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libraryofgage · 6 months

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Good Vibrations Two

This AU got a lot more attention than I expected actually hfjdks I'm so glad everyone likes it!

Anyway, here's part two! We get some concert, some peeks at how Robin helps Steve navigate social situations, and a little Eddie having an itsy-bitsy crisis over Steve's fashion choices.

Have fun! And, as always, if you see any typos, no you didn't (especially for this one since I wrote most of it on my phone actually lmao)

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Steve stares at the shirts laid out on his bed, arms crossed over his chest. Choosing jeans had been easy, but choosing a shirt is giving him trouble. What do you wear to a metal show at the local dive bar for a small-town band in which the lead singer is a long-time and way-out-of-your-league crush that you've been holding a candle for since the first time you saw him laugh on top of a cafeteria table?

You definitely don't show up in a plain black shirt, that's for sure.

The lights in the hall outside Steve's room flicker, switching off and on three times. Steve just barely notices, which means he doesn't get his pants scared off when Robin appears in the doorway, grinning at him while pocketing the key to the front door he'd given her months ago into a messenger bag. "Hey, dingus," she says, striding into the room and flopping onto the bed.

Steve rolls his eyes, yanking the shirts out from under her and laying them once more over Robin's stomach and legs. "What shirt should I wear?" he asks.

It takes a few seconds for Steve to look from the shirts to Robin, and she patiently waits until he's staring at her to say, "Just pick one. Nobody's gonna care what you're wearing."

"I care," Steve says, frowning as he looks back at the shirts. For the aforementioned crush reason, Steve cares very much about the shirt he wears. "What says 'Hi, we've never talked before but your music is the only thing I can hear and I think your hair is in desperate need of quality shampoo and also I've been halfway in love with you since, like, sophomore year'?"

Robin considers the question for a long moment before picking up a red sweater. "This one says 'I'm horny'," she offers.

Steve blinks, staring at the sweater for a few beats before laughing. "But I'm not," he says.

Despite looking at Robin, she happens to angle her head toward the sweater, and her response is lost on Steve. He frowns, waits until her jaw has stopped moving, and says, "I didn't get that."

After Robin first learned about Steve's deafness, he'd been overly anxious about asking her to repeat things. Somehow, it was worse to constantly ask when the person knew he couldn't hear well, if at all. But Robin had never shown annoyance; she'd just adjust her posture, make sure Steve could see her lips, and repeat her words. She does all of this now, and Steve gets to read her joking response, "Yeah, but you will be."

And, yeah, she has him there. Steve huffs and collapses onto the bed beside her, sacrificing the shirts. "I'll need a jacket," he says, turning his head to look at Robin so he can read her response.

Instead of words, though, he sees her face light up, and she jumps off the bed. Steve sits up, watching as she digs in her messenger bag before pulling out a t-shirt. "Remember when I stayed over a few weeks ago? And you let me borrow a shirt? You should wear it!"

Thankfully, Robin waits until she's done talking to throw the shirt in Steve's face. Honestly, he only understood a few words ("remember," "borrow," and "wear") but he's gathered enough context clues to get the gist of things.

He spreads the shirt out, humming at the Iron Maiden design. It's not one he wears often; for the most part, it's a shirt he wears on lazy days at home because of how soft it is. But as he's studying the design, Steve is suddenly hit with a stroke of pure genius.

He quickly changes into the shirt and then grabs a varsity jacket (not his letterman, but one he'd seen at the mall and bought on a whim because it used a nice shade of yellow) off his desk, tugging it on over the shirt but leaving it unbuttoned. After a few more seconds of digging around, he finds sneakers under the bed and tugs them on.

"Okay," he says, turning so Robin can see the outfit from every angle. He comes to a stop when he's facing her once more, hands buried in his jacket pockets, and asks, "What do you think? How's it look?"

"I think you'll give Eddie a crisis," Robin replies, wrinkling her nose at the varsity jacket. "Not, like, a bad one. But he'll probably ask where you got the shirt from."

Steve grins, thinking that sounds about perfect, and turns to study himself in the mirror. It's a surprisingly solid blend of metal and jock, and it makes him feel oddly confident, the same way he felt the first time he did his hair just right and everyone complimented it.

"Perfect," he decides. "Let's go."

----

The ride to the Hideout isn't exactly quiet, but it's not like Steve can talk and drive at the same time. So it's filled with music blasted as high as it can go on his car stereo, causing the whole vehicle to vibrate with each beat. When he finally turns the car off after parking, Robin grimaces as she rubs her ears.

She waits for Steve to be in front of her before saying, "We're putting the windows down next time."

"Oh. Sorry," Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck a little awkwardly as Robin dismissively waves off his apology.

"No, it's fine, I'm just saying. Now, let's get inside before they start."

With that, she loops her arm through Steve's and drags him into the Hideout. They're hit with a wave of cigarette smoke, spilled beer, and sweat as they walk through the door, the combined smells making Steve dizzy. He frowns, leaning closer to Robin as she squeezes his arm. He feels her thumb tap him twice, their code for asking if the other is okay.

"I'm fine," he mumbles, nodding to a table in the corner. "Let's go sit. I just need to get used to...everything."

The lights are weird, too. Despite the place being dim, the few lights that are on are flickering, and Steve is having trouble processing all the new information his (working) senses are taking in.

Thankfully, Robin pulls him over to the table he pointed to, a small circle near a stage of dubious sturdiness. It looks like it can barely hold the instruments, much less those plus the people who will play them. There's an amp on the side of the stage near the table, which means they'll have the perfect spot to feel the music's vibrations. Steve slides into one of the chairs there and closes his eyes, resting his arms on a table that is surprisingly not sticky.

He feels Robin move the other chair next to him, slide in, and start pulling things out of her bag. When Steve opens his eyes again, there's a notebook between them and a variety of pens in all different colors spread out across the open pages. Robin has already picked up a red pen and is writing with it as Steve chooses a purple one.

When Robin is done writing, she taps the page so Steve can read, "Want something to drink?"

"I'm not sure we can trust the glasses here," he writes back.

"The fact you're calling them "glasses" tells me everything. Just sit tight."

With that, Robin drops her pen, winks at Steve, and heads over to the bar where a woman is wiping the counter. Steve watches her for a few seconds before looking around at the other people in the place. Most of them are sitting in groups, talking amongst themselves. Most of them also have mustaches or beards, making it downright impossible for Steve to read their lips.

Instead, Steve just gets a dull kind of rush in his ears, an ever-present background noise he can't escape. Soon enough, maybe because he's thinking about it too much, a high-pitched ringing starts up in his right ear, growing and growing in pitch until it's all he can focus on. Steve grimaces and looks down at the notebook, trying to keep his shoulders relaxed so he doesn't look as tense as he feels. The ringing persists, and he rubs his ear like that's going to help.

His ear is still ringing, though it has started to diminish, when a water bottle is placed in front of him. Steve jerks, forcing himself to calm down as Robin slides into her seat again with a mug of beer that's more foam than anything else. "They're about to start," she says, waiting until Steve has nodded once to show understanding before taking a sip.

Steve looks up at the stage and wonders how he missed Eddie and his friends arriving. As his friends are setting up behind him, Eddie is resting one hand on the neck of his guitar and using the other to hold the mic close to his mouth. Steve can't read his lips, but Eddie's grin is a little contagious as he says something to a guy by the bar. The guy must say something back, because Eddie bursts out laughing, his head thrown back to show off a neck Steve wants to bite.

A tap on his arm brings his attention away, and he looks at the notebook to see Robin has scrawled out a transcript:

"Eddie: Thanks for coming out tonight, everyone

Guy: Fuck off, Munson

Eddie: Love you, too, Jeremy"

Steve snorts, looking up to see Robin's equally amused smile as she continues to write on another page. When he glances at the stage, Steve sees Eddie still talking into the mic, his eyes roaming over the audience until they reach Steve and Robin. Eddie seems to grip the mic tighter, and he holds Steve's eyes for a few seconds, giving just enough time for Steve to wave awkwardly before Eddie looks away. But his smile seems a little bigger than before, and Steve is happy to let himself think he caused it.

When he looks down again, Robin has finished writing, and she nudges the notebook closer to him. Eddie must talk fast, because her writing is almost indistinguishable from chicken scratch in dirt that a cat got dragged through. Thankfully, Steve is an expert at this point.

"Eddie: Anyway, you know the drill. We'll start with some Metallica, treat you to Iron Maiden, throw in a dash of Black Sabbath, and then grace you with a Corroded Coffin original. If you don't like it, not my problem."

Steve feels the beginning of the set as he finishes reading. He sits a little straighter, planting his feet firmly on the floor and placing his palms on the table with his fingers spread. Robin is still writing next to him, most likely transcribing the bits and pieces of conversation she can hear for Steve to read later and laugh at. She doesn't try to get his attention while she does, already knowing it won't be worth it after Steve has shifted into Music Mode.

In the same way that people can tell what song is playing based simply on the first note, Steve can sometimes tell based on the strength and length of the first vibration. In the same way people know the lyrics of songs after listening to them enough times, Steve knows the vibration patterns like the back of his hand. In the same way people who hear their favorite songs played live can tell when a note is wrong or a lyric is sung too fast, Steve can tell when the drummer or bassist makes tiny mistakes that wouldn't be caught otherwise.

And Steve loves it. He loves how his entire body thrums with each vibration that travels from the amp. He loves how he can close his eyes and picture a story based on the music, one that probably doesn't match the lyrics but tends to replace them in his heart. He loves that this is something he can still share with his friends, even if most of them don't realize how different his experience with music is.

So, for all the little bumps and dips that occur in the vibrations as Corroded Coffin plays, for all the tiny slips that certainly go unnoticed by anyone else, and for all the fact that Steve doesn't get to hear Eddie's voice, he can confidently say he loves the show. He's never heard the songs played like this before, and it helps diminish the gut-deep desperation for new music.

And then Corroded Coffin starts a new song. It's one Steve doesn't recognize, one with vibrations that are completely foreign to him, and he jerks his head up to watch Eddie play his guitar in an opening solo. It thrums across the floor, climbing up his legs and spreading in waves from his palms on the table. Steve feels goosebumps chase after it, a new wave washing over him when the guitar solo ends with a particularly strong vibration that's immediately followed by the drums and bass.

Eddie throws himself into the music, moving and twisting and strutting around the stage like he's playing to Madison Square Garden. Steve can't look away, the lyrics incomprehensible but replaced by the jerk of Eddie's hips and the tilt of his head and the little half-spin he does on his heel.

It ends too quickly with one final, reverberating strum that lingers in Steve's bones, burrowing into his marrows as Eddie pushes his hair back and grins into the mic. He says something breathlessly, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly as he tries to catch his breath, and Steve knows he's gone.

He's hopeless.

He's desperate.

He needs more Corroded Coffin, more Eddie, in whatever form he can get.

----

For the first time, Corroded Coffin gets genuine applause after playing. Usually, the patrons of the Hideout will politely clap (if they even notice the set is over) for about two seconds. Tonight, however, Eddie and his friends are graced with excited clapping, a few shouts, and one very strong whistle from a small table to the left of the stage. And it spreads because even rough biker dudes can fall to peer pressure when it's that enthusiastic.

So, yeah, genuine applause all because of Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley who, Eddie thinks, is surprising company for the former King of Hawkins High. No matter how unexpected, he should still thank them and ask what they thought of the set now that it's over. He carefully sets his guitar on a stand and glances over his shoulder, catching Jeff's gaze and flashing a grin. "I'll be right back," he says before jumping off the stage and heading over to Steve and Robin's table.

As he gets closer, he notices the notebook and pens spread out, colorful writing filling the pages and Steve grinning with amusement as he reads it. Robin is watching him like she's waiting for him to understand an inside joke already so they can laugh about it together. If Eddie didn't already know Robin was like him (band camp, summer after his junior year, during an unfortunate game of Seven Minutes in Heaven where they awkwardly stood in a closet together before Robin commented on his black bandana), he'd wonder if something was going on between them.

"How'd you like the set?" Eddie asks when he reaches the table, suddenly nervous enough to tug on a lock of his hair and pull it in front of his mouth.

Robin looks up, but Steve doesn't. He's still reading the notebook, snorting at whatever is written there like he didn't hear Eddie. It's not until Robin elbows him that he raises his head, eyes widening when he sees Eddie. "Sorry, could you repeat that?" Steve asks, his gaze dropping to Eddie's mouth (Eddie definitely isn't imagining that) and faltering some.

"I asked if you liked the set," Eddie says, frowning slightly as Robin grabs a pen and scribbles something on the notebook. It's too small for him to read, but he doesn't miss how Steve glances down for less than a second before his eyes light up with realization.

"Oh!" he says, looking back at Eddie and flashing a charming grin. "It was great. You guys are so loud, and I've never f-uh, heard anything like your original song before."

Eddie catches the way Steve fumbles, faltering like he wanted to say one word but forced himself to say another. Something is tugging at the back of Eddie's mind, but he can't quite grab onto it just yet. For now, he leans forward, placing both hands on the table so he can be closer to Steve. "You listen to metal often, Harrington?" he asks.

Steve stares at his mouth for a few seconds before nodding, and Eddie feels the thrill of learning something completely unexpected. "I like Black Sabbath best, but Judas Priest and Guns N' Roses are close seconds," Steve says.

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, "What do you like most about it?" He wants to know. Does Steve Harrington (King Steve, Steve "The Hair" Harrington, Steve fucking Harrington) like metal for the same reasons he does? Does he like the stories and the passion and the heavy theatricality of it all?

Steve seems to hesitate, possibly thinking about how to answer, before finally saying, "I like how it's music I can feel. When I listen to metal, it digs into my bones. Other music doesn't."

Somehow, Eddie's grin gets impossibly wider, and his cheeks are hurting from the sheer force of it. He's about to say more when Robin glances at the clock and swears under her breath. "Shit, I promised Mom I'd be home ten minutes ago," she says, grabbing the pens and recklessly throwing them into her bag.

It's the movement that seems to catch Steve's attention, and he looks down at Robin's hands before looking up at the clock. "Oh, fuck, your curfew," he says, looking at Robin like she hadn't just said the same thing two seconds ago.

"Yeah, no shit, dingus," Robin says, pausing long enough to speak while looking straight at Steve before throwing the notebook into her bag, too. She jumps to her feet and hauls Steve out of the chair, making his varsity jacket fall open to reveal an Iron Maiden shirt.

And Eddie thinks his heart just about stops. He doesn't know why, but seeing Steve in a metal band shirt under an undeniably jock jacket makes him feel....something. This is, like, sacrilege, right? How dare Steve Harrington allow Metal and Jock to meet? Doesn't he know the two styles clash? Or, well, they're supposed to clash, but Steve somehow wears them well, and Eddie thinks he's upset and annoyed by the fact.

Before Eddie can analyze that feeling, Steve says, "Sorry to run, Eddie. You played really well. Let me know when the next show is."

There's a lot to unpack there, too. Steve Harrington wants to come to another Corroded Coffin gig. Steve Harrington is sorry he has to cut the conversation short. Steve Harrington thinks his band played really well. Before Eddie can say anything in response, Robin is dragging Steve away, throwing a goodbye over her shoulder.

Eddie doesn't want Steve to go without something, though, some kind of departing word, so he shouts, "See ya later, big boy!"

Steve doesn't look back, but Robin nearly trips over the doorway. She then pauses long enough to say something to Steve, watching with sheer delight as he splutters and glances at Eddie before dragging her through the door. Eddie couldn't stop the grin if he tried, and he didn't try.

Later, when Eddie is sprawled on the floor of his room, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about Steve's stupid combination of Metal and Jock, he'll be struck by a sudden, consuming thought. What if Steve was wearing just the Iron Maiden shirt? What if he wore just the jacket?

Eddie swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, his mouth going dry as he scrambles to his feet and gets ready to take a very, very cold shower.

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Tag List (the tag list is completely filled up! There definitely wasn't enough room for everyone who requested a tag orz

Please follow the tag "good vibrations Steddie" or put on notifications for my blog to see when new parts are posted :D)

@hallucinatedjosten, @queenie-ofthe-void, @r0binscript, @jewellthebooknerd, @paintgonewrong, @vacantwatchers, @newagemyth, @gutterflower77, @just-a-tiny-void, @littlebluejane

@whenindoubtb72, @different-tale-student, @sharingisntkaren, @current-steddie-brainrot, @willim-billiam-byerson, @nuggies4life

@lostgurl-12, @anomalygal, @synonym-for-strange, @sani-86, @missmagillicuddy, @ilikechocolatemilkh, @thoughtfulbreadpolice, @harringrieve, @awesomeimportantfan, @fredtheemoplant, @warlordess, @therealscarletpumpernickel, @gsvshsjsbs, @mightbeasleep, @mollymawkwrites

@lil-gremlin-things, @honorarybrit81, @sonny-ray-of-goth, @potent-idiocy, @fandomcartographer, @heartsong18, @lingeringmirth, @ko0kyco0kies, @ccomandercody, @spiderman-stilinski, @l0st-strawberry, @xxsky-shockxx, @stilesstickitinme, @boxsam, @thepansexualsnake, @37-screamingfrogs, @yourmom-isgay, @brainsteddielyrotted, @plasticcrotches, @hannahhook7744

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fluff #good vibrations steddie #deaf steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #steve harrington #stranger things #my writing

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hothammies · 1 month

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concept designs for the zombie apocalypse au i'm working on - pt. 1 (small au details under the cut regarding their designs)

--- mike's design

always wears his bomber jacket (normally decorated with pins) - was given to him by nancy when he was ten and he grew into it

signature weapon is a machete - likes its versatility + has terrible aim with guns: the only one he can kind of use is a shotgun, but he rarely uses it because the kickback fucks with his shoulder

will's design

always wears a long sleeve around his waist "just in case" (normally his military jacket or a flannel)

watch was given to him by jonathan when he was ten

signature weapon is a hunting rifle - is the second best with guns after lucas + follows the st canon of him using a rifle in s1e1

el's design

wardrobe always consists of one thing from a different party member (ex. gray hoodie is actually mike's, next day she wears a lucas jacket or a will flannel, etc.) it makes her feel safe :'D

doesn't have a signature weapon + is very versatile - just tends to use whatever's on hand at times or the environment around her

---

other notes: i fucking love apocalypse shit :P i'm still working on the whole outline of course, but if you're wondering, the infection i'm imagining would be a mix between days gone + l4d + a smidgen of tlou while the world is similar to tlou and a little of twd. i'll include some upside down stuff with the infection to make it feel like st :D i'm currently planning where i want this universe to go, with backstories and relationship dynamics between the entire party - byler will be the main romantic relationship, but i'll also dedicate some time to lumax too. however, the biggest theme surrounding this au is found family for me, so while romance will still be important, i want to put a lot of focus on the entire group's dynamic as a whole!

#i've already designed and drawn the other three babies <3 i'm just trying to pace the posts and solidify details #also please ignore the moderate art style change i'm trying something new and its working #stranger things #mike wheeler #will byers #el hopper #willelmike #the party #byler #stranger things fanart #st apoc au #<- tag for this au #just bc i intend to be drawing way more of it!!#sammi's art

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promptfairy · 2 months

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❥ 𝐋𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐃𝐘𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐒 [ 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 ] .

designed for ships, but can be used for a variety of relationship types. change gendered language/add context to your needs. happy roleplaying !! ♡

❛ it feels so good to be bad. ❜ ❛ it really makes me wonder if i ever gave a fuck about you. ❜ ❛ give me something to believe in. ❜ ❛ i don’t believe in you anymore. ❜ ❛ i wonder if it even makes a difference to try. ❜ ❛ so, this is goodbye. ❜ ❛ one day i’ll wake up & it won’t hurt anymore. ❜ ❛ it’s like i can’t even feel after the way you touched me. ❜ ❛ you’re everything that i want, but you don’t want me. ❜ ❛ am i a regret, yet? ❜ ❛ was it worth what it costed? ❜ ❛ you make me nauseous. ❜ ❛ you’re overrated. ❜ ❛ when i think of you, i just want to throw up. ❜ ❛ all my friends say that you’re toxic. ❜ ❛ why does love suck? ❜ ❛ love hurts whether it’s right or wrong. ❜ ❛ i can’t stop, i’m having too much fun. ❜ ❛ you can’t save me, baby. ❜ ❛ you never call or listen to me anyway. ❜ ❛ where were you tuesday, october tenth? ❜ ❛ how is your jacket covered in blood? ❜ ❛ how was the party? did you have fun? ❜ ❛ i fell in love with the warning signs. ❜ ❛ the only time i feel alive is when i’m touching the warning signs. ❜ ❛ if you tell me to stay away, i’m gonna dive in again. ❜ ❛ my favorite color is red like the flags you fly overhead. ❜ ❛ well, i should have known. ❜ ❛ didn’t you see it coming? didn’t you see the signs? ❜ ❛ i’ll break your pretty face. ❜ ❛ bite your tongue & choke yourself to sleep. ❜ ❛ you can hold my hand if no one’s home. ❜ ❛ do you like it when i’m away? ❜ ❛ you’re a pond & i’m an ocean. ❜ ❛ all my emotions feel like explosions when you are around. ❜ ❛ i am a wreck when i’m without you. ❜ ❛ was it something i said to make you feel like you’re a burden? ❜ ❛ tell me, is it worth it? ❜ ❛ she’s a lady & i am just a line without a hook. ❜ ❛ do what you want as long as you stay here. ❜ ❛ you’ll change your name or change your mind & leave this fucked up place behind, but i’ll know. ❜ ❛ if you ever try to leave me, i’ll find you, [name]. ❜ ❛ i’ll be the bad guy, now. ❜ ❛ i couldn’t be there, even when i tried. ❜ ❛ seasons changed & our love went cold. ❜ ❛ i knew that this was doomed from the get-go. ❜ ❛ you thought that it was special, but it was just the sex, though. ❜ ❛ it’s only me; what have you got to lose? ❜ ❛ you should take it as a compliment that i got drunk & made fun of the way you talk. ❜ ❛ you should think about the consequence of your magnetic field being a little too strong. ❜ ❛ you’re so cool, it makes me hate you so much. ❜ ❛ you’ve ruined my life by not being mine. ❜ ❛ you’re so gorgeous, i can’t say anything to your face. ’cause look at your face. ❜ ❛ i’m so furious at you for making me feel this way. ❜ ❛ if you’ve got a girlfriend, i’m jealous of her. but if you’re single, that’s honestly worse. ❜ ❛ you’re so gorgeous, it actually hurts. ❜ ❛ you make me so happy, it turns back to sad. ❜ ❛ there’s nothing i hate more than what i can’t have. ❜ ❛ guess i’ll just stumble on home to my cats. alone … unless you wanna come along? ❜ ❛ you look so happy when i’m not with you. ❜ ❛ i don’t know why i run away. ❜ ❛ take me back, ’cause i wanna stay. ❜ ❛ i kept my distance ’cause i know that you don’t like when i’m with somebody else. ❜ ❛ i couldn’t help it; i put you through hell. ❜ ❛ i realize that it’s much too late, & you deserve someone better. ❜ ❛ i’m not the best at breaking up. ❜ ❛ i like my alone time, but i want somebody to hold. ❜ ❛ i get what i want. i keep it for a minute. then i let it go. ❜ ❛ i hate it when you’re there for me, but i like it when you hit the spot. ❜ ❛ i don’t do fake love, but i’ll take some from you tonight. ❜ ❛ i don’t expect you to understand. ❜ ❛ i’m ready to die holding your hand. ❜ ❛ i can’t hide how i feel about you inside. ❜ ❛ i’d give everything up tonight, if i could just have you be mine. ❜ ❛ i’d give up everything for you. ❜

#sentence starters #sentence meme #rp starters #rp meme #rp prompts #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #roleplay prompts #small text is no longer a thing on this blog bc tumblr makes it impossible to format long lists like this with the stupid #character limit rule so enjoy this normal sized text <3

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vqlluna · 4 months

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CLOSURE ━━━ REMUS LUPIN

summary: it's been years since you confessed your love to Remus, and he couldn't reciprocate it. It's been years since your days at Hogwarts ended, and you're now recouped back with your schoolmates for a holiday party. What could go wrong?

pairings: f!reader x remus lupin, angst, fluff,

a/n: ngl this is partly based on the beginning of my parent's little love story, and of course, this is based on closure by taylor swift (and basically the whole evermore album)

❝ IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME, and seeing the shape of your name just spells out pain. It wasn't right the way it all went down, looks like you know that now... ❞

You quickly ran down the stairs of your apartment, trying your best to fit the silver hoop through your ear without harming yourself. You tripped your way into your incredibly small kitchen, shuffling at the island counter, which only was filled with months-old letters, bills, and notices, trying your best to find a specific invitation.

Mary Macdonald had been your best schoolmate during your years at Hogwarts, and despite, by now a few years, of barely speaking to her or anyone in her crowd, she'd been so kind as to invite you to a wonderfully large and fancy Christmas Party.

And it was for this very reason as to why you stood in your most expensive dress, dug out from the back of your closet. You wiped your sweaty hands on the velvet fabric before delving back into the mountain of parchment searching for the envelope that held every single piece of information you neglected to put to memory that would get you into that party.

You were desperate to spend your Holidays not stuck in your parent's home for once. But it was only once you accidentally stumbled into a large stack as every single piece of paper collapsed on the floor, that you realized who might actually be there. You carefully picked up small clumps, replacing them back on the counter as you eyed the very last one.

It was quite dusty with small water stains sprinkled and it was extremely crumpled. Your jaw clenched as you picked it up and placed it at the edge of the counter. You inhaled a large breath before snapping your head in a different direction as you finally saw the invitation in your peripheral.

You ran to your living area grabbed your purse and ran back as you gripped the envelope. As expected, you've managed to make yourself late. You waddled on over in your heels to the small entranceway and picked up your coat and wand from the coat rack.

Maybe in a moment of weakness or a flood of memories, you looked back to the dirty crinkled piece of parchment in your kitchen. It was a big party, there would barely be any chance you'd see him, you assured yourself. And in fact even if you do, you can do you best to avoid him, you planned.

You shook your head and stepped back towards the island. Gripping the envelope tightly you shoved it into the pocket of your coat.

But if by any chance you ended up speaking with him tonight, you'd surely give it back, you couldn't possibly bear the weight of that note anymore, and you surely had no use for it now.

Taking a deep sigh you adjusted the collar of your jacket, patting now your hair in the mirror before exiting your old townhome. You locked the door behind you and shoved your hands into your pockets. You squeezed the envelope inside it almost in comfort before you apparated yourself away.

❝ Yes, I got your letter, yes, I'm doing better. It cut deep to know ya', right to the bone... ❞

After you found yourself apparated to an area which you knew was near your designation you crunched the snow beneath your heels as you walked, almost aimlessly, to the party. Upon seeing the large estate you felt wildly unprepared and under-dressed. Least to say it was a luxurious event.

You stumbled up the steps, nervously searching through the vast halls, filled with fishes of people, to find a pair of, wanted, familiar eyes. You found yourself in the gigantic main room, as witches and wizards conversed among themselves, grabbing the treats and drinks off the trays of staff.

You were stopped as one of the waiters offered you a truffle, interested in the beautiful dessert you picked it up and turned around as you shoved it in your face, only to accidentally bump into another figure. The woman you'd crashed into turned around, their bright red hair flashing your eyes. As you got a good look at the person your face fell.

"Oh my—Merlin! y/n is that you?" she excitedly asked, disregarding your muttered apology and quickness in trying to whip back around. You cringed and turned back around on your heel giving a fake smile.

"Lily—my Godric, hi," you breathed.

Lily slowly parted from her current conversation to partake in one with you. "Well I haven't seen you in forever! Where are you, what do you do now?" she questioned.

You wiped your sweaty palms once again on the fabric of your dress, "I, uhm, I live in Chudley now," you chuckled nervously "I'm an artist, a painter actually."

The red-headed girl looked at you in such awe, and you were certainly in disbelief as to why. "Wow y/n, have you sold much? Featured in a gallery ever?" she was completely interested. It was then that you remembered that she was always like this, but it'd been so long that you'd forgotten what it was like to have someone engaged in what you had to say.

Your smile finally picked up a bit, "Yes, actually, got my first gallery showing about a week ago, it's still up for a couple of months! But uh, regarding sales, it's enough to keep the lights on, y'know?"

"Well I think it's absolutely lovely that you're working your dream, that's really great," Lily appreciated, "I'm assuming you're trying to find Mary, come along this way, she with the rest of them!" she waved on, but your feet were planted in the ground.

You gulped down the last tiny bit of your truffle, you eyebrows knitted together as you stuttered, "The—the uhm, the rest of them?"

Lily's excitement softened at your mutters, "Oh you're still—" she said slightly surprised but she cut herself off in fear of saying something offensive, "He hasn't arrived yet," she assured, then lowering her voice in a whisper, "We're not sure if he's coming, it's around that time."

You grew a small frown, "Ah," you hummed, "He uh, well," you dug out the letter from your pocket, waving it in front of Lily as she read the senders name printed in the corner. Her lips pressed together as she nodded, giving you relief as she disregarded it and intended to act like she didn't see the letter, nor knew anything of the situation guiding you through the nets of attendees.

You took a large breath of bravery through your nose as you slowly approached the circle of very familiar faces. You first caught Marlene Mckinnon's attention, catching you in her view her eyebrows lifted as her mouth formed a small O.

Following her gaze, Sirius finally saw you, his eyes widened in utter shock as he absentmindedly nudged James beside him. Looking at the disturbance James' cheeks puffed up with air before exhaling it out. Dorcas, who stood at the other end beside Marlene watched the scene and you could see her mouth the word "shit," at everyone's upset.

How were you to approach a group of old friends who now semi-hated you but yet felt incredibly sorry for you? Instead of stressing over the others, you focussed on how Mary squealed with joy upon seeing you. She slightly waddled a run in her heels over to you as she embraced you warmly. "You came!"

You scrunched your face with a grin as you pulled back, "Of course, Mary! Needed to get out of the house anyways," you smiled, she put you at ease even while Marlene looked at you so skeptically and as James and Sirius exchanged glasses before downing the rest their glasses of champagne in their hands.

"Well if it isn't y/n y/l," Marlene smirked, it completely confused you because while the rest of her face seemed elated to see you, her eyes seemed to almost be throwing daggers at you. The rest of the women quickly warmed up to you as you entered the conversation, though James and Sirius kept almost unnervingly quiet. Above all, you noticed the absence of Peter and him.

Finally, the conversation began to smooth, the group being able to get quite a few good hearty laughs from you. Though the ends of your Hogwarts days were a touchy subject that everyone mindlessly agreed not to talk about, you all got caught up in reminiscing on events previous to it.

But it soon came to a close as Peter ran up, "I've got a surprise f'you all!" he exclaimed gripping the back of James' shoulder as he squeezed himself between the pair of men before he looked across the circle to you. He opened his mouth to say something before tightly shutting it closed.

Behind him followed another man. He was tall, dressed his best scraggly black coat, a white undershirt, and black slacks all tied together with a matching black tie. His ruffly brown hair didn't match his attire, and neither did the deep scars that lined his face, some old but some fresh and new, but either way he was undeniably beautiful.

He slowed to a stop in the small opening between Peter and Sirius as his half-lidded eyes and warm smile turned into repetitive blinking of disbelief and lips in awe.

And for a moment, the rapid growing beat of your heart, as you saw his figure coming, came to a complete stop.

And everything was deadly silent.

❝ Yes, I got your letter, yes, I'm doing better. I know that it's over, I don't need your closure... ❞

The group stood still and quiet for seconds as their eyes flickered between the two of you, itching to see the reactions. The awkwardness between everything grew to a hot before Sirius shut it down, to the relief of everyone except you.

"So who needs a drink?" he asked, and like a pounce of a tiger, everyone utters their Yups and Yes's and Count Me In's, scurrying away quickly. Mary was the last to leave, fighting with herself in her head if it was better to let you deal with it for once or keep you safe from this horror you desperately tried to stay away from.

You dipped your head down staring at your shoes trying to avoid his eyes. It was only when he cleared his throat that you snapped ur attention back up to him. "Remus," you greeted quickly with his name, flashing a fake, uncomfortable smile.

He grazed your figure with his eyes for a beat before he muttered your name, "y/n."

The air felt cold and thick against your exposed skin, your necklace and dress growing tight on your skin from hearing your name from his lips again. "How are you—"

"Cut it with the niceties Moo—Lupin," you stopped him, "You can have your letter back," you growled digging the letter back out of your pocket and shoving it in his hand, "I've gotten all of them, but this one... you need to take this one back. I don't want it," you gritted.

"Y/n, I just. You wouldn't talk to me, I needed you to know—" Remus changed, not wanting your disacceptence.

"So filling my mail with your stupid words would get us through to each other? You did all this to yourself."

"I didn't know you had—Look I'm sorry but I was scared—"

You scoffed and laughed in his face adjusting the strap of your purse on your shoulder, "I'm not doing this with you right now, here, after all this time. I'll send the rest of your letters over another day, K?" you ended turning around walking out of the grand room and through the halls.

Remus' heart clenched in love of hearing your laugh but hated the circumstances it was under, begging for this conversation, to clear up every single miscommunication and wrong step, he followed you out.

You crossed by the open bar finding Mary and everyone else downing drinks. You took her hands into your own, "Thanks for inviting me Mary, truly, but I best get going now," you thanked quickly, ignoring Remus behind you with his open mouth with empty words. He only flicked his eyes to the group for a fraction of a second before landing back to you, still closely following you out as you grabbed your coat at the door and exited the mansion.

❝ Don't treat me like some situation that needs to be handled. I'm fine with my spite, and my tears, and my beers, and my candles. I can feel you smoothing me over... ❞

You were halfway across the large courtyard as Remus scurried down the steps, "I loved you!" he exclaimed. You froze and a sharp breath filled your lungs as you whipped around, and you let yourself fully remember what happened for once.

It was the start of your seventh year at Hogwarts. Everyone knew something was brewing between you and Remus. The strong tension, the back-and-forth banters, subtle compliments, and executing favors with no question.

It felt like a silent agreement between you two as the flirtations grew more obvious. Every sight of him caught you winded, and every touch had you melt to the floor, when he finally kissed you, you couldn't help but feel yourself explode with your own personal fireworks. Until he pulled away.

Rumors that he started talking to someone new shattered you. Soon your heartbreak filled with rage, he'd lead you on only to crush you and leave you stranded. And where once, he helped you captain your ship, you soon found him drowned away as you frantically steered yourself into an iceberg.

Your anger so strong you couldn't even look at him, and so you left anything related to him altogether.

Because you thought you had something, only to be made to feel like you meant nothing. Your graduation day only led to more despair as Remus sought you out once again, with the courage to confess. You shut him down and locked him out. It was the loudest and yet most silent, lonely, train ride home.

You blinked back to the present, Remus and you still in the exact moment and positions. Your jaw clenched as his next words came out so softly, so slowly, like a whisper only you could hear across the courtyard. "I still love you."

❝ Yes, I got your letter, yes, I'm doing better. It cut deep to know you right to the bone. Yes, I got your letter, yes, I'm doing better. I know that it's over, I don't need your closure. Your closure, your closure, your closure...❞

The fire in your stomach was lit again, "Don't. Moony, just don't. What was that letter? Huh?" you begged, "'I'm letting you go. I hope you're life is swell'? What was that bloody shit? Because it sure seemed to me like a let's-catch-up-like-good-old-friends type of letter! Not a I've-loved-you-after-all-these-years!" you shouted angrily stomping your way up to him.

"You didn't even try! In any of your letters! All you do is act like it's fine or give empty apologies. So please, explain now, give me a real reason for everything, but don't give me this shit."

He stared at you in worry as your bottom lip quivered, eyes glazed in gloss. "I was trying to stop loving you."

You sobbed a wolfish laugh, "Bull. Shit." you said, pushing his chest away, "You knew I was interested! You knew! So don't give me that absolute fuckery because it makes no sense!"

"I couldn't burden you with—everything—all my...problems," he whimpered, "You needed, you need someone stable. You need someone who can give you a home and family like you wanted."

You parted you lips at his confessions of insecurties, "Remus, I'm a full time artist, barely making it to keep my water on—" you tried explaining back to him.

"I saw your gallery, you know! You need someone who's going to help you show off more of your talent, not hold you back! So why haven't you found someone yet? Stop sitting around hung up on me—" he rambled on, getting angier as you tried driving him away, but bits of every sentence he said added fuel to your burning fire.

"I am not hung up on you!" you exclaimed.

"So why are you here begging me for reasons why I didn't want to be with you? Why do you have to freeze every damn time you look at me, and for Merlin's sake, why've you kept all my letters?"

Your face blackened while you glared into his eyes. And while your fear of confrontation was afraid of confronting what went down, it was the fear of confronting what still lingered. You still loved him. That's what you wrote in the only letter you ever wrote back, the letter you never sent.

And maybe that's why his letters stopped coming. When he was finally ready to let go and take his risks to have you, you neglected to accept his grasp.

❝I know I'm just a wrinkle in your past life. Staying friends would iron it out so nice. Guilty, guilty reaching out across the sea that you put between you and me. But it's fake and it's oh so unnecessary...❞

You didn't know why you did it, well you knew why you did it, but you didn't know what came of you. Because instead of pushing him away, you gripped tightly onto the collar of his white shirt, dragging and pulling him to you as you crashed your lips onto his.

And when he, very quickly, kissed you back, your hands skidded up grasping the sides of his face, his own hands pressing your back closer into him. Your lips toppled over each other fueled with passion, craning his neck down just to feel more of you.

You didn't mind that the chilly air froze your cheeks because when the snow came falling you knew it was for the two of you, hoping that it'd freeze you in this moment. You panted lightly through your nose as Remus finally pulled back from you, dashing his eyes all across your face trying to read you.

"Because I don't want you to let go, Remus," you whispered your answer back, Remus shaking his head sofly and rapidly in assurance of your words, "I'm fine with your problems, I'm fine if you can't give me a family, I'm fine if you can't give me a steady life." you scrambled tripping over your own words.

After avoiding his gaze you finally let his chases of finding your eyes catch up with you. "I don't want just a life, Rem. I wanted a life with you. You can't just try to let go of me, can't just stop loving me because you're scared of that," you scolded, furrowing your eyebrows at him.

"You need to let yourself love someone, you've— you need to give me a chance so I can love you." you pressed. Your stomach fluttered as he gave you a soft kiss as your lips once more, and this time when he pulled back he kept his eyes on yours, not letting you look away. You didn't want to look away, you were hanging on waiting for him to say something, anything.

"I will."

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lacollectionneuse1967 · 5 months

Text

slip of the tongue part 3 - reckoning

Theseus Scamander x Reader

"Keep your hands to yourself!" You snap, trying to infuse as much venom into your voice as possible. "I can't," he groans.

summary: a second mission with newt and the group reintroduces theseus's former fiancée, leta lestrange, into the mix. old wounds and insecurities flare as you both reckon with your pasts and make decisions that determine your future.

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: romance with plot. some smut. slight angst!! non-canon compliant.

warnings: 18+ smut, semi-public inappropriate touching, dirty talk, hand kink

part one / part two / part three

author's note: it's funny how the title of this fic doesn't really fit anymore HAHA, goes to show that i did not plan this story at all. this part is going to be LONGER & more focused on plot & their character development! hope you enjoy, as always let me know if you'd like me to continue :)

The surreal, electric buzz from the gala dissipates as soon as you enter the elevator at the Hotel de Rome with Theseus.

Theseus's jacket is so large you're practically drowning in it, the sleeves hang well past your hands. You feel like a little girl in a nightgown. The elevator pulleys burr mechanically as it slowly rises, the electric bulb light casting your face in a sickly, ghastly light. The backs of your high heels have begun to dig painfully into your skin, that stinging pain the only thing grounding you to reality, that and Theseus's warm body beside you. You're positive your feet are bleeding.

Your weariness is mirrored in everyone else's faces when you walk into the hotel room at last. It's obvious that they're all overextended. There's no semblance of victoriousness, even after your successful heist.

Newt stands, alert, at the sight of his brother.

"Theseus! Finally, I was beginning to worry-"

"I'm fine, brother," Theseus waves him off. His hair is slightly damp from the snowfall, and his dress shirt as well. "We got caught up, but we're fine."

When Newt turns to speak to you, his lips part but no words come out. He's staring at your mouth. He looks pale and horrified.

"What?" You turn to the others and to Theseus in uncertainty. Tina and Jacob are also looking at you with newfound distress, but Theseus seems as clueless as you, frowning warily at Newt.

Newt makes as if to bring a hand to your face but pulls back at the last moment.

"Oh dear," Newt says. "Y-Your lipstick is smeared... I'm so terribly sorry, Y/N. And your hair—I didn’t think Dietrich would actually-"

Theseus half-raises an arm, cutting his brother short, looking admonished.

“Actually, Newt, that would be my doing...”

Your face warms considerably. Newt chokes on his words.

“Oh…” He turns to the rest of the group, his face nearly flushed as yours. Jacob lets out a strangled noise and Tina does a discreet double-take between you and Theseus.

“Well,” says Newt, mercifully changing the subject. “We all made off fantastically. Good work.”

You want to share in his congratulations, but it feels premature with Grindelwald still at large. It doesn't feel as though you have much to celebrate in this tiny hotel room, the five of you still standing awkwardly in your evening wear.

"What now?" Asks Tina.

Newt sits on one of the two twin-sized beds and hunches over, forearms on his legs. He is your designated leader, but you have to admit he looks so small and frail without his coat. Thin and unsure of himself.

"I have it on good authority that Credence will be at a mausoleum in the French Alps. He could be heading there now, we have no way of knowing, but he is planning on going there soon. Tomorrow, maybe."

"Why?" Tina's face is full of emotion. You don't know who Credence is, or why he is important to the resistance, but you don't feel that now is the time to ask. It stuns you, the subtlety of her expression, how someone can look so crushed and full of love at once.

"He's, erm, searching for his ancestral records I believe," Newt answers. "The Lestrange artifacts and family tree were moved there from the cemetery in Paris, possibly by Grindelwald. This is likely all a trap set for Credence, but this could very well be our last chance to intercept him. To save him."

Tina is speechless, Jacob nods solemnly.

"Y/N," says Newt. It startles you to hear him say your name in all of this deliberation. "I know you probably don't understand half of what we're saying, and we understand if you don't want to come. But we'll likely run into Grindelwald and his followers. They're after Credence. We could use you."

You don't even have to think.

"Of course, Newt. I go where Theseus goes." You wonder if you sound too intense, too devoted, so you add: "And besides, I want to be of any help that I can."

Theseus reaches out and clasps your hand in his. It thrills you, for him to do this in front of his brother, in front of the others. Your heart races, happily so.

Newt smiles at the sight.

"Sleep," he turns to everyone. "We leave first thing in the morning."

----

The next day, by the time you make it to the French Alps in spats of apparition and stretches of traveling by train, it is nearly dusk again.

You and Theseus had slept like the dead in the too-small hotel room bed, with Tina in the other bed and Jacob and Newt, in a turn of events beyond your understanding, in some hidden compartment within Newt's brown leather suitcase. Strange, but you didn't question it. Your bodies ached when you woke, but it felt like heaven to you, being held by him, you wouldn't have traded it for the world.

"I'm too big for this bed," he lamented, stretching his limbs, when the two of you woke in the morning.

"Hmm, yeah. Too big... " When you smiled coyly and narrowed your eyes at him he threw a pillow at your face. You caught it with a laugh.

"Naughty," he chided.

"The resistance," as Theseus had once jokingly called it, turned out to be not so glamorous after all. The resistance was perpetually tired and forever embarking on some haphazard plans only half-understood.

But when you set foot at the base of the mountains in the Alps, you feel bizarrely energized. This is what you imagined the work of an Auror would be like, chasing leads, pursuing justice through crowded cities and rugged terrain. It feels good to be so proactive after a year of being more or less cooped up in an office at the Ministry. And, best of all, Theseus is here with you. And he wants you, if not your heart then your body, at last, at least...

"This can't be it, Newt," you hear Jacob say, his breath pluming in front of him in small huffs. He struggles through the thick snowbed to catch up to Newt, who is a bit ahead of the group. You're in what looks like a forest clearing, the mountains rise in the distance, gargantuan and feeling a bit holy in their emptiness, their silence.

"He's right. There's nothing out here," calls Tina.

It's a winter forest. A killing wood. In truth, you’ve never been so cold in your entire life. The whole world has turned white as death: white blizzard blotting the air, thick blankets of fresh snow carpet the ground, and everywhere outside the clearing are great white pines standing like sentries, their edges blurred and softened by the snow fog.

You can see what’s in front of you, but you can’t see what’s coming.

Newt walks clumsily back through the budding blizzard to rejoin the group.

"The mausoleum should be a bit uphill from here!" He assures. "It's concealed by magic. Credence doesn't know, but we need someone with the blood of a Lestrange to enter."

The blood of a Lestrange.

Before you can even make the connection, Theseus stiffens beside you and drops your hand.

"Newt, you didn't." His voice is grave.

"I'm so sorry."

You wonder in a shrugging, aloof way why Newt looks to you after saying this to Theseus. It still doesn't mean anything to you.

A branch cracks, a high, ear-splitting sound like a broken bone. When you see the figure emerge from the tree line, your hand is already on your wand.

Grindelwald, you think.

But then Theseus's arm snaps out to yours, stilling your hand, almost just as quick.

"Don't." He says.

She approaches you slowly and you make out who it is almost immediately, just by the shape of her silhouette. Theseus and Newt's reactions make sense now, it all clicks into place with resounding dread. You feel the word "oh" in the pit of your stomach like a dropped stone.

Floating from the forest like that, in her wine-colored silk dress and black coat, Leta Lestrange really does look something like a ghost, or an angel...

When she approaches she walks straight to Theseus.

"Newt wrote to me," she says loud enough for everyone to hear, but she is only looking at Theseus. Looking at him like she's searching for some lifeline there. "Credence thinks he's my brother... We both know this cannot be true. I can help you get inside the mausoleum. I want to help you."

You dare to look at Theseus, bracing yourself. He looks genuinely stricken, lips parted, palms open and hanging limp beside him. So little affects him, he's so confident and secure in himself. But there in the clearing, the look on his face...

Before anyone can speak Newt steps forward again.

"I'm so sorry, but we need to get to Credence before Grindelwald. We have to go. Credence is... sensitive. He's afraid. It's best Tina and I go ahead. Leta, Theseus," he turns to the two, who are having some silent conversation with their eyes. It's so private and familiar you have to look away, you want to scream. "You two follow closely behind."

"What about me?" Jacob chimes in with a nervous laugh.

Newt tilts his head and gives Jacob a sympathetic smile.

"Don't worry, my friend. I won't leave you to the wolves. Y/N is a brilliant duelist and a master of all sorts of charms. You two will stay at the very back and wait outside the mausoleum. We can't afford to frighten Credence, and you need to alert us if you see any of Grindelwald's followers coming our way."

You nod numbly. Some roaring white noise fills your ears, anesthetizing the scene in front of you.

"Theseus," you hear Leta say softly. She places a gloved hand on his forearm. "Can I speak with you on the way there?"

"Of course," he responds, graciously, easily. She leads him up ahead.

You keep hoping Theseus will turn to you, even just to look back at you, to reassure, to reconnect now that Leta has been thrust back into the mix between you.

He does not turn back. You stare blankly at the back of his head as it disappears in the blurring snow. He follows Leta into the woods like a man being swept away by magic, following some siren song you can't hear.

'I can't compete with her,' you realize achingly. The truth rings dully in the pit of your stomach, metallically. 'They were engaged. They've been connected since childhood... I'm nothing.'

You try not to wring your hands or shuffle your feet, try not to look like someone left behind, wounded. You blink at the delicate crystals of snow that land on your lashes, hoping that the others don't mistake them for tears.

Newt comes over to you cautiously. He's not one for knowing what to say, but he's perceptive, and kind. Sinking, sinking, you can feel your heart being pulled to your feet and swallowed by the ground.

"Y/N," he begins. "I'm sure... When they were together—but when they separated…" He swallows and starts again. "I’m quite sure my brother’s mind is made up. I know he cares for you too, though I don’t know if he made you any promises-"

“He did not,” your voice sounds acrid, bitter to your ears, petulant, and you hate it. “It’s fine, really.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, it’s okay. He doesn’t owe me anything.”

'And I don't owe him anything,' you finish in your mind. When really you love him like breathing, need him like water. You're just trying not to let it show.

You want to be nonchalant and unaffected, want to give only what he’ll take. You don’t want to ask for too much.

You don’t know why loving always takes the form of limitation with you. You withheld your feelings for him for nearly a year. You only ever do what he asks. You turned down jobs and tried your best not to burden him with your feelings, with your past.

Why this mode of loving, why starvation and restraint, when love itself, for you, felt like every door in you burst open at the sight of his face? It was a wild and unwieldy joy, a freeing sort of affection that you felt for him. Now and always.

You swallow thickly, embarrassed at the speed at which he abandoned you for her. Embarrassed by the way Tina and Newt and Jacob, even, are looking at you.

"Let's go," you say, trying to sound encouraging. Newt and Tina run ahead. You and Jacob walk in silence uphill, trudging through the snow.

----

In the end you don't see any action at all. The mausoleum appeared at Leta's beckoning, a wave of her wand and the stunning glass building, hexagonal, glittered into solidity in front of you. You and Jacob waited outside, as instructed, but through the thick, crystalline glass you could make out that the bodies and artifacts were housed in beautiful stone tombs, scattered in the glass room like giant chess pieces, and you could see what unfolded within.

Leta, Newt, and Tina were talking to Credence. They met him down where he was crouched on the floor, explaining something to him in hushed tones. He was sobbing so softly. And then he was gone, and so was Tina, who left with him.

You feel so utterly mute, so adrift, you're glad that Jacob doesn't speak to you.

Newt is the one who jogs out to you and Jacob. Theseus is still inside talking to Leta, who seems sad in a soft, unperturbed way. He's gazing at her so gently as she speaks. It's the way he looks at small animals, and children, and the people he loves.

Looking at them feels like looking at a photograph, or like looking through the windows at Primrose Hill when you were a child, before you'd outgrown the title of "orphan." You would escape the orphanage to peek into the townhouses, the family homes overlooking Regent's Park. Dining tables and grand pianos, all the lights on. Nothing to hide...

"Y/N," Newt says breathlessly. "We better get going. We beat Grindelwald here, but I don't know by how much."

You cross your arms to help with the cold.

"Okay. Where are we going-"

"Oh, it's probably best if you go back to London. Back to the Ministry. Lay low until you hear from me, or Dumbledore."

You don't know why his goodbye is so cutting. You know that he's not abandoning you too, but it's almost too much.

He purses his lips sympathetically.

"Stay safe, Y/N. Grindelwald is planning something big. But if we act any earlier Grindelwald and the Ministry will be onto us and our efforts will have been in vain."

"I know," you say. "I understand."

You apparate away without another word. You try not to think about the two of them, in the forest clearing, in the glass mausoleum, together in all the years before that, but you allow yourself to wonder when Theseus will notice that you're gone.

----

On Monday you call in sick. You've never called in sick once in your entire time at the Ministry, so your request for a sick day is accepted easily and without complaint.

You sleep the whole day and do not answer the door when you hear the knocks. Knowing who they belong to is agonizing enough. He'd never been to your place before, but you can't imagine that it was difficult for him to procure the address.

You wake from your day of fitful, restless sleeping around 2am. Moonlight streams cold and bright through your chiffon curtains, filling your apartment with blue and silver shadows that you find comforting, beautiful maybe.

When you pad out into your living room, barefoot, you see a letter on the hardwood floor. A creamy envelope that had been slipped under the doorframe, waiting there for you like magic.

You bend down to pick it up and open it. There's nothing on the envelope itself, but you'd know him by handwriting alone, by his breathing, his scent.

Dear Y/N,

I know you're not sick. Because you're never sick. You have the most formidable immune system I've ever come across and I think muggle doctors should study you in a lab for it. But, I confess, that's beside the point...

I know you're cross with me. Please, if I have upset you or, worse, if I've broken your heart, I can assure you it was never my intention. Meaning: if I hurt you it is because I am a fool, and not because you are deserving of any hurt.

Forgive me for my behavior yesterday. I needed to resolve some things, and Leta's arrival was a true shock for me. I behaved poorly to you, but even more unforgivably to Leta, who I left mere weeks before our wedding, confessing my love for another woman. The pain I've caused her haunts me, and I was happy to be absolved of it yesterday evening. Happy to answer her questions and to be forgiven. But I should not have left you there alone. I should not have let go of your hand. I damn myself, because as much as I love you, it seems I've never been able to do it well.

I hope this pitiful explanation and guileless apology will suffice. Come, pretty girl. Come to work tomorrow, I beg you. My whole life is on the floor without you, nothing works, my head's a mess.

Yours,

You heart clenches painfully. Your lungs constrict and your hand tightens around the letter. You love him. You want to let it go, what happened between him and Leta, and you and him, in the clearing.

But you can't.

----

Apparently, it's going to be a week of first-times. Because, also for the first time in your career at the Ministry, you are running late.

"Fuck," you hiss to yourself. You hate traveling by Floo Flame, are used to the muggle comforts of walking and the London Underground, but you don't have time.

You dust off the fireplace ash from your shoulders as you walk through the British Ministry.

"Y/N!" you hear. The voice slices through the bustle and noise of the suit-clad workers not with its volume but with its familiarity.

It's him.

'Oh, god. Already?' You'd been hoping to avoid Theseus today. An impossible task, considering he was your boss, but you'd taken on more impossible tasks before. Bigger monsters.

"Y/N, hold on!" Theseus shouts again.

You have to speed up your walking to a near-comical pace to escape his long-legged strides. Hard to do in heels.

You turn your body sideways and push forward through a thicket of office workers with an "Excuse me! So sorry!" to shoulder your way into an empty elevator.

You slump against the back wall, exhaling deeply in relief. No Theseus-encounter after all. You really managed to-

"Aha!" Theseus exclaims, interjecting his overstretched hand just as the elevator doors begin to close. "Perfect. I was just looking for you, Y/N."

You don't respond, but huff in indignation and move aside, making room for him in the small elevator. He presses your floor number, level two, looking far too self-satisfied for someone who just ran across the marble floors of the Ministry of Magic, unrepentantly.

Your heart pounds as the elevator begins to move, you don't know why you can't look at him. Maybe it's because you know, if you did, all would be forgiven. You jolt when he leans forward and pulls the emergency break. The elevator comes to a jerking, screeching halt.

When he looks at you, sidelong, your stomach flips.

"C'mere," he mumbles, and moves to trap your body against the wall.

Your body responds differently than your mouth, arching against the wall, pushing closer to him.

"Ugh, no," you say, mournfully. You want it bad, want him. But you're still angry. It's oddly possessing, the notion that just a kiss from him could save you.

Your words do give him pause, however. He's standing so close to you he basically has you up against the wall, there's no escaping him. His chest heaves, you can feel his breath against your face. You want to press his open mouth to yours, to taste it, open yours to his tongue.

"No?" He echoes dubiously. "Did... did you not get my letter?"

"I got your letter," you retort, feeling flustered. "I found it... insufficient."

He starts forward again, a hand cups your ass. You slap it away.

"Keep your hands to yourself!" You snap, trying to infuse as much venom into your voice as possible.

"I can't," he groans.

"Try harder."

"I am rational and measured about all things in life, except for this, for you."

"Try harder," you say again, more forcefully, ignoring him.

"Hmm," he hums, considering. You don't move this time when his hand traces your thigh through the material of your skirt, you just stare, mesmerized. Your skin breaks out in chills. His fingertips move in lazy, dancing circles.

His hands, his fucking hands. They're so big. Long, elegant fingers with large knuckles. The veins there, the fact that you know what his fingers feel like inside of you...

Theseus follows your gaze with his eyes and scoffs, but not unkindly.

"You want my fingers inside of you, baby?"

He doesn't wait, and when you don't protest he doesn't stop. His hands slide under your skirt, one of his thumbs is pressing firmly against your clit through the lacy material of your underwear. He applies such a steady, unmoving pressure, staring into your eyes relentlessly and leaning his thumb harder and harder into that one spot until you squirm back against the wall with a ragged moan, breaking his burning gaze, not sure if you're more desperate to escape the sensation or to keep feeling it, over and over again.

"Theseus," his name sounds filthy out of your mouth, heady as a moan, though you're actually trying to tell him something. "Really, I just-"

The elevator lurches forward again, shuddering in place for a few moments before resuming its path with a piercing screech. You tumble into Theseus, losing your balance, and he catches you with both his arms.

"What did-"

"I don't know," he says, helping you right yourself, looking over his shoulder at the doors.

The elevator stops at level six, the Department of Magical Transportation. Your face is still flushed red and tingling with heat when the ornamental brass doors slide open and the two of you are greeted by a curious, gawking group of wizards that includes the department head, Mr. Silas Elodius.

"Oh, heavens! Mr. Scamander, it's you," Silas Elodius is a unfailingly happy, plump man. "We were wondering what must've happened! It seemed the two of you got stuck. Well, all sorted now!" He laughs heartily. "Trust our department to get you moving again."

Theseus returns the laugh, a little less enthusiastically. The both of you move against the back wall of the elevator to allow the large group to shuffle in.

"Excuse us, we're headed to level three," Silas smiles wildly, toothily. He tends to talk through his smiling, which makes his next admission all the more horrific. "Terrible accident involving a misplaced potion bottle on the Knight Bus! Boom! Limbs lost. Really nasty business."

"Erm," Theseus seems shaken, at a loss of how to respond, which is uncommon for him. "We'll be level two."

"Right, of course!" Mr. Elodius motions impatiently for one of his several colleagues to press the button. With the combined weight of everyone there, the elevator moves slowly, dragging sluggishly upwards through space. Thankfully, the group does not turn back to you or Theseus, preoccupied with their own small conversations.

Your heart is still thumping pitifully, your pussy still throbbing and aching around nothing, craving his fingers, stuffed inside. You're wet, and there is no relief in sight. But you still want, need, to be mad at him.

"Y/N," Theseus is leaning in, speaking so low that only you can hear him. The sound of your name in his mouth, it's a purr, a plea.

You shudder. "Theseus, please don't."

"If this were my office," he whispers. His hand returns to the front of your skirt, slips beneath the hemline and nudges your underwear aside, slides up, embarrassingly easily, between your slick folds. You lean back against the wall in silent prayer, for him. You're frozen, incapable of moving, incapable of telling him to stop.

"If this were my office," he continues, voice thick and ragged. His finger moves leisurely, pumping in and out, driving you crazy. "I'd have you on my desk with your legs up. And I'd lick you until you cried. I bet you're such a pretty crier. I wanna make you come on my mouth, my tongue."

It takes everything in you to remain quiet, to remain still. Just as you begin to lose yourself in the feeling, your head going pleasantly fuzzy, the elevator dings and he retracts his hand, smoothly, unfussily.

He looks so unaffected, leaning back against the wall. It's you who has to bow your head to avoid Mr. Elodius's eyeline. Your knees tremble.

"Well, this is us! Best of luck, Scamander." Mr. Elodius waits for his people to file out of the elevator before departing.

Theseus salutes him with two fingers, in a charmingly youthful way.

When the doors close again you've recovered more of yourself, your wits.

"Where were we?" He corners you again, kissing the side of your neck.

"I'm mad at you, Theseus." You don't stop him from kissing your neck, but you grip his wrist, haltingly hard, when it starts to reach under your skirt again.

"Mm," he hums against your throat, noting the way you expose more of it, craning it for his access. "No, you're not."

With a nip of his teeth, he extracts a whine and a tremor down your legs. You imagine his hands, his beautiful big hands, coming around your throat, squeezing, applying pressure there until you go light-headed. You want to be choked by him. You want to get down on your knees in this elevator and unbuckle his belt and take him into your mouth until he's the one who is needy and whining, wanting it bad, moaning and praising you, calling you a good girl.

The elevator dings for the final time and you have to physically push him off of you. He falls back without a fight.

"Our floor," you say, trying to make your expression into something like a glare. You're not very good at resenting him.

For a moment you're not sure what he's going to do to you. It's scandalizing and rousing, the idea that he might grab you, touch you anyway. The look in his eyes is black and beyond hungry, sapped of all restraint. He gulps and clenches his jaw. Blinks at last.

Ever the gentleman.

"Of course, after you," Theseus says. He motions for you to walk ahead of him.

You stomp off to your shared office, trying pathetically to fix your skirt and your hair and any other part of you that looks disheveled.

When he comes into his office behind you and closes the door, latching the lock, he looks equally undone. Vulnerable almost. It's not only that he needs you, which he does, but that he wants to make it okay and doesn't know how.

"Y/N," he makes a vague, defenseless gesture, throwing up his arms weakly, and sighs. "I don't.... How can I make it right? How can I make it up to you?"

It's a cheerless, pitiful noise, your responding laugh.

"Don't worry, Theseus. I got your letter. And besides, I manage my hopes quite well on my own."

"I wish you wouldn't. Don't."

You scoff.

"No, it's my fault for hoping for more from you. You're asking me to, what, put my faith in the world?" You know your tone is sharper than intended, and your expression is that of a burned woman, hardened and jaded.

But he doesn't hold it against you. You try not to flinch away when he steps forward and brings a hand up to your face, to your cheek.

"No, I'm asking you to put your faith in me."

You could cry at this tenderness he's affording you.

"I just," you gently place your hand over his and lower it from your face. "I just can't believe that you don't feel anything for her. I can't shake the way I felt watching you leave me, without a second glance."

Your voice breaks on the last word. You're admitting more than you bargained for. Admitting that this is the way you've felt your entire life. The orphanage, your parents, every adult who promised to help you, to save you, and didn't. It was too familiar of a pain for it to hurt as badly as it did, being left behind.

"Leta, she... I don't know what you mean," he says, shaking his head.

“Theseus, I'm not stupid! I saw the way you went after her! The way you left me behind, it was like I ceased to exist. You obviously still have feelings for her—"

“I have feelings for you!" He raises his voice in frustration, and it startles you. "She’s the one I left behind, for you.”

You feel so worked up, so overheated. You don't want to be fighting with him, not now, not ever.

"I-I don't believe you-"

"Y/N, you are essentially calling me a liar right now. I don't know what else I can say to make you believe it, you act as if I took off with her and kissed her-"

"You didn't have to! You already have been for the last two years, Theseus!" Your hands are wavering, your bottom lip too. "I don't believe you because, if it's true what you told me, about you leaving her for me, why didn't you act in the months after?! You proposed to Leta mere months after dating, but for the months you were single you didn't try to-"

"I was your boss, Y/N! I was trying to be a good man, a good friend!" He rakes a hand through his hair roughly.

"So I'm just supposed to believe that you left your fiancée to live a life as my friend? To continue working with me like-"

“I apologize if that’s too difficult for you to believe, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true.” His tone is brusque, almost business-like.

It's like a shot to the heart. His lack of understanding, lack of seeing.

“Too difficult for me to believe? Me?!” You’ve never raised your voice at him like this, every word is straining out of you, painfully. Any semblance of control you had is unspooling, rapidly. “Theseus, my second month here I was offered a position as an Auror, my dream job, what I’d worked so hard for at school, and I turned it down to keep being your assistant! I turned it down to keep living a life in your shadow. I thought that if I could make myself smaller for you I could-"

You can’t continue, the tears rise up in a saltwater tide in your lungs. You turn your head away, quick, so he doesn’t see your face break.

"Y/N," he says, gentle, broken. "Y/N, I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"Maybe you didn't want to know. I... I know you desire me, Theseus. I'm sorry, at one point I thought I could just sleep with you, and I wouldn't need anything more, but.... Oh, god, I'm sorry."

You rub at your eyes aggressively, even as the tears continue to fall, in a self-conscious and fruitless display.

He looks so lost, looks like he very badly wants to comfort you, to hug you, but no longer knows if he's allowed to.

"Y/N, I can recommend you for promotion, I can-"

"It's fine, Theseus. I made my decision and I've lived with it. There are no open positions right now anyway, the post was filled."

It's silent for long enough that the quiet no longer hangs there like an awful, third body between you. You regain your composure, the tears pass and give way to a hollow feeling.

"Y/N," Theseus speaks at last. He's standing across his office still, but the look in his eyes is so full of longing and yearning, he could've been across a train platform, a crowded room, a continent. "I have not been doing this right. I should've asked you to be my girlfriend a long time ago, I know. For that I am ashamed. But..."

He licks his lips and inhales sharply, trying to find the words.

"Y/N, please don't accuse me of lusting after you. What I feel for you is nothing so shallow as lust. Yes, I want to be inside you all the time, but that's because being close to you, this," he steps forward and places a cold hand against your chest demonstratively, below your neck, skin to skin, "This isn't close enough."

You look up into his seaglass eyes, your heart in tatters. Him, it's always been him.

"I miss you when I'm with you," he says. "I love you, I've told you before and I'll tell you again and again, but it's up to you to believe it, sweetheart."

When you still don't say anything, can't find the words, he looks crestfallen, closes his eyes.

"What do you want?" he asks you, opening them.

And you can't answer. To love him freely? To feel held and chosen by him? To live your dreams and relinquish your past without shame or grief or hesitation? Before you begin to say anything at all, the words building and budding at the back of your throat like a flower about to bloom, a knock sounds at the door.

Theseus closes his eyes and sighs, pained.

"Theseus-"

"I have to go," he says tersely. "I've been gone with my brother for too long. The department heads have called me in for questioning. I don't know when I'll be out."

You nod, swallowing.

He looks at your face, a look of determination settling on his.

"I promise to make it right."

----

It's past closing time and Theseus still has not returned from the depths of whatever secret, dim-lit corner of the Ministry they took him to for questioning. All day you've spent heartlessly filling out paperwork, finishing up your research assignments, stewing in anxiety.

Please, keep him safe. You think to no one in particular. Please.

You reluctantly leave the office, hoping to find him in the Atrium. You sit there glumly at the edge of the fountain, shooting periodic glances towards the elevators and the staircases, hoping to see him emerging from the Department of Mysteries, maybe, or the Courtrooms. Even the paper missives, usually magicked into airplane and bird shapes, have stopped flying overhead in the Atrium. The Ministry is emptying out, there's hardly any foot traffic at all.

You feel as though you handled everything, your insecurities and emotions, so artlessly, so recklessly in your last conversation. You are aching to make it better.

Eventually, you walk back to level two in a daze, pushing through the heavy oak door to the Aurors Offices with all the attention of a sleepwalker, your mind elsewhere.

You nearly trip on the house elf in front of the door when you stumble into Theseus's office. The elf grumbles in discontent.

House elves? Your shared office is hardly recognizable. Half-cleaned out, three Ministry house elves are busy at work, boxing and taping and scrubbing the furniture and shelves clean. Your stomach lurches.

Theseus. Where are all his things? Was he found out? Arrested?

Your voice sounds like a stranger's to your ears, so transformed by sheer panic.

"Hello, excuse me!" You say to one of the house elves. He looks over in open disdain, though you can't blame him, seeing as you almost crushed him just now. "Hi, yes, what is going on? What are you doing with Mr. Scamander's things? I'm his assistant."

"Mr. Scamander," the elf drawls, setting aside his mop bucket with a melodramatic thunk and splash. "No longer works here."

The elf tries to turn back to his work when you lunge forward and grasp him by the shoulder. He looks at your hand on him in abject shock.

"Please!" You beg, falling to your knees to better convince the house elf. "I need to know what's happened to him, it's important."

"Nothing has happened to him, miss. He turned in his letter of resignation an hour or so ago!" The elf shakes you off of him, none too gently.

He gestures rudely to the two, untouched pieces of paper laid out on the desk. Everything else has been cleared.

You snatch up the nearest page with a shaking hand, eyes racing over the words.

It's from the heads of your department, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and it confirms what the elf told you. Theseus gave up his position and designated you as the one he desired to fill the post. The Aurorship is yours.

The letter requested that you complete a trial period of one month, as it was unheard of for a witch with no Auror experience to take up the Head Auror post. But they were amenable if the trial period went well. These were dark days, recruits were scarce and few other Aurors were jumping to fill the position. Your confirmation meeting with the department heads was to be after work, at 7pm.

It's nearly that time now.

You blink at the words on the page, astounded and a bit shell-shocked.

You're hardly thinking at all when you pick up the second letter, hands moving with an automaton, detached fluidity.

Dearest Y/N,

The questioning did not go well. I had to act quickly, darling. I was thinking only of you.

Take the Head Auror position and be safe and happy forever. Blamelessly, and knowing you are loved.

Or, meet me at King's Cross Station tonight, at 7:15pm. If you'll have me, if you love me. I'm joining the fight against Grindelwald, for good. I'm meeting my brother and the others at Hogsmeade.

I am horrified that you ever put me over your dreams, and that I gave you so little in return for it. If I could turn back time, I would've done it all differently. I would've made you mine.

My love, you couldn't answer me when I asked you what you wanted today, so I wanted to give you this choice now.

It did not make much sense for me to stay at the Ministry. They were suspicious of me from the start, war hero or not, because of my relation to Newt. You could do wonderful things, have so much more influence than I could. There were no other open Auror positions for you to take but mine, but I can give you this one part of my life, easily. God knows I'd give you the rest if you asked.

I cannot promise your safety, or your happiness, but I can promise to love you, as I do now, as I always have, no matter what you decide. My heart is yours alone. All you have to do is reach out and take it.

Yours,

Theseus

Reading the words on the page, feeling your own breath suck in and whoosh out of your lungs, hearing it, it's all so surreal.

Your heart flutters meekly, wounded at either prospect. But you want to choose yourself. Who has ever chosen you? You need to be on your own side this time.

You glance at the clock and curse. You shouldn't have spent so much time waiting in the Atrium, floating about the Ministry.

"I can't go, I won't go," you decide. "It's too late anyway."

Who knew if you'd even be able to have a real relationship with him? Even if you believed his love for you, and that he was over Leta, and somehow overcame the horrors and traumas of your life that you hadn't begun to confront... who knew if it would work? That would be its own, new, excruciating pain, having loved and it still not being enough...

"I'm staying," you think to yourself. "I am. He doesn't know what he's asking of me, he doesn't really know me at all. I'm staying. I'm taking the position."

At first you thought the words to convince yourself, reaffirm and reinforce. But they don't sound as improbable as you thought. This happiness doesn't sound too good to be true, it sounds as if it could belong to you after all.

You sigh, trembling, and begin to go through the empty drawers of Theseus's old desk, imagining your life, or trying to.

You reach for the bottommost drawer, pulling it open.

The sight of the worn little clothbound book snags your vision like a thorn. You pull it out in a trancelike state and read the title: Garden Parting by P. M. Kipling. The memory rises without you even having to reach for it, like a face in water.

-----

One Year Ago

It was only your fourth week at the office. This bloody idiot named Henry Ludgate somehow came to the insane conclusion that if he talked to you enough, or talked at you, more fittingly, you would like him back. So every one of your lunch breaks, without fail, he'd come searching for you in the Atrium to talk your ear off about nothing at all.

At the present moment, he was trying to strike up a conversation about women's shoewear, a hard topic for even far better conversationalists.

"I actually do like flat shoes, or 'flats,' are they? But I only like the ones with a bit of heel, all the other types of flats are terribly unattractive I think."

You were dimly aware of your boss, Theseus Scamander, watching this all unfold with a lackadaisical amusement. He was leaning against a newsstand of The Daily Prophet pretending to read it, but really you knew his sly smile at the front page was for you.

"So, not flats?"

"Sorry?" Henry always jumped at the excuse of poor hearing to lean uncomfortably close to you.

You rolled your eyes, not caring if Henry saw or not.

"If the flats you say you like have heels, doesn't that make them not 'flat shoes'?" You asked curtly.

Henry stared at you dumbly. "Oh, right. So it's 'heels' I like then."

You flicked your gaze up to his, irritably.

"So how many pairs do you own, then?"

You thought you saw a rustle of paper in the corner of your vision--undoubtedly Theseus was choking back some fit of laughter.

Henry attempted to clear his throat but only seemed to choke, rubbing a half-fist on his chest touchily.

"What?! Pardon me, not for myself!" He was veritably red in the face, not pink or any subtle, healthy flush, but bright red. "I-I meant I like heels on women, on you."

You could barely tamp down your frustration. This was supposed to be a restful lunch break, a good hour of no-work, and yet you seemed to enjoy your actual work more than this (for many reasons, the first reason beginning with the letter T and the last reason being the way the first reason smiled at you whenever you said something bright, or funny, or kind. He had a smile like light cracking open the sky at dawn, it so completely transformed the rest of his face, always reaching his eyes).

"Henry," you sighed, indulgently, maybe a bit patronizingly. "As much as I am grateful for your... fashion tips, and your riveting conversation, I really do prefer to read on my lunch breaks. I'll have to excuse myself."

You turned on your heel before he could protest, finding another secluded corner of the Atrium by the fountain. You pulled out the book, Garden Parting, as more of a prop, or a shield, or a comfort object, like a teddy bear. You had no intention of reading it right now. Not when...

Just as you suspected. You saw the shadow come over your shoulder, the shape of his figure, his hands in his pockets. Even that, his outline or shadow, stirred up some feeling you couldn't name in your chest, in the cavity there, next to your heart.

"Mr. Scamander," you sighed. "I really don't understand what sort of sadistic pleasure you gain from watching Ludgate torture me with mind-numbingly boring conversation."

You said this without turning, already smiling. Theseus sat down beside you, gingerly, beaming.

"It's entertaining," he said. The deep rumble of his voice was pleasant. "The way you eviscerate him. It's my favorite part."

There was something so attractive about the tilt of his eyes, hooded, and the curl of his hair, a strand falling loose over his forehead. He brought his bottom lip under his teeth, bit down and squinted at you.

"Do you really prefer to read on your breaks, Y/N?"

You scoffed, mock-offended.

"Yes! Do you really read The Daily Prophet on yours?"

"No, not at all," he admitted, shamelessly and with a boyish smile. "What are you reading?"

You suddenly felt self-conscious. You almost didn't want to show him. Your book was soft and worn, the cloth corners frayed, the text on the front half chipped off.

Against your instinct and your nature, you found yourself reluctantly handing him the book. Your mortification increased tenfold when he didn't take it from your extended hand, he only stared at it unreadably.

"What-" you began.

"Wait," Theseus turned to his suitcase, set it down on the tiled floor beside the fountain and clicked open the latches. "Garden Parting by P.M. Kipling, right?"

He was speaking so excitedly, shuffling around in his suitcase.

'No way,' you thought, and then, because you couldn't help it:

"Oh, you're kidding," you gasped. "No, Theseus! You're kidding. I swore I was the only person in London with a copy."

Theseus pulled it out at last, victorious. A sleek hardcover, newer than yours, but creased from frequent reading.

"Oh, Theseus!" You brought your hands up to your mouth. You were always worried your emotions, especially excitement, would make it harder to be taken seriously at work. You endeavored to dampen and mute them, but you could not hide your girlish elation at this inexplicable commonality between the two of you.

He smiled at your reaction, a slow, warm smile.

"Who knew you had a secret affinity for muggle literature?" You tried to make your tone teasing and demeaning but couldn't commit to it, you were too surprised by the force of your own joy.

"My roommate at Hogwarts was muggleborn. He gave it to me."

"You carry it with you too?" You asked, still in disbelief.

"Everywhere!" It was a breathy admission, half a laugh, earnest. "I like to reread certain parts. It doesn't get old." He was smiling so big it was almost heart-wrenching, you did not think he had ever looked at you like that, eyes blazing with naked enthusiasm. Looking at you like you were holding some key, to what you didn't know.

"No one seems to know about it," he continued with a shrug. "I've been waiting for someone to talk with about this book since I was sixteen."

"Oh," you kept saying. You wondered if he thought you sounded stupid for it, or if he thought it was endearing. "There's this one part I think about almost every day. In the purple glass house, with the broken arm used to-"

"-To praise God and 'be done with it'?" He finished for you.

Then miraculously, he flipped his copy open, paper fluttering, to a sole, underlined paragraph. The very same.

"It's like we're speaking the same language," He whispered with an incredulous laugh, but his eyes were reverent.

You flashed him a smile, one that was glowing and real. You were holding his copy of the book between you now, like children with a shared toy, or like lovers reading a roadmap.

"What language? English?" You asked sarcastically, making a funny face.

But you had known what Theseus meant. What wavelength of sense that you two, alone, could access. How the world spoke to you both in the same ways, through the same channels of meaning.

Garden Parting was the only object you had from your deceased parents, the only thing that survived your childhood. It was a children's chapter book that your father used to read to you, quite a grim piece of magical realism about a lot of things, but mostly about a girl condemned to go back to her burning house and stay there, inside, until the flames went out. There's no question that it will be swallowed whole, that she will burn to death in the place she was born.

When Theseus spoke again his eyes were shining, perceptively.

"Is that you then?" His voice was subdued, made gentle, intentionally. His eyes looked strangely dark inside the black stone interior of the Ministry, blue like river slate, dim like rain. "The main character, that's you?"

It was the most you'd ever revealed. It was a single, quiet word.

"Yes," you said.

Theseus placed a hand on your forearm. You didn't dare move, react, for fear he would stop touching you. A bird on your windowsill.

"I'll be the great owl then," he said. "The one that takes her away at the end.... Or Reggie, the one that's her friend. Whatever you want."

You laughed, bleakly. You felt pressured to speak, nonsense, anything to cover up how much his words meant to you.

"Really," you said. "It's my favorite book, but sometimes I can hardly get through it, there's so much pain in her life. I get so anxious..."

"Here," Theseus plucked a ribbon from his suitcase and flipped open your copy of the book. He placed the ribbon strategically towards the back, surgically almost, his long fingers lining it up with the interior spine, right in the scene where the owl takes the girl away and there's happiness set aside for her in life, after all.

"I'll mark it with this," he said. Neither of you were looking at each other anymore, the moment was too intimate to bear. But you were both thinking of each other, talking to each other. "So you can remember how it ends."

-----

The memory of that day by the fountain is so unexpected that it is the first time you're remembering it at all.

'Maybe he does know me after all, does see me.'

The thought is a shattering one.

'Oh, god.'

You check the time. It's 6:50pm. You pull on your coat and snatch your purse off the desk. If you leave now, right now, you can intercept him.

Theseus has to know you're coming. Even if you don't make it onto the train, he has to see your face on the platform, through the window, even. He has to know that you're choosing him.

You apparate as far as you're able and begin to run towards the station the rest of the way.

You're coming for him, each pounding step you're coming, heart soaring, this is that freeing love that grows and grows and stretches out into space like air. And you're going to tell him everything, every wish and every nightmare, you're going to--

A hand shoots out and pulls you backward by the neck. The grip is so hard that you taste blood, everywhere, in your mouth.

You yelp but the sound is lost as you are torn through the air, choking through space. Being forcibly apparated always feels like choking, like being pushed down a flight of stairs repeatedly. You can't catch your breath or your footing, you don't know where you're being taken.

Dark material whooshes and cuts around you. You hardly feel a thing.

Could someone at the Ministry have seen the letters left on your desk? Read them? Were you and Theseus positively identified at the gala in Berlin, or maybe outside the mausoleum? Before you've even arrived at your captor's destination, your mind whirls helplessly, to Grindelwald, to the situation at hand, and then, finally, to Theseus, who is waiting at Platform 9 3/4 for a girl who will never arrive, for a girl he will assume is telling him "no."

It happened so fast you didn't even have the time to turn around, to touch your wand. You were apparated away, stolen into thin air, before you could even set foot inside the station.

---

part four here

authors note: yeah i did watch the last letter from you lover on netflix and YEAH it did inspire this fic and rewire my brain at the same time. SORRY this fic ended on a cliffhanger and was so long!! we just had a LOT of ground to cover, but the subsequent parts should be back to the normal length!!

i like writing a mix of smut and romance plot but let me know if you prefer one to the other (also garden parting isn't a real book if that wasn't obvious) OK BYYEEE love you thanks so much for all the replies and feedback :))

also i have yet to read through this for typos so maybe! come back in a day or so for the final version?

taglist: @karashaw99 @gracieroxzy @mystic-mara

#theseus scamander smut #theseus scamander #theseus #theseus x reader #theseus scamander x reader #fantastic beasts #fbawtft #hp fanfic #hp fic

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bipanicoverthegravessiblings · 2 months

Note

I’ve been following this blog ever since your first headcannons and I’m in love with your writing. I’ve been DYING for someone to request this but nobody has so I will! Could I request a Yandere Andrew with a willing fem reader? She’s just pretty chill and doesn’t mind Andrew’s possessive and yandere nature and is even willing to cut ties with people because she loves him and genuinely sees nothing wrong with it?

P.S I just love the Ashley and Gabriel ship! I think it’s adorable! I love Gabriel’s design and the pairing looks adorable together! I’m always looking on Tumblr multiple times a day to see if you’ve posted something new.

If you accept, please take your time and have fun! Thank you!

Anon- you are so sweet. Thanks dog <3

totallynotcryingtotallynotcrying—

Yandere!Andrew Graves x Willing Fem!Reader

You can’t remember the last time someone cared about you as much as Andrew did

Someone who would do the things he did just to protect you

Really you couldn’t be luckier

Most women would be terrified to see the dark silhouette of their partner standing outside their window late at night

Not you though, you know he was just making sure you were safe.

You waved to him once, and though it was difficult to see- he waved back

It was endearing how much Andrew cared about your safety

It was sweet how much he noticed about you

Small details that would go overlooked, like the shampoo you used- or the way you held yourself while conveying emotions. He noticed.

Andrew loved you. And you loved him.

“I’m just…worried.” Your friend’s voice felt like the vocal equivalent of chewing cardboard. If it wasn’t for the subject right now, you would’ve tuned her out ages ago. But this concerned you and your life, so you listened, “Like- he’s a stalker Y/N! Straight up stalker! What if he like- wears your skin like a jacket or something.”

“Hm.” You shrugged, “I’m sure he’d sew a lovely jacket then.” A small grin formed on the corners of your mouth as your friend gave an annoyed sigh.

“I’m being serious! He’s obsessed with you!”

“Boyfriends are supposed to be obsessed, aren’t they not?”

“No! Like weirdly obsessed!” You could hear the desperation in her voice, “Y/N, you don’t get it. I’ve been- I’ve been getting letters, voicemails, goddamn post it notes on my desk to stay away from you and they’re all from him. He broke into my house!”

Andrew….did all that?

“Oh my god…” you let out.

“Thank you!”

“Oh my god…he- really must not trust you then.”

“WHAT?!” You had to hold the phone away from your ear as your friend yelled into it.

You slowly brought it back to your ear, “Well- yeah? I mean- clearly he doesn’t trust you.”

“Clearly he’s insane!”

Alright- you had enough.

“Look,” you took a breath, trying to remain calm, “If you have a problem with my boyfriend- that’s fine. But I’m not going to sit here and listen to you insult him.”

“I’m not insulting him I’m—“

“Don’t call me again.” You said flatly, and not a second later hung up the phone.

You should feel awful. You should feel apologetic for what you said. You should consider your friend’s words..

But you didn’t.

It wasn’t like how they thought it was.

That friend, and any others who had something to say could fuck themselves over it

It was hard every time you had to do it

But Andrew- bless his soul- always comforted you

Hell, sometimes he even did it for you cause he knew how difficult they could be

He’s so sweet

Still would make them call, but you slowly blocked out the incessant sound of the phone’s ringing

When one of those conversations would bring you down, Andrew would be right there to lift your spirits

Andrew’s hands cupped your face, his thumbs trying to lift the corner of your mouth into a smile. The more he did it, the more it amused you- causing an actual smile to stay.

“There we go.” His head tilted a little as he gave you a small smile of his own, “Much better.”

“You’re a dork.” You buried your face into his chest, sighing happily as the familiar feeling of his hands stroking your hair.

“I’m your dork.” He hummed, “And I like your smile. So you better keep it, or I’ll carve it on to you.”

“Awwww, is that a promise?” You tilted your head up to look into his pale green eyes, your chin rested against his chest.

He nodded, “Mhm! Now C’mere.”

He leaned his head down, kissing you softly. You returned the kiss, reaching your arms up and wrapping them around his neck to hold him there. Not like he’d pull away, but as a measure for yourself more than anything.

For all the “warnings”

All the “concern” people gave your relationship with Andrew Graves

You didn’t care

You loved him

You loved his fucked up ways of affection

His twisted form of love

And he loved you back, tenfold

#the coffin of andy and leyley #andrew graves #tcoaal #andrew graves x reader #x reader #genuinely this ask warmed my heart #I’m glad people like Gabriel and my dumb shit

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whore4abby · 6 months

Note

heyyyy vannyyyyyy i love u sm i promise i'm not being a lurker

what abt model reader and abby at like a designers party (yk the devil wears prada 👀)

i'm too obsessed with everything u write is there like a support group or something for whore4abby addicts

ferny fern ur brain !! this idea is so yummy 😵‍💫 i love u MORE !! thank u for this hope u don’t mind me switching it up a lil mwah mwah !! NO ONE would join that damn support group bffr wrote this at 3am let’s not talk abt it

high fashion;

kinda a part two of this !!

warnings; smut - sex in a public bathroom, strap-on usage (r!receiving), choking (with abby’s tie), mdni

wc; 1.7k

“abs…c’mon, baby…we gotta leave in a few minutes.” you call out to your wife who’s spent the last 30 minutes making sure she looks absolutely perfect, not one hair out of place in her braid, making sure her new tux was absolutely spotless.

“i’m coming, doll…gimme a minute.” she calls out softly and you laugh and roll your eyes playfully at her antics. the ongoing joke that she spends way more time getting ready than you do slowly but surely starting to become a reality.

you smooth out the fabric of your almost sheer, black satin dress and slip on your jimmy choo heels, grabbing your purse from the dresser before looking up just as abby walks out from the bathroom. you swear you feel your eyes turn into little heart shapes as you see her.

she looks nothing short of absolutely perfect in her sleek, tailored black tux paired with her shiny black dress shoes, her muscular forearms filling out the sleeves of her suit jacket and her long hair slicked back from her face. you're absolutely smitten as you rush over to press your lips against hers repeatedly, “god, you’re so pretty…” you sigh, words coming out as a breathless whisper as you press your face against her chest, closing your eyes and breathing in her familiar scent.

before you know it you’re gathered in a spacious studio for a small, intimate gathering of some couture designers to showcase their new up-coming works. you’re surrounded by mannequins displaying gorgeous designer clothes, along with an assortment of clothes scattered around the room, from elegant ballgowns to sophisticated suit jackets.

the windows are covered in velvet drapes, allowing a small amount of natural moonlight to flood the room. everyone whispering discreetly amongst themselves, scanning the surroundings and taking in all the lavish clothing and glittering accessories.

you wander off away from abby for a little while, you’re quietly minding your own business checking out some artist sketches that are carefully hung up on the wall when you feel a presence beside you. “beautiful aren’t they?” a heavily accented voice causes you to look away from the framed pictures and you turn your head to see a familiar italian designer.

“yeah…they’re gorgeous! are they for the new spring-summer collection?” you query, you head tilting curiously in his direction. “yes, that’s correct…these pieces should be out within the next couple of months.” he smirks and leans in closer to you.

“i was actually just thinking about you.” he places a hand on your shoulder and you resist the urge to shudder in disgust. “oh, please…i’m not that special.” you force a stiff laugh and shake your head, after all this time you still find it hard to believe that you have become a well-known, household named model.

“im serious! i saw you at that runway show a couple weeks ago…and let me say, it’s been driving me crazy ever since. ive been dying to get in contact with you-“ he chuckles, his gaze drifting down towards you body. he takes your hand in his, a cunning smile spreading wide as he leans in to kiss your cheek. you shake his hand curtly before pulling your hand back and jerking your face away from him.

he continues to flirt with you, his eyes finding yours and locking onto them. “perhaps you’d be interesting in catching a drink tonight?” he looks down at your shoulder and casually caresses it with his hand. “my hotel is just a couple blocks away, and i know you’re staying in the city the whole weekend. so whatdya say?”

you start purposely clinking your perfectly polished wedding ring against your half empty champagne glass, hoping he gets the hint. “i’ll actually be busy with my wife….in our own hotel room, thank you very much.”

you catch a glimpse of abby across the room, she instantly feels a pang of jealousy as she watches him openly flirt with her girl practically right in front of her face.

her brow begins to furrow and she discreetly ends the conversation she’s having and makes her way over to you, she obviously saw the guy kiss you, and she’s clearly not happy about it.

you watch his smile falter a little at the mention of your wife, and he directs his gaze towards abby as she approaches, obviously intimidated by her height and stature. “everything okay, my love?” she asks, her eyes still watching the designer. you lean in to kiss her briefly before pulling away and nodding, wrapping your arm around her bicep.

he finally gets the hint and laughs, taking a step or two back. “hmm, well isn’t that a shame?” he says with a grin. he turns to walk away, before stopping and turning back to face you. “well if you ever want to get in touch, here’s my card.” he holds out a small business card with his details on it and smiles at you, abby quickly pushes his hand away and speaks in a passive-aggressive manner, “my wife and i won’t be needing that, thank you.”

he laughs cockily, obviously slightly amused before turning on his heel and walking off to probably shamelessly flirt with another married woman.

abby leans into you, resting her head against yours, taking the champagne flute out of your hand and placing it on a nearby silver side-table. her eyes still watching the designer as he saunters away. “i don’t like how he was looking at you, darling.”

you roll your eyes at her comment, giggling slightly. “babe, calm down,” you say, squeezing her hand. you look over at her and smirk at her. “but you’re really the only one who i’ve got my eyes on, okay?”

“you’re mine…all fuckin mine~” her voice is rough, and she still can’t shake her jealousy from that designer looking at you. abby leans in and kisses you on the neck, her lips gently sucking and nibbling at the sensitive skin.

abby smiles wickedly at you, before grabbing you by the hand and quickly dragging you to the back of the boutique. you find yourself in a fancy, private bathroom and abby quickly locks the door behind you. she pulls you in for a heated kiss and you can feel her firm body pressing against yours.

abby’s tongue gently plays against yours, her hands caressing your face and your body, slowly pulling you closer to her. she bites down on your bottom lip slightly, but not hard enough to hurt you.

she pulls away for a second before diving back in, kissing you passionately and with more force than before. “all mine~” she whispers in your ear, her breath hot on your neck, her fingers finding their way down to hike your dress up over you ass, bending you over in the sink counter.

you hear the zipper of her pants being yanked down and the rusting of her shirt being untucked before she pulls your panties off your body and discards them onto the floor before nudging your legs apart with her knee.

you whine as she swipes the tip of the strap-on through your sticky folds, gathering up your slick before pressing the head of the dildo against your slit. “say it…tell me who's the only one who gets you this wet~” she pushes in slowly, groaning at the sight of your pussy greedily taking her cock. “you, abs…fuucck- only you!”

she thrusts herself fully inside without warning, all seven inches of black silicone right up to the hilt making you cry out, feeling every vein and ridge flush against the walls of your cunt. the stinging stretch causing your face to contort in a mixture of pleasure and pain as she pulls out until just the tip remains inside, then slams back in. she roughly manhandles you, slamming you back on her cock. “nnhhggg…a-abby~”

you hear her fumbling with something before you suddenly feel pressure around your throat, the silky material of her tie digs into your neck as she wraps it around your throat and yanks you back to make eye contact with her in the mirror. “look at me while im fucking you, yeah?” she growls through gritted teeth, her eyes dark and filled with jealousy fueled lust.

you’re gripping onto the marble counter so hard that your knuckles are starting to lose their colour, strangled moans leaving your lips, the perfectly applied lipstick now smudged around your mouth in messy splotches.

she drops the tie onto the counter and you gasp for some much needed air. she snakes her free hand down to rub at your clit lazily as she snaps her hips into yours at an eye-rolling pace. “a-abby! oohhh…my god…fuck…” the fingers of her unoccupied hand dig into your hip, holding you in place as she starts to pound into you relentlessly, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing in the small bathroom.

she groans, picking up the pace, the friction from the harness against her clit making her moans grow louder and more desperate, hips grinding into you in-between thrusts as she chases her own release.

you thighs start to clench and shake as her pace picks up even more, leaving you gasping and grabbing at any surface you can find to ground yourself. “you feel that? only i can make you cum like this, yeah?” you’re babbling incoherently as the the head of her cock keeps bumping into that sweet spot until it has you letting out a loud pleading cry as you cum on her cock.

she keeps thrusting, prolonging your release as she helps you ride out your own orgasm, her thick fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.

“fuuccckk~” she pants heavily, leaning forward to rest her head against your back, the harness still grinding against her clit and making her cum hard whilst still buried inside you.

she lets out a loud groan as she pulls out with a pop, looking down at the mess between your legs and the cum dripping from your clenching cunt. you turn back to face her and she brings your mouths together in a brief, heated kiss before pulling away and carefully helping you clean yourself up.

she tucks her strap-on back into her pants and neatens her tux up before picking up your discarded panties and shoving them into her pocket before holding her arm out for you to take. “c’mon, baby~” her chivalrous action a stark contrast to the way she just fucked you into oblivion not even five minutes ago.

you smile coyly, adjusting your dress and grabbing onto her forearm as she leads you out of the bathroom and back out into the main studio space, not even caring about the skeptical looks and the un-approving stares of the people around you.

an; model!reader has me in an absolute chokehold right now😵‍💫if u have any ideas for more PLSSS leave me a request !!!!

#*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ⋆.ೃ࿔myfics⌨️#⋆｡˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚requests🫙#abby anderson #abby tlou #tlou abby #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby the last of us #abby x reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson smut #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson x fem reader #abby x you #abby anderson x y/n

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dontmixpaintinyourcoffee · 6 months

Text

My favorite Conduit Of The Horrors 🩵

Rambles and art stuff under the cut

I love thinking about the primary trio post-nmpd, and there have been some really cool headcanons floating around, and long story short I rewatched Yellow Jacket and I have some ideas in the works. I don't know if this is post-Yellow Jacket or in the middle of it or what, I'm not actually thinking that deep about it I'm just having fun lol. For reasons I needed to have a finalized design for Hannah soooo-

I managed to seriously screw myself over by deciding to try and draw 2 characters I adore that are played by four extremely different looking actors. It was frustrating, but interesting to try and pick out what I thought the most important features of each version was.

So like, for BF Hannah I just used Kendall Nicole as the reference, easy peasy. But aging her up was a bit of a juggle. Eventually I ended up kind of grafting Lauren's expressions onto her face shape, which I also referenced Angela Giarratana for. Just to get that familial connection in there. It really helps that they both have that distinct chiseled chin, it's really fun to draw and fairly easy to replicate. (Side note, Lauren has an incredible ability to suddenly look like a deer in the headlights out of nowhere. The nervous energy that rang through her performance as Hannah was amazing, and I couldn't get over how damn expressive her eyes were)

I was gonna have a more detailed drawing of Ethan in there, because I absolutely love their relationship, but I chickened out. I ended up basically just drawing Joey's version with slightly shorter hair that is longer on one side, like a half-mullet thing. This is partially to try and synthesize the two versions in my head aesthetically, but mostly it's to differentiate him from Pete. Pete is a little difficult too, I actually really like how Nick Lang played him and wanted to incorporate some features from there, but I decided to save it for another day because I was giving myself a headache. Honestly a lot of the stuff is just hair texture, cause one of the most defining traits for their designs in my head was the way their curly hair was styled. But at the same time Joey's current haircut is damn iconic and I love being able to swing it around for the drama Ghibli-style

#arachnophobia #arachnophobia tw #spider tw #spiders tw #hatchetfield #hatchetfield fanart #starkid #starkid fanart #yellow jacket #nightmare time 2 #nightmare time #black friday musical #hannah foster #ethan greene #coffeepaintart #wow there was a lot of jazz hands during that murder

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sincerelyrki · 30 days

Text

MINI SKIRT

↳ fourteen : MAN FUCK SONG KANG!

warnings : sunwoo is kinda sad

wc : 1.4k (1431)

previous | masterlist | next

Dread filled your body the second you opened your apartment door, eyes narrowing at the familiar pair of shoes situated right beside your designated spot. The shoes were your first hint.

In the center top row was a pair of low-rise Amiri sneakers, the pearly white hue standing out against your collection of darker shoes.

Sunwoo was the only person you knew who wore Amiri, his devotion for the brand evident through his dozens of pairs sat along the walls of his closet.

The second hint that Sunwoo actually came over was your mom's loud voice, her giggles a little too high-pitched to be directed toward anyone else. The tone was one she only used around two people, and he just happened to be one of them.

You tried to keep your presence a secret, light on your feet as you deftly tiptoed through the entrance, sock-clad feet almost gliding against the ground.

You stopped as you reached the corner, fingers gently holding against the wall as you attempted to peak around the corner.

Sunwoo stood with his back facing you, his lower body resting against the counter as he leaned over it and towards your mom.

His leather jacket was discarded on the seat behind him, hung in a specific way that allowed you to make out the design. In the center, there was a singular bear, the sunglasses standing out against its white fur. It was the exact bear you designed in high school, the same one that was stitched across all your older designs.

The jacket was the first piece of clothing that you’ve ever made for someone else, gifting it to Sunwoo as a graduation gift.

Since the day he received it, Sunwoo had claimed that it was his favourite thing he had ever owned, the proof of his words sitting bright under the overhead lights.

Without any purpose you walked towards him, body gravitating towards the jacket Sunwoo had attached to his hip. It hurt to see it, it always did.

It felt like a reminder of everything everyone’s been telling you for years, a reminder that Sunwoo was completely in love with you. As the seasons passed and the sunsets faded, Sunwoo changed.

His eonion change would remain unending but his devotion to you was the only thing that he couldn’t seem to escape. He wasn’t naive, just foolishly wishful.

But he stood no chance against kismet. He was destined to meet you, but never to be with you. His longing blurred between the lines of the story you began writing without him, his love getting caught in the seams of the pages that began to flip before he could finish the previous ones.

The words eventually overwrote his vows, his desperation seeping out in waves of forced separation. The harder he pulled, the more you pushed. And in the moments where you feel further than ever, he did what he thought he had to do.

He knew it was dramatic to call your parents, but he also knew what their presence would bring. They pulled you together, red yarn weaving between your fingers as they attempted to tie the two of you together.

If calling your parents over the smallest things, over things he forced himself to worry about, brought you back into his arms then he would do it forever. He would call them every day, lips spilling nonsense as the red yarn on his finger turned to ash.

But he still wasn’t naive, he knew what he was doing.

“Sunwoo?” It didn’t come as a shock when he stood unwavering at your voice, he knew exactly how this would play out. And so he tilted his head towards you, a small smirk on his face as your eyes connected.

Even with the anger so visually obvious, he couldn’t stop his heart from melting. It rushed down his veins, throbbing as it bloomed across his face in a sudden burst.

His pink cheeks housed his now genuine smile, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a way that only you could create. “Hey, sweets” He ignored your mom’s audible swooning, his eyes never leaving yours as his entire body reacted to your presence.

“Why are you here?” His favourite song played in his head as you walked even closer to him, stopping as you reached the chair behind him.

Your fingers gently traced along the prominent stitch around the shoulder area of his jacket, nails barely ghosting it. You looked up after a moment of silence, his words never leaving his pith as he stared at you with a familiar look.

“You shouldn’t be here” It was easy to read Sunwoo, but the way he reacted to your words was in a way that you’ve never seen before.

You’ve never seen him freeze like that, seen the way his eyes widened to an unfamiliar extent. “What?” Sunwoo tried not to panic, hoping that your unforeseen dialogue wouldn’t change the entire interaction.

“I mean, we haven’t talked in like two or three days?” He had to bite his tongue to not scream out the exact time, the hours ticking in his mind as he watched the clock tick in his mind.

“I needed to talk to you and I clearly couldn’t do it on text” He tried his best to keep up his front, ignoring the way his heart stopped beating the second you sheepishly scratched your cheek.

“Yeah…” You trailed off not knowing how to respond, lips curling into each other as you stared at a general spot on the wall behind him.

“Yn, what did I tell you about blocking people?” Your mom's stern voice caused you to jump, the remembrance of her presence causing you to soften your exterior.

“It’s rude, imagine how Sunwoo feels after being blocked by you for like half the year” Your mom reached up towards the taller boy, her hands squishing his cheeks together as he pulled his head to rest on her shoulder.

Without auguring, Sunwoo allowed her to manhandle him, bending his body as she pulled him against her.

As mad as you were at Sunwoo, you couldn’t stop the giggle from leaving your lips at the sight. Your mom was fairly short, reaching a height of barely over five feet. It was amusing to see her controlling a man much taller than her, her strong arms working in her favour.

“You feel hurt, don’t you?” She more stated than questioned, using her own hands to nod his head up and down. She gasped in fake shock, turning her glaring eyes towards you.

“See? Apologize, right now!” Her glare transferred through you, reflecting in your mirrored eyes as you directed it toward Sunwoo this time.

“Mom, he was mean to me first?”

You all went into a cycle of blaming each other before ultimately apologizing to each other, one more genuine than the other.

“Oh also, Who’s Jake? I remember Sunwoo mentioning his name to me a few days ago”

The betrayed look in your eyes was nothing compared to your response, Sunwoo’s throat clogging as the room stilled.

“He’s a friend, a real friend. Don’t worry too much about it, we just began talking a few days ago.”

a real friend. Sunwoo wasn’t sure if there was a double meaning behind your words, but after today's turn of events he wouldn’t trust his own judgment too much.

“Is he cute?” Your mom squealed out loud as you nodded your heart, her body racing towards yours as she linked her arm around yours. “He’s really cute, you’d love him”

Your phone loudly vibrated in your back pocket, the sound unknown to your mom as she animatedly blabbered about your “unknown man”.

Sunwoo watched over your shoulder as you tapped the screen to life, an unfamiliar contact lighting up your screen. He wanted nothing more than to break down the second he saw the bright smile that overwhelmed your face as you read the text.

Sunwoo has never hated someone more. But he’s also never wanted to be someone else as much as he did now.

a/n : i’ve been so busy for the last like three days 😭 easter messed up my entire schedule. anywaysss, i’ve been addicted to song kang lately (hence his recent mentions) i just finished my demon a few days ago and omg…. ALSO THESE BOOPS ?? i’m obsessed they’re so cute

SYNOPSIS ⮕ You know Jake Sim and you love Prada, it was already a perfect combination. You just happened to always be in the same place as him, at the same time. And that place just happened to be the Prada store. It’s not your fault that your Prada collection expands as your interactions grow. Especially not considering that Jake couldn’t stop himself from fawning over you (and your mini skirts).

taglist is OPEN ! send an ask or comment to be added xoxo

taglist one (1) : @vousty @iheartjayke @kgneptun @woninluv @memooooca @rosas-in-the-garden @thea-herondale @letters2won @certified-ni-ki-lover @wonpoem @eunbiland @hae-luvr @t00miee @bbangricz @tytrackfebreze @cafeyuns @aerivrs @seunnimg @enhytan @enhaz1 @neocockthotology @jiawji @miumiuestmoi @sophi-ee @cha0thicpisces @manooffline @glassesyunjin @rinahch @jaklvbucb @rikizm @ilyjxdz @mnxnii @n1k1mura @hhoonsbaby @xiaoderrrr @artstaeh @nikisuar @who-tf-soddhi @jakeslvt @hohohobo @natsukee @fakeuwus @ramenoil @aeminju @lanapaz @seunghancore @heartswonn @jakeyverse @l1lyanah @sunpov @yoitsrach @jessicadacollest @h4918ymc @jeongintwt @oldjws @herebyaccident0 @kyrojackson @haechansbbg | bold = can’t tag

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desolationtimstoker · 29 days

Text

gerry keay (classic flavor):

skinny. not in a way most people notice off the bat, because he's quite tall and very good at looking big, but leitner hunting burns a lot of calories and he's been chronically underfed for most of his life

eye tattoos on each of his joints, placed there by supernatural means as a protective ward against other powers

his hair always looks like shit for several reasons, including but not limited to:

- he doesn't like to dye it when his mother is around, both because of the vulnerability of the position and because he doesn't like to be Perceived by her while doing anything he actually. ya know. enjoys. this means that it has a lot of time to fade and his roots grow out.

- if she's around too often for a stretch of time, he has to find a local business he hasn't already been banned from and rinse it out in one of their sinks. this leaves it looking understandably patchy and rushed.

- the dye he uses is cheap as hell -- having his own money is an occasional luxury which cannot be taken for granted.

- he just. generally doesn't take care of himself and his hair suffers overall as a result. he doesn't shower often enough and when he does he uses precisely one (1) type of soap. and it's like. if they have irish springs bar soaps in england then it's that and if they don't then it's the closest equivalent.

he isn't actually like. goth. as we would think of it.

black clothes don't show bloodstains and they made him feel safe edgy and dangerous as a teenager.

we're talking thrift store jeans purchased when he was 16 an never replaced. maybe some band tees. boots for marching into a den of hunt avatars.

the leather jacket is also secondhand and while yes he does feel very badass and cool in it it's also a practical piece. good for fighting. especially when the people you're fighting might have claws or want to set you on fire.

sewing needle piercings with visible scarring around them.

he just generally looks. kinda sick all the time? again, not something that usually registers because he's also good at being intimidating but if you're looking for it there's all kinds of evidence of chronic sleep deprivation and malnutrition. he looks unhealthy, concerning.

gerry keay (tmagp):

goth. like, real goth. like buying from thrift stores still but more often and having fun with it now.

we're talking fishnets. we're talking eyeliner. we're talking black lipstick. we're talking absurd and impractical jewelry. we're talking dabbles in lacy skirts and definitely owns a corset. and yes he still wears a leather jacket but exclusively because it feels cool and badass. he's goth babey!

no longer skinny. precise body type is whatever your heart tells you is true but three square meals agree with him and he's gained a very noticeable amount of weight.

the hair dye is still not professional, his roots grow in occasionally and it's still a bit patchy, because he's still doing it at home, but also. he's doing it at home. it's fun, and he has fun with it. the dye is better quality. gertrude helps him with touchups. black is still a favorite but he's dabbled in other colors, dark purples and greens and blues.

loves to be covered in stuff. when he's baking, he will intentionally smear flour on his black pants and make it look accidental, and when he paints he doesn't wash his hands. this is partially so he can see the evidence himself, and partially because he wants people to notice it and ask. he wants to say, "oops, i was baking earlier, i must've wiped my hands on my pants."

he still has shitty irresponsible piercings from when he was a teenager. the more recent ones are more professional.

his tattoos are pretty and useless. he designed most of them himself.

there's color in his face. sleeping gets a little easier every night.

#don't mind me just sorting through headcanons #gerry keay #gerry delano keay #tmagp #tma #my post

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chellestrash · 10 months

Text

Birthday Girl

Mikey Berzatto x Female Reader

Summary: You show up at The Beef on your birthday, a bit earlier than Mikey was expecting you. But that's alright, you'll still get your birthday gift, dont you worry.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral sex, unprotected sex, public sex, creampie, teasing, praises, pet names

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: Hi hellooo! So, this is a late birthday gift for my sweet @chelseasdagger because I know how hard she fell for Mikey, especially with how he looks in season 2? The beard?! I mean we all love it right? Thank you @suitsofwo3 for proofreading this mess and I hope those of you who choose to read it will enjoy it. This is my first time writing for Mikey so I hope I did him justice but if I didn't...dont tell me, thank you.

@chelseasdagger Pea I hope you’ll like this, this is all written with you in mind, and I know we talked about a lot of different ideas for birthday fics over the year and this is I guess a bit different but I hope its still okay. I love you, happy birthday!

You straighten up the dress one last time and clear your throat, mentally preparing yourself for the chaos that's about to ensue the moment you step through the door of the Berzatto restaurant. You loved The Beef, of course you did. You enjoyed most of the time you chose to spend helping around the sandwich shop, but you also knew how overwhelming it could get.

Pushing the designated staff door on the back of the building, you step inside.

“CORNER!”

You jump at the sound and smile at Richie, waving your hand as he sets down the tray of dirty dishes and makes his way over to you the moment he notices your presence.

“Well, well, well, look who it is.” He starts, his arms spread open and a big, welcoming smile on his face as he looks you up and down quickly, nodding his head in approval. You can't help but smile, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Happy birthday sweetheart.”

“Thanks Richie! I look okay?” You ask, after he hugs you tightly, quickly getting rid of the jacket to fully present your outfit.

“Well, I'd say, fucking great actually, not okay. Okay is not…” He steps back, gesturing over your body, and you shake your head slightly amused, waiting for him to finish the thought.

“Okay is not…doesn’t do it justice, actually.”

You let out a chuckle, rolling your eyes at the compliment.

“What doesn’t do what justice?" Marcus pops his head in from around the corner, and you watch how his face lights up the second his eyes are on yours.

“Oh shit, look who it is!”

“I said that already.” Ritchie points out, and both you and Marcus breathe out a soft laugh.

“Good to see you.”

You step further into the restaurant, meeting him halfway, before he pulls you into a big hug. Brushing his hand over your back, he holds you there for a little longer before finally letting go.

“Happy birthday, that was a special birthday hug.” He announces, and you nod with an impressed expression.

“Yeah?”

Marcus agrees, doing his best to look completely serious before you ask.

“What makes it special?"

Your eyebrows pull together as you watch him attempt to come up with some serious explanation before he shakes his head.

“Can't tell you.”

“And why is that?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets.”

You blink, not knowing what answer you were expecting, but it obviously wasn’t anything along those lines. He winks, a big smile on his face as you both step into the kitchen now and you’re left with no other choice than to just accept the explanation.

You walk past the stoves, careful not to disturb the somehow chaotic but still functional ecosystem the Berzatto brothers managed to create within the restaurant.

“Behind.” You rest your hand on Tina's shoulder, and she turns around quickly, her whole face lighting up, her arms almost immediately wrapping around you as she pulls you into a hug.

“Ayyy my Love, happy birthday!” She cups your face, kissing your cheek before letting go.

“Thank you, Tina, thank you.” You hug her back, and she nods, the smile never leaving her face.

“How are you, how's the birthday girl, huh?” She asks, glancing over your outfit, clearly impressed.

No one here has ever really seen you dressing up like this. Today was…a bit of a special occasion.

"Weird. Tina, Richie, gave me a compliment. Richie! You believe that?"

“Ey!”

You hear the man's voice from the other side of the kitchen, and both you and Tina turn in the direction of the sound.

“I'm being nice!”

“I know!” You shout back, ducking under Ebra's arm when he walks past you. Smiling from eye to eye once he notices you, the man stops for a moment.

“Beautiful.”

“This?”

He nods, showing you he means the dress and the way you look in it.

“Beautiful.”

You nod with a smile, thanking him for the compliment, before he quickly wishes you a happy birthday as well.

Walking around the restaurant, you quickly greet everyone working today. Passing by Sugar and Syd you stop to talk to them for a little bit and they both give you their best wishes and compliments on your outfit as well. Stepping away after a moment, you look around the place with an intention of eventually finding your boyfriend out there but bumping into the rest of the crew you’re unable to complete your mission.

Fak, in a typical Fak fashion, stands in front of you with his mouth wide open the second he sees you, clearly impressed by your chosen look for this special evening.

“Oh my god, you look so pretty!”

You feel your cheeks heating up, not even trying to hide the way the compliments got to you any longer.

“You think so?”

Twirling slightly, you show off the way the dress moves with your body, the silky, soft fabric contrasting with the harsh, industrial interior of the restaurant kitchen. You feel out of place but at the same time, somehow they all make you feel like you’ve never fit in better anywhere else.

“Yeah, you look like a freaking princess!” He continues, walking around you in a circle before turning to face the rest of the crew. “You guys seen this?”

They all nod, smiling and glancing in your direction, and you feel so thankful for all of them in that moment.

“Seen what?” You hear the familiar voice behind you and quickly turn around to face Carmy. Stepping into the restaurant, most likely after a smoke break, he sees you for the first time that day.

“Hey!” You smile.

“Heyyy, yo…you look great, holy shit!”

Pushing his hand through the mess of blond curls, he scratches the top of his head, quickly glancing up and down your body before shaking his head softly.

“Sorry, happy birthday.”

You both smile as he pulls you in for a warm hug.

“Thank you bear.” You mumble quietly, your hand rubbing up and down his back a couple of times before letting go.

“Course! You need anything?" Carmy asks after you two step away from each other.

“Mikey.”

“Oh right, yeah. Office.” He points in the direction of the small room right by the “employees area” and you nod, thankful for the help.

“Thanks.”

You turn back and wave at the few people still looking at you before crossing the hall in a couple of quick steps.

You push the door open and step inside the small, mostly dark room. It's messy, very busy and there's hardly any rhyme or reason to the way the space is ‘organized.’ It screams ‘Mikey’.

You watch the older Berzatto brother while he talks on the phone for another moment, before turning to face you at the sound of the door closing behind you. You wave, not saying anything as you do not wish to interrupt any, possibly, important business. A quiet laugh still slips past your lips, when you watch his eyes open wide at the sight of you.

You gesture over the dress, pushing your hip out to the side before posing. Mikey sinks his teeth into his lower lip, nodding his head to the quiet words on the phone as if the person could somehow see him.

“Hey, I'm gonna have to call you back, man.” He finally speaks up, and you glare at him with a confused expression.

“What? Yeah, emergency.” He lies before hanging up and quickly throwing his phone onto the desk.

“Holy…shit.”

The way his eyes shine when he looks at you makes you feel like your insides are doing jumping jacks. You try your best to remain looking completely unphased but the way his eyes skim over the dress, the way his expression softens and his body slumps slightly, simply just from seeing you there, makes your knees weak.

“Holly Fucking SHIT!” He looks away but quickly turns back to you, squinting his eyes with his head tilted to the side, he attempts to take in the whole picture one more time.

“You like it? Looks good?” You ask, your cheeks aching from the constant smiling, as you feel, possibly, the best you’ve felt all day.

“Good?!” Mikey almost shouts, offended that you'd even try to use such an underwhelming word to describe yourself.

“You fucking-” He starts, taking a step in your direction before you push your leg out, the dress lifting up your leg slight, and he lets out a whine and a grunt before kneeling on the floor right in front of you.

“Oh Mikey come-” You try to stop him, but he doesn't move.

“Holy fuck baby what-you're tryna kill me here i-” He asks, hands already reaching up, longing for the feel of your body against his palms.

You feel yourself getting warmer, the excitement making your heart pound harder in your chest when you glance down to see your boyfriend, Mikey Berzatto, on his knees for you.

“Can I touch you, babygirl? Hmm?” He asks, and you nod, somehow managing to keep your cool and not completely lose it over the way he acts when it comes to you.

“Oh fuck, yeah? Can I touch you here?” His rummbly voice rings out in your head when you feel his fingers brushing the sides of your hips over the fabric of the dress.

“That okay?”

You nod quickly, quicker than you'd like, quicker than a completely composed and not freaking out at the moment person would do.

He hums quietly, tracing over your body for a moment before letting out a loud sigh. Tilting his head up, he stares at you in silence for a couple seconds before speaking again.

“Don’t think I can do it.”

“Don’t think you can do what Mikey bear?” You ask, pushing your hand through the thick dark hair, and you watch him hum quietly after he leans into your touch.

“Don’t think I can wait…till after dinner.”

You pause, pulling your hand away, and fight back the smile when he looks up at you, completely serious.

“Mikey.” You start, but he continues.

“You look too fucking good baby, how the fuck do you expect me to keep it together for another.-" He glances back at the small, long broken clock on the wall of the small office before turning his face back to you. “Couple hours."

You breathe out a quiet laugh, shaking your head in disbelief, and he wraps his arms around the top of your legs, right under your ass. Pulling you closer, he rests his head against your lower stomach, following the action up with a theatrical sigh.

“It's too good.”

“I mean you told me it's a fancy dinner Mikey, you shot yourself in the foot.” You talk back, and he thinks it over for a moment, ultimately deciding that you're probably right.

“Yeah well…" He mumbles under his breath, pushing his face against your body again, he leaves a kiss right between your legs through the soft fabric of the dress.

“Fuck baby.”

You feel his hands again, feel how they slowly travel lower and lower down your body, his fingers tug at the hem on the bottom of the dress before you feel his touch on your skin. Brushing his fingers up and down your skin, Mikey keeps his head up, watching your face for ques and indications, a confirmation that this isn't something only he wanted.

You agree, encouraging him with a small nod and a quiet hum, the gentle feeling of his fingertips on your skin makes your body relax, and you take a deep breath in, closing your eyes for a moment before leaning back on the door.

The sensation of the soft silky fabric grazing over your skin as Mikey pulls it higher up your body makes your hips inch forward. Pulling the dress the few last inches up, he stops suddenly.

“Shit.” He whispers, his warm breath glides over your skin, and you glance down to check on him.

“Hey baby? Remind me please…is it your birthday or mine?”

The question caches you off guard, and you bunch up the dress, looking down at him slightly confused.

His eyes are fixed on the cute pair of panties you chose to wear, they were new, he hadn't seen them yet, it was going to be a surprise…later.

He pulls the fabric a couple inches away from your body before suddenly letting go, the waistband snaps back in place, and he looks up at you with a sly smirk.

“Lucky me, huh?” He teases, and you feel your legs pushing together, the way he was able to turn this whole thing around, to get you wet in a matter of seconds was basically like a special skill of his.

Mikey ducks his head under the fabric of your dress and after a moment you feel his warm kisses press against the skin right above the waistband of your underwear.

A gasp slips past your lips when his fingers hook over the hem, and you reach to lock the door behind you.

Both of you knowing what's about to happen.

"Mikey.” Your attempt is unsuccessful, and he chuckles, seeing your efforts after popping his head from under the dress.

“Yeah no that doesn't—it's busted baby, can't do shit about it now, you'll have to be quiet. Think you can do that?”

You nod, eagerly waiting to feel him on you.

“Yeah? That’s my girl.” He smirks, holding you a little tighter before he ducks his head under the fabric again.

You feel his lips on your skin again, the kisses travel from your lower tummy, over your panties and down to your thighs. The familiar warmth between your legs feels almost burning hot when you feel his fingers brush over the fabric in the most sensitive spot.

He has your full attention, all your senses focus on him to the point where your brain tunes out your surroundings. The small room feels darker now, somehow more secluded, the background

noise of the busy restaurant disappearing almost completely as you let your body relax into your boyfriend’s touch.

Mikey slowly gets rid of the cute pair of panties, pulling the fabric down your legs, following with a trail of small kisses before finally letting go, allowing them to fall to your ankles.

A quiet moan slips past your lips when he pushes your legs open slightly, his face so close to your core now, his warm breath feeling almost electric on your skin.

Mikey works around you for a moment, his tongue following the path his lips create with the kisses over your pussy, on your highs and right under your tummy. You feel his fingers digging deeper into your thighs and ass before he finally pulls you even closer. And with a satisfied hum, he pushes his tongue against you.

You whine quietly, and he breathes out a little laugh, continuing to work you over and over again while you pull the skirt up and off of his head, so you can bury your fingers in his hair again. Your hips buck forward, working as a cue for him to keep going. Your head falls back, and you bite your lip in order to somehow attempt to keep quiet like he instructed you. The sweet combination of licks, kisses and Mikey sucking your clit into his mouth making it almost impossibly difficult, and some part of you keeps telling you Michael Berzatto was fully aware of what he was doing.

“Mmmm-mikey-“ You start. Feeling your body slowly giving into the pleasure, despite you trying to last longer.

“Mmmhh” He hums gently against you, the rumbly sensation causing another moan to slip past your lips. Mikey knew what he was doing, he knew you, he knew your body and most importantly, he knew what you liked, he knew how to make you feel good. You’ve explained it to him before, and he proved to be a great listener.

With your clit in his mouth, his tongue flicking against it repeatedly, Mikey looks up at you, watching the expressions on your face change, your body move as you start to feel yourself getting closer.

Your breathing shallows and you can feel your heart pounding faster now that he’s gotten you to this point.

“Oh fuck!” You gasp, gripping his dark hair tighter when you feel your body twitch at the feeling.

“Yeah?” Mikey pulls away finally, his beard wet from you, shining in the dim light of the desk lamp, the only source of light in the small room at this moment. His fingers fill in for his mouth as he continues to work over your center as he talks.

“Yeah? You want it, baby?”

You nod, closing your eyes and biting down on your lip when he pushes his palm harder against you. Rocking your hips back and forth you add onto the feeling and when the heel of his palm hits your clit you whine out, louder than you would’ve liked.

“Shit, you sound so pretty baby, you know that.” He praises, not trying to tease you in any way anymore, clearly wanting this as much as you do. Your little sounds of pleasure making his jeans feel so incredibly tight, he could swear he feels himself getting lightheaded.

“You wanna feel me, baby?” He asks, slipping one finger inside you, but you both already know the answer.

Nodding energetically, you feel yourself clenched around his two fingers.

“Oh fuck, you're so perfect.” He mumbles, his voice almost breaking when he realizes if you keep this up, he most likely won't last much longer.

“Tell me what you want, baby. Tell me what you need.”

Unable to fight your own body, you lower yourself on his fingers, the wet sound filling the room for a second before you somehow manage to speak.

“I want to feel your-, Mikey, I need-”

The whine bounces around inside his head when he slips his two fingers out of you. He stands up quickly, his hand on the side of your face as he tilts your chin up and his lips press against yours.

Led by him, you stumble towards the desk, not wanting to break the kiss, you lick over his lips, tasting yourself on him for a second before he spins you around.

“This what you want? Hm?” He asks, already bunching up the fabric of the dress, and you buck your ass into the bulge in his jeans as a response.

“Fuck.” He grunts, gripping onto the edge of the desk to hold himself back for a second. “Fuck, that’s my girl, so fucking perfect.”

The repeated praise makes you feel lightheaded, you can barely hear him unbuckle the belt and pull the jeans down before pulling himself out of his boxers.

You look over your shoulder watching him work over his length a couple of times and reach back to do it for him. He grabs your hand, moving it back to the desk before holding both of your wrists above your head while you bend over the wooden counter in front of him.

“No, baby, today is about you. Got it?”

You nod, feeling the tip of his cock tease your entrance.

“Good girl, hold tight.”

You do, you grip the edge of the desk, digging your nails into the wood just as hard as Mikey's fingers dig into your thighs.

The table moves with the first thrust, and you feel your mouth falling open when you feel your body push forward on the wooden counter.

“Oh fuck” You whimper and feel his hand immediately on yours.

“I'm here, I'm here baby, good job.” He praises again, and you grip his hand tighter, feeling his hips begging to rock back and forth, his cock moving inside you. The pace is steady but slow for the first moment, and it doesn't take you long to adjust yourself properly to his size. He speeds up only after your little whines, when he knows it's your way of asking for more.

“That’s it baby.”

He continues to guide you, holding onto your hand, pushing inside you deeper and faster now. Your eyes begin to water and your legs push together, your body's way of telling you it's almost time. You hum, attempting to let your boyfriend know, and he reassures you.

“I know, I know, I can feel it.”

He speeds up the pace one last time, grabbing onto your hips tighter in order to help you move back and forth on his cock, just to make the feeling a bit more intense.

Your lips part and you pant loudly, hearing the pounding of your heart in your head and feeling it against the wooded desk under your chest.

Unable to fight back the sounds anymore, you whine and moan loud enough for him to hear them over his own grunts. Feeling your body tensing up, you cry out his name and when he slips his free hand between your bodies to touch you, your body tenses up one more time before relaxing completely after you come undone around him.

He makes sure you ride out the orgasm, that, or he just can't really stop himself at this point, trying to follow closely after you. With a loud grunt and a couple of swear words, he pushes deep one more time before coming inside you. The thick, warm liquid fills you up just how you like it, and you push your hips back one more time when he attempts to pull himself out.

“Woah, easy.” He laughs, his hand on your ass now as he holds you in place before taking a step back. You feel the cum leak out, dripping down your leg for a moment before he finally speaks again.

“I can't fucking look at that, or we'll have to go again.”

You laugh, still attempting to catch your breath before pushing yourself off the desk. Mikey steps closer, offering you his arm to hold onto as you try to stand up straight, while he lets the fabric of the dress fall back into place. His own clothes already pulled back up, looking somewhat presentable.

“What if…,” You start watching him grab some paper towels from a shelf. “What if I wouldn’t mind going again?” You ask and he snorts quietly, gently pulling your clothes back up before wiping most of the thick white liquid off of the sides of your thighs.

“I know you wouldn't sweetheart.” He starts, glancing up at you with the most genuine smile, the love and admiration in his eyes almost making you blush like he didn’t just fuck you over his office desk.

Placing a kiss right between your legs, he quickly stands back up.

“But-” He continues, holding your hand up to help you step out of the panties still stuck around your ankles.

“We have a reservation."

He reminds you of the actual plans for today before bending over to grab the panties off the floor and shoving them into his pocket.

“We can't be late for that, huh?”

You shake your head, knowing he’s right.

“Yeah, c'mere.” He sits down on the desk chair, pulling you into his lap before wrapping his arms around you.

You sigh loudly, and he lets you rest your head against his chest. Pressing three gentle kisses right at the top, he holds you even tighter. His thumb bushing over your skin, his breathing helping your own slow down.

“You felt good?” He asks quietly and you nod with a smile.

“You know, I always do.”

“Well…I gotta make sure you know? I mean, if there's room for improvement-“

You laugh, looking up at him and cupping his face with your hand.

“I mean I gotta know baby! It’s the law, you have to tell me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, they just made it a law this morning.”

“Oh, oh well, that’s wonderful to know.”

“Mhm.”

You cuddle up into him some more, letting your eyes close for a second.

“Yo Mikey, what the fuck are you doing, we need you in the kitchen.”

Carmy.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm coming!” Mikey shouts back, covering your ears before he does so, just to try to not disturb you as much. You both laugh at his choice of words before he leans down for one last kiss.

“Happy birthday sweetheart.” He whispers, his lips brushing over you when you nod softly. Your arms now wrapped around his neck.

"I ain't done with you yet."

You smile softly at the promise.

“Thank you, Bear.”

He winks, walking over to the door.

"Rest up, baby. I love you."

#the bear #the bear fanfiction #mikey berzatto #Mikey berzatto x reader #jon berntha #carmy #carmy berzatto #mikey berzatto fanfiction #jon bernthal smut #jon bernthal fanfiction #the bear season 2

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