#But in this case the crumb trail is so

[blueraineshadows]

Breathless

Farmer!Garreth x F!MC

8.6k words. Tags: NSFW / smut / loads of fluff / breeding kink unlocked / flirting / sexual tension

The sun was warm on his back as Garreth sat down on a log, pulled a small tin from his cloth bag, and opened it. He lifted out his sandwich and took a large bite, crumbs sprinkling over his lap that he brushed away with a grubby hand. A curious nose snuffled at his thigh, investigating the crumbs in case a piece of ham had fallen out too. Garreth smirked and scratched his beloved dog behind the ear and spoke around a mouthful of bread and ham. 

“None for you, mate,” he said affectionately. “I'm starving after hauling all those hay bales this morning. This is all mine.” 

Big, brown eyes looked up at him hopefully, and Garreth patted the spaniel on the head, his fingers soothing the silken fur as he took another bite of his sandwich. But Rusty had other ideas. His ears perked up, and he stood, tail wagging happily before he took off down the trail, barking excitedly. 

“Rusty!” 

Garreth saw who Rusty was running for, and his heart began to beat a bit faster behind his ribs. He chewed faster, swallowing a huge chunk of sandwich as he brushed the crumbs from his mouth and legs. 

It was her. 

Childhood friend, expert tormentor, and utterly beautiful. MC was a girl who lived in the village, about a mile from the Weasley farm, and Garreth couldn't imagine life without her. She came nearly every day to help out with the animals and chat with Ma. Her own mother passed away when she was a child, and she had become an honorary Weasley, always around the farm or in the house with the boys as they grew up.

She was a Muggle, through and through, but she knew about their magic. She kept their secret, delighted with their magical abilities but loyal to the bone when it came to their talents. Her only regret had been when he and his siblings had all gone off to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. MC had missed them terribly, but being here at the farm had kept her busy. 

It was no trouble for Garreth to admit that coming home for school holidays had meant coming home to her. He didn't care that his brothers teased him about it, poking fun about his little crush on her. Garreth didn't care. He'd tell anyone. MC had always been the prettiest girl he knew, and he'd hex anyone who dared say otherwise. As adults, his feelings hadn’t changed. In fact, they had merely grown stronger.

“You're a bit late today, aren't you?” He called out to her, grinning as Rusty bounced around her legs, tail wagging. 

MC was making a fuss of the dog, laughing at his little leaps as she headed closer towards Garreth, her braided hair over one shoulder with loose strands teasing on the breeze around her face. 

“Keeping an eye on my timing now, Garreth?” She asked, eyes glinting with mischief as she eyed him sitting on the log. “You weren't waiting for me, were you?” 

“Of course,” he smiled charmingly. “You know I'll always wait for you.”

A pretty blush stained her cheeks, and she bent to make a fuss of Rusty. “Maybe next time I should make you wait a little longer, keep you in suspense.” 

Garreth slapped a hand over his heart and sighed dramatically. “Don't be cruel, MC. It's the highlight of Rusty's day greeting you with a happy, wagging tail. How could you do it to him? Look how pleased he is now that you're here! You should come earlier so he gets to have longer with you before you have to return.” 

She lifted her gaze to his, her blush deepening into a glorious red as her gorgeous eyes narrowed. “Don't use Rusty as a tool to flirt with me, Garreth Weasley. Rusty is innocent and such a good boy.” 

“Hey, I'm a good boy, too,” Garreth said. He held out his tin. “I'll even share my sandwich with you to prove it.” 

Ignoring the hopeful gaze of his beloved dog, who he'd just told that his lunch was off limits, Garreth held the tin up as MC took a peek at his sandwich. 

“Maybe just a little bite,” she said, lifting the sandwich from the tin. 

As she sat on the log beside him, Rusty still trying to get her attention at their feet, Garreth gave her a warm smile. She smiled back around the sandwich, nudging her shoulder against his as she took a delicate bite. 

“Don't look at me like that,” she said, holding her hand in front of her mouth as she chewed.

“Like what?” He lifted an eyebrow playfully. 

“You know very well what I mean.” She was blushing again. He did love it when he made her blush. 

“I've told you before,” he said, reaching to take hold of the end of her braid, the silken strands of her hair curling perfectly around his fingertips. “I will never stop looking at you like that, not even after you turn old and grey. My eyes were made to look at you that way, MC.” 

She shook her head, and his smile only widened as he tugged teasingly at her braid until she was leaning towards him. He met her gaze and brushed his fingers lightly under her chin. 

“I am going to marry you one day, MC,” he said confidently. “And then you won't need to hike the mile long trail here to see Rusty everyday, you can live here at the farm. With me.” 

“You've been saying you're going to marry me since we were ten, Garreth,” she said, taking another bite of his sandwich. “Over ten years of just assuming I'll be your wife. That's not a proposal.” 

He smiled and let her go, picking up his share of his half eaten sandwich. “You will, MC. I'm going to marry you, and we'll have loads of ginger babies together. You'll see.” 

She laughed and gave him a shove. “What if someone else asks me first? I'm an eligible catch, I'll have you know. My father is a respectable shopkeeper, and I can cook and sew, too.” 

“Like who?” He asked, sitting up straighter. 

“Mr Turner from the post office hinted about escorting me to the summer barn dance. Maybe he will get down on one knee and ask me to be his bride.”

Garreth screwed his nose up. “Seriously? Tight arsed Turner? You've got to be joking. The bloke is so stiff he squeaks when he walks! What kind of lover would he be between the sheets?”

“Garreth!” She gasped, her hands flying to her face as even her neck flushed scarlet. “That's hardly appropriate conversation material.”

Garreth’s green eyes flashed mischievously as he looked at her, imagining how soft her skin would feel under his palms, how delicious those lips would feel against his own. 

“Don't tell me you haven't thought about it,” he said softly, his voice low and raw in his throat.

Their gazes locked, and he could see the way her breaths had quickened, her chest rising and falling quickly under her blouse. “You are a free spirited young woman with fire in her soul. You're going to want a man who can leave you utterly breathless, a man who knows what he has in his arms when he holds you.”

Her eyes widened, her pupils dark and flickering with something that lifted the hope in his heart. “And you think you are the man fit for that challenge, do you?” 

He smiled, confident and cheeky. “Come to the summer dance with me and find out.” 

“Are you asking me to be your date, Garreth Weasley?” 

“I am, and you can't say no either,” he said.

It was her turn to lift an eyebrow at him. "Is that so?” 

“Absolutely. Rusty would be completely heartbroken if you turned me down, and you wouldn't want that now, would you?” 

As if on cue, and totally planned, Rusty leant his head against her thigh, looking up at her with those beautiful, brown eyes. 

“See?” Garreth scratched behind Rusty's ear again, his arm brushing against the warmth of her thigh. 

He had made no secret of it. He wanted her. But, his silly teasing and playful flirting always seemed to be nothing more than banter between them. He wanted the real thing. He'd marry her tomorrow if she would have him. 

MC glanced down at Rusty, stroking his soft fur before looking at Garreth. “Alright, you've got yourself a date to the summer dance,” she said, then held up a finger as his mouth split into a wide grin. “But, it needs to be a proper date. No silly jokes, and you definitely need to wear something smart. You can pick me up and escort me like a proper suitor.”

“I wouldn't dare expect anything less,” he said, his heart soaring. 

….*....

Her arm was linked through his as they walked through the village, the sunset a glorious blend of pinks and gold across the sky, the hues reflected in the sparkle of her eyes. MC looked like an absolute dream in her pale blue dress, her hair pinned back from her face, with a waterfall of curling locks tumbling down her back. His chest swelled with pride that she was on his arm, and he couldn't wait to escort her to the dance. 

They paused near the gated entrance of the old manor house, the sounds of music drifting across from the barn. Garreth patted a hand to his chest nervously. “So, will I do?”

He'd taken great care in bathing and attempting to tame his fiery locks, dressed in his best trousers and boots, his white shirt impeccably clean against the moss green of his waistcoat. He had even adorned his outfit with a plaid dickie bow, and he was sure he looked the part, but he wanted to hear her say it. 

Her eyes took in his clothes, a smile teasing her lips. When she met his gaze, he felt the familiar warmth in his chest that came from just being in her presence. 

“You look very smart,” she said, her fingers smoothing down the front of his waistcoat, making his cheeks warm. “Consider me impressed.” 

“I should hope so,” he grinned. “I've got to look the part, escorting the prettiest girl in the village. That Mr Turner best be keeping his distance, that's all I will say.” 

Enjoying the sound of her chuckle, they entered the barn to be greeted by the lively music coming from the band at the far end. Bales of straw had been set out for seating, along with wooden plank tables, ribbons, and colourful bunting, adding cheer to the space. Dancers were already twirling on the dance floor, but Garreth led MC towards a makeshift bar area and got them two mugs of ale. Taking a sip, he licked his lips, and a crease appeared on his brow.

“It’s no Butterbeer, but it will do,” he smirked. “I shall have to take you on a date to Hogsmeade, or even Diagon Alley in London, and show you some wizarding hospitality.”

MC lifted an eyebrow as she sipped at her beer. “You are fairly confident of a second date, then?”

Drawing on all his Gryffindor bravery, he lifted a hand up to her face, his thumb grazing gently along her cheekbone. “My plan is to sweep you off your feet, and take you on many, many more dates after this.”

Her blush was instant, and she couldn’t look any more beautiful. He could kiss her right now, but he held back, assuming the role of gentleman as they finished up their drinks and he led her out to the dancefloor. 

Not one for fancy airs and graces, he felt a flutter of insecurity at first as they joined the other couples moving about the floor. He was a more practical man, used to using his hands for more physical tasks, his feet more inclined to be in work boots planted firmly in mud. Once he had his hand on her waist, though, the rest just seemed to flow instantly, his gaze transfixed on only her as they began to sway along to the beat. Her smile was for him, and it felt all together too marvellous to be holding her close like this. 

After a few more dances, his pulse racing and his face hot, Garreth was smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. The lively steps were making them work up a sweat, but it was great fun, and he was sure to keep a firm hold on her as the songs ended and another began lest anyone had ideas about cutting in and stealing her away. As they skipped and twirled, her hair fanned out around her, the skirt of her dress billowing against his legs. Holding her gaze as he pulled her in close again, he splayed his hand at the small of her back, the ridges of her corset under her dress pressed against his palm. He felt the fire in his blood and didn’t even try to hold it back from his eyes.

Her mouth was parted as she breathed hard through the dance. The pink of her cheeks and the spark in her eyes felt heightened as they held the look between them. This was a different kind of magic, as old as time itself, and she was the only one who made him feel it. He cared little for the snobbish views regarding blood purity. She may be a Muggle born, but she had the power to charm him. The words in his heart danced and swirled along with him, threatening to escape and spill from his lips. Every thud of life in his body was all for her.

If he pressed his fingertips to the pulse at her throat, would it throb and flutter as hard and fast as his did right now. Could she feel the maddening rush of desire that warmed his blood as a match in her own veins?

For years, he had loved her with his eyes, in the gentle teasing and bold suggestions. His playful demands that he would marry her one day were honest truths, a reality he yearned for, and maybe, just maybe, he would be bold enough to make it a serious declaration. How do you make it special, though? She had hinted at wanting a proper proposal, and he knew it was tradition to place oneself on one knee and present a ring. Not normally one for stiff formality, he wondered if perhaps something a little different might be in order, but nothing too over the top lest it make her decline.

“Shall we get some more drinks?” She asked breathlessly, her fingers holding on tightly to his shoulder. Her flush had darkened, her eyes dipping to his mouth and then back to his eyes as though her heated blood really did answer in kind. “I’m feeling rather parched.”

Blinking away his grand ideas of making her his wife, Garreth nodded, his mouth slipping easily into a warm smile as he slowed their steps. “Of course, sweetheart,” he said with a bow over her hand.

“Such courtly behaviour, Garreth,” she chuckled, her eyes dancing as he straightened. “Who are you, really, and what have you done with the real Garreth?”

“I’m offended!” He said with a little cry of mocking disbelief. “I am the epitome of gentlemanly behaviour at all times.”

She leant in closer, her arm linked through his, the softness of her against him making his blood heat to new levels. As she tilted her head to speak nearer to his ear, he felt his throat close against the mad flutter in his chest. “Does a gentleman hint at what he can do to a free spirited woman once he has her in his arms? I believe you mentioned such things as leaving her breathless?”

Eyes widening in surprise, he turned his head to meet her gaze, their faces achingly close, tempting him even further to dare risking a taste. “You remembered what I said,” he murmured. 

“Every word,” she breathed, her eyes darkening. He could have sworn she moved closer, his tongue sliding to wet his lower lip at the promise of claiming the softness of her plush mouth.

“I meant it, you know,” he said softly, his gaze devouring her face with utter devotion. “I know exactly what I would be holding in my arms, and I would endeavour to show you just how much that would mean, leaving you completely breathless in the process.”

Her smirk was devilishly naughty, the spark in her eyes spellbinding. “Would you like to deflower me, Garreth Weasley?”

His teeth caught at his lower lip, sinking down into the soft flesh at the images those words presented to him, barely swallowing back the desperate whimper that threatened to escape his throat. Barely even registering that they were standing in a barn full of their fellow villagers making merry, his hand tightened at her waist as his eyes burned into hers.

“In the most gentlemanly way possible, I would very much like to ravish you,” he said, his voice thick with loaded desire.

Their gazes locked in a blistering promise of a passion unmet, Garreth heard his heart thundering in his ears. This was more than bodily urges. This was soul defining, surely. Poets wrote about this kind of feeling, and whilst he was certain he could never put it all into words, with his very hands, he would make every endeavour to show her. 

“Garreth!” A sharp tug on his sleeve joined the urgent bark of his name, jarring Garreth from the moment, his eyes blinking in dazed surprise as he turned to see his youngest brother beside him. “Bloody hell, Garreth. I've been calling your name across the room. Are you deaf?” 

“What?” Garreth frowned, trying to comprehend why his brother was here, his shirt almost as filthy as his face, his ginger mop of hair wild with a leaf caught in the curls. “What in Merlin's name are you doing here, Hector?”

Hector turned his gaze towards MC, his lips twitching into a cheeky smirk. “Alright, MC? You're looking delectably pretty this evening.” 

“Leave it out, you little rascal,” Garreth said, rolling his eyes and giving Hector his full attention. “What are you doing here? You look like you've crawled through a hedge backwards.”

“That's because I have,” Hector said, his cheeky smirk still in place. “That's why I'm here. Ma has got her wand in a right ole knot. The baby goats escaped, and they ransacked her vegetable patch. She cast out a hex or two, and now one of them has got pink fur.” 

Garreth’s eyes widened. “She did what? Godric’s balls.” 

He groaned and put a hand to his head. Those mischievous little goats had been the bane of his existence since their birth, escaping and chewing their way through all sorts. If he didn't have such a massive soft spot for them, he would have jinxed them all himself by now. 

“Did you manage to catch them all?” MC asked, a worried crease appearing in her brow. She, too, had been on the receiving end of the little scamps during her times helping out at the farm. 

Hector shook his head. “Nope, there's still three on the loose, so I thought I'd better fetch you, Garreth. They like you. One of those little bastards bit me on the finger, so it did.” 

“Oi, language,” Garreth scolded, holding a stern finger up. “There are ladies present.” 

At Hector's rueful smirk, he got hold of his arm with the intent of marching his rapscallion of a brother out of the barn. Glancing at MC, he caught her amused look and shook his head, fighting back his own grin. 

“I'm so sorry,” he said, his hand catching hold of hers. “This is going to spoil the evening. I need to go back and help round up these baby goats.” 

“And I am coming with you,” she said firmly, grasping his hand and delicately lifting the hem of her skirts. “It sounds like you're going to need my help.” 

In the seconds he had spare to stare at her before they all began to head for the door, he was reminded yet again at how fiercely his heart beat for her. 

….*....

With his wand between his teeth, the glow of his Lumos spell illuminating his face and the ground before him, Garreth launched forwards and wrapped his hands around the middle of the baby goat munching on one of his mother's rose bushes. The goat bleated in protest, and Rusty the dog came scampering over, tail wagging excitedly. 

“Gotcha, you little rascal,” Garreth mumbled around the wood of his wand, tucking the little goat under his arm as he turned towards the barn. 

The goat was trying to nibble his now wonky bow tie, his curls a ruffled mess from the searching in bushes. The evening had not turned out how he had been expecting. Visions of romantic dancing and maybe even a cheeky kiss were fading from his thoughts as he entered the lamp lit barn. 

MC was at the goat pen in the far corner, bending over the now mended fencing as she made a fuss of the mother goat. He could hear the soft murmur of her voice as she scratched under the chin of the beast, seemingly uncaring about the smears of dirt on the skirts of her pretty dress and the mud on her shoes. She had not been afraid to chase after the escaped kids in her fine clothing, traipsing through mud and greenery in her attempts to retrieve them. 

“I've got another one,” Garreth said, returning his wand to his pocket as he lifted a very wriggly kid over the fence. 

“One more to go, then,” MC said with a sigh. She moved closer and reached out for his hand. “Come on, let's go catch her together.” 

“Her?” Garreth asked, lifting an eyebrow. 

“Yes, it's Blossom that's missing. The one with the patch on her tummy that looks like a heart,” MC said, holding tight to his hand as they walked back out into the dark of the yard. 

“You've named them?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You do know they are to be sold soon, don't you?” 

“They still need names, Garreth,” she insisted with a smile. “How can they not have names when they have such funny, little personalities.” 

He paused in his step to look at her, a soft look on his face. “Considering how these little personalities have wrecked our plans for the evening, you are being rather affectionate towards them.” 

Her smile shifted into something rather playful as she stepped even closer, her free hand lifting to adjust his bow tie. “We only have one more naughty kid to catch, Garreth,” she said, lifting her eyes to meet with his. “And the night isn't over yet.” 

A little flutter erupted in his tummy, warm and pleasing as his mouth tilted upwards into a grin. “That sounds promising.” 

The bleating of the remaining escaped goat sounded across the yard, coming from where the old stables stood against a backdrop of trees. Once again, a mischievous goat was determined to interrupt any moment that had the potential to turn interesting with MC.

Turning to try and catch a glimpse of Blossom was rather pointless in the dark, and Garreth slipped his wand from his pocket again. This was the last goat to catch, and then he could have MC all to himself.

“Hold that promising thought of yours,” he smirked and held up his wand. “Lumos!” 

Still holding hands, they crept swiftly across the yard, the light from his wand illuminating the darkness and pressing back the shadows as they approached the stables, their feet squelching in the mud. Rusty was already snuffling ahead of them, nose down and tail up until he caught a scent. With an excited bark, he was off, scampering around the corner of the old, brick building, and the little goat came bounding out of the darkness. 

“There you are, Blossom!” MC said, holding out a hand. Blossom had other ideas, though, and skipped sideways in a move that was almost like a dance. “Oh, you little rascal!” 

MC lunged to catch her, missed, and slid on the mud. Her startled cry pierced the night as she grabbed at Garreth, catching his arm so forcefully that he was yanked forward in a sudden lurch. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, the arc of light as his wand arm swung, his booted feet sliding out from under him. In his efforts to be a gentleman and keep MC upright, he took the fall, hitting the sticky mud with a splat. 

“Oof!” 

“My goodness, are you alright?” MC said, holding her hands to her mouth as she looked down at him, Rusty bouncing eagerly forward and shoving his wet nose right into Garreth’s face. 

Somehow, Garreth had managed to keep his wand arm up in the air, his spell still lit at the tip. His other hand was buried in the mud, his face a grimace of disgust as he shifted into a sitting position. 

“I'm alright. Easy, boy, easy,” he said, attempting to calm Rusty, who thought this was an impromptu play session. 

It was at this point that Blossom the baby goat decided to take a flying leap into the air in all the excitement, and she jumped right onto Garreth’s broad shoulders, head butting him in the process. His grunt of pain at the smack of her hooves and head was lost in the bellow of laughter that erupted from MC's mouth. She was bent over with it, her eyes sparkling in the light from his wand as he struggled to get Blossom down into his lap with one arm. 

“Oi, don't laugh! A little help here?” He muttered through a smirk, slipping in the mud as he tried to keep hold of Blossom and keep his wand aloft. 

“Of course…I'm s-sorry,��� MC gasped around her chuckles, holding out her arms to take little Blossom. “Here, let me…” 

Scooping an excitable Blossom into her arms, coating her dress in fresh smears of mud, MC quietened her chuckles as Garreth got to his feet. He tried to shake the mud from his hand, his eyes roaming over his ruined shirt and trousers. 

“Well, there goes my nice, smart shirt. Bloody hell, I can't go back to the dance looking like this,” he grumbled, his gaze moving to MC. “And look at your lovely dress.” 

“Could you use one of your fancy spells to make it all better?” She asked. 

He could. In fact, he knew just the spell, and she had always been so delighted with the magic that he could do. It had always been his pleasure and a wonderful excuse to keep her near him, to show her the spells he could do. Transfiguration objects would make her clap her hands excitedly, bringing him objects to switch up into something new. The best one was charming magical delights to impress her like little birds or butterflies. It was worth it just to see that glow of wonder in her eyes, her awe, and praise for him, making his chest swell and his dreams would fill with hope. 

Standing there in the mud with her, watching her make a fuss over the naughty goat, he realised that he didn't need to make all the mud disappear. None of this bothered her. Not the escaped goats putting a stop to their dance, not the running around in the dark trying to catch them, and definitely not the mud marking her skirts. She loved this place almost as much as he did. It was home, and this was where they belonged. She had to feel it, too.

“You look beautiful even when you're covered in mud, MC,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. “I'd even go so far as to say you are especially beautiful when you're all grubby and getting stuck in with the work around here. We are lucky to have you.” 

Her smile was particularly lovely as she petted Blossom on the head, the goat trying to nibble on the lace at the front of her dress, and he was certain that she was blushing. Instead of a cheeky come back as she was wont to do, her words were soft, her eyes full of a deeper meaning. “I love it here, Garreth. I always have. I'm happy to be able to help out.” 

She loved it here. Surely, it was meant to be.

“Let's get Blossom back to her family,” he said with a chuffed smile, nodding towards the barn, that warm feeling spreading behind his chest at her words. “And like you said, the night isn't over yet.” 

….*....

With the goats all now safely in their pen, Garreth stood with his hands in his pockets and a rueful smile on his face as MC approached him under the flickering lamp of the barn. She smirked as she attempted to straighten his dickie bow again, her gaze taking in the mud staining his shirt and waistcoat. 

“Oh, Garreth, you even have little hoofprints on your shoulder,” she chuckled, brushing against it with her fingertips. 

“All part of the farm life,” he said, tilting his head as he gazed upon her. “I'm just sorry it ruined the summer dance for you. I'm sure if Mr Turner had escorted you, there would have been no goat drama, and you would likely still be dancing right now.” 

A flutter of insecurity began to tap dance behind his ribs. MC was a rare one, and he did not blame other gentlemen for their interest in her hand. Despite knowing her since they were young children, this did not place any right or claim on her, no matter how he longed for it. He was cheeky and flirty. He made bold statements about her being his wife one day, but her heart was her own to give. 

He was just a farm boy with a gift for magical spells and the odd calamity. Was he enough for her? 

As she stared up at him, the glow of the lamp reflecting in her pretty eyes, he searched for the disappointment in her gaze but found only warmth. 

“I'd rather be here with you in the mud and chaos, than dancing with a man who doesn't understand me,” she said softly. Her face moved subtly closer, her hand still resting on his shoulder. “What you said to me the other day about needing someone who knew what they had when they held you. You were right. Mr Turner may be polite, and he is most gracious when he speaks to me, but his eyes do not hold the power that makes me forget how to breathe.” 

The pace of Garreth’s heartbeat began to pick up, a hand leaving his pocket to reach for her waist. Her warmth came even closer at the urging of his touch. “Tell me more about such eyes,” he murmured, swallowing thickly against the desire building within. 

“Eyes like a forest in spring,” she said, her fingers moving to touch against his throat, her caress like fire as she slid them tentatively up towards his jaw, unravelling the edges of his control. “Eyes that make my skin come alive when they look at me, eyes filled with a fire that I am certain nobody else sees but me. I could get lost in those eyes if I wanted to, I'm sure of it.”

She was so close now, he could see the myriad of flecks in the pools of her eyes, and he figured he knew what she meant. “Do you want to get lost in them?” He asked, the underlying tension in his words as dark and smooth as honey. 

The air felt molten and ablaze between them, all his nerve endings stretched taut with the need to feel every inch of her pressed against him.

“I think I already am,” she whispered. 

Endless day dreams and hours spent picturing how it would be to kiss MC, and now that his lips were finally pressed against hers, the real thing surpassed anything his mind could have painted. Softer than he had dared believed, her mouth sealed against his in a first kiss that had his toes curling inside his muddied boots. 

It wasn't too heated, and yet his blood was ablaze, the gentle pressure just enough to show the desire behind it. The shuddering breath he managed to pull into his lungs took some of the tension from his frame as he pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes seeking the comfort of her gaze. 

“Dance with me once more,” he said, his voice laden with the need of her. 

“I offer you kisses, and you want to dance?” 

Her eyes sparkled with a mischief he recognised, but Garreth merely smirked and took out his wand. In the corner near where they stood was a collection of farm tools, brooms and a rake, a shovel, that kind of thing. With a few careful wrist movements, his lips murmuring a charm learnt in a lesson taught by his Aunt Matilda, those practical and useful implements lifted up from the ground. In graceful twists and turns, imbued with the power of the magic that ran through his veins, Garreth performed the transfiguration spell to make a quartet of string instruments. 

“Garreth!” MC exclaimed, her hands coming up to her mouth as the instruments began to play a rather charming piece of music. 

Eyeing the look of wonder on her face, his smile was rather pleased as he slid a hand across her lower back and urged her closer towards him. “Not bad, hmm? If we can’t be at the dance, then we shall bring the dance to us.” 

Taking a hand and holding her more firmly, his fingers splayed at her back in a manner that suggested she was his alone. He spun them about in a smooth turn of dance. 

“Show off,” she admonished playfully, letting him lead her across the floor of the barn. 

It didn't matter that they were plastered in mud or that they were dancing in the barn with a family of goats for company beside hundreds of hay bales stacked ready for winter. He was here with her, and she was in his arms, her smiling face turned up to him with a warm glow in her eyes. 

“I may be a show off, but only for you,” he said with a wink. Swallowing down his nerves, he adjusted his grip at her waist. It was time to summon the bravery his school house was known for. “Anything for the girl I love.” 

He heard the swift intake of her breath, her feet stilling amongst the loose straw strands scattered across the floor. The music played on as they stood and stared at each other, a hot blush blooming across his cheeks. 

“Do you mean that, Garreth?” Her voice was breathless, her eyes wide. “You love me?” 

“I do,” he nodded, his throat closing up with emotion. “I love you.” 

Her gaze dipped to his chest, her eyes shifting from side to side, a kaleidoscope of emotions dancing across her features. Panic took wing within him, his fingers gripping tightly at the back of her dress. Had he spoken out of turn? Was it too much? Perhaps he had read the look in her eyes all wrong. 

When she finally lifted her gaze back to him, the tell tale shine of unshed tears glittered in her eyes. “But…I'm just a normal girl, Garreth,” she said, shaking her head as though she didn't understand. “I don't have magic. I am one of those Muggle people in your world. Why would you want me when you could have someone who can conjure fire, or…or wonderful instruments to make music. I'm nothing special…”

“You are everything!” He declared, shifting his hands to cup her beautiful face, his heart squeezing at her fears. “You are all that I want. Nobody else could ever come close. Another girl could have all the magic in the world, and I would still choose you. Please, don't ever think that you are not good enough, MC. I love you all the way from your bonnie hair to your muddy shoes.” 

Her lips trembled, and a tear escaped, streaking down her cheek. He caught it with his thumb, caressing the softness of her skin as he felt the burn behind his own eyes. 

“I'm probably being a sentimental fool here, but it's the truth,” he said, resting his forehead against hers and taking a shaky breath. “Please, say something.” 

A broken whimper left her mouth as she wrapped her arms about him, her fingers clutching at the back of his waistcoat as she pressed a kiss to his mouth. “I love you, too,” she said, the words like a balm against his lips. 

Like a dam released, he pressed kisses to her mouth, her nose, his lips raining his affections across her cheeks until she was giggling in his arms. Hearing her speak those words made his heart skip a beat, his emotions threatening to spill over, and so he used his lips to express himself rather than make a fool of himself and speak. He feared his voice would crack, and the burn in his eyes would turn into real tears.

“Are you trying to kiss me everywhere?” She laughed, breaking through the ecstatic tension in his chest.

His eyebrows lifted with cheeky intrigue, his fingers ghosting along the lacy neckline of her dress near her collarbone. Humour and flirting were definitely more in his comfort zone. “Hmm, that depends on how literally you mean everywhere.” 

Her cheeks reddened, and she gasped, but her smile turned almost as mischievous as his own. “This sounds most improper, Garreth,” she teased. “Perhaps a hint at how a gentleman may leave a girl breathless.” 

“Oh, it's wonderfully improper. Would you like a demonstration, my lady?” 

“Garreth! Not in front of the kids.” She nodded her head towards the goat pen across the barn, her mouth tilting into a teasing smile. 

Glancing from the mischievous goats to the girl of his heart, Garreth gave her his most wicked smile. “But of course, my love,” he said, taking her hand. “Right this way.” 

Heart hammering with excited anticipation, Garreth tugged MC away from the goats as he ended the music with a flick of his wrist, leading her around the huge stacks of hay bales to a darker, more secluded part of the barn. He let her go to shift a few of the heavy bales, uncaring about dirtying clothes already ruined, until he had a suitable spot in which to render his girl breathless. Circling her within his arms again, he kissed her gently, searching her eyes for answers. “Only on your word, MC.” 

“You have it,” she nodded.

As their kisses became longer and more heated, his blood fired to a burn that made him giddy. He lifted her off her feet and placed her down on the sweet-smelling bales. Deepening the kiss, he braced himself on his elbows, trying not to crush her with his weight. Her body arched towards him, the press of her curves making him ache with such fierceness. 

“Tell me you feel this, too,” he said, his mouth devouring the tender flesh of her throat. 

“Like fire,” she gasped. 

Her cheeks were flushed, her hair pooled around her head in a tumble of glossy curls, and her skin was addictive against his tongue. His fingers worked at the fastening of her dress, pulling the sleeves from her shoulders to expose more soft flesh to explore. Her gasping, tortured breaths filled his ears as he mouthed along her collar bone, dragging the dress downwards before reaching to pull at the laces of her corset. Crossing the line from friends to lovers had been his dream, his hope, and now it was his reality.

As her nimble fingers worked on the buttons of his waistcoat, his gaze blazed a trail over her chest, confined within the corset that he was eager to be rid of. Bending down, his tongue slid delicately along the plump flesh, pushed upwards over the top of the constrictive bindings, groaning at the promise of what his hands longed to hold. But, the laces were being stubborn, his fingers tugging with an urgency that made her chuckle.

“Rather impatient, aren’t you?” She teased, cupping his face.

“I’ve been dreaming of this for so long,” he groaned, grabbing her waist with the intention of spinning her around. “Roll over, darling. I refuse to be outwitted by a corset. I have my heart set on burying myself in the delights hidden underneath, so this naughty piece of lace and bone is about to meet my barn floor.”

Her laughter brought a smirk to his face as he rolled her atop the bales, pulling the laces free until the corset loosened. He immediately slipped it from her body, discarding it so he could smooth his hands over the red indents the restrictive garment had made on her skin. She was like satin and silk, so sensual under the touch of his work-roughened hands.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, bending to press soft kisses along the length of her spine. Urging her upright, she sighed as she pressed up against his bare chest, her head falling back as he slid her hair aside to suck gently at the base of her neck. “Let me feel you,” he whispered.

Fingers teasing around her ribs, he peered over her shoulder as his hands sought out the full weight of her breasts. Divinely soft, he cupped them both, closing his eyes for a few seconds to savour the feel of her against his palms. She turned her head, her fingers delving into the thick curls of his hair. As he met her heated stare, the glaze of desire he could see there had him claiming her mouth in another hungry kiss. 

Emboldened by her low moan, he let one hand drift over the softness of her stomach, caressing with a trembling touch before he dared to delve lower. Her dress was bunched about her thighs, his fingers sliding easily under the waistband of her underwear. Her breath caught in her throat as his fingertips brushed through the thatch of her hair, but she shuffled her knees further apart to allow him access.

“Are you sure?” He asked, needing to know that she wanted this as much as he did.

“Please…” 

His fingers caressed through the heated slick of her most intimate flesh, and Garreth felt his cheeks burn at her willingness, her soft moans driving him to explore her further, teasing at her entrance before sliding a finger into the silken heat that awaited. 

“Gods…” The word left his mouth in a breath of awe. She felt exquisite, and his arousal strained against the confines of his undershorts, molten fire gathering deep in his loins. 

As her hips rolled seductively against his hand, he worked to a rhythm, slowly stretching her until he could add a second finger. The tightness of her inner walls posed the idea that he might need to take care when entering himself into her. He ached for it, longed to make her his knowing he would be the first to do so, but he did not want to hurt her. For now, he concentrated his efforts on pleasing her, seeking out the tiny pearl of her pleasure.

Savouring every sound that slipped from her mouth, he whispered in her ear, pressing kisses along her jaw, and he kept a warm hand around her breast. Watching her writhe with pleasure, the skin of her throat darkening with a rosy blush as her whimpers intensified, he coaxed her ever closer to the peak. 

“Garreth…I’m close,” she panted, her fingers gripping into his hair with an eye watering grasp.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he murmured into her ear. “Relax, give in to it. I won’t let you go.”

Groaning at the delicious pressure of her peachy backside against his arousal, he felt the quiver of her muscles, her hips bearing down as her body surrendered to the fire. He slowed his fingers, coaxing her along the crest of the wave, watching her through his lidded gaze as she climaxed in his arms. Her moans were beautiful, but nothing could be more satisfying than hearing his name whispered through her lips like some kind of prayer. Bringing her to this point gave him a sense of pride, the love he felt for her swelling behind his ribs as he shifted her around so he could hold her against him.

Burying her face into his neck, she clung to him, the heat of her laboured breaths against his skin urging him to stroke his hands up and down her back as she came back to herself. They whispered their words of love to each other, taking a moment to pause and reflect before she cupped his face in her hands. Her gaze was one of hazy bliss, cheeks flushed, and a gorgeous smile on her lips.

“You were good on your word, Garreth Weasley,” she said, her thumb sliding temptingly close to his mouth. “Consider me thoroughly breathless.”

“Oh, but I am not done yet,” he said, capturing her thumb with his lips and sucking gently. She watched him do it, her eyes darkening again, lips parted.

“Of course,” she murmured softly, her eyes lifting to stare into his. “I had always secretly hoped that you would be the one to take me for the first time. I dared to dream of it. All those times you would smile and say that I would be your wife one day, I stored those moments in my secret heart and feared that another, a beautiful and talented witch, would come and steal you away.”

“Never,” he insisted, holding her closer, pressing the warmth of her flesh even closer against his. He kissed her on the mouth, his lips lingering before speaking again. “I meant every word, you know. I may smile and tease you, but there was always truth behind those words.”

Taking her hand, he pressed it against where his heart thudded against his chest, more serious than he had ever been in his life. “Feel that? Every beat is for you. I want you to be my girl, my wife. I want you to be there when I wake up every day. Marry me, MC.”

“A thousand times, yes!” Her smile was dazzling, and she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. She didn’t even hesitate with her answer, and he squeezed her back, hardly daring to believe it.

All the grand gestures and speeches he had mulled over didn’t seem to matter, the charade of going down on one knee, the stiff formalities all forsaken. They were half naked in his barn, bits of hay stuck to them, their clothes filthy. But, it didn’t matter. This was their truth, and he had spoken with his heart, and by some miracle, she had said yes.

Capturing her mouth in a long, fierce kiss, he cupped her face, a grin appearing as his verdant eyes twinkled. “You will be my Mrs Weasley. I can’t wait to see ole ‘stiff upper lip’ Turner’s face when I call you that.”

“It’s not a competition, Garreth,” she chided gently, playing with a lock of his hair.

“Oh, but it is, my love. You are the prettiest girl in the village, and you are all mine. That makes me a winner. Just wait until I tell Rusty he is going to be so happy about this!”

MC chuckled and leaned into him, pressing her forehead to his as she bit down on her lower lip. “As much as I adore that pup of yours, he is going to have to wait. We have unfinished business to attend to.”

“We do?” Feigning innocence, he waited, watching and loving the fire igniting in her gaze. 

A breathless moan escaped his throat as her hand slid down to palm against the front of his trousers, his arousal waking from its semi-slumber at her touch. Her lips grazed against his in a teasing kiss, her eyes locked with his. Gods, she made his blood burn.

“Make me yours,” she whispered against his mouth.

Laying naked on the hay bales beneath him, her legs parted to welcome him, MC looked like perfection. His eyes blazed with his desire as he admired the soft curves, his fingers stroking against her glistening and inviting entrance as he prepared her for him. Taking his time to savour the intimacy and to ensure her comfort, Garreth pressed himself into her slick heat, biting his lip against his urgent need. So tight and hot, she squeezed around him, his cock throbbing as he slid deeper.

At her wince, he paused, but her fingers bit into his hips, urging him to push. “Don’t stop,” she gasped, glancing down to where they were joined. 

Moving slowly at first, the pleasure began to build until his eyes became glazed, liquid fire pooling with blissful ecstasy at the base of his spine. Her little hands clung to him, her grip fierce and hungry, her head thrown back, and lips parted as she moaned beneath him. He couldn’t get enough. It was erotic and sensual. It was blowing his mind. The feel of her was driving him insane and his climax was imminent. 

Looking down at where he thrust into her, watching as he filled her over and over, his hips snapped harder. The slap of their flesh punctuated his rhythm, the harshness of his breaths becoming cries of ecstasy as the heat exploded in his lower back, his hips slamming forward until he was fully sheathed within her tight heat. Eyes closed as the pulsing wave of his orgasm overcame him, he shuddered as thick spurts of release spilt deep inside of her. Behind his eyelids, the erotic image of MC’s flushed and naked body seared through his thoughts.

As the wave of his orgasm began to ebb, he gently rolled his hips, grinding against her as though pressing his seed even deeper inside. They were not married yet, but he did not regret filling her up. In fact, it was incredibly arousing to think of it. Gasping air into his lungs, he opened his eyes as he felt her hands urging him closer. Her smile was soft, her fingers gentle as she smoothed his hair back from his sweat slicked forehead.

“I love you,” she whispered, her mouth pressing delicate kisses on his flushed face. 

A subtle movement of her hips made him moan softly, the sensitivity of her walls flexing around his very happy cock sending shivers up his spine. Seeking out her mouth for a kiss filled with longing, he realised that it was possible to fall in love even deeper than before. Staring into those eyes, he had certainly got lost in them, lost in her, and now she would be his forever.

Their future lay ahead, living here on the family farm where they could raise their children. Perhaps they would be magical, like him, and they would go to Hogwarts. Even if they weren’t, and they were like their mother, he wouldn’t mind. They would be Weasleys, they would be loved, and that was a wonderful and beautiful thought.

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #garreth weasley #garreth weasley smut #garreth weasley x mc #weasley wednesday #blueraineshadows

[ataleofcrowns]

I love A and Xs friendship, it’s very cute how X gets a bit sheepish(?) around A. Will we ever get to see how they got so close or abt the time they met?

Begging for A/X crumbs

I actually have a bonus snippet up on my Patreon going into the first time A and X met, as well as a snippet of a romantic scenario for the two of them! They're available for tiers 2/3 (Successor and Crown tiers).

Here's some excerpts that I think A/X shippers might enjoy!

For the first time they met, told from A's POV:

“Well, well, aren’t you ambitious,” Xelef says, smirking with amusement, and Azad can’t tell if he’s being derisive or not. “I’d introduce myself, but I’m sure you already know who I am.” Whatever Xelef’s intent, Azad feels the urge to establish himself as an equal—or, at least, undermine Xelef’s composure to level the playing field. “Indeed,” Azad says after a pause, then points out: “You have ghoul pus on your tunic.” The tactic works even better than expected. “What?” Xelef startles, looking down at the purplish smear on his robes, recoiling when he sees it. “Oh no, no no no! Disgusting!” Azad watches with no small amount of bemusement as Xelef rips the straps of his leather armor pieces off his chest and then tears his tunic off his head, throwing it to the ground. “Did you really just remove your armor over that?” Azad remarks faintly, though his eyes dip down Xelef’s chest before he realizes what he’s doing. Glancing over the thick dark hair that trails from his chest to his stomach and past his bellybutton—until Xelef notices. “You’re welcome for the view,” he says, seeming to momentarily forget his disgust as he puts a hand on his hip. Azad quickly averts his eyes, scoffing. “What view? That of a mercenary squealing like a child over some pus?” To his amazement, Xelef bends down and picks up his leather armor, reattaching the pieces without his tunic. “Pardon me for valuing cleanliness,” Xelef huffs, and Azad notices a bit of dried purple liquid in his hair. He thinks it better not to mention, considering Xelef’s reaction, until Xelef says: “In any case, you’re also welcome for us doing your job. Don’t worry, in my magnanimous generosity, I won’t expect payment.” To the Void with that, then. “You also have pus in your hair,” Azad points out mercilessly, and Xelef’s eyes go wide with horror. “NO!” He turns to a masked mercenary nearby, gesturing at his head in panic. “Heval, water! WATER! NOW!” Azad can’t help himself, letting a laugh slip, and Xelef turns to him with indignation. “You think this is a joke?” Xelef yells. “My hair is ruined and you’re laughing! I could turn into a ghoul—” The masked mercenary, Heval, lets out a long-suffering sigh as they take a flask from their belt and approaches. “That’s not how that works, chief.”

For the romantic scenario, told from X's POV:

Xelara sighs, leaning forward to rest her chin thoughtlessly on Ashti’s shoulder from behind her. “I don’t think we’ll find your hidden compartment in here.” It’s a casual gesture that isn’t supposed to mean anything, beyond the indication for how comfortable Xelara feels around Ashti. She knows Ashti is slow to warm up to physical affection, but they’ve gotten to a point where an arm over the shoulder or a hug isn’t uncommon for them. She thought this would be received the same—but then she feels Ashti stiffen. She focuses, and hears Ashti’s heart starting to beat faster in her chest. Feels her body heat begin to rise. “Right,” Ashti speaks after a noticeable pause, fingers clenched around the closet door she’s holding onto. Xelara considers whether to pull away. She can sense that the touch is either making Ashti nervous, or excited, or both, judging from the way her body reacts. None of those possibilities necessarily indicate that it’s wanted. “Do you mind?” she asks quietly, and Ashti’s heart beat flutters. Xelara bites down on her lip in an attempt to suppress a smile; she simply can’t help it. Ashti is so adorable whenever she gets flustered. “No,” Ashti responds haltingly, even while her posture is tenser than stone. She clears her throat, attempting to brush over it. “I’m used to your clinginess by now.” “Really?” Xelara shuffles a little closer, her chin atop Ashti’s shoulder still the only point of contact, but she hears Ashti’s breath catch all the same. “So you won’t mind if I hug you like this?” Ashti’s heart starts to pound, her neck all but glowing heat against the side of Xelara’s face. “…No.” Xelara’s hands lift to grip Ashti’s waist, fingers lightly curling around either side. Ashti doesn’t move a single muscle. “Are you sure?”

#i'll probably also end up releasing the first one and a few more for the public in the future!! #ask #anonymous #a tale of crowns #azad/ashti #xelara/xelef #a/x #patreon

[onigirio]

Hi! I love ur workk!! :) Could i request percy x child of apollo where hyacinth flowers bloom where they walk and they can summon them? (Yknow, bcz of apollo)

🐝: TYSM! i really liked this concept but i feel like this may be too short...lmk if you want a part 2!

camp half blood was no stranger to miscellaneous flora. after all, it was a camp in a forest, so there was bound to be a lot of plant life. however, recently, percy noticed a drastic increase of a new kind of flower, especially around the apollo cabin.

normally, he would ignore these things since flowers weren't his forté (he left gardening to the demeter kids) but the way the flowers were popping up seemed...too intentional. they formed intricate pathways from cabin 7 to the dining pavilion, or to the shooting range. hades, they were even popping up during capture the flag games!

damn his curiosity, but when percy noticed a new path, how could he not follow it. it's like someone was leaving a trail of bread crumbs for him to follow. the flora went from cabin 7, to the big house, to the dining pavilion. sometimes he would get mixed up with the different paths, but keen ocean eyes noticed that the colours differed from day to day, and today they just so happened to be blue

of course they had to be blue.

it was like the gods were poking fun at him. now everyone was wondering why percy jackson was walking around camp with his eyes glued to the ground. as far as he knew, he was going to get duped. this seemed like the perfect set up for a youtube prank video. fortunately for him, that wasnt the case

the trail of blue flowers led up to the edge of the strawberry fields, and right at the fringes sat someone overlooking the fruit as they baked in the summer heat. percy didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned, because yay! he wasn't getting pelted by eggs or falling into a pit of snakes, but at the same time, he wasn't sure what exactly this meant.

before he could ask the mystery kid about it, they turned around and immediately started blushing and rambling about cleaning and distractions. the ocean eyed boy only caught something about a "stupid sun god" followed by a significant amount incoherent mumbling. when they finished, percy just looked at them with a confused expression and they sighed

"my bad, i thought you were coming to complain about the flowers" they said sheepishly.

percy could only smile, "no, I'm not here to complain I just- decided to follow the weird trail of blue flowers".

this caused them to laugh, a sound that clearly had the ability to make flowers bloom considering the reason he was there. it made his heart run laps in chest.

"they're hyacinths" they clarified, unable to hide their amusement with him, "they bloom wherever i walk, because apollo had a crush on this guy named hyacinthus or something. either way, it's not exactly the best combat ability" they said with a small laugh, and it seemed that today percy's heart decided to be a track star

"If it's any consolation, I think they're very pretty" he took a seat next them, sitting criss cross applesauce as they overlooked the strawberry fields

"thanks bubble brain"

percy quirked an eyebrow at the new nickname they had given him. usually he'd feel a little bit offended, but after seeing the smile on their face, he couldn't help but smile too.

"what? you're that poseidon kid right?"

percy laughed, "well, yeah. does that make you buttercup?"

"they're hyacinths, bubbles" they reminded him with a playful nudge, "and my name is (name), but buttercup is also accepted"

'note to self ' percy thought, 'stop and smell the hyacinths more often'

#pjo #hoo #rio writes 🐝 #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #asks! 🌼 #pjo headcanon

[catiuskaa]

My Atlantis [don’t go]

inspired by the songs “atlantis” by Seafret and “can I call you tonight?” by Dayglow.

because the combination chan + second chance + angsty prompts AND my recent ability to fall asleep only past 3am triggered something I didn't know I had in me, lol (I swear I am ok LMAOO)

word count: 3.9k

angst, second chance, good ending.

No matter how many times he had asked himself the past month, he never could come up with a reason for it.

“Chan, you ok?” Seungmin inquired, popping his head through the door. The eldest snapped out of his zoned-out state and smiled, starting to tease the younger in a sing-song voice.

“Aw, Seungminnie, you’re so cute!”

Since the comeback, the members had all been busy, and it was known by the other seven that despite the lack of sleep and rest, the many concerts and shows. If there was one of them that would never say anything about how fucked up he felt, it was Chan.

Chan wouldn’t complain about anything. He’d rather stay hidden, quiet, hoping to merge with the furniture in his room so he wouldn’t feel so tired anymore.

It wasn’t new for the others, and Chris always felt a speck of guilt trail up his spine when any of them came by his room, only to find him sunken in his computer, his headphones blasting music so loudly that there was no hope of calling for the Australian unless you poked him —or in Minho’s case, throwing anything remotely close to the target, like his slipper, usually passed the level— Chan would go into off mode.

What they didn’t know, however, is why. Because usually, he was just tired, but nowadays, there is another reason.

He often trailed off conversations, zoning out. He had always been like that, often related to his insomnia.

Only one member knew the existence of the other new reason.

You.

“Hey, I made brownies!” Felix shined, entering his fellow bandmate’s room.

Lix watched Chan munch on his baked goods for what felt like a lifetime.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, the corners of his mouth full of crumbs, like his bed.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Chan tsked, smiling weakly. He had fallen for it. “Never fucking mind. Can I get a hug?”

Felix held back his tears, approaching the elder in a tight embrace. Chan’s strong facade crumbled.

“You should go see her, Chan. I don’t care what you have to say about it, but whatever happened is breaking you apart. It’s been so long, anyways.”

Chan laughed, even though he sighed slightly heavier than usual, with a teary grin on his features.

“I still fucked up, mate, whether it’s one week or one year. I fucked up bad.” He stopped and swallowed dry, quickly brushing away the tears that threatened to fall. “I can’t just show up at her place.”

The younger brushed away a stray tear that ran down his cheek. “You either go there or let it eat you from the inside,” Felix spoke carefully. “And I won’t give you the second choice. If you don’t go with her, I’ll make the call. That is your choice.”

Even if he found himself walking to your apartment, unconsciously, he still couldn’t give an answer to the question that kept bugging his mind.

He listened to the sound the birds made despite it being so late. He moved slowly, almost wandering, until the door to your home surprised him. He felt a shiver run up and down his spine. You weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

God, he was so scared. What was he doing?

He cursed under his breath, cussing himself out, his stupidness, his acts. He started crying without realising.

What else, if not him being an idiot, would explain why he had lost you?

“Chris?”

No one except you said his name in a way that felt so different, so special.

“…Is everything ok?”

He turned around to face you. He felt the tears run down his cheeks, ending on his lips, tasting the salty drops.

“Darling…” He mentioned, his tone anxious, his breathing erratic.

He woke up in a cold sweat. Again, the dream kept repeating, with that detail that always hurt him like the first time. He couldn’t approach you, or he’d wake up, yet he still tried, walking towards you just to open his eyes to face his room’s ceiling.

That was why he couldn’t sleep.

He felt like he deserved it, so he didn’t say anything and decided to put up a fake smile, hoping that one day he’d wake up, either having hugged you or not having that same dream again.

He fell again for you, more profound than he thought possible, and he knew it because just the thought of you pulling him into an embrace felt even better than all the kisses you two had shared. And then it hit him, the answer to his question, one he suddenly despised more than anything.

Why did he let you go?

At first, it was an easy answer. He couldn’t save you from himself, from what surrounded him. He could never take back the things he had said that dreadful night a month ago, when he had lied to you just because he was afraid, afraid of love, terrified of the feelings he had developed for you, and so, so scared that you would get hurt because of him. It wasn’t fair for you, even if he meant entirely the opposite and had just realised how deeply he had fallen for you.

Because in a twist of events, his mind, his days, his songs, everything screamed your name, like a chant you wouldn’t- you couldn’t forget.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” he cried, clinging to his pillow.

Changbin stared wide-eyed at Felix, both able to hear what was happening behind the door between them.

“You call her, or do I?” Bin sighed.

Felix’s eyes almost snapped out of place.

“Since when do you-?”

“C’mon, everyone here knows. He’s so fucking obvious, sighing all day long. It’s going to make him age faster.” Changbin somewhat mocked in a solemn tone. “So?” He shook his phone sideways.

“S’fine. I’m on it.”

Changbin then entered the room, startling Chan, who, after seeing the troublesome look in his friend’s eyes, quickly approached him, leaning on the crook of his neck. The rapper patted his back.

“Why does it ache so much?” Chan questioned weakly, feeling stupid. “I know the fucking dream by heart. How often do I have to see it again until it doesn’t hurt?”

“Because you care, Chan. It’ll hurt.”

“For how long?” He sounded in so much pain.

At this, Changbin sighed sadly.

“As long as you love her.”

[☆ ☆ ✧ ☆ ☆]

When Chris went to open the door days later, he expected anyone behind it. Maybe it was Felix with more brownies, perhaps Changbin wanted to force him out of bed to go to the gym, or Jeongin needed his computer password again.

What he didn’t expect, however, was your figure on the other side, looking even prettier than any of the dreams he had about you.

You took a deep breath, but before you could say anything, he slammed the door, closing it. You could hear him leaning on it, sliding to the floor.

“Fuck, angel,” you cursed.

Angel. The nickname felt like a punch in the face, but he couldn’t help but want another one.

Instead of leaving, you leaned on the door, technically back to back if it weren’t for the wooden structure.

“Felix called me,” you started carefully, head directed towards the door. “Wanna talk about why? He didn’t say.”

Chan remained silent, feeling troubled because, on one side, seeing you could be his downfall, still fuck did he want to let go so much.

But he couldn’t. He had said it himself, year after year, hearing it too many times so that he had it tattoed on his mind. Why were you still behind that door?

Your sad laugh broke him into even more pieces.

“I fell in love, Chan,” you started, staring at the ceiling. “I fell in love with a man so selfless who would die for his loved ones, a man so integrally beautiful that he had no reason to hide his scars because even his battles were gorgeous.” You quickly rubbed your eyes, feeling them itchy as you held back tears. “And I didn’t do it knowing that it would be hard. I just...”

The corridor remained silent as much as the door stayed locked, the man behind it feeling like a small child who needed a big hug.

You gasped for air, your chest tightening, for your need to crumble, cry, and fall.

“Even if I didn’t know back then the crazy fans I’d have to face, or any of Dispatch’s cameramen, I…” Your tearful smile fainted a bit, your features as serious as you were about your feelings.

“I promised myself that if I was right, and you loved me as much as I know I love you, I’d fight for you.”

You unknowingly cried with him, knowing that no one, not even him, could save you from falling as intensely as possible and even more.

He had tried to protect you, save you, keeping you at a safe distance because he didn’t want to hurt you, but God, did it hurt being away from you. He was missing you, even when you were right by his side.

“I believe I did my fucking best, angel. I know you have feelings that make you think you’re the one to blame for what happened, and that makes you just want to give up, and I get it, Chan. That’s not your fault. But when I got hurt because of the accident, it wasn’t your fault either,” you sniffed, looking at the bandage that still covered your forearm, the ankle support you were wearing also crossed your mind.

“Why… why don’t you let me love you?”

You waited patiently, turning so silently that you could swear you heard his unsteady breathing.

“…you said it.”

Your heart skipped a beat when you heard his voice toned down as if he was hiding his face in between his legs.

“I said it wasn’t easy, angel, but that doesn’t mean that I am not willing to try. Don’t think for a second that means I’m giving up on you.”

You sighed, looking at the cloudy day through the window before you.

“Even knowing what I know now, I’d do it again, my angel.”

The silence threatened to break your heart, but you chose to keep fighting against it. You weren’t going to give up. Not yet.

You could still fight for him. Yeah. You could.

“I’m going to leave my sweater here.” You mentioned in a low tone of voice, your features showed calm before the storm. “After I leave, I’ll call and ask for it, and you’ll say that you can stop by my place tomorrow.”

He looked behind him as if he could see through the door. A small and sad smile was planted on his features as he couldn’t help but think your ideas were still as cute as he remembered them. You rose from the door with a grunt, your eyes red and teary, glued to the floor.

“You were always worth every fucking ounce of my effort, Chris, don’t you ever forget that.” 

In a sudden motion, you turned to face the door, startling him when you aggressively grabbed the doorknob, making it tremble, even though you never opened it.

“If… if you choose to just keep the sweater and call it a day,” you gasped, tears running down your cheeks silently. “I need you to know that I never believed what you said that night and… that I love you, angel.”

[☆ ☆ ✧ ☆ ☆]

That night. The night.

The night where he had fucked up so badly.

His mind was a fucking mess, thoughts of you reeling in every minute. Your voice through the door, through the phone when you called asking for your oversized sweater —the same one he was wearing at the moment—.

The memory replayed itself, like how those we want to forget but keep haunting you, coming back.

A month ago, he had gotten a call from the hospital and had 100% freaked out. You mentioned you were fine, that it had just been an accident, but the man decided to rush to you regardless.

“Chris?” You noticed him tense up when you saw him enter your hospital room, his expression clouded with worry.

“Darling, what...? W-what happened?” His lips trembled, eyes wandering to the cast on your left leg and the bandage that trailed your right forearm.

“You should’ve seen the others,” you teased but sighed. “I need you to sit and calm down for a second, love,” you started.

The nickname made him hold back shivers because deep down he knew that if you didn’t call him ‘angel’ it was because something was wrong. He sat on the closest chair he could pick, moving it as if it weighed nothing, and turned to face you as fast as he could.

“I was surrounded by some sasaengs and cameramen. I’ve been for the past week. I never mentioned it to you because there’s no damn way you can do anything about it, and I don’t want to get between you and your job. It’s not my world, and besides, I can tolerate pictures or getting recognized, but, this time...” You took his hand into yours, his glare dull and worried, but you weren’t planning to lie to him after this, so you continued. “The cameramen surrounded me, and that attracted a group of girls. One of them threw coffee at me. Others felt brave enough to start screaming at me, explaining why my relationship was fake and that Chan, well, you, didn’t really love me.” You let out a snicker, but the smile didn’t reach your eyes.

Chris’ mind was working at full speed, immediately blaming himself for not knowing, for not noticing, for not doing anything else rather than what the company told him to do when netizens found out about your existence.

Deny, deny and deny. He lied his way through, but as the events were showing, it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

He wasn’t enough.

You stroked his face lightly, waking him up.

“I’m okay, angel. I just happened to trip and fall in the wrong place and at the wrong time, and they didn’t care too much about me.” You smiled, sparing him the tale about how the girls started hitting you and throwing stuff at you, the cameramen stepping on you, either accidentally or on purpose. Chan’s eyes got teary when your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

You were in pain, in a hospital, just because of him? That felt… wrong. He loved you, so, so much. He needed to protect you, not just ignore the problem until it solved itself, even if he never knew what was happening in the first place. Guilt started spreading inside him, his chest tightening and his breathing speeding up in anxiety.

And that’s when he started thinking about the alleged master key that would end up being his fatal flaw.

That same night the doctors allowed you to go back home and told you to be careful and to take care of yourself. Chan had helped you, letting you use him for extra support on your way up to your apartment.

You melted on the sofa once you arrived, but you felt it in the tension that kept buzzing around you and your restless lover. You hesitated for a moment, but you could notice something was bugging him.

“Chan?”

He stopped in his tracks, but weirdly, he never turned to face you.

“…Is everything ok?”

You saw his posture tensing, turning to something bewilderingly defensive.

“No. Nothing is.” He breathed slowly, his insides trembling, his heart screaming in his head, telling him to stop talking.

You pouted, confused. “What are you-?”

“Can’t you see it?” His tone was aggressive.

Shut up.

“This isn’t going to work.” His posture was uneasy, he still didn’t- couldn’t look at you.

Shut up.

“Whatever we had isn’t worth this shit.”

God, Christopher, shut the fuck up.

Your lips trembled. ‘Whatever we had’? Shit. You felt sore, and you still smelled the coffee that girl had thrown at you. No. It wasn’t possible.

“I don’t believe you.”

Chan’s chest ached.

“Well, this is what’s happening. Believe it or not.” He turned restless again, still not daring to look at you, picking up the few things he had left in your apartment the past months. His hands trembled, his facade struggling to remain believable.

“Chan, wait.”

He quivered.

“Let’s talk about this. What’s wrong?”

“Everything is!”

“There’s no reason for us to end.”

He scoffed, his throat almost hurting.

“You’re clearly blind.”

“Did I do something wrong? We were fine yesterday. We’re ok, we-”

His hand gripped the doorknob as if it was going to wake him up from this nightmare. But this was real life, and he had to do it. For you.

Because that made sense.

What a fucking idiot.

“We’re far from ok.”

“Chan, please-“

“Nothing you can say will make me stay.” He said almost in a whisper, afraid that his voice would crack if he spoke too loudly.

Despite the advice you had received from the doctors, you lightly skipped your way to him, placing a hand on his forearm, your lips close to his ears. His breath hitched, and even if it was because that small contact was breaking him to pieces, you weren’t going to know anytime soon.

He had to leave now. Before the regret turned stronger.

“Chan.” You swallowed hard, your heart shattering to pieces. “If I can’t make you stay… just know I won’t leave. You know where I’ll be.” You stared at your hand as you slowly let go of him. You wanted to hug him, beg him to stay so bad. You wished to wake up from this nightmare soon.

Instead, you did what you thought was right.

“You have the choice, angel. Just… don’t be too late.”

God, he regretted every single part of it.

[☆ ☆ ✧ ☆ ☆]

“Chan, what the fuck.”

Felix felt that sort of anger you could only achieve when being an empath. The ability to feel and comprehend his mate’s feelings allowed him to feel twice the anger when he wouldn’t just choose what was right from what was slightly easier.

“Hey, we said no judgement.” He sniffed, half of his face buried below the neck of your sweater.

It smelled like you.

Felix wanted to hit him. In the face. With a brick. Instead, he contented himself with one of Chris’ pillows.

“You.” hit “are.” hit “so.” hit “stupid!”

“Well, that shit ain’t new.” He mumbled, snatching the pillow away and laying on it.

“You are unbearable.” Lix hissed, much like a kitten would. “Go back to her once and for all, for fuck’s sake. I’m sure she’s been waiting for you all day.”

“I can’t.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“I’m not ready to fight it.”

“I don’t think you have a chance, at this point.”

“It’s whatever, Lix.”

“SHE- Ugh.” The rage the blonde was feeling felt surreal, his hands aggressively pulling his hair. “She came here to give you an ultimatum, Chan! You absolute buffoon, she’ll think you don’t love her!”

“That’s not-!”

“Then why are you not leaving?!”

“Maybe that’s what’s best for her?!”

“Oh, so now it’s about her?!”

“IT’S ALWAYS BEEN!”

“SO LET HER CHOOSE!”

Silence filled up the room.

“Let her choose if she wants you or not.”

“And let her end up injured again?”

Felix took a deep breath, trying to calm down —and failing—.

“We both know that those kinds of accidents are not that likely to happen.”

“But it did-“

“Shut up.” Felix’s stare could kill any living being within a 3-meter radius. “The 3-year dating ban is over. You can talk to the fans and to JYP about this shit.”

“Still-“

“Nuh-uh. You can make it work, this ain’t some Romeo and Juliet impossible love bullshit or whatever the fuck you’re thinking.” Felix got closer to Chan, his stance still confrontational.

“Never, ever use the ‘I’m doing it for her’ excuse again. Life isn’t some fucked up song where you let go people because you love them, Chris.”

Before he stormed out of the elder’s room, he threw clean clothes at him.

“Get your shit together, go get her, and I’ll think about making more brownies for you, you absolute fucking dummy.”

[☆ ☆ ✧ ☆ ☆]

The door in front of him looked exactly the same as how he had left it. The bell sounded the same.

But you, you looked different.

Maybe it was because he felt so touch-starved that you kept glowing around him. You looked ethereal, so much that he was scared to touch you, scared that he’d wake up in his bed again.

“Does this mean you’re keeping it?”

He stared down. He was still wearing your sweater.

You smiled slightly. “It looks better on you anyways.”

He entered your apartment, and you stood behind him.

“Is there anything you’d like to say before?”

He turned around at you, your heart racing.

“Before what?”

“Before I choose to do something else instead of talking things first,” you mentioned, your gaze moving from his eyes and his lips.

He gulped, seeing you getting closer and closer.

“I…”

You took his arms and settled them on your waist, locking yours behind his neck.

“If we’re going to argue, we’re going to do it like this,” you said in a whisper. The light smell of his cologne surrounded you faster than you expected, and you loved it.

His eyes grew big in surprise. Quickly, his hands tightened his grip on your waist, moving them to your face in a sudden action.

“You’re… here.”

The weak tone he used made your insides churn.

“Chan…”

“Mmhm?”

Your hands travelled to his chest, slightly creating distance.

“Please stop before I kiss you,” you whispered. “If I do, I don’t think I could-“

He gave you a small peck, interrupting you. He giggled softly as your expression turned into a surprised one.

He hid his face in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling you.

“You look so pretty right now.”

You gasped, hearing his laugh.

“Don’t change the subject, mister!”

You both stood there, hugging each other, feeling like the nightmare was finally over. But Chan still had something to do.

“You don’t deserve what I put you through.”

Your hands caressed his back.

“That’s the excuse?”

“In my defence…”

“I’m listening.”

Chan dived even deeper in the crook of your neck, feeling content just by being in your arms.

“I forgot the excuse. I’m just sorry. I can’t even say it without feeling like a dick. I know it doesn’t make up for what I said or did. I couldn’t even look at you that day because I just wanted to stay with you, but I felt so bad. I love you so much I can’t stand it. I thought that maybe if I left… maybe I could save you.” His embrace tightened.

God, he missed you so much.

“I wasn't sure how much longer I could have taken this..." he said in a huff.

“I know I couldn’t, and your stupid ass wouldn’t do anything about it.”

He took your face in between his hands, his eyes red.

“I told you there was no reason for us to end, dipshit.” You whispered, laughing as you kept on crying, your hands travelling up to his. “We’ll make it work.”

He stroked your hair with one hand, sighing.

“I’m so happy you’re here.”

You couldn’t help but let out a smile, giving him another peck.

“…of course I’m here, idiot. I never left.”

~Kats, who you’ll most likely never see reading angst bc she’s a weak loser, yet here she is, stopping mid-writing cause she couldn’t see past her tears 🕳️👩‍🦯

ps: i wanted to mention @writer-in-the-dark-prompts bc i used some prompts from them and i think it’s a really cool blog!

#stray kids x reader #angst #stray kids angst #skz imagines #stray kids imagine #stray kids fanfic #bang chan #skz bang chan #chris bang #stray kids scenarios #skz #stray kids #stray kids felix #bangchan x reader #bangchan x you #skz scenarios #skz stray kids

[amethyst-silk]

This is so dirty but i literally am going crazy thinking ab it. Pleasee can you write one where fem reader is at Peters house and things are getting spicy but she gets a call from her dad so she answers (but in this scenario Peters a bad boy and her dad doesnt like her hanging out him) and Peter can hear her dad warning her ab him so he like eats her out or something spicy while she’s on the phone so she cant make any noises or anything. Ahhhh im so sorry this is filthy 😳🫣🥴

i’ve been gone for so long i feel so bad :( will i get back into this blog more frequently? who knows, but here are some crumbs

- peter kinda loves the fact that your dad can’t stand him

- he thinks he’s winning, in a sense

- and every chance he gets he’s reminding your dad that you chose him

- it’s never anything super in his face, but the subtle things

- an arm around you when he’s over for a holiday, his hand on your thigh when you’re out for dinner, the jewellery from him you wear

- he sees it like he’s scoring in a sports match

- while he’ll do most anything to piss off your dad, he had one rule

- he would never talk to your father about the intimate moments shared between you

- he felt like without this then it was like you were just a prize to be won, which was not the case

- peter parker was in love with you. simply obsessed. infatuated. you were his world

- it was no suprise to you that peter was a very generous lover

- he always made sure that you were satisfied before he even thought about himself

- this made teasing you a whole lot more fun for him

- he loved to take his time with you, hearing you beg and whimper for him

- while he was skilled with his fingers, he was merciless with his tongue

- he'd have you shaking within a few seconds, and he'd keep coming back for more

- peter was normally quite devious in bed, but when you had gotten a phone call from your dad during the middle of an intimate moment, peter was practically the devil

- your underwear was off by this point, as well as his shirt

- you told peter that you needed to take the call because your father told you there was something important you needed to discuss

- peter told you that it could wait, but you insisted you take the call

- peter left the room with no fuss, you assumed to give you some quiet

- not 45 seconds later, he returned with something in his hands

- ropes

- peter parker had brought two ropes into your bedroom while you were on a call with your dad

- you figured that he was doing it to tease you and give you shit for interrupting the two of you

- you were wrong

- as soon as he reached the bed, he began to work on tying each of your ankles to the bottom of your bedpost, spread your legs

- heat immediately rushed to your abdomen at the action, and you started to stammer your words on the phone

- peter smirked to himself and took off his pants, now fully naked

- he walked around to your nightstand at the side of your bed, overhearing your dad talking about something trivial

- he reached in your drawer and pulled out a small plastic bottle

- of lube

- peter parker just grabbed lube out of your bedside drawer while you were on the phone with your father and your underwear was nowhere in sight

- it became harder and harder to keep up the conversation while you became aroused at peters every move

- peter took the small bottle and poured a good amount on his chest

- this confused you, resulting in you spacing out from your call completely, only to have your dad bring you back a couple of seconds later

- why did he just put lube on his chest

- it was only after that you would understand why

- peter set the lube on your night stand and watched it slowly run down to his stomach, then pelvis

- he started to rub the lube down, starting up at his chest, following the trail of lube sensually down his body until he had enough on his cock to start pumping it with his fist

- the action had you speechless, your mouth was agape

- that was single-handedly the sexiest thing that you had ever witness and you couldn’t even react to it properly because you were still on the phone with your father

- you could no longer comprehend any thought that came to mind that pertained to your phone call

- all you could think about was peter stroking himself i front of you

- you began to tune everything out, starting with your dad on the other line

- you contributed to watch peter, mesmerized and he continued his relentless work on his cock

- you could tel that he was getting close, so you started to try and wrap the call up with your dad

- if anyone was gonna make peter come, it was gonna be you

- as you began with your “well it was nice talking to you” and “we should grab lunch sometime,” peter caught you off guard

- you didn’t know how he could get even sexier, but he managed to do so

- peter groaned loud enough for just you to hear as he came all over your chest, milking everything he had onto your skin

- once everything was out, he rubbed the tip in his cum, spreading it around

- a very audible moan escaped from your mouth

- your cheeks reddened instantly as you rushed to hang up on your dad

- “alright good talk thank you dad i’ll see you sometime love you bye”

- as soon as you hung up the phone, peters hand was immediately around your neck

- there was no pressure, but he liked the authority he had as his hand acted as a necklace

- “i didn’t say to hang up”

- you were shocked. what the fuck

- “but i. you just came all over me, you expect me to not hang up?”

- he removed his hand from your neck and stopped rubbing himself on your chest

- “call him back”

- “what?!”

- “i said, call him back. or else i’ll stop”

- you didn’t really know what he was doing, but you knew you didn’t want him to stop so you listens to peter and called your dad back

- he seemed confused that you would be willing to talk again after hanging up so abruptly, but he continued the conversation like there wasn’t a single beat that skipped

- what felt like forever passed while your dad talked your ear off

- you were practically shivering with anticipation the whole time, waiting for peter to do something

- eventually, you had become more focused on your conversation than with peter, trying to ignore the dull ache in your core

- suddenly you felt a finger gently graze your unclothed slit

- it took everything in you not to let out a moan, even at the light touch

- peter had a dark grin on his face, he extracted the exact reaction he wanted out of you

- and that’s what he did for the next 30 minutes you were on call with your father

- the teasing was relentless, almost unbearable

- peter had you dripping on the bedsheets

- your legs were sore from trying to fight against the restraints and you struggled to keep them from shaking

- after that, to your relief, peter finally told you to end the call with your dad

- just as you started to say goodbye, peters tongue gently entered you, and you tried your best to hold back another moan

- he continued licking, toying with your clit every once in a while, and you found it almost impossible to form a coherent thought

- the most you could make out was a “bye” before you pressed the button to end the call with your dad

- “if you thought that call was long, just wait for what i’m about to do to you now”

- you were in for a long night

#andrew garfield #spiderman #asks #peter parker #asks open #spider man smut #peter parker smut #andrew garfield smut #tom holland #tom holland smut

[jeeaark]

Honestly, your comics about the Emperor have really helped me parse my own complicated feelings about him. Because like, it's not as if I didn't want to trust him and find that good in him. There were times when I felt like I could see it. But as I played more, I just felt like that trust wasn't truly reciprocated.

Anyway, apologies for the rambling. Your art and comics are awesome, and Greygold is great.

I've been trying to think how to respond to this because I can RELATE but in a - beyond constructively sophisticated sounding words- way huar.

Because without -ANY- kind of hindsight, Zip Zilch NADA, this game is really REALLY good (OH SO GOOD) at portraying the Emperor as a very complicated and extremely-hard-to-trust character.

You are absolutely valid in feeling conflicted and confused with all the uncertain-in-between inner conflicts for this dingus of a squid.

Unlike Greygold, I, too, was absolutely struggling to find some form of strong evidence, validation, reassurance, SOMETHING FOOL-PROOF, to fully trust this illithid during the entire playthrough.

If it weren't for the bloodhound hunting need to find all that is lore in this game, BOY WOULD IT HAVE ALMOST BEEN NEAR IMPOSSIBLE TO TRUST THIS SQUID AT ALL for me. Those lil sneaky paper trail crumbs of 'emps just doing it's best' are what gave me enough hope to trust in spite of the overwhelming counter-lore, doubts, and Emps' terrible tact continuously just NOT HELPING IT'S CASE.

but Trust. Trust is, I suppose, the key theme for this squid. Classic 'ultimately down to your core values on what you would do with the most trust-issue-y morally grey squid to ever squid this damn squid game'.

Or as friggin' Withers likes to say: What is the value of one life to you? (friggin' Withers, man)

#BUT AYE YOU'RE VALID AND RAMBLINGS ARE APPRECIATED AND ENJOYED AND I AM ALWAYS HUMBLED TO BE GIVEN THE CHANCE TO LISTEN TO THEM #I JUST WISH I COULD GIVE BETTER SOUNDING WISDOM OR VALIDATION BACK AHA #ANYWAY I'm glad you like the comics and greygold and I wish you best of luck with the squid-dingus YOU ARE TOO KIND #There truly was no easy obvious comforting answer to know if the emperor was chill or not. #sometimes forging friendships takes more than managing approval and disapproval #Sometimes you're gonna have to stubbornly fight tooth and nail and flip every last furniture to fortify that friendship #SOMETIMES YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO BUILD THE ENTIRE BRIDGE YOURSELF INSTEAD OF MEETING HALF WAY WITH SOME DINGUS FRIENDSHIPS #IF YOU REALLY BELIEVE THEY'RE WORTH IT

[alaska-mii]

ᴅᴇᴄᴋ ᴏғ ᴄᴀʀᴅs | ɪʟ ᴅᴏᴛᴛᴏʀᴇ sᴇɢᴍᴇɴᴛs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

〖 . . . 〗ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ dottore creates a carbon copy of himself in every stage of his growth that he undertakes. to address the elephant in the room — your reputation amongst the segments is, to be blunt, quite the lunchtime dispute.

〖 ᴀ/ɴ 〗more of a character study per say, than an interaction between reader and segment squad.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: heavy descriptions of gore, obssesive behavior, pet names

〖 Ⅱ 〗ɪʟ ᴅᴏᴛᴛᴏʀᴇ sᴇɢᴍᴇɴᴛ: ᴋᴀᴘᴘᴀ

bearing quite the zealous streak, the verdant scholarly robes you often spot cascading behind him as he scrambles to and fro between endeavors betrays the years he had spent in the field during his legal reign of research.

absurd as it seems, kappa's prone to donning his heart on his sleeve, evidenced by the fawning, nigh tenderhearted nature he moulds over the blasphemy of his character rooted in each segment for your sake. and whether it be tainting the nonchalance of his genius or, in the scholar's case, festering beneath his bygone clean record, you reap the benefits of the devotion you've sowed.

despite the reputation he had garnered as the resident goody two shoes, a notion that even the others seem to gloss over as a half-baked jest, you've barely dug into the details of the open book you once pegged kappa to be. peering into the carmine eyes above the flush that dusted his cheeks if he happened to so much as glance at you — a cast to his palor you had once upon a time pinned the blame of to a candid crush, during the youth you had spent as a student yourself — they beheld such raw infatuation and frenzy in the razored grin below. both served as a wretched reminder of the doctor's sheer lunacy, buried beneath the cloak of a young, foolhardy scholar.

the scholar — though he sports the crammed role of the errand boy, bossed around and treated like another meager masked fatui agent — always seems to knit together occasions to gift you near heart attacks whenever he stumbles upon you as he flocks haphazardly throughout the palace, moments that he, of course, takes guilty delight in. the shock that bolts through you when he pinches you into an embrace from behind never ceases to send your composure into haywire, a secret the cheeky bastard devours.

you beam at the pitter-patter of steps echoing throughout the brittle corridors. it is always a delicacy to see a crumb of energy against such drabness within these halls, but kappa's stifling zest is a flavor you'd prefer not to taste.

as the rhythm of tapping trails away, you mark the coast as clear. alas, when you bite back a shriek as arms slink around your waist — much to his jovial laughter — you had ventured far into the den of the vulture's playground.

he chuckles breezily, nuzzling further into the racing thrum at your neck without shame. giddiness seeps from him in waves, "you'll have to forgive me, love,"

he squeezes you against him once more, lapping up the morsel of your choked rasps, before untangling the grasp he snaked around you. he stows those hands behind a cape of silk as if to conceal their breaching acts moments before.

the scholar flashes a serrated smile, ear to ear, "the feast you made yourself to be was an invitation far too appetizing to ignore."

〖 Ⅱ 〗ɪʟ ᴅᴏᴛᴛᴏʀᴇ sᴇɢᴍᴇɴᴛ: ᴅᴇʟᴛᴀ

the rogue has a penchant for brandishing the cold shoulder towards you, evidently due to the fresh memory of the rejection sustained from his homeland that seared into the soles of each gloomy traipse he treaded. no matter the hours you spend interrogating delta between the mounds of research — really piles of clutter atop his equipment — he entombs himself in, your pyring inquiries always seem to be greeted by blunt hums and the dreary rustle of a shrug. the vague responses you manage to wring from him are victories you savour.

in moments of weakness, after an onslaught of questions — fueled only by the desire to fathom such detatchment encapsulated within each twitch of his person — are thwarted by matching stubbornness, the urge to cleave his head from the column of his neck and chop at his candy blue curls if only to peak at the dense fog that clouded him so often entices you. the utter gloom he stokes is painted boldly on your poise, yet unbeknownst to you, the rogue's macabre thoughts mirror yours precisely, merely concealing it behind his bleak demeanor.

delta mulls it over when the muse strikes him. one time, he had halted when his gloves were soaked in gore to the elbows, gaze gliding over to your fidgeting. today, the droning sentence that had caught his attention, a murmur you sandwiched in yet another ramble: to prompt you into abandoning him would be yearning to peel a parasite from its host. a ludicrous — yet somehow touching — sentiment.

the rogue truly does ponder about it, balancing the options upon a scale chained by the hours you spun yarns of storybook tales and mundane chores throughout your days. you color him puzzled, weaving such a labyrinth between him and the coherent course of choice. the fleeting deranged idea plagues him though, tugs at him to wonder if you really are a species of nonhuman that initiates conversation to harvest some form of energy from him.

a mellow snore drags him from his sulking — ah, it seemed you've cruised into a drowse yourself. gingerly draped across a surface swept from rather noteworthy gadgets and documents, you nestled your chin into tucked sleeves. that particular tangled thread of thoughts is for another day.

the chair scratches along the ground as he unfurls from his seat. he ambles towards your slumber, focus latched onto you.

delta looms above you, reaching a languid hand to the crown of your head. how he yearns, yet he reigns his own talons in, collecting himself. then, as he observes you stir from your doze, it happens upon him like a whip.

your glossy, sleep ridden eyes meet his.

he wouldn't be bothered — he thinks as a tender, questioning, sleepy keen escaped those lips—were you a leech feasting upon his blood. so long as you needed a part of him to breathe.

〖 Ⅱ 〗ɪʟ ᴅᴏᴛᴛᴏʀᴇ sᴇɢᴍᴇɴᴛ: ᴏᴍᴇɢᴀ

omega's been favouring a curious hobby, as you've gauged as of late, which was his habit of dangling bait before you, humoring in your battle against the hook, and after he tugs you out of your element, judging if you'll squirm or yield as the gambler gobbles you up.

not a sole segment of ghastly skin tattered with scarred ingravings of past experiments, adorned with pale blue locks draping across sharp pristine wardrobe, coupled with those eyes granting only a shred of the endowment packed into his mind scratched beneath your skin more than that damned gambler.

an odd monicker, yet not without background — since it had always been a routine matter of chance with him. whether you had unlucky dealings with the others and if he was feeling rather malicious when he encounters you, or whether he'd notice the bounce in your step as his mood was bizarrely indulgent for once. each jest he sends is designed to coax an answer, not to dictate any of the perturbed backlash you let slip through the crevices of the etiquette you sculpted into your behavior.

and in exchange for obediently playing along with this game of his, you craft a mock of your own — the high and mighty gambler.

the morbid satisfaction that racks through you whenever you bear witness to the smugness draining from him is a trophy like no other. you know he loaths it as the harbinger bestowed with the second seat is infamous for his schemes founded upon logic harvested from centuries worth of shrewdness beneath his belt. only then does he clench his mouth shut, refusing to hand his pride to you on a silver platter without a fight.

how you both entertain yourselves by spewing barbed quips to one another is beyond even you. omega does seem to find amusement in your ruffled feathers, however. such a stark unlikeness to the spineless skirmishers who quiver at the offer of his honeyed venom.

you hear the rhythm of his clacking footfall only due to his current indulgence, you know he'd leave no hint of his incoming presence otherwise. the gaze boring onto your back bothers you too much to ignore. even through that beaked mask of his.

he notices the brake in your hastened stride. to tempt his dormant pestering tendancies would not be wise.

"going somewhere?" he drawls, moseying into place beside you. before you could respond, he drones on, "perhaps a stroll outside the palace would do you well. you cage yourself inside these walls so often that i've been meaning to ask the last time you've seen the sun."

the lure beckons you to throw another jab back. although, one-sided banter is one of the more pleasant things you'll encounter in his company. you hum instead, "but i've heard the weather tonight is the least bit inviting. besides," — an olive branch — "won't you join me either way?"

the question hangs heavy in the static air between the pair of you. you wonder if you should've held your tongue.

then, omega haughtily scoffs, "break away from the delusion you've fooled yourself into believing. you are not entitled to my presence."

he nears you, then. arms clad in moonlit silver tucked behind his back, a soft glow emitting from the liquid encapsulated in his glass earring, the sharpness of antiseptic and iron and the faintest, fleeting whisper of a floral aroma, all just swallowing you whole.

"however," he tilts his head, breath fanning at your cheek, the sharpened tip of his crow's mask a hairsbreadth away, "make no mistake, darling. the time i spend with you this evening is of my own free will."

he resumes his amiable snail's pace stroll, leading the trek to nowhere in particular, leaving you to scramble behind him.

〖 Ⅱ 〗ɪʟ ᴅᴏᴛᴛᴏʀᴇ sᴇɢᴍᴇɴᴛ: ᴇᴘsɪʟᴏɴ

if the bandwagon of torture was a worshipped diety, epsilon had taken it upon himself to employ his torment upon you as a sacred custom.

despite the frequent visits he suffocates you with, abiding by the disheveled schedule he had demanded you to heed, panic creeps into you whenever his mood sours at the farthest thing from you. few and far in between, the poor outcome of an experiment — a glass chamber had broked beneath the rampage of his hand, you had quivered quietly as you watched — other times yet often enough, the errors of his assigned researchers — there had been a bloodbath when he finished, you faintly smell the tang of copper clinging to you still — or, heaven forbid, a fault of your own.

the trecherous memory haunts you, a ghost forever paralyzed in sweltering agony and numbing horror clutching at your heels, never to forgotten and submerged from your mind. he remembers, too. yet it is an unspoken rule amongst you that both butcher and carcass would play pretend, unless you choose to relive the nightmare of a cleaver's blade.

ah, but that vexes him too. he doesn't wish for a corpse to be his everyday companion, rather, he urges you to sew together a semblance of an ordinary bond shared between a pair of animated lovers: to be a taxidermied toy, stitches and staples and a ploy at being alive. his scholarly days had been the target of his unadulterated disgust for ages, and he was not about to alter such inner resolve within him over a silly fantasy, but perhaps.

perhaps, a lifetime ago, he could have graduated from that wretched hellhole with his hand intertwined in yours, looping through one another in matrimony. perhaps you could have travled the lands together, never quite quenching your hunger for the unknown, never settling as wanderlust tainted the both of you. how charming — you would be the only home that daren't chase him away with pitchforks and torches. he hates that such enchanting dreams will always be a distant fairytale.

yet in a cruel twist of heart, epsilon does find solace in having you within arm's reach, ready to be beckoned at a moment's notice. he had been stripped of his prestige, now forced to operate within inky shadows — should there be a single aspect of his former life that would never escape his grasp, it would be his lover. the only one who could hold him wholly within the palms of your hands.

it's that truth that drives each word lashed towards you, every vice grip he latches onto you. he wouldn't part from you if death came to seize his soul, yet how effortlessly you could just let go unnerves him to his bones. surely you of all crowds would understand this overbearing character he acts behind — no doubt, you would read between the lines of the scripts he spouts.

no matter if epsilon gets lost within the scenes, melds with the butcher who lusts after the wounds he tears and stitches back together upon your flesh. nevermind if he feels a twinge of glee whenever tears are shed from eyes squinted with pain. you would be the needle of his haystack audience, always meant to throw yourself into a standing ovation at the end of his preformance. always meant to tell the butcher from the knife he wields.

splatter paints him another coat of skin.

he stares, the smothered trembles on your figure are earthouakes to him. eyes flickering to the puddle oozing from the crack of the door, to the mangled bodies that lay mauled behind it, anywhere but his own that fixes on the grimace crinkling your face.

shattering the moment frozen in the dead of the evening, he dares a step forward.

he stops before you — a bundle of nerves packaged by the stun of his scrutiny — and peels his soiled gloves from his hands. sprinkling dots of blood on your cheek.

he tosses the pair at your feet, you startle with a hitch of your breath. he catches your jaw, and at last, you timidly peak at his towering form above. you thought you would perhaps glimpse a note of the mayhem that plagues him, yet you only find a sickeningly soft glint glossing his twin crimsons.

epsilon kneels like a knight in a pool of dribbling blood. he presses his forehead to yours, chanting your name a prayer, "be not afraid, my dearest. so long as you stay by my side," he signs, hysteria bleeding into his voice, "i won't lay a hand on you."

a lie, stemming from the desperate need for stability, an offer to a fake haven that wouldn't crumble into the depths of the evening. you know the invitation is merely another slight of hand biding time for the other to lash out, for the other shoe to drop.

yet you can't help but take the bold-faced lie with greedy hands.

〖 ᴀ/ɴ 〗disclaimer, delta and kappa are my own. had a blast writing this, so please leave a note below!

#dottore x reader #dottore x gender neutral reader #yandere genshin imapact #yandere dottore #yandere il dottore #il dottore x reader #il dottore #dottore #genshin x reader

[kanmom51]

I swear he's out to get me.

He is!!

Like give me a damn second to breath why don't you?

And again while I'm asleep.

I guess maybe he hoped the idiots that flooded his afternoon live with stupid and intrusive comments might be asleep.

Nah, that's just his time.

In any case, JK posted a couple of times on Weverese and replied to his post, following with a live.

Side note: where are all those assholes that called him ungrateful and arrogant now? Fuckers!!

Anyway, JK's posts:

30.7.23 23:19 KST

Then the next 2:

31.7.23 at 1:40 am KST, and commenting on his own post at 1:41 am.

And then he went live at 4 minutes later, at 1:45 am KST, lol.

Man was leaving us a crumb trail letting us know he'll be coming live.

And he came live for a purpose.

I'm not going to talk too much about the latest live because, well obviously, I was fast asleep when he went live and so I will wait very impatiently for subs for it. All while in the meantime our beloved JK will go live another 10 times and try to kill me.

But before I take my leave I will address my previous comment about him coming with a purpose.

This was a relatively short one and I do believe that JK came to set the record straight. Man was not going to let his savagery yesterday to go to waste because of a minor misunderstanding as to when Tae actually came to see him at Inkigayo. And he most definitley was not going to stand for being called a liar by those fucking TKKs.

So he came to explain EXACTLY when Tae came and when he went on stage and made sure we understood that this all went down AFTER his afternoon live!!!

Tae wasn't there during the pre-recording.

Tae came to see him during the live broadcast of Inkigayo.

Tae surprised JK, who did not know he was going to come see him.

Tae also surprised him on stage.

And that went down during the airing of the pre-recorded song - JK went up on stage for the audience in the live show.

JK is seriously on a mission here.

He's going to show us exactly how he feels about JM and at the same time he's done with the cult.

I'm here for it!!

#jungkook #jk #jk weverse #jk live

[nattinatalia]

Concept: Tres Leches goes missing from the fridge for a gathering all to find out EZ and Mia ate half of it and theres a little trail from the kitchen to the playroom lmao 🤭🤭🤭 (Make them like 6 or 7)

“I swear to you, it was right here.”

“Then someone must’ve eaten it because it can’t just disappear.” You tell your husband.

It was Maggie’s birthday and all she wanted was a small party, and for you to bake her a tres leche cake. Of course you agreed on it, no questions asked.

But you could’ve sworn before heading outside to finish decorating, you had left the cake in the refrigerator so it could continue cooling off for a bit more.

“It wasn’t me, I swear.” Jack closes and opens the refrigerator a third time.

“Bubs, it’s not going to magically appear everytime you open and close it.” You shake your head.

“What are you guys doing?”

You turn to the voice of your brother in law. “The cake I baked for your mom has somehow gone missing.”

“Oh, I took it out and placed it on the tabl- what the, where is it?” Clay is standing by the table now, confused like you and Jack.

“You took it out and left it at arms reach?” Jack asks. “Meaning my little spawns could’ve reached it.” He smirks, already solving the case of the missing cake.

“Jackman, I told you to stop calling them spawns, you’re just like Druski.” You walk out of the kitchen but notice a trail of milk leading to the playroom.

Jack and Clay following behind you. Jack laughs, “They suck at being sneaky, they left evidence.”

“Hush, your mom will kill me if she finds out I helped.” You hear someone say inside the playroom.

You’re standing at the doorway with your hands on your hips glaring at them. “Mom already knows and she’s mad.”

The three of them gasp and turn to look at you, cake all over their faces.

“HE DID IT” Mia and Ezequiel point at Sunni.

Sunni let’s out a shock sound and glares at the kids “It was your guy’s idea, I just helped”

Jack and Clay make their way inside the playroom to grab the kids, while Sunni is sitting down in the kids table you had there for them to color.

“I hope you know my wife is going to rip you to pieces.” Jack smirks, carrying Ezequiel.

Clay smiles, hand in hand with Mia, “Sis, don’t beat him up until after I’m down cleaning this little cake thief up.”

“Y/N-“ Sunni starts, wiping the leftover cake from his mouth. “I can explain.”

You nod, “Okay, explain.”

“Wait what?” He asked confused, most likely thought you weren’t going to give him the chance to explain.

You motion to the floor. “You three left a trail of milk and crumbs, you’ll clean that up.” You lift a finger up, “And you’ll have to tell Maggie why her cake is store bought.”

“But she-“

Jack tosses his car keys, “I’d start heading to buy one, mom will be here soon.”

Sunni stands up and runs towards the door but quickly comes back. “If it makes you feel any better, the cake was delicious. Evil spawns and I approve.”

“SUNNI.” Jack shakes his head in amusement watching him run out.

“Cakey was good mama, goods jobs.” Ezequiel gives you a thumbs up.

You groan, “I can’t even be mad at you, my sweet boy.” You smile and carry him. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

#jack harlow #heavyhitterheaux #jack harlow concepts #alize mia harlow #ez harlow #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow x yn #jack harlow x reader

[ceruleancattail]

For the Calamity asks... Could i mayhaps ask a fluff with Riddle? Thank you :3

Ceramic cups with delicate handles curling in elaborate designs. You slip your fingers through it slowly, afraid to blemish the design imprinted on it in any way. A pair of crimson eyes watch you, gaze never leaving your face.

Your face grows warm, before you bring the cup to your lips, hurriedly taking a sip. Warm, fragrant tea slips down your throat, settling around your heart like a weighted blanket. Relaxing a little, you feel your shoulders droop ever so slightly.

“The tea’s rather pleasant, isn’t it?”

The trickle of tea into your cup. Riddle took the liberty of tipping the teapot, refilling your cup. It was rather unusual for the house warden of Heartsabyul himself to serve anyone, but you’ve always been a special case.

Especially to him.

“How are the tarts? I had Trey personally guide me in the process … without the oyster sauce this time.”

He coughs into his hand, cheeks flaring a scarlet red in embarrassment. That got a laugh out of you, as you reach for a tart of your own. Making a sure of picking out a pastry, you hold it up with a flourish.

“I’m sure they taste great! You made them, after all.”

Right after that, you take a big bite. Crumbs spill from your lips, as you frantically try to cover your mouth with your hand. Chewing it, you feel the tangy sweetness of strawberry spilling into your mouth, the delicate crust melting on your tongue like butter in the sun.

Leaning into his palm, Riddle watches you closely. A tinge of anxiety clear in his eyes. Baking wasn’t his expertise. Even though he created these pastries with guidance, part of him still worries. This wasn’t a standardised test. There was no fixed answer.

You either like the tart, or you don’t. The mere thought of you disliking something he made just for you…

It’ll shatter his heart.

A stutter, awkwardly slipping of his tongue.

“Does.. does it taste alright?”

Your glance flickered upwards, meeting his eyes. Riddle’s voice was normally steady, filled with confidence. The authority of the Queen of Heartsabyul.

This was new.

You hastily swallow, gulping down the last of tart.

“It’s delicious, Riddle! You’ve got to tell me the recipe sometime.”

He heaves a sigh of relief, hand pressed against his chest. Riddle appraises you fondly, affection softening his features. Less prim, and more soft. A lovely look for him.

Pushing the plate towards you, he encourages you to help yourself. Your fingers reach for another tart, however you press the pastry into Riddle’s lips. Blinking at you, he’s momentarily stunned into silence.

Stifling a giggle, you tap his mouth gently with the crust.

“It’s not a tea party if only one person is eating. Go on, open up!”

The corner of his lips slip upwards, a affectionate smile. He obliges you, taking a bite out of the tart. Sugary sweet, the perfect taste. Before he knows it, his mouth brushes your fingertips, most of the tart eaten.

The blush spread from his cheeks to the very tip of his ears, a bright scarlet red. His lips were soft, gently caressing your fingers. You couldn’t help but to trail your fingers across his mouth, marvelling at how your fingers seemed to sink into his pale lips.

Fingers wrap themselves around your wrist, tightening their grip, pulling your hand closer to him. The ghost of smirk plays on his lips, as he presses a kiss into the back of your palm. A gentle touch, butterfly wings fluttering on your skin. Riddle trails kisses from your fingertips, to your knuckles, lips pressing into each part in turn.

Pushing his palm against your hand, his fingers intertwine with yours. Fitting perfectly in place, pieces of a puzzle.

A tea party is never complete without something sweet, no?

Perhaps you would do him the honour of blessing him with your love.

That would certainly be sweeter then any tart this world could offer.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #riddle rosenhearts #riddle x reader #twst riddle #riddle rosenhearts x reader #calamity #THE LAST OF CALAMITY REQUESTSSSSSS #I’M FINALLY DONEEEE #WHOOOOOO

[random-imagines-blog]

Bullet with Vampire Wings {Sherlock x GN!Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3904 Summary: You end up killing someone that attempts to murder Sherlock Holmes. But the reason behind it is not what everyone thought it would be. Notes: Describes murder, blood, deception.

Your hands were covered in another person’s blood. It was warm, sticky, and it really did get everywhere. It was worse than hair dye in that regard. It was on your shirt, though you couldn’t remember if you had touched it or not. More than likely, it was upon your face too. There was no mirror to look in, at least, not yet. You could clean yourself up in the prison, the arresting officer said, pushing your arms behind you to put the handcuffs on. It might not be ideal, or welcoming, but there was a shower there. The flashing lights on top of the police cars were disorienting you, and you could faintly hear Sherlock shouting. It was defense, you idiots, it was all defense. Y/N had saved my life, why are you arresting them? Oh, the poor dear. He really considered himself to be brilliant but you never caught onto one simple fact. You were never on his side. Not even once.

It had started five years ago. Sherlock’s name had started popping up in the papers. A picture or two, once he had solved a case. There was something about his face that you just didn’t like. A smugness to it. This man truly thought that he was the most intelligent man in the world, and yet he was lowering himself to solving petty crimes? What a waste of a mind, and what a waste of talent. He was smart, you could give him that, but was he actually clever? You, only twenty at the time, had sipped at your tea while reading over his latest case and thinking - perhaps you could pose a sort of challenge. See how far he could actually take his intellect. And why not add something on top of it? Why not do it all while right under his nose?

It was easier to orchestrate a crime in this grand city than it should have been. You went missing. You created a trail of very subtle clues and sat yourself down in a loft in the city owned by an executive of a company you didn’t like very much and spent your days following the case on the news. Sherlock Holmes was brought in to consult. On the television, you saw him standing outside of your brownstone, Lestrade with him, waving away the press. To every question asked, they said no comment. That told you a lot.

It took them two total days to find you. You weren’t impressed at all. You thought that Sherlock was supposed to be brilliant, but alas. That’s the problem with trying to meet people these days. Most of them were a disappointment, especially in the intelligence sector. But Sherlock was the closest thing to a match that you had in this city, even if he was still a level below you. As your father said, sometimes you just had to play nice with the unfortunates. It’s not their fault that they’re so ... stupid.

You had more than enough time to anticipate his entrance, and to play it up. You were just a poor victim. You had been taken from your home, tasered, blindfolded. You had the burn marks on your side to prove it. The lengths that you would go to for this plan, the scars were just the beginning. Who took you, Lestrade asked, while Sherlock looked carefully at everything. You had no worries about him finding any evidence that you were just here at your leisure. That a simple hour ago, you had been sitting on the couch, reading a worn out copy of The Iliad, snacking on some goldfish crackers. No crumbs, the book slipped back into the bookshelf, yourself being bound once more and a look of desperation on your tear lined face. They bought it. They absolutely bought it.

You were treated in A&E for the burns, and you watched on the TV that the executive was arrested. Not only for kidnapping, but for all sorts of business malpractices. Money laundering, illegal displacements of funds, all of that very fun stuff that was going to have him tied up in the courts for at least a decade. He pleaded his innocence to everything that he was being charged with, but the evidence spoke for itself, and if he was lying about one thing, who is to say that he isn’t lying about everything? It was the simplest thing in the world. And his reason for kidnapping you? A complete accident, of course, the address of your brownstone was on an Avenue, while the address of one of the accountants was the same number, the same street name, but on a Grove. Easy mistake. They were keeping you around while trying to figure out what to do with you, since you were innocent.

Really, it was all too easy to set all of this up. You just had to act all traumatized, answer the questions, and work your way into Sherlock’s life. How did he find you, you asked. And he was only too happy to explain how ‘easy’ it was, with the eight steps that he took. You attempted to look impressed, you really did. But you couldn’t stop yourself from interrupting during the fourth, “-and those emails didn’t make it clear to you?” You asked,making him pause. That was all that you would have needed, if you wanted to spend your time looking for missing people. “Sorry, sorry,” You muttered. “I’m grateful, I am, I just would have thought - no, never mind.”

“No, go on,” Sherlock insisted. And you explained yourself, how what the email said - written by you through the executive’s account, easy peasy, should have pointed him to look into his other properties. Then they might have been at the door as soon as yesterday. Sherlock seemed to give that some thought. He looked pensive, an amusing expression because it meant that he knew you had a point, a ‘simpleton’ like you. He was gazing at you differently than before now, and you settled into the hospital bed, pretending to have gotten a sort of pain.

And as expected, he kept in touch. You had planted the seeds of interest inside of him. He was intrigued by you, and you - well, you appeared to be eager to learn. He took you under his wing, so to speak. Minute by minute, the amount of rage that he caused inside of you grew larger. He was so sanctimonious. So smug. So fucking holier-than-thou. And then you met his brother Mycroft and saw how much that ran in the family. His parents must be entirely insufferable. And then there was John. Poor little John Watson, always bring dragged into these dangerous situations, and puffing out his chest like a hero as he wrote them out on his blog, as if he had been the one to save the day. As if. It was usually some off-hand comment by you, or some comment made innocently that had put Sherlock on the right path. You weren’t made for the role of a hero. It was infuriating.

Your plotting began the first moment that he invited you to help him with a case. It was hard for you to admit, but you became obsessed with the idea of taking Sherlock down. Of wiping that stupid expression off of his face for good. Villains were always monologuing before a kill, which meant that the hero had time to escape and save the day, hurrah hurrah, so you wouldn’t be able to give him the full experience of pointing out all of his wrongs, unfortunately. It was so temping though. He really just assumed that he was always the smartest person in the room. You were giving yourself an ulcer putting up with it.

You were always one step ahead. You might have a bit of an ego but you couldn’t put it at more than that. He was close to being your match. And you hated him for it. You loathed every second that you were around him. You hated how slow he could be, how it took him an additional day, an additional hour to catch onto something in a case that you had noticed right away. There were times when you had to innocently bring up a fact just so that he would have a chance to catch up. Just so that there wouldn’t be an innocent death on your hands, or an additional murder out there. You might not have much of a conscience but you did have a care for those that couldn’t always help themselves.

God, how you hated him. And how you couldn’t express it around him. He probably thought you worshiped him, the narcissistic pig-face. You couldn’t murder him too quickly, no, you had to play it cool, learn every facet of his life to use it all against him. He had his walls built up castle size, however. It was hard to get even the slightest bit out of him without him catching onto you. That’s why it had been taking so long. Years. Years of your life wasted but the fall was going to be the most beautiful thing in the world. You already started to make your moves - Moriarty was becoming more well known now, and you pushed forward an actor who knew nothing about you save for the instructions you sent him from afar, just to throw off more blame from you.

Five years. Orchestrating from behind the scenes. There was no satisfaction that you had ever felt more strongly than that when Sherlock was stressing out over what Moriarty’s next move was going to be. You learned how to keep control of your facial features to the point where you deserved every award out there. Give you an Emmy, give you an Oscar, the Academy should be worshiping your feet.

But there was one thing that you did not foresee. Someone else wanting to get to Sherlock as much as you do. But they took the quick and easy route, rather than the concentrated long-game that you did. It wasn’t even some mastermind that did it either. It wasn’t Magnussen. It wasn’t even Culverton Smith. It was just some run of the mill murderer. Some guy with a gun who was trying to get away from Sherlock and Lestrade. The stupid Holmes, he wasn’t even supposed to be a part of physically catching the murderer. He was just supposed to stay inside of Baker Street, come up with the killer, phone it in and wait. His stubbornness was going to get himself killed before your plans came to fruition.

The man had a gun, a pocket pistol of sorts. And he was turning around to shoot Sherlock, his coat flinging away from his torso as you watched in slow-motion. He whipped it out like he thought he was some sort of action star. Lestrade was running too hard, too fast, to start to take out his gun properly. He was fumbling while trying to get it out of his belt. Sherlock was trying to stop, but his momentum was too fast. He was thrust forward, nearly falling to the ground. And John, poor limping John, had nearly crashed into a postbox. It was up to you at this point. You were closest, having been told to try to cut him off from the side street. A mere two meters. You could let him shoot Sherlock. It was an easy shot. He wouldn’t get away with it. You could claim that you were too far away to stop him.

But no. That was letting him get off way too easily.

Your knife was easier to get out of your pocket than any weighty gun was. Just the push of a button on the handle and the blade came out, sharpened just that week. It glinted in the streetlight, right into the eyes of the murderer. It distracted him but only for the narrowest second. He tried to blink the glare out of the corner of his eye and by that time, it was too late for him. You reached him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and thrusting the blade right into his gut. And with a sweeping motion, you slid it through the flesh, through the shirt, and tore it out of his side, blood rising to the surface. In his pain and his panic, he fired off a shot. It hit a no parking sign, and ricochet, going through the windshield of a car that was breaking that rule. Then the murderer started to fall towards the ground, slowly, slowly, everything still in slow motion for you as your brain worked quickly.

Stabbing someone is not as easy as one would make it seem. You had to push it through layers of skin, all pushed together. Organs as well. It wasn’t a thin little pork chop. It took strength. It took determination. And it took a real sharp knife. Even wrenching it out, covered in blood, was rough. Your biceps were sore just from the motion, but your adrenaline was rushing, making it hard to notice or focus on.

There was so much blood. You didn’t typically get your hands dirty like this. It was so sticky and so messy. It was like glue from elementary school. When you pulled out the knife, and let go of the man as he started to fall, you realized that it had spilled over the handle as well. It had gotten onto your coat. It even got onto the trousers that you had just picked up from the dry-cleaner the night before. And it looked like he wasn’t even going to be around to foot the bill to get them re-cleaned. You looked down at his body, while still holding the knife over him, and noticed how it was more than just blood that was coming out of the large gash that you had made in him. An intestine was spilling out, looking like a limp snake.

You knew exactly what you were doing. There wasn’t any shock to it, there wasn’t any trepidation or regret afterwards. It was a simple annoyance. As was everything that was going to come afterwards.

Back-up finally started to approach, sirens coming from the top of the police cars. Sherlock and Lestrade finally caught up to you, the policeman looking at the body and Sherlock looking at you. “Are you hurt?” The lank man asked - as if he had thoughts of anyone outside of himself.

“I don’t think so,” You said, knowing perfectly well that you were fine. Not even a nick. Not even a bruise. Just the work out from going through those layers and layers of epidermis. “He was going to kill you.”

“Yeah, he was,” Lestrade said, kicking the pistol out of the way, and then dropped down to the ground. Two fingers against his neck to test his pulse. He shook his head. “Dead.”

Too quick. That was annoying. You could have spit. Anger was making you start to shake, but Sherlock took it as you being in shock. He put a hand on your upper arm and you flinched away - the audacity of this skinny bitch. He muttered to the back up police that you were in shock. You braced yourself. You knew what was coming. There was no way that you were going to kill someone in public like this without getting cuffed.

And that’s where you were now. Sherlock was yelling in your defense. John was trying to explain to an officer what had happened. Lestrade was promising you that he’d meet you at the station and everything would be cleared up. Surprisingly, you felt alright. You had a calm and level head now that the threat had been eradicated. The only thing that was possibly upsetting was the fact that the victim wasn’t the correct person. You didn’t offer any trouble to the officers, to your credit. You could have broken out of these cuffs easily. They all had a weak spot, but you didn’t. You allowed yourself to be taken to the station. You allowed yourself to be fingerprinted. To be put into an interrogation room.

Just because your plan was being forced to change didn’t mean that it was off. You just had to take a different approach now. It was the perfect time to break Sherlock’s little heart. To let him know that all of the trust he had put into you over the last couple of years was misguided. That he was not smart enough to see this coming.

--

You were waiting in interrogation for an hour before Lestrade, Sherlock and another officer came in. “This is just a formality,” Lestrade explained, looking annoyed at the other officer. “We just need your statement and then we can process your release. It was clearly in self defense. We’ll have this sorted in no time,” Greg assured you. “Can we at least remove the cuffs?”

The officer acquiesced, coming around to your side of the table and undid the cuffs around your neck. You rubbed at where they had irritated your skin. Such barbaric little things, these handcuffs. A rope with a good knot was much more effective, but you know how men are. They love the look of metal. You smiled at Greg thankfully, since you honestly had nothing against the detective. He was a good man. Not smug. A little confused sometimes, but it was adorable in it’s own way. “Can you tell us what happened?” He asked.

And so you went through the story. You told him about the case. How you had come to hear about this killer. How he had the gun out and how you pieced together his intent to kill Sherlock Holmes.

“And you stabbed him in defense of Mr. Holmes?” The officer, who had conducted the interview asked you.

“Of course,” You said, leaning back casually against the chair. “I couldn’t let him do such a thing. Not after everything that I had planned. I’ve had to modify it now because of the current circumstances, but what can you do? Even simpletons can disrupt the best laid plans. I know now to try to accommodate discrepancies.”

“Beg your pardon?” Lestrade said, leaning forward, his face confused. But what you were looking at was Sherlock. He looked utterly bewildered for just a couple of seconds before he regained control. He hated to be caught unaware. It was satisfying to see.

“What I’m saying, Greg,” You reiterated. “-is that the real reason I killed this man, whatever his name is, I can hardly remember now, is because I wasn’t going to let him take the kill away from me. Since I had met Mr. Sherlock Holmes here, I’ve had this craving to be the one that wipes his smugness away from the world. I satisfied myself for a time on the fact that he really isn’t as smart as everyone, including himself, thinks that he is. Why, he never even caught on that meeting one another was a farce. I wasn’t kidnapped by anyone. I set it all up myself as a test to him, to compare intellect. He did pass it, but I thought he would catch on a lot faster. Seemed he never had,” You smirked over in Sherlock’s direction. He was starting to get flustered. An angry kind of flustered. “These last couple of years, Sherlock, I’ve helped you so many times. It was so ... so infuriating watching you take the credit when I handed you the answers. Did all of you really think that he solved all of those cases by himself? Not a chance. See, we’re very different, you and I. While you thought you were grooming me, I was playing you the entire time. I had this ... this beautiful, extravagant plan made up that would destroy your life before I took it, but it seems I’m going to have to go another way because of this. I’ll make sure that the detour is worth it. I will take your life with my own hands, and I will enjoy every second of it. That is my statement. I won’t fight against the cuffs officer, so if you please, you can take me to prison now. I admit full conspiracy to murder, and second degree murder for that poor killer. I look forward to making some new friends.”

Lestrade was in shock, because he had considered you a friend. He had considered you to be an asset to Scotland Yard. The other officer was more unbiased, and hurried to put the handcuffs back on you, to hoist you up. He was acting rather roughly with you, showing anger and disgust, which was ever more amusing because this man, this random officer, was never going to be on your level. Before you left though, you couldn’t help but say some last minute words to the tall man who was starting to stand, hands slightly trembling.

“Oh, and Sherlock” You said, making sure his eyes were on yours. You had one more blow to deliver. “If it’s any consolation to you, your brother didn’t figure out that I am Moriarty, either. And he’s of far better intellect than you are.”

If anything was going to leave him more angry than your betrayal, it was that blow to the ego. You saw those words hit home, gave a little wave with your fingers, and allowed yourself to be lead out past a bewildered John Watson, Lestrade and Sherlock following and talking amongst themselves until you were out the door.

--

Two weeks. That’s all that it took. Two weeks and you were out and about in London once more, and not in the prison cell that you should have been in. You even beat the timing in the show Prison Break. In another life, you might have been able to make a fortune in pointing out the weaknesses in the prison structure, in the timing of the changing of the guard, of blind spots from the cameras that even the guards didn’t know about.

And now, you were casually scrolling through a phone that you had stolen from some teenager in the park, while watching Sherlock being put into a black cab by Lestrade to be taken to a safe house. News had emerged of your grand escape. Of the riots that had happened in your name back at the prison. You hadn’t escaped alone, of course not. You brought some people out with you, the ones who had taken the fall for the Moriarty name.

You stepped out onto the sidewalk, and started walking to a car that was idling in wait for you. You got into the passenger seat, eyes still towards 221B. Mrs Hudson was standing in the doorway, looking worryingly out after the car Sherlock was taking off in, the one that you and your actor would be tailing at a distance. Poor dear. You always did like that woman. She knew her place. And that place was making the best cuppa that you ever had.

The dark haired actor maneuvered the car onto the small street, and started the drive. You chose the music, putting on something fun, kind of poppy. A ‘grooving on a Sunday afternoon’ sort of song, singing along as you made your way to enact your final plans.

#Sherlock #Sherlock x reader #Sherlock oneshots #Sherlock BBC #Sherlock BBC oneshot #oneshot #x reader #request #sherlocks #Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes x reader #Sherlock Holmes oneshot

[mkfluffluv]

That's Aces!!

STEVEN GRANT X GN ASEXUAL READER

i said i was going to write my own asexual reader fic if no one did so i did just that.

feel free to request more fics, but just know that i won't write any smut

also english is not my first language, and i write my fics all in lower case and then try to add proper capitalization after but usually fail so. um. look out for those

likes and reblogs appreciated!!!

prompt : steven asks you out on a date. you blurt out that you're asexual. he's totally chill with it. plus a fluffy ending bc im a sucker for cheesy romance.

word count : 1,241

warnings : slight ooc maybe? this is literally just self indulgent fluff

masterlist

You and Steven were coworkers, both working together in the little gift shop in the British Museum.

You and him bonded over complaining about Donna's behavior and the giftshop's inaccuracies in merch, always laughing and snickering behind Donna's back whenever she was out of hearing range.

You grew to enjoy his company and also started to develop an embarrassing crush on him. and unbeknownst to you, Steven had felt the same.

After around 2 months of longing looks and heartfelt smiles, Steven had gathered enough courage to ask you out on a date to which of course, how could you not say yes?

So, now, here you are, on the date, enjoying yourself till you realized you'd forgotten an important detail about yourself that you're always sure to tell the people you date.

"I'm asexual." You randomly blurt out in the middle of Steven's rant about an Egyptian god.

Then, silence.

For a moment, you thought you had completely fucked everything up. Like, who comes out so suddenly like that in the middle of a seemingly normal conversation?! No one!

Well, no one but you that is.

'Ugh, gods, help your poor soul, and please have mercy. Let steven reject you gently.' You thought.

But of course, Steven is always full of surprises.

"That's aces!"

He stops and laughs nervously at his accidental pun.

Huh.

Well, that's certainly a first. You stare at Steven with what you could assume is a very flabbergasted expression on your face, fork still in hand and stopping mid-chew.

Steven misunderstands this expression and starts feeling around his face for any leftover crumbs of his vegan sandwich. "Do I have something on my face?" He asks.

This snaps you out of your thoughts and you slowly shake your head, still processing the situation before you. You continue to eat your food as an awkward and uncomfortable silence fills your and Steven's space.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." You look up at Steven's sweet puppy dog eyes and you feel your heart clenching in your chest at how absolutely adorable his guilty face looked. It wasn't even that he offended you, of course not, if you weren't in so much shock right now by the way Steven reacted, you would've laughed at his silly accidental joke.

"No, Steven, it's okay. I'm not uncomfortable, I'm just," you trail off, trying to find the right words to explain how you were feeling at the moment. "Surprised is all. not many of my dates react this well after hearing I won't shag them." You silently cringe at your choice of wording but Steven only smiles and nods. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it once more and shaking his head, he mutters a quiet "I'm not gonna say that," to whoever it is he talks to. You're not one to judge.

"That's alright. I have more things to worry about than um," Steven pauses then, and you notice a faint pink starting to surface on his pretty cheeks. It's the most adorable thing you've ever seen.

"You can say 'sex' around me Steven, I won't be offended." You let out an amused chuckle at the wide-eyed look that he gives you for your directness.

And then he smiles and goodness his smile could probably light up an infinite dark hole. You can't help but smile back and it seems Steven thinks the same of your smile.

The conversation flows smoothly after that, with Steven asking questions like where the line starts and ends when it comes to physical contact, and asking where you lie in the asexual spectrum. He genuinely just wants to know more about you and your sexuality and you answer his questions with a bright smile on your face. No one has ever bothered to ask you anything and this experience and Steven himself, you will promise to treasure for the rest of your life. His boyish charm reminds you of that of a golden retriever and the thought makes you smile wider if that was even possible.

After dinner, he offers to walk you home like the gentleman that he is and you refuse at first not wanting to be a bother just in case he was busy with anything and after a short pause in his step, he shakes his head and says that he doesn’t have much to do that night. So you accept his offer and start walking beside him, the back of your hands brushing against each other now and then. After a while, he offers his arm to you and you laugh at his formal gesture. You held out your hand for him to take and his brain short circuits for only a second before he takes your hand in his, his wide grin never leaving his face the whole way back to your apartment.

-

"Thank you for walking me home, Steven. You really didn't have to."

"Please, I offered. I wanted to spend at least a bit more time with you."

You feel a blush creeping up your face at his sweet words and let out a shy huff of amusement. This man is making it real hard to not fall for him. Though, you didn't seem to mind of course.

As you look into his eyes, you can't help but stare at the way he looks at you. The love and adoration contained in that gaze of his is making your heart feel so warm. It's so different than the looks that your other dates had given you. So, so very different and so, so accepting of who you are.

"I had fun," you say, not breaking eye contact. You would stare at those dark browns forever if you could.

Steven nods. "Me too."

You stop looking into his eyes and grab his hand. You then place a soft kiss to the back of it and grin triumphantly at the way Steven's face seems to turn slightly red at the gesture.

After a few more minutes of not really knowing how to say goodbye and even more eye contact, your neighbor's booming voice interrupts the wedding bells that were already ringing in your head.

"Get a room, you dorks." Janice from room 304 says, before slamming her front door closed. She had very loudly interrupted the comfortable silence that you and steven had surrounded yourselves in.

It starts with a huff of laughter from you, and one from him, and then continues to get more frantic and loud til you both were clutching at your stomach. You were laughing so noisily that you were sure Janice had come out to tell you both to shut up but you obviously wouldn't be able to hear her with how you were laughing so loud.

After maybe a few minutes, you both calmed down and what was left were only beaming smiles plastered on both your faces.

"I'll have to go back in now before Janice starts complaining again," you tell Steven, to which he reluctantly nods in understanding.

What you didn't expect him to do, however, was for him to take the palm of his hand from before and bring it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to it. An indirect kiss. This cheeky bastard.

He leaves then, leaving you standing there in front of your door with the tips of your ears red and a stupid grin on your face.

#awooga need validation #steven grant x reader #reader insert #reader #asexual reader #gender neutral reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight #steven grant #x reader #i tried my best i really did #i wrote this in 3 hours cause my brain went #send me requests :D #please #i wanna write more but im devoid of ideas

[retrodreamgirl]

perfectly okay | eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: a cozy shower with your favorite singer

warnings: fluff, mentions of nudity, fem!reader, not proofed, mediocre writing, lmk if i missed anything!

⤜♡→

There's a half eaten sandwich resting on the counter, the precarious trail of crumbs dancing to the empty glass more of a clue than the shoes toed by the door.  

It leaves open the interpretation of where the culprit is now, hidden behind one of the few corners in your one bedroom, not a sound to be heard beneath the whir of the air conditioning unit hanging from the window. The light blinding between the gap in the curtains is a beacon, golden and filtered toward the crack in the door on the farthest wall from where you now stand with peaked curiosity.

You almost call, but reason nudges at the corner of your brain and you clean the small traces of him for fear of bugs stealing them first. Your distraction is an even hum, waiting for the tell tale of perfect harmony that doesn't come by the time your hands are clasped between a hand towel wiping the wet from your skin.

"Where is he?" There are a limited number of options and you play them through on your trek to the bedroom. You stop every few feet, noting the drop of clothing and tossing them to the nearest piece of furniture for fear of legs hastily gliding through and tangling themselves in the thick denim resting in a half split.

Your lips stretch toward the creases of your eyes when they finally reach your ears, the notes you expected with immediacy when the front door swung on its hinges. But it’s not in the form of the light buzzing that accompanies your boyfriend worshiping with calloused fingers dancing against guitar strings. 

It’s the pathetic spit of water splashing off white tile and circling the drain in an accompaniment to the confidently unconfident loop of lyrics beating against the bathroom door. It’s the newest Corroded Coffin and Eddie Munson is certainly no lead singer but that’s perfectly okay with you.

You stop for a moment and listen, silent laughter, your only companion to the private show.

“You spyin’ on me?” It startles you when the edge of your lilac shower curtain is pulled back by uncharacteristically ring-less hands. 

“I was looking for you.” You push off from where you were leaning against the doorframe, sauntering to Eddie who’s still peeking around the curtain. You press your lips against his, set with the spray from the shower, pulling away just enough that your lips trace his own when you speak. “You’re covered in shampoo, you know.”

“Well in case you were wondering, there’s no way I can possibly get it out on my own.” He pouts, the chips of his heavy brown eyes glancing at the sudsy pile dressing his crown. His hand finds the pulse of your wrist, lips dragging against it with languid interest. “Think you can help me, baby?” 

“Hm. He breaks into my house, makes and only eats half a sandwich, leaves a trail of clothes in the hallway, and now he wants me to bathe him?” 

“Hey hey, I’m a gracious guest. I used the key that you gave me to get in, left you half of the sandwich I made because I knew you’d be home soon, and now I’m being environmentally conscious by offering to share the shower.” He explains it in a way that’s charming even when he’s covered in your sweet smelling body wash with shampoo dripping down the sides of his face. You know you’re going to say yes and you can tell he does too, but you hold out a little longer and take a half step away. 

“And the clothes?” 

“An honest mistake, won’t happen again.” He waits for you to make a move, challenging you when his torso emerges, tattoos glistening against him. “Would you prefer I beg? You know I will.”  

“No, Eddie, don’t! You’ll get water everywhere!” You fumble with the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head with an insistence that he stay in the shower. He’s prideful the way he takes you in, urging you to slow down a tad as you undress. “You’re so ridiculous.” 

“Oh yeah, my beautiful girlfriend is undressing in front of me and I’m supposed to what? Be normal about it? It’s like you don’t know me at all.” 

“Eddie…” You drag the syllables, tossing your panties to the hamper. “Stop being so dramatic and move over, loverboy.” 

“Well hurry up then, gorgeous.” 

You step into the shower, steam doubling beneath the scalding spray. Eddie shifts, but he’s on you as soon as you gain footing, grabbing at your waist. He scoots beneath the water, reaching back to lower the temperature. 

“No, leave it.” You grab at his wrist. “Think you can hold me?”

“Is that a question?” He pulls you flush against him, embarrassment painting you when he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. 

“So I can rinse your hair, I mean. That is why you invited me after all.”

“Mmh.” He half agrees, lowering himself enough to give you a boost while you half elevate yourself with your right leg. “Among other reasons.” 

He falls silent then save for the occasional hum or moan when your fingers begin to guide themselves through the thick expanse of his scalp. It makes you soft, the way his eyes have flitted to a close in the tiny space of your shower, soothed by nothing more than a sense of ardent domesticity. You stare a little longer, sure that what follows will be anything but soft but positive that you’re more than okay with that.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #i don't really like this one #but i wanted to post something while im working on other stuff <3

[allylikethecat]

Just read your reply to an ask about a fix of matty singing them to sleep and the suggestion/idea of fictional Matty singing fictional George or vice versa to sleep has me wanting to eat my hand and sob (in a good way) 😭

The best way to deal with your self imposed stress of not finishing a fic by your self dictated deadline is obviously to work on a different one 😂 I felt really bad that I wasn't able to fill that one prompt request for that anon looking for a matty x reader blurb where he sung the reader to sleep (I don't see myself ever writing x reader fic i'm sorry!! there are so many wonderful talented people who do though! that's just not my writing niche unfortunately) ... but like was totally down to write one of him singing fictional!George to sleep, and then I saw that YOU lovely anon had sent this in in response to that ask, so obviously I had to jump it to the top of my massive list of prompt fill requests that I really do promise I will finish in 2024 lol

So, alas, here it is, Fictional!Matty sining Fictional!George to sleep. I hope you like it, if not let me know and I will attempt a take two! Thank you so much for sending this in though, and for reading, and being so lovely and supportive! I hope you have a very happy new year and a great rest of your week!

❤️Ally

Singing to sleep

George was sick, and George never got sick. Matty was at his wits end, he was the one with the shit immune system. He was the one who didn’t take care of himself and allowed his body to get run down, seeming to constantly be coming down with a perpetual case of the sniffles. George did yoga. George remembered to eat, and drank water, and got the recommended eight hours of sleep each night. He wasn’t supposed to be congested and running a fever, a trail of used tissues laid out like bread crumbs as if he would lose his way back to the bedroom without them. 

George wasn’t supposed to be arguing with Matty that he wasn’t sick when he clearly was. Shaking his head, his voice rough and nasally, insisting that he was fine even as he had to halt his argument every few minutes to cough. George was not supposed to be sick, and with a sinking realization, Matty was learning that George was an even worse patient than he was. 

“Please,” Matty begged, he knew he looked ridiculous wearing the frilly apron his Mum had gotten him as a joke when they had bought the new house and Matty had shown her the high end kitchen as if he was going to actually use it. The joke was on her, he was wearing the apron and currently trying to use the kitchen. “Please just go lay back down.” 

“I’m fine,” George rasped again before breaking off into another coughing fit, his arms wrapped around himself as he shivered. Matty glanced at the clock on the stove, it was still too soon for him to take another dose of paracetamol. 

“You are not fine!” Matty snapped, turning away from the stove and the soup that he hoped was simmering and not boiling, he wasn’t entirely sure of the difference. He waved his wooden spoon at George for dramatic effect. “You need to go lay down and get some fucking rest so you can get better!” 

George opened his mouth and Matty waved the spoon more aggressively, flicking his wrist at George. “No, no arguments, upstairs, now please, let’s go.” Matty said, nudging George’s shoulder so that he could guide him towards the staircase. 

George sighed, breaking off into another coughing fit, his shoulders shaking before doing as Matty said. He padded barefoot towards the stairs, Matty hot on his heels to make sure he actually got into bed instead of trying to snag his work laptop out of the office. The soup would be okay for a few minutes without him, Matty thought as they climbed the stairs. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to be watching for anyway, or what he was even supposed to do if it did do something. 

Realizing he was still holding the spoon, Matty sheepishly sat it down on the dresser, brushing past George to fluff up his pillows and blankets.

“Get in the bed,” he said, holding his arms out as if he was a briefcase girl on a game show.  

“You trying to take advantage of me?” George rasped, batting his eyelashes teasingly, the effect was lost though by the glassy sheen of his eyes and his dry red nose. 

“Always,” Matty deadpanned and George sighed, climbing back into bed and allowing Matty to rearrange the blankets around him while he pouted like a child.

“Now get some rest,” Matty said, leaning down one last time to press a kiss to George’s forehead, frowning when he realized just how hot it was. He turned away, planning on heading into the bathroom to get George a damp wash rag to try and cool him down some before returning to his soup when George caught his wrist. 

“Wait,” said George looking up at Matty, looking extra pathetic with his pale skin, red nose and shiny eyes. 

“I’ll be right back,” Matty assured him, his heart squeezing. “I’m just going to get you a cold rag.” 

“I’m fine,” George said again, his voice convincing absolutely no one. “But will you,” George flushed, and Matty wasn’t sure if it was from fever or embarrassment. George swallowed hard, his sore throat bobbing painfully. “Will you sing to me?”

Matty blinked, in confusion, not expecting the request. “What?” he asked dumbly and George’s blush deepened, embarrassment it is then, Matty thought fondly, his heart flipping at the request. 

“Will you sing me something?” George asked again, his eyes wide and earnest. “Please.” 

Matty exhaled slowly, he wanted to get George a cold wash rag for his forehead, and he needed to go check on his soup. But who was he to refuse George a song when he was poorly. 

“Yeah,” said Matty softly, feeling like his insides had turned to goo with just how much he loved George. “Yeah, I can sing you something.” 

His Gibson Hummingbird was leaning against a decorative chair where he had left it two days prior, and he winced, knowing he should have put it away properly but thankful for his laziness as he scooped it up, feeling silly as he quickly tuned it and sat down on the edge of the bed. 

He played the opening chord and George smiled, instantly recognizing the song. 

Tell me what you thought about

When you were gone and so alone

The worst is over

You can have the best of me

We got older but we're still young

We never grew out of this feeling that we won't give up

George was asleep, snoring softly, before Matty even finished the song. 

#allylikethecat #ask ally #anon ask #fanfiction #keep it kind #matty fic #gatty #prompt fill #prompt fills #OG requests #if anyone else has any prompt requests from a list or their own brains send them my way! #also i am still working on the sick fic prompts dont worry #they're just ending up a little longer and will probably end up on AO3

[applesap-fics]

Fapruary 1 - Wedding night

E, 1851 words, Mariano/Isabela. What if Isabela went through with the wedding?

--

There are an awful lot of things to do before the wedding and Mariano scarcely has the time to talk with Isabela about it, and even then Isabela doesn’t want to say much without her family to consult. His grandmother guffaws when he laments this with a sigh. “You’d rather run away with her and have her in private, wouldn’t you!”

It would give them time to admire each other without anyone present, yes. Isabela, even now, even promised to Mariano, still feels like something unreachable. A flower he can’t pluck. No– She’s more like an arrangement of a bouquet.

That is how she stays. Arranged. Even at the altar as he compares her to the most beautiful flower in the Encanto. 

Even at the reception. 

Mariano is sweaty and woozy from dancing and drinking. Isabela throws a light curtain of rose petals wherever she dances, her smile gleaming and inviting, but at some point even her endless supply of cheer runs out and she comes to sit with Mariano at one of the side tables. 

She sighs, as weary as Mariano is from the long day they’ve had to navigate. She brushes invisible crumbs or wrinkles from her lap. Nothing catches on her pure white gloves. The content expression on his wife’s face is one of a job well done.

His wife. They’re done now. They’ve courted, proposed, prepared and now they’re wedded. That does feel very satisfying, he supposes. At least all the rituals and ceremonies are out of the way now. 

He fumbles for words. What do you say to your wife when she’s so beautiful and perfect? He’s been afraid to say too much today in case he messed it up with her. 

“Are you happy?” he ends up saying, dumbly, even though he does really want to know. “With today, I mean?”

She smiles. “Of course. It went really well.”

Mariano nods. “Yeah.” It went exactly the way Abuela and doña Alma wanted it to. Their families were so excited.

“And we’re almost done.”

That’s exactly it! The night is almost over and they can finally relax. With the wedding complete, there isn’t much needed on their part to keep the party going. 

“Good thing you don’t have to wear the trail anymore,” he says. It’s hard to imagine Isabela tripping over anything, but at least he didn’t have to watch out for it while dancing with her. He’d been worried about that before Abuela laughed it off.

She hums as if he’s made an astute observation instead of a joke. It makes him both feel less and even more awkward. Actually, it makes him feel a little dumb, but that’s probably not how she meant it.

“It’s getting late, isn’t it?” Isabela says. 

“I don’t think I can dance any more,” he agrees. Parties in the Encanto, especially the Madrigals’, can last for days. “Do you uh… wanna end the night?”

It’s exactly what she wants to do. 

Isabela reaches for his hand. She’s soft, and the unexpected touch sends shivers up his arm. He always likes it when she touches him. Flirty, making him curious, sighing and yearning after her. They used to be fleeting, but now that they’re married she’s allowed to touch him as much as she wants.

Gently, they move through the crowd, saying pleasant goodbyes and thankyous and avoiding jokes about flower picking, as Isabela takes Mariano up to her room. 

The party instantly quiets as the door closes behind them. So this is her room. Their room, technically, though it is dauntingly Isabela. On some level he knows his clothes have moved into her wardrobe — all pink and lavender now, even though he likes white and red more — but from floor to bottom it’s all flowers and gardens with not a lot of furniture. If the house can spare it, he hopes Casita has a writing desk for him.

Starstruck, he takes in the tower, and (“Woah!”) as they step further into the room, a bed is lowered by vines from the ceiling hidden by a flower curtain.

That’s now their bed, where he will wake up as her husband and she as his wife every single day for the rest of time.

“Oh,” he sighs when it dawns on him. They aren’t that kind of done.

“Mariano.” Isabela’s voice is soft, shaky. Her hands are clasped in front of her. For the first time he’s known her, it sounds as if she’s not sure what to say. 

His hand slips up her arm above her glove where his palm rests on her warm, naked skin. “Isabela…”

“Do you want to have sex?” 

Mariano’s groin stirs at the proposition. It’s not like he’s never fantasized about it before. 

A strand of black silky hair, beautifully curling over her bare neckline, enticing. “Of course I want to,” he says, his knuckles grazing over her skin, brushing her hair behind her shoulder. “You’re beautiful.”

She flashes a smile. 

“Isabela…” Mariano cups her cheek, round and soft in his broad hand, and kisses her deeply. 

They kissed before at the altar and once during the party when their photo got taken. Lips firm against lips to seal the deal, the next one a little lighter. Sparks contained, knowing that he couldn’t push too hard at the time for fear of ruining the moment for her, for the family watching them. The perfect kiss. 

It’s so much more than he expected. More than anything he could have written up for her in a love poem. Her lips are so soft and so easy to get lost in. When he angles his head to deepen the kiss, she yields easily, even opening her mouth for him! Feeling much braver than a moment before, he slips his tongue in, parting her mouth even further until he moans wantongly into her. His body runs warm. His cock stirs, hardening against her dress. And Isabela–

--

If he goes too rough, she knows she can ask him to slow down. She’s thankfully not as tense as she was a few months back, when Dolores made that joke about the five babies and she was once again pulled into a future she knew she had to prepare for. 

“Will it hurt?” she had asked Mami. When she grew up, the Abuelitas (if they dared to speak of sex at all) always said it would hurt the first time, and a few of her girlfriends were already married and had said the same. “Guys are so rough.” They were of no help, of course. 

But Mami and tía Pepa had softened the blow a little. “If he does it right, you’ll want to dive back onto him as soon as he’s done,” Pepa told her shamelessly, at which her mother had blushed, but nodded. “Ask him to slow down if he goes too fast,” her mother added. “And that goes for kissing too. I don’t know, mija, he seems so dreamy. But all boys get excited and you’re allowed to set boundaries.”

So far so good, kissing wise. The real boundary she wants to set is for him to sleep on the floor (or another room where she won’t have to spend time with him) and never touch her again. She hadn’t been able to get that out of her mind. Mariano on top of her, under her, near her. His lips. His face. His hands. His penis. She wanted to shake the thought out of her head any time she thought of it. How to make those five babies happen. Him on top of her. Him inside of her. 

So, as she does with any new challenge, she had practiced what she would do. Touched herself, not out of curiosity like when she was a teen, but with purpose. Her hands roaming her breasts, firm. Her curves, smooth, probably easy to grab. The hair between her legs. The heat. That nub that send a shock through her the first time she found it. 

Mariano spreads her like a tossed bouquet of flowers on the bed. Pulls his hand through her bodice, popping open the pearl-like buttons on her back. She knows what she looks like to him. Mirrors help her to see how others perceive her. Her wedding dress, slightly bunched up. Her full breasts poking out of the corset, engulfed by Mariano’s warm mouth. 

It feels like an insect crawling on top of her. She had hoped she wouldn’t be as dry as she imagined. Rarely did she think of Mariano fucking her when she spread her legs under the covers and rubbed herself. Sometimes she thought of herself, writhing, a little scared. Sometimes she — traitorously — thought of her friends who already had sex. Who knew how to move to make it pleasurable, to please their husbands. Sometimes she thought of them teaching her. 

Their fingers on her clit, instead of Mariano’s. Their higher, but still husky voices moaning against her earlobe, kissing her neck, instead of Mariano’s. Their slim fingers curling inside of her, like Isabela liked to do to herself, instead of Mariano’s. 

Unable to find her entrance, he rubbed his cock against her. “Is this good?”

At least he’s nice. But no. Nothing about this feels good. It’s like grinding against uncooked ham. 

“Yes,” she says with a moan, moving in tandem with him. 

It’s like dancing! Tío Félix had quipped before breaking into a waltz with tía Pepa. On another, separate occasion, Papi had said the same. It was good advice. Dancing she could do.

She took his hand and moved it down her belly, guiding him towards her clit. At least with his eyes closed he’s not looking at her grimace. 

She does let out a genuine cry when their fingers circle her clit and his cock breaches her cunt right after. 

Better not to think of Mariano. Maybe if it was one of the younger aunties guiding something inside her instead, to teach her how to take something big. The most fingers she’s been able to get inside of herself is three, and Mariano feels much bigger than anything she’s taken before. That should make it more believable that this is her first time. Still, there’s no way he has the experience to know she isn’t technically a virgin anymore. Not all women bleed, her mother had said. Isabela is certainly not going to bleed for Mariano. (Although she had, briefly, thought about secretly pricking herself so the sheets would stain red.) 

And it’s not so bad once he thrusts inside of her. She doesn’t ask him to slow down, maybe even kind of likes the way he rams into her. The sooner he’s done, the sooner she’s done. The thrusts shove her mind away from Mariano. From his noises. From his hairy arms locked around her and his equally hairy chest rubbing against her bare breasts. She can pretend his hardness is her own. That somehow, the mirror is still in front of her.

It’s a lot to get used to. The next night, she’s already adjusted a little bit more.

#encanto #encanto fanfics #mariano guzman #isabela madrigal #fapruary #<- no idea if ill be able to keep that up #mariano/isabela #i cant imagine people check that tag but still #mariano x isabela

[polteergeistt]

This little story got a bit long.

Merely a watcher, the shadowy figure's eyes scanned everything it had beneath its eyes. It sat still, perfectly immobile. It climbed up to see from above, it crawled down to see from below. It lurked, taking in the information sowed like a trail of crumbs. Perhaps someone's pocket had a hole, or maybe did they wish to feed the birds. Was the pocket not stitched back up on purpose, to let someone in ? Did they want to attract the birds and hunt them down ? The creature ate the crumbs anyway. Wherever the trail would lead it, the upcoming fate could not hurt it. It was smooth like an eel and tough like a turtle shell. It could hardly be injured, and it has a safe cocoon just in case.

But it did not expect the crumbs of unknown nature to seep into the safe space.

The crumbs of information took form. It piled up until it formed a life of its own, with its own heart and its own bones. The shadowy figure grew fond of the other life, despite a few patches of existence kept in the dark. It knew that the smile hidden behind the spot of darkness around the life's mouth could brighten it up. The shadow decided to leave small creations in its wake for the life to see.

As days, weeks, months went on, the shadow and the life grew closer. The shadow wasn't hiding as much and the life looked at it in the eyes when they talked. They were not in the same dimension, but their few words were enough. The shadow and the life shared many things and found out they had a liking to common things and feelings. Then the life decided to offer the shadow a fire. It was a small fire, a small flame. A piece of offering. With every word spoken between the two beings, the fire grew warmer and fiercer. The shadow decided to let the fire in its cocoon.

Maybe this idea was not the best.

When the fire entered the cocoon, the shadow gave everything to the flame and it grew exponentially. It burned the majority of the safe space. The heat was great and the shadow couldn't breath. It couldn't breath. It was consuming it. The warmth was sweet. It felt like a piece that was missing from it its entire life. The shadow needed it, but it wasn't ready. It wanted more. It wanted to get rid of it and never feel it again. The shadow felt very conflicted. It got what it wanted, so why did it hurt like that ? Was this not meant for it ? It soon felt unworthy of the delectable warmth. It hurt so badly. Maybe the freezing cold had made a better home. It was its own fault. It messed the fire and now it was roaring with need.

The shadowy figure decided to let the heat leave the cocoon. As the other life was in another dimension and as the cocoon was too small to receive it, it decided to let go. Just for a moment. However, the life and it couldn't stay apart. The shadow stood awkwardly with its fire being back at a small flame. The life was completely oblivious to how its flame burnt it from the inside out and how the shadow didn't want to let go of it despite it. The life kept giving its words to the shadow, as it always does. It gave it the reassurance it needed without being aware of it. The shadow looked down at the flame. It was growing steadily again. It smiled down at the fire.

When the shadow took the fire back home, it was more careful. The flame grew strong and took a lot of place again, but this time it didn't burn. It was soft and gentle. The shadow didn't pry on it. It cherished it. It was content. He was getting used to this warmth and its limbs unfroze. It felt nice. Lovely. This time, the shadow danced along the flames. It was ready for them to consume him. So when the night came, he turned to the life and spoke gently.

"Goodnight, my angel."

Actually, this was the best decision of its existence.

#polteergeistt #polteergeistt writes #this is for my angel