#this is just a small unedited snippet

[satoblue]

satoru is known to talk too much with no filter whatsoever.

it is no surprise he is the same in bed. no matter how much you warn him otherwise, that your daughter might overhear from how loudly he’s describing everything, he brushes it off.

“it’s fine.” he huffs, gently prying your legs open. “she won’t wake up. i gave her some of my melatonin gummies. she thought it was candy.”

your brows furrow.

“you just admitted to drugging our daughter.”

all you get in response to that is a cheeky little grin.

unfortunately for him, you both realize the next day that they didn’t work. why? oh, well, because your daughter had been sneaking them since before, and her body had built a tolerance to them.

after all, he said it himself — she thought it was candy.

[starmapz]

Can u please pretty please with a cherry on top 🍒give us a snippet of chap 18 wyk

Also hope your doing well ❤️

a lil teaser of (unedited) wyk ch18 👀 tysm, i hope you're doing well, too <33

He nods slowly, rubbing at his eyes. “Pisses me off so fuckin’ much,” he hisses under his breath. “She fucking left!” He explodes suddenly, anger directed at no one in particular, though his hand collides with a tree as he flails it through the air. “Fuck!” He hisses, staring down at his hand to see the damage. Scrapes fall across his knuckles haphazardly where his hand collided with the bark, but not hard enough to draw blood.

He shakes his hand, but the pain only serves to piss him off more.

“Are you o-”

“She didn’t fucking answer!” He continues to snarl, his anger only rising as his hand now throbs with pain that he wants to write off as mild, but- “Christ, what the fuck?” He growls, staring down at his hand in the glow of a streetlight overhead. He flexes his digits twice, but he still doesn’t bleed.

“Are you okay, um- Ryo?”

His eyes flicker briefly up to you, unable to read what he’s thinking as you address him by his first name. He doesn’t press the issue much longer, fixated on his hand. “Hit it harder than I thought,” he mutters, inadvertently answering your question.

You take his hand, gently turning it towards the orange glow of the overhead lamp. No blood is a relief, just a few scrapes rubbing his skin raw, but he must have hit it hard based on the way his skin is beginning to shift to a dull purple.

“It really jumped out and bit you, huh?” You murmur, mostly to yourself in a mildly teasing manner. Sukuna fixes you with a glare, but the tension that’s been making the veins in his forearms pop slowly begins to dissipate. At the realization that his frustration towards your teasing is quelling his anger towards the world and himself, you double down. “Need me to kiss it better?” You tease, doing your best to hide your giggles.

Sukuna’s stare intensifies, and for once he’s grateful to be surrounded by darkness, because now he’s pissed for an entirely different reason. He’s blushing.

Fiercely.

He’s never been so happy to be hidden by the blanket of the night as he is right now, blushing like a goddamn teenager.

Over some stupid teasing.

Teasing that shouldn’t- doesn’t- mean anything.

His anger is completely forgotten as he wrenches his hand from your hold, shaking it in an attempt to rid himself of the pain while he averts his gaze. He simmers in his newfound frustration while you burst into laughter at his side.

“It really came out of nowhere, didn’t it?” You manage to get out between your giggles, clutching at your stomach. He pins you with a furious side eye, but it doesn’t deter you. As your laughter slowly begins to die down, you wave your hand nonchalantly through the air. “No, I get it. It was a really small tree.”

“Are you done?” He grumbles, crimson eyes flickering across your features, which are now seemingly brighter than the glow of the light above. He swears he hasn’t seen you this happy in ages and for once, he can’t find it in himself to remain irritated with you. He sighs, resuming his steady pace down the path.

[fieldsofred]

Hey do you guys want a little treat?

I think I'm going an entirely different direction so this little unedited snippet is useless to me! If you happen to see to see it in itaot? then whoops, a small spoiler! But we all knew it was gonna get here eventually :)

“Here you go,” Tim handed Jason’s jeans over, “Washed, dried, and folded. Alfred would be proud.”

Jason snorted, “Thanks.” He glanced into the passenger seat of Tim’s car and then at Tim. “Shirt?”

Tim paused. “What about it?”

Jason rocked hesitantly, “Do you have it?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I have it?”

Tim bit back a grin, “Oh,” He shook his head, “No.”

Jason quirked his brows, “Why not?” 

Tim smirked, “Because it’s mine now.”

That gave Jason pause. He ran his tongue over his teeth and cocked his head, “Pardon?”

Tim faked innocence, “What?”

“Give me my shirt back.”

“No. Finders keepers.”

Jason’s jaw dropped. “You did not find it.” Jason gave Tim a look and Tim gave him one right back. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Tim grinned at his shock, “What? You left it there, this is on you.”

“Victim blaming!” Jason accused, “I can’t believe this.” He shook his head.

“What?” Tim shrugged, “It’s just a t-shirt-”

Jason threw a hand out, “I liked that shirt.”

“So do I.”

Jason stilled. He looked at Tim. Tim felt his face warm but kept his expression perfectly still, despite the embarrassed smile pulling at his cheeks. 

It took Jason a long moment to ask, “You wear it?” 

Tim blinked slowly at him. Duh. “What the fuck else would I do with it?”

Jason huffed, “I don’t know, maybe you gave it to Conner.” Jason immediately shoved his fist into his mouth and turned around 180 degrees.

Tim let out a startled laugh at Jason’s shaking back.

Jason turned back around, “That was not-”

“Oh my god.” Tim wheezed, “Oh my god! You are so-”

“Shut up! Shut up. That was not- I didn’t-” Jason put his folded jeans over his face and groaned loudly into them. Tim could barely hear it over his own laugh. 

Jason uncovered his face, “Listen- Shut up, listen. That was not- I didn’t mean to-”

“You so did, oh my god,” Tim laughed, “That was a crazy thing to say-”

“Anyway!” Jason loudly cut him off, “Anyway, whatever. Forget it. Thanks for the,” He gestured with his folded up jeans and stepped back towards his bike, “I’m gonna leave and drive off a bridge now, so say your goodbyes.”

Tim settled his laughter and smiled sweetly at him, “Goodbyes.” Jason swung a leg over his bike and put his jeans in his backpack. Tim admired his embarrassed smile from the side. “Don’t forget to wear your helmet while driving to your death.”

Jason tugged his helmet off of the bike handle and looked at Tim with bright eyes, “I fucking hate you, you know that?” 

“I’ve heard.” Tim said with an easy smile. Just as Jason was about to slip his helmet on, Tim called out, “Hey!”

Jason looked over at him with a barely contained smile, “What?”

“I promise,” Tim drawled sweetly, “That I am the only person who will ever wear that shirt.” He smirked at Jason.

Jason very obviously swallowed, nodded once, and sucked at his teeth. “Cool,” He nodded to himself, “Cool. Very cool.”

“Very cool and very normal.” Tim teasingly agreed. 

“Super cool and super normal and not at all fucking weird and stupid.” Jason bit back a grin, “I’m gonna go smoke a cigarette now.”

“I thought you were going to drive off a bridge?”

“The night is young.” Jason smiled, “Lots to do.”

Tim couldn’t help himself. He held his arms out wide and smiled, “I’m right here.”

“Oh fuck-” Jason shook his head, “Eat shit, birdie. Enjoy my funeral.”

Tim smirked at him, “It won’t stick. See you tomorrow.”

“See ya’.” Jason slipped his helmet on and kicked his motorcycle into a low grumble. Tim admired him shamelessly from against his car. He could admire Jason all he wanted because Jason liked him back.

[getouyuri]

you guys can Neva say that I don’t spoil yall… cos here’s this snippet of the oyabun gojo collar fic 😁🍽️ unedited but we move

Instead, he waits, head pillowed on your lap and his heart pounding in his chest as he stares deep into your brilliant eyes, searching for any sign of what you’re thinking, then at the little gift bag perched further up your lap, pressed lightly to your stomach. He knows you well enough to know that you’ve got something up your sleeve, some clever scheme that you’re just dying to put into action despite your apparent apprehension.

Satoru’s always been a sucker for your brand of trouble, and he has a feeling that this time is going to be no less exciting.

"Well?" he prompts, rhythmically tapping the sides of your calves. "Stop staring at me— I know I’m gorgeous, really— and just get to your point.”

“You and your bigass head,” you mutter, but you don’t deny his claim.

Looking for all the world like you’re about to set off a bomb and then dart off, you finally address the elephant in the room. You hold open the bag in his direction. “Just grab it.”

Satoru obliges. He reaches his hand in and startles when his fingers brush against something leathery. He pulls it out and inhales sharply.

It’s a simple black collar with six pretty genuine diamonds the color of his eyes that wink in the light when Satoru turns it over in his hands. The diamonds are small enough that it isn’t overly gaudy and flashy, but it’s still more intricate than most run-of-the-mill collars. A similarly blue, frilly bow sits at what he assumes is the front of the collar and there’s a small ring that dangles just underneath it, a matching black leash already clipped to it.

The exact one that he pointed out on the website that you were browsing.

Satoru rubs his thumb along the outside of the collar before tugging at it gently, testing the stretch, then changes his grip so he can feel the inside. It’s soft and almost velvety, clearly tailored to avoid chafing— it’s almost an exact replica of the material of the sheets on yours and his bed, which he’s very particular about.

His mouth and throat suddenly run dry, his body a hourglass full of sand that’s just been tilted. Swallowing does nothing to remedy it.

He feels— he doesn’t know what he feels. He doesn’t think there’s even a word for this.

Satoru thinks he senses a hint of nervousness in the sideways glance you direct at the wall, a far cry from your usual assured intensity. You crumple the bag up and set it to the side and your hands tightly curl in your lap when you finally look at him again. “What do you think?”

By the look in your eyes, you have something to say. Maybe you’re about to take it back, laugh it off and say, ‘late April fools prank, ignore me,’ but he jumps to speak before you can. “You know I’m far from opposed.”

And truly, he isn’t. Collars are something you had discussed before, but with how it kept getting brought up time and time again, disguised as a ‘joke’ with nothing to come of it, he had considered the idea scrapped. That hadn’t stopped Satoru from thinking about it, though. There was a certain appeal in his wife’s hands around his throat, a gentle one-hand hold when he’s being a nuisance to tug him down to your level before you kiss away his quips or fix his hair, a bruising two-handed one when you’re bodily pinning him down and riding him, but a collar…

“What do you think?” Satoru asks, eyeing you carefully and trying to gauge what you’re feeling,

“I think it’s lovely,” you offer, finally unclenching your fingers and reaching down to stroke over the shell of his ear. Those same ticklish fingers slide down and skim the side of his neck as if mapping out the placement of the collar. You’re smiling a little. “It’d be even lovelier around your neck, should you want it there.”

It’s the push he needs. Satoru rolls it over in his hands again, tests its weight one more time. He exhales the deep breath he took. “Okay, then what are you waiting for, slowpoke? Are you gonna put it on me or not?”

You huff out a laugh and roll your eyes but you gently pull the collar from him. Satoru stretches his neck out, total trust and anticipation making his mind slow to a crawl. His pulse settles comfortably beneath the skin of his jaw.

He stays perfectly still as you fit its front against his neck, centering the bow at his throat. You tug the collar and leash over his shoulders before pulling the collar snug around his nape, where his hair curls damply from the sweat budding on his skin.

The metal buckle clicks closed and something molten instantly loosens at the base of Satoru’s skull, dripping down his spine and pooling warm and intense into his hips. With your hands still on his neck, smoothing down the collar, fussily slipping beneath it and testing its tightness, he expects to get overwhelmed under all the stimulation as he adjusts to the foreign feeling of the thin lining of leather gently digging into his throat while the velvet cradles his trachea, but your warmth helps him relax impossibly further.

Satoru doesn’t realize his head is drooping down towards your lap until you cup his face and guide him upwards, thumbs smoothing crescents into the silk of his cheeks. It’s enough to slowly pull him back to earth, leaving its foggy skies behind.

You look oddly charmed, with your eyes syrupy-sweet and crinkling around their edges. “You alright there?”

“Duh.” Satoru is surprised when his voice comes out a broken rasp and he swallows. He can’t even blame it on the restriction of the collar, considering it’s far from tight around his neck. It’s better than he expected. The weight of it is solid and comforting, a weighted blanket, a physical reminder that he’s, in plain words, safe; at ease at your mercy.

(Yours, his traitorous mind whispers. Yours.)

You brighten. “Good. How does it feel?”

“It’s comfy,” Satoru says slowly, the words sleep-soft as if he’s stirring from a dream. He reaches up and rubs over the studded rhinestones.

“I’m glad,” you murmur, sounding pleasantly relieved. You push at the back of his neck, finally helping his head continue its orbit to your knees, which he rubs his cheek against like a needy puppy.

[legacygirlingreen]

That time of year again… // Sebastian Sallow x Reader/MC (NSFW)

Hi friends! I have been battling the flu for a week now so there’s a delay on strumming hearts pt 2 but I managed to scrap this together for those who celebrate Christmas! Also hella unedited so RIP.. anyways, Hope your day has been fantastic!

Screenshots in art by: @sinty2ek - seriously check out their page, it’s great if you aren’t already following 💚

Warning: smut (duh), Sebastian gets dom for a moment but overall is worried about her, loss of virginity, consent is hot, size difference, etc

Word count: 7,700

All characters are aged up and MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

The first December after the events in Feldcroft, he had come down with a bout of dragon pox that landed him in the hospital wing for weeks. The second his finals had come to an end he wound up in a bed, with nurse Blainey rushing around him, and he didn’t realize what exactly was happening until the first of the year when he was released. In a way, he’d been thankful, that not really being conscious or alert through the worst part of the year.

That vile illness saved him from going to an empty home with too many bad memories to sulk and more than likely drink his uncle's firewhiskey. He had “come too” so to speak the morning of his birthday - New Year’s Eve or Hogmanay for the Scots - but in his house it had always been about celebrating himself and Anne. Knowing he’d be unable to grieve the loss of his sister from his life with nurse Blainey in the room he laid in the hospital bed trying by any means to distract himself.

She had come around several times seeing he was much better but still not quite healthy to be released. As his energy grew so had his restlessness. He was so grateful when his friend, the only one he had anymore, had so sweetly continued to try and attempt to see him. He had heard snippets throughout his stay from the nurse about how the girl had frequently attempted to come see him, and she’d caught the girl trying to sneak in a few times, firmly reassuring the hero of Hogwarts that dragon pox was no laughing matter.

It warmed his heart when he was finally awake at how the pile of books slowly started to accumulate, giving him a much needed distraction. She even slipped in a title to the stack he knew she must’ve stolen from the restricted section, and the thought of her puttering around amongst the ghost to get him comfort while sick, made him smile.

And on his birthday in the morning when he awoke he saw a small slice of cake alongside a neatly wrapped gift and a small note containing his name. Blainey had informed him how desperately the girl had begged to stay on the far side of the hospital just to see him and how upset she’d been handing off the gift and pastry before sulking back downstairs.

As sweet as it all was, he was somewhat grateful to the nurse for keeping the girl away. Not only would he never be able to live with himself should he be the reason she contracted the often fatal illness, but he honestly didn’t want to be seen like that.

He’d been quite honest with himself over that first summer holiday on his feelings for the girl. He had come to terms with the awful ways in which he’d treated her and decided her miracle of not turning him in and standing by him should never go wasted. In those hot months in feldcroft he decided that he’d never hurt her again. And perhaps one day he’d tell her how he felt.

Because as the first July without Anne and Solomon raged on as he tended the garden, all he continued to think of was her shimmering eyes dreamily staring up at his own in amazement as he showed her the undercroft. Or how silky her hair had shown in the moonlight that night they raided the goblin mine. How small she felt pressed against him when he’d pulled her to safety from that spider. How brilliant her smile was when they discovered the first of Isadora’s memories. Or how she held him so tightly the night before they left hogwarts in May when she’d found him crying in the undercroft…

But that former Yule where he laid in a hospital bed, covered in sweat, scabs and looking like death itself, he was almost more thankful that the nurse had prevented the girl of his dreams from seeing his current state. Sebastian had always been a bit cocky. And he knew that he had some baseline qualities to which made him attractive, despite the ones he tended to dislike. He often hoped his messy hair would be considered more charming in her eyes. Or she’d notice that he’d started shaving by purposefully leaving it a few days sometimes so she’d have to notice the dark hair adorning his chin. He found the few of his features he could be proud of and he was thankful that she’d not seen him sick when she’d left that sweet gift.

The girl had dropped off a blank, leather bound journal, simply explaining in her note how proud she’d been of him for not messing with dark magic and that she hoped he’d use the journal to vent his feelings, frustrations, discoveries and anything else as he continued to turn over a new leaf. It had been sweet and something he’d never done before but if he was honest in the last year he’d nearly filled the damn thing after he taped in her note to the first page.

That remaining school year and the start of the current left him following around her like a lost crup puppy. Although feeling a bit self conscious earlier on about his newly acquired dragon pox scars adorning his body and the few on his face, he quickly resolved the issue when she come to him with a potion to cure it that she promised she had done the heavy lifting with garreth on. It overall did the charm and returned his face and skin to its original state.

Anywhere she needed to go after that, he was there. She needed someone to hold books? Sebastian had two hands. She needed an escort through the forbidden forest to find a lost niffler? He was carrying the small creature back for her. She wanted company even on a night he was exhausted? He’d brave the lack of sleep and stay up with her.

At some point during the year she had come to him and confessed she hadn’t been sleeping well, professor Weasley and her head of house recommending she relocate to her room of requirement instead of a dorm so she wouldn’t disturb her roommates with the nightmares.

So every once in a while when he too was struggling to fall asleep he’d find a note slipping under his dormitory door and he’d be slipping off to the tapestry in the hall to make sure she was okay.

Deek had found them most mornings still awake by the fire just chatting and decided perhaps Matilda didn’t need to know everything. Not even on the rare mornings he found Mr Sallow’s arms wrapped around his dear friend as they both slept soundly in her conjured bed. As far as Deek was concerned both children desperately needed whatever sleep they got, and the hero of Hogwarts only seemed to sleep in the arms of that Slytherin boy with the brown eyes that never left her.

As they found themselves in their seventh year, Ominis eventually trickled back into their lives. Having seen the changes made by Sebastian, and the reassurance from the girl he truly had given up after the damage he brought, Ominis decided that his found family was still better than his birth family. Despite that, he still had obligations at Yule until he was of age, leaving the pair behind as he boarded the train in Hogsmeade in December.

Sebastian wasn’t looking forward to Christmas this year. Not that he truly had for a while - Yule always brought forth the nasty reminder of those who were missing - a number that was increasing for him by the years. But this was going to be the first he was actually conscious for after his sister left. Given the previous dragon pox year he wasn’t sure what was going to happen this year.

Almost as if sensing his nervousness going into the holidays she approached him during dinner the last day of their examinations as she sat down gently and leaned a hand over to place on his arm, startling him out of his deep thoughts while he stared at his mashed potatoes.

Hey Bash, are you alright?

He looked up with a small jump as he saw her brow furrowed and her gaze laced with concern. Her sweet voice caused that ever present stirring to arise in his stomach as he sighed and turned towards her, making her drop her hand from his bicep in the process.

“I suppose” he said after a moment looking down and seeing where her thigh was almost pressed against his own and where she had laced her hands together in her lap after she let go of him.

After a beat of silence she spoke again.

“You’re feeling sad about the holidays this year aren’t you?” She asked and he almost let out a small yelp at how wonderfully she was able to capture exactly what he’d been thinking without him even having to explain himself.

Looking back at her empathetic expression he nodded. Of course she was understanding. She had always been nothing but caring since the day he’d met her.

Sighing, she averted her gaze and grabbed one of his forgotten peeled orange slices off his plate and popped it into her mouth, slowly allowing the fruits somewhat bitter-sweetness to coat her tongue before she swallowed and looked back at him.

“This is the time of year I feel the most alone” she admitted as she looked back up at him from her seat on the Slytherin bench.

Sebastian recalled the times she had mentioned growing up in a muggle orphanage in London. How abysmally poor and mismanaged it was run. How professor Fig had come, lying that he was a long lost relative to the nuns before “bringing her home” as he explained to the young witch that she had accidentally wound up at a muggle orphanage instead of a magic one when her parents were discovered dead by non magical policemen when she was an infant.

Spending her first Christmas at Hogwarts when Professor Fig was still alive had been wonderful. she’d been allowed to travel to visit him and Ominis and Anne during the last Christmas he’d had at feldcroft with the professor just during the day. Sebastian also remembered fondly how happy she looked celebrating Yule with them before she returned to hogwarts for the rest of the holiday: not before giving him a quick kiss to the cheek and scurrying off behind the late man. It had been Sebastian’s first decent Christmas since his parents died.

Now the pair sat in the great hall carrying the weight of loss and loneliness as they went uncertainty into the holiday season.

“I don’t want to go back to Feldcroft alone this year” he admitted bluntly as he continued to peel the orange, handing her a slice as he ate another. As they silently ate the fruit he kept thinking about how he felt conflicted in returning. A part of him hoped Anne would show up again but he knew deep down it was unlikely.

“What if… what if you didn’t go back to Feldcroft? What if you stayed here… with me?” She asked quietly without looking up at him.

Sebastian had wondered if he should stay at the school given he had no family to return to, but he worried she see him as imposing as hogwarts truly was the only home she had.

“You want me to stay?” He asked, unsure if she meant it but hopeful she did want him there.

“Of course I would. I always want you around. I think it’s silly for us both to be alone during Christmas if we have each other we could be keeping company.” she explained as she finally looked again.

“What about our dorm rooms-“ he asked as she shook her head with a small amount of blushing working its way to her face.

“We can stay in the room of requirement. Professor Weasley was returning home this year so she won’t be checking in and last anyone heard you were going to feldcroft. Only one who would know is Deek and he would never tell a soul. That is, if you are interested…” she explained to him.

He almost stuttered in his reply, taking in that the girl was willingly offering him to stay with her for an extended period of time alone and unsupervised. Sure he occasionally fell asleep there when she invited him but never for multiple nights in a row and with the intention directly.

“You want me to stay with you alone?” He asked and she gently nodded.

“I would. We can conjure a tree and decorate it together in the main room. Take care of the beasts in the vivariums and sneak down the library to get books to read… it could be fun” she reasoned and he nodded.

“Alright. I think I would really like that. Only if you’re sure you are alright with it. I can also sleep on the settee in the main room-“ he offered and she shook her head, opening her mouth to speak before pausing and looking down.

“You can if you prefer that, but I -“ she trailed off as she looked at his wild expression before continuing as she tucked one of those stray hairs so often around her face behind her ear as she admitted, “I do sleep better when you are around… the nightmares don’t usually happen when you are with me…” she told him.

He knew the feeling. In fact he knew it so well that the only peaceful sleep he often found was in her room when they fell asleep after hours of talking together. He never knew how but eventually once he would calm her down and they’d talk, he would wake up the next morning with her nestled against his body as if during the night they had reached over to hold one another.

“I-“ he paused, raking his own hands in his hair as he also admitted, “me too. I think the only real sleep I’ve gotten all year has been in the room of requirement”

“So you’ll stay? With me?” She asked and he nodded.

“I’d love to”

————————

The next morning he’d slipped out of his nearly empty Slytherin dorm room with a small bag over his shoulder of the stuff he usually brought home. Some clothes that weren’t his school uniforms, a few books, a quill and some ink, some snacks, the few toiletries he had and the journal she’d given him the previous year. As he snuck down the empty halls he came across the door to the room or requirement, now revealing itself to him with no problem, before he pushed inside.

Once there he could see the always lit fire in the main room, the vivariums grand entrances, along with all her potting and potions stations. Something about the place always felt so inherently homie and incredibly authentic to her.

“Uh…” he looked around seeing the absence of the witch who had invited him, knowing it was really early in the morning and she possibly could still be asleep, but usually she rose earlier. As he went to check the small bedroom that had appeared a few months prior, the door opened behind him and she shuffled in carrying a small basket.

“Oh, you’re already here. I snuck down to the kitchen for some breakfast and I was going to pop by the dungeons later-“ she started to ramble as he looked at her clothes.

Most of the time she wore her uniform, as most students did, but when she wasn’t in her robes she usually looked a tad mismatched. Often finding random articles of clothing with protection charms while exploring, she wore a tacky blend of them. The girl also usually opted for trousers not skirts or dresses as exploring was easier when you weren’t “worried about the wind blowing up or fabric getting caught” by her own words.

Instead she stood before him in possibly the first time he’d ever seen her without trousers or one of those hideous wool skirts all the students wore. She had a white blouse with an emerald green dress overtop that had only a few white embellishments along the skirt. It wasn’t the most elegant of dresses but it certainly was beautiful, especially since he rarely saw her like this.

He set his bag down and walked towards her, and upon further inspection she also had her hair tied back - not an uncommon sight - but she’d left most of it down, only pulling the front strands out of her way as she tied it back with a bow.

Very different from how he usually saw her.

Upon realizing he had been staring she felt self conscious, asking him “how do I look?” As she awkwardly stroked the material of her skirt down with her free hand.

“You look beautiful” he said without a second thought before he looked at her face, something he’d done so often but as her eyes softened he realized he shouldn’t affirm she looked this way only because of the clothes or change to her hair.

“You are beautiful” he spoke when he found himself planted in front of her, boldly admiring her face and not the wardrobe.

She noticed his correction along with the implications it carried as she fell under the wonderful scrutiny of his gaze. As she did so, she turned to take in his appearance with his lack of the Slytherin robes, swamping them for a simple shirt and vest as he stood in front of her. Usually disguised by school cloaks she could see how wide his shoulders had gotten, along with the exposed skin of his forearms from where he’d rolled his sleeves up. The skin that usually laid covered, now proudly displaying the freckled skin below the light dusting of dark hair, as well as his veins that went into his hand.

“You okay?” She heard his voice ask gently as she looked up from his hands to his face once more.

“Sorry, yeah, I mean thank you-“ she told him as she moved past him and walked down the stairs of the main room into the back area. Sebastian didn’t question as he followed her down into the deeper parts of the room.

Once they emerged in the area he noticed there was a large tree in the middle of the room with some pillow cushions on the floor in front of the fireplace. He realized she must’ve been awake a while to have conjured a tree and made the cozy nest where they likely would read together during the day.

“You’ve been busy” he teased as she walked them over to the fireplace and lifted her skirt ever so slightly so she could settle herself on the ground comfortably.

“I just wanted you to feel as at homey as possible” she explained as he sat down next to her, his long legs stretching out in front of them. Looking between their bodies he noticed her hand sat atop one of the cushions on the floor and he carefully plucked it from the space between them.

As he ran his fingers over the delicate and soft skin of her hand he tried to ignore the way his cheeks flamed at his bold action.

“I really appreciate the effort but you don’t have to play host you know? I am just happy to spend time with you” he explained as he looked at her, giving a reassuring squeeze to her hand to truly affirm his words.

She didn’t respond as she stared at the way he continued to clutch her much smaller hand. He worried she would seem disappointed by his request to remain as laid back as possible so he in turn shifted the conversation.

“You said you grabbed breakfast?” He asked and she pulled her hand back to grab the basket, opening it up with a smile to show the goodies she had brought. As she continued to go through the options he couldn’t shake the way her hand in his own had felt like the most incredibly natural act in the world.

———————

After a day of reading, exploring the room, decorating the tree together, and just talking he was on cloud nine. Everything had felt so comfortable, so natural, as they fell into a rhythm alongside one another.

That was, until it was time for bed.

Once again he insisted if she preferred him to sleep on the sofa he would more than happily oblige, understanding that sleeping in the same bed carried heavy implications. She swiftly reminded him that they had indeed fallen asleep in the very bed in her room of requirement before. But for Sebastian, those moments had never been intentional, and to do so from the jump felt like a much deeper step.

To go to bed willingly alongside one another felt like the kind of thing reserved for married couples, certainly not friends of the opposing genders. And especially not a friend he often dreamed about kissing… as well as other more intense and vulgar things…

Regardless, her sweet smile and bright big eyes told him it was okay in her book, and who was he to question that. So as she slipped off into the small bathroom area to change for bed he stripped himself of his clothes and quickly threw on his own night clothes, tossing his dirty ones in his bag just as she returned.

Sebastian hadn’t recalled ever seeing the nightgown she wore. Usually she had something much thicker and denser but this one seemed… thin.

It was suddenly as if Sebastian’s mouth had lost all its moisture and he couldn’t help but stare as the silk she wore seemed to hug areas he usually wasn’t granted access to see.

Since when had her breasts been this full? Has she always had such an intense dip in her waist?

“Sebastian?” She asked him in mild concern as he stared distantly, his mind very much elsewhere as she came closer to where he stood slack jawed. When she found herself in front of him, he looked at her like a wild animal that had been caught by a hunter.

“I…” he trailed off as he took one more, very obvious, look down at her barely clothed breast. The view from up close confirmed his suspicions that she had forgone any form of camisole as the brief outline of her nipple shown through the silk.

“What’s wrong?” She asked gently, not fully comprehending his reaction.

“I… I think I may need to sleep out there” he said shyly as he pointed to the main area, his voice much more painned than he intended it to sound. At his explanation her heart fell as she couldn’t comprehend his reasoning.

“But why? Did I do something to upset you?”

“What?” He asked her as he looked at her hair which he realized was now completely down, something he’d never been privy to see before. It made him want to reach out and touch the long strands and see if they were just as silky as he imagined.

Quickly snapping his eyes back to her suddenly saddened expression he firmly said “You’ve done nothing wrong”. This further plagued the girl as she couldn’t place why exactly he was acting in this manor.

“I don’t understand. I thought you said you slept better when we were here together… Don’t you want to share the bed?” Her hurt expression cut through him as he realized she was still not understanding that his resistance was not due to anything about her personally… more or less it was about his lack of control in regards to his wandering hands should they lay in the same bed all night.

“Come here,” Sebastian explained as he sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing her palm and pulling her to do the same. She simply sat next to him as he turned to face her, his knee slightly framing her hips and he did his best to try and ignore how close they really were.

I don’t trust myself.

If she hadn’t watched him say it she wouldn’t have believed he muttered the words.

“What do you mean-“ she asked and Sebastian almost grew frustrated with the girl for her lack of awareness at how much of a beauty she was, along with the fact he was so irrevocably in love with her it pained him.

“I mean you are too bloody gorgeous like this that I don’t trust myself to behave like a gentleman” he let out with a frustrated sigh. He knew he shouldn’t get so worked up, especially not to show frustration at her, but the throbbing starting in his lower region was making it hard to fully concentrate on his emotions.

All he heard was her gasp, fearing she’d seen the arousal in his night trousers but when he looked up, all Sebastian saw was the girl cautiously clutching her hair trying to make sense of his words.

Closing his eyes, he ran his hand over his face. Why was he such an idiot? She probably thought him some sort of delinquent. She probably hated him. She-

She had turned her body to face him and placed a hand on his shoulder when he opened his eyes.

“Bash” her timid tone called out and all he could muster upon having her so close was an eyebrow raise to acknowledge he heard her speak.

What if I don’t want you to behave like a gentleman?

Sebastian wasn’t sure he heard her correctly or if he was about to wake up from another one of those wet deans where he stained his sheets dreaming about being buried inside her.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for” he reasoned, knowing how innocent in many regards she seemed. It wouldn’t surprise him if no one had explained the marital act to her at all.

Instead of replying she simply inched closer until she was directly in front of him. Sebastian anticipated her to stop but when she cautiously climbed on his lap his breathing stopped. He kept his hand firmly planted at his sides as she settled herself atop him, her hands resting on his shoulders for support.

“I do know what you’re referring to,” she said bluntly and her boldness made him question just how much he might know of her. Behind those innocent gazes perhaps she’d been a temptress this whole time and he was just to blind by his affections to notice.

He hadn’t realized she had lifted one of his hands until he saw her concentrated expression examining his right hand up close. She studied the calloused skin of his palm before placing his open hand along her waist. Suddenly he felt the warmth of her skin through the silk nightgown along with the beautiful dip of her curves that laid underneath.

“I thought, but you-“ he couldn’t think of an intelligent response as she looked at his face. This led to the both of them staring at one another in silence as he kept his hand firmly planted where she’d left it.

Leaning forward she placed her fingers lightly on his chin, noting the stubble growing from his face as she traced over it. He’d shaved it in the morning but she always enjoyed seeing the small, dark hairs when he stayed with her after nightmares.

“If I ask you to kiss me, are you going to run away Sebastian?” She asked him while continuing to trace her fingertips over his face in the areas his facial hair had started to grow.

Sebastian didn’t reply as his hand finally tightened and curved over her waist. Lifting the other, he placed it on her cheek gently as he let his eyes move to her own.

“Are you sure? If I’m honest I don’t think I can ever let things go back to normal if we do that” he admitted to her with a sigh.

Of course he wanted her. Wanted to be with her. Wanted to kiss her. Wanted to lay with her. But if this was just some Christmas Eve fun that never would go anywhere he couldn’t stomach it.

Instead of replying she simply leaned forward into his hand, smiling to herself as she felt the warmth of his palm against her skin. Sebastian took a shaky inhale at realizing she was signaling he could go ahead while she looked at him through her heavy lidded lashes.

Exhaling gently he leaned forward just enough to ever so softly press his lips to hers.

He could hear the way she inhaled sharply through her nose before he felt the slight pressure of her returning the kiss. It was cautious. Unsure. But still she continued to press on physically and metaphorically.

Sebastian let out a groan as he felt one of her hands tighten in his dark hair, her fingers weaving in and out of the locks along his sensitive nape. In response he pulled her closer to him by the hands firmly planted on her waist and cheek.

Feeling herself more tightly wrapped in his embrace she gained more confidence in the movements, shifting on his lap ever so slightly and letting out a gasp and breaking the kiss when she felt that beautiful ache between her legs at pressing upon his hard thigh.

She had touched herself before, sometimes rutting into a pillow to find relief, but to use the boys thigh in seeking that feeling once more she felt electrified.

Sebastian couldn’t help but feel the full extent of the throbbing in his pants, when he realized she was humping his thigh to get off. The girl he assumed knew little, quickly proving him wrong as her gasps and sighs carved into his neck.

“Hey..” he told her, moving his hand down to her hip to still her movement for a brief moment as she removed her blush covered face from the privacy of his neck.

“I need some guidance on where exactly this is headed” he asked her.

“You’ve always rushed unto everything with no plan before. Why do you need one now?” She retorted one more trying to find the friction she desired on his lap.

Sebastian let out a soft groan as her center moved over his erection and he paused as he considered her words.

“That’s different… I don’t want to be disrespectful or hurt you. I have read that sometimes intercourse can be painful for the woman and I would never want to cause you harm” he explained and she rolled her eyes, catching him off guard with her frustration.

“I’m not made of glass Seb” she told him before aggressively beginning to kiss the side of his neck. Teeth nipping, lips sucking and tongue soothing the skin as she once again resumed rutting her hips.

“But-“

“Oh Merlin, would you just let me do it” she said frustratingly as she pushed his shoulders back until he fell on the bed, as she crawled over top of his shocked form.

Sebastian barely had a chance to get a word in before she was unbuttoning his sleep shirt. He didn’t say anything as he helped her slip it down his arms upon undoing the buttons.

“Do you want me?” She asked him curtly as she looked down at his half naked form with a surprised gaze.

“I - of course “ he told her.

“Then act like it, Sallow.” She told him and suddenly like a fuse had been lit, Sebastian flipped the girl onto her back and started kissing her shoulders and collarbones with vigor. He hadn’t even realized that as he flipped her over he had pulled her nightgown down significantly but he brushed it aside as he kissed her body.

She grew warm at how suddenly the reservations left him body and he responded so well to her noises and gasps. Sebastian seemed to so easily locate all those spots that made her feel weak as he kept kissing her body.

Soon he was reaching for the ties holding up her nightclothes and she leaned up to help him remove it. As her fingers moved to undo the latches he grumpily pushed her hand aside to do it himself.

“Been wanting to unwrap you like a gift for so long now. I want to do it on my own,” he gritted out against the shell of her ear before removing the top of her dress, pulling it up and over her body and tossing it onto the floor.

As she shivered from the draft in the room, Sebastian looked down and realized she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. He assumed that even though she lacked a camisole she at the very least would have breeches, but no. She was fully naked as she lay underneath him.

“You sneaky little witch planned this didn’t you” he gritted out as he leaned down to take one of her pert little nipples in his mouth, groaning at the sweet taste of her skin along his tongue.

“I had hoped it could be a possibility…” she said through a whine as he flicked her now erect nipple with his tongue before moving to the other one.

When he successfully gave it the same attention he release it with a pop as he looked back up at her face hungrily.

“So that innocent routine was just an act?” He asked her as he moved back up her body and leaned his weight down on her. She could finally feel his arousal through his pajama pants and she shivered as he used his free hand to trace down her torso.

“Tell me what you hoped for… did you hope I would kiss you…” he trailed off kissing her now severely flushed skin before pulling back to look up at her through his thick lashes as he kept teasing. “Did you hope I would… touch you here?” Sebastian asked as he ran his fingertips ever so gently over the skin of her chest.

His index finger moved down painfully slow until it was right at the base of her opening and he looked into her eyes intently as he breached her walls with his finger, smiling as he asked “did you hope I would enter you here?”

Sebastian only brought his finger back out slowly as she whimpered at the loss of the stretch that she’d felt around his knuckles and upon hearing the noise he shoved it back in again causing her eyes to go wide as she clung to the quilt.

Shoving another finger alongside it, he continued to work her open so she’d be able to take him with ease. Curling his fingers and scissoring them within her, he took his time appreciating every noise she made and every pull her body made on his appendages.

He wasn’t done teasing the girl yet because just when she was nearing an orgasm he pulled his hand away to look at her exasperated expression with a grin as he shoved the soaked digits into his mouth and licked them clean.

“Well?” He asked her and she remembered vaguely he had asked her what she had hoped for.

“I wanted you to… be inside of me…” she admitted somewhat ashamed and he chuckled at her relapse into innocence.

“My fingers?” He eased as he brought them close to her opening once more before changing his mind and grabbing her hand from where it was still clutching the quilt and bringing it over his arousal before asking “or my cock?”

“Your… cock…” she said as if she was out of breath and he smiled down at her, suddenly breaking the trance he’d been in and softly stroking her messy hair away from her face as he laid down next to her.

“You sweet, darling girl” he cooed as he pulled her into his frame. “You may have whatever you desire” he told her before leaning up to passionately but delicately kiss her once more.

She carefully reached for the tie on his sleep pants as she undid the knot and pushed them off his hips. Sebastian reached down to loosen his breeches and pushed them off his body to assist her before maneuvering his way between her open knees, laying over her.

“I’m sorry if I got carried away…” he admitted, realizing that his brash actions may not have been what she wanted.

“Don’t be. I found it to be… quite stirring” she admitted and he laughed at her choice words. Caressing her cheek he leaned down to kiss the skin between her eyebrows before pulling back.

“We do this at your pace. Promise you’ll let me know if it stings” he asked her and she nodded, brushing off the concerns as she reached for his cock, only to have him palm his manhood with a slight groan as he shook his head.

“I mean it. I don’t want to hurt you.” He told her sternly and she looked up at his concern laced brow.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine-“ she said as she finally unwrapped his hand from his manhood, finally getting to feel the full size of him as she looked down in shock.

Sebastian was much larger than she imagined. Not that she’d ever seen one in real life before but, even from anatomical drawings she’d seen and the girlish whispers she realized he was much more endowed than she assumed.

“Oh…” she said as she looked down, losing her nerve as she saw the way his cock looked massive between their bodies and the way it pulsed under her scrutiny.

“We don’t have to do it if you are nervous” he told her as she tore her gaze from his manhood back to his face.

“I want to” she said firmly and he looked at her for any signs she was lying or feeling pressured.

“You’re sure?” He asked her gently, his thumb tracing over the skin of her chin as he held her face carefully.

“Just… go slow…” she told him, parting her legs further and reaching down to assist him.

Sebastian grunted as he felt her lining his head up with her opening and once he could feel they were properly aligned he let go of her chin to reach for her hand, holding it in his own as he encouraged her to look up.

“Look at me, don’t worry about what is going on down there alright? Just look into my eyes…” he offered and she nodded, pulling her gaze directly into his own as he ever so slightly pushed his hips forward.

Everything went okay for a few moments until her breath hitched and he paused, not tearing his eyes from hers as he stopped pressing in. When she looked as if she adjusted, he continued until the entirety of his head was inside of her, pausing once more.

He couldn’t help but sigh as he sunk into her, enjoying the warmth of her body around him as he parted her. Every so often he’d stop and ask if she was okay to keep going and she never told him it hurt but he could definitely see the discomfort at the new and what he imagined, intrusive, feeling.

However for him… it was like coming home, to a place he’d never known was so wonderful. Her body eventually opened up and accepted all of him and he found his mound of dark curls pressed against her own, slightly more manicured patch of hair atop her womanhood.

He could feel the press of her hip bones on his as he laid there, waiting for her to adjust to the fullness of his length within her body. Sebastian almost felt amazed at where it all had gone, as she was so small in comparison to him and he knew his cock well exceeded his classmates from their time sharing dorms and bathrooms.

“Do you think you’re ready for me to move?” He asked her with the softest tone he could muster despite feeling like he was going to burst free at any second.

“You’ll be gentle?” She asked timidly and he almost removed himself entirely at the tone she asked him with.

“I promise. I don’t want you to be in pain. Does it hurt now?” He asked her, not wanting to know the answer but needing to have it regardless.

“It’s moreso just… pressure? Maybe moving will help” she offered as an explanation and he nodded, ever so carefully pulling his hips back before slowly sliding back inside once more at a snail like pace.

Eventually his movements became more comfortable, confident, and controlled - as well as slightly faster.

At first her face scrunched up as she closed her eyes but after a moment she seemed to relax her eyebrows as her mouth fell open. Sebastian watched her reactions intently as she gave herself over to him.

Somehow he moved to an angle causing a pleasured noise to spill from her lips and he felt himself twitch knowing that she was slowly starting to feel good.

“Hey, I like seeing those pretty eyes Love” he said gently as he nudged her nose with his own, causing her to open them once more and blush up at him as he continued to press within her.

“There you are… so incredibly beautiful. You are an angel…” he whispered as he picked up the pace but kept his tone soft.

His words and his moments caused her to feel a stirring in her stomach that was similar to when she rode highwing and she would dive low.

“Sebastian…” She sighed his name as a mantra while she reached up to hold his cheek in her hand, the other curled around into his hair.

“My gorgeous witch… so lovely inside and out…” he continued to praise her as her eyes grew glassy at his sweet words and without thinking a tear rolled out of the corner of her eye, his thumb moving to catch it the second he spotted it.

“Did I hurt you-“ he quickly asked but she stopped him by leaning up to kiss him, her hips rising to meet his shallow moments as he groaned.

Pulling away she continued to hold him close as she whispered

I love you Sebastian Sallow…

Hearing her call his name like that, and saying she loved him, caused him to stutter in his movements and his cock begin to angrily throb looking for that final push of release.

He moved his hips much faster against hers as he leaned down and groaned out, “I - love you too… so much… uhhh fuck… need to… finish… where” he struggled to choke out as he kept his momentum while driving into her.

Realizing she was likely much further behind he had the foresight to lean his hand down and start playing with her nub, causing her back to raise sharply as she whimpered and clawed at his back.

“Need to pull, out-“ he grunted and she shook her head violently beneath him.

“No. Please. Don’t -“ she said through a loud sob, her body beginning to clench around him as she looked up at him fiercely saying “please finish inside…” she begged.

He didn’t need to ask twice after she gave him permission. Pushing harshly on her clit, she came with a scream and with that, her body pulled his cock so tightly that he followed.

As her body milked him for every drop he had he couldn’t help but feel the strong sense of pride running through his mind as he flooded her with his seed. He looked down watching her wide eyed expression as he continued to pump his load deep within her body, only slowing once he ran out of stamina before he collapsed on top of her.

Sebastian was spent as he laid on top of her chest, his face pressed against her sweaty skin and he slowly began trailing butterfly kisses across her neck at the same moment he felt her brushing his hair off his forehead to do the same.

Suddenly he heard the clock chime loudly in the main room, signaling midnight and he removed himself from the crook of her neck as he softened within her, his spill slipping out of her and between their thighs. It felt so overwhelmingly perfect and then he realized something.

“Happy Christmas” he whispered as he tucked her hair behind her ear and she looked up at him slowly realizing that he was indeed correct and they had made love on Christmas Eve through the official start of the day itself.

“Happy Christmas Sebastian…” she said, her voice slightly hoarse from the screech she’d let out and he leaned down to kiss her once more before pulling her body into his, neglecting the mess between them.

“Well, I for one think this Christmas is already off to the best start imaginable” he admitted before pecking her forehead and he smiled when she laughed, the chuckle causing both their bodies to shake.

“Of course you’d say that”

“What? I’ve got the girl I love in my arms. What more can a man want?” He asked her and he looked down just in time to see her face turn up to meet his.

“You love me?” She asked softly and suddenly it was his turn to chuckle.

“I think that what we just did goes to show that but yes, I do love you. Terribly so.” He admitted as he brought her closer into his arms.

“I love you too” she told him as he smiled, his eyes starting to grow heavy.

“I heard you the first time… although if you feel so inclined to repeat it, I can guarantee that’s not the sort of thing one grows tired of hearing” he told her as he drifted off to sleep holding her in his arms thinking about how much more pleasurable this was than going to sleep with dragon pox on Christmas.

THE END

[th0rnback]

FoM: unused snippet - Tea time

Confession time: 🫠 I have so many snippets that never made it into FoM because most of it was domestic fluff with nowhere to go (and I totally wrote them to soothe myself after just giving Ed a shitty time) OR just alternative routes I wrote up.

I do this with so many fics its probably why writing takes long.

But yeah… Have some [unedited] Tea time since I'm back on shift for 4 nights tomorrow.

[Set during Ed’s time settling in @ Riza’s apartment during the Gray Man case]

⬇️🫖☕⬇️

Routine was ingrained into Edward.

Being under Archer’s regimented command had made it a necessity. The endless cycle of orders, travel, chaos—assignments that spanned the breadth of Amestris—always circling back to New Optain. It was a rhythm, a loop, relentless in its precision. And Edward, as much as he bristled against the structure, found something oddly comforting in it. A consistency in the repetition. A dull, familiar hum beneath the Kimblee brand style of chaos.

Even the mindless polishing of his boots had turned into a soothing ritual. Born of necessity to avoid a harsh scolding from his superior, but eventually twisted into something meditative. A task that allowed his brain to go quiet while mismatched hands moved on autopilot. Still, it wasn’t the kind of routine he ever would have chosen for himself.

Living with Lieutenant Hawkeye had opened an entirely new realm of routine. One gentler. Mundane, even. But in that mundanity was something tender. Intimate. A first taste of domesticity.

It was long, measured walks with Black Hayate before and after work—no matter the weather. Giving the pup a small treat before leaving the apartment became as natural as tightening his laces. Boots came off at the door, neatly tucked against the wall, his own set of looking silly and small next to Riza’s. Dinner was shared, even if rushed or made from leftovers. Those humble meals—thrown together from cold rice or bits of meat—tasted better than the hardtack or slop he managed to eat when on the road with Kimblee.

Then came the nudge toward the bathroom; a quiet insistence from Riza, subtle but unwavering, where a steaming bath would be waiting with sweet suds and not caustic bar soap. On top of all that, there was laundry days and other tasks that he was sure other twelve-year-olds would sneer or grumble over, but he didn’t.  Nope.

This slow pile of routines that grounded Edward in ways he hadn't known he needed, like…tea.

Edward couldn’t remember ever drinking tea before being here. If he had, it was lost in the amnesiac haze. But now? Now, tea in the evening was a ritual.

It wasn’t grand or ceremonial. It started small—just something Riza did without thinking. But Edward had begun hovering in the tiny kitchen, slowly edging closer and closer, always drawn by the faint clink of spoons and the soft whistle of the kettle. Like now, he stood there as she prepared the leaves, his metal and flesh fingers curled on the counter, nestled so near her side that she had absentmindedly tucked him under his arm like the mama birds in the trees did with their chicks…

Three mugs clinked softly as they were set down on the counter by Roy.

The Colonel had arrived shortly after dinner and had yet to leave, not that Ed minded. Like most evenings, Roy appeared at Riza’s apartment, claiming it was for the sake of “reviewing paperwork,” as it didn’t seem to matter if they were in the thick of a serial killer investigation—his hand-cramping pile of reports followed him. Tonight, there was no paperwork. Just a grumpy reason to escape the sound of Maes Hughes's endless stream of chatting to his wife Gracia, hiking up Roy's phone bill.

Although, if Edward was honest, he had an inkling Roy was forever giving flimsy reasons to be here.

Edward's eyes drifted to the trio of mugs now lined up. Normally, it was just two mugs, but with Roy’s presence, came a mildly altered routine of teatime. The first mug looked like a miniature tankard—ceramic, sturdy, with an irregular glaze of black-to-blue ink splatters. The second was far more refined, bone-white with delicate blue swirls and soft pink blossoms hand-painted across its surface. The third was pale gray, round and squat, speckled with warm yellow. Ed scowled at it instinctively.

Riza, who’d noticed immediately, slid the gray-yellow speckled mug away with the ease of someone fluent in silent communication.

Roy’s brow lifted, amused. “What did I miss?”

“I don’t drink from that one,” Ed said without looking at him, as if the idea was absurd.

“Edward’s rather taken with the failed attempt I made at pottery class with Rebecca,” Riza said, opening the tea tin with a casual grace. “Middle shelf. Red.��’

“The wonky one,” Ed clarified helpfully, pointing with his automail finger toward a mug tucked at the back of the shelf—a red one, oddly shaped, a little too lopsided and thick around the middle like it had sagged in the kiln. “S’the best one.”

Having a preference felt surreal and made his tummy flip in the best sort of way.

A small, twitchy paranoid part of Ed expected to be given a glare or be dismissed. Instead, Roy let out a snort and retrieved the misshapen mug.

“Naturally,” was Roy’s drawled remark.

Ed gave a nod, satisfied that the routine was reestablished correctly, and settled into the quiet comfort of the moment. He missed the knowing glance of affection exchanged above his head—Riza’s soft smile met Roy’s lopsided one, the kind of silent exchange that came with long-standing familiarity and a shared softness they didn’t need to put into words.

Edward, for his part, was too busy watching Riza's hands.

The boy always did during this part of the evening. There was something calming about the ritual of watching Riza make tea or putter around the tiny kitchen —the way she worked without hurry, her movements precise and growing steadily familiar . She measured the tea, tapping the leaves into the strainer, snapping the lid shut with a gentle click. It was a blend she’d served him every evening since the first night he’d been welcomed into her home with Black Hayate embedding fur into his uniform.

Chamomile and passionflower with a few additional things she added during the process.

The Sharpshooter once told him the pairing was supposed to ease restlessness and invite sleep. It never really worked. Not for him.

But Ed never said anything. The taste was nice enough and the scent alone was akin to a balm. Event he routine itself -  the boiling water, ceramic clinks and peaceful scents – was soothing after a long day.  He watched her like she was preparing some kind of magical potion or an alchemical solution of some sort…

Like the act of steeping tea could transmute the day’s weight into something lighter.

Finally, she poured the soft, golden tea into each mug. No milk. Edward watched her add a spoonful of honey to hers and Roy's, and pushed himself up onto his toes to see her stir it in. Then, as she spooned a generous dollop of honey into Ed’s, he dropped back onto the flats of his feet. Fingers twitching and waiting the what would follow, he watched her add another spoonful, unaware of the happy hum that escaped him.

“And the kid gets two spoonfuls of honey, why?” Roy asked, his voice soft, almost too casual.

If Ed didn’t know better, he’d swear there was a touch of jealousy in his voice.

Riza didn’t miss a beat. “Edward could use a little extra sweetness.”

Roy leaned his elbow on the counter, his tone smug “Ah. Or is it because I’m sweet enough already, right? I always suspected you —”

“Because you don’t need extra honey,” she cut in, dry as the desert.

Roy blinked, affronted. “Why does that sound suspiciously like an insult?”

Riza said nothing, her silence loaded and expertly delivered. Ed bit the inside of his cheek, fighting the grin tugging at his mouth. He still had trouble reading decent people—figuring out if kindness was real or some kind of trap—but this... This was the Colonel and the Lieutenant’s strange sort of banter and affection. Familiar and gentle. A rhythm they unconsciously danced to.

“I’m in perfect shape,” Roy added, mildly affronted.

“I didn’t say otherwise,” Riza replied, voice laced with amusement as she stirred in that second spoonful into Edward’s tea.

Edward could practically hear Rebecca Catalina in his head—sharp-tongued and unfiltered— and always seeking to tease Roy mercilessly. She’d have pounced on that moment without hesitation, no doubt reminding Roy that circle was, technically, a shape. Not that Roy was out of shape. Not, really. He was broad-shouldered, barrel-chested and thick through the chest and arms with muscle despite not moving much from behind his desk.  

Roy was stocky sturdy and, dare Ed admit it, felt safe.

Regardless, the big felt a ticklish laugh curl in his throat. Edward swallowed it down, turning his head just enough to not be seen, using Riza’s arm as a shelter. Before the conversation could continue, routine continued as it always did and – like clockwork - Riza pulled the spoon from his mug while the honey still clung to it.

She held it aloft without looking in silent invitation, waiting.

And, like the many times before during evening tea, Ed gently plucked it from her hand and popped the spoon into his mouth. The warmth of honey bloomed on his tongue, and for a heartbeat—for one small, perfect moment—it felt like the world didn’t feel like it was collapsing beneath him.

[nvirskies]

little snippet of the clarisse x daughter of hephaestus thing that blew up a couple days ago in the works!

title (wip): it's getting hot in here

unedited rough draft!

lmk if you wanna be on the taglist for this and/or future clarisse pieces!

It was no secret the kids of Cabin 9 ran a side business to make some extra cash. It was pretty lucrative, given that there would always be a line of demigods waiting to have their weapon(s) of choice customized. Custom engravings, patterns cast into handles, ergonomic handpiece add-ons, and so much more. Name it, and it would be done for the right price, forged with impeccable quality.

And that was how Clarisse La Rue found herself heading to the forge just east of the strawberry fields with a thin paper in one hand and a small bag of golden drachmas in the other. The edges of the slip were just barely singed, and the writing on it looked nearly incomprehensible to many eyes, scribbled notes of her order confirmation and gods only knew what else. It didn’t matter to her, she just needed it to get her dagger and go.

Crowds parted for her like the Red Sea, once-lively conversations coming to a grinding halt as she walked straight through crowds and groups with nothing more than a glare and a sharp look in any general direction. 

In no time at all, the familiar sounds of machinery clanking, fire hissing and crackling, and hammers striking metal filled the air. The forge, the singular place where one could guarantee there would be at least one child of Hephaestus in there at all hours of the day. 

She pushed open the heavy metal door, swinging it wide open soundlessly despite its obvious weight. And what a sight she was greeted with. You were there alone, hunched over a piece of blisteringly hot metal, pounding away at it with a hammer in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other.

Something about you entranced her. 

[stayinlimbo]

she kissed me and i tasted you again

summary: the second worst thing to happen in minho’s life was losing you. he’s still living with the first.

pairing: lee minho x f!reader genre: angst (and i mean it) WARNINGS: implied character death, a non-consensual kiss, grief, drinking, swearing, slightly unedited, intended lowercase please do not read if any of these themes are triggering. word count: 1.91k note: please read the warnings! i had "leave me alone" by daniel seavey on repeat while writing this. i hope you enjoy ♡ please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are always appreciated

minho shouldn’t have listened to chan. 

the blend of colorful strobe lights, though vibrant, does little to illuminate the dark room he finds himself in. the smell of alcohol and smoke permeates the air, stinging his eyes and nose as he blindly pushes through the numerous people blocking his way. an involuntary gag almost escapes him at the overwhelming body odor of the man he just brushed past.

at first, a “boys’ night out” to end a stressful work week didn’t sound like the worst idea minho had heard come from his friend’s mouth. now, though, the combination of being pressed between sweaty bodies and the mediocre club music pulsating in the background was reason enough for him to want to end the night prematurely and return to the familiarity of his home.

but he can’t. not if he wants chan’s disappointed face to haunt him for the rest of the weekend.

because chan is just trying to help. or at least that’s what minho tells himself every time he is dragged out of his small one-bedroom apartment to entertain his friend’s version of fun. last week was camping, which minho would normally enjoy if chan had bothered to check the weather forecast’s warnings of heavy rain and strong winds (he only lasted twenty minutes before sprinting back into the car, forcing a reluctant chan to take him home drenched and in a darkened mood).  

the thinning crowd reveals minho’s destination; the bar is too small for the number of people surrounding the countertop but chan’s broad stature is identifiable enough in the poor lighting for minho to walk over and squeeze himself beside him. on the other side of his friend, a woman holds chan’s attention as the two talk animatedly about somethi- 

minho’s eyes widen, sparing his friend’s back an incredulous glance. his pulse quickens, a rapid rhythm pounding in his chest, as snippets of their conversation reach his ears; the phrases knows how to cook, really good dancer, three cats, single, spew haphazardly out of chan’s mouth and echo in minho’s mind. the woman’s cheerful laughter resonates against the music's throbbing bass and the blood rushing in his ears. 

oh. oh. they’re talking about him. 

“chan,” minho’s voice is a low murmur, barely audible enough for the older man to hear, “what’re you doing?” 

minho’s question hangs in the air as chan’s rambling suddenly stops, carefully turning his body to face minho’s intense stare. 

the discomfort radiating off the younger is obvious. shifting in his stance, minho can’t help the slight furrow of his brows; the hardness of his eyes wanes as they flicker between chan and the woman before finally resting on his friend’s face.

softly exhaling, chan gives him a knowing look. 

fuck. 

minho remains silent as his grip on the bar’s edge tightens, avoiding chan’s sympathetic gaze. he knows what’s coming—the well-intentioned yet painful words that carve a hole in his heart every time they are uttered:

“its been over a year, minho. she’d want you to be happy… i want you to be happy”

minho’s eyes screw shut at his friend’s words.

perhaps it’s the pitiful expression etched on chan’s face, mirroring the ache minho feels within his own chest, or the alcohol flowing through his system that makes him truly consider the weight of the elder’s words. or maybe he’s seen enough of chan’s desperate attempts to mend the fragments of minho’s shattered heart, only to reveal more irreparable damage. 

he’s right…

“just try, okay?” chan quietly pleads.  

regardless, a small nod is all he manages to give in response. minho opens his eyes, tracking his friend’s movement as chan gives his shoulder two reassuring pats before walking away from the bar and disappearing into the sea of bodies. 

…you’d want him to be happy. 

“hey” 

flinching, minho snaps his head in the direction of the feminine voice. his posture straightens, a tight lipped grimace threatening to reveal itself.   

oh, right, she’s still here.

a hesitant smile graces the woman’s expression. the gentle glow of the pulsing lights caress her face with various colorful hues, the radiant shadows enhancing her black-dressed figure as she grabs her half-full drink from the countertop. taking a small sip, her eyes glaze over his tense form. a soft chuckle escapes her glossed lips as she locks her eyes with his. 

minho won’t deny it; she is beautiful. and he must’ve been staring too much because her name falls on deaf ears when she attempts to introduce herself.

“...hello? you are minho, right?” the woman questions, eyebrows furrowing with slight doubt. 

“uh, yeah i am, sorry,” minho answers, his sweaty hands fumbling to grab chan’s left-behind soju, ultimately choosing to shove them into his pockets instead. he can feel the awkwardness emanating off of him, filling the room with a lingering tension he doesn’t know how to escape.

the woman’s smile widens, eyes crinkling with pleasure at his reply. 

well, she doesn’t seem to notice at least.

“ah, great! chan, i think that was his name, was telling me all about you. you have a really dedicated wingman.” 

“yeah, he’s a good friend. i’m lucky to have him,” minho sighs, turning his body to fully face her. 

“you’re a dancer, right?”

the rigidness of his stance loosens slightly at the comfortable subject. talking about himself isn’t hard; it never has been.

“mhm, i’m a dance teacher for a studio nearby,” minho replies, a faint smile playing on his lips. the flow of conversation remained focused on him: he’s been a dance teacher for three years but has danced since he was in middle school. yes, maybe he’ll audition for a company one day. yes, he has three cats named soongie, doongie, and dori. 

the passage of time blends together with their laughter. the nameless woman’s drink has long been finished and replaced with a new one. chan’s soju finds its way into minho’s hand, nursing the bottle carefully as he finishes it with a final swig. the stress mounted on his shoulders has finally lifted, the buzz of alcohol brushing the pain off as they rise and fall rhythmically at her drunken attempt to finish recounting an embarrassing date.

“do you live alone?” the woman’s speech is slightly slurred, tone breathless from laughter. a lopsided grin adorns her features, as if she already knows the answer, “i forgot to ask you earlier.”

minho’s smile begins to fall. “no, i told you about my cats, remember?” 

“i meant do you live with another person? a roommate? chan told me you used to live with your ex, so i was just wondering if anything had changed since then.”

the room freezes over. icy tendrils of shock and disbelief squeeze his hammering heart, his blood running cold at the woman’s words. his ex?

silence fills the tense space. the intensifying pain from his clutch on the soju bottle thrusts him back into his dreadful reality. he lets go, placing his hand flat on the counter.

minho sucks in a deep breath. “oh. what else did chan tell you?”

“wellllllll,” she drawls, a flirty smile appearing on her face. the shadows seem menacing now, their elongated forms dancing along with her slow, deliberate words, “he said you needed help getting over her.”

the woman reaches towards him, fingers closing firmly on his forearm. minho doesn’t have time to react before she lurches forward and seals her lips with his. 

the kiss lasts for two seconds before she pulls away. paralyzed, minho can’t move until she attempts it again, forcefully shoving her away. tears well into his widened eyes, quickly threatening to spill onto his cheeks. the transferred lipgloss feels sticky against his mouth.

“get the fuck away from me, now.” 

the woman doesn’t move, her mouth stammering as she tries to form a coherent sentence. “i-i’m sorry. i was just trying to-”

minho doesn’t wait to hear her justification, swiftly pushing away from the bar and stumbling in the direction of the exit. the rush of air as he pushes the door open makes singular tears streamline down his face. the chilled breeze burns his eyes as they dart around his surroundings lit by the sparse scattering of street lamps. 

no, he really shouldn’t have listened to chan. 

∘₊✧──────���₊∘

minho doesn’t know how he made it home (well, actually, he does but he’d rather pretend he doesn’t than admit that chan saw his distressed state leave the nightclub and called him an uber).

the taste of the woman’s lipgloss remains on his lips, no matter how many times he tries to wipe it away. he hates how he doesn’t hate it because it tastes like you.

you, who wore the same strawberry lipgloss every time you went on a date, only for minho to kiss it all off by the end of the night. 

you, who was so excited to move in with him in this small, dingy apartment until the two of you could find a better place; a home.

you, who promised you’d be right back before kissing his cheek and heading out the door.

you, whose hands he will never hold again. 

you, whose spot on the bed his cats now sleep on every night.

you, who one year, four months, and six days later, still occupy his every thought. 

you– a sob wracks through his body, echoing around the bedroom’s walls. the empty mattress trembles with him as he curls into himself, breath hitching with every whimper of your name, as if calling it enough times would bring you back into his arms once again—right where you belong. 

no, you were never his ex. you were everything. you are everything. 

your presence is everywhere in the apartment. your favorite coffee mug (that he gifted you) rests on the counter next to his. the book you swore you would finish reading one day is left bookmarked inside the drawer of the bedside table; the same place a velvet box is tucked away and hidden since he knew you’d never pick it up again (but god, he wishes you did). he had to throw away your toothbrush but your skin care products taunt him every time he retrieves his from under the sink. 

his heart aches with a feeling that refuses to fade; he loved you. he loves you.

everyday becomes harder to breathe, to exist. the apartment, once filled with loud laughter, gentle whispers, and promises of love, is now a silent void. the absence of your soft footsteps, a careful dance to avoid stepping on the cats crowding around your feet, claws at minho’s heart. the sanctuary he knew he could run to and be welcomed with open arms and a warm embrace crumbled before his eyes the moment you were gone.

minho’s breaths evens out after a few minutes, each inhale pulling the familiar scent of the apartment. the tears leave damp marks on his pillow and lines on his face but its nothing he isn’t used to; a ritual, a routine he’s sadly accustomed to. it's not the first time his tears have stained the sheets, and it won’t be the last. the cruel cycle will repeat itself until one day he wakes up and doesn’t instinctively reach out for you in hopes that his reality isn’t just a hellish nightmare. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

the second worst thing to happen in minho’s life was losing you. he doesn’t know if he can keep living with the first.

────────────────────────────────────────────

liked this work? want to let me know how i did? please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are greatly appreciated my asks are always open ♡

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Grew in my Heart

It's finally done you guys!!!! This is my take on a foster Pony au, loosely based on this idea from @freak-l0rd-certifed. It's currently unedited but I'll post it here anyways, and then cross post an edited version on my ao3. @pepsicurtis asked to be tagged when it was done based on a snippet I posted earlier, so here you go. This is part 1, part 2 is fully written and will be up tomorrow.

***************

The lady on the other side of the room is watching him.

That’s okay though. Ponyboy is used to people watching him. Social workers, foster parents, group home staff, police. Everyone watches him all the time but nobody cares, cares for him or about him, so Ponyboy doesn’t mind this lady joining in. He knows he looks weird, with his sticky out ears and the patchy haircut Mr. Fuller gave him and the bruise around his eye. So he understands why this lady is watching him, and doesn't begrudge her for it.  Besides, she looks like a nice lady. Nice ladies don’t usually watch him. If they do they don’t usually look at him with the kindness glowing in the woman’s shining green eyes.

The lady smiles at him and he ducks back into his book, ears burning. She wasn’t supposed to catch him looking.

When he peeks over the top of his copy of Great Expectation a minute later, she’s still watching him, smiling in a way Ponyboy would call amusement if he didn’t know better. He quickly hides again, cursing himself for drawing notice. It’s never a good thing. Never. Better he stay quiet, stay invisible. Invisible kids didn’t get hurt.

He hopes Ms. Summers will come back soon and take him to wherever he’ll be staying next, if only so that he can leave the waiting room, escape from where this nice lady and her nice family are no doubt waiting for them to bring a brand new baby to adopt. Probably one only a few days old, something sweet and cute and new they could love and pamper. Nice people only ever came to the child services offices to pick up babies. Anyone who came to pick up kids was usually about as nice as the people who dropped them off. 

He goes back to his book. Usually it’s easy to escape into the story where he can pretend to be a knight or a hero or anything but stupid, small, unwanted Ponyboy Hewitt, but he can’t seem to concentrate today. It’s not just because of the nice looking lady with the green eyes who keeps watching him, keeping an eye on him the same way she’s been keeping an eye on the three boys who came in with her. His head is also aching something fierce. That last knock from Mr. Fuller was kind of hard. 

Hard enough Ms.Summers thought he should move again anyway.

“Quit fidgeting, Soda,” an authoritative voice from the other side of the room says, and Ponyboy can’t help but glance over. He tells himself it’s because the speaker was kind of loud, but he knows deep down that’s not the case. It’s not because the boy is loud, it’s because he’s cool. He’s a lot bigger than Pony is, and older too, with wavy brown hair and broad shoulders. He could probably look Mr.Fuller square in the face and never be scared, not ever. “We have to show we’re the perfect family or they won’t let us keep Johnny.”

“Really?” The boy who answers has golden blond hair and rosy cheeks with a dimple high in one corner. Pony never really understood what books meant when they talked about eyes twinkling until the boy had pranced into the office a few minutes before, looking like a prince straight from a fairytale. His eyes aren’t twinkling now though: instead, they’re shining with worry. His shadow, a smaller boy with jet black hair and tan skin, looks the same, eyes wide and terrified in his peaked face. “They can’t do that just ‘cause I’m sittin’ wrong, can they mom?”

He turns anxiously to the nice lady who smiles and smooths down his hair.

“Of course not honey,” she soothes, “we don’t gotta prove we’re perfect to keep Johnny, we just gotta prove we love him. And we do.”

She turns her smile on the dark haired boy who flushes and ducks his head shyly, looking unfathomably pleased. Ponyboy swallows hard and looks away, his own ears reddening. It’s not fair for him to hate the dark haired boy, he knows it isn’t, but it doesn’t matter. In that moment, he kind of hates him anyway. 

The woman’s gentle smile has confirmed what he suspected all along. She’s a nice mom, the kind he’s only ever read about in storybooks. She probably kisses those boys goodnight- even the big one, even if he pretended it wasn’t cool- and probably smells like cinnamon and bakes birthday cakes sometimes, puts bandages on cuts, and never slaps them, not ever. 

He wants Ms. Summers to come back. He wants to leave. He doesn’t want to sit here and watch a boy his own age get adopted by the kind of family he wishes he could have more than anything in the world. 

The blonde boy sticks his tongue out at the cool one and makes a fart noise.

“See Darry? They ain’t gonna take Johnny! You’re stupid and wrong!”

“Sodapop Patrick Curtis!” A man Ponyboy assumed must be the nice lady’s husband and the boys’ father boomed, “What have I told you about using that kind of language towards your brother?”

“That it's not how we speak to our family,” the blonde boy, Sodapop, says like he was reading off a teleprompter. Clearly, this was not the first time he’d heard that particular reprimand, “but dad, I was only defending my other brother.”

“Be that as it may,” Mr.Curtis said, “I don’t want to hear that language from you any more.” He sounded stern, but his eyes were still glinting proudly and there was a smile hiding somewhere near the corner of his mouth. Not a scary dad then. A good one.

“Yeah Soda,” the older boy, Darry, grinned, seeming unperturbed by the insult. He was real handsome, Pony thought. If he was Sodapop he’d never call that Darry boy stupid, not ever. “Save that language for socs. Or Two-bit when he’s playin’ poker against Dally.”

Sodapop laughed then, any traces of animosity disappearing, Johnny grinning quietly beside him. 

Ponyboy decides he’s done watching them be happy, and goes to the washroom.

He does his business, standing on tiptoe to reach the sink when he’s done because it’s meant for adults not for kids and there's no footstool. He can’t reach the soap, even when he jumps, so he just settles for rinsing extra long. The paper towel dispenser is also too high to reach so he dries his hands on his pants and goes back to the waiting room. 

“Oh honey, wait,” he doesn’t realize the nice lady is speaking to him until she’s kneeling in front of him, tugging his shirt from where he hadn’t noticed it had gotten twisted and tucked into his pants, pulling it out and smoothing it down nicely, “there you go. All handsome again.”

She smiles, looking like sunshine incarnate, and Ponyboy kind of wants to die.

“Thank you.” He mumbles, sure he must be redder than a tomato, then flees back to his chair on the other side of the waiting room. They’re all watching him now, the nice lady and her nice husband, and the three boys who are now all sitting in a circle on the floor, playing a game of cards. 

He opens Great Expectations to a random page and stares at it hard, trying very hard not to cry. He’s almost seven years old, he’s not a baby anymore. He will not cry just because one lady was nice to him and now her perfect family is staring at him. He won't. 

“Hi!” Suddenly, blonde, beautiful Sodapop is in front of him, grinning like Ponyboy is the best thing he’s ever seen ever, “I’m Soda. Wanna play cards with us?”

He wants to, more than anything, but he knows if he does it’ll just feel worse when they leave and he doesn’t go with them , or when Ms. Summers comes to drag him away to whoever will bother keeping him for the next few weeks, so he can’t.

He shakes his head, unable to actually say no, and Soda deflates, eager grin melting into an unhappy pout, shoulders curling forward, and the twinkle in his eye dimming. He looks like Pony just ruined his whole day with one shake of his head. 

“Ok,” he sighs, dramatic and world weary, and it would seem like an act if his eyes weren’t entirely genuine, “if you change your mind, you can c’mon over anytime. It would be so much more fun with another person.”

He rejoins the other two boys who shoot curious looks Pony’s way, but he ignores them, looking back at his book. He’s not reading though. He can’t. Instead he’s listening to the boys playing cards, wishing more than anything that he could join them.

“I win.” Dark haired Johnny proclaims for the third time and Soda throws down his cards with a dramatic groan, while Darry just laughs. He seems real nice, not like the big boys at the group homes who liked to steal Pony’s books and shove him around. He hadn’t gotten mad at Soda or Johnny even once, not even when they were playing Go Fish and Soda cheated by peeking at his cards. 

“You little shark,” Darry ruffled Johnny's dark hair, the smaller boy flinching a little before leaning into the touch, “how do you keep doin’ that, huh?”

Johnny shrugged. “It’s a secret.”

“You’re cheatin’!” Soda accused.

“Am not!”

“Are too! No one wins as much as you.”

“I’m just good at cards without cheatin’.”

Soda huffed. “You’re lucky you’re my brother now or I’d fight you.”

“I’d win.” Johnny boasts, and suddenly he looks fierce, chin jutting and eyes fiery, like every kid in every home who fought grownups and just ended up beaten down worse. 

“That’s enough,” Darry pulls the two apart, practically picking them each up with one hand, “quit arguin' or I’m putin’ the cards away.”

“No!” Soda throws himself to the ground, arm draped dramatically across his forehead, “I’ll die of boredom!”

“Then sit up and be good,” Darry tells him, and Soda scrambles to do as he’s told. Pony feels his own spine straightening. It’s just because he’s tired, he tells himself.  It has nothing to do with wanting Darry to look at him with the same approval he looks at Soda and Johnny with. He needs to stretch out a bit, that’s all.

“Y’know,” Darry says, disarmingly casual, easily shuffling the cards the way Pony always wanted to but could never manage, the movement too deft for his clumsy fingers, “there's so many more games we could play with four players.” 

If he didn’t know better Pony would swear Darry was looking at him sideways as he said it, grinning conspiratorially like they were sharing a joke. 

“Euchre…gin rummy…spades…signals…”

Pony’s heart jumped. He loved signals. 

It was practically another invitation right? And Soda had said he could join anytime if he changed his mind…surely one game wouldn’t hurt. 

He scoots forward a bit on the chair, considering. 

“Well?” Suddenly Darry- handsome, cool Darry- is grinning right at him, one eyebrow raised, “You in or not?”

And well….that was an actual invitation. From a big boy no less! Usually boys like Darry wanted nothing to do with him.

Pony could feel what was surely a far too eager grin spreading over his face and he nodded, quickly taking a spot on the floor in between Soda and Johnny. Darry’s grin turned triumphant, like he was the one who’d just been invited to play cards by a cool stranger. 

“Nice. What’s your name kiddo?”

“Ponyboy.” He mumbles, bracing himself for laughter that never comes. Instead Darry just nods, starting to deal cards with ease. 

“Tuff name. I’m Darry, and this here’s Johnny.” 

Pony offered a shy smile in response to Johnny’s friendly nod, earlier vitriol forgotten. It wasn’t Johnny’s fault he was lucky. Pony shouldn’t hate him for it. 

“You already met Soda.”

Darry gives Soda a fondly exasperated look, and Pony focuses very hard on the cards being dealt so he won’t have to look at their faces.

Unsure of what to say, he just nods. Luckily, Darry keeps talking.

“Well Ponyboy, I reckon since you just joined you get to pick the game.”

“R-really?”

“Sure.” Darry smiled kindly. Golly he was nice. “We’ll play a few rounds and then switch it up if any of us are getting bored.”

“Can-” Ponyboy hesitated. Darry nods, encouraging him to continue, “can we play signals?”

“Sure. You okay to be on a team with me?”

“Yes,” Pony could hardly believe his luck. Not only were they playing his favourite game, but Darry wanted to be on a team with him!

“Ok,” Soda chirped, “me’n Johnny are going over there so you don’t listen to us pick our signals like cheaters!”

“Soda!” Mr Curtis warned.

“I’m bein’ nice!”

Pony giggled. 

“Ignore him,” Darry advised, scooting over to sit beside him, “I wish I could say he’s just bein’ crazy ‘cause he’s excited, but the truth is he’s always like that. He ain’t really mean though, just has too much energy.”

“I know,” Pony tells him, “I seen mean before. He ain’t it. If he was mean he’d have taken my book or followed me to the bathroom and put my head in the toilet.”

A horrified gasp makes him jump. He’d momentarily forgotten all about sunshiney Mrs.Curtis, but now she’s staring at him in horror, eyes filled with rage. 

What did he do? Did she not want him to be telling her nice golden sons about stuff like that? 

“I-I’m sorry I-” he can feel his ears burning and wishes more than anything he’d stayed on that hard plastic chair where he was safe instead of getting drawn in by the light of the family in front of him. 

“Whoa, hey,” Darry catches him by the arm before he can scramble to his feet, grip not bruising like he’s used to but gentle, reassuring, “where are you going? We haven’t picked a signal yet.”

His smile is so hopeful. Hesitantly, Pony settles back down. 

“Ok.”

“Well?” Darry nudges him gently, carefully. It seems to Ponyboy that someone so big shouldn’t be able to do that and not hurt him just a little bit, but somehow Darry manages it. “What signal do you think we should do?”

Pony glances across the room at where Soda is gesturing exaggeratedly and talking at Johnny a mile a minute.

“Something small,” he decides, “something they won’t notice.”

“Good thinking,” Darry’s approval feels like sitting in the sunshine and eating ice cream and reading a book all at once, “how about…rubbing our noses?”

He demonstrates, rubbing a finger under his nose like he’s scratching an itch and Ponyboy nods, copying the action. 

“Perfect.”

He raises his left hand then. Taps his ear. Waits a few seconds. Taps his ear again.

“What are you doing?” Darry wonders. 

“I have a trick,” Ponyboy informs him.

“Oh?” Darry’s raising a single eyebrow again, looking intrigued. A swell of unearned pride starts in Ponyboy’s chest. 

“Yep,” Pony nods, “they’re watching us right now.”

Darry follows his gaze across the room to where Johnny is watching them out of the corner of his eye, while acting for all the world like he’s still focused on Sodapop. 

“So,” Ponyboy continues. He taps his ear again, “if we do a fake signal now, like we’re practicing, and then do it while we’re playing they’ll call signal and get themselves disqualified and we’ll win.”

“Huh,” Darry reaches up and taps his own ear, “good thinkin’ kid.”

Pony glows.

“We’re ready,” Soda announces a second later, dragging Johnny behind him, “and we have the best signal ever. You’ll never guess it.”

“We’ll see.” Darry challenges, flipping the first card off the deck, and the game begins.

Pony checks his own hand. Two jacks, a two, and a seven. Deciding to go for jacks he passes the two facedown and slides it left to Johnny, picking up the ten Soda placed down for him on the other side.

He passes and trades cards for a few seconds, managing to pick up a third jack on the way. When it’s been long enough it’s not suspicious, he reaches up and taps his ear, trying to make it seem like he’s scratching an itch.

The trick works. 

“Block!” Johnny cries triumphantly, pointing at him and Pony grins, shaking his head. 

“Nope!”

“What?” That’s Sodapop, “We’re out? But-but I’m with Johnny! Johnny always wins!”

“Guess not this time,” Darry grins, raising a hand. It takes a second for Pony to realize he’s reaching out for a high five instead of to cuff him, but when he does he reaches out eagerly, tapping Darry’s palm with his own.

“How did you do that?” Johnny wonders, head tilted in confusion, “I saw you tapping your ear earlier when you were making your signal.”

“It was a trick!” Pony grins. Darry is pleased, and they just won a card game, and no one here has gotten properly mad at him at all. 

Johnny shakes his head, grinning ruefully. “Well it was a good one.”

Soda declared he wanted a rematch, so they played a few more rounds, until Johnny figured out their trick and then both teams had so many fake signals and everyone was too scared to block anyone and could hardly remember their real signals from their fake ones. Darry was just proposing they switch to playing crazy eights when Ms. Summers hurried out of the office, looking harried as usual.

“Oh! Ponyboy,” She looks surprised to see him sitting on the floor, “don’t go botherin’ these nice folks now. I know you’ve had a long day, and I promise I’m workin’ as hard as I can to figure things out so just sit tight and be good a few minutes longer. I just got a few more calls to make and I’ll get you some lunch, alright? C’mon and sit properly now, that’s a good boy.” 

She pulls him to his feet, not roughly exactly, but carelessly, the way he’s used to, and he ducks his head, shoulders curling automatically as she frog marches him back to the plastic chair in the corner of the waiting room she’d parked him in at seven o'clock this morning.

“He ain’t botherin’ us!” Suddenly Soda is on his feet, glaring at Ms. Summers. “We invited him to play. We’re havin’ fun.”

“He’s really no trouble,” Mrs. Curtis smiles, placing a hand on her son’s shoulder. Her voice is as sugar sweet as ever but there’s something hard in her eyes nevertheless as she stares Ms. Summers down, “the boys are all havin’ fun playing together and I have no problem keepin’ an eye on him for you. He’s a good boy, like you said.”

She turns the full force of her smile on him, her eyes suddenly all softness, and Ponyboy finds himself wondering what it would be like if somebody looked at him like that every day, like he was something instead of nothing.

“Well, if you’re sure, I suppose that's fine. You be good Pony,” Ms. Summers says, and then she’s gone again, back into the office, back to making phone calls to find someone, anyone, willing to take him in.

Pony stands where she left him, half dragged across the room, lost in the waiting room he’d spend what felt like half his life in.

“That lady,” Soda says, “was a bitch.”

Darry’s eyebrows shoot up, and Soda grins cheekily over his shoulder in a way that says he fully expects a reprimand, but to Ponyboy’s surprise Mr.Curtis just nods slowly.

“Y'know son, I think in this case you might be right.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Mrs. Curtis says, but it’s so half-hearted even Ponyboy can tell. Her eyes are fixed on Ms.Summers’ door, lips pressed into a thin line, and Pony gets the feeling she’s real mad but hiding it real well.

“She don’t know what to do with me,” Pony finds himself defending his social worker. She ain’t mean really, ain't even a bad person. She’s just busy. Too busy to really care. “It ain’t her fault. I cause her a lotta problems.”

“I have a very hard time believing that,” Mrs. Curtis says, “I don’t think you could cause problems if you tried.”

He could. He wasn’t like Curly from the group home, who did everything he possibly could and then some to cause problems, but Pony did create them sometimes. One time he’d burned Mrs.Delvine’s sheets when he was ironing because she hadn’t given him dinner the night before. And he’d put half a shaker of salt in Mr.Fuller’s soup after he gave him this stupid haircut. But he never tried to cause problems for Ms. Summers and he still caused them anyway.

He shrugs. “No one wants me. It’s her job to find someone who’ll put up with me. I can’t blame her for bein’ tired.”

“You’re still a little boy,” Mrs.Curtis shakes her head, and usually Ponyboy hates being called little but he finds he doesn’t mind too much when she says it, “she shouldn’t be takin’ any of her frustrations out on you.”

Pony wants to tell her that his own mother didn’t want to be stuck with him so he can hardly blame his social worker for feeling the same way. He wants to tell her about how tired he is and how much his head hurts and how hungry he is. He wants to tell her a lot of things. He doesn’t.

“Oh honey,” he doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he’s wrapped in a warm hug, held protectively against Mrs. Curtis’ chest, his sobs muffled against the stretched collar of her pretty yellow dress. He’s sure he must be getting snot on her, but she doesn’t seem to mind, holding him closer when he starts to squirm away and apologize, cooing to him until he settles down, “oh honey.”

She scoops him up then, because she’s a grown up and he’s still pretty small for six years old, and she sets him on her knee and kisses his forehead, and even if it won’t last and he will never feel this again after today, for once he knows what it’s like to be comforted and loved by a mother. 

Golly he’s tired.

“You just have a sleep now,” she pulls his head down to rest against her shoulder, running a gentle hand through his shorn off hair, “you just have a good sleep and don’t worry about a thing.” 

He feels his eyelids drooping. She drops a soft kiss on his forehead, her fingers never ceasing their soothing motions in his hair.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, baby,” he hears her say as he drifts off, “I promise. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

He sleeps.

[pleasuretrade]

snippet from my wild west clegan AU to prove i am actually writing it and want to post it instead of getting halfway thru and then letting it rot in my docs forever like 95% of my writing. yay

very unedited pls be nice

 John returned with his saddlebags around noon, sweating from the high sun and smelling suspiciously like a saloon. Gale met him on the porch, Alf keeping an eye on him, and led him up the stairs. The second floor of the house was all wood stained with fake color, making the cheap oak look like something richer, wallpaper and more oil lamps than they ever used. Gale showed John to the third bedroom, simple and dusty. John heaved his bags onto the bed and tossed his hat on the low table nearby and Gale found himself standing and staring, unable to move while John ran his fingers through his short, loose curls.

 Why had John lied to Gale’s father for him? All they had under their belt together was one day and a stock association meeting. Gale tucked his hand under his opposite elbow, thumbed at his bottom lip. “You ain’t have to cover for me like that,” he said.

 John didn’t look at him. Sat on the edge of the bed and took his boots off. “What really happened? I was across the room and all of the sudden the guy was on the ground and everyone was talking about that Cleven boy.”

There was a little smile on John’s face. Gale couldn’t tell if it was patronizing or not. John took his horsehair brush from a saddlebag, started in on his boots.

 The fact of the matter was, the guy had called Gale a sodomite, right there in the crowded dance hall. Name was Henry, if Gale recalled. He’d known him vaguely since they were small and he was one of the few people in town who remembered the rumors that had gone around about a fifteen year old Gale, back in the day. But John didn’t need to know that.

“Didn’t like the way he was talking to me.”

 John laughed, bright and sincere. “I take it you’ve got a reputation.”

“I don’t know,” Gale lied, “I don’t listen to town gossip.”

“Hey, I respect a fighting man.” John buffed at his boot, all strong forearms and firm grip. Gale swallowed. John looked up. “Just take it easy on me, alright?”

 Friendly again. They didn't need to be friends. “Don’t give me a reason not to.”

 Finally, John seemed to be deterred somehow, see that Gale wasn’t here to get to know him, and scoffed. “Alright, cowboy.”

[keeping-writing-frosty]

The Irish Rose of Texas - Snippet

[Author's Notes: Okay this is from chapter 4, I think I've shared some of this before, maybe? Either way! Have an entire snippet. Alexandra had just been shot in the head by James Fuller, yet it didn't stick. It's under the cut. Like always, its a first draft and unedited. So, forgive any mistakes.]

With a jolt, Alexandra’s eyes opened to the blazing sun above her that had cooked her pale skin to a dark, crimson red, which radiated pain with even the slightest movements. Every breath hurt, even just the simple act of trying to think caused an immeasurable amount of pain. Her body refused her brain’s orders to move, and something kept her in place beyond what she could willpower past. That was when the pressure of some weight on her finally came to her attention—she was halfway into a grave. Something had scared off the men from finishing the job, and Alexandra once again knew someone, or something, had watched out for her.

Pain, it was all she could think of was the pain of death that seemed to throb her every fiber. Yet her muscles finally obeyed as she clawed at the dried dirt and low shrubs whose roots went so deep that anchored them firm. Each inch was a battle, each battle was one Alex had no intentions of losing. Blood dripped down from her forehead, staining the ground beneath her.

Time had little meaning, it could have taken hours or just a handful of minutes, but she used all her strength to drag herself from under the dirt. And taking deep breaths, she laid on the ground for far too long. All her sweat and blood caked the dirt all over her, and the fleeting thought of just succumbing to it all. Each breath, every single one hurt beyond words.

Using just her elbows, gaining purchase on the sides of the ravine wall as she crawled her way up to some sort of freedom. Closer and closer, through the agony, through the pain, and though light-headed, and unstable. The young woman did not give up, did not quit as she got ever closer to the rim of the ravine. Using the last remaining strength in her body, she pulled herself with one, last great cry as she found herself back level with the ground around her.

Her linen shirt, torn and plastered against her heaving chest from dried blood and sweat. Pants ripped, torn as if the ground tried to yank them off, but were quite unsuccessful in their attempt. The hot dirt and sand between her toes brought a small bit of comfort, and Alex’s head found a warm spot to lay upon once she reached a more horizontal position.

“It’s over,” she sputtered, blood coated her lips as she spoke and splattered against Alex's chin. It came out frothy, running creamily down her cheeks and chin. “I can’t. No more.”

“Oh lass,” her father’s voice was distinctive with its rough Irish brogue mixed with that twang of all Texans, and yet he died so many years ago. “It’s only over if you want it to be.”

****

Tag List:

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa @an-indecisive-nerd @write-with-will @the-ellia-west @carb0n-m0n0xide

@inadequatecowboy @kitkins13 @watermeezer @shepardstales @bardic-tales

@dyrewrites

[chock-and-bates]

The way I've read all your ao3 works and specially love Sparks Fly, but only now did I think to check your tumblr and found all these cool snippets omg 😭 The ones I'm most interested in now are Sparks Fly verse (of course), Dark Medieval au and One Degree of Separation. Can you give us more info/snippets about them, please? 👀

this made my day when I saw it. ❤️ i'm so glad you found my little trove of snippets!

i'm happy to share more. here's something from one degree of separation. it's rather long (and unedited, please don't judge), so i'll use your other ask to share something from sparks fly, and if you would still like something from the dark medieval au just let me know!

Oscar sits down on the bed next to Charles, reaching out a hand to cup his face and trying to ignore Max slowly walking to the other side of the bed, the careful way he takes his place on Charles’ other side. 

Normally Oscar wouldn’t classify himself as a territorial alpha, but something about this situation is setting him much more on edge than he was expecting, his hindbrain is screaming at him not to allow this threat into his bed... 

It doesn’t help that Charles is also watching Max closely, his eyes bright and fixed on the other alpha as he settles next to him.

“Can’t have you feeling lonely, sweetheart,” Oscar says to him, gently guiding Charles’ attention back to him, “You want kisses too?”

“Please,” Charles responds sweetly, before his eyes briefly flicker over to Max again. 

The sight of it makes that tight, uncomfortable feeling in his stomach come back. Willing it away, Oscar leans forward to kiss him. 

His omega tastes as sweet as he always does, and Oscar pushes forward for more, deepening it quickly. He pours himself into the kiss, hoping Charles can feel how much he loves him, wants him. Maybe also hoping Max can see it, that maybe this will soothe Oscar’s ruffled edges-

But even as he sweeps his tongue into Charles mouth, it feels like the response he gets back is half-hearted, like his boyfriend going through the motions of a kiss while his mind is elsewhere. And when Charles abruptly pulls away before Oscar was even thinking about finishing he’s left startled and confused.

“Thank you, Oscar,” Charles says politely before gently nudging Oscar’s hand’s away from his face. He turns to Max with a small smile, “Your turn, yes?”

Shit, this is really happening. The knot in his stomach tightens, and Oscar has to try to keep his face impassive as he watches them.

Max smiles, shuffling closer to gently grasp Charles’ chin between his thumb and index finger. 

The sight of Max’s hand on his boyfriend makes Oscar’s stomach roll, but he clenches his jaw, focuses on slowing his breathing and pushing down the hurt. 

He’s about to watch someone else kiss his omega, but he tells himself it’s fine, he agreed to this, Charles begged him for it, anything for Charles…

But the two of them are being so slow about it, looking at each other softly as they lean in, their expressions almost shy-

When their lips finally press together for the first time, it’s startlingly sweet, almost chaste in its simplicity. Both of them make small noises in their throat, something that sounds like surprise and delight, and the two of them lean further into each other, Charles hand quickly drifting up to hold Max’s cheek-

The bizarre tenderness of it all stings something sharp, and Oscar quickly looks away.

[damneddamsy]

wip wednesday!

thank you for the tag babes 🦋🤍 @guiltyasdave

so I've been working on the next chapter, part 11, of 'falling' which is coming along pretty great 🫶 here's a little tiny snippet:

The sun had set and risen without his permission, and the horse was starting to limp. He’d have to rest it come morning. If there was a morning. This part of the country didn’t feel like it had days anymore—just gray stretches of silence between dusk and deeper dusk.

And still, sleep wouldn’t come.

He rolled something between his fingers—small, brass, worn, warm from the heat of his palm. A button. Not from anything he’d owned. Probably from a coat someone lost before the world went to hell. Maya had picked it up off the road during the summer, on their way back home from dinner at Tommy's. He remembered her squealing when she spotted it, stubby fingers plucking it out of the dirt like gold, and handing it to him later, bestowing him a treasure, her tiny gummy smile vast as anything.

He’d kept it ever since. Didn’t matter what it came from. The button was hers, then his. It hadn’t left his pocket since.

He squeezed it between his fingers, thumb brushing the grooves, meeting his lip just once, and tucked it away again.

->

and I also have a cheeky little Javier Peña fic in progress, maybe a little snippet of that, too? idk it's a work in progress, SO draft, unedited, it's barely even anything, I'm just finding my feet with this character?

But today, like the last few days, Javi had taken the long drive into town on the back roads, the ones that ran like veins through dead fields and broken fences, just to end up here.

He told himself he needed smokes. Maybe a drink or two. Maybe to pick up more aspirin for the back pain that had started nagging in the mornings. But the truth of it sat right in front of him, behind a chain-link fence, a spread of rubber mats, a half-wild playground of slides and plastic buckets and grubby kids with scraped knees: the daycare.

More specifically, her.

She wasn’t beautiful in that polished, belongs-in-a-magazine way. She was the kind of woman who wore her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, so tight that it didn't loosen by noon. Wore these cute little cutoffs and canvas shoes, and the purple, collared daycare uniform t-shirt stained with finger paint and dirt. She had this big birthmark blemish at the side of her neck, darker than her skin itself, and hands that seemed slender and strong. Good with kids, that was obvious—always crouched down to their level, laughing with her whole body. Always knelt to tie loose shoelaces, made sure she carried those cheap gold-star stickers in her pocket, and sang off-key nursery rhymes loud enough for him to hear through his rolled-down halfway window.

Javi wasn’t saying she was the one or any of that bullshit. He’d spent too many years drowning in whiskey and women to believe in that kind of thing anymore. Love, romance—that shit was all just strategy and timing and loneliness. He knew that well.

And she didn’t know who he was. Didn’t know the things he’d done or the way the blood on his hands never quite washed off. Didn’t know about Colombia or Escobar or the long string of nights he’d woken up drenched in sweat, reaching for a gun that wasn’t there.

And he liked that.

Liked how when she bent down to pick up a crying toddler, she held them with both arms and pacified them with a juice box. Liked the idea that a woman could be strong in a way that didn’t come from brutality. Liked that she had no idea he sat here, day after day, for the past two weeks, cigarette smoldering, watching from his car like some sorry dog.

doubtful of this.

tagging: @cherryheairt @letsgobarbs @jolapeno (I really need more friends on here, although I'm glad with what I've got! 🥹)

[fiddles-ifs]

Hi from Maine! Happy (late. so late.) Pride!! And happy (LATE.) update day! I bequeath to you these widdle guys, which I spent a lot of time on in between other projects. They're also to apologize for delayed Greenwarden story update, because:

I've been writing a book! And I finished the first draft literally yesterday! I'm going to shit my pants!! Now that the first draft is done, I have some editing to do, which is going to eat up my time, but now I have some wiggle room to work on Greenwarden again. Check out this (raw, unedited) snippet from The House Loves You as thanks for your patience:

Next period’s bell is a shrill reminder I still haven’t touched my food. I put whatever I was reading away and dump my tray unceremoniously on the way out. The cafeteria is already empty — I don’t think I’ve ever been in a less busy school. Barely a week in, and I already know everyone by name and the general area where they live. It's more information than I want. Eventually, it'll be a new school in a new town with new people, then another, then graduation, and I'll get into a mediocre college in a different town and never look back. I'll figure it out from there.

They seem like small dreams — but they're what I've got.

I float through the rest of my classes in the back of the room. The bus ride home is unremarkable; my one saving grace is my license, but Mom has the car and we can't afford another bill, so the bus it is. Again -- the open wound is smoothed over knowing I'm not alone. I languish in the relative silence with a pair of earbuds in.

I'm the last stop in the evening. The bus rolls along, slowly shedding children like scabs, until it creeps nervously to the mailbox and gravel road that marks the mouth of the holler. It sputters like an anxious horse, shudders to a stop, and hisses open. The doors close too fast behind me, and the bus peels away in a cloud of grit. Finally, I'm well and truly alone.

The trees are tall and wild here, untouched by human hands. Branches knit together in dense braids and then part again, each gap in the canopy scorched by yellow mountain sunlight. The gravel road bends left and disappears into the deep shadows. Rocks crunch near-silently underfoot. Like they're afraid to wake something sleeping in the dark recesses of the holler. Even the birds speak in whispers.

I grab a few overdue bills from the mailbox and shuffle up the road. Mom's not home, so I get some peace and quiet for a couple hours.

The winding gut of the holler rips open in an abrupt hole, and beyond the hole is a clearing. In the clearing, circled by trees with dark trunks and tight branches, are a few rusted, dead tires, an abandoned swing set, some overgrown grass, and a house. My back hurts and my legs are sore, but I still pause at the threshold.

The house is an ugly sore made of cracked, peeling white siding and a sagging porch. Just enough timber has been cleared away to make a front and back yard. The roof seems to bow under the weight of the sky, all dark windows and missing shingles. It's a quiet house. It doesn't talk much. Not usually.

I drag my feet across the hidden flagstones in the grass, and listen to the sound of the screen door squeal open. Once I step inside, the house greets me, as it usually does.

Welcome home, Cash.

[nicestgirlonline]

Tell me a little more about Hot to go?

Thank you for asking!! It's one of my fanfic for The Bear, my less angsty and sad one haha. It takes place starting in S1 and the reader is a new front of house cashier. She’s very sweet and bubbly, offsetting the stressful environment of the Beef. She fits in like a little sister type to most of the others. I pictured her as an unlucky in love gal, always having a bad boyfriend or going on lame Tinder dates and it burns Carmy up inside but he’s too introverted/trying to stay focused on work to say anything. Of course eventually the jealousy gets to a breaking point ;)

Here’s an unedited snippet from it!

Carmy heard the yelling in the dining room over the bustle of the kitchen but it seemed wrong. He wasn’t sure he had ever heard you yell before, now like that at least. If Richie wasn’t right in front of him, goofing off with Tina, giving him a headache, he’d assumed it was him up front. He heard a clattering of something on the floor and a loud

He burst through the door to the register, “Yo, what’s going on here?” He immediately took in the scene. The large, red in the face man who was screaming at you, while there were coins all over the counter and ground.

“You the manager? She’s got a fucking attitude problem, she is mouthing off to customers willy nilly.”

“Don’t talk to my employees like that. Are you going to order or are you going to leave?” He quickly slid in front of you at the register, making sure he was between you and Mr. Karen.

“What the fuck is this kind of place? Whatever happened to the customer comes first?”

“That only applies to non assholes. It's on the wall.” He pointed to a faded sign that said “no assholes” that hung over the men’s room.

“Now you’re giving me lip, small fry? First this bitch now --”

It all happened at once, Carmy leaping across the counter to shove Mr. Karen to the wall, the rest of the guests scattering and shrieking at the sudden violence. Richie finally decided to poke his head out, baseball bat in hand, ready as backup. You ducked beneath the counter as the two of them removed the man.

You heard the jingle of the door. Richie spoke to the rest of the customers, trying to lighten the mood and assure them everything was back in order. He gave you a nudge with his foot when he took his place behind the register again.

“Take a fifteen kid,” He said softly. “Yo, next customer. Step up, let’s keep it going -”

You slunk to the back, to the small place by the dumpster where you knew you could be completely alone. You’d never been so rattled at a job before. You were ashamed you lost your temper, ashamed of how scared you’d felt, and embarrassed that you had such little control you needed your boss to kick out a customer for you.

You sat with your head in your hands, trying desperately not to cry. You could cry when you got home.

“Hey uh, you good?” Carmy poked his head out, he had his hand in his hair, not really making eye contact.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine…are you ok? I’m really sorry about all of that. ” He let out a half chuckle, half sigh.

“It was nothing.”

“Richie grabbed a bat.” you pointed out. He rolled his eyes and took a seat on the curb next to you.

“So look, next time if a customer is giving you trouble and you can’t handle it, just come and get me ok?” He leaned in close to you, his big blue eyes sucking you in.

“I’m going to handle my shit I promise. I mean it, I can handle a rude customer. He just started to fly off the handle over nothing and I’m sorry I couldn’t de-escalate”

“Don’t apologize for customers. I know they’re mostly assholes.”

“He was right though.”

“Huh?”

“It is weird we have spaghetti on the menu.”

Carmy laughed. You started to laugh too.

“I do agree with that. I have no idea what Mikey was thinking with that one. Might have to take it off the menu, to keep my cashiers safe.” He grabbed a cigarette from his apron and offered you one. You shook your head. His mouth twisted for a moment, then he lit his own.

That was the first time he had ever brought up Mikey in front of you. You knew a little bit about the story, Mikey used to own the place before Carmy. Nobody really liked to bring it up and you weren’t looking to pry. You knew it was his brother.

The two of you sat in silence while Carmy smoked. You didn’t feel like crying anymore and you were grateful for that.

[caughtnyact]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for tagging me @galluslonging 🥹

I've been slowly working on writing my first piece to post online literally ever, so this is just a very small unedited snippet lol

This will be a vignette on how my Rook got her most prominent scar- from Rook Story Time Prompts by hyperions-light!

I'm not sure who else to tag, so anyone reading this that would like to participate are welcome to post and share with me 💖

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Rook?” Bellara peeked her head into what appeared to be the Dread Wolf’s music room.

“Oh, Bellara! Come in, I was just messing around with the piano,” Rook mused, waving her hand to beckon her friend to join her.

Bellara scurried through the door and grabbed a seat on a nearby crate. “It’s kind of hard to imagine Fen’Harel— Solas, I mean, having a grand piano in his base of operations.”

“Or having the time to play it, with the whole ‘rebelling against the Evanuris’ thing.” Rook exhaled through her nose and cracked a smile.

“Right.” Bellara’s shoulders eased slightly as she brushed imaginary specks of Fade-dust off of her smock. “I wanted to see if you were okay… you know,” her fingers now moving to pick at her nails, “since we’re back at the Lighthouse?”

Rook sighed, her eyes returning to the piano’s keys. “I appreciate the concern, Bellara…”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to— I mean, I just figured—” Bellara’s knee began to bounce as she tried to find the right words.

“Hey,” Rook interrupted, “I appreciate you coming to check on me. I’m feeling a lot better now.” She sighed, rolling her neck and readjusting herself on the cold piano bench. “It’s just been a minute since I’ve had a panic attack like that, you know?” Rook ghosted her fingers over the white keys, reflexively miming an arpeggio. “I assume you’ve heard about the last job I did with the Shadow Dragons before I was sent away?”