#what goes on in the writing room of blizzard

[shadesoflsk]

      LULLABY FOR A BROKEN HEART

pairing: Leon Kennedy x Gn reader.

summary: After a mission, Leon musters up the courage to ask for one thing he's always wanted.

warnings: hurt/comfort, a bit of angst, fluff, Leon is touch starved, no consumption of alcohol but there are mentions of it, injuries, mentions of trauma.

word count: 2.1k

author's note: Hello! So... I had prepared some dad leon headcanons but after reading DI manga latest chapter... I knew I had to write something about it. I wrote this with a platonic relationship in mind but you can also see it as an established relationship! I just wanted an excuse to write about Leon because he is literally an angel ueueueue. He deserves the world.

      masterlist

With heavy and wobbly steps, Leon’s blurry vision—from the lack of sleep— could make out the frame of your door, your apartment’s door. A part of him knows that he may be a burden—or that’s what he believes. Fatality, sorrow, and overall bad outcomes are the only things his mind can register.

He doesn’t want to bother you. Hell, he doesn’t want to speak to anyone right now. The fact that he somehow made it safely to your front door was enough for him to know that you would be so angry at him. You shouldn’t drive after a mission. You shouldn’t—... let yourself die. He knows all those phrases by heart. 

He’s getting better. He’s a lot better, to be honest. He no longer drinks, but he may as well look drunk right now. His head was hurting like hell, but he blamed it on his mission. He’s getting too old for that shit. But, a healthy improvement doesn’t mean that he can’t fall. 

Recovery isn’t a straight line of betterment. There are nights when he can sleep like a baby. But then again, some days, he goes to sleep knowing that a nightmare may attack his dreams. 

His fist bangs against your door, at first trying to be quiet. But after a few seconds, some desperation came within his knocking, and a louder sound filled the already silent night. 

The melancholic feeling of being alone lasts a couple of seconds before he hears some steps inside your home, those get even closer until he sees the door opening. The sight he admires before him is far from comforting. The eyebags under your eyes, your disheveled hair, and the quiet yawn that escapes your lips say it all, you were sleeping. 

At first, you don’t say anything, letting the silence in the air fill the lack of response from both parts. Yours and Leon’s, two souls that are aching right now but for different reasons.

Leon, who is hurting because he doesn’t want you to see him like this. And yours because you’d give him the world just for him to stop blaming himself. Ironic, but in reality you’re two sides of the same coin.

Amidst the countless things you want to tell Leon, you step aside allowing him to enter your apartment. The one he knows as his cozy getaway. His second home. The first one is your mere existence. 

Physical things last no more than a few weeks, months, or years. Everything is doomed to cease existing. He has witnessed it through the years he has worked as an agent. Those gigantic and marvelous houses politicians love to brag about? A bomb would destroy them. That motorcycle he loves? Yeah, that one…. No more than a few pieces remained.

But the simple fact that you were alive and breathing meant so much. He wasn’t a stranger to death. He knows that he has become desensitized to those topics as much as he denies it. But even if someone were to die, their proof that they belonged to this world would live in those who loved them, those who were close to them. 

And that’s why you’re his home. The kind of home that served as a refuge when life got too much, when life stopped basking him with its sunlights but rather sent him a blizzard. Your presence was enough for him because you granted him the affection he has long forgotten he could have.

As he enters your apartment, the normalcy and everydayness of the living room embrace him like a thick and warm blanket. The usual smell of your scented candlelight also brings him back to the reality where he could feel safe.

He’s alone for a while, you let him sit on your couch even though he might stain it with the dirt on his pants and whole body. You don’t exactly care, you can clean it after. 

His eyes are unfocused as he waits for you to come back. At that moment, the memories of his last mission came to his mind. They don’t haunt him like they used to do in the past, where he decided to stop the voices from getting louder by drowning in alcohol.

Now, they replay in his mind like a Deja Vu, like a movie he was the main star in. However, it doesn’t mean they stop stabbing his heart knowing that he had taken lives. 

He used to be a religious person. Right now if someone asks him if he follows a certain God, he would respond with a simple no. But when he sees the bodies of those whom he had to kill, he would offer a silent prayer, asking whoever hears him that their souls could rest in peace.

Leon kills, but he’s also a lover of life. He loves the world and its people. He wants to believe that he'd be reminded as the one who fought for those who couldn’t, even if he didn’t want to be associated with that type of job.

In his mind, it may sound corny but he has started appreciating the simple things in life. The way someone would smile at him in the supermarket, the way a random stranger would greet him even though they don’t know him. It was a nice reminder that he was, in fact, alive.

Your steps break the silence—once again. In your hands, there’s a first aid kit. 

There’s a certain urgency in the way you sit next to him to treat his wounds. Your eyes never leave him as you try to make sure that nothing is hurting him. Even when he has awoken you from your sweet dreams, you’re the same caring and compassionate person as always.

An alcohol swab touches one cut he had on his temple, a bruise already forming on the skin. Proof that his head was literally slammed against a metal tube. Not his proudest moment, if he had to be honest.

“I’m not going to break, you know…” Leon finally speaks as your hand seems to slightly shake out of fear of bringing more pain to him.

You manage to let out a chuckle at his words. “I know. But I’m not taking risks.”

His eyes continue to remain fixated on your face, like a puppy who is looking at a treat. But rather, he’s like a homeless man admiring one of the prettiest houses he has ever seen.

There are no questions asked, nor complaints about anything related to his late-night visit. He appreciates the fact that he’s welcomed no matter what. Nonetheless, he can’t help but thank you for your hospitality.

“Thank you.” He murmurs as you clean another injury that was just above his eyebrow. “You’re too good for me.” Leon's words show a moment of raw sincerity.

Leon’s humanity is palpable, even when he doesn’t notice it. There’s a childlike glimmer in his eyes when he watches his favorite movies, a hint of regret when he talks about his missions, and a big sense of empathy when he speaks about the victims who died at his hands.

Leon’s kindness knows no limits. And you wish everyone could observe what an amazing human he is.

“Why is that?” You asked, scooting closer to hear him better. To pay full attention to what he’s about to say. There’s nothing Leon loves more than knowing he can really talk with someone about his feelings since he has mastered the art of closing off.

“For this…” He admits as his hands gesture your first aid kit, to your apartment as a whole. “I’m not used to being… pampered like this. I get hurt and I fix myself up.” His expression darkens slightly.

“Well… I’m here, aren’t I?” You give Leon a warm smile before pinching one of his cheeks making sure not to touch any of his cuts. “You don’t have to be alone all the time, Leon. You can rely on me.”

Leon’s lips turn into a shy smile as you pinch his cheek. “Yeah, I know.” He’s grateful for your hospitality and overall care. But it’s hard for someone who has always been in solitude to think that it’s okay to rely on someone, that it’s okay to need a person. 

He’s silent for a moment before asking a question that’s been nagging him for a while now. “But… Don’t you get tired of it? Of taking care of me?”

You instantly shake your head, responding with a blunt “Nope, never.” In fact, you would be awake all night long just to make sure he was alright. 

“You’re a God’s sent… I swear.” He chuckles as his gaze moves towards his own hands which are fidgeting. As if he was looking for something to grab, to hold onto. 

He hesitates for a few seconds, he doesn’t want to overstep boundaries but then again… He’s not used to being touched let alone hugged. But right now… he craves feeling the tender and intimate affection that a hug brings.

When was the last time he was touched? He doesn’t remember. The sole thought of admitting it’s been months if not years that he hasn’t been hugged brings embarrassment to his already troubled mind. 

You notice, you know Leon a little too well. You recognize every little quirk he has, from the way he sometimes sticks out his tongue when he’s focused on something to the way he looks at everyone before delivering a punchline.

But you wait for him, you want him to be comfortable. 

As a sigh leaves his lips, he finally speaks. “Can you hug me?” His words come out hushed, as if ashamed of himself for asking something so… banal, so simple. “I really need it.”

The way he speaks, the way his voice suddenly cracks and the way his fingers twitch even more tell you enough.

“Come here.” You encourage him, opening your arms. He wastes no time getting himself closer and wrapping his arms around you. The kindness that you’re showing him could bring him to tears, but he doesn’t let them fall. Right now, he just wants to be embraced.

He was bigger than you, being an agent built his body to be ready to fight, to kill. Of course his muscles would basically bury your frame as he curls himself into the hug. But funnily enough, he feels like a kitten that found solace on a rainy day. He feels getting even smaller and almost disappearing from the catastrophes of this world.

He could easily rest his head on your shoulder. But instead, he decides to bury his face in the crook of your neck, feeling even more at ease in this peaceful moment. Closing his eyes, he lets the warmth of your body soothe his aching soul.

He always takes care of everyone, his mind and soul are connected to people he may as well never see again. He feels too much, he feels everything. Nevertheless, there are times when he wants to be the one being doted on, to feel safe.

And right now… he is safe.

“You may think I’m stupid…” His words are muffled as his face is pressed into your neck, his stubble ever so slightly brushing against your skin.

“I sometimes think you’re stupid.” You tease him, trying to bring some humor to the situation as you sense that Leon is starting to doubt himself. Your arms hug him closer, tighter. Letting him know that you aren’t going anywhere. “But right now… I think you’re the most amazing person ever.”

Leon doesn’t say anything for the moment. His breathing is steady and calm, drowning in your so familiar scent. His fingers caress the back of your head, touching your hair reminding himself that you were there, as if the hug wasn’t enough.

“You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever known.” You murmur, pressing a kiss on the top of his head. “You fight so much, you’re so important to many people. You don’t even know how much I thank life for having a Leon Kennedy next to me.”

Your words break his heart a little. Not because you said something wrong, not at all. But rather… he can’t imagine how his existence could bring happiness to someone. Chris, Rebecca, hell everyone has helped him a lot. But you are like an anchor which he clings to.

“Don’t feed a stray dog…” He tries joking, but his voice is barely a whisper. You’re used to his jokes. Most of the time, they are harmless and light-hearted. However, sometimes they served to hide what he was truly feeling. “They’ll always come back.”

“I don’t want you to come back…”  You respond. letting your hand rub his back. “I want you to stay.”

And Leon is definitely going to stay, he’s going to stay with you and with everyone else. He will fight off every bioweapon, he will succeed in every mission. Just to come back to his home and to his life. A life he’s learning to love and enjoy.

[cryptidghostgirl]

Hey hey! i have a third angsty silly idea teehee (yes same person who requested the one where wife reader gets teleported to the hotel and the one with the fake dating trope-)

Im at it again with my silly ideas i can’t quite get out of my head- so picture this RIGHT before the begging of the second fic (loved it btw if i could id kiss you on the mouth)

(this interaction is important) Reader is eyeing Alastor to subconsciously make him talk to her, he does of course it goes a bit like “Alastor dear, havent seen you before?” "Just moved in, thought of making some acquaintances” and they talk, reader tells him “a charmer too? should be careful around you not to break my heart” or smth smilar idk i suck at dialogue

And then the partnership happens and theyve been at it for a while (like at least 5 years id say)- until Readers twin brother dies in a planned house fire and she goes out for revenge, before that they have a fight like “youre going to be out numbered” “its suicide” blah blah blah- and eventually reader goes out alone

She does manage to to kill the criminals but because of the cold January weather and the exhaustion of it all- reader gets hypothermia and in the frenzy thats caused by it stumbles and falls into a fence spike of an abandoned farmhouse, gets impaled right below the ribs teehee, Alastor eventually finding her and goes out to bury her properly.

readers death happens in 1925 -8 years before alastor which gibes her enough time to take over half the pentagram with her blizzard/ice powers (cuz i think theyre. cool ;)) and is also important reader has a long tail with fluff (which can turn into a heart shaped fur or have happy/angry twitches) at the end because i think its cute and because her demon form has one so it matches (think the faceless room guardians by anyaboz on IG but fully white- with a void face from which emerges a dog skull at will). the normal form being overall relatively normal aside from the long ears and black limbs that symbolize the hypothermia part of the death (Yes this is an Oc but im making it a bit more generic for everyone :>)

When alastor does die in 1933 (when he got shot visiting readers grave) he hears of this blizzard overlord and goes a bit into her territory and into a bar where he sees a somewhat familiar person teehee and they have the same first conversation over again but in hell :D and then get reunited but possibly pull out their signature weapons on each other again for old times sake 😇

also i love you so much for taking the time to write my dreams it does mean quite a lot to me and if you want i can give more ideas because i have a lot more- 😇 (im tottaly not insane and or delusional i swear-)

A/N of course?? I’m obsessed with your requests. they’re always so fun. Also as a heads up, I decided not to do this as a part to for cover up because I got an earlier request asking to do a part two for that and I try to address requests in the order I receive them. I also made some other minor changes just to make it work a little smoother. Also, please keep sending in requests, yours are always so fun.

Frostbite (Alastor X Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Murder, death, gore, arson, a little bit of angst.

Word Count: 3,949

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Alastor sat at the bar of Mimzy's club drinking like he did every friday night. Normally the whirling dancers and loud music merely served to give him a headache, normally he ignored them and all the fans who somehow recognized him from the radio. Tonight was far from normal, tonight there was someone new.

Spinning on the dance floor, the fringe of her blood red dress spinning out from her legs. The woman was all smiles, all laughter, and she seemed never to turn down a partner. He watched her, entranced.

The woman wasn't a talented dancer, far from it in fact, but what she lacked in skill she made up for in enthusiasm and enjoyment. He had no intentions of doing anything other than watching her enchanting display until he made eye contact with her across the club. She blushed, turning away and quickly engaging a friend in conversation.

It was all the encouragement Alastor needed. In the dim light of the speakeasy, Alastor smiled to himself. He downed the rest of his drink and got to his feet. The crowed of dancers parted to make way for him like the red sea, waves of whispers following his path. He could hear the chatter, knew the rumors that he was a man uninterested in women, uninterested in love or romantic involvements of any type He knew that that was what everyone was speaking of as he approached the first new face the tired old place had seen in ages.

Coming to a stop behind the woman, her friend saw him first. It made sense, her back was turned to him after all, a result of her embarrassment at having been caught staring. He friend tapped her shoulder, indicating for the woman to turn around, and she spun. Alastor could feel the hem of her dress as it brushed against his leg through the fabric of his pants. His smile grew.

"Haven't seen you around here before Darling," he hummed, "new in town?"

"Just moved in, actually." the woman bashfully replied, clasping her hands behind her back and crossing one foot in front of the other.

The position it threw her body into sent Alastor's mind reeling. He hadn't expected that. Sure, she was pretty and different, new, but Alastor didn't feel things like that. At least, not normally.

"Well, I'd love to give you a tour sometime. The name is Alastor, Alastor Hartifelt."

This was the test: his name. How would she react? Was she just another one of his simpering fans, begging for his favor, for his attention, or would she do something interesting?

He held out a hand which she daintily rested her own in, a smile spreading across her face.

"Y/n L/n. I'm free tomorrow morning?"

Alastor was lucky, Saturday mornings were one of the few he had free. Gently, he leaned down and planted a soft kiss on the back of her hand. Y/n felt her heart flutter inside her chest.

"Ah, a charmer." she hummed as Alastor raised his head again and she took her hand from his, "I'll have to be careful around you."

Everything had snowballed from there. The tour around the city had spiraled into dinner which had further fallen into an attempt by Alastor to take her life. He had been curious, how it would feel when the life drained from her body at the force of his hands. Instead, she had met his advances by holding her own knife to his throat.

It became a game of sorts for the two, always trying to outwit one another, one up each other, land the other six feet under. The game ended when Alastor was chasing Y/n through the woods and she had stumbled, falling to the ground. He had grinned maniacally as he had advanced on her, as she had scrambled on the ground away from him. Knife raised, her back against a tree, she had breathlessly asked him out on a date. How could he say no? Especially when he looked up and saw that she had planned this all along. There was no other way their initials could be carved into the surface of the very thing that had stopped her escape. It was perfect, she was perfect.

Five years of bliss. Five years of feathery kisses and passion. Five years of waking up to her smiling face, of washing the blood off each other's hands, of nearly wedded bliss. Then there had been the fire.

Y/n had a twin brother, a brute of a thing who always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Despite his flaws, Y/n loved him. This time, on a January morning in 1925, he had pissed off the wrong person and gotten himself killed. Y/n was inconsolable, spent every waking moment tracking the killer. It didn't take her long to get a lead.

She was halfway out the door when Alastor found her, shoving knives into her pockets and grabbing a gun. There was a wild, unfocused look in her eyes. Alastor turned his gaze momentarily to the setting sun as it sent rays of liquid golden light bouncing off the snow.

"Darling, what are you doing?"

"Going out." she gruffly replied, adjusting the laces on one of her shoes.

Alastor sighed. Y/n had mentioned to him just the day before that she had an idea of who was behind the murder and it wasn't pretty. The most controversial and strongest gang in the city had, according to her research, wielded the flames. Alastor took a step forward, placing a hand on Y/n's shoulder and she turned to him. Her eyes were hard and narrow, her face contorted by rage.

"Y/n, please." Alastor began, treading carefully, "Not tonight. It's awful out, and you just confirmed everything today."

"No." Y/n shook her head, "No, I can't wait to do this any longer, Al. It has already been nearly a month, I can't..."

She looked away, raising a fist to her heart, her shoulders hunching slightly.

"I can't."

"And I can't loose you." Alastor quickly replied, using his free hand to turn her face back to his.

"So come with me."

He hesitated. Y/n saw the look on his face, the doubt. She shook herself from his grip, turning back to the door.

"Alright. I'll go alone."

"Y/n," Alastor pleaded, taking another step towards her as she grabbed her coat off the hook on the wall, "it is too dangerous. I can't let you do this."

"Let me do this?" Y/n spun around, her coat in her hand and flames licking at the corners of her voice, "You can't let me do this?"

Alastor took a breath, trying desperately to keep his own anger at bay.

"There are too many of them." he tried to reason with her, "You can't do it on your own."

"So come with me!"

"I..."

Y/n scoffed, sliding her jacket onto her arms. Turning back to the door once again, she unlocked it. Her hand rested on the knob, she took a breath. Their eyes met over her shoulder.

"I'll be home later."

She swung the door open and stepped out into the night. Alastor trailed after her, the snow sinking into his socks. It was cold, a terrible night.

"Y/n, you'll die!"

"Do you truly have that little faith in me!?" she spun around, her rage radiating off of her, devouring everything in sight.

Alastor had never seen her like this before. He halted in his tracks.

"Please, I can't..." he took a deep breath, emotions had always been a struggle, "I can't loose you too."

"But I'm supposed to loose my brother and know who did it and do nothing?!" she screamed back at him.

"You will die!"

Y/n turned her back on him once again. She unlatched the gate to the garden and slipped through it, letting it fall shut behind her.

"So be it."

"Y/n!"

Alastor tried to run after her but, it was simply too cold. His limbs were numb, he stumbled.

"Y/n!" he yelled again but, she didn't turn around.

He could see her, in that red dress. She looked like she did the first time he had ever met her as she disappeared into the night. He knew it was his mind playing tricks on him, it felt like an omen.

Alastor stood in the cold for a few minutes longer before resigning himself to the truth of it all: Y/n was going to do what she was going to do. He just had to hope she would come back, that the damage he had done in refusing to back her up like that wouldn't be enough to have driven her away. That she was strong enough to make it out alive.

The fireplace crackled invitingly. No matter how warm and cheerful it made the room, Alastor couldn't stop the dread. He sat down on the couch before it, painfully aware of the empty spot beside him. He tried to read.

The hours ticked by, seconds dragging on for eternity. Still, Y/n was not yet home. Alastor couldn't focus on anything. He couldn't 't read, couldn't sleep, could barely sit still. He paced circles around the room as the sun rose, he called in sick to work, intent on being there should she return.

When it reached four pm, when it had been nearly twenty full hours since she had left, he decided to go out and look for her. Y/n had always been messy, always bad at putting things away. While normally it had irritated him to no end, he now found himself grateful. He swore to whatever gods were listening that if she was alright, he would never bother her about it again because right there on top of her desk were all her plans, including the exact location of the gang's hideout, the exact place she had disappeared to.

The sight that met Alastor when he reached the old warehouse on the outskirts of the city was one he would never forget. Blood stained the snow red and there were bodies everywhere, both outside and within. It was clearly, Y/n's handiwork and he couldn't help but feel a tad impressed, he had underestimated her yet again. His slight smile, a result of the realization, fell as he spotted the footprints leading out of the backdoor.

He had tracked Y/n enough times to know they were hers, they couldn't be anyone else's. A trail of blood accompanied them, one foot dragging more than the other. Alastor tried to keep his head clear, his mind cool. He gave chase.

The back yard to the warehouse was large, gave the impression of going right off into the woods. Alastor soon realized that was not the case as the rusted, wrought iron fence came in to view. Y/n wouldn't have been able to see it. Judging by the way the tracks were iced over, it had been a long time since she had walked this path. In the dead of night, surrounded by trees, the fence would have come as a surprise.

As he got closer, the lump that he had assumed was a fallen branch came into more detail. Alastor's heart stopped, he rushed to her.

If only he hadn't waited, if only the minute he had felt she'd been gone too long he had gone after her. He might have been able to save her, to stop her from this cruel fate.

What had happened was obvious. The fence was iced over, slippery to the touch. Y/n had evidently tried to climb over it and lost her grip, the force of her fall being enough to ram the sharpened edge of one of the fence's defensive points right through her temple. Wrong place, wrong time.

Alastor had never cried like that before, as he sat in the snow at her feet, her body stiff from the cold. Not even when his mother had died could he ever remember feeling such a grief. It ate away at him, pooling in the center of his chest and spreading out. She had been so integral to who he was, so much a part of his life and way of being. She had been his dream, his end goal. Alastor remembered the ring, sitting heavy in the drawer of his night table. His tears redoubled.

By the time he managed to calm himself, the early winter sun had long since sunk to its bed and been replaced by the moon. Moving completely on autopilot, not considering his actions, Alastor wrenched her body from the fence. Y/n deserved a proper burial, in a place that mattered. He made her final resting place at the base of the very same tree she had told him she loved him while sitting at. His fingers traced their carved initials, grown hard with the years. There was nothing to be done.

The guilt ate away at him, festered over the years. If only he had stopped her, had gone with her, had come to her rescue. If only he had told her that he loved her one last time.

When Y/n awoke in Hell, to say she was surprised would be an understatement. She had never been one to believe in the afterlife in any sort of way, let alone such a wonderful one with so many opportunities for mayhem.

The thing that had been the toughest to get used to was her new form. All the demons in Hell got them upon arrival and when she caught that first glimpse of herself in the glass of a shop window, she understood why everyone on the streets seemed to be eyeing her fearfully.

She looked like she was rotting, her fingertips and toes black from the cold she had lost herself in. It trailed up her limbs, mingling with her own natural skin color. Her hair, her eye lashes, her eyebrows even, looked perpetually frosted with snow, little particles of ice hanging delicately in them. Then there were the horns and the tail, those were by far the strangest. The horns were pure white and curving like a mountain goats, the tail was thin with a little heart shaped ball of fluff at the end. It wasn't until another demon attempted to attack her that she realized the full extent of the changes that had taken place.

Y/n had just tried to punch the man, that was all. He had made advances, she had said no. He had tried again and she had told him she was married. It wasn't entirely a lie, they had been planning on it after all. Still, the man refused to listen and so, she had resorted to brute strength. When she had pulled her fist away, it was to find the man encased in ice. That was when the anger had set in.

Y/n didn't blame Alastor, not really. She was mad at him but, in the end, he had been right. She had died. It was all so brutally unfair. The way they had left things, that final fight, weighed on her soul. She wondered if he even knew she was dead, if he just assumed she had up and left him. The guilt, the what if's of it all, were crushing.

The stronger Y/n's emotions, the more uncontrollable her power. She still attacked people for fun but, taking over half of Pentagram City with her storms had honestly been an accident. In retrospect, she would call it a happy one.

Y/n liked being respected, being feared. She liked the near worship with which the smaller, weaker demons began to treat her. She settled into her new life with surprising ease and soon, every demon and hellborn in the place knew her name: Frost.

Y/n would've liked something different, preferred something cooler but, when the people give someone a name, its hard to change it and so, she embraced the title. Stone cold, cruel, powerful and appearing at what others perceived as totally inopportune moments. She locked herself, her heart, away. She swore never to make the same mistakes again.

Alastor visited Y/n's grave at least once every year. Always on the anniversary of her death, sometimes more frequently. That was where he too had met his death. As he had stooped low to place the bouquet of flowers he had brought on the surface of the hard-packed earth, the hunter had shot him, thinking he was a deer.

His arrival in Hell had been uneventful and not all together shocking. Alastor had been raised in a Christian household and although he never truly had faith in the matter once he had been old enough to form his own opinions, he had still always assumed that if there was life after death he was going to end up in Hell. He also knew that if he had ended up down here, Y/n had too.

The search was all consuming and fruitless. Every demon he interrogated, every one he thought had the slightest spark of his love within them, never had a single clue what he was talking about. Half the city was a snow storm and before long, that half was the only part he hadn't searched. Allegedly it was the territory of some new overlord known only as Frost who had taken Hell by storm - literally - just a few years before. Alastor already had a distaste in his mouth for the overlords, a sort of hatred spawned from something close to envy. He figured that worst case scenario, he could just add this Frost character to the list over overlords he had already taken out in the year since his arrival.

The chill of the air as he stepped over the border was a cruel reminder of the truth of his life. Alastor welcomed the cold with open arms, wondered if Y/n had already been killed since arriving in Hell. He had heard of the exterminations, it wasn't too wild of an idea. The thought gnawed on his mind like a parasite, intent on seeing him dead. Alastor progressed.

The fact that in death he still felt such things as hunger had been a mystery to him. There was something poetic about it, something forlorn in the idea that hunger and touch were the only things that followed a person to their grave. He stepped into the restaurant, his stomach growling, and walked up to the bar.

"Do you have beignets?"

Alastor knew the answer before the barkeep even shook his head. He sighed, falling on to one of the stools.

"Sausage and grits."

"Coming right up."

Alastor tapped his fingers on the counter, watching the world around him. Hope was running thin, anxieties and hurt taking over. He didn't know how much longer he could keep this up, how much more disappointment he could take.

"Haven't seen you around before, Darling," a voice purred from behind him, sending shockwaves of pain through his chest, "new in town?"

He summoned his microphone into his hand, ready to fight. It didn't matter that the demon most likely had no idea the effect of their words, the connections they had to his own past life. All that mattered was that he felt like he was being mocked, the world was parroting his life back to him because Y/n was out of his reach and probably would be forever more. He turned to face the person, a sickening grin spread tight across his face.

The demon had a clearing around her, the crowd avoiding her at all costs and whispering to one another behind the cover of their hands. Her tail flicked back and forth, ice emanating from the place her feet hit the floor.

There was something oddly familiar about her, the cocky smirk, the confidence. Alastor got to his feet. He leered over her and the woman didn't flinch one bit.

"Who's asking?"

A threat. The smile on the smaller demon's face grew, snow beginning to pile up on the floor in the corners of the room.

"You know, it's really far too cruel of you to go around with a voice like that." she hummed thoughtfully, a finger to her chin, "Gets a girl's hopes up just to shatter 'em on the floor."

Alastor could feel it now, the cold nipping at his extremities. Wind picked up in the indoor space and demons began rushing out through the door as quickly as they could. Alastor stood his ground.

"Ah, so you're the one responsible for this little snow town?"

"Why yes, I am."

"You're rather cruel yourself, you know." he mused, "Using my own words against me, how did you know? Do you overlords have some way to read a person's mind? Find the center of their desire and turn it to a weapon?"

Only now did the woman's expression change. Her calm facade morphed into confusion as the winds died down.

"What do you mean?"

"'Haven't seen you around here before, Darling, new in town?'" Alastor scoffed.

Y/n's eyes widened with a sudden recognition. It only fueled Alastor's anger as he took a step forward, shadows rising from the ground at his feet.

"I-"

"Just moved in, actually." the demon cut him off, holding a hand out for him to take, palm to the floor.

Alastor looked at her, disgust etched into his features.

"How could you..." he trailed off.

Eyes flicking over her form, Alastor examined the demoness carefully. Sure, she was different. She looked half dead, frost bitten to the extreme but, there was certainly something familar.

"Who are..."

His eyes narrowed with suspicion. Slowly, he took her hand in his. It was icy to the touch, sent shivers down his spine. With a practiced grace, he leaned down and planted a feathery kiss on the back of her hand.

"Ah, a charmer." Y/n smiled as he raised his head to hers again, "I'll have to be careful around you."

"Y/n."

It wasn't a question, he knew the answer. Alastor could feel it in his bones.

"Alastor."

She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him close. Alastor watched her movements in astonishment. Disbelief laid thick on his body, too heavy to allow him to move.

"I'm so sorry." she whispered into his ear, her breath a cold breeze.

"I... why are you sorry?" he asked, pulling her away from him.

Alastor placed his hands on her shoulders, brushing off a bit of snow that had landed there with utmost care.

"I'm the one who's sorry. I should have come with you, I shouldn't have said the things I said, I sh-"

"I love you."

She couldn't hold the words in anymore. Icicles of tears tinkled like glass as they fell from her cheeks and landed on the floor.

"I... I love you, Alastor. I can't... I always regretted... I..."

"Me too."

He pulled her back into his arms, this time holding her body tightly to his. The cold burned but he didn't care. The whistling of the wind outside seemed to quiet.

"I love you so much, Y/n. I am so sorry."

"I'm so sorry."

Y/n pulled back, cupping Alastor's face in her hands.

"Never again."

"Never what, my love."

"Never again will I be parted from you."

"I thought I'd never see you again." Alastor admitted, "I was beginning to lose hope."

"Me too, me too."

"Never again."

"Never again."

----

Next Part -> Day Lilies (Alastor x Blizzard demon!Reader x Angel!OC)

A/N I am such a little slut for a good reunion scene.

[loveshotzz]

I have a pretty good one awhile ago but I don't ever see myself writing it.

Reader and Eddie are good friends, Argyle drops by his trailer to buy, and he ends up flirting with the reader. Later reader and Eddie go to a party, Argyle is there, and in sure you know where it goes from there

Argyle x fem!reader

You can call me names if you call me up

Warnings:18+ Weed dealing, weed smoking, mentions of drinking, slight mentions of hellcheer? (eddie has a crush and we make fun of him for it) kissing, semi public fingering (f! receiving)

Word count: 5.8k

beta’d by @superblysubpar

Authors note: This is my first ever Argyle fic! Thank you @sleepy-princ3ss for letting me write this! I had a lot of fun this one but it’s scary to write a new character so let me know what you think! I also had a good time writing Eddie as our best friend who doesn’t want to fuck us. Wild right? Still, there’s lots of Eddie in here too 💕

The summer heat always feels extra sticky inside Eddie’s trailer this time of year, the stale breeze that floats through his cracked window does nothing to cool you down. Thumbing through the worn covers of the records Eddie keeps in his room you hum along to the last few chords of Ride The Lightning. When the covers of Back In Black and Blizzard of Oz stick together, you grimace as you pull them apart. A crumpled cut of a babe from a Heavy Metal Magazine is the ‘glue’ that was holding them together.

“Eww Eddie! What the fuck?” god, your best friend was gross.

Clumsy loud footsteps bring him to the entrance of his room, bangs sticking to his forehead from sweat, his face flushes an even deeper shade of red when his eyes zero in on what you’re glaring at.

“I - uh,” coughing nervously, he scratches the back of his neck, the chain wrapped around his wrist sliding down his arm, “I don’t - I don’t know how that got there.”

Scoffing with a roll of your eyes you examine it a little more closely, careful not to touch it. The blond hair and the big blue eyes were a dead give away why this had to have been his favorite.

“She kinda looks like Chrissy don’t you think? Like if she got a metal makeover or whatever you’d call this,” snorting when his face turns into a tomato, his own glare takes over his features when he narrows his eyes at you.

“Why are you even snooping through my records, this one just started?” blinking quickly with embarrassment he looks like he’s ready to explode and you’ve never been more pleased with yourself.

Opening your mouth ready to bite back with something that you were sure was going to send him over the edge, the sound of three quick knocks followed by a single fourth one cuts you off before you can even start.

“Who’s that?” confused at his lack of communication with anyone crashing your hang out, he snaps - gesturing for you to step away from his records before he answers you.

He’s halfway out his bedroom door with you quick on his heels when he finally does.

“Jonathan and his friend from Cali are here to pick up real quick,” groaning at the sound of Jonathan’s name, Eddie laughs loudly before signaling for you to shut up with a finger to his lips.

It wasn’t that you hated Jonathan, he was just always such a downer when he’d join in on your smoke sessions.

Opening the door when you cross your arms with a nod signaling you’ll behave, he turns his charismatic Munson charm up to a ten with a wide grin.

“Byers,” giving him a slight bow, he extends his tattooed arm wide inviting them in, “Byer’s friend.”

You see Jonathan first, who gives you an awkward small wave and a tight lipped grin, lifting three fingers you give him the same energy.

“Oh hey man, the name’s Argyle excited to see what kinda weed you got out here,” Jonathan’s cute friend that follows him in was not what you expected as he clasps his hands together rubbing his palms excitedly stepping through the threshold.

Chestnut hair longer than Eddie’s sways as he walks in, the top of it hidden by a flipped bill green cap. Its smooth texture makes your hand twitch, you’re almost positive it’d feel like silk against your fingertips. A big dopey smile graces his full pink tinged lips as his already bloodshot brown eyes meet yours when he finally turns to see you in the hallway.

All the loud colors and clashing designs on his clothes makes the corners of your mouth tug up. Curiosity piqued, you throw him a more flirtatious wave, fluttering your lashes for good measure.

Eddie rolls his eyes from behind him catching onto your antics, but Argyle looks like he’s been turned to stone, frozen in place as he takes in your barely covered frame. Leaning a shoulder against the wall you watch his eyes trail up the uncovered expanse of your legs till he hits the frayed ends of your jean shorts, your spaghetti strap tank top gives him the perfect view of the curve of your breasts barely hidden beneath the thin fabric. Sweat beading off your heat kissed skin.

Clearing his throat he shakes his head when he feels his jaw go slack, glancing worriedly at Eddie who’s already too busy rummaging around the living room looking for his trusty metal lunch box.

“Don’t mind her, she’s just my partner in crime,” waving a dismissive ringed hand in your direction as he digs behind the couch Jonathan just got settled on, Argyle’s face falls slightly at the nickname.

That still didn’t stop him from watching you push yourself off the wall and walk to the kitchen island, sitting yourself on the cleared spot on top. Legs moving to the beat of the music still bleeding out from the speakers in Eddie’s room, you knew he was completely transfixed on you as he rocked back on his heels.

“Got it boys!” cheering himself on loudly, it’s your turn to roll your eyes.

“Only you would lose your lunch box full of drugs Munson,” winking at Argyle after you roast your best friend, his smile turns shy when he looks away.

“Bold of you to insult me when you smoke for free,” squinting with threatening eyes, he flips the lid open, the metal connecting with the wood of the coffee table in a loud clunk.

Sticking your tongue out at him he scoffs before turning his attention towards Jonathan pulling out two different bags of the new strains Rick had just supplied him with.

Argyle watches you both with confused eyes, unsure what to think of your banter as he feels the shift in your stare. The heat of it makes all the blood rush to his cheeks when he dares to meet it. Waving him over, you remind him to actually finish walking in. Eyes going wide at the realization, he looks down as he walks over to stand in the space right next to you.

Leaning his back against the formica countertop, your knee brushes the side of his arm with every small kick of your dancing feet. He smells like the kind of weed that makes you feel bad for whatever Eddie’s about to sell them and a hint of an earthy toned cologne. Dark eyes lifting up to yours, his breath catches in his throat when you meet his gaze instantly.

“Sooo, how’s it going?” purposely nudging him this time, you get a smile to finally break across his nervous face.

“It’s uhh- it’s good, Jonathan’s mom is super nice. Her cooking is shmackin,” giggling a little, he told himself it was because of the lingering effects of the weed they smoked on the way here, not because of the way you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth as you listened.

“Oh yeah, dinner at Joyce’s is always a hit. She really is the sweetest,” eyes crinkling in the corners when you grin at him, he was even cuter this close.

“How long are you visiting?” resting your chin on your shoulder when you look up at him, the height difference is still noticeable despite your advantage. His cheeks turn bubble gum pink at your flirty questioning.

“Just for a few weeks, I don’t want to put them out too much you know? She’s got a full house over there with everyone back,” you catch a hint of sadness in his mellow voice. He missed his best friend, that was more than evident. The thought of only seeing Eddie a few weeks out of the year sounded miserable.

“So you and Jonathan huh? How’d that even happen?” The difference in their personalities was astounding, but even you had to admit that Byers came back from California a little more relaxed. Meeting Argyle you’re starting to figure out why.

“Ahh yeah, dudes was like having a total meltdown at school one day about some stuff with Nancy, I felt bad you know, he looked like someone kicked his dog.” Glancing over at his friend he laughs at the memory.

“So I just showed him the ways of Purple Palm Tree delight and the rest was history.” Smirking proudly when he looks at you, his eyes briefly drift towards your lips curled up into their own grin.

“Finally! Someone got Byers to chill out!” Your praise is loud enough to get a side eye from Jonathan and a laugh from his cute friend.

“It’s super nice of you to come all this way to visit Argyle, I hope you make the most of your time here,” sweetness drips from your words making his eyes grow as big as saucers when he catches the slight invitation hidden inside them.

Jonathan finally speaks loud enough for the whole room to hear, snapping your attention away from the pretty stoner boy.

“Are you guys going to the party at Rick’s tonight?” shoving the bag of weed he just bought in his back pocket, his beady eyes dart between you and Eddie.

Argyle’s still in his own world and Eddie’s got a front row seat to his completely smitten gaze dead set on your face. Despite being annoyed with you all afternoon, you’d always been a good wingman when he needed it. Lips pulling up in a mischievous smirk he wiggles his eyebrows at you before answering.

“We are!”flipping the lid to his lunch box shut with obnoxious force, you’re truly shocked he hasn’t broken it yet with his need for dramatic flair.

The sound of metal clanking loudly snaps Argyle out of whatever lovesick daze you already had him in from just from batting your lashes and showing a little interest. His eyes connect with Eddie's, a sheepish look taking over his face from being caught openly gawking.

“We are? what part-“ Eddie glares at you before cutting you off.

“The party I was literally just telling you about before they got here,” he looks pointedly at the boy shuffling his feet next to you.

Argyle’s eyes stay fixated on the dirty carpeted floor doing his best not to stare, completely oblivious to the way Eddie was trying to help him out, not scold him.

Glancing over at the cowering boy, it’s like a light bulb flashes on top of your head when you realize Eddie was trying to help you get laid.

“Ohhh that party! Sorry, stoner memory you know?” bumping your shoulder with his, your lips twist up in a grin when the chocolate of his eyes meet yours, “Totally going”

The look on Argyle’s face is hard to read as a mixture of excitement and fear cross over his features at the same time. Shifting uneasily, he keeps looking at Eddie from the corner of his eye but he can’t stop the smile that slowly spreads across his soft lips, big pearly whites flashing at you.

“C-cool, I’ll totally see you there,” coughing as he scratches the back of his neck before quickly turning his attention to Eddie, “And uhh- you too man, I’ll uh see you there too!” the last part comes out loud enough to be a yell, his nerves making his voice shake.

“Uhhh, yeah man. For sure,” Eddie’s tone is laced with confusion, eyebrows raised in question as he looks at Argyle like he’s growing a second head.

Jonathan looks at his friend with wide eyes, his cheeks turning rosy from embarrassment from his outburst. Shaking his head, he stands up with a pat on his thighs - giving the universal gesture for ‘it’s time to go’

“Alright, well this got awkward. I think we’re gonna head out, we’ll see you guys tonight,” beckoning his friend to follow him towards the front door, he steals one last look at you before almost tripping over his own feet following Jonathan, flashing you a lopsided grin.

Shutting the door behind them Eddie turns to you with a smirk that you want to smack off his face.

“Look if that’s what you’re into -“ you throw a stray Readers Digest at Eddie before he has a chance to finish teasing you.

“Oh? Would you like him more in a pleated skirt waving some Pom Pom’s for Jason and his goons?” jumping off the counter you go for the jugular, your smirk growing when you get the same hard glare from earlier in his room.

“Listen, Caspian likes who he likes. I’m just the guy behind the wheel,” hands raised in mock defense, you snort rolling your eyes walking away with crossed arms.

“Eddie, your dick isn’t the Prince of fucking Narnia,” his boisterous laugh booms over the music and your glad he can’t see the way your lips twitch up at his antics, butterflies making their way inside your stomach at the thought of seeing Argyle’s goofy smile again again.

——

You’ve always hated parties, especially Reefer Rick parties. Messy and way too loud, it wasn’t just the usual crowd at Harrington's, dodging leering stares around every corner, you cling to Eddie’s arm as a deterrent.

“I don’t know what you were thinking wearing that skirt to Rick’s,” laughing at the permanent look of disgust that was stuck on your face as the two of you weave through the crowd, you turn your head up to stick your tongue out.

“You’re gonna give that poor kid a heart attack,” Eddie shakes his head when he sees the Cheshire smile that takes over your face as you approach the makeshift drink station, “Death by bone - Byers!”

Eddie’s outburst makes you jump when your eyes meet Argyle’s from over the keg on the dining room table, the stoned grin on his face faltering when he sees your arm wrapped tightly around Eddie’s. Big brown eyes only grow bigger when he gets a glimpse of the expanse of your legs and another thin tank top covering your chest like earlier, leaving little for his imagination.

The rosy color comes back to his cheeks when you let go of Eddie as you approach with a smile that seemed to be reserved just for him pretty on your glossed lips.

“Hey Argyle,” breathy and smitten, your own cheeks heat up when the corner of his mouth turns up, lopsided just how you like.

“Hey - wow, you look - wow - yeah you look gorgeful,” stumbling over his words, Jonathan looks exasperated with his best friend already, “I mean gorgeous, err — um beautiful.”

Jonathan raises his eyebrows in a greeting at you before taking a sip from his red solo cup, doing his best to ignore the stuttering mess next to him as he greets Eddie with their dude shake.

Argyle catches Eddie’s passive stare and it only seems to make him more nervous.

“Hey man, you look, you look uhh great too!” stammering a little less, his voice raises a few octaves borderline yelling just like in the living room earlier.

“Careful Argyle, keep smooth talking me like this and I’m gonna think you want me and not my friend here,” Eddie winks with a dimpled grin spread wide across his face before he scopes out the scene of the party. Zeroing in on a home base on the couch in the living room that sat miraculously unoccupied.

“Think I’m gonna post up, you know what they say ‘When in Rome’,” he gestures with his head to the spot to Jonathan, “Wanna join? I got a joint with our name on it.”

“Isn’t Rick gonna get pissed at you for selling at his house?” finally tearing your eyes away from Argyle who’s openly gaping at Eddie, you look up at your best friend.

“Pffft, please. It’s not like he’s not going to see the fruits of my labor, it’s fine, trust me. He’s probably already plastered and passed out on his waterbed anyway,” shrugging off your concern he looks at Jonathan expectantly.

“You good with that buddy?” clapping a hand on his friend's back, Argyle’s brown eyes dart back and forth between you and Eddie, repeating the words “my friend” like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

“Yeah, he’ll protect me from all the creeps won’t you,” grabbing his hand, the heat of his palm is an instant comfort against yours. Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth you look up at him from under your lashes. His cheeks turn the color of cherry blossoms when he finally meets your stare, squeezing your hand gently, he looks back at the two boys finding his nerve.

“Yeah I’ll protect this pretty little princess with my life man,” saluting your best friend, Eddie raises his eyebrows seemingly unimpressed before turning back to Jonathan.

“Ready?” ignoring Argyle’s pledge you snort at Eddie’s casual bitchiness.

“Yeah, let's go. Look, be cool man, don’t take anything anyone here offers you, got it? I’m not taking care of you again like that time you ate the mushrooms you found in the woods,” Jonathan looks a lot like the guy you’d always known talking to his friend like he would his little brother with a finger pointed in Argyle’s face.

“There'll be no mushroom consumption on my watch, Byers,” mocking Argyle’s salute, your antics earn an eye roll from Eddie knowing damn well if the offer was given to both of you, you’d fold.

“Alright! You kiddos, have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Eddie grabs Jonathan by the shoulders aggressive enough to have his beer slosh over the lid and you were almost positive that annoyed scowl would be stuck on his face all night.

Watching them till they both got lost in the crowd of bodies, you and Argyle finally dare to face each other. The air between you thickening now that you were alone, and he was still very much holding your hand.

“Do-“

“How-“

It was like a cheap rom com the way you both went to talk at the same time, cheeks heating up as you both look at the ground, a new shyness taking over. Squeezing his hand you encourage him.

“You first,” soft and sweet, you swear you his pupils dilate from the way you look at him.

Argyle gets the same expression on his face Eddie does when he’s forced to talk to Chrissy when she comes to buy weed for her friends. He was silently hyping himself up. Straightening his shoulders he clears his throat before the smile that made your stomach do flips graces his kissable lips.

“Can I get the pretty lady a beveregino?”

A stumbling drunk someone knocks into you before you have a chance to give an answer. Flying into his chest he lets go of your hand to grab at your hips, helping you regain your balance. The slurred apology falls on deaf ears when you and Argyle lock eyes from this close, chest to chest his fingers dig into you just enough to notice.

“I’m not much of a drinker, more of a stoner. Wanna go by the lake? I stole a joint from Eddie before we left,” grinning with pride at your sticky fingers, his lips twitch up, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Woman after my own heart, hell yeah! Let's blow this popsicle stand,” turning you around he keeps his hands on your hips, lips coming close to your ear from behind, “Lead the way my weed smoking goddess”

Goosebumps rise, dancing across your skin at the feeling of his warm breath fanning down your neck as you lead him through the crowd. His hands never leave their spot from your hips, their grip tightening as you get closer to the sliding glass door that takes you out to Rick’s backyard.

Stepping onto the wooden deck he finally lets you go, there’s just a few stragglers outside smoking cigarettes too lost in their own conversation to notice the two of you. The air has lost most of its humidity, leaving the night in a post heatwave glow. The stars gleam bright next to the moon in the clear night sky, reflecting off the water it lights your way as you walk hand in hand down to the lake. Stealing glances at him from the corner of your eye the whole way down, you catch him doing the same thing, both of you giggling every time your eyes meet.

Finding a place nestled next to Rick’s boat house, you were far enough from the party for the loud music and constant chattering to seem like a faint noise in the background. The laps of the water hitting the shore take center stage as you curl your legs under your thighs when you sit like the princess he claimed you to be on the plush grass.

His knee brushes yours when he plops down Indian style next to you, his curious eyes follow yours as you look down at your exposed cleavage. Digging into your bra you pull a perfectly rolled joint with a smug smirk on your face, twirling it around in your dainty fingers he can’t help but throw his head back and laugh.

“I thought chicks only did that in movies, that’s some secret spy shit,.” the smile he gives you makes you want to squirm, “Crafty and beautiful.”

Not used to the kind of confidence he was giving you alone like this, you bite your lip to try and hide your smile as you tuck your hair behind your ears.

“Please, Eddie’s just oblivious,” scoffing, your face feels like the hottest part of the day from words that were sweeter than the ice cream cone you had earlier at Benny’s.

“I think it’s a little bit of both,” winking as he leans back, eyes watching you the way every woman dreams of as you search for a lighter.

“I think Eddie still has the lighter,” the cute pout that pulls at your bottom lip has his fingers twitching.

Holding up his index finger he starts digging through his multicolored jogger pockets.

“No need to worry, I’ve got us covered beautiful,” pulling out a bright yellow Surfer Boy Pizza one, he hands it to you with a lazy lopsided grin.

“My hero,” leaning forward as you snatch it, you dare to press a chaste kiss on his cheek as a token of your gratitude.

His eyes go wide enough to see the whites behind them and that perfect kind of smile that pushes against his cheeks is almost brighter than the moon hanging in the sky.

Scooting closer when you flick the lighter, the breeze that washes over the lake has other plans when it keeps snuffing the flame out. After the third failed attempt Argyle scoots closer, shoulders and thighs touching his big hands cover yours as a shield.

“Thank you,” daring to look at him from this close, his eyes meet yours almost instantly, catching the way they flutter down to your lips and how he has to wet his own after.

Tearing your gaze away, you focus on lighting the joint, the flame catching almost instantly with his help. Twirling it around so it burns even, he lets his hands fall at the same time as you. The palm of yours landing on the top of his, your eyes meeting again as you hollow out your cheeks taking the first hit. He just smirks, not moving an inch, the heat of his body is warm against your skin from this close.

The silence is comfortable as the two of you pass the joint back and forth for a while, fingers brushing purposefully with every hand off. Leaning completely against each other with pinkies hooked between you, he’s the one that breaks the silence when you hit the middle of the joint.

“So have you lived here your whole life?” plucking at the grass next to him he looks up at you with soft eyes as you finish filling your lungs.

“Yep, pretty much. My parents lived in Indianapolis till I was three then moved here for a quieter life,” snorting at the cliche of it, you pass him the joint, “What about you? Always been in California?”

“Yeah, it’s just me and my mom. She’s like the best ever though, so, you know I don’t really need anyone else but her,” taking a big hit of the joint so he didn’t have to elaborate further, you changed the subject.

“Would you ever leave? Like, move somewhere else?” it’s your turn to pick at the grass, the nerves of getting to know a boy getting the best of you.

“What? Like here?” smirking at you when he hands you the joint, your cheeks heat up at what he’s implying.

“No! Don’t move to Hawkins, there’s nothing here,” smiling around the end of the joint you take a hit to distract yourself from his playful stare.

“I don’t know, it seems pretty cool to me so far,” you don’t miss the way his pinky squeezes yours after the sentence leaves his mouth, eyes looking at you pointedly daring you to catch on.

“You wouldn’t survive the winters, I’m sure of it,” looking at him from under the hood of your lashes, your teeth tug at your bottom lip barely hiding your smile when you hand him back the joint.

“What about you? Do you wanna move?” his eyes glaze over when he takes his hit starting to reach the end of it, your bodies buzzing with the high and the excitement of a new crush.

“More than anything, Community College is just really cheap out here and I don’t know what I want to do yet, so the plan is to move anywhere that's not here after I figure that out,” sighing at the thought of finally leaving Hawkins you meet his gaze when you feel the chocolate of his eyes on you.

“I’m going to Community College too! And I also don’t know what I’m doing! Look at us two peas in a pod man,” he’s loud with excitement sending you into a fit of giggles and you lean even deeper into his side as he hands you the joint.

“Just need Eddie hurry it up, he finally graduated but he still has to take two summer school classes. We’re supposed to do this college thing together,” he catches the small frustrated pout you try to hide.

It’s quiet for a minute, the elephant in the room coming back as the sound of the water and crickets fill your ears.

“So you and Eddie like never..?” not bold enough to meet your side eye after the question leaves his mouth, you smirk as you take another rip. Exhaling slowly before handing it back to him.

“We’ve known each other since we were kids so naturally, we tried kissing once. It happened the summer before Junior year,” sticking your tongue out like there was a bad taste in your mouth, the memory makes you shudder, “Too weird, we’re too close.”

Argyle just nods trying to keep his poker face as he takes a hit when he hears that Eddie has actually kissed you before, but you catch on quick.

“Besides, despite the metal appearance,” leaning closer like you were about to indulge in a secret you whisper, “He likes cheerleaders.”

Earning a snort from him the smoke of his inhale flows freely out his nose and mouth as he chuckles at your antics.

“And I like pizza delivery boys, especially cute ones from California,” the weed settles enough to make you feel bold and you watch him freeze at your flirty words.

He slowly meets your gaze, bloodshot eyes scanning your face for any trace of humor but he’s only met with the hungry look in yours staring at his lips, and he swears your brows furrow with want when your tongue glides across wetting your bottom lip.

“Yeah?” his voice cracks when he puts out the remainder of the joint into the ground, angling his body more towards yours.

Nodding, you squeeze your hooked pinky with his silently begging him to give you what you want.

Taking your cue, he leans forward close enough for your noses to touch, the hesitation to fully commit has your lips brushing feather light against his. You can taste the last of the joint as you breath each other in, grabbing a fist full of his shirt when you’ve finally had enough, you close the gap with a satisfied hum when they mold instantly with yours.

It feels like the Fourth of July behind your closed lids, still a month away but the fireworks you swear you feel blur your vision when you lose yourself in him. Begging for more when your tongue swipes across his bottom lip, he groans low when he gives you everything you want. Tongues and teeth clash together desperate like years of pining finally come to an end despite it being less than a day, maybe it was the weed or maybe it was him, but it feels like it’s everything you want and more.

The initial intensity dwindles as you start to move lazy and slow against each other. Taking his time, he savors every giggle and gasp he pulls from you. Your hands find their way into his long hair, it’s even softer than you imagined when your fingers run through it. His hat falls off when you give it a gentle tug at the base of his neck.

Working up enough courage to pull you on his lap, he swallows your moan when you feel the bulge in his pants. The lace panties you wore just for him and the thin material of his joggers is the only thing between you and what’s underneath. Your skirt sits bunched up at your hips with his hands and you can’t help it when you rock against him, feeling every inch of him against your clit.

Pulling you down closer, his lips take a break from yours to make their way over your jaw and down the curve of your neck. Nipping and sucking against all the sweet spots that sit nestled just behind your ear. A high pitched whine escapes you when he applies just the right amount of pressure with his teeth, smiling against your skin, his nose nudges against your earlobe, a soft “Yeah?” sending your nerves down your spine.

His hands make their way to your thighs squeezing at the soft fat before his fingertips drag their way across the expanse of them finding their new home at the curve of your ass. Toying with the sides of your underwear you collect his lips again with your fingers holding onto his chin.

Rocking with a little more force when your tongues meet again, his hands grip you harder making you bite his lip in response.

“You- you can touch me,” your voice is quiet when you dare to say the words out loud, his lips stopping abruptly against yours.

“A-are you sure?” his eyes look black even in the moonlight when they meet yours from over the bridge of your nose.

Nodding against him, you encourage his hand as your lips meet his again, pulling your panties to the side he groans loud into your mouth when he’s met with your slick folds coating his fingertips.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe you’re real,” staring up at you, he’s mesmerized at the way you shudder when the pads of his long fingers rub circles on your clit.

Mewling when he lets the tip of his middle finger poke at your entrance, you dig your nails into his broad shoulders when he finally pushes one in, your velvet walls gripping him hard, pulling him deeper. His hips jut up at the sensation only adding to how good it all feels.

“G- god Argyle don’t - don’t stop please,” your demand comes out as a whine when he adds a second finger, curving them slightly brushing that spongy spot inside of you.

“I like that, I like when you say my name like that,” the pad of his thumb meets your bundle of nerves as you start to shamelessly ride his hand, the need to cum taking over all the bashfulness from before.

“Yeah?”

Nodding against the side of your face he nips at your jaw before taking your lips, the strokes of his fingers becoming more deliberate.

He manages to say, “Do it again” between kisses as he curves his fingers once more, getting him exactly what he asked for.

Kisses turn sloppy as you get closer to your release, your hands leave their place on his shoulders to dig at the roots at the nape of his neck, tugging the way that earned you a moan the last time.

He increases the speed of his fingers, the sound of how wet you are is loud enough to be embarrassing but it only makes him twitch inside his pants as he thrusts up, your mouth falling open against his.

“I’m gonna - god - I’m gonna cum,” pulling his hair hard enough it should hurt, he only pushes himself deeper in response, the new intensity sending you over the edge.

“Yeah? Good, come on let me feel it,” his voice is hardly recognizable the moment those words come out of your mouth. Deep and thick with want, it has your thighs shaking as you drench his fingers, face buried in the crook of his neck you let your orgasm wash over you like a storm.

“Jesus, you look like an angel right now,” his voice comes out like a whisper, almost like he’s saying it to himself.

His hips stop their movements as his fingers slow their pace when he feels your body start to calm down, pulling them out despite the fight of your walls they keep fluttering around nothing from the aftershock.

Your gasp is quiet against his skin when you don’t feel so full anymore. You’re too stoned and too tired to open your eyes when you hear the sound of him sucking his fingers clean.

“You’re sweeter than fucking pineapple, I swear,” chuckling at his own revelation your lips tug up into a smirk finally having the strength to meet his gaze.

“You like pineapple?” you had no idea the question would elicit such a strong response until his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Do I like pineapple? Do I like -“ Jonathan’s panicked voice rings out over the lake interrupting the out of body experience Argyle was about to have about fruit.

“Come on guys, Rick kicked Eddie out for selling at his party!”

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

A Night By The Fireplace

Summary/Prompt - SPN Pond Secret Santa: Stuck home because of a snowstorm

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader

Christmas Masterlist | Masterlist

A/N: This one goes out to @little-diable you said you like to read angst and smut so I tried to give you a bit of both along with some fluff to balance it out. I hope it’s ok. Merry Christmas!

Also, Thank you so much to @spnfanficpond for organising this fun, festive event. I had a lot of fun writing this!

Warnings: angst and SMUT

The notification you have been dreading all day pops up on your phone: All Flights Departing Austin, Texas Cancelled - Pending Weather Conditions

You sigh as you look out your shared bedroom window at the blizzard blowing past outside. Having watched the local weather last night you knew it was coming, not that your native-Texan husband believed you at the time. You dump your packed suitcase on the ground beside the bed and stomp out of the room in search of your husband to pass along the news. 

Hearing your footsteps, he interjects quickly holding his phone up with the same alert. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. Let me have it, you told me so.”

“I did tell you so! We should have moved the flights up! I told you!”

“I know. But in my defence, when have we ever had a white Christmas in Austin?”

“The other year, when this exact same thing happened! When we first got married!”

“Apart from that?”

“Jensen!”

“I know, Honey. I’m so sorry.” He walks closer to you to pull you into a hug but you push his hands away.

“No, I’m too busy now. I’ve gotta call everyone and let them know we’re not gonna make Christmas because my husband is a colossal dick and wouldn’t listen to his wife!”

“You think I wanted to get stranded here in Austin? I just didn’t expect it to actually blizzard!”

You roll your eyes at him and dump your phone down on the bench. “No, you know what? You call everyone and let them down!”

With that, you storm out of the room and back upstairs to try and destress. You decide to run a bath to warm up from the unusual cold and relax your body and mind. 

After a while, you hear a soft knock on the door. Before your husband steps inside with an apologetic look. He kneels beside the tub dipping his fingertips in the warm water. 

“I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you and changed the flights. I called everyone and let them know what happened and took full blame.”

“I’m sorry too, the snowstorm isn’t your fault.”

“This feels like it’s getting cold. How about you come downstairs?” He leans down and kisses you before standing up and holding your towel out for you. Once you stand up he wraps you up in it and then pulls you into his arms. “I’ll give you a few minutes to get dressed and meet you in the lounge.”

You quickly slip on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie and then hurry downstairs to catch up with Jensen. Downstairs you’re met with a beautiful picnic mat spread out on the floor in front of the crackling electric fireplace with two hot chocolates, popcorn, chocolate-coated strawberries and some pasta carbonara from your favourite Italian restaurant. He pats the spot on the floor next to him and you take a seat. He wraps one arm around your shoulders, grabs a strawberry with his free hand and holds it up to your lips. You take a big bite and let out a small involuntary moan at the sweet mix of the juice and rich dark chocolate. 

“A quiet Christmas with just the two of us wouldn’t be so bad,” you admit when you finish chewing. 

“I know I’m away for work so often. So I always want to make the most of the time when I’m with you.”

“You definitely know how to do that.”

“Well, there’s one more treat for you. You get to pick the movie, no complaints from me, I promise.”

“Really? Even a chick flick?”

“Whatever you want.” He hands you the remote.

You flick through Netflix before settling on a sappy Christmas movie. As the movie fills the background you tuck into the array of delicious food Jensen collected for you. You take turns feeding each other the strawberries until they’re all gone. Then you lay back on the cushions he scattered around and cuddle as you enjoy the movie.

After a few minutes, you can tell he’s getting bored as he starts to leave kisses all down the side of your neck as his hands drift south, massaging your sides until they slip under the hem of your (his) hoodie. You tip your head back exposing more skin to him which he promptly takes advantage of as he climbs on top of you. He works his way back up with his lips and nibbles on your earlobe before whispering, “I thought you were watching the movie?”

“You’re blocking it,” you reply with a moan as he nips you again. 

“Want me to stop?”

You wrap your legs around his waist, “don’t you dare.”

He chuckles lowly before grinding his lower half against yours causing you both to moan. He slides the hoodie off your body and throws it off to the side. “Really, baby? Are you just as bare under these sweats?”

“Maybe…” you say teasingly before being cut off by a moan as he slides a hand up to squeeze your boobs, lightly running his thumb over your erect nipples. 

“So sexy…right here with you is so much better than being stuck in a plane or with family where I have to control myself around you. This right here is all I want and need for Christmas.” He kisses your lips quickly, not letting you deeper it, as he pulls away and works his way back across your cheek, down the centre of your neck, onto your chest, circling your breasts before finally kissing over each of your nipples. You moan out loudly and buck your hips into his at the stimulation, but he pins your hips down with a strong hand on your waist as he takes his time licking, nipping and sucking each nipple and breast until he’s left satisfactory marks all over them. 

“Baby! Jensen, please! I need more!” You groan out, not completely sure what you even want apart from just more of him. You claw at his shirt-covered back trying to pull it up. After a moment he gets the message and sits up a little to yank it off and throw it over with yours. 

When he leans back down he kisses you again before asking, “How are you? Want me to take you up to bed?”

You shake your head as you glance over at the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree you’re now glad you insisted on setting up and decorating early despite your holiday plans. You look back into his forest-green eyes and smile. “I’m perfect right here.”

That’s all the reassurance he needs to continue his pleasurable assault on your body. Working his way down to your belly button and waistband, leaving a trail of wet kisses all the way. When he finally dips his fingers under the elastic he pulls it up and then lets it snap back against your hips causing them to jolt up. With little exploring needed, he can already tell you’re commando underneath which has him straining against his jeans even more than before, if that were even possible. 

“Stop teasing!” You beg desperately, which he finds so sexy. It spurs him on to finally slip your sweats down your legs gently and onto the floor with the rest of your discarded clothing. But much to your dismay he continues to tease; kissing along your hips and down to your thighs, skipping over where you want him most, he kisses all the way down to your ankles and even leaves a featherlight kiss on each instep before working his way back up the other leg until he’s face-to-face with your core. 

“Open your eyes, baby,” he softly orders. Only when your eyes flutter open and meet his, does he finally kiss your clit. You try to fight against your eyelids, but as his tongue darts out to draw patterns you lose the battle and squeeze them shut, throwing your head back again moaning his name and a collection of profanities. As his tongue and mouth continue to work their magic on you he brings one hand up spreading your labia open before sliding one finger inside you easily. Thanks to his attentive foreplay you’re already so wet and ready for him. He easily slides in two more and curls his three fingers up and forward to reach the spongy spot inside that has you crying out even louder and trying to buck your hips against him for more. He continues to work his fingers and mouth against your sex until he finally feels the familiar clenching on his fingers. “That’s it, baby. You’re doing so well! Come all over my fingers.”

Without much extra effort necessary he pushes you over the edge, causing you to follow his instructions. He works you through it, not stopping his movements until you’re completely limp and exhausted beneath him. You shutter as he pulls his fingers out of you and sucks them clean, moaning at the taste. 

Once you catch your breath a little you slide your hands down his chest and stomach to his waistband, but he captures your hands, stopping you. “Tonight’s not about me. That was my apology for not listening to you. You just lay back and relax. I’ll tidy up here and then we can go to bed.” He kisses you tenderly before standing up, stretching and gathering all the empty food containers and mugs and taking them to the kitchen. Leaving you alone, exhausted and blissed out on the rug in front of the fireplace.

[deoll]

hiii dolls <33 i think it’s my first actual draft that made it as a post in a long time so enjoy!! self-insert, gn friendly!

Scaramouche x Reader || One Bed Trope

"I'm fucking sick of this. No you listen to me, do you know who I am?'' he throws his fists against the wood. What a rowdy guy, if he keeps this up I might be the one who'll get fucking sick of this fiasco.

"I'm sorry sir, most of our rooms are unfortunately taken and our staff is overworked due to this blizzard. Could you be a little patient until we check to see what we could offer you and your colleagues?" the woman at the front desk appeared to be distressed, managing a phone at her ear with her shoulder, trying to write some notes down at the same time. Scaramouche is not having it. If it were any other day perhaps I wouldn't be this easily irritated, but unfortunately my cheeks are scarred by the cold wispy wind, I can't feel any of my fingers due to frostbite, I haven't eaten anything, tired as hell and most importantly in a need of a shower. He's not helping my condition in the slightest, not that he ever did. Not that I would want him to, but that doesn't mean that I want him to worsen it.

"..Do you even know who you're talking to? I don't care how you manage your goddamn hotel, you must have 4 rooms for Tsaritsa's Harbingers. What kind of pathetic unorganized team do you even have here that a snow storm is all it takes for this whole place to-" (Y/N) puts their hand on his shoulder, making him stop mid sentence. "I'm sorry for my partner here he's just tired, please do what you must." I pulled him back and talked with the polite lady in front of me. Unfortunately, Scaramouche did not appreciate that. I could feel him fuming behind my back, his eyes could cut if i were to turn and look at him. Fortunately I don't, trying to contain an upcoming chuckle at how ridiculous he looks right now. Insufferable fucker.

"Now now comrade-" Tartaglia tries to put his palm on his hat and almost instantly having it waved off by him. "that's no way of treating a woman! Did nobody teach you that as a kid?" he gleefully laughed, as he usually does in his off work moments. What a guy...will anyone ever understand him? He goes from idiotic happy go lucky guy to a minimal quiet death sword in such a short amount of time. Matter of fact, we're coming down from a mission where he mercilessly tortured five millelith guards for intel on the latest operations managed by the Liyue Qixing. Who knows what goes on through his head while he chooses what to say or do. He might be smarter than anyone in our team if he's acting this way deliberately. Maybe he learned this is the safest way to operate within the Harbingers. Fake.

"You're being childish again Balladeer.." Arlecchino side eyed him, tired of his shit as usual rightfully so. Her elegant form always stuns me. She, like Childe. hides her true thoughts so well that all you can see is a put together act constantly. "Yeah? Let me be childish then, at least i'll have somewhere to sleep tonight, you can stay in the lobby for all I care." Scaramouche turns, ready to get into yet another argument. "Will you stop? We're all tired and your attitude is only agitating us further-" I turn to face him, ready to snap when the lady so kindly cuts me off this time.

"We have 3 rooms available for you, please make your way to room 47, 48 and 51 on the 2nd floor" I heard that and I almost ran to the elevator without another word, without actually letting the information settle in and comprehending it. Everyone turned to look at each other. "Lady I don't know if you're blind or those badly cut bangs are in your eyes but as you can clearly see there's 4 of us." Scaramouche storms to the front desk once again. The young woman looks at him with a sour face, done with his shenanigans. "That's all we can manage at this time, what else would you want from me?" He snarls at her. "Well if you found 3 then you can find another one you-"

"ENOUGH." I pulled him by his sleeve. "Thank you ma'am. We'll manage, have a good one!" I took the keys from the counter and dragged Scaramouche all the way to the elevator, the rest tagging along.

".....Can we do rock paper scissors for each room?"...Childe. "No." I'm glad we all agreed at least on that.

"..." The elevator reaches the 2nd floor. We get out, look at each other and unbeknownst to the rest of us, Arlecchino walks away towards room 48 with a key in her hand. "See you all tomorrow." I look baffled in my hand to notice a 3rd pair of keys missing! When did she even..

"....Can we do rock paper scissors now ?" "..No" I'm glad he agreed. "There's no need for that, I think you and Scaramouche should team up for tonight" I said, crossing my arms against my chest. "What?! Why would you throw me under the bus with him ?" Scara snapped at me, offended at the idea of spending the night with his friendly comrade.

"Hey now you're breaking my heart haha...what does that mean haha.." Scaramouche turns to him, "You snore, you stink, you're taking all the bed to yourself, never flush the toilet, eat all my food, get ridiculously drunk before you go to bed, uncomfortably touchy in your sleep-" "OKAY comrade. We get the point now." Tartaglia reaches out and takes a key out of my hold, winking at us."Ohhh I get how it is, okaay alright then haha~ I'll let you two have your moment for tonight" He smiles and walks away mumbling "..I'm not even that loud when I snore.."

"..." The only thing we can hear is the wind whistling forcefully through the windows along with Childe's rapid pace towards room 47. My hand is still around his sleeve, I could've let go a long time ago but I didn't. I figured it would be uncomfortable letting go now so the only rational thing to do is to go along with it. And so I drag him to...our room, for tonight.

"What are you doing? Are you really just letting him get away with it? Aren't you gonna put up a fight for the room?"

"Well, why aren't you? I'm fine with it, I don't care that much. I just want to eat, shower and go to sleep." His eyes widened for a bit and next thing that I knew, he pulls his hand back. "I never said I want to bunk up with you." "...You're right, you didn't. And to that I say, you sadly don't have a choice...so you either bunk up with me or you can go sleep in the lobby next to your dear front desk lady." He's frowning at me now, distaste all over his face. With that being said, he takes the keys from my hand and starts walking towards room 51, leaving me behind. I rush to his side trying to keep up in fear he would lock me out, which would be completely in his character. I definitely wouldn't call us friends, we bicker more than we bond. Not that I wouldn't want to bond with him, he's simply unapproachable, and I genuinely think that's how he wants to be. He's doing it on purpose. It's not like I never tried to get him, but you can't crack open someone who doesn't want to be cracked and vulnerable. Reason why I sit back and watch him be an angry insufferable jerk.

Sometimes I wonder what goes through his mind as well, what made him act like this, respond to life this way. I wouldn't mind if he let me in for once, if he let me listen. I wonder when was the last time someone listened to him, when was the last time he felt heard.

"Why would I want to sleep next to a bitch with a bad bob" I laughed at his comment, "You're ruthless. Poor girl...you went all in on her bangs too you criminal." He snarled, "She should've had that coming, how do you leave your house with your bangs looking like that" opening the door for us, we entered and I immediately felt my shoulders relax, letting the comforting aroma of clean laundry fill me in. Without any words I plop down onto our bed. "Get down loser, you're stinking my bed." I chuckle, "That's the point jerk, so you'd sleep on the floor." moving my hands up and down taking as much space as possible, smiling. It feels kind of...peaceful. These back and forths with him, they feel so natural. "I'll go ahead and bring our stuff in here, do you want something to eat?" I rise up on an instant, my stomach making an unpleasant sound. Would he bring me something? He cares enough to ask? "Actually I'm really really hungry right no-" the door closes. Did he just?...no. No, he's evil but not this vile. I take back everything I just said about feeling peaceful. With a huff I get out of bed and rush to the bathroom, there's no reason to waste any more time so I'll just take a shower.

With that being said, I undress and fix the water just right letting it run down my body after such a long tiresome day. It's always nice how hotels give you everything you may need for a bath, except for clothes. I realized as I'm now out of the shower that I don't have anything clean to wear. Just in cue, I hear the front door opening and closing once more. "(Y/N)? Are you in the bathroom?" No...Oh Archons not like this.. "Yeah...Did you bring my stuff as well?" He laughs, "Your stuff? Why would I bring YOUR luggage." He's got to be kidding me. I roll up a towel around my form and furiously get out of the bathroom. There he stands, laughing in my face with both of our luggage and what looks like some take out? Standing in the middle of the room looking dumbfounded, I ask him "You also bought...food?" He looks at me like I said something stupid, "Well yeah, I'm hungry." That's when it clicked. Yeah right he is...a puppet with no need of food, being hungry. I smiled at him softly without another word and looked through my stuff to get dressed. "I finished showering, the bathroom is all yours if you need it." Scaramouche was confused but let it go this time "Will go shower too then" And so he did.

While he was busy showering I prepped the whole room, unpacked everything including our meal. He quietly opens the door and for a moment just stays in the doorway looking at me puffing the pillows. What a silly girl he thinks. Putting in so much effort, he feels something fill in the void inside of him. It's...nice, warm, peaceful

"..Do you wanna go to sleep?" He looks at me, nodding. Looking at him now, he's acting strange. Almost sad but at peace, quiet, tranquil melancholy. Must've hit a nerve without wanting to. He looks in need of comfort but I feel hopeless, I brought him back something he hadn't thought in a long time...I triggered him. He gets in bed while I turn the lights off, suddenly it hits me. I realize it in that moment how intimate this feels. How raw, how vulnerable. I climb up in bed on his opposite side. The bed itself is not tiny but I guess due to the snowstorm outside we're laying pretty close to one another, our backs touching.

It's quiet, as tired as I was before proved to be useless now that I'm standing next to Scaramouche, so many unspoken words kept me wide awake. And then it happened. He broke the silence "I once convinced myself that humanity doesn't deserve kindness. I had a lot of trial and errors and every one of them proved that they're all doomed by their own selfish needs anyway. Humans don't deserve care. And still I find myself contradicting that in my mind." His voice is calm, relaxed and yet so sad. So simple yet it hides details that I may never learn. On impulse I turned around and hugged his back gently. He tensed up but just as quickly relaxed entirely in my arms. "It takes a lot of courage to try again, to trust again. To want to care, even if you know there's a chance it won't be fruitful. It means that at core, you want to give and help unconditionally. It means there's a lot of love within you Scara, including for humanity. That's powerful." For a second I feel him shaking in my arms and with that, I felt my heart breaking. He turned around facing me, "I feel like I want to care for you" I opened my arms, smiling at him "Then do so. Allow yourself to feel that way!" and so he does, he allows himself to be held. Not too long after, I feel him holding me instead, playing with my hair almost enchanted by my figure. His fingers are gentle, his palms are cold and yet I've never felt a warmer hold in my life. "You're not on your own anymore. I already care for you in ways you don't even know. You're being cared for." I feel his arms tightening around me. "..I won't ever forget this, do you know that? These exact same words may as well haunt me one day." I look up at him, "Or bless you. The risk for vulnerability is high, but the reward is always worth it. Don't cage yourself in fear Scara. Live." I felt his head fall on top of mine. He fell asleep while I was talking! This guy...and just like that, the big ruthless Balladeer fell asleep in my hair.

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

The Bird And The Man

Chapter Three

Rated: Explicit | Warnings: nightmare, anxiety

Ao3

Chapter Two | Chapter Four

Lakeside Village, the place is chiller than normal as winter settles here too, the crashing of the waves hard against the shore. The echoing sounds of the ciphering before it short circuits as a code is mistyped. The racing of a heartbeat in your chest rings in your ears now as you run and vault through a window to escape the location now compromised.

It's strange. You have had nightmares before about these matches though Lady Nightingale has yet to put you in a real match, you have been shown in a lot of tutorial matches. She claims it is to both prepare and study you. Lady Nightingale uses memories of group one's match and having you participate as a replacement for one of them. ‘Lucky Guy’ would assist in explaining rules and strategies, nothing more as Lady Nightingale limits his interactions with her ‘guests’.

None of your nightmares felt this vivid! Everything you did— Wait, this is not you. The music box you set on the ground, a low beat, says it all. Why are you dreaming about Dancer? 

Dancer, Margaretha, twirled herself away from Ripper. You felt it all through her eyes, ears, and body— It was like you were physically there.

The match goes on, and Ripper is fixated on her/you for most of the match, especially after all the ciphers are completed.

You woke up only when she had been chaired after Ripper used Detection on her. Go for the tie, she shouted at her teams. They did and the rush of a rocket chair launching in the air before the explosion jerked you awake immediately.

Now you lay here in bed, eyes fixated on the ceiling above as your heart settles from the shock of fear, silently you count from ten to one before taking a deep breath in then letting it out slowly. The pain lingers for a bit but you are able to sit up finally, carefully as your head spins from the rush of the rocket rollercoaster seat of death (not permanent at least). You a small stretch and turn your head towards the clock Luca gifted you, the clock next to it reads ten minutes after three o'clock, meaning you once again overslept! Not your fault you are a night owl who stays up late because inspiration hits you at two in the morning.

Yet, you do not remember going to sleep or getting into bed at some point in the night. Hell, you were unable to sleep because you were thinking bout how Nightmare had shown his feelings for you (something that makes you smile right now and touch your lips). After dinner you did feel energetic, but nothing that made you suspicious. With a sigh, you figure this going to put on the growing list of strange things to happen in his house of horrors. You get ready, as usual, and go to the empty dining room where a beautiful breakfast awaits you (food you could never afford if you were living back in the boarding house). The wind is howling as a blizzard is likely to come soon.

After breakfast, you decided to explore the manor a bit more to see where is everyone and just to wander a bit.

You figure to start in the foyer where you see Naib and Norton looking at something, probably the statue of one of the muses is the spot where all the matches scheduled are displayed, and those parts of it (never the hunters though for it is a surprise).

“Good afternoon!” Seeing the two men standing, “Any matches?” Speaking from above as you wave at them. The prospector gives a small wave but his eyes are on the writing on the small table, the mercenary looks up before speaking.

“Not for today,” Naib speaks up as Norton is frowning reading the list, “Though it seems you have a match soon.”

You quickly walk downstairs to see what the list says.

Your first match is a duo match.

“Throwing you into the fire, writer,” Norton says with concern. Duo matches are indeed a lot different than the usual single hunter-hunting survivors. Plus, you have heard the way some combos of hunters are terrifying to go against.

“Shit.” Is all you can say is, “Norton, any advice?”  Figuring to ask, to seek maybe advice to help you.

There is no amount of advice that can prepare you for the real thing.

The duo match happened approximately at four-thirty in the evening. You have been a nervous wreck all day picking both Naib and Norton’s brains all day, yet in the end, it is ultimately up to you to figure out what to do. At the dining table, you sit in the middle staring at the cloth trying to figure out what exactly you are supposed to do. This is some twisted ‘last supper’ looking set up and you frankly hate how the tablecloth looks stained with blood (it is red wine).

“May I switch with you, Ms. Emma?” The voice you recognize draws you out of the inner crisis, “Thank you.” Now the Novelist sits next to you as he places his book on the table, “You appear nervous.”

“Ha, don’t need to be a detective to notice that.” Laughing with a very low amount of humor in it, “I fear I might be the first one to be chaired.”

“Have faith in yourself, Hypons. We all have had our share of bad matches and are new to this twisted game.”

You nod, “Maybe so.” You both turn to see a butler come to the table with a silver platter in hand, “Huh?” They set it on the table in front of you.

“A gift from the Lady of the Manor. She wishes you a good game.” Lifting the cover to reveal a quill. Silver-tipped quill with a raven’s feather. You stare at it with Orpehus. Picking it up to not take up the butler’s time as he takes the tray and leaves.

“What’s that?” Asks the Gardner from two seats away from you.

“A quill.” Examining it then taping the time before reacting with a small ‘ow’. “A sharp one.”

“Perhaps you could stab a hunter.” Says Enchantress who sits next to you.

Orpheus is quiet as he looks over the strange quill that has an aura similar to his book. The whispers of words he could never understand yet can see clearly after using his ability on a hunter.

The match will begin in ten seconds.

The voice of the Lay Nightingale rings in your ears.

“Good luck,” Emma shouts to you. “Find me if you can!” Partnering is said to be a good idea for those new to the game.

You give a thumbs up.

[spooky-pomegranate]

So I found your “Violence and Timing” fic which led me to ao3 and I binge read every chapter. It is really good. Like really good. Like really fucking good. Like I was up all night last night just reading through those chapters because it’s so good. I just had to let you know because wow. I’m kinda sad I finished all the chapters so far because I feel like I just finished a tv show and I always get sad whenever I finish those. So yeah… just letting you know your writing is top tier.

It Was Supposed to Be Simple:

Captain Price x F Reader Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: For Price, it was supposed to be a simple mission. For you, it was supposed to be the most important meeting of your life. But nothing ever goes to plan, does it? (A/N: Thank you so much @peepawsbeardhair ! That's incredibly sweet to say. I've put a lot of excerpts from that story on Tumblr and people seem to eat it up, but I've never posted the first chapter. Maybe it's time?! )

--------------------- RUSSIA. DECEMBER 2022 ---------------------

“Bravo 5 how copy?”

Captain Price’s surveillance crackled to life in his ear as Gaz responded, “Approaching Building 1 from the west now sir.”

“Rog. Ghost what’s your status?” The bitter winds burned his lunges with each deep breath.

Another crackle, “In position on the east. Ready to breach on your order Captain.”

The blizzard had made for good cover. In the ten minutes Price had occupied his overwatch position nearly half an inch of snow had gathered on his back. His fingers ached as he pinched his radio.

“Alright lads. On my order in 3, 2, 1. Go!”

For the next several minutes gun smoke, fire, and blood filled the air. The mission was simple. Enter the building, kill any armed guards, and secure the intel.

The location, albeit currently freezing Price to his very core, hadn’t been a complicated one either. An old remote KGB intelligence outpost deep in the heart of Siberia; small, run-down, minimally guarded.

“Nothing that’ll win you chest candy.” Ghost had quipped when Laswell briefed the trio on the mission.

While Price fired another sniper round into the building, he thought back to the last words Laswell had said to him before he had boarded the helo at base.

“We have solid intel the Russians are planning something John. Something big. I know this isn’t the type of job I usually ask of you boys, but we need this intel and we need it now.”

Price didn’t mind that it was a straightforward mission. In fact, he was looking forward to something simpler. Scars and nightmares often reminded Price of his more complicated missions. He hoped this trip wouldn’t add to either of his unwanted collections.

Another cackle over the comms, “Captain, the building is clear.”

“Copy you Lieutenant. You have eyes on the intel?”

“Yes sir. But Captain…” Price heard Ghost’s voice waver ever so slightly. The most minute change in pitch.

“Bloody hell Price, you’re gonna want to see this.”

--------------------- LONDON. DECEMBER 2022 ---------------------

“Just a hot coffee black. You know what actually, can you add a shot of espresso in there? Sorry, yeah thanks.”

“One red-eye. Anything else today?”

“No, no that’s all thanks.”

You knew the caffeine wouldn’t help your shaky hands. The extra shot certainly wouldn’t quell your uneasy and empty stomach either, but you moved onward, grabbing your order and heading out to the street. You had more important things to worry about today.

As you took your first sip a text came through on your cell.

“In the lobby now. They want to move meeting w/ Deputy CTO up. Didn’t say why. Can you be here in 10?”

Luckily you’d been pacing around the same three London blocks for 20 minutes now.

“Be there in 2.”

You crossed the street and made your way into the towering high-rise lobby. It was crowded with businessmen. You tried to scan the room for your boss. Where the hell was he? Damn it, all these men in suits looked the same.

“Didn’t get me a coffee then?”

“Jesus! Oh my god, I didn’t see you sitting there. Why the hell did you scare me like that!?”

You nearly spilled your coffee whirling around to face your boss. He’d been quietly sitting in a corner, briefcase and winning smile in tow.

“And why are there so many people in this goddamn building right now anyway?”

You tried to calm yourself a bit. The espresso was a bad choice. Your nerves were on fire.

“Did you forget who we’re meeting with today? Half the people in here are Secret Service. We’re lucky the CTO has a few minutes to spare for us between these international summit meetings. ”

You looked around the room. Now that he’d said it, you realized there weren’t a lot of grey hair men in the lobby. Most of these guys were younger, closer to 30, and their posture was straighter than anyone who normally spent 8 hours a day slumped over a desk.

“Right, yeah that makes sense.”

“Hey.”

You looked back at your boss. He smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

“We got this okay. Don’t be nervous. You’ve made something that’s gonna change the world, so let’s change it okay.”

You took a deep breath and nodded.

“Okay. You’re right.”

“I’m always right.” He huffed out a low chuckle. “Let’s head to the elevators. We’re meeting on the 56th floor.”

Your boss grabbed his briefcase, you clutched your coffee, and the two of you made your way across the room. As you waited for an elevator you took a final look over the cramped lobby when you thought you saw… him. He was in a black jacket, dark jeans, boots, and a hat pulled low over his face. You were sure it was him. It couldn’t be. But it…

“You coming or what?” Your boss’s voice cut through your racing thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m coming” You entered the elevator and tried to put the man’s image out of your mind. It was probably just the coffee and your nerves. A mirage brought on by stress and anxiety. You really didn’t need that extra shot.

A very official-looking staffer met you on the 56th floor. She led you to the meeting space, a modern but sterile-looking conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows, tinted glass separating the room from the hallway, and a massive oak table with a dozen chairs.

“The Vice President and Deputy Chief Technology Officer will be with you both shortly. Please have a seat.”

“Wait the Vice President? Like the Vice President of the United States? He’s coming to our meeting? I thought we were just meeting with the Deputy?” The sentences jumped out of your mouth quicker than you would have liked.

“Yes, as you may know, the Vice President has made technology and anti-terrorism efforts a focus of his office for several years now. He’s been briefed on your work by the CTO and is eager to discuss further details with you both.”

And with that sudden news, the staffer disappeared, slipping back out into the hallway.

As you watched her figure move down the hall behind the tinted glass, the walls felt like they were starting to push in on you. Could the ceiling be dropping in on you too? You took another sip of your coffee, nerves fully on fire again.

Several more minutes of pacing and pep talks occurred before the conference room door opened again. The staffer was back with important friends this time.

After the most formal introductions of your life, your boss took over with his presentation. It’d been decided a long time ago he’d handle the flashy intro and you’d seal the deal with the demo. This was your baby after all and no one knew it better than you.

As your boss finished the pitch you stood from your chair, resting your hands firmly on the briefcase he’d brought. The leather was cool and soft.

You locked eyes with your boss. His eyes crinkled at you again. You felt the air come back into your lungs and the walls didn’t feel so close anymore. You could do this.

As you slipped your hands inside the briefcase the sound of heavy boots echoed outside. Black shadows in the shape of half a dozen men darkened the tinted glass separating the conference room and the hallway. Then came the voices; deep, angry, decidedly unAmerican.

“If you fucking muppets don’t let me into that room I promise you you’ll regret ever stepping foot in this bloody country.”

An agent whipped opened the conference door, nearly tumbling over as four combat-clad men pushed their way inside.

“Diaz, what’s going on?” The Vice President eyed the fumbling agent.

“Sir, we need to move you to…”

The agent's voice was cut off as the windows behind you exploded rocking you forward. Shards of glass rained down on your back as your ribs collided with the oak table. Every ounce of air was knocked from your lungs as you crumbled to the floor. The table toppled over onto its side in front of you while behind you the room opened up to the London skyline.

Total silence enveloped the room except for a high pitch buzzing that felt like it was crawling its way out from deep inside your ear.

Enormous pain rippled throughout your chest as you reached above you for the briefcase now precariously dangling off the edge of the table. You pulled the smooth leather to your chest.

As your braced your forearms on the ground and pushed yourself up to your full height you heard a murmur of a deep voice. Someone was trying to penetrate the ringing in your ears, but you couldn’t understand. The buzzing was still too loud.

Fully upright you came face to face with one of the foreign soldiers. He towered several inches above you, a British flag squarely on his chest. His steely blue irises glanced over your body and when his eyes came back to rest on your face his pupils were nearly double in size.

Then the soldier lunged at you.

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

Price wrapped one of his hands around your waist and the other on the back of your head as he tackled you to the floor. He didn’t care about the bruises he’d leave on your hip as he pressed his full weight roughly against you. He needed you on the ground now.

“Get down! Sniper on the roof across the street. Soap take him out now!”

“On it!”

Before Soap could pull out his rifle the first shot rings throughout the conference room. Price watches as it slams into a businessman’s chest ripping flesh and bone. He can taste the terribly familiar scent of coppery blood in the air.

Before the crimson cloud can even reach the carpet, another shot. This one takes down the stubborn agent who delayed Price getting into this room. A mist of blood plumes where the man once stood. Price grits his teeth.

Then another bang. This time the staffer is down.

Soap fires next. His Scottish timbre yells out, “Sniper down.”

Ropes drop down outside the building. Price knows this means the fight is just beginning. He quickly kneels removing himself from you and grabs your hand, yanking you to a seated position. He can see tears forming in your eyes. He can’t worry about exfiltrating a civilian now. Secure the high-value officials and eliminate the threat, those words repeat in his mind like a command he’s ordering to himself. There are only seconds before this room will be invaded.

But he won’t leave you here out in the open, he can’t watch another civilian die if he can stop it. So without saying a word he looks at you and points to a spot behind the overturned table. He hopes you’ll understand his wordless intention. You hadn’t answered him when he’d asked if you were alright after the blast, a shot eardrum from the blast most likely.

Price lets out a small breath as he watches you scurry to cover behind the overturned table.

He reminds himself of his own order, secure the officials. Price barks, “Gaz, Ghost get the VP and CTO out of here now! Roof’s compromised take the stairs. Go!”

“Moving now sir.” Ghost answers.

Then comes the smoke, the Russian voices, and the sound of boots crunching on carpet and broken glass. Prices slides in next to you behind the cover of the large overturned oak table, shoulders and thighs pressing up against each other. He can feel your body shaking. He doesn’t need to see your face to know that tears are down your cheeks by now.

Price peers around the table. The smoke is thick. Wait, he tells himself. The haze will thin out soon with the windows blown away. Wait … for the moment to strike. Wait… for the enemy to compromise themselves. Wait… because everything in Price’s life depends on the perfect balance of violence and timing.

One of the Russians get’s impatient and fires a rogue round into the ceiling. Patience pays off and Price shoots his pistol. One down.

The smoke is clearing fast now. Price moves from his cover behind the table. Soap emerges from the receding smoke with him. They fire and fight together, pushing their way forward toward the London skyline with bullets, knives, and brute force. Russians falling one by one in their wake.

There’s no one left in front of Price to gun down when he hears a scream from behind him. You’re standing by the door, briefcase clutched to your chest, and knife to your throat. One of the Russians must have taken the stairs from the roof down, sneaking into the room during the fighting.

Price tries to remind himself to wait. To wait for the right moment. To pair his violence with perfect timing… but your eyes. Your eyes beg him not to. Your eyes beg Price to move now, to fight now, to save you now.

So he moves. Price raises his pistol and fires. But at that same moment, you move and two bodies hit the floor.

Fuck. What had Price done?

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

(Read the rest of this story here)

[ybcpatrick]

*shakes tin* hey any peterick recs in these trying (waiting for fob8) times?

i'm gonna use this ask as my official reclist. here we go, under a read more:

a lot of these are by the same author(s), so i've grouped those together. these fics are all my besties and i have reread them all at LEAST five times. some many, many more! PLEASE HEED ALL RATINGS AND READ THE TAGS THOROUGHLY BEFORE YOU PROCEED, SOME OF THESE ARE HEAVIER IN NATURE.

According To Your Heart (It's Our Time Now) by fanatic_by_definition (31.9k, Explicit.)

FOB decide to make a loosely-inspired-by-true-events music video for The Kids Aren't Alright, and Patrick is having some trouble with certain aspects of the script. (Personal note, for me? This is THE Peterick fic of all time. THEE. Peterick fic. Of All Time.)

plain as they can see by fanatic_by_definition (3.6k, Teen and Up Audiences.)

Curled up in the van in the wee hours of the morning, Pete introduces Patrick to The Nightmare Before Christmas. As the story plays out before him, Patrick starts to notice... parallels.

The Last (Only) Thing I Want To See by fanatic_by_definition (13.5k, Explicit.)

Pete and Patrick haven't spoken for a year. After finding out the blizzard of the century is rocking Chicago, right before Christmas, Patrick attempts to check in on Pete. But when the line goes dead, something inside of Patrick snaps; so begins a tumultuous journey from LA, back home, and back to everything he thought he'd permanently destroyed.

I am a collapsing star with tunnel vision but only for you (I will protect you) by TooRational (15.3k, Mature Audiences.)

After Pete has a terrifying injury while performing, Patrick goes a little crazy. Through the journey of getting Pete back to health, Patrick is forced to confront himself, and his long-term emotions.

the afterlife (i never really lived) by TooRational (2.9k, Teen and Up Audiences.)

The polaroids from Coup De Main's article give Patrick three things: major anxiety, a boatload of embarrassment, and a wake-up call in regards to how much he's let go unsaid between himself and Pete over the years.

the tale of two hearts (reunited) by TooRational (5.5k, Mature Audiences.)

After a year away in service to the Queen, Peter finally gets to return home, where his beloved husband is waiting for him. In the tumultuous reintroduction to peace, Peter shatters; Patrick catches the pieces before they hit the ground and begins the repairs.

Destiny (noun): the hidden power believed to control future events; fate by TooRational (8.3k, Mature Audiences.)

The force they call Kismet takes a momentary interest in two men, who are soulmates in every universe they've existed in. In one of these, the dominos fall in just the right way, and romance blooms.

the distance between us (sharpens me like a knife) by TooRational, intocooperstown (9.9k combined, three works in series, General/Teen and Up Audiences.)

For years, Patrick has kept a careful distance from Pete; he never lets him too close, never lets them touch. He hates himself for it, and for the ways he has allowed it to hurt them both. Through the series, Patrick fights to shatter his personal space bubble, and learns what it means to be brave.

Guided to You by intocooperstown (18.7k, Mature Audiences.)

Pete and Patrick are dead. They are dead, in a pristine office, sitting before a magnificent, otherworldly creature. The creature tells them they are soulmates, and they will spend the rest of eternity together. That's confusing for a lot of reasons, but if it means being with Patrick, Pete will take it.

Write It (better than you ever felt it) by ForbiddenToast (8.3k, General Audiences.)

Finding the right words can be hard. When Pete chooses to read someone else's for a while, the spiral into his own psyche isn't exactly easy, either.

Invasion Of The Photographs by ForbiddenToast (6.3k, Teen and Up Audiences.)

Pete buys a photo album. Then, an avalanche of old photos swallows the living room whole. A concerned Patrick charges into a battle on memory lane, working to get to the heart of Pete's latest obsession.

feels like home by lye-kisses (5.2k, Teen and Up Audiences.)

Spend a day with Pete and Patrick. Pure domestic bliss.

a bright tide by whatimages (2.6k, Teen and Up Audiences.)

Drifting around each other on a beach in Australia, Pete and Patrick contemplate themselves and iron out the details. A pocket of time, spent together, as they always are.

Got Me Staring Odd by glitterandrocketfuel (6.5k, Mature Audiences.)

A touching, sensual, and incredibly romantic exploration of gender, and Pete's relationship with it. Where cracks form in Pete, Patrick's hands are there to soothe.

get us right (quitters never win) by blooms (4.7k, Explicit.)

Pete is a telepath, Patrick is an empath. Patrick hadn't ever encountered someone whose feelings were as vibrant and defined as Pete's; when guilt over something begins to eat Pete alive, Patrick has to dig deep to find out why, and how and help.

precipitous by sceptick (1.9k, General Audiences.)

Short and sweet, a glimpse into the wee hours of the morning of February 4th, 2013. It's Pete and Patrick, Patrick and Pete, alone together, on the edge of something new.

and beyond these, here's the link to my AO3 bookmarks, because there are even more fics I didn't mention here! but all of these are my absolute top tier favourites. I live and die by these bad boys.

[polizwrites]

PoliZ’s Seasonal Self-Recs -  Holiday/Christmas/New Year’s Eve Edition

With Christmas Eve a week away, here’s some seasonally appropriate fics I’ve written/participated in - arranged by pairing.  A/N:  I’m somewhat surprised I haven’t written any Stony Christmas fluff - guess I ought to fix that… 

WinterIron Bingo Round Robin - December 2023 (Bucky/Tony, General, 2055 words)   Tony and Bucky decorate the tree during their first Christmas together – will Morgan approve? And what else does Bucky have planned?

Letters To Santa  (Bucky/Tony, General, 754 words)  When Morgan insists that her daddy write a letter to Santa, Tony asks for a Christmas miracle - to somehow run into that handsome kind-hearted man from the coffee shop again.  (Sequel to An Act of Kindness) 

Silver And Gold (and Hot Rod Red) (Bucky/Tony, General, 360 words) Bucky and Tony share holiday memories as they decorate their tree; Tony provides the finishing touch. (bonus fanart!) 

Itching to Celebrate (Bucky/Tony, General, 100 words) Bucky surprises his boyfriend Tony with a fully-decorated Christmas tree in their living room. The surprise doesn't go quite as planned.

Where the Love Light Gleams (Bucky/Tony, General, 1352 words) Tony's minor mishap caused by flying back to the Tower through a blizzard results in an unexpected (but very welcome) Christmas gift. (Featuring matchmaking by JARVIS and the 'bots.)

I’ll Wait Up For You, Dear (Bucky/Steve, Mature, 385 words) After a business meeting the day before Christmas, James gets a flirty video call from his sugar baby, Steve.

Stucky Bingo December 2022 Round Robin (Bucky/Steve, General, 2178 words)  It's December. The weather is cold. Time to reminisce with hot chocolate and dancing.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Bucky/Steve, Teen, 1100 words) Bucky leaves a New Year’s party and runs into a stranger with a problem; he goes out on a limb to offer some help.

Muddling Through (Steve & Bucky, General, 1266 words) "Those aren’t the right words... to that song.” He didn’t know how he knew it, but it was true. He didn’t know how he knew a lot of things. Memories came back at random, so he was keeping a notebook, trying to piece things together.

I Make Toys (But I Have Aspirations) (Steve & Tony, General, 346 words)  It wasn’t that Tony didn’t like working for Santa. It’s just that he wondered sometimes if maybe he was meant for more. One day, his friend Steve asks for his help, and Tony finds his true purpose. 

Better Be Good for Goodness’ Sake (Bucky/Sam, Teen, 358 words) Bucky over-reacts to a Christmas morning conundrum; Sam is not surprised, but mildly amused.

Things Are Looking Up (Bucky/Sam, General, 551 words) Bucky’s reaction to a Wilson family tradition gets Sam to check in with his teammate and friend; crystalizing their connection.

In Case I Stand One Little Chance (Bucky/Steve/Tony, General, 485 words - ficlet + moodboard)  Steve and Bucky 'help' Tony pick out gifts for each other; Tony misunderstands their reasoning.

[fandomsnstuff]

The fates of @taznovembercelebration gave me permission to write my parent blupjeans propaganda

Day 2: baby

Lup comes in for work after the winter break and meets a new kid.

Read on AO3

First day back from the winter holidays, and Lup's running late. Every year there's a blizzard, and every year the entire bus system goes to shit. She left two hours early, but still runs into the daycare an hour late. She apologises profusely to her manager, but she waves her off. With the weather, they aren't nearly as hectic as they usually are in the mornings. Most of the kids are late or at home. 

Lup puts her stuff away and sheds her outer layers. She observes the room of children, trying to decide where to start. There's not even ten of them. She's about to start towards a small group colouring together when a shrill scream rings out. She looks and sees a little girl she doesn't know in the corner. She's clutching a teddy bear and sobbing as one of the four year olds stomps away. 

She walks over and crouches in front of the crying girl. "Hey hun, what happened?" 

"He's b'oken," she sobs, holding out the bear. One of its arms is half torn off.

"Oh no," the bear has a blue ribbon tied around its neck with a plastic tag attached, identifying it as a toy from home. The tag is flipped the wrong way, so she can't see the girl's name. "That's really sad, huh?" 

The girl presses the bear to her face and nods, big tears rolling down her cheeks. 

"Can I see him?" 

She clutches the bear tighter and eyes Lup suspiciously. "Why?" 

"I want to see how hurt he is. I might be able to fix him." 

Her eyes widen, "really?" 

"Sure, I think he just needs stitches. Do you want to walk to the front desk with me?" They've got a small sewing kit in one of the drawers for this exact reason. 

Lup takes the girl's hand and brings her to the front of the room. She crouches in front of her again and says, "can I see your friend now? I promise I'll take really good care of him." 

She hesitates for a second. "He's scared."

"Oh yeah?" 

"He's never been in the big kid room before." 

"I see," Lup says, very seriously. She must have turned three over the break and been moved up to this room. Explains why she's never seen her before. "How about I fix his arm, and then I can help you show him how much fun the big kid room can be?" 

After taking a moment to deeply think this over, she hands the bear over with the most care Lup's ever seen in a toddler. 

Upon inspection, the tear isn't that bad. Maybe an inch long and exactly on the seam, it's an easy fix. When she's done, she ties off the thread and snips away the excess. "There," she says, smoothing her thumb over the seam, "all better." 

"Can I see?" 

"Sure." She hands the bear down and says, "it's like it never happened." 

The girl beams and hugs the bear tight. "Thank you Miss… uh… um…" 

"Lup."

"Oh!" She perks up. "Like daddy's friend!" 

"...what?"

"Lup, like daddy's friend." 

Well. The only Lup she's ever met is herself, and as far as she knows none of her friends have kids. She gets on the girl's level and says, "who's your dad?" 

She cocks her head to the side. "He's daddy." 

To make this whole conversation shorter, Lup reaches out and flips the tag around the bear's neck. In the same slanted, scratchy handwriting she sees in the notebook next to hers every Friday night at DnD is written, Lilliana Bluejeans. 

"Well would you look at that," she says, "I do know your dad." 

Lilliana smiles and yeah. She sees it now. She could recognise that smile from down the street. 

"Can I be your friend too?" Lup asks.

Lilli seems like she's vibrating with excitement, "yeah!" 

Around 5:30, Lilli's name gets called and she bolts up from where Lup was reading her a book. Lup follows, grabbing Lilli's little coat and backpack from her cubby. She leans against the front desk, but Barry doesn't notice her. He's crouched to Lilli's level as she talks his ear off. 

"-but then Lup came an' fixed him an' we played all day!" 

His brow furrows the same way as when he's trying to solve a puzzle.

"Hey stranger," Lup says. 

He looks up, surprised. "Lup!" He stands. "I didn't know you worked here."

"And I didn't know you had the cutest kid in the city." She holds out Lilli's coat. 

He takes it. "Have I never mentioned that?" He helps her put it on. "I swear I have." 

"Nope. I would've remembered a thing like that."

"Well," he lifts Lilli into his arms, "that's an oversight on my part." He looks at Lilli, "what do you say?" 

"Thank you Miss Lup! See you tomorrow!" 

Lup laughs and hands Barry the little backpack. "I'll see you tomorrow, punkin."

He smiles at her and Lup's heart melts. He walks out and she rests her head in her hand as she watches them go. 

"Oh, you've got it bad." One of her coworkers says from behind her. 

She goes scarlet and whips around to face them. "No I don't! Shut up!" 

"Miss Lup you can't say shut up," a nearby kid says. 

Her coworker snickers. Lup signs and runs her hands over her face. The worst part is that they're right. She has it so bad. And this changes absolutely nothing. If anything it makes it worse. 

She's fucked. 

[spicykaraage]

Tenipuri Complete Character Profile - Shuusuke Fuji

[PROFILE]

Birthday: February 29th (Pisces)

Blood Type: B

Relatives: Father, Mother (Yoshiko Fuji), Older Sister (Yumiko Fuji), Younger Brother (Yuuta Fuji)

Father’s Occupation: Company Employee (foreign company)

Elementary School: Seishundai Third Elementary School

Middle School: Seishun Academy Junior High School

Grade & Class: Third Year | Class 3-6 | Seat 14

Club: Tennis Club - Regular

Committee: Yearbook Production Committee

Strong Subjects: Classic Literature

Weak Subjects: Science

Frequently Visited Spot at School: Photography Room

World Cup Team: U-17 World Cup Japanese Representatives

Favorite Motto: “What is essential is invisible to the eyes.”

Daily Routines: Tending to his cacti, drinking morning coffee

Hobbies: Collecting cacti, photography

Favorite Color: Beige

Favorite Music: Celtic music

Favorite Movie: Musicals

Favorite Book: Interior design magazines ➜ Travelogues, travel photo books [23.5]

Favorite Food: Apples, Cajun food, spicy ramen ➜ Anything spicy, 100% apple juice [23.5]

Favorite Anniversary: The birthday of a special someone

Preferred Type: A person with beautiful fingers ➜ A person who smells like flowers [23.5]

Ideal Date Spot: Planetarium ➜ An observatory with a beautiful view of the stars [23.5]

His Gift For a Special Person: A flower ring

Where He Wants to Travel: Salar de Uyuni on a starry night

Thing He Wants Most Right Now: Antique furniture and tableware ➜ Incentive [23.5]

Dislikes: Sour food

Skills Outside of Tennis: Skiing, ice-skating and other winter sports ➜ Winter sports, locating constellations [23.5]

Spends Allowance On: Things to help with his cacti

Routine During the World Cup: Drinking coffee from around the world, contacting his brother

[DATA]

Height: 167cm

Weight: 53kg

Shoe Size: 25cm

Dominant Arm: Right

Vision: 1.2 Left | 1.0 Right

Play Style: Counter Puncher

Signature Moves: Tsubame Gaeshi (Swallow Return), Higuma Otoshi (Bear Drop), Hakugei (White Whale), Kagero Zutsumi (Dragonfly Illusion), Houou Gaeshi (Phoenix Return), Kirin Otoshi (Qilin Drop), Hakuryuu (White Dragon), Gatekeeper of Hecatoncheires, Hoshi Hanabi (Starry Fireworks), Closed Eye, Aoi Fubuki (Blue Blizzard), Hikari Kaze (Wind of Light)

Time He Wakes Up: 6:00am

Time He Goes to Sleep: 11:30pm

Number of Inui Juices Consumed: 16

Favorite Brands:

Racquet: prince (TRIPLE THREAT RIP), prince (MICHAEL CHANG TITANIUM)

Shoes: Nike (NIKE READY AIR BISCAYNE MID III)

Fitness Test Results:

Sidesteps: 63

Shuttle Run: 115

Back Strength: 116kg

Grip Strength: 47kg

Backbend: 62 cm

Seated Forward Bend: 47.8cm

50m Run: 6.8 seconds

Standing Long Jump: 232cm

Handball Throw: 31.5m

Endurance Run (1500m): 4:44

Overall Rating: Speed: 3 / Power: 3 / Stamina: 3 / Mental: 4 / Technique: 5 / Total: 18

Kurobe Memo: “Evident from his beautiful play style, he is undoubtedly gifted in the sport. If he weren’t so concerned with playing aesthetically, I suspect he could go from a great player to an undeniably strong one.” [RB]

[POSSESSIONS]

What’s in His Bedroom [10.5]

Cacti // He moves them back and forth between his windowsill and shelves for sunlight

A rocking chair

Record player // He prefers it over a CD player since it’s quieter

Vinyl records // Bought from used record stores. Most of them are classic and jazz

Computer // The monitor is placed on the shelf next to his desk to conserve space. He’ll put his keyboard on his desk when he needs to use it

His favorite photos // Large printed photos he had taken on holidays and trips that are hanging on his wall

A very spacious closet // He stores his clothes, books, school uniforms and other things in it

What’s in His Bag [10.5]:

Cell phone // His family members are frequently on the go

Pass case

An English copy of The Little Prince // A book that’s dear to him, he’s read it in Japanese and is now reading the English version

Word cards // He’ll write down words he doesn’t understand in The Little Prince and look them up when he gets home

Writing supplies // Used to write down the situations, dates, times of shooting and other details when he captures photos

Compact camera

Compact mirror // He also uses it as a reflector for photos

What’s in His Locker at the U-17 Training Camp [10.5 II]:

Illustrated plant encyclopedia // Borrowed from Shiraishi

Muscle training equipment // 5kg dumbbells. He is secretly doing strength training to improve his power

Camera // Digital SLR

Interior design magazines // He’s thinking about redecorating his room once he returns from the camp

[TRIVIA]

The Prince of Tennis 10.5 Fanbook | Release Date: 11/02/2001

He has his eyes closed most of the time to exude friendliness, but will open them when he’s being cautious or calculating. Konomi states they are usually closed whenever he’s smiling

His mother cooks a lot of Cajun and western dishes, which is why he doesn’t mind eating dubious food

He is very family-oriented and kind to his relatives. When he goes shopping with his sister they are often mistaken as lovers

Konomi wrote him to like spicy food since he wanted him to seem different and unusual

He is nicknamed “Fujiko” by Kawamura after the heroine of Lupin III since the latter is a fan of the series

On Sundays he goes to his grandfather’s photo studio on the outskirts of town to take photos

He tries keeping a smile on his face since he wants to find enjoyment in everything. Even when facing a strong opponent in a match, he thinks of how lucky he is that he’s able to go up against a great player

He and his brother Yuuta do not fight, but they do not talk to each other as often as they used to since Yuuta entered middle school

Although he notoriously likes spicy food, he likes sweets as well. He especially loves the raspberry pie his sister Yumiko makes

Despite being born on February 29th, a leap year, everyone still celebrates his birthday every year. Kikumaru once jokingly said to him “You’re only three years old!”

His personality is described as someone who’s very calculating while wearing a smile

Konomi describes him as “growing more on his own”, since at the time he was growing increasingly popular and took on a life of his own

The Prince of Tennis 20.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 12/04/2003

He is known to be very attentive and can make friends of all types

He keeps his room neat and orderly

He could not handle drinking “Aozu” in Genius 159 due to one of its key ingredients being vinegar (he dislikes sour foods)

His secondary sport would be figure skating

The Prince of Tennis 40.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 12/04/2007

He is very competitive and will usually stay calm and undaunted in any situation

He’s described to be very versatile and multi-talented

He is fastidious, and has a tendency to delve deep into various things in order to feel satisfied

He is easily attracted to mysterious things

He is thought to have had strong spiritual powers by nature and has had strange occurrences happen to him

He is often misunderstood due to his mysterious nature, but he is actually very loving, compassionate and easily moved to tears

He had written a research paper on cacti the previous summer that received a lot of praise and attention, even surprising university researchers

He came up with the name “Gatekeeper of Hecatoncheires” for his technique from a book on Greece he had read when he was younger

Konomi had plans for him to transfer to Rikkai, and states he alluded it after his match with Ryoma, but ultimately decided for him to stay at Seigaku. He explains that he wanted him to transfer to grow even stronger and have a serious match against Ryoma

Konomi had wanted him to lose against Niou, but decided against it since he had already lost to Shiraishi

[practically-an-x-man]

Okay but Vampire AU Pippa/Onnie-

Pippa Lowe, an innocent young noblewoman lost in the mountains during a blizzard, comes across a mysterious manor, seemingly lost to the centuries. She goes inside to take refuge from the storm, unknowing that the manor's residents still live within the seemingly abandoned house.

Onnie Thawne, blood vampire heiress to one of the highest ranking houses among all vampire-kind, is home alone while their father attends a vampire council meeting in Italy. He won't be back until the first thaw of spring, and she's bored. Thankfully, while she's asleep, a little entertainment comes into her home.

Onnie finds Pippa fast asleep in one of the guest rooms, and while tempted to make a meal out of her, they fed recently enough that this isn't entirely necessary for them, so boredom wins out over hunger. She strikes a deal with Pippa- in exchange for sparing her life, Pippa must stay with Onnie until the first thaw of spring and work as her ladies' maid.

In those three months of biting cold, Pippa and Onnie slowly warm up to each other, with Pippa being able to see through Onnie's icy exterior, and Onnie slowly beginning to feel things that they hadn't felt in over a century of their immortal lives.

Honestly Idk if or when I'll write this but I'm obsessed with the ideas-

YOOOO THAT'S SICK

Their dynamic works SO well as a vampire AU!!

What parts of Onnie's powers from the Negative Speed Force transfer over to being a vampire? Does Pippa being trans come into play at all, given the timeline and social circumstances? Will any other characters like Eobard make an appearance?

[freuleinanna]

the lost heartbeats

golden ones so fiercely burning hearts regretting, falling, yearning Pairing: Marisa Coulter x Asriel Belacqua Short summary: A heartbeat tells a story, but when it skips, it writes a novel. Just a little something to recount the moments two people with the steadiest heartbeats felt their hearts fall (aka me sobbing over every parent moment ever). Pre-canon and canon Masriel. Word count: ~ 1600 I am not sorry, this is for my feral heretical parents & lovers 💔

~ 1 ~

It happens in the most unfascinating way possible, over dinner, when they find themselves sat across each other at the table. A young man hurries to his place, and something in the way he carries himself, pressing the all-too-new jacket to his chest while listening on the go, tells her he's used to being late to everything. He sits. He looks at her.

Her husband is by her right side and she feels the need to tug at his arm, and tug again, and quietly say 'Edward, take me away, please', then add 'I'll do something terrible if you don't'. In her mind, she does that. She goes to their room and doesn't give another thought to the young man with blue eyes so fierce as though he'd just stepped in from the cruel blizzard. In reality, her heart stops - at the faint, yet painful loss this prospect sets in her. She's somewhere between intrigued and instantly infatuated. She doesn't know his name. What foolishness.

He sits, and he forgets to listen. Someone very important is speaking about something very important, and he vaguely remembers that he'd put a lot of efforts into getting here. He wanted to listen. He forgets how to. The young woman in front of him is staring in a way people give you a side-glance just before taking their eyes off of you, yet she doesn't. Nor does he want her to. His chest is like a stone wrapped tightly in his ridiculous suit. Just for a moment, he can't breathe. Then it comes again, the familiar steady beats against the rib cage. He suddenly chokes at the free-fall emptiness preceeding them.

He doesn't fully realize where that skipped heartbeat went. It's lost somewhere between 'Edward Coulter's wife' and 'Marisa, my love', and he later finds that he had never truly reclaimed it. She stole it. He gave it away gladly. And then, again, later - when he tells a stupid joke to her husband and sees laughter in her eyes, and her dark hair shine with soft golden gleams like the fur of her monkey daemon.

He comes too late, as always, and she's already a Mrs. Neither of them stops at the obstacle.

~ 2 ~

Lyra is born, and she is everything like her father, and nothing like her mother's husband. Marisa will never admit that, but when she's holding her daughter in her sinful arms, prepared to reject her, she suddenly shudders at the thought. She falls, with a heart bursting out of the chest. It forgets to beat properly. Her daemon, exhausted just like her, looks at the child in helpless admiration.

 Asriel once told her that, should she want it, he'd fight for that child. He would rise and fight anything, anyone, with all his ferocity. There's always so much fight in him. She almost regrets refusing his offer.

Lyra is sleeping, while her mother, despite all her best efforts, is falling in love with her. It's like being plunged into a bottomless pit. Marisa thinks that, if that little bundle opened her eyes now and sweetly asked her to jump in an abyss, she would. She would jump in them all.

'Pantalaimon,' she whispers to the tiny mouse, clutching at her daughter's chest. Means, merciful. She's going to need all mercy after what she's about to do.

~ 3 ~

Giving Lyra away strains at her heart the same as being separated from her daemon. The same as with her daemon, Marisa doesn't show pain. Doesn't mean it's not there, in the glassy calm eyes and a thin arhythmic beating of her heart.

Asriel is furious with her, she knows, and yet he doesn't have time for their daughter either. He forbids the Master of the Jordan College to let Marisa in. She pretends she doesn't care, he pretends he doesn't give a damn about her not caring. They both hurt. Neither of them hurts enough to get them off their magnificent ambitious paths.

~ 4 ~ 

It's the worst in Bolvangar. Her dark, truly northern heart, cold through and through, simply stops at the sound of Lyra's voice.

A mother couldn't bear it. Marisa Coulter can, because she was late for motherhood just like Asriel was late for that dinner, but still, between the realization and the frantic salvation of her own child, there is nothing in her chest. Heartbeat - lost. Maybe it leapt out to Lyra. Maybe it left her actual, physical body for just a moment. She wouldn't be surprised. That girl was greedy. She loved that girl with everything she had.

That missed hearbeat feels like falling towards a sure, inevitable break.

~ 5 ~

Asriel loses his heartbeats, too. When she refuses to join him, his chest explodes inwards. He wanted her to say yes. When she paused before the answer, he already knew.

He hoped Marisa would see through him when he threatened her, and his giant, steady heart, that kept him going through snowstorms and the wilderness, stumbled helplessly when he realized that she had seen through him, indeed, but chose to stay. He felt untethered. She stood there with his heartbeat bleeding off her fingertips and looked at him like she had always done, with her constant, unbending 'Asriel, no...' dried silently on her lips. Strange how he didnt recognize the taste.

He wanted to ask for this heartbeat back. This one, she stole.

Though if he was being honest with himself, he still gave it to her gladly.

~ 6 ~

Bolvangar was not, in fact, the worst. The worst is when Marisa looks at her daughter, feeling Lyra's primal fear of her, and can't find another way to protect her except by hurting her even worse.

'Let us go,' Lyra whispers, half-asleep, because that's the thought that comes to her first when she regains consciousness. That's where they are at. Her own daughter hates her enough to beg for her freedom.

But I remember the day you were born, Marisa wants to say, blinking the raging tears away, as if it would change anything. I remember holding you, I remember loving you, I'm not as awful as you think. I'm not a monster. I love you. It's my way of loving you. She bites it right at her lips, crushing bitter words before they ever leave her mouth. Her maternal love is like barbed wire. Cuts both of them. She doesn't know how to stop.

Her heart falls silent for a fraction of a second every time Lyra looks at her with suffering, pleading eyes.

~ 7 ~

'We should have married, and brought her up ourselves.'

He blinks at the thought. She says something else, continues talking, and eventually, he manages to reply, but his mind is still caught. They should have. The should have, a relentless echo. There's a lot they should have done. They should have done everything. Her hair catch a billion tiny fires from the light, and she looks so tired, so pale and tired. He remembers the night they met, and how he thought, hungrily, joyfully: this is it. She's the one. He looks at Marisa now and still thinks the same, only with sudden doom. He wants to break something. He wants to touch her hair.

His beastly heart misses a beat, and it's like Stelmaria's claws. He looks at Marisa. He doesn't know how to say that she's right. Should-haves and what-ifs hang heavily in the air. Thorns everywhere. They can't untangle them.

~ 8 ~

Every second beat now, sometimes even every first. He thinks, he'll die. Crushing blows keep pouring down on his head and shoulders. No one can be that desperate and still alive.

Too many at once now. Heartbeats flooding out of him, and when Asriel gains enough consciouseness to understand that, he doesn't want them to go in vain. If anything, they should go to her.

'Marisa! Marisa!'

I loved you. I love you still. I'm scared. I was wrong. He doesn't care about his war anymore, nor about the angel trying to shake him down to rise and kill his daughter. Their daughter. He's just crying out her name. There's no more powerful an authority for him, than her name. He should have known that earlier.

Another beat lost. Young Mrs. Coulter laughs at his joke with her eyes, arm at her husband's elbow, beautiful hair he wants to dishevel gleam in the soft light, and he knows he's won. He knows he won't let go. He mustn't.

And for her, he doesn't.

~ 9 ~

She jumps. And it is all worth it, because, as a very wise man once told her, her life is, too, worth a mere one-tenth of her daughter's. Even less. Much less, if she's honest. Her heart falters.

One beat. She knew that abyss would find her from the day she held Lyra in her arms. She has no regrets.

Two beats. Forever falling, next to Asriel. Almost comforting. His hands are bloody and spasmed with effort. She touches them briefly as they fall.

Three beats. Young Asriel Belacqua sits across from her, and his eyes are piercing blue like she's never seen before. They will fight, she knows it even then. And she wants it anyway. In a way, they have been falling together ever since.

Four beats. Lyra's face. Her daemon holding out his paw. It allows one painful, shattering thrust into her heart. She wants to call Asriel's name to tell him that it's alright, that they did well, or just to feel his name on her tongue; but can't.

And, after that, no count is needed, because all heartbeats are lost and fall eternally around them.

[armin-stan]

Only Mine (Wanderer x Reader)

ok ok so, this is gonna be my first time writing smut and it'll be a bit long (that's what she said). so, we'll see how this goes

warning(s): reader has female body parts, slightly possessive behavior, fingering, straight-up sex, lots of biting and marking, and a touch of exhibitionism

Growing up in Snezhnaya, just a few houses down from Ajax, now known as the Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, Tartaglia, or Childe, was interesting, to say the least. Before he fell into the abyss, he was your best friend and eventually your first kiss, resulting from a silly childhood crush. Now, however, that kiss resulted in a fairly annoyed Wanderer.

"You really didn't tell me this months ago?!" You had finally let it slip about what happened between you and Childe all those years ago, and to say Wanderer was jealous would be an understatement. Over the course of traveling with him for the past 6 months, you had finally decided to tell him about that past, and his reaction was not what you had been expecting.

"I don't get why you're so upset by this. It was when we were kids, and it doesn't matter now." Your voice came out slightly annoyed and confused by his reaction. You watched as Wanderer huffed and crossed his arms before speaking again, "You're wrong. It does matter." In response to this, you simply tilted your head in even more confusion, which caused him to roll his eyes and groan like you were purposefully being dense. He pinned you against the hotel room wall in a flash, with one of his hands holding your chin and the other trapping you there.

"You're mine. The thought of that idiot even having a sliver of a chance with you... infuriates me." Wanderer's voice is cold and possessive, like an all-consuming blizzard, chilling you to the bone and causing your heart to race. He had never been like this before, and it was enticing. His face moved closer to yours, his lips brushing against your own as his piercing indigo eyes bore into your own. One of his legs presses in between your own, trapping you even further.

"You're such an idiot if you think I don't know; you think of me as yours as well." Wanderer tilts your head and presses a lingering kiss to your jawline. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip as his gaze meets yours again; as possessive as he is, his eyes are asking for permission. You don't respond with words, instead smashing your lips to his in a needy and desperate kiss, the result of months of tension building. As a groan leaves his throat, his mouth is cold against your own warm lips.

Wanderer nibbles on your bottom lip harshly and slowly releases it as he leans his head back. His free hand travels down your figure, tracing each and every crevice, curve, all of you, while the other hand moves to the back of your head. He grasps your hair and forces your head back as his lips move down to suck and bite at your neck. His teeth dig in at your nape and leave an imprint.

"Mine..." His words are muffled as he continues a passionate assault on your sensitive neck, leaving more and more marks. All so everyone knows that you are his. His roaming hand snakes under your shirt and plays with your nipples. The cold of his hands ignites a fire in you as your body grows warmer and warmer; you can't help but pant desperately and arch into his touch. Wanderer takes this opportunity and presses his knee further up, making you grind on his leg. He chuckles devilishly as you bite back a moan.

"Oh, my dear, don't hold back those pretty sounds. I want everyone in this hotel to know you're mine." He sucks on your shoulder as you grind against his leg and let out a needy moan. Your hands grasp for his pants, pleading for them to come off.

He moves your hands away before pressing himself further against you and shakes his head as he speaks darkly, "Uh uh, not yet... I want to mark you just a bit more before the main event." You can feel just how much he enjoys this, not just in the touch of his hands and lips but in the ever-growing bulge of his that presses against your inner thigh. His hand moves from your chest down to your pants, and he traces the hem of your pants teasingly. "Please..." You plead with him, which only earns another cold laugh from him.

"You can do better than that. Tell me that you're mine and only mine. That you don't belong to Childe, only to me." He whispers against your neck before sucking the sensitive skin into his mouth and nibbling it. Your mind is only on him and getting what you want. No, what you need. "I'm yours, only yours. No one else's." Your words are whiny and desperate. Just what he wanted to hear.

He loosens your pants before his hand slips in. His fingers rub on your clit, and your folds. You finally realize just how aroused you've been as his fingers slide about with ease, thanks to how wet you are. He doesn't hesitate to plunge a couple of his fingers into your cunt. Your head falls back, and a loud moan escapes you at the feeling of his cold fingers in your warm hole.

He moans softly, right against your ear, "Fuck... you're already this turned on. My (Y/n), no one can make you feel this good so quickly but me." Wanderer's fingers move in and out at such a painfully slow pace that drives you crazy. You moan and try to grind more against his fingers, but he presses you further into the wall with a disapproving look, "Be patient, just a bit longer, and I'll give you exactly what you want."

"Need..." You barely get the word out between your unrelenting moans. This causes Wanderer to smirk and let out a groan before he bites down on your other shoulder, marking it as well. His fingers curl inside you, hitting just the right spot, causing you to moan louder than before. He assaults this spot each time his fingers slide all the way back in, turning you into a panting and moaning mess. You can feel a knot forming in your lower stomach, and right when it's about to unravel, Wanderer's cold hands slip out, denying you your release.

You pant and lower your head to give him a pleading gaze. As you open your mouth, he presses his lips to yours as his hand fully loosens your pants, and they fall to the ground with your underwear close behind. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you taste a hint of mint on it from dessert. Your own hands go down to his pants and loosen his belt, causing his pants to fall to the ground with a thump. You could feel his cock fully spring out and instantly go between your legs.

"You want this, right?" His voice has lost that coldness, and Wanderer shows immense adoration as he gazes deeply into your eyes, searching for any hint of rejection. You nod slowly and grind on his shaft, "I do. I want to be yours and yours alone." His eyes light up at your soft and needy tone. With one final caring kiss to your lips, he slides his shaft all the way in. He can't help but suck and nibble on your jawline the whole way through to make it as pleasurable as possible for you.

"Archons, you were made for me. You're so warm.... so tight." His voice quivers slightly as he starts to pump in and out of you slowly at first. Wanderer throws his robe off, only leaving his form-fitted black shirt on. He grips your hips and lifts you up, using the wall to help hold you in place as he moves faster. You gasp and moan louder than before. You need more of him and wrap your arms behind him to hold on and dig your nails into the exposed parts of his back, marking him in your own way.

His head lulls, and he returns to assaulting your neck and shoulders with his teeth, tongue, and lips. Wanderer moves faster, causing your moans to reach a new level. The wall creaks slightly from the passion, and he smirks against your neck, "Everyone in this hotel will know what we're doing if you keep up that moaning." You try to muffle your moans with one of your hands, but he pulls it away from your face and shakes his head, "No, no, love. I want them all to know who you belong to. If these marks on your pretty little neck aren't evidence enough that you are all mine." Wanderer increases his pace, and that familiar knot starts to form in your stomach once again. The sounds of skin meeting skin is like a hypnotic rhythm to this song of lust.

"Wanderer... I'm..." Your words are cut off by more moans as he increases his speed and lowers his head to begin marking your chest, leaving bite marks and hickeys wherever his mouth wanders. He hums in response as he takes more of your flesh in his mouth. That knot in your stomach gets tighter, closer, and closer to unraveling. Wanderer can feel your close and keeps his current pace. As he bites down on your nipple, you're pushed over the edge completely.

"Wanderer!" You scream out his name as he pounds into you, getting closer to release himself. You spasm on his shaft, and he moans softly against your skin. He mutters against you, and his rhythm turns erratic as he is close to cumming. "Shit, (Y/n)..." His words fade out as he bites down harder than before on your shoulder, more than likely drawing blood as his cock spurts deep inside of you, filling you up in a new way. His thrusts start to slow, and he gradually releases your shoulder from his teeth. You remain pinned up against the wall for a moment, your legs dangling free, before he slowly lets your feet meet the ground once again, his cock still remaining in you. The feeling of your cum mixing together around his shaft is intoxicating.

He pants briefly before speaking slowly, "Given that I'm a puppet, cumming in you shouldn't have any effect." He kisses your cheek softly, so tenderly compared to what just happened, "Yet, we can keep going all night and find out what really will happen." He smirks wickedly before he kisses your lips with such care. He chuckles into the kiss as you pant, still recovering.

"Let's say we keep going. We might even get a noise complaint." You weakly nod your head, wanting more of him before meeting his lips once again; kicking off a long and loud night.

[lordgrimwing]

Writing Patterns Game

I was tagged by @thescrapwitch and @thecoolblackwaves for this this game (it was a hot minute ago but now I have time to do it). The game appears to involve posting the first sentence of my last 10 published stories and doing a little analysis of how I tend to start fics. So, here goes for the last 10 things I posted to AO3 since that's easier to keep track of than tumblr:

It's Raining Outside (TWDD au) - It's raining outside.

Begetting (Nasty Finwë au) - Nerdanel stands in the empty entryway to the grant suite of rooms—more like an entire wing of the palace—given over for the personal use of her husband’s family and household servants.

She Would Have Kept Him There All Night (TWDD au) - “And how does this one look?” Hithundil asked, holding up a piece of lingerie with metal beads that could hardly be called a bra.

As Brothers (Old Gods au) - Maedhros grabbed Maglor’s hand and pulled him up onto the weather-worn boulder.

The Placement Test (TWDD au) - “We’re going to school here?” Elrond asked, wide-eyed as he and Elros walked beside Maglor down the arched, stone hallway.

On Wanting (Old Gods au) - Rays of sunlight reached down through the leafy canopy, filtering out the summer heat to a pleasant warmth under the trees.

For A Simple Explanation (TWDD au) - Arwen came home from school furious.

Papa! (old gods au) - It was early.

Glorfindel The Child Balrog Slayer - The songs often spoke of the youthfulness of Glorfindel of Gondolin, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower.

In The Living Room (TWDD au) - “Hello, Arwen,” Elrond greeted the black-haired teen sitting on the living room couch surrounded by a veritable blizzard of note paper.

Analysis:

I think there's a good mix of starting with setting the scene vs diving write into what characters are doing. The stories that do have more scene description also tend to be outside my normal style of writing (1 and 2) or dealing with a character/content I'm a uncomfortable writing (6). When I'm not starting with description, I tend to include main characters' names in the first sentence. This is likely a result of trying to get people interested in the story (and this is fanfiction so we're all here for the characters) as quickly as possible.

Tagging: (sorry if you've already done this and I've just forgotten)

@runawaymun, @zannolin, @curufiin, and @hellofeanor

[theycallme-thejackal]

129

nearly 200 writing prompts

Pairing: Lenny Bruce & Midge Maisel Rated T

"Hey!"

Lenny looks down the hall to see Midge standing there, hair windblown and a little damp from the snow. He holds out his hand, silently telling her to stop, but she ignores it, practically stomping on her way toward him.

God, how does she look so perfect even now?

He turns the knob on the door to his dressing room and steps inside, leaving it open for her as he lights a cigarette and heads for the couch.

She steps in a moment later, slamming the door behind her. She's breathing heavily, her eyes filled with something he can't quite identify as she looks at him.

"I fucked up."

His brows lift. He takes another drag from his cigarette. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she says, dropping her purse on the counter. Her coat goes shortly after. "I fucked up with Tony Bennett. I fucked up with Shy." She walks over and sits down on the other end of the couch. "I can't live with myself if I fuck up with you, too."

He turns his head slightly to look at her then but stays silent, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and exhaling.

She looks down and fiddles with her fingers in her lap. "You are one of the most important people in my life, Lenny, which is crazy considering we've actually spent a cumulative total of about forty-eight hours together in two years, but...God, Lenny, I don't want to lose you."

Lenny looks at her in confusion. "Lose me?"

"Sorry, I know I never had you - "

"If I recall correctly, you had me a few times just last night," he quips.

She scoffs a humorless laugh.

"You've got me, Midge," he promises, reaching for her, covering her fidgeting hands with one of his own. "I'm not..." He stops himself, refusing to make a promise he can't possibly keep. Not to her. Never to her. "I will be here for you as long as I possibly can."

She looks at him sadly, tears pooling and making her eyes look impossibly bluer. "Lenny," she breathes. A droplet falls, and before he even has the chance to think about brushing it away, she does it herself, inelegantly wiping at her cheek as she averts her gaze again. "Don't fuck this up," she pleads.

There are more tears, and he drops his mostly unsmoked cigarette in the ashtray in favor of cupping her cheeks in both hands, gently brushing away tears with his thumbs. "Midge, I can't promise you everything you're asking for," he admits quietly. "I want to. Believe me, I want to - "

"Just not enough."

It stops him in his tracks. Because he realizes how much he does want to. He's spent so much of he live feeling utterly hopeless, beat down by life, by the government, by his own self-loathing. But that one night with her, that one unbelievable, unplanned night...

He gets to his feet and offers his hand. “Come with me,” he says.

She looks up at him in confusion. “What - ”

He grabs her hand and pulls her to her feet. “Don’t plan,” he reminds her, grabbing his coat and bag and heading out of the room. Her heels click down the hall behind him as he weaves through the people and out of stage door.

The blizzard is still raging, and he pulls his collar up to shield from the wind. “Lenny!” She calls as she follows him. “Where are you going?” He rounds the corner into an alley, and she follows. Snow still falls, but the narrow alley shields them from the wind.

He pulls out the familiar bag and holds it up, and she stops in her tracks. He clutches his vices in his hand and stares at her, her blue eyes wide in surprise and...fear. “It’s going to be ugly,” he tells her. “I’m going to be sick and mean, and I’m going to fuck this up because...I’m a fuck up.”

Midge nods slowly.

“But I want this,” he continues, gesturing to her. “More than this.” He lifts the bag.

Tears fill her eyes. “Lenny...”

He throws the bag in the dumpster and strides toward her, kissing her deeply. She instantly kisses him back, her hands clutching his jacket tightly as he wraps his arms around her.

He feels Midge smile against his lips, and she pulls away with a soft laugh. “That’s some grand gesture, mister,” she breathes.

“It’s all uphill from here,” he tells her. “I wasn’t kidding about the sick and mean and fucking up.”

“I can take it,” she promises before kissing him again.