#i wonder how many times he could get away with doing it

[ilovelyneysm07]

Shooting Stars - SAGAU!Lyney x Player Part 1

Summary: Shooting Stars were always a weird occurrence in the world of Teyvat, so when they suddenly stop, certain magician can't help but wonder if it has to do with the strange aching in his chest.

CW: Self Aware AU, NOT Cult AU or Creator AU, Angsty, the Reader is referred as Player, Based on my own Genshin Account, Pretty Self-Indulgent, GN!Player, Cross-posted on AO3, English is not my first language and I'm not an experienced writer

Taglist: @yurislilygarden @yurislotusgarden

Lyney had a weird feeling in his chest for a while, like a strange ache that won’t go away, it didn’t affect his shows in any kind of way, having perfected his stage persona, a little ache in his chest is not going to make him fail, but in the back of his mind, he can’t help but wonder what’s going on.

It all started a few months ago, the once bright blue sky turned dark and shooting stars fell from it, a golden star different from the rest, falling towards the Palais Mermonia, or rather, near it. Many people were worried about what was going on, but many others were already used to the phenomena that was the strange “shooting stars” that happened from time to time. Some stars fell into Inazuma, some others into Liyue, even some fell into Sumeru. Nobody knows why this happens, only that if a star falls on you, you receive a strange aura around you.

After that month’s event, and Miss Furina was walking around freely and with a smile on her face, the shooting stars suddenly… stopped, the sky returning to the usual bright blue. No clouds, no movement, just blue.

With each passing day, the ache in Lyney’s chest increased, the lack of dark skies made his mind wonder if it had something to do with the ache he felt in his chest. Why did the shooting stars stop falling? Does it really have something to do with him?

The magician went over to his dear sister, to ask her if she felt something similar, but she just shrugged, saying that she suddenly felt an aura surrounding her, no shooting star needed (Lyney failed to notice the way her eyes avoided his gaze, slight frown in her face).

Then the magician wanted to ask his younger brother, but he already knew the answer, as the month before the last dark sky, a shooting star fell into Freminet while he was diving in the waters of Fontaine, purple aura surrounding him (Lyney also failed to notice the nervous stare Freminet send his way).

Questions kept surrounding the magician’s mind, while his eyes were glued to the starry night sky, wondering if one of those stars is gonna fall. Maybe fall on him too, please?

Lyney can’t lie that he felt a little bit jealous of his siblings, both being “blessed” (that’s how many people saw it) by the shooting stars, both being surrounded by that weird purple aura. He didn’t want to feel like this again, feeling like he’s falling behind his sister or that he’s not strong enough to be the “older brother” figure anymore.

He can’t help but feel helpless. Will he be blessed like his siblings? What’s so special about this “blessing” anyway?

While looking at the night sky outside the window in the Opera Epiclese, his thought bubble gets interrupted when he hears people muttering among each other in the dressing room. Now, he’s not one to eavesdrop (at least, not when he’s not commanded to), but the topic of the conversation catched his interest.

“Why do you think the shooting stars stopped?” one of the staff members of his shows said, Lyney could hear the sound of boxes moving inside as he got closer.

“Honestly? I have no idea. They were already inconsistent, but to suddenly stop? Now that’s weird.” the other staff member said, their steps giving the hint that they were moving around rather quickly.

“Do you have any theories, though? I heard that the last one to receive the blessing was Lady- Miss Furina, and she sometimes is seen walking around with a golden aura around her! Golden!-” a loud sound could be heard, alongside the kinda loud scream of the staff member. “Sorry!”

“Be careful, but yeah, that never happened before, right? Miss Lynette has a purple aura, alongside Mister Freminet.” some steps could be heard, and more boxes were being moved around.

“Wait- what about Mister Lyney? Did you see any kind of aura in him?” Lyney felt his body tense at the mention of his name. A silence fell in the place, no boxes were moved and no footsteps could be heard. “Wait… does he have an aura?”

“I… don’t think so. Then again, only a few people in Fontaine have it.” more silence, and then footsteps started coming to the door, startling Lyney.

“His siblings do… Why not him?”

The door opened, and the two staff members started walking towards the hallway, some boxes in their hands. Lyney emerged from his hiding place, his gaze strangely blank.

“Why not him?”

-

On the other side of the screen, an excited player was looking at their primogem count. 296 wishes in their virtual wallet and 20 intertwined fates. They then watched all the materials needed in the ascension planner; everything was good, all of the materials checked, including his weapon’s materials (if they get it).

The player smiled to themselves and opened the wishing menu, seeing the 3 day(s) left message under the iudex’s banner. They took a deep breath and closed the game for the day, determination in their eyes.

Lyney, you will be mine. They thought with a smile on their face.

A/N: In celebration of Lyney's rerun, I made this. It's kinda angsty, but don't worry, things will get better when his banner comes out :P

#genshin impact #genshin lyney #genshin #lyney genshin #lyney #lyney x reader #genshin impact lyney #lynette #genshin lynette #genshin impact freminet #freminet #house of the hearth #genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau #sagau x reader #sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact x reader

[digital-domain]

Retrieval

Alastor x Reader // word count 4.4k

Pt 3 to Spring Cleaning and Clean Slate

In which you attempt to leave.

Tags/warnings: yandere, intimidation, noncon kissing, choking, Alastor’s shadow doing things a shadow should not be able to do

A/N: Really thought this was gonna be a one-off but here we are. I usually don’t even write one follow-up, much less two, so this is unfamiliar terrain for me. Alas, I could not resist. Enjoy (or don’t. I’m not in charge.)

You remember a time when this was good. Well - no. You’re sure, now, that it was rotten from the beginning. But there was a time when it felt good. When you invited it in. When you wanted more.

Time for bed, my dear. 

He’s said this to you many times. Now, each repetition deepens the never-ending pit in your stomach. But the first time…how long ago was it? You don’t remember. You don’t even remember how long you’ve been here. Here at this hotel, or here, in hell - each one distorts hours and months in its own way. They tug at you until you slip through the fingers of time, and end up on a day you don’t remember arriving at, in a place that is only yours if you forget what has happened there.

It’s far too late for you to be thinking as deeply as you are.

You’d been sitting on the top of the stairs for a long time that night, however-long-ago, fending off the inevitable onset of your dreams. He’d been gone all day, and when he had finally returned (from where, you never found out), he’d seen you from the lobby. Called out to you, in a voice far too quiet and gentle to carry to your ears as well as it did. It wasn’t the first time he’d spoken to you, but it was the first time he’d spoken to you alone. And even if that wasn’t true, there would have been something different about it. 

And, in my opinion, far too fair a night for such misery.

From the beginning, you’d known that nothing about him was entirely unfiltered. The first time you’d met, he’d given a wonderful little performance. Shaken your hand, taken you by the shoulder, quickly escorted you away from the people who would soon warn you not to trust him. And you’d known it was fake. Of course you had. You weren’t, perhaps, the most excellent judge of character, but you knew no one acted like that by instinct. It was calculated. Not to be trusted.

It struck you oddly, then, to hear such an allegedly inhuman character talk about something as mundane as the joy of pleasant weather. It felt entirely real, even at an hour when almost nothing seemed real at all. Hell did have its decent moments, now and then; there were no seasons, so to speak, but very occasionally you’d get a day that felt like summer, and a night to match. It was nice, when it happened. Delightful, even. 

But, if you insist upon staying awake - and I admit, I do understand that impulse better than most - I suggest you do it somewhere with an open window. 

The realization had hit, somewhere in the middle of this, that he was being kind to you. You hadn’t wondered why at the time. You’d take anything you could get, in those early, confused days after your death, and receiving it from an unexpected source somehow made it better. He didn’t do things like this out of obligation. He cared, for some reason you could only guess at.

You’re still guessing, now. But that night, you hadn’t thought so deeply about it. You’d only stared back at him, and nodded almost imperceptibly at his suggestion. 

He’d paused, matching your silence for a long stretch. Considered your expression, in the way those unblinking eyes always seemed uniquely suited for.

Shall I escort you to your room, my dear?

You’d nodded mutely, and he’d ascended the stairs, offered you his hand, helped you to your feet, guided you to your door.

And then, a mistake. Grateful, exhausted, feeling utterly alone in a strange world - you’d invited him in. 

He’d opened your window for you, and lingered beside it for several quiet seconds before you asked him to sit down in your desk chair. He’d smiled strangely at that, softer than you were used to, and left quickly, almost hastily, after only a few minutes. But he’d stood motionless in the hallway for several seconds before you’d heard him walk away. 

After that night, you never invited him in again - you didn’t have to. He came of his own accord. Only occasionally, at first. Then, more often, until hardly a day went by without it. It was almost pleasant, at first, and then a slow, unyielding creep towards what you have now. Something you don’t understand. Something you only started resenting after it was too late to back away. 

You’ve spent a long time wondering why he chose you, of all people. Why he feels so entitled to your space, to your life, why he wants it to begin with. Why he holds onto you so tightly. You’ve even asked him, in roundabout ways, to no avail. But somewhere in your mind, a shoved-down place that only now rises to the surface, you think that it might be your fault. Your fault, for being so desperate for solace, for company, that you’d take it from anyone you could. For feeling proud to have gained his attention, long after the point where it stopped doing you any good.

Now, lying above your bed covers, you toy with the hem of your slip, which you’ve absently pulled up to mid-thigh. Perhaps you don’t need to be wearing it tonight. Alastor has been mysteriously absent from the hotel in the two days that have passed since his last appearance in your room. You doubt whatever’s called him away has left him much time for spying upon you. And still, you feel compelled to act as if he is watching. As if he might return to your bedside at any moment.

Your memory flashes back to two nights ago, and you try to yank it away. You don’t want to think about what he did to you then. You certainly don’t want to think about why. The way his eyes were fixed not on your body, but on your face, as if it was your shame he wanted to see, and nothing more.

It was unsettling. But perhaps not surprising. If it was only your body that he wanted, after all, he wouldn’t be trying so hard to control the rest of you. That, you don’t understand. That - it’s what really keeps you awake.

The light from your lamp, which you have no intention of turning off, stings beneath your closed eyes as you lie rigidly on your back. You barely slept the night before, either, so this day passed in a sort of stupor, the adrenaline of early morning giving way to a numb, heavy feeling as the afternoon dragged on.

But the numbness is good, in a way, you think. It lets you do things you wouldn’t otherwise. With your eyes still closed, you bring your other hand to the hem of the slip. The lace and the silk above it are delicate, and you pull hard with both fists. The light ripping noise that follows is beautiful, for a moment.

Then, the familiar dread snaps back into place, worse for your act of stupidity. 

He will be back, before long. His sudden absence has not been a reprieve, but a looming threat, a two-day stretch in which you have not taken one proper breath, and you have the feeling that he will know what you have done the moment he returns. 

If he does not somehow know already. If you haven’t already summoned him back by the rebellious movements of your hands. There is panic coursing through you, fear not of what is here now but of what has been, and what will be. It’s not the panic you’d feel at an immediate threat, like a wild animal baring down on you in a dark forest - instead, it’s the sort of inescapable head-buzzing sensation you experienced often in life, when you’d been in a room for far too long, and were not yet allowed to leave. An overwhelming feeling that you are trapped, not by physical bonds, but by the consequences that might ensue if you walk away.

If you were to walk away, to run away…what would happen? You do not know, and you don’t want to think about it. You want to leave. No - you need to leave. If you do not do it now, now, you never will. And the idea of never leaving, of this stretching on until he decides that it’s time for it to end - if he ever does -

You sit up, and swing your legs over the edge of your bed. He will be back soon. You’re sure of it. And you cannot bear the thought of being here when he returns. 

What can you do about it? You can do something. You can stand up. You can find the large backpack stuffed into the corner of your closet, and start shoving things inside. You don’t have many things at all, and most of the things you do have are not important enough to keep. You’re certainly not bringing any of these clothes with you. 

All these things, you do quickly, in a sort of daze, driven by a single motive. Get out, get out. It is easy, if you don’t stop moving. If you don’t think more than you have to, if you let this one idea drive you all the way out the door. One set of clothes, you do have to bring - the one that goes on your body. The only one that you feel even remotely comfortable wearing. Black trousers, red sweater. The contents of the small compartments of your dresser have been replaced, so you do not feel comfortable with the things you are wearing underneath these clothes, but they are quickly hidden. You are not in strong enough possession of your body to feel them clinging to your skin.

You’ve discarded the slip onto the floor, and with the way it’s crumpled, you can’t even see the small rip in the hem. It’s not enough. You pick it up and rip it further, until it is torn all the way to the neck, before dropping it like it’s on fire. Perhaps it would be better to take it with you, to get rid of it in a place where he won’t see the remains, but you do not want to have it for a second longer. It flutters back to the floor, and you cover your clean, white, unfamiliar socks with the ragged sneakers you’ve somehow been allowed to keep. 

Where do you go? Where can you go? For reasons that you certainly didn’t come up with yourself (reasons that seemed like cloying but utterly convincing advice, at the time) you barely speak to anyone outside of these walls. You haven’t even got a phone. And even if you did, you can’t imagine pulling anyone into this mess - your mess, a quiet voice in your head reminds you. This is your creation, and you will see it through alone. There is a motel, you remember, a shoddy building a few streets away that you’ve taken notice of every time you’ve passed. You will go there, and you will sleep, and tomorrow -

Tomorrow does not matter yet. Tonight, you only need to leave. 

You’re sure that no one in this building is awake. Or at least, no one is awake enough to check on the noises your feet make as they collide, painfully loud, over and over, with the creaking hallway floor. And yet, you advance as slowly and carefully as you can manage, barely keeping at bay the adrenaline that urges you to run. The night is pleasantly warm, but a shudder runs through you as you crack open the front door of the sleeping hotel. This, too, you keep at bay, instructing your feet to keep moving until you dislodge the disarming chill from your bones, and settle back into your skin. You are walking quickly, but not running, as you wade into the dark streets before you. It is a bad idea, being out here alone, at this hour, and running is loud. 

Then again, you think your breathing might be harsher, at this moment, than any noise the soles of your shoes could create.

You didn’t realize until now that you already had this route mapped out in your head, so clearly that you can follow it without thinking. It’s not far. Quicker if you slide through the little alley to your left. Quicker still if you speed up, just a bit, just enough that your breath catches oddly in your throat, exertion mixing with the faintest glimmer of hope. There is a breeze flowing out from behind you, gentle against the nape of your neck. The streets are mercifully quiet. 

You are not thinking. If you were, you might not be able to tell yourself that all was well. 

As it is, you buy yourself a few more seconds of hope. But your eyes are wide. Too wide and too alert to miss the strange thing that comes your way. Once you see it, you cannot look anywhere else.

Your stomach drops. You slowly ease your bag off of your shoulders, and let it fall to the ground beside you. You will not be taking it any further than here.

You know this, because there is an inexplicable shadow pressed against the side of the alley. It is cast by nothing, darker than the night that surrounds it. A long, abstract shape unfurls bit by bit, extends its tendrils across the worn brick, and drips down until it spills onto the polished boots that have appeared suddenly on the ground in front of you. 

There’s a horribly familiar sigh, but no words. No touch. Not yet.

Soon. Too soon, you’ll hear his voice.

But you find that you do not have the impulse to scream, like anyone else might in this situation. Nor do you want to run. You do not want to take so much as a step backwards. You do not do these things, because you are not scared like you might have expected. No. The thing that quickens your pulse is not fear, but anger. You were so close. You could have made it. And you should have made it.

You should not have had to run to begin with.

You answer a question that you didn’t realize you were asking until this moment. This is not your fault. None of it. Nothing that makes you feel like this could possibly be your doing alone. So, instead of looking up and apologizing, you stare at the ground, and imagine that your eyes shine as intensely as the ones above you. It’s a striking contrast, your worn, comfortable shoes toe-to-toe with polished leather. A victory, in its own small way.

You feel Alastor lean over you, and your hands curl into fists of their own accord. 

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively calm, “what a terrible risk you’ve taken?”

“Some idea.” You’re seething, just as you know he must be underneath the surface - the only difference is that you aren’t bothering to hide it. “You’ll forgive me.”

“Oh…I’m not talking about my own impulses, my dear. Running was a terrible idea for many reasons.” His glove catches you beneath your jaw - you press back against it for a moment before following its guide. Before looking up into the eyes you never wanted to see again, and the grin that bears down upon you. “You might find it hard to wrap your head around, considering its current misguided state, but I assure you that I am far from the only threat that the nights of hell have to offer.”

“But you are a threat.” He’s shown his hand, you think. It’s satisfying to point out - until it’s thrown back in your face. 

“Only when provoked, darling.” His eyes are a brighter red than you’ve ever seen them, glowing with some intense emotion - whether it’s hatred or a deep appreciation, you don’t know, and will never know. He releases your jaw, runs his finger slowly down the line of your neck. “But you’ve no need to worry…it would take quite a lot of provocation for me to hurt you. Even now, I’m not even close to taking such drastic action.” 

Your teeth grind together, clenched as tightly as his pasted-on smile, as the fist wrapped around his staff. “You think you haven’t hurt me already?”

“Oh, my.” He laughs gently, dismissively - but it’s not quite as convincing as usual. He’s standing rigidly, pressing the bottom of his staff tightly against the ground, holding his free hand not behind his back, but at his side. Fingers stiffly curled, practically trembling with the effort of holding still, as if they’re itching to grab onto something.“You are feeling bold tonight. Not as if I couldn’t tell by the little present you left behind in your room…but it is rather strange to experience it in person. You’re usually such a sweetheart.”

You tune out the syrupy condescension of his voice. You’re done with listening to him. Done with beating around the bush, done with getting brushed aside again and again. “What do you want from me?”

“Cliches don’t suit you, my dear,” he intones darkly. “Especially not when paired with that expression.” He slowly raises his hand, and reaches for your face, as if he hopes to rearrange the features he finds so unpleasant. Without a second thought, you jerk backwards, and slap his hand away.

He holds it frozen. Poised in midair. The last time this happened, it was enough to make you tug back everything you’d just done. 

Not this time.

“What,” you hiss, taking another full step back, “do you want from me?”

The corner of his grin twitches so severely that you can almost imagine it dropping from his face. “At the moment, I only wish for you to return home.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You hold your fists at your sides. Spine straight, shoulders pressed back. Toes curled inside your shoes. You can feel the unfamiliar undergarments clinging to your hips, your ribcage - you want them gone. You want him gone. 

“Then pray tell, my dear”-

“All of it.” You hold his gaze as his head tilts slowly to one side. Listen to the cracking of bones, and press on, before you can think better of it. “You won’t let me go. You can’t. And I don’t even get to know why.” There’s a desperation in your voice, rising with the volume of it, quickly spiraling out of your control. “All I know is that you’re - you’re trying to control me, and that I hate it, and that I don’t fucking understand it.”

Images from two nights before descend upon your mind, and your train of thought comes entirely undone. It’s more than images, really. You can certainly picture him standing over you, his red eyes flaring as you stripped yourself bare in front of him, but you can also feel it, the awful heat under your skin battling with the chill of the air, the brush of his finger along your hip, the gentle kiss to your forehead. The hands pulled tightly behind his back. And the way you felt then, the thing you’d be afraid of, if it was anyone else.

“You - you don’t”- You feel strangely distant from your body, as if your mind is a separate entity, floating somewhere slightly outside of your skull. Your mouth takes a sharp breath, and more words cascade out before you can return to stop them. “I was fucking naked in front of you, and you didn’t feel anything. If you don’t want - that”-

Any other stupid words you might say are cut off by a rising buzz of static, which emanates from him as his staff disappears before your eyes, and his newly-free hand takes on the stiff, barely-restrained posture of the other. You wonder, in that detached manner your thoughts take on when you are frightened, if he’s doing this on purpose, or if it’s somehow leaking out in a way that’s beyond his control. 

You feel tears welling in your eyes, and try in vain to shove them back down. You don’t know where they came from. “I don’t understand.” 

For the first time, you see his grin drop - not all the way, but enough that the line of it changes, enough that it becomes a grimace. It’s so unsettling that you wish the usual, terrible smile would return. “That much is obvious, my dear. I wonder if you even realize how tragic what you just said really was.”

You freeze as your wrists are snatched by coils of shadow, smooth and inexplicably solid. Your arms are yanked straight down, and when you try to tear them away, you fail. Your hands are free to form fists, but remain trapped against your sides.

“That you can only fathom being desired in such a shallow way…”

His image flickers before you. You’re already half-turned around when he reappears behind you a moment later, but there’s nothing you can do to stop his hands from curling, one finger at a time, around your shoulders, far too close to your neck for comfort. You stare straight ahead as his face twists into the periphery of your vision. 

And he whispers in your ear, his voice bare of any effect, just the hint of some old, earthly accent slipping through. “I’m afraid that I want much more than that.” 

He slides around you at the same moment the bonds around your wrists release, and effortlessly turns you by your shoulders - he does not push you against the wall that now stands behind you, but you step back out of instinct and flatten yourself against it. He matches your steps with his own, traps you between himself and the rough brick at your back, and latches his gloved hand beneath your jaw, wrenching your face upwards. With his other hand, he reaches down, flips your palm so that it’s no longer facing the wall and interlocks his fingers with your own. His grin springs back into place, and oh - you wish you could run now. You would, if you could.

His eyes slide away from you for a moment as he puts something together in his head. “These little acts of rebellion from you…I think I ought to thank you for them.” He blinks slowly, and returns his gaze to your face. “I don’t think I would have realized just how close I wanted to keep you, if you hadn’t attempted to leave. And now…oh. I understand perfectly, now. I know exactly what I want.” He bows his head, lowers his lips to your ear, so that you can hear the shudder of his breath. “I’ll have your soul one day, my dear. A day when you’re already bound so tightly to me that such a contract will be a mere formality.” 

“And until that day comes…” He draws back from the side of your face, stares not into your eyes, but through them. His teeth part. His tongue flicks out from between them, and slides quickly over their jagged edges. “I feel as if I’m prepared to do anything, if only it will bring you closer.” 

The last vestiges of your anger burst forth, and you attempt to wrench your face out of his grasp. He lets you, and moves his hand to the back of your neck, his long fingers pressing harshly into the sides. You look up, eyes wide with terror, as the palm that has been flattened against your own releases your hand from the wall, and rises to curl tightly around your waist. 

He pulls you close. You do not see the moment that his smile disappears, as it surely must - your eyes are already closed when he kisses you, screwed tightly shut as his hot, rancid breath works its way into your lungs. There’s a hint of whiskey beneath the rot, and something metallic, the same taste that floods your mouth when you bite the inside of your lip a bit too hard. His hand slides around from the back of your neck, and closes at your throat - he keeps it there after he’s pulled away, and watches as you struggle against his grip. 

“You have a decision to make now, darling.” He takes a deep, satisfied breath, the tension leaving his posture even as you fight to breathe beneath his hand. “You can return all by yourself…” His fingers curl tighter around your neck, and tendrils of shadow lash at your wrists and ankles, slowly twisting their way up your limbs. “Or, I can bring you back. I imagine that would cause quite a scene..but the choice is yours.” He tilts his head, stares down at you through narrowed eyes, and - after another moment of watching you struggle - eases his grip just enough for you to answer.

You don’t hesitate for a moment. Even if you had the air to argue, you wouldn’t dare. “I’ll - come back” -

“Lovely.” He releases you, and takes a step back. Pulls one hand slowly behind him, as if doing so takes a tremendous amount of effort. “Since you’re so attached to your freedom, I’ll allow you to walk back unsupervised.” He traces the back of his other hand gently down your cheek, stopping only briefly to press the tips of his fingers against the hardened clench of your jaw. You let it go slack - only then does he pull his hand away. “But as I told you before, darling…there are many threats lurking in the shadows of these streets. So I do suggest that you watch your step.” 

His image fades away before you. In the same moment that you watch him disappear, there is a shift in the surface under your feet. You no longer feel the familiar soles of your shoes, but the ground beneath, rough with the texture of cracks and debris. Cold. Not damp, exactly, but carrying the faint suggestion of something wet having only recently become dry. 

Your toes curl inside your pristine white socks, which will soon be stained by the filth of the ground beneath them. There’s a new shadow against the wall - it slides along with you as you carefully retrace your steps home.

#yandere alastor x reader #yandere alastor #alastor x reader #tw yandere #tw power imbalance

[prncessjaeger]

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀི

“c’monnnn you can’t miss work for 3 hours? besides any other day when we’re home we’re doing…other things around this time!” you held your pink bag decorated with hand tied bows, hair tied neatly in your signature ballerina bun and adorned in pink colored high priced athletic wear, “no baby i can’t…i have an important meeting in like 30 minutes and then a very important phone call afterwards and-”

you sighed, cutting him off and rolled your eyes, walking away from him mumbling, “you always put your work before me,” and grabbed your keys, “hey, we can go out to dinner afterwards if you’d like?”

“hard pass. see you later, love you.” you left your home feeling defeated, hoping one day your husband would finally attend to one of your ballet performances and get this! you received the lead role and even that couldn’t interest him into one of your shows. so, you tried listening to spirit lifting music to get your mood ready and pumped until you reached then venue, preparing yourself for the first night.

”oh goodie! you’re dressed, are you ready? i saw a cute someone walk in here with white lilies and tulips!” your brow furrowed at the stage director’s words, “who? definitenlyyyy not my husband he’s busy with work-“ you were cut off with a sound of claps and lights dimmming down,

“it’s time! places everyone!”

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 🎀

when the last act was finished, you and your castmates bowed together receiving many flowers thrown on the stage. you went back to grab your things from the green room, noticing the other girls belongings disappear from the vanities and sighed, wondering if you should’ve taken up the dinner idea with your husband.

your husband, who scared the absolute shit out as he sat in your vanity chair and smirks at you, “what in the world are you-” he puts his finger on your lip? shush-ing you quickly, “hi my love! beautiful show you out in out there? absolutely beautiful.” he rose up and hugged your shocked figure, “what’re you-…how did you-?”

“ehh pulled a few strings, rescheduled some other things .” he shrugged like it was the easiest thing in the world, “but you said…?”

“that i couldn’t come? yeah i genuinely could not have came, but that doesn’t mean i wouldn’t have came either, c’mon this is your first lead role and you’d think i would’ve missed it? crazy.” he leaned down and peck your plump lips that were pouted, twice and handing you two sets of gorgeous white flowers, “tulips and lilies, your faves unless you changed them in the span of 4 hours hm?”

“n-no, i didn’t- these are beautiful baby! but, are you sure I looked beautiful onstage?” your eyes sparkle from your subtle glitter eye makeup, warming up your husbands heart, “yes, stunning even… in fact,” his hands removed your bag and belongings from your shoulders, sitting them down neatly on the floor and wrapped his arm around your waist and his hand cupped your jaw.

he stared at you lovingly, engulfing you into a passionate kiss and held you tenderly in your arms. your lips moved perfectly against his as his thumb caressed your cheek. he then kissed your exposed neck so soft to the point that it tickled which caused cute giggles to leave your mouth, “what’s funny?”

“nothing-hehehe, nothing baby look how about we go to that dinner you recommended earlier?” you could see his face fall, “you said no earlier or wait- it was actually, “hard pass” so i canceled it.” he mocked you then flinched when your hand raised to hit him, “fine…takeout?”

“takeout it is.”

#i don’t like thiss #but i loveeeeee nanami kento✊🏽 #had those 2 in mind (and rafe ofc but like…business man!rafe) #and possibly erwin too i guess…kinda sorta #rafe cameron x reader #nanami x reader #ballerina!reader #aot erwin x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #rafe cameron #jujutsu kaisen nanami #rafe outer banks #fluff #rafe x reader #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento #erwin smith #aot fanfiction #jjk nanami #rafe imagine #aot x black reader #aot x y/n #rafe obx

[fuctacles]

A tale as old as time

For @subeddieweek Day 7 | M | 2696 | cw: age gap (about 25-30y difference, Eddie's age is not stated, Steve's aligns with canon) | camboy Eddie, transmasc Eddie, kinda sugar daddy Steve?, modern AU, simp Steve, virgin Eddie, chatfic, pre-anything, gray ace Eddie | Ao3

"Hawkins High '86? How old is this guy?" Eddie asks himself, his eyebrows raised. There is a letterman in front of him, a gift from one of his top subscribers. Hell, his top subscriber. His number-one fan, who was responsible for about half of his revenue.

He's opened a PO box recently, with no little amount of worry about what kind of stuff he might get. He only gave the address to his top subscribers but he knew that the ones with the most money were usually the most unhinged. He went to the post office with his heart in his throat but all he got was a set of lingerie, a toy, and the letterman he was now holding.

He tried not to think about what kind of people would pay for his content. As long as he was making money he didn't care. But now he got a piece of one of them in his hands. Staring back.

1986.

Meaning the guy must be nearing 60. Double Eddie's age. 

He tries to imagine that. An older guy, with wrinkles, maybe a beer belly, a gross old t-shirt, and his hand permanently in his sweats, beating it to his photos. 

It was gross. And in a way, alluring.

Though someone with so much money to spend on a camboy must have a well-paying job. Some rich asshole, exploiting others to do the work for him. That's a more likely scenario. He tries not to think about big, rough hands on him when he puts on the jacket and takes pics for Shar.

He edits them a bit before sending them, knowing the guy will get a kick from seeing him in his jacket. The appeal of wearing your boyfriend's letterman eluded him in high school, but being claimed like that gave him a heady feeling. The fact that the guy could be his father apparently worked for him too. 

He doesn't put his phone away fast enough and sees the message that pops up.

Shar: So hot. You look like every repressed teen jock's dream

Shar: Definitely like mine

Eddie thinks a moment about his response, channeling the persona he takes on for the camera. 

PuppetOfMasters: Would I be your dirty secret?

PuppetOfMasters: Would you fuck me in the locker room behind your girlfriend's back?

Shar: I'd make YOU my girlfriend

Shar: Wait no

Shar: NOT LIKE THAT

Shar: A girlfriend but in a manly way

Eddie snorts.

You're good, he types. I know what you mean, don't worry.

He wouldn't keep around someone who didn't respect him. Besides, he made it clear he's saving for a transition with his Only Fans.

Thank god, Shar types. I respect who you are 

Shar: In fact, I spend so much money on you because of it. 

Eddie rolls onto his other side, his mood souring. One of those trans fetishists, then. That's fine, as long as he's being respectful and paying... Even if it leaves an unpleasant taste in his mouth. 

Ah, a connoisseur! Well, I hope I'm your favorite tranny, then, he jokes. He waits for an answer, but it doesn't come for a long while, so he flips his phone screen down and turns away, hoping for sleep.

A response is waiting for him when he wakes up. 

Shar: I guess it sounded that way, but I'm not that kind of pervert. You're the only trans sex worker I follow, but not the only trans person I've sent money to.

Eddie sauntered to the bathroom, not taking his eyes off his phone. He wonders if continuing the conversation is even the right move. He's talked to one too many guys who thought sending him a dick pick was okay after ten minutes of small talk between a content creator and a fan.

But he's kind of curious. When he has money to spare, he sends some change to other trans folks to help out, because he knows how hard it is from his own experience. But why Shar, a seemingly loaded old guy, would spend his money on queers instead of, let's say, starving children?

PuppetOfMasters: So you're just an ally with cash? Or is there more to it? I'm curious.

He goes through his morning routine, washing his face, and brushing his teeth, not expecting Shar to get back to him any time soon. So he's surprised when he picks his phone back up and a response is waiting.

Shar: Long story short, I hope my father is rolling in his grave while I spend his inheritance on people he hated so much.

That's not what Eddie expected at all. 

PuppetOfMasters: So I'm a means of rebellion against your bigoted dead father? I'll take that. I hate rich assholes

Shar: Me too

They don't talk for the whole day after that, but when Eddie's done running errands and editing in the evening, he looks back at the letterman hanging on the door of his wardrobe. 

How is sending me your letterman an act of rebellion? he asks. Because he's a curious little shit. 

The response comes fast like the guy is glued to his Only Fans chat. Gross. Eddie wonders briefly if he's talking with other sex workers there.

Shar: A souvenir of his precious high school fetishized on a queer ssex worker? He'd die if he hadn't already

So it is a fetish thing! Eddie smiles triumphantly at his phone.

Shar: Okay, fine

Shar: Sticking it to my father is just a bonus for you being really hot. 

Shar: And I do love seeing you in my letterman, I've jerked off to it three times already

Shar: is that what you wanted to hear?

Eddie grins, rolling on his bed.

PuppetOfMasters: Yes 

Shar: So yeah, I'm an old man who peaked in high school, laugh it up

PuppetOfMasters: I'd rather you peaked in me

Shar: Insufferable

Shar: Menace

Shar: Yeah, I'd love that. A man can dream, right?

Eddie bites his lip. How far is too far? The guy seems genuine and after the amount of creeps that's been chatting him up, he thinks his creep radar is quite good. Tentatively, he starts typing.

PuppetOfMasters: I don't know. I think people would like seeing me get railed by an older guy

Shar: An old guy, you mean

Shar: You'd make a video with me?

PuppetOfMasters: I record most of the sex I have, yes

Shar: Huh. I've never seen one before, then

PuppetOfMasters: warm, warmer

Shar: ... There aren't any?

PuppetOfMasters: din ding ding! ya boy is a virgin

Shar: shit

Shar: fuck

Shar: that's so hot

Shar: you'd let me?

PuppetOfMasters: Would I let my best-paying subscriber be my first time on camera? Probably

Not necessarily to be released but he couldn't lose the possibility of such golden content in case it was watchable. 

Shar: I'd better keep my spot then. Just in case.

PuppetOfMasters: No worries, you seem the most trustworthy so far anyway.

But as he types it, a new notification appears. Shar sent him a hefty tip on one of his photos.

PuppetOfMasters: That's really not necessary

PuppetOfMasters: But I hope your father is kicking and screaming in his coffin

Shar: I fucking hope so

----

It takes Eddie another day to google Hawkins High's yearbook photos. He'd thought about it before but didn't want to break the bubble of anonymity between himself and his fan. But the thoughts of big hands on his hips, and beard rubbing against his neck, took root in his brain and were tainting his mind.

Not fully in tune with his body and distrustful of others, Eddie has been single for most of his life. And now his stupid horny brain was drooling at the thought of losing his virginity to a grandpa on the internet. 

Hoping it would help his thoughts calm down, he looks through the photos from the year 1986, in search of a Harrington. And he finds him.

Steve Harrington. Basketball captain and swim team co-captain. His hairdo was magnificent and his smile was self-confident. Eddie would hate him in high school. Should probably hate him now. So he expands his search further, beyond the Hawkins High memory lane.

He finds one single photo on a LinkedIn profile. 

The current Steve Harrington's hair is no less magnificent, just peppered with silver. He wears glasses now, which accentuate the line of his jaw and make his neatly trimmed facial hair pop out. He's wearing a yellow jacket and a white golf, which should be hideous but weirdly, works for him. Eddie doesn't get to see his eyes, unfortunately. The photo looks like a candid photo shoot take-out after someone told him a joke. His head is tilted down, eyes scrunched and lips pulled in a smile, as a bubbling laugh got immortalized on camera.

Eddie shouldn't be finding a sixty-year-old man this endearing. 

PuppetOfMasters: I like your LinkedIn photo

PuppetOfMasters: Well, I hope it's you. 

PuppetOfMasters: Steve, right?

He can't forget about this for the whole day, not as he budgets his income, and especially not when he records a short video jerking off in the shower. He tries not to look at his phone but it's his only one, so he does while trying to budget in a second one, just for sex work. Maybe then he wouldn't be feeling so insane about not getting a response from a stranger who is an old pervert spending loads of money on him. 

He tries to be normal when a chat notification finally pops up. 

Shar: If you saw the golf and yellow jacket photo, that's me

Shar: though please don't make me type my full name in here.

no worries, Eddie types back so fast he should be embarrassed. It's a good photo.

Shar: Thanks. My best friend took it 

PuppetOfMasters: Your friend has a good eye

Shar: I'll let her know

Shar: I'm surprised it took you this long to search me up

Eddie's surprised too. Usually, his curiosity would take over him sooner.

PuppetOfMasters: I tried not to pry. But I had to in case we were gonna meet up one day

Shar: So you were serious?

Shar: I've been wondering if you sweet-talk all your followers like that 

PuppetOfMasters: Only the ones that don't send me dick pics

Shar: I knew holding back would pay off

Eddie snorts at his phone. 

Though I might need one before we meet up, he types. Gotta know what I'm working with

Shar: Right. Of course

Shar: So how would that work?

Eddie hasn't thought about it this far.

PuppetOfMasters: I need to read about OF's policy on collabs. Never had to before, since I work solo. Would probably have to hire you, well, sign a commission/gig contract or something like that. So it's all legal and shit.

Shar, Steve, doesn't answer for a long while, and it might be the end of his devirginizing journey. Well, if the guy doesn't want to make this legal, put his name on some paperwork, then he isn't trustworthy, and that's the end of it.

It's half an hour later and Eddie's bitten all his nails off trying not to follow up with any messages and focus on anything else when an answer finally comes.

Shar: Sorry my friend was bothering me

Shar: this sounds more complicated than I anticipated. So I would be like, a co-creator, then?

PuppetOfMasters: Precisely

Shar: Holy shit okay

Shar: Thought I'd be you know, less involved

Though you could hit it and quit it, huh? Eddie scrunched his nose. What was he getting himself into? Gods.

Shar: If that's what you wanted I'd take it

Eddie shouldn't be blushing over this one. It's like he's throwing the man scraps and he's licking them up.

PuppetOfMasters: Simp

Shar: I am what I am

Shar: With that said, I'm willing to make it work. Do all the paperwork you need

PuppetOfMasters: Doing paperwork just to fuck me? so romantic

Shar: I suck at paperwork so my friend would be doing it anyway

Shar: If that's okay

PuppetOfMasters: I think it's best if someone looks it over, yeah

Eddie hesitates for a moment.

PuppetOfMasters: That friend doesn't happen to be your wife?

Fuck no, comes the immediate response

Shar: I'm perpetually single and she's as gay as they come. 

PuppetOfMasters: Good. Wouldn't want to be the other girl

Shar: If I had the chance you'd be the only one

PuppetOfMasters: Jesus.

Eddie squeezes his legs together unconsciously.

PuppetOfMasters: Stop sweet talking me, I've already agreed to fuck

Shar: But we haven't signed anything yet. Even then, I'll keep sweet-talking you. It's what you deserve. 

For the first time, Eddie thinks he might not survive their meeting. And not because of the possible killer scenario. Thankfully, Steve gets back to business talk.

Shar: How would this work, legal stuff aside? Do you script this?

PuppetOfMasters: Do I look like I script shit?

Shar: I'm not the one with Only Fans

PuppetOfMasters: Fair. I think we could just set up cameras and do whatever we feel like. Then decide together if the footage will be released or not. 

Shar: Sounds reasonable

Shar:When would you want to do this?

When?

Eddie hasn't thought that far. In fact, he felt like he hadn't been thinking for the past couple of days. 

I'm the sole god of my schedule so I'm open to anything, he types evasively.

Shar: I have some time off next month, could fly to wherever you need me

Next month seemed close. Extremely close. Or maybe it wasn't? He never worked with anyone before. Hell, he didn't even have that many friends to meet up with. 

Next month works I guess, he answers despite his nerves.

Shar: Wanna face time before we start the legal work?

His nerves escalate, making his mouth dry. He reminds himself he's done this before, he's on camera all the time. 

PuppetOfMasters: Like, right now?

Shar: Yeah?

PuppetOfMasters: Ok, give me five minutes.

Eddie shoots up, checks himself in the mirror, and finds a good angle for his phone to set up. He lowkey hopes Steve picks up with his dick in the frame so Eddie can block him with a clear conscience and forget about the whole thing. When six minutes from his last message pass, he hits 'call'.

"Hi," Eddie squeaks when the video connects. Steve Harrington's arms are in the frame, crossed on the desk, and toned where he's leaning on them.

"Hi," he greets him with a dazzling smile. 

It is the guy from the photo, so at least he's not being catfished. And he has none of the creepy simp energy Eddie feared. He's just... a guy. It's both a relief and a disappointment. 

"Well?" the guy asks.

"Well, what?" Eddie frowns. 

"Are you disappointed? Am I too old?"

Eddie looks at him properly. His hair is lighter on the sides, but not grey yet, and the video quality doesn't make any wrinkles stand out to him. Maybe some worry lines, crow's feet if he squints. He looks like he keeps in shape, too. Eddie wouldn't call him old. Mature, maybe. A DILF slowly transforming into a Silver Fox. 

"You look fine. Good. You look good. Attractive," Eddie fumbles with his words and barely stops himself from facepalming. This is why he mostly texts.

Steve smirks at him. And holy shit, a dude twice his age smirking at him shouldn't be doing things to his body.

"You sure? You're not gonna block me after we hang up, are you?"

Eddie shakes his head.

"I stand by our plans. You're passing my creep radar so far, but uh..." He scratches his cheek nervously. "I'd like to keep in touch in case, you know. A red flag pops up. I hope you get it."

Steve nods, his expression growing serious.

"Absolutely. We're strangers, after all."

"Yeah." Eddie nods, relieved. It would give him ample time and opportunities to back out.

On the screen, Steve leans more on his arms, closer to the camera. 

"So I think dick assessment is next on the checklist?"

Eddie might not even survive video calls with this guy, after all. 

#subeddieweek #sub eddie week #sub eddie munson #cj x subeddieweek #mine #steddie #cw: age gap #camboy au #modern au #transmasc eddie munson #this story got away from me as soon as it started #i just wanted to write some online domming but no #some mmmm older guy touching me???? kinda hot #b u t NO

[estesphantom]

Dinner With the Laswells | John Price x Reader

Summary: Just a little cute fluff one shot for everyone that loves John and Laswell’s platonic soulmate-ship as much as I do. John is whipped for the wifey.

——————

The door slowly closed behind both you and John as you entered the warm, cozy restaurant which smelled heavenly. Your stomach was empty. The hostess smiled warmly at the both of you and began talking to John about a reservation and a table. Your arms held each other as you softly clutched your stomach, the silk fabric of your dress encasing your skin comfortably.

You were dressed like the perfect wife you were — a pretty, simple dress with soft curls and makeup that accentuates your features even more. It’s no surprise John is always all over you. You’re as pretty as a vine.

You snapped out of the thought of how empty your stomach was as the hostess began to walk away and John put a soft hand on the small of your back to signal to follow her. Your feet immediately kick into movement and the two of you followed the hostess to a table where two women sat. They looked older than John, but not so much that they were “old” in general. Either way, they looked amazing for whatever age they gave off to you.

The table was tucked off into a corner of the restaurant where not many people were. John immediately pulled a chair out for you as the two women greeted the both of you. John had mentioned earlier about meeting a woman he was close with and her wife — the Laswells. He had told you that the blonde one was the one who worked with him and messed with him whenever she would get the chance.

“It’s so nice to meet you both,” you smile warmly at them as you shake their hands after taking a seat.

After a few minutes of awkward small talk, John and Kate got to talking about their latest mission. Often you’d like to talk to John about his missions, but this conversation would be weird to butt into. Kate’s wife seemed to get the same feeling as she turned to talk to you.

“Sometimes I wonder if Kate vowed the same thing she did to me at our wedding as she did to her job,” her wife, Lauryn, chuckled. Your eyebrows raised and you immediately began to laugh with her. Your spouses didn’t seem to pay attention.

Before you could respond, the two of them broke from their conversation to ask you something.

“How did the two of you meet again..?” Kate asked, glancing between the two of you. John’s hand reached for yours.

You snicker, “I worked at a boutique where John was deployed. He walked in one time in his dirty uniform asking for some sun screen. His face was so red and peely, I took pity on him.” John’s hand massaged his temples as Kate and her wife raised an eyebrow at John.

“Captain Price in a feminine little boutique? Must’ve looked like a bull tip-toeing around fine China,” Kate remarked, earning a scoff from your well-prided husband.

“It was the first place I saw,” he said with his hands up to defend himself. Kate crossed her arms as you giggle at this exchange.

“And you was impressed by the sight of him?” Her eyebrow raised again. Kate raised her glass as she pointed to him and her eyes were on you.

John’s hand met yours under the table as they went back and forth, bickering like an old married couple. You found yourself jumping in a few times to side with Kate in making fun of John. Minutes felt like milliseconds as the four of you joked like long-time friends.

You’d be lying if you were scared before you arrived that you wouldn’t impress Kate, or she’d find you too soft for him, or judge you right away. It was the complete opposite. She was welcoming, nice, and kind. So was her wife, and the two of you found yourself exchanging numbers at the end of the dinner because she wanted someone to talk to while your spouses were out on deployment.

When you all wished each other well, John helped you into his truck and as he slid your heels off which were previously torturing your feet, he smiled at you with a shit-eating grin.

“I told you that you’d like them,” he says, sliding one of your heels off.

“I never doubted you.”

He kisses your forehead before he tosses your heels into the backseat. He looks down at you lovingly as his thumb rubs circles on your hand. Your heart stops. You always wonder how he makes you feel like a teenager in love.

“I never doubted that they would fall in love with you the moment they saw you. I was made for you, yeah? Never leave me,” he implores, kissing more on your forehead. You giggle as the kisses tickle your face.

#x y/n #fanfic #captain john price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #john price #john price x reader #john price x you #task force 141 #fluff #john price is whipped

[invisiblestringmm]

chapter four

i’ll tell you the truth but never goodbye

a/n: i hope this chapter makes you cry 😂

tw: there’s a bit of angst, and definitely lots of fluff. y/n struggling with being a single mum. mason being a gorgeous mf. lily being the cutest human, lots of lily appreciation too.

3.100k words

It didn’t come as a surprise to see Jaz keeping her promise to support you as best as she could - you got daily FaceTime calls, texts, and Instagram DMs. You got post-ballet dinners and ice cream, the four of you becoming closer each day - Lily and Summer were inseparable now, and you had Jaz not getting tired of telling you she felt like you’d become the sister she never had.

Not being able to control where your thoughts went, your mind made you question a few times how it would’ve been having this extra support when you were pregnant, and you asked yourself if you’d ever stop being hunted by the countless what-ifs of yours and Lily’s life. You had to stop and take a deep breath and just force yourself to focus on all the wonderful things that were happening now, and how much you wanted them to still be this way when it was time to tell Mason, and everyone else.

Despite having Jaz reassure you that things would end up well, Mason was pretty much unknown territory to you, emotionally speaking - yes, you gave birth to his “mini-me”, but that was no guarantee that you were able to predict him. Not knowing what to expect should’ve made you stay as far away as possible from him, but after you had a text message from Jaz sharing the big news that Mason would be at the ballet recital, while you watched your daughter roll her eyes in the delight as she devoured the pancakes and strawberries on her plate, you decided to reply to that message he had sent you weeks ago.

What you didn’t expect was for him to reply within less than a minute.

“Mummy, are you okay?” Lily had her eyebrows frowned at you, she curiously scanned your probably pale face as your heart pounded against your chest. A simple nod was enough for her to focus back on the pancakes, but also give you occasional and quick glares as your shaky hands tightly held the phone.

You barely had any appetite left as you felt your stomach dropping when Mason texted that - so, he wanted to see you. It wasn’t time yet, at least, it didn’t feel like it. But should the ballet recital be the best place to meet him? Would you be able to act surprised and sustain casualty at that meeting that’d be sort of arranged by his sister?

So many questions and insecurity surrounded you whenever Mason was on your mind, and having to look into Lily’s hazel eyes, her smile, and everything else on her that was his copy only made it worse for you - it was nearly suffocating, and you just needed a mother and daughter moment to focus on anyone but Lilian.

“Peanut,” you poked her tummy, making her giggle. “Why don’t we have a girl's afternoon today, huh? Museum, whatever you want for lunch and we can wrap it with skincare and Moana!”

Lily stood on the chair - your instinct making you hold her arm - and made her little celebration dance, still chewing the pancake, her dark brown soft curls bouncing. That vision completely took your breath away, you often couldn’t believe such a precious girl was your daughter.

Not that all of your days weren’t already hers, but dedicating a whole day off to Lily was your favourite thing to do. When she was just a baby, you often imagined how these days would be, with your little best friend and soulmate, on coffee dates and nights where you’d light up a scented candle and read her a book. The way your voice soothed her was Lily’s favourite thing, combined with your smell. It made her feel safe like nothing could ever harm her. In her dreams, her daddy joined the two of you - she couldn’t see his face but could feel the warmth of his hand holding hers and his laugh was the best sound in the world. Lily wondered if she’d ever meet him, the only thing she knew and was happy about was the fact that she looked like him, as you’ve told her countless times.

Careful not to lose Lily from your sight as she walked three steps in front of you, her eyes not sure what she wanted to focus her attention on at the museum, your mind went back to Mason’s last words to you that morning. So, he wanted to apologise for the way he treated you. Part of you felt good about it, that he had finally recognised what a complete twat he had been, but the other part of you just thought how that made no difference now - it was in the past. Not buried, since your past with him had taken the most angelic human form, but it wouldn’t change things. It was all about the future now.

For lunch, Lily insisted on spaghetti, her all-time favourite food. You had to persuade her a bit to eat a bit of protein too because pasta would make her feel hungry again by the afternoon, and you knew how much she hated being hungry right before taking a nap - your persuasion included the word dessert, so not much time was wasted trying to convince her to accept some chicken with her pasta.

Your phone buzzed with a real-time picture of Jaz and Summer by the time you had just bought a gorgeous bouquet of yellow roses, Lily’s favourite. She insisted that a good girls’ night would only be complete if you had fresh roses, that she wanted to carry herself. You quickly snapped a picture of her and sent it to Jaz, asking why they’d have to grow up so fast and that her niece was insufferable.

“Can you please behave like a child and not like an adult, Lilian Maisie?” like a little kid, you pouted, suddenly emotional to see so much wit and wisdom in your tiny human.

Lily giggled, “Mummy!” she held your hand, placing a soft kiss against it and walking according to your pace. “Can we go home now?” You nodded, quickly fetching an Uber to drive you home.

By the time you got there, she was already heavily sleeping in your arms as you clumsily also carried your purse and the flowers, and tried to open the door without troubling her sleep - if it was up to you, you’d find a way for mums to have an extra pair of arms, they’d definitely be useful in times like these.

You knew Lily wouldn’t sleep that much, so the sofa was where you put her before putting the roses in the water and getting rid of your coat. It was almost dark outside, so you also started to prepare the apartment for movie night. Your little girl woke up with a loud yawn that was followed by a wide smile when she noticed the blankets and pillows on the floor, some candies in a bowl, and fruits too, which were her favourite snacks.

“Matching pyjamas?” you winked at her and giggled as Lily nodded repeatedly, stretching her arms at you so you’d carry her to the bedroom.

A few minutes later you were cuddling under the blankets and watching Moana for the millionth time. You fell asleep shortly before the film ended and were quickly followed by Lily as she hummed an “I love you, mummy” and kissed the tip of your nose.

Despite not being the most comfortable place for your back to spend the night, there was no other place you’d rather be right now, holding your daughter's warm and small body - the smell of her strawberry shampoo and the pace of her calm breathing taking you to a place where no nightmares, no worries, would catch you in your sleep. You woke up in the middle of the night when she moved a bit and, after watching her sleep for a few minutes, finally turned off the TV and quickly texted Mason before going back to sleep.

When you woke up, there was a message from Jaz saying that they’d all go out for dinner after the ballet recital, and as hard as it was, you had to politely decline for you’d have a little celebration with your own family in a pre-Christmas party since a few members wouldn’t be joining at Foxwoods this year. And that you wouldn’t be able to be around Mason before telling him all the truth, which led to you telling her that he had reached you and you agreed to talk. She went from upset to hopeful in the blink of an eye.

As you prepared for the recital, you had to deal with an impatient and bossy Lily - combined with stress from work, that you had to forcefully turn into home office for the Holidays, the exhaustion that took over your body grew by the minute. It resulted in calling your mum for help, who showed up with your dad on her side by your door.

“You know she’d ask for me anyway, kid!” Your always cheerful father rubbed his hands together as he went straight for his granddaughter, who waited for him with her arms up, waiting to be spun around like a doll. You loved how your dad, a serious and famous lawyer, turned so soft whenever Lily was around - and now, how he’d cope with having to eventually “share” her with her other grandfather.

“Where do you need me to begin, amor?” Your mother’s heavy Colombian accent woke you up, and a sigh of relief parted your lips as you pulled her into a hug. “What is wrong, bebe? Tell your mamá,” Her hands softly stroked your back as you just closed your eyes and enjoyed being the daughter instead of being the mum.

“It’s nothing, I’m just exhausted. I thought that being one of the bosses would give me more free time but it’s just more work, and Lily is insufferable with this recital thing,” you sniffed. “I’m so glad it’s finally tomorrow.”

But you also weren’t, because it meant you’d see Mason after five years.

-

If anyone told you that your daughter’s ballet recital would be the place you’d almost certainly meet her father again, especially without him being the father of another kid there, you’d just roll your eyes and leave - as you stood in front of your closet, not sure about what to wear, your mind played tricks on you creating different scenarios on how that meeting would go. There was so much expectation from you, so much anxiety to see how Mason would react. He thought you’d meet for coffee sometime soon, not at a ballet recital where you were the mother of one of the kids.

Much to your relief, Willow arrived at your place right on time to save you from a breakdown over “what to wear to meet the father of my daughter after five years without looking like an exhausted mother, but also drop-dead gorgeous, and respectful”.

“Lord, that’s specific!” Willow screeched, not really helping you, in the end. “Why do you want to impress him anyway?”

“Willie, I know you’re smarter than this,” you replied as she just shrugged, still waiting for an answer. You got a positive reaction when you picked a knit burgundy dress, so you tried it on and what you saw in the mirror made you satisfied. “The next time I see him it’ll be to tell him the truth, so he needs a good first second impression.”

“His first impression of you was good enough,” she teased, watching your cheeks blush as she helped to remove the dress tag. “But you’re wearing a brand new dress for him tonight, so I’m sure the second impression will be just as good.”

“Stop it, silly. You know it’s not like this, and he doesn’t know it’s a new dress.”

Willow kept teasing you with her glares and smirks as the five of you drove to the small theatre rented for the night by the ballet studio, it was already a bit crowded when you got there and you rushed to take Lily to the backstage, where all her ballet friends greeted her in excitement. It truly was the cutest thing in the world, those little humans in their tutus, giggling and chatting like they were grown-ups.

With a quick and wet kiss on your daughter’s cheek - that made her adorably embarrassed - and a hug on Summer, you told the girls how wonderful they were and left to find your family. You quickly spotted Willow and Jaz laughing about something that made you curious, and although you were happy to see Jasmine, you also hoped it’d take a little longer to meet her and, potentially, the rest of her family. And Mason, to be more specific.

“He’s not here yet,” like she could read your mind, Jaz’s words caused you to sigh in relief. “You look gorgeous, by the way!”

Smiling at her, you softly stroked her bump. “You too, pretty mumma.”

As the lights dimmed down, announcing that the recital would begin soon, you and Willow parted ways from Jaz to meet your family. Your dad held your hand and gently squeezed it, his eyes already sparkling with tears - the truth was you couldn’t have done it without your parents, but your dad was something else. It was expected that being showered with affection would be something you’d get from your mum, who was a Latina, but you got it all from your dad because, according to him, you were the result of how much he adored your mum and Lily was an extension of that. His legacy, as he’d say. He never questioned your choices, the way you raised your daughter, nor why you never talked about who Lily’s father was. The respect your parents had for you was overwhelming, and that’s why you’d tell the whole truth tonight as soon as Lily was peacefully asleep.

When the five-year-olds act began, you were the one ready to let some tears roll down your cheeks. There she was, your Lilian Maisie, as beautiful as ever on her first ballet performance - something you never truly expected, since she had always been the adventurous type of kid. But you watched her balance it so perfectly that you often questioned if she was just five years old, and also how she’d be as a grown woman. As she danced, you had a clear vision of Lily in her early twenties. She was tall, her hair was a bit darker now but the soft curls were still there and so was the natural flush on her cheeks. She was beautiful and finally looked a bit more like you, but Mason’s smile was still there. She was kind, full of hope, funny, gracious and so smart. She was loved by everyone around her and made their lives better by simply existing.

When her act ended, you proudly stood up and clapped your hands as if your life relied on it. Her eyes scanned the audience, looking for you, and when she finally found you her face lit up and that smile you loved so much was there, making your heart melt. “I love you,” you mumbled, and she just winked at you.

Gosh, there was no way Mason wouldn’t love this girl to the point his heart would nearly explode. You wanted him to have it too.

Excusing yourself as the older girls got on stage, you went to the bathroom to fix your makeup. As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you searched for your phone and, with a courage you hadn’t felt in the longest time, you typed a quick message to Mason asking if he’d be willing to meet the next day, in the afternoon.

What you didn’t expect was to find him right outside, holding his phone with a wide smile on his lips.

Mason Mount looked as gorgeous as he’d ever been - you could smell his cologne even if you were at least ten steps away from him. Wearing black jeans, and a Dior sweater that made him look breathtakingly gorgeous, Mason ended the distance between you as you felt your heart beating faster each second. He was still holding his phone when he stopped in front of you.

“I literally just texted you back saying yes,” he ran his fingers through his hair and that was as sexy as you remembered. Mason had a beard now, and although he was still young, the wrinkles on the corners of his eyes were more evident now. “You’re the last person I thought I’d meet here.”

You nodded, forcing your brain to put some words together. “You too.” Lie. But you had to make it look like it was just a coincidence.

“You look incredible, Y/n,” Mason said under his breath, his eyes shamelessly scanning your outfit. That same pair of eyes was your favourite thing to look at every morning. Now you knew what Willow meant when she said that Lily and Mason were identical - how could he not notice when they met? “There’s so much I wanna say to you,” he continued.

“Save it for tomorrow.” You interrupted, not wanting to sound rude, and Mason nodded in agreement.

“Can I pick you up around 3?”

“I think we should meet there.” You said, thinking of how suffocating and awkward it’d be being inside a car with him after all these years. “There’s a nice place I usually go with my dau-,” you coughed, watching his brows frown. “With my best friend. I’ll text you the address and we’ll meet there.”

Then, all of a sudden, Mason pulled you into a hug. His warmth against your body melted your heart, and you could feel how his breath deepened as his arms tightened around your figure. “I’ll meet you there, so I can decently apologise for being a complete idiot to someone incredible like you.”

His words were all you needed to know for sure that this wouldn’t be easy.

Was he being genuine, or was he just trying to get into your pants like he did back then? Either way, things were immensely different now, for this wasn’t just about you and Mason anymore.

This was about her - Lily. It was about her future, her happiness, how his presence in her life would have a tremendous impact on how she’d develop and what kind of adult she’d be. Nothing would ever be the same, and there was nowhere to run.

This was going to be tough.

————

BONUS - SOCIAL MEDIA

#mason mount fanfic #mason mount imagine #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n #mason mount series #invisible string mm | chapter four

[pit-and-the-pen]

Hi! I am so grateful you came across my feed! You also have an incredibly extensive prompt list which is amazing btw. Could I please get a 104 and 75 with Azriel?? I have been wanting to see how they would do with a fairy, considering they are like the opposite of a bat. They’re light and airy, gorgeous wings. Illyrian wings are gorgeous too but in a dark way and I think the contrast is cool without having to make them an angel. Ya know? Thank you if you end up doing it!

Thank you so much and thank you for the request! My prompt list is left over from an event I did when I hit 100 followers and I just kept adding to it. I love the idea of the difference in their wings. Because the books have already explored a few different types of wings and I think fairy wings are absolutely gorgeous.

The reader is half High Fae, half fairy.

Hope you like it! <3

Warning: Unwelcome touching (not by Azriel), Smut (18+), protective Az!!!!

WC: ~1.7k

Divider by @cafekitsune

My  wings had always been something I was immensely proud of, sure they weren’t the stark white feathered covered ones from Day or the gorgeous bat-like wings from the Illyrains but you loved them. Translucent but pink iridescent, the membrane golden in color. Compared to my stature, short by fae standards, they easily were half of my height. 

When I moved from the Spring Court to Night, I remember feeling slightly self-conscious about them. Before the mating bond had snapped, Azriel had spent many nights reassuring me how beautiful he thought they were. How they made me special. I would sniffle into his neck, “But they let everyone know I’m only half High Fae.” He would hold my head in his hands and try not to laugh at the absurd concern. “So is Rhys, so is Cassian. Most High Fae are. That’s not a bad thing.” Light kisses were pressed to my face, “If anything it makes you more special. Something no other High Fae has.” His words calmed my raging mind. Once the mating bond had snapped, he really began to worship them. He was the first person I had let touch them. The both of us learned they truly were as sensitive as his own. It became something he could tease me with, only in the privacy of our bedroom. One touch and I would melt into his touch. 

Now, I stood in the middle of the throne room at Hewn City. Dress in midnight blue, the same exact shade as my mates siphons. The floor length gown is skin tight and the velvet was smooth under my fingers as I tried to smooth it out. 

I fidgeted slightly out of nerves. I had refused the first time Rhys offered to glamour them away, they were too much a part of who I was for me to hide them even in this vile place. But I still felt very exposed around this many unfamiliar faces.

Azriel had stepped away to join the conversation Rhys was currently having with Keir. Placing a small kiss on my temple as he walked away, “Have fun, sweetheart.” I instantly started looking for Mor, desperate for some semblance of comfort.   

I found her on the dance floor. I gave her a low bow, hand extended which she returned with a perfect curtsey. I took her hand and we began to weave through the other couples as we waltzed around the ballroom, her head thrown back with laughter. 

A pair of hands on my hips swept me out of her grasp. I let out a startled cry, expecting to be met with my favorite pair of hazel eyes. The male that had grabbed me was certainly not Azriel nor anyone I noticed. I could smell the faerie wine on his breath as he spoke in my ear, “What pretty wings.” I thanked him, my voice getting stuck like gum in my throat. I tried to pull the unknown male's hands off of my hips, even to just push them up to my waist but he just dug his hands in tighter. I yelped at the pressure and he just gave me a cocky smirk. 

“I know how sensitive Illyrian wings are, and given the shadowslingers scent all over you, I bet you do too,” He laughed at my shocked expression, “I wonder if these are just as sensitive.” By this time, we had stopped dancing. I stood frozen, bile turned my stomach as he reached a grimy hand up to stroke the edge of my wings. His rough touch made me chirp in pain, he had pitched the fragile membrane between his nails and dragged them down. 

He went to repeat the motion again when I felt the heat of him disappear entirely. When I looked around for him, I saw large black wings in front of my face. The male that had been touching me was pinned to the dance floor. Azriel’s heavy boots, holding him there by his neck. The male was desperately clutching at his leg, trying to pull him off. Azriel scoffed.

“Doesn’t feel so good to have someone touch you when you don’t want them to?” He pressed down a little harder, the muscles twitching in his leg. 

“Now, if you ever think about touching my mate, or anyone else, without their expressed interest,” His hand went to rest on truth-teller’s hilt. “You will find yourself without hands.” He lifted his leg off the male's neck and didn’t spare him a glance as he grabbed my hand and started leading me out of the ballroom. 

People jumped out of our way and I didn’t even think of saying anything to him as I felt his fury down the bond. Not at me, never at me. But for not being there to stop the hands I could still feel on my wings. He pulled us into a room, no, a closet, and I could almost make out the shape of him from the light that snuck along the frame. 

“Did he hurt you?” He asked sternly. Fae Lights flickered on, giving the room a soft glow. I shook my head and he let out a heavy exhale. He placed his forehead against mine and we just stood there as both of our breathing evened out

“Az, you didn’t have to do all of that.” I finally spoke blushing, the dim lights of the room doing nothing to protect me from his gaze.

“You don’t understand, I will do anything to protect you.” The solemnity of those words made my heart lurch and heat pool in my stomach. 

“I don’t know whether to be scared or turned on.” His laugh echoed in his chest. 

“Look at my dirty girl,” He started kissing down my neck, “Does seeing me defend you turn you on?” I whimpered when his tongue started following his kisses. 

“I don’t know, you’re the one that dragged me into a literal closet.” He growled lightly. 

“Be nice, sweet girl.” Chiding me, I felt desire and defiance flood my veins. 

“Bite me.”

 “With pleasure.” He all but purred in my ear and he was on me. His lips captured mine. Teeth captured my lower lip when I moaned into his mouth. His tongue explored my mouth, brushing against the roof of my mouth and my legs turned into jelly. He hiked my leg up to rest on his waist, using the hand on my back to stabilize me. Trailing up my leg with his free hand. 

“Fuck” He groaned when he reached the center of my thighs. Blood flowed to my cheeks. I was soaked. He didn’t waste anymore time before he slipped my panties to the side. I cried out as deft fingers found my clit and started rubbing tight, fast circles. 

My hands started to trail down to reach for his waistband but his shadows pinned my arms to my side. 

“Let me make you feel good, my love.” I moaned at his words. My moans instantly broke into a scream as I felt two of his fingers plunge into me. He curled against the rough spot and I panted out his name.  

“Az…Please, I need more.” I begged him. He just started to kiss my neck again, sucking what I knew would be angry bruises. His kisses started to trail lower, his shadows once again helping him as they slid the top of my dress down to expose my breasts. My hands went to his hair as he wrapped his lips around my nipple. Sucking the perfect amount of pressure, mixed with his fingers pistoning in and out of me. I felt myself fall apart under him. My climax racked through me hard, I sagged against his hand still on my back. 

“There you go. Good girl.” He praised me. I expected his hand to pull away but he kept working me through waves of pleasure. I whined, “Too much. Az.” I panted out the words, chest quickly rising and falling as I tried to catch my breath. 

“Can you give me one more?” His kisses started trailing lower and he unwrapped my leg from his waist. I was going to say something but it got lost on my tongue as he started to sink to his knees. He began to trail kisses up my leg as he went to throw my foot over his shoulder. 

He placed one of my hands on his head, my fingers instantly grabbing his soft locks. 

“Hold on princess.” Was the only warning I received before he dove in between my legs. I mewled at the pressure his lips sucked around my clit, still sensitive from my last orgasm. Broken versions of his name left my mouth and I tried to stop my hips from bucking. He used his free hand to guide my hips, letting me ride his face. It didn’t take long for him to have me at the edge. My eyes squeezed shut, white spotting the black behind my eyelids as he gave my clit a soft nip. That was enough to have my orgasm crashing over me. This time, my knees did buckle out from under me but Azriel’s hands were there instantly to hold me up. 

I blinked up at him. He was the picture of male satisfaction as he took in my glassy eyes. I once again went to reach for his pants but he pushed my hands away with a chuckle. 

“Later. I promise.” He said when I pouted at him. “Two isn’t enough for you, sweet girl?” I shook my head and he really laughed at that. He stood back up and smoothed out the lines in his suit. He helped me adjust my dress back into place. My hair was a lost cause, as well as my smudged makeup. He pressed a bruising kiss to my lips and when he pulled away he whispered in my ear

“Now we’re going to go back out there, covered in your scent and maybe that will remind people just exactly who they’re messing with from now on.”

#acomaf #acosf #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acowar #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel smut #azriel shadowsinger smut #azriel spymaster #acotar smut #a court of thorns and roses #requested #protective azriel

[justmeinadaze]

I Have Nothing (If I Don't Have You) Part 8 (Steddie X You)

A/N: I was feeling some type of why and I think you'll figure it out as you read <3.

Warnings: Soft Dom Bodyguard Steddie/ Sub Singer Fem Reader, SMUT, spanking, choking, degrading (slightly), rough

ANGST: Dark Themes of addiction, overdosing, and relapse, mentions of domestic abuse with a previous partner, Y/N talks about her guilt when it comes to boys and how numb she feels over everything happening around her. Mentions of a parent in hospital, mother snaps at her and reader wonders why she's "not enough". Guys briefly talk about how her overdose affected them.

Word Count: 4116

Series here

Buy Me A Coffee☕ 

“Y/N, honey. You have to get back out there.”

It had been three months since your overdose and you were not doing well. The paparazzi and people on social media perceived you that way but inside you were fucking dying. Since you weren’t doing interviews, the stations were trying to get anyone they could in front of a camera. 

Simon’s mom cried, blaming you for his downfall while his sister insisted it should be you in the ground. Your previous agent made a statement expressing exhaustion at your behavior which is why HE let YOU go. People you thought were your friends like Allie talked about your vices and previous party lifestyle like it was something you used to enjoy. 

These people didn’t know you. 

They didn’t know what you were or had experienced. 

Sarah didn’t either but your new agent did genuinely care about your wellbeing. 

“Maybe, we can schedule like a controlled one on one with an interviewer you trust. You can answer some of those baseline questions and get your side out there.”

“What side, Sarah? Simon’s dead, I’m a diva and a delinquent. These are all facts.”

“No, Y/N, they aren’t. I know you and I know you’re not like that. You’re a good person and—”

Sighing, you get up and head towards the window, glaring through it into your many past memories. You were pushing everyone away including the two men who cared about you the most. You meant what you said when you told them you loved them which meant, to you, that you needed to protect them from the drama that was you. 

As their soft eyes followed you, you continued to ignore them as your agent heavily exhaled. 

“Ok. Ok. I understand. I’m not going to push you but as your old publicist I think we should at least release a small statement of some kind. Just text me what you want to say and—”

“’Fuck everyone. I am what you think I am.’”

Everyone in the room exchanges a glance before Sarah rises to her feet. After patting Steve’s shoulder, Eddie rises to walk her out, flashing her a reassuring smile before closing door. 

“How long are we going to do this, Y/N?”, the pretty boy asks as you continue to face away from him. “How long are you going to wallow in your self-pity?”

Your phone rings and you ignore it. You’ve been ignoring your phone in general which made them even more nervous. One of them always slept over while the other went home to change and grab some essentials. Even though you had the spare room they insisted on sleeping on the couch just in case. You didn’t sneak out nor did you want to. Your need for booze and drugs left when the numbness took over. 

“Miss Y/L/N phone. Security Mr. Munson speaking.”, he growled as he glared your way. Demeanor abruptly changing, he responded with a couple more uh huhs before glancing at the phone as it hung up. “Um, Y/N, that was your mom. Your dad… your dad is in the hospital. She said she just wanted you to know and then hung up on me.”

In your reflection within the window, they could see your eyes begin to water as you hugged your arms around your body. Since everything happened, they never once came to visit you nor did they try to call. This is the first time you were hearing from them and even from what Eddie told you, it sounded like they didn’t want you there. 

Anger suddenly clouds your mind as you stomp towards your bedroom and pull down your suitcase, throwing things inside of it haphazardly. 

“Would you like us to see when the next flight is available?”

“That’s not your job, Mr. Harrington. I have an assistant for that.”

“Yeah but we’ll be going with you so it’s not a problem.”

“No, you’re not.”

Chuckling sarcastically under his breath, Steve stepped forward till you felt his stomach against your side. 

“As your security, Miss Y/L/N, it is our job to keep you safe. That being said, we are going with you whether you like it or not but we will not interfere.”

“I can handle my family.”

“We know you can. You can handle them and we’ll handle everything else.”

“I said…no.”

“Fire us then.”, Eddie replied taking his place beside his friend. “Because that’s the only way we won’t go with you to protect you. Like Steve said, this is our job.”

Huffing, you zip up your bag and turn to head towards your phone to book the flight but instead bump into the man’s strong, broad chest.

“You two are no longer mine. I don’t need you to look out for me.”

“I didn’t hear the words ‘You’re fired’. Did you, Ed?”

“No, Harrington, I didn’t. That did sound like a breakup to me though. Which is fine. I guess we don’t deserve input into that conversation. Fuck us, right, sweetheart?”

Without saying another word, you walk away and allow them to take control.

***

When you make it to the hospital in your hometown, you pause just outside the room door with both men right behind.

“You have to open the door, ma’am.”, Steve instructed in a flat tone that pierced your heart.

They had been incredibly formal the entire plane ride, dressing up in suits, calling you things like “ma’am”, and not talking to you at all unless it was regarding anything job related. What you didn’t realize was it was taking all their energy to keep it together when all they wanted to do was scream. They loved you so much and once again they were being cast aside. 

They blamed themselves for crossing that emotional line with a client and Eddie finally made the choice that they should go back to the “proper etiquette”. 

“I haven’t seen them in ten years.”, you whisper.

They wanted to comfort you and tell you everything would be ok. That no matter what they were here for you but it seemed to them that is no longer what you wanted so they honored that by remaining silent. Clenching your jaw, you pushed open the barrier and sauntered through.

“We’ll be right here when you’re ready to leave, Miss Y/L/N.” 

After placing themselves on either side of the door inside the room, you stepped in further finding your father half-awake in a hospital bed with your mother holding his hand.

“Y/N? H-Hey, honey, what are you doing here? We told your assistant you didn’t have to come.”

“Eddie’s my security, mama, and I know but I just wanted to make sure dad was alright.”

“He’s doing fine. Just a little heart attack, no worries.” Your eyes widen at her words as she sighs. “I imagine the constant phone calls from your agent and the tv people didn’t help.”

“Hm. Maybe because something important happened to your daughter where I ended up in the hospital to.”

“Y/N, please. Not everything is about you. See this is why we didn’t want you here.”

Eddie’s posture stiffened as he forced himself to stay where he was and not drag you away from this toxicity. Sarah was right; this was the last thing you needed.

“This is why? Really? What about all the other times, huh? All the other times I got sick or offered to fly you down to come see me? Or the times I said I could fly to see you two and you told me no. What was the reason then?!”

“We are not having this discussion right now!”

“When then, mama!? When will I finally be enough for you!?” As she continued to ignore you, you began to sob. “Please! TALK TO ME!”

“Y/N…”, your father sighed weakly. “N-Now is not the time. Go…Go back to Hollywood and just…just go…”

Numbly, you nod as you turn around and push past the guys to hurry towards the elevator. 

***

As soon as you enter the hotel, you run to the kitchen and grab the wine bottle the concierge had given you as a gift but as soon as you try to open it, it’s yanked from your grasp. Steve pops open the top and you watch as he chugs some of it back before handing some to Eddie who does the same.

“I thought it wasn’t part of your job to keep me sober.”

“Your right it’s not but Sarah gave us specific instructions to keep an eye on you and since she’s been nothing but kind to us we don’t mind doing a little extra.”, the metalhead sasses as he tries to pour the rest of the bottle down the sink.

Shoving his chest, you try to grab the alcohol from his hand but he just holds it higher out of your grasp.

“Fuck you! You’re fired! Both of you!”

“Oh good. You can drink yourself to death, continue to spiral, and we don’t have to fucking watch!”

“GET OUT!”

“No problem, honey. We’ll leave as soon as we get back home.”

“I said NOW, Steven!”

“No, little girl. You don’t tell me what to fucking do. I was hired to protect you so that’s what we’re going to do until we get your spoiled, stubborn ass back home!”

When your hand flew, you immediately regretted the action especially when Steve’s head reared back around and his angry eyes locked with yours. The energy in the air was thick with a heaviness of frustration and pain but the need was stronger. 

That’s why you didn’t fight back when his large palm hooked around the back of your neck and crashed your lips to his. You didn’t realize how much you missed the taste of them as his tongue invaded your mouth and you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to pull him as close to you as you could. 

“You wanna play rough, little girl.”, he panted. “We can play rough.”

As he lifted you into his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist and he carried you to your hotel bed, tossing you onto the mattress. Quickly collecting yourself, you balanced up on your knees and shoved his chest hard. Steve barely moved at the action, lightly shoving you flat onto your back and pinning you down with one hand as he utilized his other to free his cock from its confinement. 

When he pressed the tip to your mouth, you remained still as you pressed your lips together. Tilting his head in amusement, he smirked at you as you squeaked at the feeling of your pants and panties being dragged down legs. A ringed palm spanked you hard and when you winced your mouth opened enough for Steve to slide his length down your throat. 

“Shit. That’s it. Take it like we’ve taken all your bullshit these past few months.” Eddie spanked you again as you groaned around his friend making him mewl as he threaded his fingers tightly in your hair, holding you still as he subtly thrust his hips. “Y-You want us gone, honey? Don’t worry. As soon as we get home, we’ll leave you be and you’ll never fucking hear from us again.”

The metalhead’s tongue clouded your senses as he flicked and sucked rapidly at your clit. Your hands flew up pet his head but he promptly grabbed your wrists and held them down. 

Allowing you some air, Steve backed away and listened as you whined while Eddie built you up. Climbing up your frame, he slid his fingers inside of you, pumping them at a brutal speed that turned you into a sobbing mess as both their faces hovered over yours. 

“You definitely taught us a lesson, sweetheart. Don’t worry. All of this was our fault. We never should have crossed this line… Being there for you, taking care of you, LOVING you… We’re so fucking stupid.”

Your eyes roll back as you cum and they didn’t even allow you a moment to breathe as they manhandled you onto your hands and knees. Spanking you again, you moaned at the feeling of Steve spitting into your cunt before guiding himself roughly into your core. He overwhelmed you immediately, his thick, large cock stretching your walls at an animalistic pace they had never used with you before. 

“Steve…”, you mewled as your head hung. Falling onto your back, his hand took hold of your chin as he rolled his hips and growled in your ear. 

“Does my dick feel good, Y/N? Yeah, I bet it does. Is this what you wanted? Us to fuck you like we fucking hate you. Mmph… because you hate us don’t you? DON’T… YOU…?”

“Yes!”, you whine through gritted teeth. “Yes, I fucking h-hate you!”

“What do you hate most, little girl? The fact that we were genuine and made you happy?”, Eddie asked gripping a handful of your hair as he stroked his cock in front of your face. “The fact that we treated you with fucking respect even though you always gave us attitude? Or was it the fact that we have never loved anyone as much as we love you? So much so that we were willing to ruin our careers to be with you.”

Steve’s breathing warmed your shoulder as his mouth fell open and he thrust into your harder. 

“We have feelings too, Y/N. I think you forget that. Together and individually, we’ve had many women break our hearts but congratulations, baby, you now take the cake.”

Your body trembled as you came and chanted his name as they let you go with him shoving your face into the mattress chasing his high till he released his seed inside of you. 

Eddie grabbed your waist, flipping you on to your back, placing himself between your legs, and pushing his cock into your entrance. His palm wrapped around your throat and you moaned at the feeling as he slammed his lower half roughly into yours. 

“Munson’s last girlfriend used him for sex and favors. She always wanted backstage passes to see and meet the other bands. With mine I found her cheating on me in our bed when I came home from a tour cut short. She didn’t even apologize or do anything to keep me around… Just kept fucking him as I threw some shit into a bag and left.”

“Aw, Harrington, look at—fuck—look at little girl crying. Does it feel that good? Good because this is the last time you’re ever going to feel us inside you so I hope you enjoy it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I bet you are. Can’t say I’m not going to miss this tight little pussy.”, he answered in a tone you knew was fake. He was trying to sound authoritative but he was hurting. They both were…

“Do you know why you’re the worst?” When you shake your head, the long-haired boy slows, pulling his cock back to the tip before pounding it back into you over and over having you see stars. “Because you actually made us believe you were going to be different. That if we let go ourselves and took the risk, you’d do the same.”

“I’m so sorry, Eddie. You—mmm—deserve better.” His rhythm faltered as his concerned eyes scanned your face. “That’s why I’m letting you go.”

“Why?” When you didn’t respond, he laid flat against you with his lips to your ear. “Tell me why, Y/N.”

“Because I love you. I love you both.”

As he pumps into you at a faster pace, your nails ran along his shoulders and down his back pushing him as close to you as you could get him. 

“Louder.”

“I-I-I love—”

“Louder.”

“Ah! I love you, Eddie! I love you, Steve!” You cling to him as you cum and he grunts against your skin as he does the same. “I love you. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to be the reason for you to not be happy. I don’t want you to lose everything because of me. I—” 

Nicotine flavored lips cut you off as they softly kissed your own, silencing you as he gradually pulled out of your sore sex.

“Why am I not enough?”, you whisper. 

Steve lifts you into his arms and carries you to the bathroom, waiting as Eddie fills the tub with warm water. You allow them to clean you and take care of anything you needed with no words exchanged between you. As you wait for them to take you out however the metalhead is the first to speak. 

“You are enough. More than… we’ve told you that before but you still don’t believe it. You’ll never be enough, ma’am, until you realize that you are.”

Your bottom lips quivers as you listen to him speak. 

“Ma’am…”

“Yeah…ma’am. Until we get home that is.”

“You don’t have to…I mean you’re welcome to stay on…I was just…angry…”

“Maybe it would be best for everyone if we did leave.”

“Steve, please.”, you plead. “I am so sorry.”

His jaw tightens as he nods, pushing himself off the counter he was sitting on and heading back towards his bedroom. Hurling your body out of the bath, you practically ran to him as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

“I’ve done a lot of fucked up shit in my life especially after I started drinking and doing drugs. I’ve insulted people who were nothing but kind and been arrested for so many different things. I lost so many people I thought had my best interest in mind. None of that will ever compare to what I did to you two and not just within these last three months. I know I scared you when I overdosed.”

Steve breathily chuckled as pulled out of your grasp and turned to face you. 

“Scared us? No, Y/N, you TERRIFED us. We spent hours, fucking hours, looking for you and worried about who you might be with or what you were doing. I know everyone in your circle only cares about themselves but let me tell you what it was like for someone who actually gives a damn! Y/N, Simon was NOT a good man. He hurt you constantly not just emotionally but physically. He put his hands on you. I’m sorry that motherfucker is dead, I really am, but I can’t say I’m not glad he can never hurt you again.”

“Y/N, he knew you were sober but brought drugs over anyway.”, Eddie added. “Drugs you almost died taking. I don’t think you have any idea how much it destroyed me seeing you on the floor like that. Not just because I love you but I kept thinking, ‘Please God don’t let THIS be how she leaves the world.’”

His words hit your hard but not as hard as Steve’s next sentence. 

“I was—am—so fucking angry with you because it seems like…we’re not enough for you.”

Sobbing, you cling to him again, pressing your face into his bare chest as you break. After what feels like an eternity, his arms slowly rise as his fingers thread through your hair to hold you closer. Eddie does the same from behind, kissing your shoulder before resting his head against your skin. 

“Please don’t leave. Not yet. If you insist on going I’ll understand but wait till you find something first. Please.”

After they nod, both men guide you back to your bed and lay with you till you fall asleep tangled in their embrace.

##################

“I’m here with Y/N Y/L/N about three months after her overdose and I must say you look so healthy.”, the interviewer coos in a lighthearted tone. 

“Thank you. Physically I may be but I’m still struggling with a lot mentally and emotionally.”, you respond as you cross your legs in the chair you were in. 

Eddie and Steve were off to the side with Sarah, everyone keeping their eyes peeled as they take everything in. When you told your agent you were ready for a tv appearance, she found the easiest going person to take your exclusive but energies and allegiances could switch at any moment; she needed to be prepared. 

“I can imagine. What can you tell us about everything that you feel comfortable sharing?”

“Um, I did stumble a bit and relapsed but I did go to a 30-day rehab clinic. I’ve been trying to keep healthy relationships surrounding me but more than anything I’m learning how to be honest about what I’m feeling and my experiences.”

“That’s really good. Have you spoken with or made any kind of amends towards the Gates family?”

Sarah huffs as she begins to step forward, pausing only when you begin to speak. 

“I haven’t but I have heard what they have to say. I completely understand why they feel the way they do and I wish we could have gotten clean together. The truth of the matter is he never wanted to.”

“What about your friends and previous manager who say you were always the instigator struggling to—”

“That’s the key word here isn’t it? ‘Struggling.’ I struggled for years against an agent who only saw me as dollar signs and not a human being. He constantly pushed me past boundaries till I broke and even then he wanted more. I struggled with friends who only spent time with me to get free trips and VIP passes to anything while willingly providing me with drugs I should have avoided. I watched these people struggle as well offering to help financially anyway I can and in turn they sell me out for an exclusive.”

“I struggled with parents who never supported me and always see me as a nuisance. I haven’t seen them in so long but yet they still find ways to remind me I never became what they wanted. I struggled with Simon…hurting me constantly; calling me a whore and leaving bruises on me I’d find the next morning as I struggled to hide them. I struggled with my own self-image and always trying to understand why I was never enough. Why people only seemed to care about me when I had something offer…”

“I think the hardest thing I struggle with is how I don’t believe when people genuinely DO care that it’s real. My new agent and my security team are the only people I’ve felt safe with and yet I hurt them by pushing them away or ignoring them. I’m either afraid they’ll turn out like everyone else and hurt me or I’ll become the toxic monster everyone thinks I am and drag them down with me.”

“That being said, I’m, um, taking some more time to work on myself and continue to heal. When I come home, I’m going to finish my album, and focus more on the things I love.”

With that, you got up and walked out of the room ending the interview yourself. The sound of feet scurrying after you fill the hallway as your team chases after you.

“Y/N! Y/N, honey, that was amazing. You sounded confident and sincere and—” In the middle of Sarah’s sentence, you hugged your arms around her as she smiled and did the same. “I do love you, ya know?”

“I know. I love you to.”

You both giggle as she wipes her eyes careful not to smear her make up. 

“So you’re going out of town?”

“I’d like to go to Indiana. There are some people there I’d like to meet and learn more about.” When your eyes find theirs, you see many different emotions cycle through before landing on one you hope is good.

“Ok, just keep me updated and I’ll see you when you get back. I’m so proud of you.”

As soon as she leaves, you turn your body to face theirs. 

“If that’s ok…you’ve done so much for me and dug into my history to help me heal. I want to learn more about you…” As their beautiful irises continue to scan you over, you find yourself getting nervous as you began to fidget in place. “I mean, I should have asked but we don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I just—”

Fingers reach out to grip your jaw, pulling you forward as a set of lips firmly land on your own. 

“We can bring you home.”, Steve murmurs as his thumb caresses your cheek. 

After giving you a soft smile, he steps back allowing Eddie to tenderly kiss your lips as well. 

“I’m so sorry. I love you so much.”

“We know, sweetheart. We know. We love you to.”

##############

@rckstrbee @melodymishahiddlestan @nailbatanddungeon

@siriuslysmoking @micheledawn1975 @cositaslua

@munsonmoonshine86 @unfocused81 @paleidiot

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@needylilgal022

#steddie x reader #steddie fluff #steddie smut #steddie fanfiction #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie fanfic #eddie stranger things #steve fanfic #steve smut #steve stranger things #joe keery #joseph quinn #stranger things #fan fiction #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #eddie munson angst #steddie angst #steddie fic #steddie x y/n #steddie x you #steddie x fem!reader

[tossawary]

Thinking about the actual living arrangements between Wu Yanzi and Shen Jiu is interesting, because I would think that Wu Yanzi should be more than a little concerned that his new apprentice might decide to turn that bloody sword on him sooner or later.

Putting this below a cut because I'm talking about child abuse here.

You can come up with all sorts of angsty, abusive behavior for Wu Yanzi on the premise that he's afraid of what Shen Jiu might do, simpler examples being things like "he might have made Shen Jiu sleep outside if he was ever taking a room at an inn" and "he might have regularly taken all of Shen Jiu's belongings away because he couldn't 'trust' his disciple with them". More extreme, antagonizing examples being things like "he might have tied Shen Jiu up at night like a dog" or "he might have planted some kind of talismans that prevented Shen Jiu from coming near him or from leaving a small space". He might have even been "matter of fact" about it. Not obviously taking pleasure in a "necessary measure".

I don't think Wu Yanzi treated Shen Jiu like complete shit all the time, I think it probably would have depended on his moods, as it does with many abusers. I just think it's interesting to think about why exactly young Shen Jiu was "terrified to death" of this person. There has to have been a line of "worth putting up with this to learn some cultivation techniques" keeping Shen Jiu from deciding to just risk it and try to kill Wu Yanzi (the line ends up being Yue Qi at the Conference).

It's possible that Wu Yanzi treated Shen Jiu kind of okay most of the time, actually, trusting in his young apprentice's fear without relying on any kind of physical abuse. At the beginning, Wu Yanzi is something of a cultivator and Shen Jiu is not. By forcing Shen Jiu to participate in his foul crimes, he makes it harder for Shen Jiu to leave him, because now Wu Yanzi can threaten to TELL PEOPLE what Shen Jiu has done. And seeing Wu Yanzi kill people in horrific ways such as the Cursed Black Light talismans functions as a very effective threat by itself. "Behave or I'll kill you," is probably all the rope that Wu Yanzi would need to tie Shen Jiu up at night, honestly, stopping his apprentice from killing him in his sleep. Verbal threats and abuse are more than enough, especially when said by an actual murderer.

I think it's interesting to think about the different ways that abuse manifests, and how the different styles of abuse from Qiu Jianluo and Wu Yanzi might have affected Shen Jiu. We don't see a lot of Shen Jiu's life with Wu Yanzi, so we don't know whether or not his behavior was playfully cruel or tersely paranoid or coldly detached. It's easier to draw links between Shen Jiu's abusive treatment of Luo Binghe and Qiu Jianluo's abuse of Shen Jiu.

Anyway, I was thinking about this because I was thinking about more Canon Divergence AUs for Qijiu. Like, what if, after killing Qiu Jianluo, Shen Jiu gets a taste of what his life will be like under Wu Yanzi and throws caution to the wind to murder this guy? He desperately wants to learn cultivation, yes, but he doesn't want another master. Maybe there's some bounty on Wu Yanzi's head and Shen Jiu decides to take it, and hopefully leverage the kill as his legitimate entrance into the cultivation world?

I'm wondering how easy it would be to somehow get Shen Jiu to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect when Yue Qi has been trapped in the Ling Xi caves. I don't think that Shen Jiu would be happy about Yue Qi's imprisonment at all. That could end up being a very dramatic rescue.

#tossawary svsss #fic ideas #wu yanzi #shen jiu #yue qingyuan

[nicksbestie]

Kittens (part two) - M. Sturniolo

READ PART ONE FIRST!! YOU CAN READ IT HERE!

Summary : One specific person becomes a regular at the animal shelter you work at, always visiting the cats <3

Warnings : mentions of anxiety but nothing graphic!

Word Count : 1146

Pairing : Matt Sturniolo/Reader

A/N : part two!! this won't become a series but i felt it deserved a little more!! it's written in a later time, a epilogue scene, if you will!

The cats being in a different room that day had been one of the best things to ever happen to you.

You hadn’t known it at the time, but that conversation with Matt, starting by leading him to a separate room, had blossomed into a relationship. Matt had started coming back every day, coming up with stupid reasons to talk to you, claiming he needed help finding a cat that had run away, only for the cat to walk right out from under the tower when Matt walked back in, but you let him do it every time. You felt like you couldn’t resist the opportunity to spend time with him, and if you weren’t busy, why should you?

He spent hours there every day, which made you wonder what he did for work, because how could he afford to not be at his job? After a couple of days where he came in one after another, you finally asked. It felt like a fair question because he clearly knew where you worked, so it was an eye for an eye, or something like that. He told you he did content creation with his brothers, and you looked him up later that evening, eyes nearly popping out of your head when you noticed just how famous they were. You weren’t someone who lived in the dark, but you didn’t keep up with every new thing going on, so there were a ton of famous people you didn’t know about. 

You weren’t going to lie, you stalked him that night. One thing hit you like a truck when you noticed it, though. Matt had told you that he came into the shelter when his anxiety was getting bad, and he had been coming in every Wednesday and Friday per week, and as you scrolled through their shared YouTube, you noticed that’s when videos were posted. You wondered how much he enjoyed his job, or if he did it because it made good money, or if the posting just really got to him because he worried about what people would think. Later you would ask, and you would learn that the latter was the reason, and that he really did love his job, it just got to him sometimes, knowing that so many people would pick apart everything he had done or said in a video. 

After about two weeks of him coming back to the shelter every single day, talking to you whenever he could, he finally asked for your number. He waited until you were off of the clock, making sure that he could never be accused of being unprofessional by anyone. He waited until the shelter closed, like normal, and you thought he had left, but he waited until you both stepped outside, and the door was locked, and then he asked. You let him have it with no complaints, and he texted you for the first time as soon as he got home, asking if you had also made it home safe. You responded much quicker than you would like to admit, letting him know you were home and safe. 

He would text you before he would come into the shelter, letting you know that he was on the way, and you two became incredibly close. Hanging out outside of work, spending time while he was at the shelter, if you were in the same vicinity, you were practically attached at the hip. You met his brothers, and they were so different from him that it was refreshing. You loved how they all got along so well, and even their banter in videos wasn’t coming from a true point of anger, but all lighthearted. You watched every video as they got posted, and sometimes all four of you hung out together before or after filming. You loved being in their company, and you had found a wonderful friend in Matt, but you had no idea that it would eventually become more than that. 

You’d hung out so much on your own, you knew you two worked together, you both knew that the other was attractive, you both knew that you liked the other. But you had no idea that it would eventually end up working out. Nick and Chris knew as well, being able to see it in the way that you interacted with each other. They kept it to themselves, allowing you two to navigate the developments of your relationship with each other by yourselves, but both of them were hoping that you would just get your head out of your ass already and get together. Matt was the first one to say anything. 

You knew he found love gestures sweet, you’d seen that in a video, and you’d seen it in the way that he interacted with people he loved platonically, being a gift giver, but when he showed up at your door with flowers, you were still in shock. He’d stayed the night that evening, soaking in the fact that the person he felt so strongly for had the same feelings for him. It had only snowballed in the best possible way from there. You did everything together, you went everywhere together, and sometimes that could cause codependency problems, but you were lucky to not have to deal with that. You were used to him leaving for a couple of hours to film, but he always came back as quickly as possible. 

It was refreshing for Matt to fall in love with someone who didn’t love him for the numbers, for the following, for the money, for the fame. This was someone who saw him off guard, who actually loved him for the person he was off of the camera, for all of the good in him and all of the bad. He wasn’t sure that he would ever find someone like this due to his popularity across the Internet, but he never took you for granted, not for a single moment. And those were the words that spilled out from between his lips, when he was knelt in front of you, ring box in hand, just three amazing years later, and the same ones that he would repeat at the altar six months after that. 

You didn’t work at the animal shelter anymore, but you and Matt were regular visitors and volunteers. Some of the people that you used to work with were still there, and shortly after you were wed, you picked out a kitten together, from the same Cat Cottages that Matt used to sit in for hours every week. Glancing over at the man you’d fallen in love with, sitting on the couch with the now one year old black cat in his lap, you knew that had been the best job you would ever work, and it brought you something much more rewarding than the money.

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[fushiglow]

satosugu mailman au 💌

a very special delivery for @kymsys's birthday! how many days will it take for satoru to fall in love with his new mailman? let's find out!!

here's part one for my tumblr pals to enjoy! however, i'll be posting this work over quite a few days over on twitter/x, so please head over there if you want to follow along! if you don't have an account, i'll be uploading the entire thing to my ao3 when it's done — so don't fret ♥️ enjoy the fic!!

There were three things Gojō Satoru loved above all else: sweets, scale model kits, and sleep. He was a simple man in that sense — really, he asked for very little except a healthy supply of sugary treats, the occasional plastic mech, and an undisturbed lie-in seven days a week. So, when the shrill ring of his doorbell wrenched Satoru from a beautiful dream at exactly 8am on a Monday morning? Needless to say, he wasn’t pleased. Now, Satoru wasn’t an unreasonable person. He understood that the rest of the world started moving a little earlier than him — which is why Satoru had taken special measures to protect his precious rest without hindering anyone else. He’d chosen a job that allowed him to work from home, forgone the company of a housemate in favour of living alone, and — most importantly for a hobbyist like Satoru who ordered more kits, paints, and crafting tools than any one person needed — installed a secure parcel drop box outside his front door, preventing the need for anyone to pester him. That’s why Satoru didn’t bother getting out of bed after the first ring, assuming that the person who’d decided to disturb him would eventually figure it out for themselves. Perhaps they were a bit slow though — because less than thirty seconds later, the doorbell came screaming through the house again. Swearing into his pillow, Satoru pulled the duvet up to his ears. All he could do was hope they’d leave quickly so he could snatch at least some sleep in the 45 minutes left until his alarm went off. No such luck. Right when Satoru thought it was safe to relax, the doorbell started up again — and this time, it didn’t stop. With a stream of profanities falling from his lips, Satoru hauled himself out of bed, seeing red as he stomped down the stairs and marched across the hallway to the front door. He flung it open with a frustrated snarl, preparing to share some choice words with the impatient piece of shit on the other side — only for his insults to die on his tongue at the sight of the man standing before him. The broadest shoulders he’d ever laid eyes on; thick arms, tanned and toned; a muscular torso tapering down to a tiny waist — and all packaged in a uniform, for god’s sake. When Satoru finally managed to lift his jaw off the floor, he looked up at the man’s face and the damn thing unhinged from his skull all over again. He was all sharp cheekbones and sunkissed skin and the sweetest smile Satoru had ever seen. Perhaps a little too sweet now that he really looked at it. ‘I think your doorbell is broken.’

Sure, the guy was hot — easily the prettiest person Satoru had ever seen — but that didn’t stop his eye from twitching at the blatant passive aggression masked behind that sickly sweet smile. Satoru matched it with one of his own. ‘I assure you, it’s not.’ ‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’ Satoru didn't think he seemed sorry in the slightest — even if his voice did sound like melted chocolate. ‘I’ve got a parcel for Gojō Satoru?’ When hot mailman tilted his head to the right, a lock of glossy black hair fell into his face. Too short to secure in his bun and too short to tuck behind his ear, he simply brushed it away from warm eyes the colour of honey. Satoru wondered if every part of him was as gorgeous. ‘It needs a signature.’ Shocked out of his stupor, Satoru's gaze travelled to the box at the right of the door. ’The regular guy always puts them in there.’ Hot mailman simply beamed at him. ‘Do I look like the regular guy to you?’ No, Satoru thought. There’s nothing regular about you. As though he could read minds, hot mailman winked at him. ‘Then I’ll need a signature, please.’ And god — he was so effortlessly charming that, for the first time in his life, Satoru found himself speechless. For a long moment, he simply stood there, gawping like an idiot. When hot mailman eventually quirked an amused eyebrow in his direction, Satoru had no choice but to take the signature pad being waved at him, managing to make a hash of his name before wordlessly handing it back. Having completely and utterly embarrassed himself, Satoru had started to retreat into the safety of his home when a strong hand closed around the edge of the door. Hot mailman popped his head around the side. ‘You forgot your parcel.’ Satoru watched those amber eyes as they slid down the length of his body — and hot mailman's sickly sweet smile morphed into a devilish grin. ‘Your clothes, too.’ Glancing down at himself, Satoru’s heart stopped in his chest when he realised he’d answered the door in nothing but his boxers — and not fitted Calvin Kleins that emphasised what he was working with either. No, the ratty, stretched out Digimon boxers he’d owned since he was 17. With a mortified squeak, Satoru snatched the parcel from hot mailman’s hands and slammed the door in his face, uncaring of whether his stupid bangs got caught in the doorframe. Tossing the package onto the floor, Satoru brought his palms to his rapidly heating cheeks, taking a moment to stare into the silence of his hallway. Then, he summoned all the air in his lungs and let out the single loudest ‘fuck!’ he’d ever produced. Hot mailman’s beautiful laughter travelled down the entire length of the driveway.

#hbd my love!! 🫰 #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #satosugu #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fic #gojo satoru #geto suguru #sugusato #stsg #sgst #五夏 #夏五 #goge #gego #呪術廻戦 #my writing #fushiglow

[tennessoui]

18) waking up with amnesia au pretty please! I was delighted with how many of the prompts you've already done, it was a really fun bingo!

Best friends sibling = band au

knocking on the wrong door = actually name of the fic

Nanny/single parent au = Nannykin

Etc etc etc!

hello hello this was sent january 10!! hope you still want some waking up with amnesia au! this just demonstrates how long i can hold onto a prompt i have every intention of completing

(from this prompt list) (& this is the waking up with amnesia au prompt fill i did a few years ago when i first reblogged that prompt list!)

(3.5k)

(warnings: angst but not incredibly sad. more like. here there lies some future manipulation/mind fuckery because of angst established in this ficlet but not resolved in this ficlet but would be in the future)

(also warning: vader)

It is somehow both the hardest and easiest part of the day, every time. 

It is easy to let his feet turn in the direction they beg to go during all his waking seconds. It is easy to allow them to lead the way. It feels as if a great and crushing weight has been lifted from his shoulders the moment that he sees the pillars standing sentry at the entrance of the Halls of Healing. It is so easy to give into his body’s desire to allow it to find its other half.

It is almost harder to stay away, to pretend to be the respectful and poised Jedi master he masquerades as during those long moments of the day that he is not by Anakin’s side.

But what is infinitely harder than journeying there or keeping his distance is arriving. Is what waits for him within the Halls.

“How is he today?” he asks the moment he sees a healer—it does not matter which one these days. They must all know him by now, know the series of questions he demands answers to.

This time, the man he finds is healer Ramak, at least, one of the primary specialists on Anakin’s case. Rarely can Obi-Wan corner him. Ramak is incredibly busy both within the Temple and outside of it. He has numerous priorities. 

Obi-Wan really only has one priority. Often this puts them at odds. 

“Ah,” Ramak says, adjusting his robes. “Master Kenobi, hello.”

“Yes, hello,” Obi-Wan says. And then, “How is he today?” In case Ramak has missed his question.

“He is much the same, Master Kenobi,” Ramak replies. “As he was yesterday.”

Obi-Wan swallows. The words get stuck in his throat for a moment and he has to force them up past his teeth. “What does…what has he remembered?”

Healer Ramak’s face slides from reluctantly indulgent to pitying. It would grate against Obi-Wan’s rather impressive sense of pride if he did not already know exactly how pitiful he is. 

“Memories are not stored within the mind chronologically, Master Kenobi,” Ramak says carefully. Obi-Wan has heard this before. Obi-Wan could recite this speech. 

Obi-Wan listens to it silently anyway. Perhaps this time, Ramak will find the correct combination of words to explain his loss to him in terms he can understand. “Uncovering them again is not simply a matter of starting from the beginning of his life and moving forwards. We cannot simply recover and present him with all of his memories from age nine, from age thirteen, to now.”

Obi-Wan can feel a muscle tick in his jaw and he crosses his arms. Another healer crosses behind him, jostles him in their hurry to get to another patient. Differing priorities. 

But Obi-Wan only has one.

“It is like…” Ramak trails off, thinking. “Picture the rain. What do you think of?” It is much too transparent, what Obi-Wan thinks of when he thinks of the rain. He thinks of Anakin as a youngling. The ashes of Qui-Gon’s body had not fully cooled before the skies of Naboo had broken open in a torrential downpour, and the boy, padawan braid that was both his and Obi-Wan’s newly weighing on his shoulder, had escaped from the palace in Theed, ran outside with arms raised up in wonder.

“When you think of rain, you do not recall your memories chronologically,” Ramak says kindly, as if he understands where Obi-Wan’s mind has gone. “That is to say, you do not immediately think of the first time you experienced it. Our minds store memories based on their significance to us, the meanings they hold for us, which makes mind-healing to this degree incredibly difficult. Not to mention, not only was Knight Skywalker stripped of his memories, tortured, and indoctrinated, he was held for several months. Long enough for new neural pathways to form, new connotations and memories to take the place of the ones he lost.”

“Master, please,” Obi-Wan says. When he holds up his hand to forestall the other man’s words, it is shaking slightly. “Please just tell me.”

Will he recognize me? 

Will he hate me?

Will another day go by where he does not know me?

“He has a long way to go yet,” Ramak says finally, lifting his hand to stroke over his beard. “His time as Vader left scars—”

“His time captured,” Obi-Wan interrupts. “He was a hostage.” Ramak looks at him. Anakin, kidnapped by the sith, without his memories, trained to be deadly and taught to Fall, was more than a hostage. They both know that. Everyone in the galaxy knows the dangers that Darth Vader represented to the Republic.

Very few know that Darth Vader was Anakin Skywalker. It had been a terrible surprise. It had been the sweetest sort of relief too, to find him at all.

“Yes,” Ramak finally allows. “His time as a hostage left innumerable scars, Obi-Wan. Even after he regains all his memories, he will have a long journey ahead of him.”

“How is he?” Obi-Wan repeats, even though it is rather rude to cut the healer off. “How is he today?”

Ramak hesitates for a moment and then another, and his Force signature tenses as if at war with itself. “He requested to see you,” he finally says. “We’re not sure that’s a good idea.”

Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. The Jedi saved Anakin Skywalker from the Sith five weeks ago, and though Obi-Wan has spent each of those days trekking from his quarters to the Halls of Healing and back, accousting various healers and Council members alike, desperate for any information they can give him…he has not yet been able to sit beside Anakin. He has not been allowed to talk with him at all.

It is for the best. That is what he’s been told and that is what he must believe. It is for the best. Anakin does not remember him. He remembers the word master—he does not remember that he used to say the same word with respect. With affection. He does not remember Obi-Wan at all.

He remembers his master, Sidious. He remembers his master on Tatooine. He does not—Obi-Wan doesn’t understand why he cannot remember him. 

Anakin has never once asked to see him. 

“I want to see him,” Obi-Wan says immediately, turning towards the wing where they are keeping Anakin. 

“Master Kenobi, it is not a good idea,” Ramak says, but it does not matter what they think is a good idea. It is what Anakin wants and it has been so long since Obi-Wan has been something Anakin wants.

Something of what he’s feeling must flash across his face, because the healer sighs and rubs at his forehead as if he finds the whole ordeal incredibly trying. 

“I will not hurt him,” Obi-Wan says quickly, and Ramak shakes his head, dropping his arms to his sides. 

“That is not the concern, Master,” he replies, but his shoulders have slumped. His forehead is wrinkled, but his Force signature has relaxed. He has given in. Obi-Wan has won. “I—”

But Obi-Wan has won. And so he has already stepped away, intent now on seeing his padawan. He leaves the healer behind where he stands, pushing through the doors of the wing and finally—finally to Anakin’s room.

He’d been so volatile at first, when he was still Vader. The Jedi rescuing him probably felt more like being captured. Without his memories of the Order, of the Temple, of Obi-Wan, he’d Fallen so quickly as far as anyone knows. Sidious had taken him and twisted him and when he was found again, he’d fully believed in the Sith doctrine. He’d killed two Jedi before he was subdued.

So when he’d been brought into the Temple, into the Halls of Healing, they’d outfitted him with Force suppression cuffs. Given him his own room in order to protect the other patients.

Obi-Wan knows he still wears the Force bracelets and collar, but there’s knowing and then there’s seeing.

The seeing part takes his breath away. It looks so wrong, Anakin, his Anakin, wearing the cuffs and the collar. 

Anakin, his Anakin, with yellow eyes watching him intently from the moment he enters the room.

“Anakin,” he murmurs, a reflex. The sounds are punched out of him.

He is thinner. His hair is greasy. There are dark shadows under his eyes. The skin around the collar is red, rubbed raw. He looks a thousand times older. Guant and hollowed out as if the captivity and the Darkness has leached away all of his youthful energy.

“Master,” Anakin says reproachfully. And it sounds—it sounds so much like him, like Obi-Wan’s Anakin, that he has the rather ridiculous urge to cry. Master, master.

“How are you feeling?” Obi-Wan asks, though it is a useless sort of question. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands. What to do with his tongue. He suddenly cannot remember the last time he asked Anakin how he was feeling. It was never a phrase that was part of their lexicon—for so many years, they shared a training bond. Obi-Wan was able to ascertain his padawan’s emotions with a gentle Force touch across the planes of his mind. More often than not, he was telling Anakin to search his own feelings. He was not asking him to interpret them for Obi-Wan’s sake.

Now though, their bond is severed and Anakin does not recognize him as anything more than another Jedi, another man who he once called master, and Obi-Wan stands across the room from him and does not recognize him either, save for all the ways that he does.

“Surely they have been giving you updates,” Anakin murmurs. “I know you have visited every day.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says because he will not lie to Anakin. He doesn’t think he remembers how. It has been—so long. Since he has last seen him. It is all he can do to stay standing now. To keep a respectable distance between them. To not fall to his knees. To not stumble forward and take Anakin’s hand in his own.

“What have they told you?” Anakin asks, and he tilts his head slightly. His golden eyes are as disconcerting as they are beautiful. They’re his. They’re his eyes, set in his face, and Obi-Wan has missed that face for so long. For months. He’d thought he’d never see it again, and he is just now realizing that he has no defenses left against Anakin. None at all. The boy could ask him for anything and he would fight to the death to give it to him.

The Force is in flux in the air around them, bucking up, riled, in a way Obi-Wan usually interprets as danger. But the Force could be screaming a death knell and Obi-Wan, in this moment, would only be able to hear a sweet cry of wild joy.

Anakin, this is Anakin. This is his Anakin and he is here. Back—partially. Back, incompletely. But back. Obi-Wan…he’d stopped hoping he’d ever get him back.

Instead of answering his question, he presses the backs of his fingers against his mouth to try and stop their shaking. Every day he has walked here, accosted the healers, demanded to know the latest. And he has never once realized how incredibly difficult it would be to lay eyes on Anakin. How incredibly difficult it would be to maintain his composure, to hold himself in. 

Anakin’s eyes glow gold, but Obi-Wan’s eyes are that of a starving man. All he can see is honey.

“Come here, master,” Anakin says, reproachful. “Did you not miss me?”

The words move him forward where his own feet could not. “Of course I did, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers. Hoarse, too hoarse. Too trembling and old, but it has been so many months. He had thought him lost forever. Dead and gone and one with the Force, and for the first time in his life, that had given him no comfort.

Anakin holds out his mechno hand, palm up, fingers slightly crooked. He’d built them that way on purpose, Obi-Wan remembers. At fourteen, he’d broken his index and middle finger in a duel, bones shattering under the blow of another padawan’s sabor. A lucky hit, an unlucky outcome. Though they’d healed near perfect due to bacta, they’d always remained slightly bent out of place. When he lost his arm to Dooku five years later, he’d fiddled with the replacement until the mech digits tilted the same familiar direction.

Obi-Wan stares at them, caught up in the tide of the memory.

Had Vader ever looked down at his mechno hand and wondered about the imperfection? Had he thought to fix it once he had the time? Had he spared a thought for the black spots in his memory, the cavernous gaps in his past?

His fingers fall to rest against the sensors of the mech tips. They’re sensitive enough that he can see Anakin shiver at the touch. 

“Did you not miss me, master?” Anakin asks again, and his hand closes around Obi-Wan’s tightly, pulling him forward another few steps.

Obi-Wan nods, then shakes his head. Yes, he missed him. No, missing—missing is not a vast enough word. 

“You asked for me,” he hears himself say. “Do you—what do you….”

Do you remember me?

You must. You call me master. And you want me close.

But they pulled the memories of the word master from your mind days ago, and you hated me then. You did not want me near you. What has changed? What have you remembered?

“I wonder if they would treat any patient like this,” Anakin says. He uses his hold on Obi-Wan to pull him even closer, til his thighs brush the edge of the bed. “If it is the war that makes me special, if it’s my own power. Or if it’s you.”

Obi-Wan tenses. Him? He doesn’t—

“They’ve tried everything they can think of to trigger my memories of you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Anakin says. When Obi-Wan tries to move back, take a step away, find the air in the room to breathe, Anakin tightens his hold and pulls him forward until the only option is to either topple over onto his padawan’s chest or sit on the bed at his hip.

He sits.

“They debated for many days, you know,” Anakin says. His mech thumb begins to sweep over the inside of Obi-Wan’s wrist. “If they should trigger the connections my mind has made to the word master. It’s a weighted word for Anakin Skywalker. Surely you know that.”

“I do,” Obi-Wan says carefully. When he tries to breathe, he can only do so shallowly as if his entire chest has shrunk to half its capacity.

“He was enslaved before he was a padawan,” Anakin explains as though Obi-Wan has not spoken at all. Maybe he hasn’t. For the past several months he has not been able to speak to Anakin aloud, could only talk with him in his mind—could never hear a reply. Perhaps he has forgotten how. “They were worried that after ten years studying under you, after two years fighting side by side with you, my strongest connotations to the word master would still be to slavery.”

Anakin ducks his head slightly, tilts it to the side to give Obi-Wan a small, private grin, as if the healers’ concerns are so unfounded that they are amusing. As if the concept that something could outweigh Obi-Wan’s importance to Anakin is so foreign and preposterous that it’s funny.

His smile knocks into Obi-Wan’s chest like a punch to the solar plexus.

“But they decided to risk it,” Anakin says. His voice is light as a feather. Airy and unconcerned. “Perhaps they should have started with smaller things. A light saber. A braid. A pear. A planet. But they wanted to re-establish my firmest conneciton to the Light as quickly as possible. And they thought that was you.”

Obi-Wan holds his breath, eyes leaping from their connected hands to the yellow of Anakin’s eyes. He has still fallen. He has not been healed. He is still—he is still—

“So they gave me back my masters,” Anakin pitches his voice low. “All of them, though I suppose I remember Sidious well enough. But they gave me back the Toydarian. And they gave me you.”

“They said you did not want to see me,” Obi-Wan whispers. “Why, Anakin, if you remember, why would you—”

“Because I hate you,” his padawan says as if it’s the easiest thing in the galaxy. “Because they could give me back Master Kenobi, but wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, it was not in your title. He hated your title.”

Obi-Wan flinches back so violently that his forearm slips from Anakin’s grasp. Before he can move from the bed completely though, his padawan’s hand lashes out and curls around the fabric of his tunics. 

“No,” Obi-Wan says because he must deny this—he cannot stand to hear it and not deny it. No, Anakin—there was love there, in the way he pronounced the word master. The way he looked at Obi-Wan: admiration shining in his eyes when he was younger, cooling off over the years into acceptance and affection. They had their arguments. They had their—misunderstandings, but Anakin did not resent him for his role in his life as his old teacher. His master. “You’re wrong.”

“He hated it more than he hated his actual slave master,” Anakin murmurs. Lightly, airily. As if his words are not landing devastating blows on all of Obi-Wan’s softest spots. “Do you know why?” “I don’t believe you,” Obi-Wan whispers because he doesn’t because he can’t. Because he’d have known. Because this is Anakin, this is his Anakin, but there are still cavernous dark spots and gaps in his mind. This is not entirely his Anakin. He is still missing things. Thousands upon thousands of memories and moments and learned contexts and—

“I think you know why,” Anakin says as if he has not spoken. Funny, as Obi-Wan had thought he was screaming.

“I assure you I do not,” he snaps, spitting the words out as quickly as he can so that his voice cannot break between the syllables.

“Because Anakin Skywalker believed til the day he died that if you had not been his master, you would have allowed him to kiss you. To take you. To be taken by you. Don’t you remember, Master Kenobi?” Obi-Wan tears himself away from the bed, from the boy in it. Just a boy. Not a man. Not when he was seventeen and drunk for the first time, slinging his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck and pressing his face into his chest, whining and begging and pleading—and not when he was eighteen either, bold and staring at Obi-Wan's lips, not when he was nineteen, on the verge of his Knighting ceremony and demanding to be given into.

Just a boy, just his boy. But never—never anything else. 

“Like I said,” Anakin but not Anakin murmurs. Anakin, but Vader too. “Wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, they have not yet been able to find it in my mind. I can only assume he loved you at all.”

Obi-Wan flicks his eyes over the familiar face, the beloved face. The stranger’s face. If it were anyone else sitting before him, he’d have a retort already on his tongue. He’d have raised his shields, gone on the offensive. There are few people left in the galaxy that can land a blow on him, and many have tried.

But this is not anyone. This is Anakin. This is his Anakin and this is something for which he has no defenses prepared.

“How ashamed did you make him feel for loving you, master?” Vader asks, tilting his head in cruel curiosity. “That he compressed all of it into something so small that a whole Temple of healers have been unable to find it?”

“Don’t call me that,” Obi-Wan snaps and this time he does not get the words off his tongue quick enough. His voice breaks in the middle of the demand, ribs cracking and parting to reveal the heart of him. “Not if—” not if you do not know what it means for him. For me. For us.

“Why not?” Vader says, and he raises his flesh hand to tuck a piece of greasy hair behind his head before allowing his fingers to fall to rest against his collarbone, ghosting against the Force suppression collar around his neck as if it’s a diamond encrusted necklace. “After all, am I not wearing your chains, master?”

#asks #prompt fill #obikin #vaderwan #so you know vader's number one priority is going to be to manipulate obi-wan into freeing him #because he can probably remember a little bit of anakin's love for obi-wan #it's not as gone as he says #but he also probably remembers the obsession with his master first #and that's tinted even darker by being a sith now #so within the next few weeks his priorities shift from torturing obi-wan for sport #to wanting him to free him so that he can kidnap him and keep him #and get away from the temple and all the memories the jedi are trying to give back to him #he doesn't want those #he wants obi-wan kenobi #hate and love and all

[zqcky01]

Hey!!

So this is my first time doing a request so am sorry if mess up:(. But I was wondering since you did a clingy drunk stone( LOVED IT BTW!!) if you could reverse the roles!! Like a clingy reader who wants all his attention and get whiny if she doesn't get it!

( if possible could you use she/ her!)

Thank you!!

Let Me Go!

Stone x Fem! Reader

a/n: EATS

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

“Stone…hold me!” You whined, reaching your arms out towards Stone who was using his hand to hold your forehead away from himself. “How many bottles did you drink?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “Hm..this much!” You held up your fingers, showing ten fingers. “Of course you did.” He sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Stone!!” You whined his name, before stumbling back away from him. “What?” He snapped. “Hug me!” You ran into his chest, your arms wrapping around his body. Stone groaned. “Why is it always me…” He muttered, his arms going limp on the sides of his body. You smiled, alcohol leaking out from your lips. “And you reek of alcohol.” Stone muttered, trying to get you off of him. You only whined louder. “Stone! Let me love you!” You whined, your grip tightened.

Stone groaned as he rubbing his forehead. “How did I get stuck with you?” He muttered, before he gave up. He let you do your thing.

You drunkenly smiled, resting your head against his shoulder, your arms tightly wrapped around him. “Yay!” You giggled, your body relaxed. Stone’s cheeks were flushed, before he slowly lifted his arms up. He gently placed his hands onto your waist. You perked up.

“Do you love me?” You asked, smiling happily. Your body swayed slowly as your legs slowly gave out. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t.” He muttered as he stared down at you, his gaze soften.

#x you #ramshackle x you #ramshackle x reader #stone x reader ramshackle #oneshot #stone x reader #fluff #silly #x reader #ramshackle stone

[ironbatpaperturtle]

PT 4: Time travel AU

Adam smirked watching as Eve held the staff with confidence. The supposed callouses on her hand from wielding the weapon remains undetected. Adam would have to thank Eden for the immediate regeneration and the 'no concept of pain'.

It helped when they'd spare and Adam accidentally gets carried away, resulting in cuts and bruises littering Eve's freckled skin. Adam thinks that he should feel guilty. But honestly? Earth was unforgiving.

The animals that used snuggle up to them in Eden turned bloodthirsty, illneses everyday, fuck-ass vicious weather, poisonous food. Point is . You won't get out of it unscratched.

He'll make it that if she ever chooses free will over him then she'd thrive. Even if she ends up hating him for leaving her. It doesn't matter. Adam deserves to live a lavish life. Everyone else are just piles of shit Adam needs to overcome.

Speaking of shit, Adam can feel the gaze of a specific piece of shit from the trees. He's been extra sticky today, really, genuinely, like a pile of hardened shit that got stuck in between the cracks of a shoe.

How many times has he said shit?

"Eve, sweetie, come here" Adam hummed, Eve, ever the submissive wife, placed the staff down and stood next to Adam. The cuts she recently developed quickly fading away.

"You go get us some pears and berries, I'll clean up" Eve nodded at the order, walking away, but not before kissing Adam on the cheek. He watched as she went through the trees.

Once out of sight Adam's gaze shifted, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto the hiding snake. There it was, coiled in the shadows, with its slithering, slimy presence. Nasty

What Adam would trade for a day of normalicy. Fucking cunt has been on their necks for a while, 3 times he'd try to tattle on Adam, none obviously succesful since he's still in Eden kicking ass with Eve.

____

"Fuck" Adam silently cursed watching as Eve played with the lion instead of hitting its weak spots like Adam's taught her. The other lion Adam used as an example layed immobalized beneath his feet.

He sighed and crouched down to hit the lion's pressure spots. The lion, Lyah, shook herself out of the trance, pacing in circles to move her limbs before climbing on top of Adam to lick his face.

Adam crouched down, barely stopping the lion from licking him "Sorry, girl," his face was practically covered in sticky lion saliva.

Lyah, seemed utterly unfazed by the mess and instead, continued to loll her tongue out happily.

"Okay okay I get it" Adam giggled, well not giggled, snorted. Wiping the excess saliva from his face, he gently pat Lyah's head. Despite the unexpected shower of affection, Adam's really glad that the animals aren't jumping on him for the sole prospect of eating him.

"Adam"

Show time bitch. Adam turned to Michael, presenting a grin, behind Michael was a bunch of citrus trees. Adam could spot a cockatiel sitting ontop them. And Adam would bet his balls that it's Lucifer.

"Michael I've discovered something about lions!" Adam waved him over waiting for Michael to crouch down, shamelessly he took Michael's ungloved (thank god) hand using it to rub Lyah's stomach

"It's so soft and smooth but a different kind of smooth" Adam didn't forget to make his voice high pitched, like a kid making an obvious observation.

Adam noted at how Eve watched them in wonder. Manipulation at its finest babe

"And now touch me" okay well . . . just ignore that

He led Michael's hand to his chest, intently watcing as the angels poker face cracked, barely, still a win. Good, Lucifer probably said something abput Adam paralyzing the lion, he could work with this, he could fake this.

"Do you feel the difference?" Adam hummed keeping his voice low, dragging the hands that were directly on his chest to the underside, the angels thumb almost in-contact with the first mans nipple.

". . .Yes"

"Good" Adam directed Michaels hand back to Lyah, this time he made it go from the stomach to her head

"Her hair's completely different from mine and Eve's!" from the corner of his eye he could see Eve twiddling with her hair, following the observations.

"Feel me again!" again ignore that

The angels left hand was back too pressing itself on Adam's chest, his right hand was on Adam's hair, their hands intertwined.

"Feel the difference again?" hushed and low, added with a tilted head. At such a small distance Adam could see how the stars below the angels eye and forehead glowed blue, weird wasnt it usually yellow? Is that how they blush?

". . . Yes"

Adam grinned, well internally grinned, an evil one too. He knows how much angels get flustered over basic hand holding. The Lucifer he knew certainly was. And it seems like this one was no different.

Silently he made the hands go back to Lyah, sorry girl, hands still interwined he used the angels hands into pressing the pressure points. Lyah, who was basking from the affection froze, immobalized.

"And when I press here they also go like this!" Eugh, how long does Adam have to keep pretending, shits turning stale real fast.

Michael didn't react to the lion he immobalized. The stars dotted on his face were still blue, eyes intently where Adams hands were.

Now Adam wasn't a psychic, he can't read peoples mind, totally cool if he could though. But he knows that Lucifer's 'accusations' were already squashed, he also knows that behind him, where the citrus trees lay, was Lucifer shit talking him.

And Adam's proffecient in shit talking. A whole PhD or whatever the humans coined in the future, err, past. Again whatever

The point is, Lucifers ruffling up his already fucked up feathers, shit talking him. And its because Adam's playing buddy buddy with the better brother.

____

Lucifer couldn't believe it, instead of Adam denying the fact that he paralyzed the lion he made it into an accident. A 'happy' accident at that.

His anger was short lived as Adam's new wife, which he totally did not forget about, shouted. Asking for Adam to let her touch his chest too. Something Lucifer choose to ignore in favor of glaring at how Adam gently smiled at her.

____

Lucifer, with a tired sigh and a roll of his shoulder, shifted back to his form. He'd rather go back outside Eden before he gets another look of dissapointment from Michael, or a scolding from Sera.

Banishment from Eden wasn't bad, Lucifer could still sneak in. His access to Heaven was still granted. And well, he still has

"Lucifer"

"Lilith" Lucifer called out with sigh flying towards Lilith, using his arms and wings to hold her.

"Were you able to expose Adam?"

"Ah. . . no he keeps" outsmarting me "he's charming my brother and Sera"

Liliths hold on Lucifer tigthened "I see, well, its not your fault. Sooner or later Adam would crack, especially if he doesn't have a companion"

Oh right, Lucifer was so distracted by Adam that he completely forgot. Shifting his wings he carefully let go of Lilith.

"Actually, Adam has a new wife"

====

1

#hastagCringe #me: I thought you said you'll work extra hard to the point you get flustered? #Also me: I said that? #no but genuinely I wanted them to be soo sweet or well unintentionally sweet but now it's just mehh #Maybe its just my standards but how I wrote it was lowkey mid #I was never much of a fluff person anyways #I tend to read those instead #Adam's Time travel era #guitarhero #did I like this? no but do I hate it? also no #so its a win-win #okay so you guys wont be able to see me for atleast a couple of days #or a week since I need to study dont miss me too much

[im-just-a-mississippi-girl]

Brownie Points

Pairing: Chuck Taylor x female!reader

Category: Fluff

Word count: 1,487

Summary: A shy and nervous Chucky Taylor asks you on a lunch date.

Warnings: None

A/N: Happy Birthday Chuckie!! 🥳

Masterlist

Taglist

Moodboard is not mine. Credit goes to @katries 🩵

First dates. First dates can be fun and sweet or they can be awkward and a total disaster.

When Chuck Taylor asked you out after a few weeks of you living next door, he was nervous and had no clue how you would react, mainly because he’s on the road a lot. Therefore, he didn’t have many opportunities to get to know you better. All he knew was you left for work around 6:30am and returned home at 4:30pm, and you went to the gym for an hour or so on certain days, and on some weekends a few of your friends would come over for a girls night. A simplistic life, a life he sometimes wished he had.

It took encouragement from his best friend Orange Cassidy to fully convince Chuck to give it a shot and ask you out, so here he was on your doorstep, last minute nerves slowly getting the better of him, but before he could chicken out, a ding from his phone grabbed his attention. It was Orange Cassidy, who was watching from the kitchen window because he knew his best friend would need encouragement and support.

Orange Man 🕶️🍊

Knock. You look creepy just standing there.

Chuck shook his head, a little smile forming on his face and a brief chuckle escaped his lips. He’s right. I can do this. Deep breath and knock. Chuck did just that - took a deep breath and knocked on your door before he lost his nerve.

Less than a minute later the front door opened. There you stood in your loungewear consisting of an old oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, your hair was a little messier than when you left this morning and you hardly had any makeup on. You weren’t a huge makeup wearer, you liked just enough to accentuate your natural beauty.

Chuck stood there stunned. He had seen you all dressed in your work clothes or gym clothes, but he hadn’t seen you like this before. To him, you looked breathtaking. Get it together! Speak! Chuck quickly blinked away the cobwebs in his brain. “I… um… I was wondering if you would maybe… want to go out sometime?” Chuck hated he was stumbling over his words but that’s what happened he spoke to a gorgeous woman. Chuck watched her open her mouth to speak.

You were aware of who Chuck Taylor was. Truth be told, you were a fan of his, so to hear him clumsily ask you on a date was absolutely insane to you. Out of all the women he could ask out, he chose you. You took a moment to calm your mind. “I would love to.” You softly spoke feeling the heat rising in your cheeks.

“How does lunch on Saturday sound?” Chuck quickly crossed his fingers in hopes you were free because if not, it would a few months before he would have free time like this again.

Usually, you’d make the guy sweat by saying you would have to check your schedule, but with Chuck, you just couldn’t do that. You could see he was already stressing out as it was plus you already knew you were available then. “It’s a date.”

The remainder of the week was slow and boring. All you could think about was your lunch date with Chuck. You really wanted things to go well, especially since he was so sweet. You remembered when one particularly windy day a few days ago, the wind knocked your trash can over at the end of the driveway, trash strewn across your front yard. You had been at work and didn’t know about trash filled yard until you pulled into your driveway where Chuck was in your yard picking up the trash. You thanked him and he brushed it off with a ‘What are neighbors for?’

Finally, Saturday arrived. You got up earlier than usual, made a small breakfast then dug through your clothes for a nice outfit. You didn’t think to ask what he had planned for lunch. Would he take you on a picnic? To a cafe? To a restaurant? Would there be any kind of activity that a dress wouldn’t work with? Part of you felt like you were over reacting and that he would have told you if you needed to dress in a particular outfit, but then again he was nervous and could have forgotten.

When Saturday rolled around, Chuck was a nervous wreck. Thankfully, Orange Cassidy was there to help him calm down and prepare for the date. With everything prepped and ready to go, all Chuck had to do was get dressed.

One he was satisfied with his clothes, a nice pale blue shirt and a pair of jeans, and got the Orange Cassidy thumbs up of approval, he was out the door and on the short walk to your house. He hoped you ready and his arrival wouldn’t rush you.

Meanwhile, you had finally settled on a pretty, flowy lavender dress that came down to your knees. You did your makeup like always but added just a little bit more eyeshadow. Your eyes were your favorite feature and wanted to make them pop just a bit more.

A knock at the door pulled your attention away from your thoughts about what this date might hold. You quickly made your way to the door and peeked out the nearby window to see Chuck all dressed up. You stepped back and took a deep breath before opening the door.

“Hi.”

Your soft voice brought Chuck back to the present. He looked up at you and he had to pause to collect himself. “Wow.” He breathed out, absolutely stunned. He thought you looked breathtaking.

With his brain short-circuiting, you take the time to really examine him. The blue shirt made his eyes stand out, his hair still had that shagginess to it but styled just enough to give it a more dressed up feel.

Once Chuck finally got his brain back on track, he remembered the baked goods in his hands behind his back. “Oh! And I brought you these brownies. I’m not much of a baker but I think they turned out okay.” Chuck didn’t want to do the traditional, cliché flowers, he wanted to be unique.

“You made me brownies!” You beamed. You loved brownies along with cookies, cakes, pies, cupcakes. Desserts are your weakness. “This is so nice. I typically get boring flowers but baked goods are always welcome. Thank you Chuck.” You accepted the brownies and placed them on the small table by the door. You grabbed your purse hanging on the hook above the table before turning back to Chuck. “I’m ready if you are.”

Chuck couldn’t stop smiling. He was thrilled you loved the brownies, even if they might end up tasting disgusting. “Let’s go.” He held his arm out for you, a big smile on his face. Things were going great and he hoped they would stay that way.

Once the two of you were in Chuck’s car, a ding came from his phone. He apologized for the brief interruption to which you shook your head insisting it was okay. He quickly looked at the text.

Orange Man 🕶️🍊

You’re doing great. Have fun!

Chuck glanced up and sure enough there was his best friend, watching out the living room window with a thumbs up. He shook his head with a grin while starting the car.

The ride consisted of talks about random favorite things likes animals, movies, shows, books, music, etc.

When the car came to a stop in the small parking lot, you finally noticed that Chuck had taken you to a little cafe that had pretty much everything from coffee and tea to sandwiches and pastries.

Entering the cafe, you noticed the decor was simple yet fun. “This is a cute place.” Your compliment made Chuck relax; he was worried you wouldn’t like a cafe date.

After ordering and picking a table by the window, you decided to ask him about life on the road and what got him into wrestling. You watched as his eyes lit up. The conversation flowed smoothly and ended up transitioning into swapping embarrassing stories. Some of his stories seemed too outrageous to be true but you didn’t mind.

As Chuck listened to you tell a story about how you and your friends pranked one of your friend’s brothers, he got this fuzzy feeling that he had only heard about in books and movies. Guess it is real after all. He just hoped you were feeling the same way.

The butterflies in your stomach were nonstop from the moment you two began learning about each other. Turns out this feeling in the books and movies was real. You could really see yourself being with Chuck Taylor. Most importantly, being happy and loved. You just hoped he was feeling the same way.

General Taglist: @legit9thlunaticwarrior @plentyoffandoms @1dluver13xx @sunshinevirus @wwenhlimagines @crowleysqueenofhell @jackson-nickthedate @omg-im-such-a-masochist @kmc1989

Chuck Taylor Taglist: @legit9thlunaticwarrior @springgirlwaiting4fall @morgan-bucks @rubyred1980

#chuck taylor #chuck taylor imagine #chuck taylor x reader #aew #aew imagine #aew imagines #aew fanfiction #aew fic

[rubyuji]

Restless (Lee Chan) ౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ ☕️

“OK enough, as far as I know, you know way more about me than I do about you. So, tell me about yourself?” 𓂃 ࣪˖

Genre: Fluff (this is just the sweetest thing ever, I can’t)

AU: Nonidol!au, College!au

Pairing: Dino x afab!reader

Warnings: none

Synopsis: After a week of traveling for school, Chan was ready to get home and crash onto his bed for the weekend. The problem? He was locked out for the night as his parents and younger brother had gone to visit their relatives on short notice, so he turned to his only option, you.

Note: Another recycled fic from my drafts that I never really finished ;; I’m popping out fics left and right atp but this one has a lack of proofreading and editing. Happy reading again guys, don’t forget to like + reblog!

Word Count: 2.8k

“Bye Ms Kim! Bye, everyone! It was so nice to be with you all in Japan, until our next competition. You all did well” Chan bowed toward his teachers and fellow students as he left the bus, bag slung over his shoulder.

Once he was on the pavement, Chan sighed and hastily walked into his building, ready to pass out on his bed. He clicks the elevator button to the floor he lives on while fidgeting with the new keychain he had bought as a souvenir. The ride was taking longer than usual for some reason.

When the elevator dinged, indicating that he had arrived, Chan eagerly stepped out and headed for the door of his family’s apartment. Instead of him being able to open it easily with the password, the lock buzzes and the sound causes Chan to frown in confusion. Did his family decide to change the house code while he was away?

As Chan was about to try one more time, his brother had texted him about how they had gone to see family and forgot he would arrive that day, adding that wouldn’t be back until the next morning.

Seeing this, Chan runs a hand through his hair and huffs. He was so ready to get the rest he badly needed until an idea came to mind.

Chan turns towards the apartment next to his family’s and grins, you were probably home, right? A girl who was his age, living independently next to his family, probably wouldn’t have many places to be, so he tried the last bit of his luck.

You hear your doorbell ring and wonder who would be at your door late into the evening. As per your paranoid self, you bring a knife to the door, being a girl and living alone with her cat wasn’t exactly the ideal situation to be in, especially at this hour.

You hesitantly peek into your peephole and your jaw falls slack as you struggle to open the door. What the hell was Chan doing at your doorstep? You thought his family would be at home like usual, the Lee family never really went anywhere and would often invite you over so this came as a surprise.

“Chan? That’s new, what brings you here?” You squint at the boy and he chuckles awkwardly, a hand scratching his cheek.

He had his backpack still on his back and a small stroller next to him, he looked like he had just come back from the airport. ‘Oh, I forgot he flew to Japan last week for a dance competition,’ you thought to yourself.

“My family forgot about me arriving today and left to go see my relatives without me, so uh, I had no other option? Unless you’re uncomfortable with me staying for a night, I can just call up one of my friends to let me crash at theirs” Chan cringed at his own words.

Seungkwan lived an hour outside the main city and Vernon lived in a one-bedroom apartment that barely had anything but a bed and a place for his pet iguana. Mingyu was at his sister’s place, and Soonyoung had gone with his family, the house already cramped enough with two grown kids and their parents. He genuinely had no other option.

“What? No, it’s fine. I’ve known you and your family since the day I moved in, it’s the least I can do since you guys have been nice to me. Now come in,” You moved aside so Chan could shuffle in, and in his head, he made a mental note to thank you later when he wasn’t as tired from the jet lag.

You helped him move his things into the guest room before getting him settled. He looked exhausted, and as much as your crush on the boy had started to take in how adorable he was, you couldn’t afford to scare him off when he seemed like he had no other place to go.

“You can use the shower, I have extra products for guests in the second drawer so you’re free to use that as you like. I was making dinner so you’re also welcome to join me in case you haven’t eaten yet. Make yourself at home,” You offered Chan a shy smile and the boy felt his heart skip a beat. Have you always been that pretty?

Chan snapped himself out of his daze and nodded before smiling back at you. “Thanks, I seriously owe you a lot for letting me stay the night. I’m sorry for coming up on short notice,” he says bashfully. You were very kind and the fact that you even offered him dinner was crazy enough as it is.

“Hey, it’s no biggie. I don’t have guests over that often so it’s nice to have someone around now and then. Call this our first unofficial sleepover if you will,” You laugh and Chan can’t help but feel flustered around you. You were so calm despite everything, it was almost impressive to him.

You put your hands together and excuse yourself, making Chan stand up and smile at you once more before you leave the room.

“Towels are in that cabinet under the desk, I think you already have the password here since it’s just my cat’s name in lowercase letters,” Chan once again nods as he watches your figure disappear into the rest of the apartment.

The silence welcomes Chan as he turns to observe every inch of the room. It was very minimal with a simple white desk, a few pictures on display, and two candles off to the side. A white double-door closet stood at the opposite end of the bed, a plant in a gray pot right next to it.

A part of the wall had postcards from places he assumed you had gone to, as well as some awards from your school. It was nice how the room still had a few elements of you in it despite it being a guest room, he would’ve never known that you had topped your class or that you had been to France.

Grabbing a towel from the cabinet and some clothes from his bag, Chan then made his way over to your bathroom. As he was passing the kitchen, he saw your back and got a whiff of whatever you were making for dinner. It smelled like meat and ramyeon, something he had missed dearly during his entire trip to Japan.

Chan enters the bathroom quietly to avoid distracting you and looks at how organized everything is, noting that the room itself is also well-lit.

‘Maybe I should take a selfie in here later,’ he thought while checking himself in the mirror, only to grimace at his appearance shortly after. He looked beat despite the flight only being three hours.

You hear the shower turn on from the outside and continue to finish up plating the food, your cat rubbing herself against you as you bend down to pet her.

“It’s a bit weird, but you don’t mind having him around right?” Luna meows as if saying ‘Not at all’ and you chuckle.

“Well Luna, you already know how much I talk about him and it’s no surprise,” you tell your cat in a whisper. The shower halts and you bring the food to the coffee table in front of your TV, turning Netflix on while waiting for Chan.

“Oh, no way! Ramyeon and meat? You made this for me?” You hear Chan say dramatically as he clutches his chest. The reaction causes you to laugh as the boy plops himself on the couch beside you.

Seeing Chan in your peripheral almost made you choke on your bowl because of how good he looked. He was wearing a white shirt and grey sweats, so simple yet he looked godly.

“Not for you but I made extra ok! Wash the dishes with me at least since you still are technically a guest,” you joke.

Chan hums without another word and that was when you choked on your food. Wow, it was that easy? You thought you were going crazy. He looks at you oddly and raises an eyebrow at you.

“Sorry, I was shocked at how you agreed so quickly,” Chan laughed at your words before taking in the last bit of food on his plate, collecting all the dishes once you leaned back on the couch and sighed in contentment.

“Y/n, you said you’d do the dishes with me!” Chan whined from the kitchen. After opening your eyes and huffing, you then make your way into the kitchen and see Chan’s back in front of the sink.

“I have a dishwasher by the way, we can just rinse these off and put them in,” you say as a matter of fact.

Chan turns toward you with a huff and watches you open the space beside him, seeing you put in the rest of the dishes and turning them on.

“Remind me never to do dishes over here ever again” Chan frowns, a pout set on his lips as you wipe your hands dry.

“I’m honestly way too bored to watch something right now, do you mind just chatting for a bit? I’m too full,” the two of you walk into the living room once again before the boy hums with a smile. You sit on the couch and throw a blanket over the two of you.

Chan shifts to make himself more comfortable, suddenly noticing a very obvious lump under the blanket that slowly starts making its way toward you. “Luna, what did I say about hiding under the blanket? You’re so naughty.”

Grabbing your cat from under the covers, you then put her on top of your lap, her blue eyes staring straight into Chan’s soul. “Does she always stare? Her eyes are very, blue. It’s like she’s staring straight through me” he says, and takes a closer look at your cat.

“Sorry about her, I haven’t had anyone over in weeks so Luna’s fascinated by a new presence at the house” You giggle while petting her. Chan feels his heart do flips, seeing you in your most natural state made him fall for you just a tad bit more if that was even possible.

“Anyway, where have you been? Your parents told me you were in Japan or something. How was it there?” You grin.

You had been to Japan quite a few times, from what Chan could tell. If he could vaguely remember, one of the postcards in your room said Osaka and Kyoto, even Kobe.

“Ah yeah, we had our most recent competition there, it was great. A lot of sightseeing and whatnot for the most, I wish I went outside of Tokyo but we couldn’t leave so I had to settle with just exploring the city,” Chan breathes out, recalling the memories he made with his friends Yeonjun and Changbin.

“That sounds so cool! I’ve been to Tokyo loads of times and honestly, city life is way too busy for me. I think visiting the more provincial areas is great if you want the feeling of peace.” Chan noticed a bit of a distant look in your eyes and wondered if you were thinking about your memories in Japan as well.

Luna suddenly meows and jumps onto Chan’s lap, causing the two of you to jolt up out of surprise. “Huh, she’s usually weary of everyone. This is a first for her,” you say with a soft smile.

Chan pets Luna with a soft smile on his face, the image making your heart flutter. It was impossible to contain your crush on the male any longer after everything that happened, hell, even your cat liked him as much as you did.

“Well, hi there Luna. You’re adorable and look just like your owner. Y/n, you legitimately like your cat, she’s like a mini clone of yours.” Your cheeks heat up at Chan’s stare, the male looking between you and the cat as his eyes linger a bit too long on you.

“OK enough, as far as I know, you know way more about me than I do about you. So, tell me about yourself?” Chan says after a minute of silence.

You jolt at his voice and look at him with an awkward smile. There wasn’t much to say about yourself if you were being honest, you couldn’t gauge anything interesting enough to tell the boy.

“I can’t think of anything, I’m a pretty boring person,” Chan frowns at your words. Boring? That didn’t seem right to him, there was probably more to you than you think, he just had to get it out of you somehow.

“Are you sure? Y/n, you’ve gone to Japan and a lot of other countries, judging from your guest bedroom alone, and I think that’s interesting enough as it is.” You blush at Chan’s words, this was the first time someone had ever asked about you, and you felt grateful towards him.

“Thank you, Chan, that’s honestly super sweet of you to say. I just traveled a lot from a young age since I was offered the opportunity to, but for now, I’m just taking a break from it all. Moving to different places in such a fast-paced environment becomes exhausting once you get older,” You play with your hands and recall every single place you’ve been to.

Traveling and moving was all you had ever known since early childhood, due to your parents moving around a lot because of their jobs and because they were always just super busy people in general. One day, you just got so used to all of it that settling down for the first time in college felt foreign to you.

“That’s honestly really cool, I’ve only ever known the practice room and the music so dancing is like my version of that. Now that I was offered the opportunity to travel, I didn’t realize it would be so overwhelming, especially as a first-timer.” Chan smiles comfortingly.

He truly admired you a lot. After getting a feel of what your life was like, before settling down into one place, he was intrigued by your way of life. How things worked after you had gotten used to it all, and how you coped with the amount of change you were faced with.

“I guess we still do have quite a lot to learn from each other then. You have a lot to tell me, and I think that’s very clear based on our current ordeal.” Chan laughs.

You shrug your shoulders and throw him a sheepish smile. No one had ever been curious about you, or how you lived your life, unlike how Chan did. It felt refreshing to be able to share your life experiences and what you had gone through with someone who listened.

Sure, you did have your friends who were also curious about you, and that's how your friendships even came to be, but Chan was different.

You always thought you’d only have a few chance encounters with the boy next door, but you never thought you’d have him sitting beside you on your couch as you go over your life with him.

“I never really got the chance to talk about my life as much, but you were willing to listen to me like it was nothing. If I continue yapping though, we’d take forever and I don’t want to keep you up any longer since you are still tired from your flight,” You say, and look at Chan beside you.

A pout stays on his face, but he had totally forgotten about the jet lag and how badly he wanted to just pass out after spending time with you.

Chan truly couldn’t get enough of you, and he starts to feel a crush blooming in his chest, not like he had one already, he just never acted on his feelings towards you.

“Don’t be like that, I live next door so you’re technically welcome to come over anytime. Now go on, I’ll let you rest up. I’ll be in my room if you need me ok? Goodnight Chan,” You tilt your head a bit as you greet him goodnight, and Chan swears he felt his heart melt right at that very moment. It didn't help that your adorable cat was rubbed up against your leg too.

“I will, thanks again for letting me stay Y/n. Goodnight, sleep well,” Chan breathes out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. You grin and turn in the direction of your room, Luna following closely behind you.

Chan was restless when he came but with your presence alone, it seems like he could stay up for a whole week if he could.

© rubyuji 2024’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

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