his hand in a silent invitation to slide closer to her. Harry is much happy to oblige, and once he’s sitting directly next to her, knees grazing her own, he cups her face with one of his bear-paw hands. A few strands of hair are caught in the cuddling gesture, but none of them care. Harry just keeps smiling at her, waiting for her next move, and his beam grows two sizes wide when she mirrors his affection. "I like this side of you," she whispers fondly, as her thumb draws slow circles across the skin of his cheeks.

Harry closes his eyes at her words, "this is the real me, I promise," he reassures in an almost pleading tone, vulnerability seeping through. And y/n feels like she’s lying down on cloud nine really, because dropping his fortress of pretentiousness is all she’s ever want from him. With a hushed ‘okay’, she finally brings her mouth to taste the rose-tinted flesh of his. It starts off chaste and slow, lips dovetailed in perfect symbioses like they are made to cohabit, but quickly the kiss heats up to a full on make out session. "Show me, then", y/n mutters out when they part for a breather.

Harry slowly nods his head, before helping her straddle his lap and y/n immediately brings both her hands to his neck once she settles her hips against his. The friction already had them deeply inhale, trying not to work themselves up too fast, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll have much self-control when it comes to y/n. Already he can feel his cock fattening up inside his brief, the tingling sensation making him roll his hips up into hers. Their lips are back in a sensual duel, tongues tentatively taking their turn to lick their way inside the other’s mouth. Every now and then, he teases her bottom lip with a graze of his teeth, and the move as her tugging the root of his hair at the back of his head every single time without a fail.

He loves discovering all the quirks and tells of her body, thinks he could spend hours on hand learning every single one of her curves and memorizing each of her special spots. The smell of her fragrance infiltrates his nostrils as he dips his head to her neck to plant open-month kisses along her skin. Head angled towards the ceiling to make room for his ministrations, y/n can’t do much but let her hands scout any expanse of skin accessible to her. She starts at his shoulder, squeezing the flesh to feel out the strong muscle laying underneath, before making her way down his tone arms, then to his hands currently holding onto to her waist. She gives them an affectionate pinch at the same time she presses down onto him with a deep moan, and Harry retaliates with a buck of his own. 

As he starts kissing down the exposed skin of her cleavage, y/n finally drops her head to place a tender kiss to his hairline. One of her hand is back at his neck, holding him firmly to her chest as he licks at the valley of her breasts down her sternum. The other worms its way underneath his shirt from the neckline, nails grazing down his back in soft enough pressure not to leave any marks.

Harry’s descent is obstructed by the soft material of her blouse, so he takes the garment off of her in one swoop, and places his hands back on her newly exposed body, rubbing up and own the skin. As his mouth goes back to the supple flesh of her breasts, y/n increases the pace of her hips grinding on his cock. The sensations seem to be not enough and too much at the same time for her; the heavy material still covering their most sensitive parts in the way of her pleasure, while Harry’s work has her going into overdrive under his velveteen mouth and calloused fingers. She starts kissing her way up from his shoulder to the edge of his jaw, and Harry revels in the sound of her moans tickling his ear. 

Done with the excess of fabric between them two, y/n grips at the top of his shirt and pulls it upwards, leaving him shirtless. "Fuck, I didn’t know you have so many tattoos," she babbles against his lips, while her hands smooth over the ink. 

"Plenty you don’t know about me, love," Harry chirps as he bask in the praise and the feeling of her skin of his. 

He then circles one arm around her waist to bring them chest to chest, and the contact has y/n once again intensify the friction between their crotches. "Wanna find out," she murmurs against his neck while she grinds on his clothed member, "Harry, please take me to bed."

He jolts at the quick bite she delivers to his neck, the impish gesture her way of saying ‘now’ but before she can make her way out of his lap to bring him to her room, he presses her back down with both hands on her waist. "Nuh uh, y’not goin’ anywhere. Want you to come once, b’fore I take you to bed, pet," he says, smoothing his hands over her ass to guide her rocking motions. The term of endearment sounds so innocent yet dirty all at once, it sends a chill down her spine. Nobody had called her that before.

"Can’t," she shakes her head, "can’t feel you through the jeans."  

"Alright then, stand up," he calmly asserts and she doesn’t hesitate to comply, standing in between his spread legs, in her flimsy bra and jeans. "Take ‘em off then, ’s what you want no?" he sends her a tantalizing look and bites at his lips as he watches her peel the pants off her legs. He can’t help the light squeeze he gives himself through his own jeans, as y/n stands in front of him awaiting his next instructions. "Come sit on my thigh now, think should be enough to make this pretty pussy tingle in all the right places, no?" 

Y/n’s insides are already twisting in a knot as she settles back on his lap and lets the rough material of his jeans against the softness of her cotton panties spread a prickling sensation through her pelvis area. Quickly, she resumes undulating her hips, gripping back at Harry’s neck to pull him in a languid kiss, pleasure vibrating against their lips. It is not long before her pace picks up, and her eyes shut at the intensity of her bliss. "That’s it, pet. Already makin’ a mess of me. You’re doin’ so well," he coaxes her with his words. 

As promised, y/n feels the lips of her sensitivity start to throb at her impending release, the sensation making her clamp her thighs tighter around his meaty limb. As her knee now presses against his bulge, Harry cries his sudden pleasure out in her mouth, and that’s all it takes for her to let her orgasm consume her. She unravels on top of him, one of her hands shooting to cup at her pussy in an attempt to quell the overwhelming throb. Harry draws soothing caresses down her back as he look at the sticky mess she’s left in her panties, damp patch matching the one tainting the material of his jeans. "All ruined, just as they should be," he smirks at the sight before giving her a sweet kiss. 

Flushed skin and blown pupils, she slowly regains her breath, "take off your pants and take me to bed now?" she requests.

"You’re quite demanding for someone who’s just gotten off," he keeps taunting her. After all, winding her up has always been one of his favorite thing to do, and dare he say in the past two years, he’s gotten quite good at pushing her buttons. Now he’s got new ones to figure out and play with, the thoughts has him pulsing in his jeans. 

Y/n doesn’t relent in her advances, she’s never been one to bow at his mockery, "thought you like how bossy I could be. Something about the way I put you in your place, if my memory serves right." 

"Anytime, anywhere, you’re the boss of me, love. But this," he cups at her cunt, adding pressure on her clit, "this is mine to have. Understood?" 

Y/n’s about to combust from all the desire firing up every one of her nerve-endings. His words might be the strongest aphrodisiac she’s ever experienced, she can’t wait to see what more tricks in has up his sleeves. "Now get up and show me the way to your room, pet," he softly commands before leaving a peck on her cheek. 

They both get up from the couch, and y/n guides them both down the hallway to her room, her hand wrapped in his tightly. Once they’re standing by the bed, Harry is surprised to face a patient y/n, biting her lips and awaiting his next directive. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life, "undress me, love" he murmurs against her skin after kissing her forehead. 

His jeans are quickly discarded but before his boxer briefs follow suit, y/n can’t help but tease him in reprisal, "looks like I’m not the only one who made a mess in their panties." 

He lets out a boisterous laugh while she smears open mouth kisses along his stretching jaw, "mmm, I’d rather make a mess somewhere else," his innuendo causing her to gasp while he works the strap of her bra.  Once she’s gotten rid of his last piece of clothing, his cock springs up, free of it’s confines, dollop of pre-come already pearling at his tip, and sticking to the skin of his stomach. 

With a gentle grip at her hair, he has y/n’s head tilted backward, to let his mouth make its way towards her already pebbled nipples. Since she can’t look down, y/n blindly reaches out to wrap her hand around Harry’s thick shaft and starts massaging him in languid strokes. "Your hand feels so fuckin’ good around me, pet, I wanna fuck you so badly," he hisses around her nipple, before kissing his way back up to her lips. 

He starts backing her towards the bed in small steps, but she brings a hand to his chest at the feeling of the edge of the mattress brushing against the back of her knee, "wait, wait, wanna taste you first," she insists and Harry doesn’t think he could ever say no to that face, no matter how much he wants to just sink home inside of her in this moment. 

"Fuck, you’re killin’ me, love," he pinches at her waist and lays his forehead against hers, "you want my cock in your pretty mouth, before I drive it home in your cunt, is that it?" She nods, eyes turning into two lustful fireballs. "Okay, love, but y’ can’t keep it on your tongue fo’ too long, cause I really need to fuck you, alright?"

Y/n hastens to lower herself when he bids her "right then, on your knees and open wide fo’ me," and her brows furrow in confusion as she watches him stray from her spot. Picking up a plush cushion from her bed, he places it on the ground for her to knee upon, "there love, want you to be comfortable," he runs his fingers through her hair, and her heart grows three sizes bigger at how tender he can be in amidst his filthy ways. 

Sensually, y/n brings her lips around the crown of his cock, her tongue teasing its way across the salty skin. Once she’s licked up all the previous mess, she starts working her way down his cock, hand stroking at the base. After bopping up and down a few time, she removes her month from his swelling cock, and lets a string of spit fall down onto its head and make its way to his balls. "S’right, pet. Get me wet," Harry rasps in appreciation. Now that she’s got him properly slicked, she goes back to pumping his hardening cock and takes him into her warm inviting mouth, determined to have him all the way inside. She feels her throat expands to accommodate his thickness, and the pressure makes Harry tighten his hold in her hair, "fuck, that’s it, love. Take me good." 

Muscles already tensing up in preparation for his climax, when y/n’s hand finds his full and swollen balls to roll them together like dice, he is quick to calm her zeal, "Christ pet, you gotta stop before I can’t help myself," but his tone hardens when she defies his demand, "come on now, s’enough." 

Once she pulls off, the sight of her flushed face and puffy lips induces an animalistic groan to come out from his chest, as he thumbs through the wetness coating her chin. Taking the hand resting on his hip to guide her up, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his arousal blending in their mouths. 

His hands come down to knead at the flash of her ass, before he scoops her up and on the bed with a quick flex of his biceps. "Harry, please," she whines in impatience, hands gripping at his sides to pull him down against her. His rock hard cock slides against her clothed pussy, pins and needles cruising along their skin and only fueling their eagerness. 

"Need me in your belly, pet?" Harry keeps working her up, as he slides her soiled panties down her legs, "need me to fuck you so good, you forget I was ever a jerk?" 

She’s putty in his hold, legs wrapping around his waist to feel the pressure of his member on her bare lips , "yes, yes, I wan’ it," she pleads.

Harry would love to tease her further, have her writhing and proper begging underneath him, but at this point it would be self-torture to even consider. Instead he pumps at his shaft to give himself some relief, their sex so close his knuckles graze at her clit every time his fist comes at the top. "You ready?" Harry utters softly while spreading and skimming her cleft with the head of his cock. It has y/n gripping at his hair, a series of delirious ‘yes’ tumbling form her mouth, so he doesn’t wait a second more to push his tip past her threshold and begins his descent in her warmth. "Fuck, t’feels so good. So wet, and tight, and warm," he thinks out loud once he’s stuffer her full, balls pressing against her ass.

Y/n whimpers against his lips, urging him to start moving to quell the building pressure coiling in her belly. A slow roll of his hips finally gives her reprieve causing her to moan in gratitude. She’s already so close, it baffles her how this man could have her coming apart at the seams without doing much. His thrusts starts gaining zeal then, betraying his own yearning to take the final leap. "So tight, love. Can feel you squeezin’ me, are you close already? Is my girl gonna cum fo’ me again?" he grunts in her ear while he pounds into her dripping cunt. Y/n doesn’t offer a response, too caught up in a daze of bliss, but her clenching muscles is all the answer he needs to start nudging his thumb at her clit. A several flicks across the sensitive bud later, her orgasm is pulsing through every bone and fiber of her body, walls hugging Harry’s cock so tight, it has to pause his hammering. 

Waiting for her to catch her breath, he peppers delicate kisses along her cheek, "was that good, love? Think you can give me another, uhm?" he asks when she’s regained some of her senses. The pressure at his groin is growing more and more the longer his cock remains unmoving entombed within her vice, and the luscious agony must be written all over his face, "yes, Harry, wanna be good for you" y/n cups his jaw tenderly. 

He nods at her approval, "good girl," delivers a sweet earnest kiss to her pouty lips as he pulls out and spins her around to lay on her stomach. His hand brushes the hair off her skin so he can sew a string of kisses at her shoulder blades and neck. Painfully red, his cock is propped between her buttcheeks, "can I take you like that?" he punctuates his inquiry by rolling his hips backward, tip lingering at her soaked entrance. Y/n clutches the sheets firmly, as she murmurs a faint ‘please’, back arching at the thrills consuming her mind. 

Harry plunges in her wet core in one smooth swing, hand digging at her hip to keep her steady as the other one interlaces with hers to lay on the mattress above her head. Unforgiving lunges have y/n cinch around him, face buried in the sheets and muffling salacious wails of pleasure, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to steer from his end for much longer. He slows his cadence to steady and firm strokes, slipping a hand around her waist to polish her swell. 

A million tremors spark off the onset of Y/n’s climax as she shudders in a firework of ecstasy. Harry  doesn’t relent until he’s worked her through completion and can no longer stop the coil in his loins from snapping. His release fills her in several spurts of wet warmth before he flops down next to her, positively fucked out.

They both lay unmoving in comfortable bliss for a few minutes, before y/n plops her head on his chest and an arm around his torso, her leg sneaking in between his. "Well, here goes two years of sexual tension," Harry says jokingly, fingers drawing abstracts design on the skin of her back. It might just be his favorite canvas to paint on from now, he muses before chastising himself at the onslaught of filthy thoughts tagging along. A playful slap on his abdomen takes his mind out of the gutter, "don’t ruin the moment," y/n says in fake admonition before placing a tender kiss on the spot she just abused. 

"M’sorry, love. M’just really chuffed to be in your bed finally," the last word reminding her that while she’s struggled to come to term with her feelings for him, ransacking her mind for a possible change of heart, he’d only seen her in but one light. The revelation still has her floored and giddy, "can I ask you something?" she asks as there was still one question pacing back and forth the pathways of her mind. Harry hums in acquiescence, "anythin’ love, by brain is yours."  

She feels his hand cradling her skull followed by a small peck to her forehead, and she smiles at the gesture, "why did you stay away that night at the exhibition when you got the prize? Why not coming forward?" It’s been bugging her brain since it happened. Although she didn’t have much insight on anything at the time, most of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place after the big reveal; but this, she still can’t make sense of.

Harry lets out a long breath, organizing his thoughts, "two reasons," he starts off tiredly. "One, I kinda like having this secret business going on, and like, as long as nobody knows, I am in control of how and when it happens, you know? And the moment I let go of that, I can’t go back." He searches her face for any hint of confusion but she’s just patiently listening. "Two, when we bumped into each other at the gala, I got convinced you’d never see me differently regardless of how good a painter I was; and that had become a big part of who El Patrón was." 

It’s the first time she hears his alter ego’s name from his mouth and with how flowingly natural it sounded coming out of his lips, y/n suspects that it’d been a conscious decision on his part. She recalls their interaction that night, the way they fell in their usual ways of ping-ponging vindictive words until one of them has enough and leaves the premises (usually y/n). A lump starts forming in her throat at the recollection of all the other fights they’ve had and how they’d all been pointless wastes of time and energy, now that she knows she is meant to be in his arms. She wishes things could have been different but the warmth of his body around her overweighs her regrets. They’re here now, looking bright toward the future, and it’s all that matters.

"I’ll keep your secret if you want, be the Lilly to your Hannah Montana," she tells him lightly before they both laugh at the silly reference. 

Happiness and glee has Harry tightening his hold around her shoulder, "nah, I don’t wanna play double-agents anymore. I wanna be the guy who gets the girl." He dips his head to catch her lips between his own, reveling in their newfound intimacy. Turning her face against his chest, Y/n impresses her bashful smile on his swallow-tattooed skin, before she lays a trail of pecks tickling the area underneath his armpits, "well, you got me now."

➪ Masterlist

[serosinkyslut]

“I need you”

Sero x fem!Black reader

Warnings: mentions of drugs, smut, p r a i s e, slight bruising, some overstim w/ nipple play, panic attack, angst, choking, and squirting

Summary: You’re about to tell Sero a thing or two after getting a call from him at 3am. But his response leads to a different discussion…

Word count: about 2.7k

Author’s note: Quick question/// how did we all come to an agreement that Sero smokes?? Is this canon? Could it be canon?

Authors note pt. 2: I didn’t think the angst would be so long, so just skip to the {***}asterisks if you just wanna read the smut

The Sero you know has always been calm, cool, and collected. When you receive a phone call at 3am, you assume it’s one of his usual antics; him asking you if you’ve heard Megan’s new song, explaining why Denki is such a dumbass, or his take on the Netflix show you told him to watch. The bright light of your phone stings your eyes before you hear the ringtone. Taki Taki by Selena Gomez blasts from your nightstand- a song Sero knew annoyed the crap out of you, and hence forced you to set it as his ringtone after a bet you lost months ago. Hearing it so many times now, after all, Sero was your best friend and boyfriend, the tune wasn’t as bad. As you reach over to answer it, silencing the dumb song, you’re semi-pissed off and ready to tell Sero that whatever he has to say can definitely wait til morning. You were exhausted and had just seen Sero only a few hours ago. However, when you answer the phone, the soft but audible sniffle instantly shuts you up.

There’s a shaky breath before “y/n...I....” he pauses, trying to regain control of his broken voice. Your heart squeezes terribly as he tried to force himself to talk. What had happened? You were just laughing together not too long ago.

“Sero? What’s wrong? Are you okay??”

You hear him struggling to tell you what’s going on with him, but only a strangled cry comes out as he bursts into tears. You’ve never heard Sero this broken, this distraught. Hell, you’ve hardly ever seen him have a semi bad day. Tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. It hurts you to know that your bestfriend is in so much pain.

“I need you,” he manages to get out through gasps.

“I’m on my way right now,” you tell him in a smooth, stable voice. You’re scared that it’ll only freak him out even more if he knew how panicked you were. In a total frenzy, you throw on a big shirt and grab your car keys on the way out, not even thinking about your bonnet still on your head, your raggedy house slippers on your feet, or even the fact that you're dashing out your apartment at 3am with no pants on. You can only think about Sero, and how bad he must be feeling to call you in absolute tears. You don’t bother with a seatbelt, and hardly look out for other cars as you zoom to his apartment. A trip that should have taken 20 minutes didn’t even take 10 as you park in the spot Sero was convinced was just for you. A space directly in front of his apartment that was always vacant, and also so happened to be right next to his car. Your feet fly you to the second floor and you fumble searching for the red cheetah printed key to his apartment that he copied for you. He thought it was hilarious how tacky it was, and even customized his own key so that you guys could match. That was Sero for you- always thinking of you. Always going the extra mile to see you happy. And now that precious boy was suffering, crying alone in his apartment. “Wait...is he even in his apartment?” You slam your palm to your forehead. You didn’t even bother asking where he was before rushing over. Fuck. Sending a silent prayer, you flip out the red key and open the door.

As soon as you do, a gush of smoke exits, flooding your nostrils with the smell of weed. You can hardly see into the space, trying to make it safely to Sero’s room where you figure he must be, smoking in his little alcove by the window with the air diffuser on. Instead, you hear his sniffling from the living room, almost blocked out by the tv which, ironically, is in fact playing the Netflix show that you recommended to him last week. Dragging your eyes from the flashing tv, you focus your attention to the shaking lump of covers on the sofa. Taking deep breaths, you walk towards him.

“Sero?” you whisper quietly and he freezes. He doesn’t respond, but you know he heard you. “Sero... I’m here”. You take a few more wary steps before you place your hand on the blanket he’s hiding under and peel it always carefully, revealing the top of his head. You bend down to get a look at his face, but when you try, he only lowers his head even more. You smooth his hair down with one hand, and place the other ever so gently under his chin, trying to get him to look at you. “Look at me, Sero. Please? Tell me what’s wrong”. Sero, being one to never deny you anything you ask for, tilts his head up gingerly. His eyes are totally bloodshot, and you can’t tell if it’s from the weed, the crying, or both. But either way, it breaks you I’m so many different ways. Sero opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. You slip into the thick covers with him and press him to your chest, wrapping your arms around his head. Almost instinctively, he wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into you while gripping you tightly like his life depends on it. You keep smoothing down his hair, whispering a mix of “everything’s okay. I’m here. It’s okay. You’re safe,” while peckering kisses on his head. It takes a few minutes to calm down from his.. panic attack? Jesus, you want to know what’s wrong so you can fix it. Once he’s stable, he finally looks up at you with those big beautiful eyes and kisses your chin. Then your jaw, neck, collar bones, and finally stopping at the gap between your breasts. He sighs in to you, face between your breasts, and reluctantly releases his grip around your waist. All of a sudden, everything spills out at once. He rambles on about how 5 civilians had died right in front of him two months ago. 3 of them being children. How he could’ve saved them if he had been a better hero. How he was having nightmares about them, and about you. It could have been you that day. Would he be able to save you then? Would you resent him for being so weak? He’d been getting high almost every night to ease his anxiety, but he finally cracked when the Netflix show you gave him had a child die in the last scene of the 2nd season. That was the trigger for his first panic attack. When he called you, he was right in the middle of it, and couldn’t think of someone better to contact. And his gut was right. Just you holding him in your arms made the bad thoughts go away. You were better than the weed, better than all the numerous distractions he had to make him think about everything but the accident. He felt safe. He felt loved. He never knew that was what he needed most. Now that he was calm in your arms, he wanted to reciprocate all the love you always showered him.

*** [here’s the smut you whores]

He began pressing sloppy, wet kisses against the base of your neck, sucking so hard on the skin that you knew for a fact it would leave a bruise or two. “I love you y/n. You’re so good to me,” he breathes before licking long stripes along your collarbone. “I love you so much”. Dammit this man was high as hell. You felt some guilt bubbling in the pit of your stomach at Sero’s advances. Should you be enjoying this as much as you are right now? Your best friend just had a panic attack. Yet, the feeling was quickly replaced by a pleasurable heat as he firmly grabbed your ass with one hand and pressed his boner against your cunt, pushing almost painfully hard through your thin T-shirt. It wasn’t until that moment you remembered all you had on was this shirt and underwear.

With his other hand, he removes your bonnet and threads his hands in your curls, getting tangled easily while he lightly scraped your scalp, right at the crown. Right where you liked it. You let out a soft moan that was met with a slight throb of Sero’s cock. “You’re fucking perfect, Princesa. Your hair and skin feel so perfect. So perfect for Papi”. He bites down on your collar bone, receiving a sharp yelp in surprise and a tug at his hair. “ohhh hermosa you feel so good,” he groans, his Spanish beginning to flow as you both get even more turned on. “All I need is you, y/n,” he says. Carefully, he takes his hand out of your kinks and places one on your hip, rubbing small circles with his nails. He stops for a moment in this position. He murmurs, almost to himself, “You’re all I need, mi cielito. After all the bullshit I put you through, I don’t deserve you,” he starts to choke a bit on his words at the end, and you sense the tears coming. You love Sero, and in no way did he not deserve you. He needed to know that. Pulling his lips away from you, which are now swollen, you stare into his eyes and tell him “I love you, and only you Sero. I don’t want or need anyone else”. A quick tear escapes from his eye and it slides right into the crook of your arm. You wipe it away with the palm of your hand, keeping it pressed on his cheek. “I mean it, Sero”. A slow, lopsided smile presents itself on his face. “That was pretty cheesy y/n. I never pegged you for the sentimental type”. You mirror his smile, your heart soars at the inkling of normalcy between you two. “Oh fuck off,” you say playfully pushing his head away. “We both know that I’m a huge romantic. Besides,” dropping your voice and gently pressing your lips against his ear, “no one else could get me this wet in a few minutes. Sero giggled at you, yes giggled, and shook his head.

“Horny ass. Let me have this damn opportunity to be lovey-dovey” Sero’s fake agitation is so forced you couldn’t help but outrightly laugh. After the moment passes though, you suddenly become serious. “Are you sure about this Sero?”

“I’m always sure when it comes to you hermosa”

This time, he places a slow, deep kiss to your mouth, swiping a hot tongue along your bottom lip, asking for permission to enter. As usual, you give it to him without a second thought.

Sex with Sero is always passionate, but today felt extremely intense. You’d be lying to yourself if you said it didn’t turn you on. Plus, there was so much smoke in the apartment that you had to be getting a second hand high right now.

Sitting up and dragging you with him, covers sliding to the floor, he positions you two at the edge of the couch, your back facing a blaring tv that neither of you bother to turn off as you straddle him. One swift tug has your shirt off, revealing your pebbled nipples and a lacey red underwear you don’t even remember putting on.

A low whistle leaves Sero’s lips. “You couldn’t possibly have mistaken my phone call for a booty call, could you? ‘Cause this is sexy as fuck mami”

Wasting no more time, he wraps his mouth around one nipple, flicking the dexterous muscle back and forth. The other nipple pinched between his fingers while he pulls and squeezes harshly, the pain meshing deliciously with the pleasure. With his free hand, he wraps his lanky fingers around the back of your neck, encircling almost completely around your throat. Yanking your head back with just the right amount of force, you can’t help the loud, high pitched moan that leaves you. Your hips spasm along his thigh, leaving a visible line of slit on his pants. Sero hums against your skin, tightening his grip on you, “you like that, don’t you? Grinding your cunt on my thigh while my hands choke your pretty little neck”

You were going to respond, but his teeth bite down on your breast, the other one met by a thumb flicking across the bud quickly. Your hips buck against his leg, the pressure causing a flood of incoherent sounds. You’re a mess of moans, white pulsing at the edges of your vision, heat rocking through your entire body. And just when you think the pain starts to be too much, he presses his knee right against your clit, making you see stars. “Sero!!” Your screams and gasps are so noisy that you know the neighbors are sure of who’s making you feel this good. His mouth rips from your nipple with a pop, but instantly latches onto your lips.

He uses both of his hands to palm your ass, grinding your hips faster and harder, your clit exploding with pleasure. Eyes squeezed shut, you slam your arms down on him, clawing at his shoulders. The feeling was so fast, so intense, too good, you were being sent over the edge. Your words were incomprehensible, you could hardly even speak to tell him you were close, so so close.

“Fuck! Sero I-”

“Shit y/n you look so fucking hot,” he grunts against your lips, “Please cum, cum for papi. You’re so pretty on top of me y/n. Cum all over my pants with that pretty pussy of yours baby”. One hand smacks down across your tits, making you jump so hard you almost fall off his leg. He never stops gripping and kneading at them, rougher than ever, before twisting your nipples again. You claw at his shoulders, practically sobbing from the pleasure, screaming “yes yes yes! So good! So...!”

Another slap makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, your orgasm building in your core. He squishes your tits together, and plunges both nipples in his mouth, biting and sucking fervently. At the same time he bounces his knee, you feel the burning knot coming undone. “Papi, I’m gonna cum, I’m coming, I’m-”

You couldn’t say anymore, as a gush of hot liquid squirted all over his leg. Sero hums with your tits still in his mouth, the tiny vibrations sending bolts of electricity down your spine. You gradually came back down from your high (and not the weed high), Sero still rocking you slowly against his pant leg. When you come back to reality, your head falls forward, instantly tired and tense from that world-changing orgasm. After opening your eyes, you spot a wet circle right at the center of Sero’s legs. “Sero, did you just cum?”

He glances down, and his eyes widened when he also sees the sticky wetness seeping through. He looks back up at you, blessing you with his wide, toothy smile. “I guess I did, huh?”

Bitch is high as hell. You chuckle slightly before you hear a nearly inaudible squelch under you. Now you look between your own legs, and freeze at what you see.

Shit

“Did I… did I just?”

“Yeah,” Sero snorted, “You squirted on my thigh. I think it got on the couch too.”

Oh my god. You press your palms to your eyes immediately, totally embarrassed by what you did. Not to mention the fact that you were basically naked, while Sero was still fully clothed. How did this even happen? You’ve never squirted before. Did you have some sort of torture kink? Your tits hurt like hell right now. Turning your head away, you say “that’s so embarrassing”

“Embarrassing? Look at me” Sero takes you by the wrists and removes your hands from your face, but your eyes still look away. “Look at me baby,” he persists, squeezing your cheeks between his thumb and index with his lanky fingers, forcing your eyes on his. His blissed out eyes are still glossed over with an incredible lustful stare. “That was fucking hot, y/n. Can you do it again? Please?”

[inactiveanimeblog]

shikamaru x reader fic

“change” chapter one

tw : smoking, alcohol

brooo i’m honestly so sorry this took forever but dont worry next chapters won’t take as long at all, i already have them planned out. and just a heads up there will be smut in this story, not this chapter but possibly chapter three.

eh i don’t really like the way this chapter came out but i can promise better in the future ones.

warnings: for now just alcohol, weed, and swearing

shikamaru and you had been best friends for as long as you both could remember. since you both had grown up together, through your parents being close friends, you and him were inseparable. you spent most of your childhood being around each other. but once you guys hit 16 years old things started to be different.

shikamaru started to drink, smoke, get tattoos, and flunk school. it was a miricale that he even graduated high school thanks to you tutoring him and completing his homework assignments. you on the other hand were a straight A student, a teachers pet, a quiet kid who didn’t party or do anything most teenagers around you were doing. you wanted to, but you were anxious and even a little scared that you werent ‘enough’ to be friends with others who were out having good times and enjoying their teen years. you were timid, you couldn’t be outgoing to save your life, so you watched from the sidelines.

once you graduated high school you traveled to another part of japan for eleven months to find yourself, learn to break out of your shell, and to switch up your style leaning more towards looking sexier and attractive. which meant leaving shikamaru behind to say goodbye for the time being. neither of you really talked when you left, in fact, you guys didn’t talk at all. you had missed him more than anything while he was well, being him. shikamaru messed around with girls, making them feel special, having sex with them, but he never put a label on their ‘relationship’. he would end things when he would get bored and find a new pretty girl to fuck, which left all the other girls broken hearted. you envied any girl he was involved with in a sexual way, you wanted him more than anything but you never told him. hell no. you could never tell him. he would never feel the same as you feel. there was no changing the way shikamaru was. he would never love and you knew that.

you came back to konaha a couple of weeks ago, settling into your new place, a nice little apartment, decorated in a modern manor, as well as starting to make friends in town through social media, slowly starting to go to parties and going out to clubs. you changed your look, dying your hair, getting a new piercing, switching up your style to something different, something new. you felt a lot better about yourself and you wondered if shikamaru would be interested in the way you looked. you weren’t confident, but the attention you’ve been getting from others lately hasn’t gone unnoticed.

hey shikamaru, i came back to konoha a few weeks ago finally! sorry i haven’t told you yet i’ve just been busy moving into my new place and stuff. we should hangout or something, it’s been so long since we seen eachother. you sent him a text, hoping that he would text you back wanting to make plans.

yeah we can link. i’m busy tonight but if you’re free tomorrow you can come by my place around 18:30 and we can catch up. you won’t be able to stay for long though.. maybe an hour at most. just lmk when you’re on the way. it took him a little while but he answered.

okay, that’s fine i have plans a little while afterwards so i won’t be able to stay long anyways. i’ll see you tomorrow and i’ll let you know when i’m on the way.

you were so excited to see him, butterflies already forming in the pit your stomach. you planned out a fit, the way you wanted your hair, and makeup. this was the time you and shikamaru would be able to catch up and maybe even become close friends again.

unfortunately shikamaru wasn’t too excited to see you. you guys haven’t talked in a long time and he saw no point or benefit to your friendship. he’s made a lot of new friends, other friends who are interested in the things he is and he’s been busy fucking new girls all the time. he thought it was such a drag that you wanted to hangout, and truth be told he wasn’t even gonna be busy tomorrow. he just didn’t want to waste his night hanging around you.

_______________________________________________

the next day you woke up around 11:30 am, starting off with eating a light breakfast, showering, shaving, and skin care. getting ready and facetiming your friend mikasa (hehe aot name but i love her name) to talk about how excited you were for first off going to see shikamaru for a little bit and second off going to a house party later that you guys were invited to.

“i’m so nervous ‘kasa, like what if he doesn’t like the way i look? or what if he thinks i’m weird now?” you sighed, brushing your fingers through your hair, checking yourself out in the mirror.

“it’ll be fine y/n! just try your best not to show your nervous. act like he isn’t intimidating at all. you look hot, nothing to be scared of.” she responded

“hm, you think so? are you sure i should wear this? i don’t wanna look like a try hard..”

“you don’t look like a try hard just mention to him that you’re hitting a party later he’ll get why you’re in a cute ass outfit. now go to his house, it’s already 18:07, don’t keep him waiting. he said he didn’t have much time anyways.”

“alright i’ll see you later tonight then.. wish me luck, i’ll let you know what happens. bye.”

“good luck and bye bitch! don’t have too much fun!” she answered while wiggling her eyebrows and hanging up the phone.

you texted shikamaru that you were on your way, he responded shortly saying to just knock when you got there.

third person point of view

“yo kiba, i have a girl coming over today.. she’s just an old friend. she’s shy so try not to scare her off. don’t smoke out in the living room while she’s here. i don’t need her getting uncomfortable. it’ll be such a drag listening to her get upset about the smoke.”

“say less, but is she hot? if she’s just an old friend let me make a move on her.” kiba answered hopping on the couch next to shikamaru.

“no. she’s not cute and you wouldn’t want her anywa-“ shikamaru was cut off by a light knock on the apartment door.

“can you go invite her in for me?”

“do you ever get off your lazy ass? whatever fine.” kiba said while getting up off the couch and walking towards the door.

kiba opened the door and didn’t say anything, he just stared down at y/n who looked back up at him confused clearly expecting shikamaru to answer. ‘not cute?’ kiba thought. ‘is shikamaru out of his MIND??’ surely this couldn’t be the girl shikamaru was talking about, shikamaru would have to be an idiot to not find her attractive. she was dressed in a sexy yet subtle outfit. she smelt nice and her hair looked so soft, her skin was like porcelain, delicate and smooth.

“uhh i’m sorry, who are you?” kiba asked

“oh- i umm, i’m y/n nice to meet you. i’m here to see shikamaru.. i’m at the right apartment, right?” shikamaru tried to look over at y/n but he couldn’t see much with kiba standing in front of the door. he looked back down at his phone and rolled his eyes.

“well? are you gonna let her in? i just told you i had company coming over two minutes ago. how burnt out are you?”

“oh right um come in, i’m kiba, shikamaru’s roommate by the way. make yourself at home.. shikamaru’s on the couch.” kiba stuttered out scratching the back of his neck and moving out of the way so y/n could entered.

“wow shikamaru your place looks nice. is it just you and your roommate living here?” y/n said.

shikamaru looked up from his phone to see her staring around the room and his first thought was ??? what the fuck ?

“y/n?” shikamaru said. he stared at her as she sat on the other couch, his eyes focused on her appearance.

“yeah?” y/n answered smiling back at him.

“nothing i just— you just look really different since i last seen you last. what have you been up to?” he asked still eyeing her up and down, blushing slightly. he felt a little weird, he wasn’t expecting his nerdy childhood best friend to look so good.

“i’ve been busy honestly, i finally moved into my new place and i’ve been going out with friends, it feels nice to finally be back home although i do miss traveling.” friends.. she has other friends now?

“what about you? what have you been up to?” she said still smiling, she looked beautiful, like she’s grown up.. grown into a women’s body, she’d grown into her face as well, no longer looking so babyish. her outfit was nice, showing some skin leaving little to the imagination. this was nothing like her.

“nothing really, just be doing the same old things.... you made some friends when you came back to konoha?”

“yeah i did, i made a few. you should meet them one day, we usually hit parties on the weekends or we’ll chill at one of our houses, drink and smoke or whatever. you would like them.” she exclaimed nodding her head slowly.

huh? wait she even drinks and smokes now? what happened to her? and what changed her when she left.. why was she so different now?

“you drink and smoke now? wow you really are different.”

“oh please” y/n giggled a bit. “i’m still the same old y/n, i’m no different only been living my life in other ways. i’ve been enjoying it ever since i left eleven months ago, you know? i’m having fun i guess.”

“well.. i honestly never expected the day where you would find drinking and smoking fun since you always used to scold me for it.” he said, rolling his eyes playfully, a grin forming on his lips.

“and by the way do you want something to drink, like a water or anything?”

“you know i was just inexpirienced back then shikamaru” she said placing her elbow on the couch arm rest, resting her cheek on her palm and she still had a cute small smile on her face.

“and i’m good, i’ll probably be leaving not too long from now anyways.”

“you in a rush?” shikamaru questioned, slightly raising one of his brows

“hm, kind of. i’m gonna go pregame at one of my friends houses tonight and get ready for a party.”

kiba walked in and sat next to her, he gave shikamaru a pointed look before butting in their conversation and replying “a party tonight huh? you gonna give us the invite?”

“well i mean if you guys wanna go it’s gonna be at 227 Clock Street, not far from here maybe a 15 minute drive. if they ask who you know just say you know me.” she said looking back at kiba “you shouldn’t have any problems. but also, i believe shikamaru said he was busy tonight. right shikamaru?”

“yeah.. well, i do have plans later. but i could just cancel them now, not really important anyways. i guess we could go out. do you think it’ll be a problem to bring others?”

“nope it shouldn’t be a problem at all. the more the merrier, and you and your friends will be able to meet mine tonight!” she said excitedly.

shikamaru excused himself to use the bathroom as kiba continued to talk to y/n and ask her about herself. it was so very obvious that kiba wanted to take her to his room and bend her over, but y/n being hella naive couldn’t tell.

shikamaru looked in the mirror while washing his hands. his eyebrows were scowled, and his eyes were dazed. never could he imagine something like this would happen where y/n would come out of her shell. where she would party. she was as sweet as ever still, she would always be a kind person. nothing could change that, but she wasn’t as quiet as she used to be. it was nice seeing her talk more, no longer stuttering out every other word.

‘if i bring my friends tonight and the rest meet her there’s no doubt she’ll be around more often. i already know they’re gonna be all over her, i’m just curious if she’s still innocent sex wise. last time i seen her she was definitely still a virgin. maybe i should ask her myself.’

[sagamemes]

the sheridan tapes  📼  part one.   here and under the cut, you can find a little under 120 lines of dialogue from the horror podcast the sheridan tapes, specifically from episodes one to three, edited for roleplay purposes.  tw: police, murder, supernatural elements, mentions of apocalyptic scenarios, near death experiences, injuries, vehicular crash, recreational drug and alcohol use.

❝  jesus, [name]. you’re not making this easy, are you?  ❞

❝  makes you wonder... do these things follow me because i chase them, or were they always following me?  ❞

❝  darkness and complete disorientation does a number on the human brain.  ❞

❝  i don't think he was a werewolf.  ❞

❝  i’d call it the customer service smile. you know, the one that says  ‘ thank you for shopping with us, please die now ’.  ❞

❝  i’ve found the more showy the text, the less impressive the actual phenomena.  ❞

❝  my job here is kind of… shaky at the moment.  ❞

❝  [name] was also engaged in the study of the impossible in his free time.  ❞

❝  so it’s just me who drives you up the wall then?  ❞

❝  well, you’ll be happy to hear i haven’t been having any fun. no weed, no ghosts.  ❞

❝  there hasn’t been a new lead on her case in more than half a year.  ❞

❝  so here i am, wrapped up in a blanket, staring at my little fireplace, so bored i actually decided to call my sister for once.  ❞

❝  it’s a little town near bandon. very little. nice little mini-market, and that’s about it.  ❞

❝  i doubt i’ll sleep much tonight. that’s okay. i just feel like looking at the stars for a while.  ❞

❝  it's probably for the best. i am simultaneously exhausted from the drive and absolutely wired from the coffee.  ❞

❝  i wonder if there will still be ghosts out there when that happens?  when the earth is gone?  ❞

❝  glad to hear you’re enjoying yourself, then.  ❞

❝  knowing doesn’t make things any easier, but it does make them a little less frightening.  ❞

❝  that’s all just a lazy way of saying that the real explanation is too difficult—or too horrible—for them to accept.  ❞

❝  it almost killed me, but in the end it settled for putting me in pt for a year while i figured out how to use my hands again.  ❞

❝  he muttered something about my time being up. or maybe he said it wasn’t up.  ❞

❝  i don’t really care that i didn’t get any writing done today.  ❞

❝  nothing. not a single idea worth writing down, no itch i needed to scratch or question i needed to answer.  ❞

❝  guess there really is no such thing as bad press.  ❞

❝  i have no idea what a writer’s  ‘ process ’  usually looks like, but i’m pretty sure it’s not this.  ❞

❝  see what i have to deal with?  god… siblings, am i right?  ❞

❝  what can i say?  i have a soft spot for gothic architecture.  ❞

❝  computers have never been very good at reconciling paradoxes.  ❞

❝  they’re pretty much over funding my little expeditions.  ❞

❝  that kind of smile doesn’t normally show that many teeth.  ❞

❝  you know, that’s only scary the first few times you do it.  ❞

❝  one day, it will be dead. one day all the stars will burn out, go dark and silent. one day, everything will be so dark and so cold that no new stars can ever be born. the old ones will blink out one by one, like candles going out, and then… nothing. silence. darkness. void.  ❞

❝  the simplest explanation is almost always the right one.  ❞

❝  i don’t remember getting in my van, putting the key in the ignition, or speeding away from that house, but i must have.  ❞

❝  no, no, i’m fine, i’m fine, just go bother someone else.  ❞

❝  i haven’t eaten, moved, or written anything all day.  ❞

❝  but maybe that's just the fact that it is two in the morning and my brain is running mostly on caffeine.  ❞

❝  given how good a [job] he is, i know it’s not the first time he’s done it.  ❞

❝  i escaped, but i knew that whatever was in that house has just marked me as prey.  ❞

❝  calm down. think. you’re just going to confuse yourself.  ❞

❝  just wanted to tell you a couple of us are headed out to marvin’s for drinks if you want to come.  ❞

❝  one of the most disappointing things about living in america is the lack of genuinely haunted houses. out of all the supposed haunts i’ve visited, maybe one in ten seems like the real deal.  ❞

❝  sounds… peaceful. not many distractions, then?  ❞

❝  something tells me this tape wasn’t played in court.  ❞

❝  one of the neighbours must have called 911.  ❞

❝  my infamous accident. it almost killed me.  ❞

❝  i just woke up to footsteps in the kitchen. i don’t know who, or what, but there’s someone in here with me!  ❞

❝  could you shut the door on your way out, please?  ❞

❝  uh, wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.  ❞

❝  the fire that i said went out?  yeah, it just started burning again.  ❞

❝  so i asked him to lie.  ❞

❝  it'd really be just a few of us. maybe me and [name] and one or two other tagalongs…  ❞

❝  apparently, the press had a lot of questions too.  ❞

❝  i’ve driven more than 8 hours and drunk enough bad coffee to give an elephant heart palpitations. i’m sure as hell going to get my money’s worth.  ❞

❝  oh sorry, am i bothering you now? what happened to  ‘ call anytime you want, [name] ’ or,  ‘ you’re always welcome here, [name] ’ ?  ❞

❝  i’ve forgotten to charge my phone. again.  ❞

❝  i… think i’m going to turn around now.  ❞

❝  well sorry if i wanted to have a nice talk with my sister for a change.  ❞

❝  will it just be left there forever? our legacy? look upon our works, ye mighty, and despair?  ❞

❝  no matter how far away from home you are, no matter how different the constellations might look from where you’re standing, you can always look up on a clear, dark night and feel like you’re about to fall right into it—the terrifying, endless expanse of nothingness.  ❞

❝  i know authors can do some crazy things to get out of writer’s block, but i’ve never heard of one resorting to arson.  ❞

❝  why do you always think there’s something wrong?  ❞

❝  ours is not to question why, ours is but to digitize and stay the hell out of trouble.  ❞

❝  so let’s try walking backwards. just keep an eye on it.  ❞

❝  i got lucky. or maybe i was just fast enough to escape.  ❞

❝  maybe there are secret passages behind the walls and corridors.  ❞

❝  no matter how far i walked, i couldn’t find the way i came in.  ❞

❝  well, i /know/ i’ve had worst nights. i just can’t think of any right now.  ❞

❝  i do want you to have fun, [name], i just don’t want you to get yourself killed doing it.  ❞

❝  i mean, obviously, i do care, that’s the whole reason i made this trip. to get away from the noise and focus.  ❞

❝  i might have… forgotten to tell anyone where i was going.  ❞

❝  before i get started, there’s just one thing i need to say. i have absolutely no patience for the unexplained, or the things people call  ‘ unexplainable ’,  ‘ supernatural ’, or  ‘ paranormal ’.  ❞

❝  i told [name] that i needed to get out, to get inspired.  ❞

❝  okay, if someone is messing with me, they’re going to be very sorry, very quickly.  ❞

❝  [name] lied his ass off to save yours.  ❞

❝  a crash like that does funny things to your head.  ❞

❝  i still don’t know how he got there without me noticing.  ❞

❝  any plans i had to travel abroad went up in smoke.  ❞

❝  i thought of pulling out the bad cop routine.  ❞

❝  strange how something so dead can be so beautiful.  ❞

❝  it hated me:  hated what i do, and more than that, hated who i am.  ❞

❝  lots of tall tales. and more than a few ghost stories.  ❞

❝  oh good, you’re still here!  ❞

❝  reviewers absolutely grilled it:  said it was a nonsensical rip off of the dark tower, whatever that means.  ❞

❝  i jumped out the window. cut my hands on the glass, but thankfully not bad enough to need stitches  ❞

❝  i told her, tonight.  ❞

❝  for a minute, i wondered if that would really be so bad. it was a fitting way to go, given my… well, everything.  ❞

❝  i suppose that’s a universal constant—maybe the only one.  ❞

❝  i never let myself get this turned around. especially not at night.  ❞

❝  i don’t know if it’s actually haunted. but if not, then it was sure as hell convincing.  ❞

❝  i’m not one of those people who thinks she’s the spawn of satan or something ridiculous like that.  ❞

❝  unless i’m prepared to accept that she was murdered by something that crawled out of a funhouse mirror, this isn’t much help with the case, either.  ❞

❝  i have to try and work some actual cases the rest of the time. you know, cases that might have some answers i can find.  ❞

❝  it's cold, damp, and dark as night. i'm in my element, at least.  ❞

❝  your place is waiting for you.  ❞

❝  yeah, i’m all good. great… hanging in there, you know?  one day at a time.  ❞

❝  oh, i see you. you think i’m still scared of [thing], huh?  think you can freak me out?  ❞

❝  trust me, i’ve had a hell of a day, and you do not want to mess with a pissed off…  ❞

❝  and tell my sister i'm sorry.  ❞

❝  oh god, it's cold.  ❞

❝  the night sky really is beautiful out here.  ❞

❝  tell him he shouldn’t have been such a good liar.  ❞

❝  i’ve been listening to this for the last two weeks now.  ❞

❝  it’s not even that i’m having bad ideas. i’m not having any at all.  ❞

❝  can’t get away from the work, no matter what i do.  ❞

❝  i made sure i switched off my phone before i came up here, just in case.  ❞

❝  god, these things smell of weed.  ❞

❝  yeah, well… just wanted to make sure you’re okay, you know?  ❞

❝  [name] is dead. that's all there is to it.  ❞

❝  no, i need to get out of here. it’s been a long day.  ❞

❝  a lot of the art i found was just paintings of a night sky full of stars.  ❞

❝  my job is to look the facts dead in the face and find an explanation. one that will hold up in a court of law.  ❞

❝  personal and career choices, i guess you’d call them.  ❞

❝  damn. i could’ve sworn i felt something strange about this place when i hiked through this morning… or maybe it was a different part. hard to tell this late at night, anyway.  ❞

❝  well, let’s just say a middle-aged man-child running out panicked and tearing at his eyes would hardly be a marketable image.  ❞

❝  i didn’t mind that i’d be alone—i always expected that to be how i went.  ❞

❝  i’m sure that’s on my personnel file by now, as if it could get any more problematic.  ❞

[black-rose-writings]

I read Ruin and Rising because I’m bored

And I also hate myself

Like with the last book, I have a vague idea of the plot and stuff from tumblr and fanfics. I will also be refering to Darkling as Sasha for most of this.

I am still Darklina trash and don’t particularly like Mal.

On a different note, I’ve finally moved for college, but the internet here is trash, so I’ll probably have a lot more reading time now, since most games I play are online and will crash without internet.

Before

Cool story. Let’s hope Alina stays a badass.

Who am I joking, I know how this ends.

Chapter 1

So far so good. I hate the Apparat, per usual. Alina’s there basically dying and that bitch can’t wait to see her do so.

Cult leader to the core this one. He probably hates that his figurehead is alive and also not brainwashed.

Cult leader doesn’t like swearing. How surprising.

My boy David is completely right. What kind of irresponsible dingus keeps centuries old books in a fucking wet-ass cave? (Or a tree for that matter *cough cough* The Last Jedi *cough, cough*).

Genya is fun to be around.

Oh, shit, let’s go.

Chapter 2

Jesus Christ, Alina, Zoya isn’t that bad.

This is one hell of a shitshow.

I live for this version of Alina. Badass. Scary. I want more of this Alina.

Chapter 3

Out of all the random little details from crappy smut fics, I did not expect Oncat to be from the books, lol.

Mal actually has a supernatural tracking ability. Like, literally, they put a bug into the pouch with gunpowder so he could make the shot. I guess this was kinda said before, but never this directly, right?

Alina’s merzost-skyping Sasha now, yay.

Alina is horny for Sasha boy. Yay.

Alina canonically has a praise kink. Nice.

I hate LB with all of my heart at this very moment. How dare she bait us Darklina people like this? How DARE she? (Shipbaiting is the worst, seriously.)

Yes, yes, yes. These two lines. That’s what their relationship is all about. They’re each others foils, the yin to the other’s yang and... ugh. I am Darklina trash to the core and this hurts.

Darklina: You have a terrible taste in men.

Alina: I liked you once.

My boy Sasha walked into that one.

Chapter 4

Alina is a Queen. And we love her.

David, my beloved, my spirit animal.

It’s surprising they can read it at all, given it’s been centuries. Have you ever tried reading medieval manuscripts?

Honestly, with a father that crazy, it’s no wonder Baghra’s a bitch. And I’ve seen it said somewhere that the books imply Ilya’s experiments are what caused Baghra to be a shadow summoner and you know what? I can see how you’d make that connection.

Why is there so few Tidemakers in the books? Waterbenders are useful. I want more waterbenders.

Alina picking up some habits from Baghra I see.

Ah, yes, we love an educated giant.

I’m starting to think Harshaw is a bit nuts.

Shut up, Hershey. Or at least share the weed with the class. I’m not here for this “He’s mean to you because he likes you”. I might believe that in like, elementary school, but yall are (more or less) adults. Jesus.

Well, that was a bombshell of a twist.

Chapter 5

Oh boy, we’ve got some trauma bonding for out merry band of misfits. Yay.

Adrik has a crush on Zoya. And she hates it, lol. Cut the kid some slack, he’s like 15 or something.

That reminds me, I have a four-leaf clover pressed in books from close to year and a half ago. Time flies.

They’re really diving into the Mal has supernatural powers, huh?

Ghosts, let’s go.

Alina “I’m so happy to be outside I start to shine like a fucking fairy” Starkov and Mal is entranced. He’s definitelly nicer now. I’m not forgiving him for all the shit he’s pulled before and for using the silent treatment way too much, but hey, at least he’s improving.

I am not a Zoyalina person, but like... gay? Please? Rivals to grudging allies to friends to lovers, 300k slowburn? Sounds more fun than whatever Mala dn Alina have going on, lol.

(I’m starting to realize I’m not as much a Darklina person as I am anti-Malina person, lol. Like, literally everyone has a more interesting dynamic with Alina than tracker boy over there. Malina is at best boring AF and at worst toxic, codependent and emotionally abusive, while also being boring AF at the same time. It has literally nothing going for it except God herself liking it).

I can see why Nadia is gay in the show. The book version of her definitelly has a crush on Tamar. Homegirl likes a woman, who can murder her with the flick of her wrist and honestly? Same.

Alina has some big “coming out of lockdown after a year” energy atm.

The cat is one of the most realistic characters in this thing, lol.

And since Tamar is also heavily queercoded, our lovely ladies make off into the night, flirting. Or maybe not. Let me dream, though.

At least Blade Boy is aware that his tattoo is stupid. To quote someone ranting about him on tumblr: He’s embracing his identity as a tool.

Oh, boy, this will be fun.

Evil soldier is horny for Mal. Saints, is there a woman in this book who isn’t horny for Blade Boy?

And here comes Niki to save the day.

Chapter 6

Niki saved the day.

Fiberglass? And David being David. Genya being in love with her nerd of a boyfriend.

Jesus Christ, this one crazy kid has moved the technology in this universe a whole century on his own. So, when is David going to propose to him?

Baghra hasn’t changed much I see.

Baghra’s about to drop some truthbombs, but no, we have to be rudely interupted because Genya’s rapist is throwing a fit.

Chapter 7

How does Mal sound? Is she gonna say the Blade boy sounds like her dad? I mean, I know voices are partially genetic, but it has been tens of generations between them, probably.

So, we’re finally taking Genya’s trauma seriously after all this time? Good. Better late than never, I guess.

I wish that regicide was already finished and I’m pretty sure that Genya does, too. Stop defending the fucking king, narrative.

David’s a nerd in all things I see.

Someone please just kill the king already. And the queen, too, for good measure.

Now that’s a romance.

Infodumping and listening to said infodumps is a legitimate love language, Alina. Let them nerd out over poisons.

Wait, has Alina never directly killed anyone before? I thought she did... hmmm.

And just like that, it should have been over. Ugh.

Somehow, Baghra is a better teacher now than she was before. She half feels like a completely different character.

Nevermind, she’s back at it.

Chapter 8

Holy shit, Nadia and Tamar are canon. They have canon gays here.

So, which one of them is gonna die?

Chapter 9

We arrive at that scene. The one, where they should have fucked.

Jeez, girl, get a hold of yourself. Life is short, fuck a villain.

In other news, Genya and David definitelly fucked.

Chapter 10

Poor David. He just wanted to know.

Damn... I never realized just how young Baghra was, when she killed her sister.

I’ve already made a post about this, but it really does strike me like Baghra has already decided to end her life at this point in the book.

Why is that whole “but what if we’re related” thing even in there?

Chapter 11

We love a suprise attack.

When did Sasha boy learn that trick?

Baghra really just did that. Oh boy.

Chapter 12

No, don’t kill the kid... ugh.

Emotiona support cat. She should be friends with Milo.

Porrige for brains. Oof.

So Nadia was the one, who got bees set on her in the book. Cool.

That’s a good question. Why was it never brought up to Alina, that other Grisha get blocks, too?

David already thinking of steampunk prosthetic for Adrik is honestly kinda sweet.

Chapter 13

Back home... kinda.

Is that really... you really care about Mal bonking the Grisha school mean girl over a year ago? Okay.

Chapter 14

Angst! Yay!

And more angst.

Chapter 15

Sasha really went “My mom killed herself to save you? Well, I’ll kill the closest thing to parents you have.”

Chapter 16

Nikolai’s alive. Kinda.

And these two have such a sibling energy, I can’t.

And then they fuck. Ew.

Chapter 17

Wait, wait wait... so Alina isn’t even the one to destroy the Fold?

Okay. That’s... weird.

Holy shit. That was...

So, Aleksander is dead. Mal isn’t. Someone else destroyed the Fold for Alina and now she has no powers.

Okay.

That’s a weird-ass ending.

Chapter 18

The gays survived, so that’s nice.

Genya made good on her promise of making Alina a ginger, lol.

After

What emotion is this supposed to give me? Cause all I feel is kinda sad.