#if I read over this again I will inevitably want to change and add things so I'm refraining from doing that. enjoy whatever this is

[spocks-kaathyra]

thoughts about the Cardassian writing system

I've thinking about the Cardassian script as shown on screen and in beta canon and such and like. Is it just me or would it be very difficult to write by hand?? Like.

I traced some of this image for a recent drawing I did and like. The varying line thicknesses?? The little rectangular holes?? It's not at all intuitive to write by hand. Even if you imagine, like, a different writing implement—I suppose a chisel-tip pen would work better—it still seems like it wasn't meant to be handwritten. Which has a few possible explanations.

Like, maybe it's just a fancy font for computers, and handwritten text looks a little different. Times New Roman isn't very easily written by hand either, right? Maybe the line thickness differences are just decorative, and it's totally possible to convey the same orthographic information with the two line thicknesses of a chisel-tip pen, or with no variation in line thickness at all.

A more interesting explanation, though, and the one I thought of first, is that this writing system was never designed to be handwritten. This is a writing system developed in Cardassia's digital age. Maybe the original Cardassian script didn’t digitize well, so they invented a new one specifically for digital use? Like, when they invented coding, they realized that their writing system didn’t work very well for that purpose. I know next to nothing about coding, but I cannot imagine doing it using Chinese characters. So maybe they came up with a new writing system that worked well for that purpose, and when computer use became widespread, they stuck with it. 

Or maybe the script was invented for political reasons! Maybe Cardassia was already fairly technologically advanced when the Cardassian Union was formed, and, to reinforce a cohesive national identity, they developed a new standardized national writing system. Like, y'know, the First Emperor of Qin standardizing hanzi when he unified China, or that Korean king inventing hangul. Except that at this point in Cardassian history, all official records were digital and typing was a lot more common than handwriting, so the new script was designed to be typed and not written. Of course, this reform would be slower to reach the more rural parts of Cardassia, and even in a technologically advanced society, there are people who don't have access to that technology. But I imagine the government would be big on infrastructure and education, and would make sure all good Cardassian citizens become literate. And old regional scripts would stop being taught in schools and be phased out of digital use and all the kids would grow up learning the digital script.

Which is good for the totalitarian government! Imagine you can only write digitally. On computers. That the government can monitor. If you, like, write a physical letter and send it to someone, then it's possible for the contents to stay totally private. But if you send an email, it can be very easily intercepted. Especially if the government is controlling which computers can be manufactured and sold, and what software is in widespread use, etc. 

AND. Historical documents are now only readable for scholars. Remember that Korean king that invented hangul? Before him, Korea used to use Chinese characters too. And don't get me wrong, hangul is a genius writing system! It fits the Korean language so much better than Chinese characters did! It increased literacy at incredible rates! But by switching writing systems, they broke that historical link. The average literate Chinese person can read texts that are thousands of years old. The average literate Korean person can't. They'd have to specifically study that field, learn a whole new writing system. So with the new generation of Cardassian youths unable to read historical texts, it's much easier for the government to revise history. The primary source documents are in a script that most people can't read. You just trust the translation they teach you in school. In ASIT it's literally a crucial plot point that the Cardassian government revised history! Wouldn't it make it soooo much easier for them if only very few people can actually read the historical accounts of what happened.

I guess I am thinking of this like Chinese characters. Like, all the different Chinese "dialects" being written with hanzi, even though otherwise they could barely be considered the same language. And even non-Sinitic languages that historically adopted hanzi, like Japanese and Korean and Vietnamese. Which worked because hanzi is a logography—it encodes meaning, not sound, so the same word in different languages can be written the same. It didn’t work well! Nowadays, Japanese has made significant modifications and Korean has invented a new writing system entirely and Vietnamese has adapted a different foreign writing system, because while hanzi could write their languages, it didn’t do a very good job at it. But the Cardassian government probably cares more about assimilation and national unity than making things easier for speakers of minority languages. So, Cardassia used to have different cultures with different languages, like the Hebitians, and maybe instead of the Union forcing everyone to start speaking the same language, they just made everyone use the same writing system. Though that does seem less likely than them enforcing a standard language like the Federation does. Maybe they enforce a standard language, and invent the new writing system to increase literacy for people who are newly learning it.

And I can imagine it being a kind of purely digital language for some people? Like if you’re living on a colonized planet lightyears away from Cardassia Prime and you never have to speak Cardassian, but your computer’s interface is in Cardassian and if you go online then everyone there uses Cardassian. Like people irl who participate in the anglophone internet but don’t really use English in person because they don’t live in an anglophone country. Except if English were a logographic writing system that you could use to write your own language. And you can’t handwrite it, if for whatever reason you wanted to. Almost a similar idea to a liturgical language? Like, it’s only used in specific contexts and not really in daily life. In daily life you’d still speak your own language, and maybe even handwrite it when needed. I think old writing systems would survive even closer to the imperial core (does it make sense to call it that?), though the government would discourage it. I imagine there’d be a revival movement after the Fire, not only because of the cultural shift away from the old totalitarian Cardassia, but because people realize the importance of having a written communication system that doesn’t rely on everyone having a padd and electricity and wifi.

#if I read over this again I will inevitably want to change and add things so I'm refraining from doing that. enjoy whatever this is #forgive my very crude recounting of chinese and korean history! I am neither a historian nor a linguist #but I will NOT apologize for talking abt china so much. that's my culture and I'm weird abt it bc of my family history #and it's my GOD GIVEN RIGHT to project what little I know abt it onto all my worldbuilding #also I've never actually read abt any of the various cardassian conlangs but I'm curious if this contradicts or coincides with any of them #I still want to make my own someday. starting college as a linguistics major (in 2 weeks!!) so presumably I will learn how to do that #narcissus's echoes #ds9 #asit #star trek #cardassians #cardassian meta #a stitch in time #hebitians

[worldlxvlys]

my eyes only (part 4)

jealous! chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: cursing, reader is in a toxic relationship, smuttt, p in v, cream pie, choking, oral (fem receiving), squirting, masturbation, use of vibrator, cheating

** i’m not promoting cheating in the slightest, this is fiction. please do not cheat on anyone.

a/n: part 4 was highly requested sooo here it is <33

previous part

“it was an accident!” i yelled for what had to be the tenth time.

“how the hell do you accidentally send someone nudes ?” charlie yelled back.

i let a heavy sigh as i rolled my eyes, “hey, don’t roll your eyes at me”

my face scrunched up at that, “i can do whatever the hell i want with my own eyes, charlie. i don’t know why you think you can control my every move” he looked like he wanted to make a snarky comment at that, but i stopped him, “and why were you going through my phone?” i asked.

he looked take aback at the fact that i knew, “ i didn’t” he spoke defensively.

“so you weren’t going through me and chris’s texts?” i asked.

he sighed, giving up the act, “ok, fine. yes i went through your texts once. it was awhile ago, though”

“you are un-fucking-believable, charlie. how am i supposed to trust you when you don’t even trust me?” i asked.

“i know, it’s just-”i cut him off, “your past relationships, i know. but that doesn’t give you the right to go through my phone”

his eyebrows scrunched up at that, “are you trying to invalidate my feelings right now?” he asked.

my eyes widened at that, “i-no! what are you talking about?”

“i mean, you just basically told me that what i went through in the past means nothing to you”

“charlie, when did i say that?” i asked incredulously.

“whatever. i just can’t believe you’re pulling this shit while i’m going through such a hard time. i mean, you know how much stress i’ve been dealing with because of work, and now i have to worry about my girlfriend sending nudes to another guy”

my face softened at this, realizing that there was some truth to what he was saying.

although i would never admit it out loud, i did send chris those nudes on purpose. and on top of that, i gave him access to several of my explicit videos.

thank god charlie didn’t know about that part.

it was wrong of me to do, but when it came to chris, every logical thought of mine flew out the window.

my boyfriend was an asshole, but that didn’t give me the right to add onto his stress.

“i’m sorry, you’re right. it won’t happen again. what can i do to make it up to you?” i asked as i rubbed his shoulders.

i wasn’t an idiot. i knew that i was better off breaking things off with him, but i was scared. as fucked up as our relationship was, it was one of the only constant things in my life. and although it was dangerous for my mental health, it was safe.

change is inevitable, but it’s also uncontrollable in most situations. and this situation was one of the rare cases where i had full control.

“stop talking to him.” my heart dropped at this.

“what? you want me to just stop talking to someone who i’ve been friends with for years?” by the tone of my voice, he could probably tell that i wasn’t going to do it.

“ok, you’re right, that’s unreasonable. but, maybe just back off of him a little?” he asked.

“please? it would help ease my mind” he spoke as he squeezed my waist, his grip tighter than usual.

i had been with charlie long enough to read him pretty well. his mood could flip in a matter of seconds, and it was quite frightening to experience. sometimes, when he was seconds away from doing it, he would squeeze my hip or shoulder firmly. this was obviously one of those times where my answer would determine how the rest of the night went.

he had never hurt me before, but i was still always careful not to set him off.

“ok, yeah” i nodded my head at him.

“i need to hear you say it” he said, refusing to let go of me.

“i’ll back off of him” i said.

he let go of me, a grin taking over his features, “thank you, baby. i really appreciate it”

i nodded at him, smiling weakly.

1 WEEK LATER

CHRIS’S POV

“it was a mistake”, those were the words she said a week ago. those words led me to believe that she would change her my eyes only password.

wrong.

because when i opened her my eyes only the day after she sent that text, the password worked.

she added more videos to the collection, in fact, she didn’t delete my own video.

and when i clicked onto the most recent video, the first thing i heard her moan was my name.

so that’s the game she wants to play? she won’t answer my texts, but she’ll scream my name when she plays with herself?

fine, let’s play.

throughout the week, we added more and more videos to the collection. we teased each other, moaned each other’s names, and spoke the dirtiest words to our phones.

we never addressed the videos in our text messages, as our conversations never got past a “hi, how are you” and a dry response.

it was an odd situation, but she seemed hellbent on avoiding any conversation.

finally, after a week of playing the game, i decided to go over to her house and talk to her like an adult.

i didn’t bother texting her, knowing i wouldn’t get a response.

READER’S POV

“fuck, chris” i moaned out as my head flew back onto my bed.

my body was bare and covered in a layer of sweat as i held my vibrator against my clit with one hand, the other fingering my wet hole.

my phone was propped up against a chair, capturing my pleasure perfectly.

i was so close to my orgasm, i didn’t hear my front door open.

“chris! i’m gonna-!” i cut myself off as my door flew open.

in a panic, i moved my hands and turned my head towards the door.

my eyes widened in horror, as chris stood by my door with hooded eyes.

chris and i stared at each other as we both waited for someone to say something.

“chris-” i started, but paused when he pulled his shirt off.

he quick strides in my direction, before leaning down and capturing my lips in a desperate kiss.

i moaned into the kiss, as our lips moved against each others quickly.

he detached our lips, pressing his forehead to mine. “do you want this or not?” he asked, his eyes still closed. “cause one second you say it’s a mistake, then the next you’re moaning my name. if you’re just gonna play with my feelings, i-” i stopped him by pressing my lips to his in a sweet kiss.

“i want this, chris. i want you. i was scared and confused, and i shouldn’t have played with you like that. i need you to know this isn’t a game to me” i spoke as my gaze shifted between his eyes.

“i’ve wanted you for so fucking long, i just didn’t know how to tell you” i cupped his jaw with my hand, running my thumb along the skin right under his bottom lip.

“thank fuck” he whispered before pushing his lips onto mine again.

my hands found their way to the back of his neck as his soft lips caressed mine.

his hands went to my boobs, squeezing and pinching my nipples, eliciting a small moan from me.

“fuck, you sound even better in person” he groaned.

he continued to play with my tits as our lips slid against each other’s perfectly.

his hips ground down into my body, his clothed erection pressing into my inner thigh.

i bit down onto my lip, suppressing my moans.

“don’t be shy now, baby. you’re so vocal when i’m not in front of you. do i need to play one of the videos?” he asked, making me narrow my eyes at him.

in one swift motion, i hooked my leg around his waist, pushing him down into me and flipping us over.

his eyes widened as i wrapped my hand around his throat, making him let out a choked moan.

“yeah? you like it when i choke you like this?” i asked as i moved my hand down to his sweatpants.

“mmm, fuck yea” he groaned out.

i hooked my finger into his sweatpants, tugging them down.

my fingers gently caressed his thighs as i moved my mouth to the top of his boxers.

i looked up at him through my lashes as i took the waistband between my teeth, pulling it up and letting it snap back against his skin, making his hips jerk slightly.

“i want these off” i spoke.

he quickly pulled them down, letting his dick spring free.

“remember that pink dildo?” i asked as i let my spit travel down to his cock, beginning to spread it around his length.

“y-yeah, i do” he groaned in response.

i lined him up with my entrance and sank down onto him, pulling long strings of curses from both of our lips.

“i always imagine that it’s your cock buried inside of me” i moaned out as i began to move on top of him.

“o-oh my fuck” he whispered as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

he seemed to almost be shocked at the amount of pleasure coursing through his body, as his arms stayed frozen at his side.

“touch me, chris” i spoke, snapping him out of his trance.

his hands shot out to my sides, sliding down to grab my ass.

i grabbed his shoulders to stablilize myself as i rolled my hips into his.

“god, you feel even better than i ever imagined” i spoke as i pressed my forehead to his, staring into his eyes.

“you look so fucking good on top of me like this. love watching you fuck yourself on my cock” he whispered to me.

“you like the way i squeeze you?” i asked as i clenched around him.

he whimpered at the feeling, before replying, “not gonna last if you do that”

“good, i’m on the pill. i need you to fuck your cum into me, chris. need it so bad” i moaned as his dick plunged in and out of my tight hole.

the dirty words sent chris over the edge.

his fingers dug into my ass, holding me down against him as he shot his cum deep inside of my walls.

i lifted my hips off of him and swung my leg over his, moving from on top of him.

“wait, you didn’t finish” he pointed out.

“it’s fine” i shrugged it off.

chris wasn’t having this as he pulled me back towards his body.

“ride my face” he spoke as he pulled me back on top of him.

“what?” i asked, my eyes widening at his statement.

“i don’t know what you’re used to, but we’re not done until you cum. so, ride my face.” he spoke, throwing slight shade towards charlie, as he laid down.

following his instructions, i positioned myself right above his face. i hovered for a second before chris pulled me down onto him, pulling all of my weight onto his face.

“oh my god, chris” my jaw fell slack as my hands laced into his hair, tugging gently.

he groaned against my heat as his tongue licked up and down my folds.

i began to rock my hips against his mouth. with every upward movement, chris’ nose pressed against my clit.

“chris! i’m cumming!” i spoke as my body tensed up.

my toes curled and my fingers scratched his scalp as i felt an intense wave of pleasure run through my body.

i lifted myself off of his face as my juices shot out of my trembling body, saturating the pillow and chris’s face.

“fuck! sorry, sorry” i spoke quickly as i got off of him.

“don’t ever apologize for something like that, ma. that was hot as fuck” he spoke before licking his lips.

i got up to grab something to clean his face up, when he stopped me.

“wait, take a picture of my face!” he grinned.

“what, why?” i asked.

“we can save it to your my eyes only” he winked.

🌀🌀🌀🌀

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @gwenlore @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @annelisseakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @abbie13sworld @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @sturniolololover @meg-sturniolo @mattsnymphette

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x you #chris x reader #chris sturniolo fic #chris sturniolo texts #sturniolos #sturniolo fic #sturniolo texts #smut #🌷

[matchavellichor]

okay huge fan of your dark!seb but hear me out…… dark!ominis

A.N: I absolutely adore dark!ominis omfg—I have like five diff dark omi drabbles in my google docs that i've abandoned bc i feel like no matter how i write it, it seems too out of character for him, then i end up hating it LOL. This isn't as bad as my dark!seb but here's Ominis doing some.....uhhhh questionable things to MC under Imperius.

Just This Once

dark!Ominis x f!MC - NSFW/Angst - 3.1k words - ao3

Tags: !!Non-Con!!, Pining, Obsession, Inappropriate Use of Imperius, Unconsensual Kissing/Touching, Masturbation, Omi Being a Lil Pervball

Summary: Ominis' infatuation leads him to break some of the principles he's held dear to him for the better part of his life.

Part 2, Part 3 (づ￣ ³￣)づ

The fireplace in the Slytherin common room has long gone out for the night, only a few crackling embers to fill the silence. Moonlight seeps in from the windows, through the murky waters of the Black Lake, casting the room in a palid, green hue. 

Despite the hour, he knows he’ll find her there. 

He wonders if it’s one of the rare nights where she’s asleep by the time he arrives, curled into herself on one of the armchairs with her book forgotten on her lap. 

One of the rare evenings where he can afford himself a bit less self-control. Indulge in the silkiness of her skin, trace his fingers over her features until the point she inevitably stirs, and he’s forced to retract himself as if he’d never touched her. 

It doesn’t matter if it is. Tonight, he’ll touch her the way he wants to, either way.

His skin prickles with warring emotions as he makes his way soundlessly down the steps of the dormitories. Shame, guilt, disgust—overwhelming anticipation.

The dizzying feeling of want overshadows them all.

An ugly, marred tug of obsession claws its way under his skin like a parasite. He can’t escape it, can’t make it stop—hasn't been able to for a while now.

He’s grown accustomed to it. Grown used to the way his nerves burn when he touches her, the way his lungs scream for oxygen when he catches her scent.

He always wants, yet he never gets, and he’s so, so tired of wanting.

Just this once. 

The reminder eases through him like a breeze, quelling the incessant pounding of his heart in his ears, the thin sheen of sweat settling itself over his skin.

His hand trembles when it dips into the pocket of his robes as he approaches the familiar set of lounges in front of the fireplace. He feels for his wand and tightens his hand around it, the wood biting into his skin, a sensation almost comforting in nature.

Just this once.

“Was wondering when you’d show,” her voice is warm and sleep-rough, a hazy melody that proves just as useful in easing his nerves. “Long day?”

“Something like that,” he murmurs. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, weighted with attrition for something he has yet to do.

She waits for him to sit down beside her, but instead he stays in place, hovering over the side of the couch.

He clears his throat, nerves stiffening his voice. “Do you think we could read in the Undercroft tonight?”

She looks at him perplexed, until her lips curl into a smile.

“Since when did you become such a rule breaker? Sebastian finally rubbing off on you?” She humors, stretching her sore limbs.

“I’d just prefer it. Change of…scenery.”

She snorts. “Change of scenery, huh?”

He nods sheepishly, cheeks burning. Change of scenery? Really, Ominis?

He can feel her staring at him, contemplating. He’s half-convinced she can hear the way his heart is nearly beating out of his chest.

“Please,” he adds for good measure.

His fingers find his wand again, tucked surreptitiously behind layers of fabric. He supposes he could cast it here, even if that isn’t part of the plan. The thought makes anxiety trickle up his skin. He doesn’t want to stray from the plan.

When she rises from her seat with an acquiescent sigh, his entire body sinks with relief.

“Alright, fine, let’s go…but we’ll have to be quiet.” 

The walk to the Undercroft is spent in the silence of disillusionment spells and muffling charms. Inside the darkened cellar, with only the soft sound of her humming as she settles onto one of the old chaises, a flurry of second-thoughts numb his brain in white static. 

Disgust settles itself like a boulder in his gut, the bitter taste of bile rising in his throat as he takes a seat beside her, as he considers over and over again what he’s about to do. 

He can feel her thigh press against his when she shifts in her seat. It’s strangely grounding. He feels the taste rescind.

She’s so incredibly warm, so terribly close, that it buries any trepidations he holds deep into an untouchable part of himself, until he can think of nothing but the prospect of more of her skin on his, until desire overshadows any inkling of guilt he might possess.

The urge to touch, and taste, and caress, subjugates the contrite voice in his head that repeats a litany of you promised, you promised, you promised.

His nausea blends into something else as he quietly slips his wand from his pocket, and any vows he’s made to himself about never doing what he’s about to do, dissolves into inexistence as the spell passes through his lips in a whisper.

“Imperio.” 

The incantation takes effect with such fluidity, with such little effort, that in that moment, despite all his years of fervent resistance, he has never felt more like a Gaunt.

He resists the urge to double over and be sick on the flagstone floor. 

He can barely hear the sound of the book in her hands falling to the floor, nor his own wand slipping from his fingers with a dull clatter. The ringing in his ears is far too loud to allow it.

His core buzzes with the thrum of dark magic that washes over him, a mordant reminder of what exactly he’s done, one that he can feel impress itself on his very soul. He takes a fortifying breath.

Just this once.

“Turn to me.” 

The command works over her immediately, and though he can’t see her, he can hear her shift in her seat to face him. He’s never been more grateful for his blindness than in that moment, that he can’t see the glazed-over appearance of her eyes, her vacant stare. He’s certain it would break him.

He shifts forward himself, and when he touches her for the first time with trembling hands, the incessant ringing in his ears ceases. The drove of self-reprehension comes to a halt, replaced by something starved, replaced by the instinct to take.

He drags his fingers unsteadily over the ridge of her cheekbone, traces the contours of her brows, down the bridge of her nose, the same way he’s done before only briefly in her sleep, though this time with more unabashed exploration.

The thrill of not having to be careful awakens something in him. He wants to commit every millimeter to memory.

His thumb brushes over the gentle arch of her cupid’s bow, then over the plush pillow that is her bottom lip. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s been holding his breath until his lungs burn for oxygen. His hand takes hold of her jaw and he dips forward, so that his first inhale is made up of nothing but her, his nose pressed to the soft hair at her temple. 

He tilts his head and lets his lips land on the smooth plane of her cheek. Her skin is warm and silky, just as he remembered from the brief bits of contact he’s allowed himself in the past. He lets out a contented sigh. 

Slowly, patiently, he works himself up to his destination, planting tender kisses along her face, reveling in every little sensation, until he reaches the corner of her mouth.

Her mouth.

He’s almost convinced he’s dreaming. 

He takes a shuddering breath and connects their lips the way he’s wanted to for an agonizingly long time.

If he’s ever known softness before, it’s incomparable to what he receives from her lips, from her face cupped in his hands.

He’s filled with the insatiable desire to know more, to drown in it, to suffocate on the feeling of her against him. 

His tongue brushes over her bottom lip, tentative and a bit too cautious. He’s not exactly sure how to kiss her, but he notes rather morbidly that she won’t mind either way. It’s not like she’ll remember.

He tries again, experimenting, prodding at her lips softly at first, but she doesn’t part for him the way he expects her to, doesn’t grant him entrance. It’s… not right.

His brain blares with alarms in deafening repetition that it’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong.

She’s stiff against his lips, frigid and unmoving. It’s not how it should be. It’s not how he wants it to be. It’s askew and breaks him out of his fantasy and it makes him angry. 

Makes his fingers dig too harshly into her skin, makes him crowd her against the armrest of the lounge and press his mouth to her more forcefully, as if he can brutalize the compliance out of her. 

A whimper escapes her, a brief breach in her trance-like state, and he’s snapped out of his overwhelming frustration. He breaks the kiss and pants against her skin, the reminder of the power he has over her surging back. 

“Kiss me.”

Relief oozes into him like the trickle of a downpouring stream, cooling his blood and letting him melt into the feeling of her lips finally moving against his. His touch retreats back to tenderness. 

There’s a clumsy sort of uncertainty in the way his mouth moves against hers, an unpracticed mess of tongue and teeth. He doesn’t mind, doesn’t let himself dwell on the chagrin that is his first kiss.

It’s all he’s ever wanted with her. She tastes sweet on his tongue, the culmination of all his desires being fulfilled, and yet still, somehow, it’s not enough.

Even as he kisses her deeply, tenderly, until his lips feel raw and kiss-bruised, and there’s a delicious soreness in his jaw — he can’t shake that little, driving pain in his chest of want. 

No, not of want. Of need. 

There’s a part of him that he doesn’t quite understand, a part of him that aches for more without being conscious of just what more is. 

He’s aware of it, though. He feels it in the tension pulling just below his navel, the heat pooling in his blood. He recognizes it in the depraved instinct to slip his hands up her blouse, to hike up her skirt, and— and—

He contemplates straying from the plan for the second time that night.

All he wanted was to kiss her, just this once, just this once— but as he tips her back onto the cushions, as he hovers over her with his lips never leaving hers, he realizes that isn’t true.

He lets himself sink against her. Her body molds with his, presses against his own, plush and warm and indescribably perfect. He pins her down with his weight—even if he’s aware he doesn’t have to, he finds some sick sense of security in knowing she can’t escape.

He wants more.

He slots himself between her legs and tugs one of her thighs around his waist. It’s almost too much, his breathing scattered and uneven. 

He wants more.

Even if he isn’t sure what more entails, he possesses some idea as his hips begin to rut against hers of their own accord. The whimper he lets out makes him burn with shame.

He buries his face in the crook of her neck to hide his mortification. He inhales, until the dizzying scent of her perfume numbs his brain.

He’s subtly aware of the fact he’s grinding right against her knickers, her skirt bunched up haphazardly at her hips to accommodate him between her legs. He tries not to think about it.

His thoughts feel hazy as he contemplates the fact that only a thin piece of cotton separates her cunt from rubbing right against the front of his trousers. It would be so easy to—

He can’t.

He forces himself to keep his hands above her waist, far from temptation. He doesn’t force them not to wander, though.

Just this once, he repeats, as his fingers hover over the front placket of her blouse. He muffles his breathing with his lips pressed to her throat.

He trails his hand up to her collar and unclasps the first button with trembling fingers. He tries not to think about it, either.

He concentrates on how she tastes when he dips his tongue out to lick a stripe just under her jaw, and for a moment he doesn’t care how lewd it is, doesn’t care how utterly debased he’s acting.

Her breath hitches, just the subtlest change in pitch, but it’s enough for him to pretend that she wants this. That she wants him.

Little, brass buttons clatter to the stone floor of the Undercroft in quiet clinks, byproduct of his impatience, of his self-restraint slipping from his fingers in the hasty manner he undresses her. 

The same hasty manner he fumbles with his belt—before he can think too long about what he’s about to do—until he’s gripping his weeping cock and biting down on his lip to stop the shameful noises threatening to escape his throat.

He palms himself shakily, remorse adling his unsteady movements, while he tries to work the courage to actually touch her. It isn’t long before his hand is slick with his arousal, and the skin of her neck is damp with his heavy breathing.

His hand hovers over the bare skin of her midriff, fingers twitching with the desire to sink them into her soft flesh, to trace over her curves and memorize the contours he’s only felt in daydreams. 

His voice is raw when he commands her, riddled with shame. “Ask—ask me to touch you.”

She obeys in a whisper. “Please, touch me.” 

It’s wrong, it’s all wrong, it’s not—

“Ask me to touch you and say my name.” 

“Touch me,” she breathes, and he can feel the vibration of her voice where his mouth is still latched onto the base of her throat. “Please, Ominis.”

There.

His name on her lips strikes his nerves on fire, lights the very blood in his veins alight. He caves.

Her skin is warm under his fingertips. He can feel her heartbeat where he presses his palm to her sternum, a frantic pounding— undoubtedly a reflection of her subconscious beneath the influence of the spell.

He doesn’t allow himself to feel guilty, he can’t. Not now. 

Instead, he indulges. Pushes the sheer material of her chemise the rest of the way up, until it’s over her chest, and he can feel.

Her nipples pebble as they come in contact with the cool air of the Undercroft and he runs his hand over the stiffened bud, rolls it between his thumb and index. 

She’s overwhelmingly soft. It disgusts him how badly he wants to defile her for it. 

He notes wryly how revoltingly weak he is, if all it took was some poorly-placed obsession for him to do away with every last principle he’s spent the better part of his life cultivating. How easily an Unforgivable spilled from his lips at the prospect of feeling hers.

He’ll scrub his skin raw afterwards in the shower in a desperate attempt to forget all of this, he promises himself. He won’t do this again, he can’t—

Just this once.

His head sinks to her chest and he murmurs against her skin, “Again— Say, say it again.”

“Please, Ominis.”

He sighs in blissful relief. “Yes.”

He counts the rows of her sternum with a drag of his tongue. Her chest is already sticky with his saliva when he takes hold of his cock again, the dripping tip sullying her untouched skin.

His hips rut into his own hand and the Undercroft fills with the sounds of his quiet grunts. He squeezes his eyes shut and imagines it’s her he’s thrusting into as he fucks his fist, his other hand groping blindly, fondling and squeezing her supple flesh until he’s sure he’s left marks in his carelessness.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, because he likes to pretend it’s real. “So–so good, angel.”

She lets out the softest whimper, and it’s enough to make his jaw fall slack, a pleasured groan escaping his parted lips. 

He presses his forehead to hers. “I love you. I love you so much. Tell me— tell me you love me. Please say it.”

“I love you.” 

She obeys too fast, her voice too vacant. It’s unnatural. He doesn’t care. Those three little words are enough to wrench a strangled sort of sound out of his chest.

“Again,” he begs, voice hoarse, and he’s only distantly aware of the wet tracks running down his cheeks. His thrusts are sloppy and frantic, so close to his undoing. “Say my name.” 

“I love you, Ominis.”

“Fuck,” his voice cracks, his head dropping to her shoulder.

He’s pushed over the edge with a sob, painting her stomach and chest in ribbons of milky white. An endless litany of I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry pours from his lips as he shudders through his climax.

Shame sears through him like fiendfyre and he moans his forgiveness on a cry against her lips, kisses her tenderly as if it’s an act of retribution.

His hand finds her stomach, his palm rubbing into the incriminating mess of his seed on her skin, and the satisfaction he feels with it only serves to amplify his self-disgust. 

He kneads the sticky flesh beneath his fingertips, as if he can make it so that even after the scourgify, some part of him will be there, a memory only he’s aware of. He doesn’t want to let her go, he can’t— he—

He does so anyway. He forces himself off of her on unsteady legs and tucks himself into his trousers. 

He cleans her with all the care in the world, as if his tenderness will somehow make up for how crudely he’s violated her trust tonight.

Everytime his hand brushes over her skin as he redresses her, he repeats to himself that it was just this once. Brands it into his brain, lets that contrite voice repeat it over and over again until he might go mad. 

He takes her back to the common room and sets her down gently into that same armchair she was waiting for him in at the beginning of the night. Brushes a lingering kiss to her forehead that stretches for a moment too long.

He mutters a reluctant finite incantatem under his breath, pairs it with a heavy sleeping spell, and retreats to his own dorm before he can fall to temptation again. 

Only then, behind the drawn curtains of his four-poster, skin still prickling with the memory of every way he’d touched her, is he made certain of something he’s been trying desperately to deny all evening.

This was the first time, but it certainly won’t be the last.

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy smut #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #ominis x reader #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis gaunt x mc #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #hogwarts legacy fan fiction

[undercoverpena]

make me like the holidays

marcus pike x f!reader | marcus masterlist

written for 12 Days of Pedro

summary: you're not the biggest fan of the holidays, so marcus makes it his mission to change that with a christmas market and a gift you have to wear.

wordcount: 3.6k warnings: smutty-themes, a teeny bit of orgasm denial, you consent to wear a vibrator controlled by marcus, vibrator worn in public, outdoor orgasm, christmas themes, marcus being a tease, his dimples, his smile, him.

an: huge thank you to @hellishjoel for asking me to be a part of this, and to @thetriumphantpanda for holding my hand, answering questions about warnings, and reading this as i shoved it at her face.

“So, what? You just don’t like the holidays?”

Snorting, you slide your fork around your bowl, licking your lips.

Because you knew eventually this would come up.

"I didn't... say that," you reply, averting your eyes. Mouth opening, closing again, unsure where to begin.

How to start.

How to begin to explain the odd feeling you get around this festive time of year. How your eyes don’t light up at tall Christmas trees, and instead your heart sinks whenever you see one of those adverts where the family all meet excitedly for the holidays.

It doesn’t matter how you dress it up—whether you hang tinsel or baubles—it always seems like an odd time of year. And because of that, It makes people pity you, aww at you, feel compelled to leave candy canes on your desk and purposefully add you to their Christmas card list, as though it's going to fix the decades of memories.

Placing your fork down, and you sigh. “I guess. I-I just don’t get super excited for it.”

Marcus is already thinking—you can tell.

The faintest line begins to appear between his brows, deepening the more he stares, drowning you in a brown you’re forever grateful to get the chance to wake up to every, single, day.

Leaning across the breakfast bar, he smirks—all devil, no angel. “I think I could change that.”

“Oh. Is that so?”

Nodding, his breath dances over your skin—all tantalising—before he softly slants his lips over yours, biting carefully on the bottom of your lip.

“That how you’re going to convince me, Pike—using underhand tactics such as your mouth?”

Snorting, he leaves his fingers lingering under your chin. “That’s a last resort. I think I can convince you in other ways to see how magical it can be with me.”

“You sound very confident.”

He smiles, and it makes something twist inside of you—a worry growing there, planting itself, all ready to grow into something ugly that he’ll eventually see. Be the thing at the top of the list when he inevitably realises he can do better than you.

Stroking your skin, he sighs. Not heavy, nor soft. Something in the middle. “I’m still going to love you if you hate the holidays, baby.”

Smiling, you look down at the counter—the one the two of you eat at whenever you can now, taking what hours you can have together.

“I promise,” he whispers. “But, you think you can let me try and make it special for you? Show you that there’s nothing quite like a Pike Christmas?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you let out a heavy sigh, meeting his eyes—somehow feeling yourself fall even deeper in love with him when you do.

“How can I say no to such an offer.”

Bundled up, wrapped in layers—including his scarf—your gloved hand slides into his, fingers awkwardly trying to find the home between his, almost wanting to pout at the fact you couldn’t feel his palm against yours.

“Comfortable?”

There’s a sparkle to his eye, made worse by the smirk that accompanies it. The one you imagine he’s been wearing since he’d handed you the bag stuffed with tissue, arms folding as he leans in the doorway.

It’s a little bit of fun, he had said.

Your fingers unfold it, unwrapping it free as your eyes immediately land on the box containing the little purple device and its remote.

“I know the season isn’t your favourite thing, but I thought this might make it more enjoyable.”

Narrowing your eyes, you stare at the box.

“Thought it could give you something to be excited about,” he adds, tone shifting—more silky than normal. “Now, whether you’re on the nice or naughty list today, is down to you.”

"Oh, Santa Pike. Please put me on the good girls list."

Grinning, his fingers slid over your jaw as he kissed you, "I think you'd prefer to be on my naughty list, baby."

Now, that same purple, unboxed gift is resting against you, flush. Stuffed and held in position by the underwear he helped you choose—the lace of it keeping it very much in place. And while it isn’t currently switched on, but you know he could change that at any moment—the remote buried in his pocket, all within his grasp.

A thought which makes heat lick up your spine and an ember of worry knot in your stomach—

At any point you change your mind, you tell me, baby. You hear me? Just say the word.

Clearing your throat, you curl into his arm, staring up at him—watching him take in the run of wooden huts, fairy lights and overt cheer.

“Let me guess, you have a to-do list for today?”

Smirking, his arm comes around you keeping you close, before he pinches your side. “No. We’re gonna see what we get up to.”

Squinting playfully, you brush the edge of his stubbly chin. “I’m not buying it. You have a plan.”

Shaking his head, his teeth tease his lip, nose almost flush with yours. “No plan—just want a lovely day with my girl…”

Hovering your lips over his. “But?”

His eyes slowly close, nose scrunching—lips spreading into the biggest, most foolish smile. “We have to start with a festive drink—”

“I fucking knew it, Pike. Fine, come on.”

But, he doesn’t let you budge, not even as you grumble, grasping your hips, yanking you close.

He gives you a look, a pointed one—all accompanied by a grin. It’s all shit-eating, spreading delightfully up into his cheeks. One you’d usually brush over with the pads of your index fingers.

"You don't sound like you're having a good time, baby."

"Marcus..."

You don’t move them this time—leave them on his waist. Feeling his hand slide into his pocket. And you brace.

It’s the only way you’re able to stifle the soft moan which attempts to slide through your teeth and burn the air as it buzzes. Light, but good. Your breath was suddenly a challenge to find, made worse by his watchful stare.

Lashes fluttering, gloved fingers gripping into the side of his jacket as you let your breath paint against his neck. It’s all building—layering itself on thickly atop the earlier ‘testing’ he had done earlier. When you had whined his name, been tempted to shed the many layers and keep warm in an entirely different way with him.

“That feel good?” he asks, low, breathy—only able to formulate a nod.

Then, it stops.

Blinking, your thoughts suddenly cleaner, more appropriate—things beginning to speckle back into your mind.

“Kiss?” he asks, the request falling from his tongue like silk.

“Depends how good the drink is.”

It turns out, it’s delicious.

Marcus had practically whispered the name of the drink he recommended into your ear—having likely noticed the overwhelmed expression slowly etching into your face.

Trust me his expression reads, as if you’d ever trust anyone else.

As soon as the taste of his recommendation met your tongue, your body almost welcomed the season with open arms. Your groan wasn't even buried as your eyes widened at the taste, at him for suggesting it—watching him smirk before he looped his arm around your waist.

“Thoughts?”

Smiling, you almost reply that you like being close to him, preferably forever choosing to be pressed close to him. You find it calming, suddenly no problems ever seem that big when he’s next to you.

Swallowing that, you glance at him, knowing it would be easy to fight the smirk. To act placid, add a shrug, sell it. But, his eyes have widened a fraction, pupils a mere dot in a sky of brown, with the reflection of the lights acting like stars.

The hope etched into his expression is what puts the final nail in your attempt at nonchalance.

“It’s good.”

Brows rising, he grins. “Yeah?”

Nodding, you take another sip. The flavours of the hot chocolate coating your mouth as you slide your arm around his waist. The feel of his lips against your forehead spreading an additional warmth through you, that the drink would never have available.

You’re almost sad when it ends.

Not that he lets you sit in that. Quickly, he takes your cup from you, placing both in a nearby trash can, before he’s pulling you back to him. For the briefest of moments, you just stare, admiring the way you see the outline of yourself in the pool of his eyes, the way you get to witness the way his adoration spreads across his face—all lit up by swinging fairy lights in the gentle, winter breeze.

“Got cream on your lip, baby,” he whispers, tongue swiping across your bottom lip—nowhere close to the site he pointed out.

And then you feel it again.

The thrum which spreads through you, is pressed against your bundle of nerves, making your thighs quake on fixed and solid ground. With the addition of his mouth on yours, the waves lap more feverishly, it all building, all desperate to crash.

Your fingers grasp onto him, teeth piercing into his bottom lip as he kisses you, letting you bury a moan into his mouth—and Marcus is happy to swallow it. Gleefully getting to feel and taste the way he makes you feel as your walls flutter, tightening—wishing for more. Needing more. Almost begging for it when you catch his gaze.

“You know how good you look right now?”

And then it stops. Your breath hitching. Skin prickling with warmth as you let a gasp escape—it weaving into the air, encased in vapour as you blink.

“W-what’s next?”

He grins, it rising up until his dimple appears. His palm flattening to the back of your coat, fingers sliding in pulses.

“Thought we could pick decorations for our tree.”

Brows raising, you turn your head, looking at him, finding him already watching you. Something is spreading in you, a symbolic bandage extending out from his touch to around the places warped and scarred from years of bad memories.

“Our?”

Kissing your head again, you hear him repeat that one word: our.

Just like he had done when he’d moved the last box of yours, you asking whether his place would get your favourite burgers delivered—ours, baby. Ours. It felt it, too. He’d made sure of that. Created space on shelves, and moved ornaments from their homes to allow yours to have a place.

So, it wasn’t out of reach he’d do the same with his holiday, his tradition.

“What if you hate my taste?”

Snorting, he brushes your cheek. “You know I love the way you taste.”

Rolling your eyes, he laughs.

“I could never hate your taste, baby. I love everything about you.” His hand drops, and he takes a sip of his drink as you do the same. “Plus, you chose me. Can’t be all bad.”

He’s kind to you when you’re handling the baubles, even more, when the two of you wander hand-in-hand through tightly packed huts.

Your hands point out things, not just for the two of you, but for others—his parents, a friend. It allows your guard to drop, and your brain to temporarily forget the device resting snugly against the swollen nerves desperate for him—even if you’re aware of how soaked your underwear is. How it clings, how it brushes nicely against you when the two of you walk from place to place.

Marcus becomes less kind when you’re in the queue for a sugary snack, your mouth busy explaining to him where you best think the tree can go in his place—a thing he corrects to ours at every chance he can.

“You almost sound like you’re getting into all of this.”

Smiling, you rest your head against his shoulder in the line. “Maybe it’s the company.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice low, the corner of your eye-catching his other hand sliding into his pocket. “Could be that.”

“Marcus.”

He just raises his brow, a sly smirk passing over him, before you feel him flick it on. “How else are you going to remember that it’s our place, baby?”

Every nerve, the ones previously all frayed, now lit up—just like the tree in the centre of the market. Your mind empties with a press of a button, fingers sliding inside his open coat, grasping for him—for grip.

“You excited about the holidays now?”

Fuck, you hate him, because yes—if it’s like this you’ll forever adore Pike holidays. You’ll wish for them, count down to them on your calendar. Ticking off in red pen, making a point to excitedly cross each one of them off.

Because the two of you haven’t even put the tree up yet.

There’s still so much prep, so much you suspect he wants to replace with good, better—more excitable—memories.

“Bet you’re wet,” he whispers.

And you glare at him, unsure if it’s with adoration or anger. Both merging, swirling—concocting into something you can’t stifle as your cheeks warm and your ears burn. Because there are people around—families, small children.

“Take me home,” you plead. “Please?”

Pressing your thighs together you find only makes it worse. The pulses are far more forceful, and better aimed directly at the already needy parts of you.

The ones which he’s usually so attentive with, barely keeping you like this, all wanting and not satisfied. Marcus barely lets the knot in your stomach tighten usually, but now, you think he’s having fun with it. Likely admiring the way your pupils are swallowing colour and a sheen is crossing over the skin on show. Because you’re warm, too hot— there are too many fucking layers and not enough of him pressed against you—

“Need you, Marcus.”

His fingers brush against your chin, aiding you to take a step forward as the queue moves. “I know, but be good for me.” His mouth close to your ear, hand impossibly tight on your hip—keeping you pressed against him, able to lean, let him take your weight as your legs shake. “You deserve this—”

Your lips part, and all attempts at levelling your breathing fail, falling away from your grip. Feeling the focus on the surroundings fading, black spots appearing—this game of taunt and tease having made you so impossibly shaky on your legs.

And he turns it up.

Moves it to the next one up, an up-and-down kind of vibration. It feels good, but then it lessens—a momentary break, a chance to mumble his name less in a whine—before it returns like a second wave.

It pulsing. Something akin to a rollercoaster, a high and a low—it comes around in slow circles that makes it hard to know whether you’re close to coming or growing more frustrated.

“You want something with chocolate or prefer just sugar?”

You try to speak, mouth moving close to his ear, but only a moan escapes. Low, coming from somewhere deep in your soul as his grip tightens on your hip. The speed slowed for a moment, likely settling itself up to do another build-up.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

Your legs are unstable, more jelly than muscle and bone. It’s all too much, but not quite enough either—just needing that fraction more to stop teetering on the edge and fall over, filling with bliss, and pleasure.

Each time he slides his hand over your hip or back, you have to swallow a whimper of his name. Dangling against the edge, dangerously so—only one little push and you’d be falling, freely, willingly, likely moaning and making an embarrassment of yourself so close to Santa’s fucking grotto.

“If,” you begin, hand to his chest, fingers trying to find skin, something, anything, his still around your waist, practically bruisingly, clutching the many paper bags against you, “we go home now, we might have time to put the tree up.”

You watch him smirk, how it hits his eyes—making the twinkling lights pale under the brightness of his expression.

“Then,” you continue, lips sliding close to his ear, “you can—shit—do something no one has ever done.”

He swallows, loudly—not even swallowed by the choir. “What’s that?”

Smiling, licking your lips. “Fuck me under it.”

Pinching your side, you swear you hear him grunt.

You barely register that you’re being dragged, hip to his, being led—the little device working its magic against your drenched cunt as you pass by choir singers and a person dressed like an elf until it’s suddenly quieter.

Bags dropped to the side of you, back pressed against the side of a hut—the roof casts a shadow over his face, but his eyes still shine. They’re bright and alert. Drinking you in like you’re the only thing that he can see, ever wants to see.

"No one can see us, I promise."

You believe him. It's the only reason you allow yourself to release a pathetic moan before your fingers dig into his pocket. Searching through receipts and his phone, finding it. The thing which weighs more than gold to you, the remote that has the chance to make or break you right now.

It clicks with such ease.

Every muscle in your tightens, your eyes clench shut, all but vanishing winter wonderland from sight and painting a new picture on the back of your lids. Him—naked. Stood all soft muscles and his signature smirk. His room—ours, you hear it in your head, ours baby, ours—surrounding you.

You’re on fire.

Cracking an eye open, finding him watching—in awe, captivated like you’re a sight to behold. And maybe, clutching the remote in your hand, you were. Maybe you were illuminated in a heavenly glow and looking as though you could melt the fake snow around the two of you—you feel you could, anyway, just from the look he wears.

The fact the two of you are just focused, lost in only the other as he keeps you against the side of the empty hut—thankful, happy, that at least one of the stalls hadn’t opened so you couldn’t be heard being held against it, mind being lost to the buzzing in your underwear.

“Who knew you were so dirty?”

“You love it,” you moan, ghosting your lips over his.

Needing a little more, craving a little more.

Please, please, please you think over and over.

He takes it from your shaking fingers, sliding his knee between your thighs—pressing it more defiantly against you, flush, likely feeling the vibrations through his bones as you moan his name. Sketch it into the air, write it there, never wishing it would fade—

More, Marcus. Please, baby. Please.

You’re aching. Your ears flood with buzzing as liquid heat spreads through you when he clicks once, twice—thrice. Landing on a setting he must have seen in the instructions.

And it’s bliss.

It’s mind-melting, muscle surrendering. Your hand cupping the side of his neck, nails digging in, needing to feel him, know he’s there—wishing it was his fingers, wishing he was heavy against you. That weight you crave, that sensation of just him.

Close, so close—

You say it like he wouldn’t know. Like you can’t feel the way he’s looking for signs across your face, likely knowing more about how close you are than you even do. He spends enough time making you feel good. Too good to you, always has been, ever since the moment the two of you met, and you’re grateful, happy, content, fucking over the moon, sun and stars—

“What do you need, baby?”

“You,” you whine.

Just you, only you. Only ever you.

The coil in your stomach tightens, the knot having formed something which can shatter with far too much ease, and it does shatter.

You snap. Break. Fall apart.

He drags your face against his neck, letting you curse, and moan. His name crying out from your lips, until it falls in softer waves from your tongue, splaying across his skin, tattooing him. Squirming close to him, suddenly at ease, shoulders sliding from your ears.

“Marcus,” you whine, differently.

And you’re grateful it stops, him switching it off—a grin breaking out in its wake. Your breath slowly comes back to you, your chest unloosening from trying to bury all your pants.

That’s when you’re finally able to take him in and see the way he’s still staring, so lost in you. His mouth parted, the softest smile trying to stitch into his cheeks, eyes moving around the features of your face.

You just let him stare, and he lets you gaze. Only blinking, letting the rest of the world in when you hear a bunch of kids walk past the end of the hut, loudly laughing.

“I think I could like a Christmas with you.”

Grinning, he pockets the remote, his hand coming to your cheek. “Yeah? I told you I’d make it special for you.”

Nodding, you kiss him. Soft at first, before it deepens, nipping at his bottom lip—finding yourself meeting the hut again, his palm beside your head, able to taste the sweetness of his drink from earlier, the cream, chocolate and ginger—

“I was serious…” you mumble, “earlier.”

Pausing, he lifts his head.

“About the tree, what we could do under it.” Sliding your hand down his front, you cup him, feeling how hard he is, fingers sliding either side of him. “Think you deserve a special day too.”

“Really?”

Biting your lip, you nod, slowly at first—then more purposefully.

“Fuck, I love you, baby.”

an: merry pike christmas ;)

#Marcus pike x reader #Marcus pike x female reader #Marcus pike smut #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fluff #Marcus pike Fic #Marcus pike fanfic #Marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #the mentalist fic #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist fanfiction #Pedro Pascal #Marcus Pike Pedro Pascal #Marcus Pike the mentalist

[drewsbuzzcut]

Stars Around Your Scars

nick moldenhauer x dallas blankenburg

a so it goes blurb

warnings: mentions serious hockey related injuries (blade cutting through skin), talks about scars, fear, insecurities, and hesitation. Reading about Nick’s face injury had me going through so many emotions, because I can’t imagine what it’d feel like to actually go through it. Also, this isn’t me trying to romanticize injuries; I just wanted to write something for those who may still be affected by life changing/ traumatic events in their life. They deserve to be empathized with.

Dallas is laid out on her bed, Nick by her side as they’re buried under her fuzzy blanket. They’re facing each other, Nick’s hand under her big shirt, rubbing her skin all while Dallas tangles her fingers in his soft hair. They’re officially boyfriend and girlfriend, but they’re still getting to know each other. Which is why Nick is finally opening up about his hockey incident.

She was quick to notice his scar when they first met, but never brought it up. She wasn’t sure if it was a sensitive subject. When they started dating, she grew more curious, but decided to wait until he brought it up.

“I feel like I’m being dramatic,” Nick warns his girlfriend.

“No, you’re not dramatic. You went through something traumatic, and if you’re willing to share that story with me, I’ll listen and I will never judge you about your feelings or thoughts,” she whispers as this moment is one of the most intimate between the couple.

“I don’t really remember feeling the blade cut through my skin, but the pain after the shock wore off was something I’ve never felt before. It wasn’t just physical pain either. I knew recovery time would take me away from hockey for a while. I also wasn’t sure if I’d even recover and still be able to play. The waiting was just absolutely daunting,” Nick speaks softly, afraid his voice might display just how affected he is by his incident, even now.

“How did you feel when you were told that you’d be okay?”

“Relieved. I was relieved that I’d make a full recovery. For most people it might seem irrelevant, but my second thought was hockey. I wanted to get back on the ice. I was so scared that I’d never be able to play again.”

“I’m so sorry you went through something like that. I can’t imagine how scared you must’ve been. How scared your parents were,” Dallas adds in, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“I hate talking about it. It was a hard time for me, you know? I was thinking about hockey just about every second, but then I had to talk myself into being okay if I couldn’t play again. Do you think I’m overreacting? I feel like maybe I shouldn’t have been thinking about hockey so much, because in the grand scheme of things, it’s not a big deal. All that really mattered was if I would survive.”

“You’re not overreacting. You had a visceral reaction. There’s nothing wrong with that. You love hockey; I think it’s only natural to go through the emotions that you went through,” the girl assured him, pulling his body closer to his as if they weren’t already as close as possible. She places his hand over her heart, so that he has something soothing to focus on.

“Sometimes I’m still wary about being on the ice. I’m worried about taking another blade to the face. I don’t want another scar, even though scars in hockey are inevitable. I don’t know. I guess sometimes it can make me feel insecure,” he further explains.

“You’re still handsome. As for you being worried about another incident like that, it’s only natural. Just because you’re back to playing hockey and feel comfortable on the ice, doesn’t mean that it won’t linger in the back of your mind.”

Dallas caresses the side of his face, letting her thumb glide over the raised skin of his scar. She watches the way his eyes close at the feeling. She sees his breath get shaky, so she lays gentle kisses along the scar.

“Thank you for trusting me and telling me this story. I’m here for you always, Nicky,” she expresses her appreciation through a few more kisses, feeling content when they bring a smile to his face.

“Thanks for listening.”

Dallas just nods her head, pulling him on top of her body. Her heartbeat races when he immediately cuddles into her, his face hiding in her neck and their legs tangling together. She’d do anything to protect him and make him feel loved.

a/n: If any of you are struggling with something (or not) and want to talk, my inbox and messages are always open.

#nick moldenhauer #nick moldenhauer x reader #nick moldenhauer x oc #nick x dallas #umich hockey #umich imagine #so it goes au

[ren-from-mars]

Omg hiiii guys look! It’s Becky! I participated in the wonderful @hatchetfield-yearbook-project and got to draw her for the Alumni page <33

Go check out the project, it’s chock full of amazingly talented artists and writers who all captured their characters perfectly! Seriously, reading through some of the club articles I needed to convince myself it wasn’t canon work it’s sososososo good!

Down below are the little details I did while working out how Becky would have been both in highschool as well as how she aged!

I focussed on a lot of lines mentioned in black friday and nightmare time to try and get a grasp on how exactly Becky would have changed over time. Things like “she’s not as hot as she used to be”, how long she was with Stanley, how working at the Hospital is Incredibly Fucking Stressful, and of course her “Rah Rah Team Spirit”! I went a bit overboard in the details but if you’re reading this right now you want them so BAM here it is!

First off, Hatchetfield High Becky!

These are all just my personal headcanons, none of the appearance based details are directly stated as canon and are rather derived from my personal beliefs for her and things stated about her in the show.

Before the list- I put her in the same HFHS cheer team uniform that we see Brenda and Stacy both wear! I like to think that people wearing their cheer uniforms around the school is just. a think the Nighthawks Cheer Team just Do, and have done for years. They're insane like that (and the dark blues really compliment Beck!)

Her Rah Rah Cheer Spirit leaks into everything, and she does her makeup often with a silver and blue eyeshadow. she changes this look up every now and then, but being the cheer captain and dating the star quarterback comes with its own. social expectations on appearance, so Becky regularly goes back to her tried and true method.

star earrings star earrings! blue for the nighthawks, but the star is based on the fact that Becky and Tom would often stargaze on the football field, especially after the big games. Hatchetfield would have been a pretty bright city even back then, but it wasn't nearly as light polluted as it is in the present day. Stargazing together became their way to unwind and talk, without people listening in on every little thing being said and spreading rumours. Not like they would dare do that to two of the most popular people in school.

This is more targeted to her whole face, but this comes back to Beck doing her makeup every day. Obviously that shade of red isn't natural on her, but she would put it on the exact same every day that eventually people forgot about it. This ties into her 'not being as hot as she used to be', because she was always dressed up and wearing makeup. God forbid a woman age and not do things to be performative and appeal to you any more

The locket! This locket was a gift from Tom to Becky when they were together. She chose to put a photo of Tom in it, taken after the Nighthawks had won a big game (he had the biggest goofiest smile on his face). Note that the chain is long enough to fit underneath current Becky's clothes! She kept it all this time, Stanley told her to get rid of it, but she put it under a floorboard in their house in a simple box. When they *cough* broke up, she got the box back out but didn't wear the locket again until her and Tom inevitably meet again and reconnect. Now, she wears the locket every day, and Tom Hates that old photo of him (but in reality, he's touched that she kept it all this time). Despite that, he would never in a million years make her change it. In the worlds where they get to stay together and look after Tim, she adds a photo of Tim to the locket but still doesn't change Tom's photo. Years later Tim hates the old photo but knows how much it means to his mom.

And now for present Becky!

Wrinkles !! because that happens and is very regular ! My only thing with this piece is that I wish I would've made them a bit more prominent. Most of her wrinkles are on her glabella (above the nose, between the eyebrows) because she had them furrowed so often. she also has forehead wrinkles and wrinkles next to her eyes, as well as a permanent slight eye bag. Those sleepless nights never did her any good.

She now rocks simple pearl earrings. They get in the way a whole lot less, and aren't distracting at work. Not much to say about them (but look at how tasty the rendering is on them!!!).

Back to wrinkletown, she only has slight wrinkles on either side of her nose. After cheer, she didn't do a whole lot of smiling.

White hairs! She has gone through so much stress don't you even tell me she wouldn't be slightly greying from that. She killed her husband. Her hair colour is also oh so slightly desaturated because of more natural greying (where the hair just loses pigmentation and goes blonde or white over time, but with no singular grey hairs. man red hair is weird). She also works at the hospital, you cannot tell me she wouldn't have a few unnatural grey hairs from all the shit she's been through.

This is just pointing out the height of her collar, the locket is there :)))))

I also forgot to point out, but her lack of makeup! This absolutely leads certain people to perceive her as ""less hot"" because of how she was constantly dressed up in highschool to maintain status. She was never disingenuous about her care for the Nighthawks and her cheer spirit, but highschool. Does something to people.

And another thing, that goes over both pictures, her hair is shorter! This is to help keep it out of the way easier at work. Her hair is tied into a high pony in highschool (again, think Brenda and Stacy), so letting it down would make it a Heap longer. Now she makes a lot of her hair decisions based on what makes work most convenient.

That's it! Please if you have any questions pester me about it, Becky is my girl i love her so much <33333 and another reminder to go check out the project!!!!!!

#typing mom instead of mum hurt in the soul .. its pretend to be american time #starkid #hatchetfield #hatchetverse #becky barnes #npmd #nerdy prudes must die #hatchetfield yearbook project #hatchetfield high #art #my art #ren from mars #creativity on mars #ren rambles #<- for how many paragraphs of becky hcs there were

[use-your-telescope]

When Everything's Made to be Broken - Chapter 4: I'm Not Sure if Anybody Understands

Summary: The Avengers try to learn more about their newest team member.

Author's Notes: Reminder - this is a continuation of the same song from the last chapter. ❤️

If you enjoy, please reblog!! I'm a lil' blog (less than 100 followers, haha) and reblogs really help me out <3 Also, feel free to send me a message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list.

Next chapter should be coming November 5th.

Content Warnings: Some alcohol mentions. Angst if you squint?

Word Count: 6,762

Read on AO3 | When Everything's Made to be Broken Masterlist

Song: Some Nights - fun.

Well, some nights, I wish that this all would end 'Cause I could use some friends for a change And some nights, I'm scared you'll forget me again Some nights, I always win (I always win) But I still wake up, I still see your ghost Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for, oh What do I stand for? What do I stand for? Most nights, I don't know

“Hi, we’re Your Friendly Neighborhood Bar Band, and we’re here to play some music tonight.”

With the golden warmth of stage lights washing over her, Theo grinned at the cheers that came from Jack’s introduction and started plunking out the opening notes of their first song.

She started playing with the group shortly after accepting her position as an attending at New York Presbyterian, having been introduced by a colleague whose brother happened to be their drummer. That was a few years before; since then, the group had grown to add a couple other members and expanded their repertoire to cover almost anything and everything. For Theo, it was as much an opportunity to keep herself learning and practicing new instruments as anything else. Music was one of the few things in the world that brought her any sort of solace, as it was something her parents both placed a great value in, so any excuse to create music was welcome. 

Theo didn’t run the show - they all rotated out who fronted certain songs, and she was not needed to provide on-stage banter - but she did switch instruments most often, as she was the only one who had taken the initiative to learn all of the one-off instruments for the times when a song had a saxophone or a trumpet and it just didn’t sound right without that specific instrument. 

It was the last show she would play before news broke of the newest addition to the Avengers. Knowing full-well that meant she would need to step back from pre-planned appearances  or shows, she did her best to soak up each and every moment of the evening in hopes of tucking it away for a rainy day in the future. The stupid jokes that Jack told the crowd, Kelsie moving around so much that she inevitably crashed into Theo mid-song, the drunk guy in the audience who shouted at them to play Wonderwall, the scent of stale beer and sweat under half-lit fluorescents… 

Well, she soaked up everything except for the crowd of famous faces in the back. 

The Avengers lurked near the bar, each member’s posture stiff and uncomfortable as they watched the crowd drunkenly dancing and singing along to every word. For spies and assassins, they weren’t exactly great at blending in. If anything, they stuck out like a sore thumb.

She should have known they’d find their way there.

After pulling the stunt at the Avengers’ briefing, it was only a matter of time before they sought Theo out for some observation of their own. Catching the entire team off-guard was incredibly satisfying and certainly got under their skin… Which was exactly the point. If they thought she was predictable and stable, they’d trust her and want her to stay. And with the individual and collective egos in that room, she needed to knock them all down a peg or two. Pulling the rug out from under the entire team was an effective reminder that they weren’t as prepared as they thought they were.

And boy, did they need that reminder.

She’d seen the videos of their attempts at taking on shadow beasts, and if her initial suspicions were correct about the source of the pests, the Avengers certainly had no idea what they were in for… 

Screaming cheers from the audience snapped Theo out of her wandering thoughts. She pushed the irritation about presence from her mind; the Avengers already took up too much of her headspace. She didn’t need to let them ruin the night. 

No, she had a show to play and she’d be damned if she didn’t make the most of it.

She shook her head, bringing her attention back to Jack as he worked the crowd.

“Theo Amaris on the… well shit, she plays pretty much everything at one point or another. Piano, guitar, vocals, violin, cello, sax, trumpet— not only can she play pretty much every instrument and make it look easy, but she’s got two fucking Grammy nominations for it.”

At the announcement, Theo’s cheeks burned. 

The nominations weren’t for writing music - a friend of a friend was working at a recording studio and they needed someone to come in and help with recording a bunch of parts for a major recording musician. Theo was a broke med student in the middle of her residency at the time and well, the gig paid well. All she had to do was show up, play the instruments, sign an NDA, and she got more than her fair share of pay. Of course, now that the album was out and her name was in the song credits the NDA no longer applied, but at the time she wondered if the paycheck was more to keep quiet about it and less about recording the music.

The album ended up getting two grammy nominations - album of the year and country album of the year. 

“I didn’t write the songs, so I don’t know if it’s fair to say the nominations are mine… I was recruited to play a few instrumental parts, and I did it because I was a broke med student who needed money!” Theo interjected, earning a laugh and cheers from the crowd. “I didn’t even know who the recordings were for until a week before the album came out.”

“Theo what, like it’s hard? Amaris here, making us all look bad as she casually racks up Grammy nominations while in motherfucking med school. Actually, hey look, our next song is from that album!” Jack replied, earning a louder round of screams from the crowd. 

Anyone who had been to a show of theirs probably knew what was coming, since Jack liked to point it out every single time they played - but tonight, Theo found herself wishing he hadn’t revealed that detail… After all, she had a bunch of superheroes watching who would definitely ask questions about that endeavor, and she wasn’t overly excited about any unnecessary interaction.

“Yeah, yeah… okay, let’s get this over with.” Theo forced herself to laugh, but shook her head. “This is Everything has Changed.”

Of the songs she helped record, Everything has Changed was one of her favorites; she always thought her sister would have loved the song. It was light and sweet and romantic, and Rae was always a romantic at heart.  

God, what she’d give to see her sister again.

“All I knew this morning when I woke / is I know something now / know something now I didn’t before / and all I’ve seen since eighteen hours ago / is green eyes and freckles and your smile / in the back of my mind making me feel like / I just wanna know you better…” 

From the back of the crowd, a pair of green eyes caught hers, and she couldn’t help but smile.

If there was anyone she wanted to know better, it was the intrepid Asgardian sorcerer who had long shed the reputation of wanting to conquer Earth and replaced it with equal parts charm, mystery, and wit sharper than the daggers he fought with. The sole interaction she’d had with him only increased her curiosity: Loki was one of the few, if not the only Avenger who didn’t express reservations about her before they were aware she was in the briefing, and he seemed almost amused at the way she pulled the wool over the others’ eyes.

If the way he studied her, obscured in shadows from the back of the crowd, was any indication, maybe he wanted to know her better too.

So this is it? I sold my soul for this?  Washed my hands of that for this?  I miss my mom and dad for this? No, when I see stars, when I see –  When I see stars, that's all they are When I hear songs,  They sound like a swan - so come on…

Midgardian sports were utterly dull.

Loki would never interact with such activities if he had the choice. Midgardian sports were slow, overwhelmingly attended by drunken old men who could be outsmarted by a child, and required little skill to compete. The fact that the activity brought pleasure to anyone was confounding; what was even more confounding was that Theo willingly participated in such activities - as it turned out, she played the sport which Midgardians could not even agree on a name for: soccer, also known as football in locations which actually applied logic to the naming of their athletic endeavors.

Of course, the moment Maximoff discovered this morsel of information about the newest recruit, she insisted that the Avengers attend Theo’s next match and cheer her on.

…Which meant that when she and Thor badgered Loki into joining, Loki spent the entire journey to the event pondering ways he might slip away without anyone being the wiser. Yet, the blinding grin and exuberant babbling of his brother as they arrived at the match diminished Loki’s resolve. Clearly the older Odinson was thrilled that the younger brother ventured out to attend, and he did not have the heart to ruin that enthusiasm. Maximoff, meanwhile, was absolutely buzzing over the opportunity to hopefully bond with Theo, chattering constantly about how nice it was going to be to have another female around the tower and all the things they would do together.

Even with hats and sunglasses to obscure the more defining features of their appearances, having their visages plastered on televisions and across the internet meant it was nearly impossible to go anywhere without recognition. Sure enough, they barely found a place in the stands for the group to sit when the hushed comments and glances started. Less than thrilled about the eyes on him, Loki kept his attention fixed on the field and remained quiet in hopes of not drawing any additional attention.

In theory, the Midgardians had moved on from New York. Thor insisted on sharing what actually caused the invasion as a way to prove Loki was not a threat, even though it left Loki feeling rather embarrassed that his weakness was put on display. The Midgardians, it seemed, were more forgiving than Loki anticipated. He was not ridiculed for being so feeble-minded that someone could control him. Even so, he would be foolish to believe they had entirely forgotten about what took place or what Loki was capable of. Whether or not they would admit it, they likely still regarded him as a threat.

He tried to shake the thought by focusing on the scene in front of him.

Down on the field, the two teams were preparing for the match. Spotting the reason for their attendance was easy - between the silver braid swishing as she dove in front of a net and the different color uniform from everyone around her, she stood out like a sore thumb. Even with the padded jersey, shin guards, and protective gloves to add bulk, it was clear her height was disproportionate to her frame. 

“Starting goalie for Duke all four years, captain her senior year.” Romanoff leaned into the group as she shared the information. “Multiple offers to go pro, but she turned them down to go to med school.”

“Is Duke good?” Maximoff asked.

“Consistently one of the top ranked college women’s soccer programs.” Parker answered, “one of MJ’s friends was scouted to play there.”

“What’s the band on her arm?”

“Captain band,” Romanoff replied, “means she’s leading the group when on the field.”

As the team wrapped up a drill, one of the other players approached Theo. After listening to whatever the other player had to say, Theo glanced over at the stands. The moment she noticed the Avengers was obvious by the scowl and the dramatic eye-roll that crossed her face. 

“Brother,” Thor nudged Loki with his elbow, “I’ve never seen a Midgardian who could scowl quite like you, but it seems you may have competition.” 

Loki turned to find Thor smirking at him, to which he responded by arching an eyebrow at him.

Fortunately, Thor was unable to find any additional opportunities to drag Loki into the mix of conversation, as shortly thereafter the players were brought on the field and the match began.

Though the Avengers were attending a soccer match, Loki found himself less focused on the sport and more interested in using the event as a character study. 

If the team was an army, Theo was its commander. She constantly called out instructions and warnings, all the while strategizing and directing her team members as though they were her troops. This was a drastic departure from the almost chaotic, mischievous woman that crashed the team’s briefing. If this was what she was like when placed in a high-pressure situation, perhaps Fury was wise to seek out her involvement. 

It was fascinating to watch her work. Loki found himself ignoring the action at the opposite end of the field in favor of trying to detect what Theo saw that influenced her commands. She moved with laser-sharp precision to prevent any scoring opportunities, all the while continuing her command of the troops.

Perhaps there was more to this particular sport than Loki realized, as it wasn’t long before he found himself actually enjoying the spectacle. It certainly helped that the other team provided a formidable challenge, with neither team scoring during the match or in overtime. 

Somehow, that was not the end. Apparently, the final tie-breaker was a “penalty kick shootout.” While the teams prepared themselves for the challenge, Shuri explained the process to those who were unfamiliar (which included Loki, though he would not admit it).

Each team alternated attempts at scoring. Theo’s team scored on their first shot. The opposing team aimed for the lower left corner, but Theo was too fast - she dove to the ground with arms outstretched, catching the ball before it could enter the net. The second penalty kick from Theo’s team was also a success, this time directed to the opposite side of the net.

When the opposing team took their second shot, Loki studied Theo as she prepared to defend against the other team. She crouched low, hands up and ready to catch the ball at a moment’s notice. Her attention was not on the ball, but just beyond; when the other player approached the ball, she watched their body for clues about where they aimed. 

Top right corner was the target, but they overshot and the ball went out of bounds.

“So if Theo’s team scores and the other team misses one more time, Theo’s team wins.” Shuri whispered as if she had a particularly exciting and scandalous rumor to share, though nothing about what she divulged was private information and it was far from salacious.

The swish of the soccer ball hitting the back of the net confirmed a third goal for Theo’s team.

“No pressure on Theo,” Barnes remarked, “She’s about to decide the championship.”

Right - Maximoff had mentioned something about a league championship among the five hundred other remarks about the Silver Shadow, but Loki hadn’t really been listening.

According to Parker, it was an incredible kick. The ball curved as it flew through the air, heading for the top left corner of the net. The spiderling claimed it was a shot that most professional goalies wouldn’t have been able to stop. There was no way Theo could stop it.

A flash of neon purple careened towards the top left corner, getting enough air to punch the ball out of the way before diving to the ground. 

Not even a moment after she stopped the shot, raucous cheering erupted from the stands. Maximoff and Shuri squealed, jumping up and down. Parker, Barnes, Belova, Wilson, and Thor openly wore their surprise on their faces, arms spread wide as they whooped and hollered. Romanoff and Rogers were not as open in their surprise, but they still leapt to their feet with excitement; then again, even Loki was on his feet cheering. 

Pushing herself up to her knees, Theo whipped around, confusion rampant across her face as she checked whether the ball made it into the net. When no ball was found, she turned back to the field, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as she located the ball’s final resting place - about a quarter of the way down the field, next to the sideline.

Theo sprung to her feet, joining in on the celebration as she realized that she had, in fact, stopped the shot. Her teammates surrounded her, everyone cheering as they jumped on top of each other and embraced. 

Once the adrenaline of the match wore off, Loki grew anxious to return to the tower. The others, however, insisted on staying long enough to congratulate Theo, as they felt it would help her feel more welcome. 

Theo, however, seemed perfectly content to avoid the Avengers. Not far from where they sat was another group who she must have recognized, because she ran over to them and greeted them with hugs, conversing with them for far too long to be considered idle chatter. Most of her posse seemed to be close to her age, though one small child and one petite, elderly woman were among the group. It was the elderly woman who pointed towards the Avengers and made some remark; they were just far enough away that Loki did not hear what she said, though the smirk that accompanied it set him on edge.

When the others departed and no one else served to distract her, Theo finally approached the Avengers. The excitement from speaking to the other group had been replaced with open apprehension as she drew near, perhaps feeling as uncertain about the interaction as Loki felt about the Avengers’ presence.

“Um… hey,” Theo chewed the inside of her cheek as she offered a half-wave to the group.

“Hey Theo - Congratulations!” Maximoff beamed, “You were great out there!” 

“Thanks. I didn’t realize you were coming to the game…” Theo’s gaze flitted around the group. “You know I start on Monday, right?“

“Yeah, but we thought it would be nice to come cheer you on,” Romanoff said, “Though your reaction when you first spotted us was something else…”

“My what?” Theo furrowed her brow, glancing around the group.

“The eye roll and scowl that rivaled Loki’s…” Thor said, arching an eyebrow at Theo, who appeared utterly baffled, only for realization to dawn on her face moments later. 

“Oh - shit, that wasn’t you,” Theo let out a quick, nervous laugh, shaking her head. “Allie, one of my teammates - her ex-boyfriend was here and she saw him. He’s been trying to get back together with her, but she can do way better. That had nothing to do with you.”

When she was met with a collective look of suspicion, she laughed a second time, a lilting sound that floated through the air. “You really think I’m going to lie with the God of Lies right here?”

Though he hid it well, the moniker made Loki cringe; it was one of many that reminded the world of his past, insidious and ever-looming over him like a storm cloud. 

Everyone stared at Loki, waiting for his assessment.

“I do not believe she is lying,” he concluded, “though I must agree that it was quite a dramatic response. I almost wish to meet whoever the expression was directed towards, as they must have truly annoyed you to garner such a reaction.”

At that, Theo snorted. “No, no you don’t want to meet him. He’s a waste of space.” She paused, shifting the duffel bag she carried around to her opposite side. “Well… thanks for coming. I’ll see you Monday? Unless you just randomly show up at something else… But I’m pretty sure I don’t have anything else you can crash, unless you showed up at my job… Which I wouldn’t recommend, because that usually involves someone getting hurt.”

“We are pretty good at that,” Wilson replied, winking at her. “But we’ll hold off for now.”

She laughed, bidding them good night before disappearing into the dark.

For someone who had no desire to become an Avenger, she seemed rather amiable. Perhaps that was her nature, or maybe there was something else at play.

The question of what that might be plagued Loki the entire way home.

Well, that is it, guys, that is all  Five minutes in, and I'm bored again Ten years of this, I'm not sure  If anybody understands This one is not for the folks at home, Sorry to leave, Mom, I had to go Who the fuck wants to die alone  All dried up in the desert sun?

The night of the newest Avenger’s introduction to the public, the whole team assembled for Stark’s party. 

At this point, it was practically a routine. New members would be announced, the whole team would woo the press so they would get ideal coverage, and then they’d settle into training the new members and sending them out on missions.

These parties were nothing difficult. Centuries of being a prince on Asgard equipped Loki with the decorum and etiquette to charm his way through formal social gatherings. Unlike Thor, who won his acclaim through battle, Loki did not have the helm of a warrior to win him praise; instead, he earned recognition through skilled diplomacy and knowing how to work a room. It was nowhere near his favorite way to spend an evening, but there were worse ways to pass the time.

Besides, his ability to navigate these events was a significant reason his reputation had improved among the Midgardians. After saying the right things and charming the right people, New York seemed to be a distant memory for them. In some ways, Loki envied their ability to forget the incident so easily. 

The circumstances around the event still haunted him, though he’d never outright admit it. 

Nevertheless, once he made his rounds and played the part of charming Asgardian Prince for the press, Loki preferred to situate himself near the bar. It offered an easy view of the room, provided easy access to beverages, and kept him far enough from the dancing that when Maximoff and Barnes inevitably had too much to drink and wanted him to join them on the dance floor, he could easily evade them. Midgardian liquor didn’t do much to intoxicate Loki, but he found that he did have a taste for cocktails he could sip throughout the evening. The other bonus of having a beverage in hand was that it made him appear more approachable. 

Given his history, anything that made him look less threatening was a benefit.

Theo was easy to spot, silver hair tumbling down her back in loose curls. She wore a black jumpsuit with no back and a long keyhole across the front that highlighted her chest. It was a smart choice - she knew she would be on display and dressed to kill. The jumpsuit balanced power with just enough skin to provide sex appeal, yet provided enough coverage that no one would clutch their pearls at the sight of her. 

From his preferred spot near the bar, Loki observed Theo’s interactions with the important guests of the party. She stuck close to Stark’s side, smiling and nodding as they went from guest to guest. She carried herself with grace; shoulders back and chest out as though she were a dancer, gracefully flowing from group to group throughout the evening. However, it seemed as if she hardly spoke a word. Stark looked perfectly at home with a beautiful woman on each side - opposite Theo, Potts seemed like a natural as she caught up with party guests, laughing and chatting without reservation.

Occasionally, Theo would scan the room and lock eyes with Loki - when they did, Loki would smirk and raise an eyebrow at her, while Theo would widen her eyes in what appeared to be a silent plea for saving her from the small talk. 

“So, what do you think of the new girl?”

Loki turned to find Romanoff next to him, leaning up against the bar as she stole a sip from his drink. 

“That was mine.” Loki commented, ignoring her initial statement. A perfect red lipstick print now adorned his glass.

The Black Widow pursed her lips for a moment, glancing up as she seemed to swirl the beverage in her mouth. “An old fashioned - did you order it because you’re old?” Belova teased, appearing next to the Black Widow, who pushed his drink back to him. 

Loki rolled his eyes, though a begrudging smile flickered across his lips.

“What do you think of her?” Romanoff’s gaze returned to the party, taking in the scene. Potts had stepped away, leaving Stark and Theo to continue their tour of guests. 

“She seems… tolerable.” Loki remarked with a small shrug.

“High praise from you,” Romanoff said, still watching the Silver Shadow. 

“I heard she’s already giving Stark a hard time.” Belova leaned in, smirking as she glanced between her peers.

“Stark would certainly benefit from developing a bit of humility,” Loki mused, avoiding the lipstick mark as he took a drink.

Romanoff snickered, while Belova let out a snort of laughter.

“She made you laugh.” Romanoff casually mentioned, studying Loki for a reaction.

Loki simply cocked an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to state whatever her point was.

“She made you laugh, you say she’s tolerable, and you’re over here watching her instead of making your usual rounds. I’d say you’re interested in her,” Romanoff concluded with a smirk.

“Are you not curious about her?” Loki inquired.

“Oh, I’m curious - ” Romanoff snickered, “I’m curious about how someone managed to attract your attention so quickly. Normally you take a while to warm up to people.”

“You’ve not spoken to her yet?” It was a surprising piece of information: Romanoff normally made a point to meet new team members right away.

“No, I haven’t had a chance to.” Romanoff shrugged. “But based on your response to her, I’m clearing time on my calendar and making a point to talk to her.”

“I would have guessed based on her attire that you helped her select her outfit.” Loki contemplated. “It looks very… Romanoff-esque.”

“No - I asked Wanda and she didn’t help either. That was all the new girl. Which reminds me, I want to ask her where she got that jumpsuit. It’s cute.”  Romanoff commented, tapping her chin.

Stark stepped away as Theo engaged in a conversation with a pair of journalists. Despite her polite smiles and nods, it only took a moment for her eyes to start roving the crowd as she chatted, subtly searching around for an out. 

“You gonna go rescue Rapunzel?” Belova teased, noticing the way Theo’s eyes landed on Loki. 

“I thought the Widows were desperate for an opportunity to talk to her.” Loki said, turning around to flag the bartender for a refill.

“Nah, go rescue the princess. After all, you’re a prince.” Romanoff pushed off from the bar, standing up. “If you bring her a drink, I’m sure she’d love it.”

“You say that like I’ve never spoken to a woman before.”

“You’ve picked up plenty of women, and men,” Romanoff clarified, “but given you’ll actually need to talk to her and not just seduce her, I figured you could use a tip or two.” She winked, sauntering into the crowd with sister in tow before Loki could reply.

Damn those women.

As the bartender approached, Loki hesitated - what would she even want to drink? Normally he’d consider wine or champagne, but she didn’t seem like she’d want any of the standard options. 

They had similar styles and personalities; perhaps it was a safe choice to order the same drink as he enjoyed for the evening. 

With the extra beverage in hand, he made his way across the room to Theo.

“… I’m very grateful for the opportunity and the kindness the team has already shown me-” Theo politely answered one of the journalists as Loki arrived. “- Oh! Hey Loki.” She perked up, offering him a warm smile and a slight nod, which he returned. 

Loki turned to the journalists and greeted them, flashing his most charming smile and honeyed pleasantries. They blushed, having warmed up to him over the course of his tenure as an Avenger. As much as he didn’t enjoy the show, he was a stunning performer.

Returning his attention to the newest Avenger, he offered the second beverage to Theo. “With all the speaking you’ve had to engage in this evening, I thought you might appreciate something to drink.”

A grateful smile crossed her face as she accepted the drink. She gave it a sniff and a sip, her smile expanding to a grin as she realized what was in the glass. “Old-Fashioned?”

Loki nodded, impressed that she knew what it was. “Given we seem to have similar taste in apparel, I thought we might also have a similar taste in beverages.”

Theo chuckled, taking another sip. “You’re not wrong.”

Confusion regarding the comment was obvious, based on the narrowed eyes and arched brows that both journalists wore. They glanced between the two Avengers, as if waiting for elaboration.

“When I first met Loki, we unintentionally wore matching outfits,” Theo quickly explained, “right down to the identical shoes.”

“Well, it seems you managed to figure out your outfits so you wouldn’t have the same issue tonight!” One of the journalists replied, eliciting a small, forced smile from Theo. While Loki didn’t find the comment amusing, he also forced a smile to play along.

“Theo, there is someone I would like you to meet.” Loki spoke up, sending a quick wink to the newest Avenger. Turning back to the journalists, he flashed his most dazzling smile. “Would it be alright if I borrowed the guest of honor for a little while? I promise to return her.”

“Of course!” The journalists grinned, falling for the silver tongue’s charm. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Amaris. We look forward to seeing what you accomplish!”

“Thank you, pleasure to meet you as well.” Theo bowed her head with another small smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. The forced smile could have been deemed her trademark expression of the evening. Perhaps she was not keen to be trapped in a room full of strangers.

Loki took her free hand and began to weave through the crowd. Glancing to the side, he slipped through a doorway and down a hall before ducking through another door to a private balcony, pulling Theo behind him the entire time. 

When they arrived, Theo glanced around at the empty balcony and back at Loki, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

“You appeared as though you wanted a reprieve from idle chatter,” Loki explained, dropping her hand. “This is where I escape to when I’ve had more than my fill of Stark’s parties.”

“Ooh, a secret hiding spot!” A grin curled over Theo’s lips, and for the first time all night he saw her eyes light up. “Thanks for the out - this shit was exactly the opposite of how I want to spend my time.”

“Would it surprise you to learn that most of us would rather spend our time anywhere but these insipid gatherings?” Loki said, turning to look out across the city. “I suspect Stark and my oaf of a brother are the only two who truly enjoy these… Events.”

“So why do you do it, then?” The question was asked earnestly, if her expression was anything to go by. “Can’t you just say no?”

“I suppose it would depend…” Loki paused to sip his beverage. “I have sat out my fair share of these gatherings, though they have also been… Beneficial… For my reputation. Generally speaking, I attend these functions so I minimize the incessant blundering and badgering Thor inevitably would subject me to should I refuse.”

“Didn’t peg you as someone who could be bossed around by your brother.” 

There was a hint of teasing in Theo’s comment, but Loki still bristled at her words. “My brother hardly bosses me around, mortal. I simply understand that tolerating these functions serves me well, even if they are not the manner in which I care to pass time.”

Theo snickered, but let the subject fall to the side in favor of amiable silence.

“I’ve been curious to ask - how was it that you came into your magic?”

Crossing her arms, Theo leaned against the balcony rail. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve all the time in the world.” Loki mirrored her posture, catching her eyes with a sly smile. “I am certainly curious.”

“It involves another realm and a case of mistaken identity.” Theo answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. “You can use your imagination.”

“What realm?” Loki pressed, finding himself rather amused by the way Theo seemed to dodge each of his questions. “It is difficult to imagine unless I have a sense of where it takes place.”

A sigh and rolled eyes were Theo’s initial response. “On a scale from one to ten of topics I’d like to discuss, I’d rather deepthroat a chainsaw than talk about where I came from.” The sarcasm in her comment was amusing, yet it was obvious the subject was uncomfortable.

Loki, sensing that it wouldn’t be a good idea to push the topic, turned to look out across the skyline. “So… not a pleasant location. Duly noted.”

“It’s a story for another time.” Theo flashed a surprisingly haunted, yet grateful smile. She turned back to gaze at the city, keeping her eyes on the skyline in the distance as she continued. “So, Loki, prince of Asgard, god of mischief and trickery… Give me the scoop. Is Sleipnir real?”

Loki nearly fell over laughing from the surprise change of subjects. Of all the questions he’d been asked, Sleipnir was typically a subject most were too afraid to ask of, much less within an initial conversation.

She certainly seemed fearless.

When he finally regained his composure, he turned to find Theo beaming with a quiet pride. 

“Hardly - It was a tale spread for a bet that perhaps was too tantalizing for Midgardians, as they’ve clearly not forgotten it.” A grin curled across his lips, letting a chuckle escape. “However, there are other tales. As a child, I knew just enough to be dangerous…” Loki started, launching into a series of tales from his youth of the tricks he pulled on his brother and the trouble he caused. A sparkle came to his eye as he began to weave imagery of a tiny, doe-eyed and raven-haired Loki causing all kinds of chaos in Asgard. 

He only paused when the pair both laughed so hard that they had to stop and gather themselves, both wiping tears from their eyes.

My heart is breaking for my sister And the con that she called "love" But then I look into my nephew's eyes Man, you wouldn't believe The most amazing things That can come from Some terrible nights

Letting someone else talk was a desperately needed reprieve.

It wasn’t that Theo was out of her element; on the contrary, she was more than comfortable with rubbing elbows with the high and mighty. She’d done this hundreds, no, thousands of times before. Granted, it was a long time ago and in an entirely different place, when everything she understood about the world was almost opposite to how it stood now; regardless, she wasn’t out of practice.

Still, she hadn’t anticipated that her first day as a member of the Avengers would play out quite the way it did. Tony Stark’s ego wasn’t a surprise - he had a head so big it could be seen from another solar system. He was, at least, nice enough to take her around and introduce her to people instead of throwing her straight to the wolves. A Norse god with the personality of a golden retriever talking her ear off as he gave her a tour of the building she’d be living and working in? That was a bit of a surprise. She thought Thor would be more hot-headed and less… cheerful. The eyes of the other Avengers constantly watching her was to be expected - after all, she knew the reputation that preceded her. 

But now, she stood on the balcony of a skyscraper taking in the New York skyline. A different Norse god stood next to her, spinning tales that would sound stranger than fiction if it weren’t for what she’d already seen and what she’d already lived through. 

Loki was harder to read. In the briefing, he seemed amused by Theo. When he was among the group who crashed her show, he regarded her with a certain sharpness that seemed wary, yet intrigued. At her soccer game it seemed like he regarded her with skepticism, not to mention that he looked less than thrilled to be there. 

When Thor barged into the room where Loki was reading on Theo’s tour, she thought Loki was going to stab him until he realized she was present… Perhaps he wasn’t always as charming and witty as she expected. Theo struggled to believe that Loki, the prickly, aloof god, was actually related to Thor, the literal sunshine puppy god, much less that they were brothers. 

Then again, maybe Loki wasn’t so angsty after all. After all, the god of brooding was next to her, a twinkle in his eyes and a grin dangling from his lips as he regaled her with tales of mischief and tomfoolery. Even if some of the tales seemed a bit far-fetched to her, the laughter they coaxed from her was something almost unfamiliar; it had been years since she laughed that hard.

“You know, I have to confess: Thor may be onto something.” Theo had barely gotten her laughter under control before she spoke up.

“Is that so?” Loki’s face sobered as he studied her, waiting for what she would say next.

Theo glanced over at Loki, giving him a nod. “Thor wouldn’t stop extolling your virtues throughout my whole tour. He insisted I get to know you. Any idea why?”

Loki snorted, imagining the thought of Thor harassing their newest team member. “You exaggerate, I’m sure. Still, he can be… overzealous at times.”

“He seemed to think we’d be great friends.” 

Loki’s skepticism was on full display as he studied her, trying to see if she was lying.

“Well, you’re out here with me after rescuing me from small-talk hell, you brought me one of my favorite drinks based on a gut instinct, clearly we have a similar style, and we both wield magic…” Theo pointed out, holding up her drink as if to make a point. “So maybe it’s not as overzealous as you think.” 

“Touché,” Loki agreed, though it was strangely reluctant. “I… used to ruffle people’s feathers.” His voice got quieter and lost some of its bravado. “Thor worried I would never find friends due to past transgressions, or grow accustomed to life on Midgard. While that may no longer be the case, I suspect he still worries; it is likely why he still drags me out with him.” 

Of the answers Theo was expecting, that… wasn’t it. Maybe some clever quip about Thor wanting to set his brother up with someone so he’d stop giving Thor shit about dating a mortal, or something funny. This seemed… almost a little too personal.

Time for a change in subject.

“Tell me another story - What was the best prank you’ve played on Tony Stark?”

That was all it took for Loki to perk up and launch into another elaborate story that led to side-splitting laughter.

Perhaps the golden retriever god was onto something - maybe they would be good friends.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The other night, you wouldn't believe The dream I just had about you and me I'd called you up, but we both agreed It's for the best you didn't listen It's for the best we keep our distance, oh For the best, you didn't listen It's for the best we keep our distance, oh

#loki #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #marvel loki #mcu loki #loki angst #loki fluff #loki smut #(eventually) #loki x oc #loki x ofc #when everything's made to be broken #WEMTBB

[beanyboobee]

I have been thinking that Noe isn't a full vampire for quite sometime, that even if he is he wouldn't be called a vampire but something else but I've never been able to find anything to back myself up.

Until we got introduced to the story he read as a child, a story he and Richie bond over reading in chapter 62.2, The adventures of Kresnik.

As the idea is presented to us is Kresnik was a Dham that solved mysteries between the humans and vampires with golden eyes and the ability to neutralise other Vampire abilities.

We also learn these books would of have to of been printed on the sly, which again adds layers to how Noe had the story as a child. Meaning his teacher was the one to obtain this tale, which is no surprise when we find out who the author is.

As we know Noe has abilities unlike any other Vampire even outside of his ability to read memories, pointed out by Domi who in one of her first appearances with Vanitas, assumed vanitas wanted to use Noes 'abilities' not just ability.

Though he obviously doesn't have gold eyes or the ability to neutralise other vampires [as far as we know] we also have another mystery that may tie into golden eyes. The fact that as a kid he appeared with a bandage over his eye for quite some time.

and If Noe and Marquis Machina are both Archivistes that adds more layers to Teacher pointing out how she doesn't need to act with her former dignity around him [former as though referring to before the genocide of the Archivisites]

Also the appearance of Marquis Machina before Noe was also suspicious. Though the teacher claimed she was around due to the attacks on humans for her to appear in front of Noe was purposeful. As though checking on him.

I have many theories on this so please buckle in.

Theory 1. Noe is or related to Kresnik. 1. Kresnik they point out was a very kind but foolish character something we see with Noe. He helped both humans and vampires. That Marquis Machina can see the future and create this story based on it or knew the original Kresnik

Which would explain why Teacher knew where Noe was and when in order to get him from the auction.

Theory 2: Kresnik is going to be the one giving this drug around. I did some digging and found Kresniks are mentioned in quite a few vampire media's.

But if we look at the actual term kresnik

A god of the sun, opposed to the moon this may be the first major mention of a character that represents the sun.

Then if we look at vamoire media and its relationship with a similar term

Both scream- oh no. To me for if these were used as inspiration we could see a new villian enter the scene. Or Noe himself of a Crusnik.

We see him as a kid drink Louis blood. He also drinks Domi. He often thinks if blood though vampires don't need to drink it to live. And as we see. Noe is stronger than ither vampires. Regenerating limbs. Having insane strength without training. And not to mention that fight with vanitas in which his hand takes the almost claw like monster form.

Theory 3. Aka my most backshit insane theory.

The theory that all of this is a time loop. That the teacher and Marquis Machina watch time and time again with one thing changing slightly every time. That everything that is happening. Is a story. The story of a Kresnik.

And if Noe was suppose to be Kresnik in this tale the thing that changed was the teacher taking him in. Completely derailing the course his story was meant to take. And the teachers instance on freewill. Is to see if the story will get itself back in track without any intervention. If everything truely is inevitable.

Not to mention we still don't know Noes true name.

#vanoe #vanitas theory #the case study of vanitas #vanitas anime #vanitas manga #vanitas #the case study of vanitas theory #noe archiviste

[littlewinter1917]

Love Me Tenderly

My blog is 18+ only. Minors DNI. 🔞 Don’t repost my work anywhere.

Words: 6.4k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: After everything that went down in Hawkins, sleepless nights and bad dreams are nothing new to Eddie; but whenever he gets tormented by his past, you’re by his side, with a gentle touch, ready to take care of him. 

Warnings: Mainly hurt/comfort and some fluff. Talks of nightmares and insomnia. Very brief mentions of Chrissy's and Patrick’s fates (so this is not spoiler free!). Swearing and talks about past drug use. Smut in the form of some tender love making in a bath tub. (Eddie has a praise kink, and you can’t change my mind; slightly sub!Eddie since reader is the one in control this time, Eddie being needy and a bit impatient, brief body worship ‘cause he really deserves that, some dirty talk and overstimulation, Eddie finishes early, but it’s okay because we love him, ends with a creampie, 'cause that’s where it’s at.)

A/N: I am once again back with a hurt/comfort fic, because Eddie deserves more than a little hug after everything he had to endure. I've decided to add some smut this time as well, and it turned out a bit more intense than what I had initially planed. Enjoy!

Read the story on AO3 here.

You find him in the middle of your shared kitchen, sitting in complete darkness at the kitchen island, all while staring off blankly into space, and you can’t help the way your heart sinks at the sight.

At the sight of the man you love, looking so utterly lost and exhausted, with his shoulders dropped and his dark curls sticking out in every possible direction, a tell-tail sign that he’s been running his fingers nervously trough his hair over and over again. 

The little digital clock on the counter lets you know you it’s sometime after two in the morning; entirely too early to be up yet - especially considering that you only went to bed a few hours ago. 

You don’t want to startle Eddie, although that seems rather inevitable, because he looks that lost in thought and feeling.

He didn’t hear your little pit-a-patter into the kitchen either, so his mind must be miles away, again. 

“Eddie,” you whisper into the darkness of the room, voice as soft as possible; yet he still jumps a little in surprise.

When he turns around towards you, you can see the utter exhaustion written all over his features, and the uneasy feeling in your chest tightens. 

“Oh, my love,” your voice is gentle and a bit pained, as you make your way over to him quickly, engulfing him in a hug that he immediately melts right into.

He instinctively clings to you, tightly, burrowing his face in the crook of your neck, as he lets out a shaky breath. 

“What are you doing up at this ungodly hour?” You whisper, while drawing gentle circles on Eddie’s back and he shudders at the feeling of your soothing touch. 

You notice that he’s dressed in nothing but his black boxers, the ones adorned with little white skulls and a washed-out, oversized metal shirt that makes his tall frame seem a lot more tiny. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” he mumbles, voice muffled by your shoulder, and you feel your heart break at the hushed admission. 

“But Eddie, we went to bed almost three hours ago,” you observe softly, trying not to let any judgement slip through.

It’s not that you’re angry or disappointed; but you are very much worried and concerned at the prospect of him being up all this time. 

“Sweetheart, why didn’t you wake me?”

The question slips from your lips quietly, and for a brief moment Eddie is silent before mumbling, “You looked so peaceful while sleeping, I just couldn’t-didn’t want to disturb that.”

“Eddie, you know you can always wake me up, I don’t mind it in the slightest. The only thing I do mind is the idea that you’ll have to go through all of this alone, love.”

Your hand comes up to cup his cheek, carefully, guiding him to look at you, and the sight makes your heart clench once more.

Eddie looks tired. Like, really, really tired. There are shadows under his eyes that you can make out despite the steady darkness that surrounds you two. His shoulders are still slumped, and he just looks beyond defeated. 

“Oh, my love,” you murmur, fingers gently caressing his cheek, and Eddie instinctively nuzzles into your hand, chasing your little touches like a touched-starved man. 

“You must have a lot on your mind, don’t you?”

Your voice is so utterly soft and full of understanding, that Eddie silently wishes he could wrap himself up in it, like the fluffy blankets you keep buying, despite already owning what seems like at least two lifetime supplies to him.

He just faintly nods his head at your question, eyes closed while he enjoys your gentle touch before muttering, voice almost breaking. 

“I keep thinking of her.”

And after a heartbeat of silence, he adds, “Keep seeing her on the fucking ceiling and- “

Eddie’s voice breaks, and he looks down, embarrassed, his bare feet suddenly a lot more interesting. 

“Oh, Eddie,” you whisper, voice pained. 

You know he’s talking about Chrissy. He doesn’t say her name often, but he also doesn’t need to. Not after everything that happened, and everything he’s been through. 

You don’t even really think about your next steps as you pull him closer again, and he hesitantly looks at you, eyes glossy and a little timid. 

“It’s okay Eddie,” you softly sooth, “It’s okay, you can cry sweetheart. You can let it all out, I’ve got you.”

Running your fingers softly through his hair, you feel him take a shuttering breath, before he practically folds into you, burrowing his face in the crook of your neck again as his shoulders start shaking with quiet sobs. 

His tears feel hot on your skin while he clings to you, arms wrapped around you tightly.

The room is quiet, safe for the low humming sound of your fridge and Eddie’s small sniffles and occasional sobs that pull on your heartstrings like a little kid that keeps tugging on their caregiver’s sleeve, scared to be left alone or forgotten. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” your voice is soothing as you quietly reassure your boyfriend that it’s okay, that he can cry and that you’ve got him no matter what. 

“I just-“ Eddie starts after the sniffles have ceased substantially, his voice now hoarse, and raw, “I just feel so stupid,” he mumbles, frustration clear in his voice, “It’s been months and I still see her face right before-before he took her, whenever I try to close my eyes and sleep.”

There’s another shaky breath before he admits, “And the weed doesn’t help, and the weird pills they’ve prescribed don’t help, and this is the third time this week that I-“ 

He doesn’t finish his sentence because his voice breaks once more and your protective hold on him tightens instinctively.

You’re at a loss for words, because you know there’s nothing you can say that will make the problem disappear.

It’s going to take time and patience and the vulnerability to open up and talk about it all – at least that’s what the therapist you two keep visiting says.

And you know that Eddie is doing better; better than before anyway, but it’s a slow progress and your boyfriend’s kind of impatient. You don’t blame him, though; not when he’s still haunted by nightmares and guilt and the persistent inability to sleep.

You’re still gently playing with some strands of his hair, and there’s a little sigh that leaves Eddies lips, as he nuzzles into you more.

“What do you need right now, my love?” You whisper and you feel Eddie shrug his shoulders, unsure. 

“Other than sleep?” he jokingly mumbles, and the little laugh that bubbles up your chest has Eddie smiling against your skin. 

God, he adores that sound. 

Even sleep deprived, he’s still a bit of a dork, you think.

But he’s your dork, and you love him more than anything. 

You try to think of something that might help, other than knocking him out cold with a beer bottle, maybe.

Remembering the words of your shared therapist, you know that you should try to take some of the pressure off; that doing something relaxing might be beneficial, and suddenly you have an idea. 

“Eddie?” you murmur, and he hums softly to signal that he’s still listening. 

“How about I run you a really nice and relaxing bath, to get your mind off things?” 

Eddie lifts his head carefully at your quiet proposal. 

“A bath?” 

“Yeah, I mean, we don’t have to, of course, but I was just thinking-“ 

“You’re gonna join me in this bath?” He questions, his eyes sparkling mischievously, despite still being beyond exhausted. 

God, this guy. 

“Well, probably not in the way you’re thinking. After all, I’m supposed to wind you down, not up.” 

“I can wind down, after you riled me up,” Eddie suggest lowly, before kissing that tender spot at the side of your neck that always has you singing with the sweetest sounds. 

“Eddie-“ The pitch of your voice is slightly raised, as you try to say his name in a gentle warning. 

“We already tried sex multiple times as a supposed cure for your insomnia, and that didn’t really help, remember?” 

“We could try again though, just to be really, really sure.” Eddie wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and you sigh. 

“Love, you’re beyond exhausted, so I really don’t think that’s a good idea; but if you’re still in the mood later, we can try tiring you out in that way, okay?” 

“Fine,” Eddie huffs, rather playfully, but his voice is still laced with a tired undertone. 

“Alright, let’s get you into a heap of bubbles, then.” You state, while carefully detangling yourself from the man you’re proud to call your own.

You’re still mindful of keeping him close, his hand securely wrapped in yours, because you know that the feeling of your touch has a calming effect on Eddie, successfully putting both his mind and body at ease. 

It doesn’t take long to get to your shared bathroom, and you carefully guide your boyfriend into the space. Noticing how the overhead lights are rather bright and distracting, another idea quickly crosses your mind. 

“Sit down on the toilet seat or something, love,” you gently order, “I’ll be back in a flash, I promise.”

There’s a small whine that slips past Eddie’s lips at the loss of your touch, but the look you give him is reassuring.

“It’s only gonna take a minute, don’t worry.”

You almost sprint out of the room, determined to gather everything you need in as little time as possible, and you like to think you succeeded when you step back into the space, arms carrying what might actually be a few million candles; give or take. 

“You’re planning to sacrifice me for a few more hours of sleep?” Eddie inquires at the sight of you and the many items you hold.

“Don’t give me any ideas, love,” you tease back, a playful smile on your lips before dropping most of the candles unceremoniously into the bathroom sink. 

“Do you want to start the water and get it to a temperature that’s comfortable for you?” You offer, while searching your heap of candles for a pair of matches.

You find it drowning between some tealights, a pair of pillar candles, and a halfway burned ritual candle you used during the last new moon.

It doesn’t take long for you to start lighting all the different candles you brought, arranging them all over your shared bathroom, and once the space is illuminated enough by the warm glow of the candlelight, you turn the regular lights off. 

The mood changes instantly, and you feel yourself relax at the sight of the golden hue of the small, flickering flames. 

“Oh, this is nice,” Eddie mumbles, and you smile at him gently. He’s sitting on the edge of the tub now, fingers slightly dipped into the growing body of water that slowly fills your bathtub. 

He watches you for a moment, as you search the cabin underneath the sink for some of your bath oils and salts.

The sound of the running water in the background fills the otherwise comfortable silence, until you start humming a gentle tune.

It’s a Queen song, Eddie notices, Long Away, maybe, and he can’t help but smile as he observes you move around your shared space, obviously determined and with a mission in mind, yet completely unaware of how adorable you look, as you twirl around in nothing but one of his band-shirts and your panties, that he gets brief glimpses of every now and then.

Fuck, he really loves you. 

He’s not sure what exactly he did to deserve you in his life, but your love and company are the greatest things he’s ever been blessed with.

You catch his tender gaze in the mirror, and you can’t help but wink at him.

“Watcha thinking about, pretty boy?” You playfully tease, and without breaking eye contact, Eddie states: “You.”

He holds your gaze a little longer, before adding, “Keep thinking how absolutely lucky I am to have you in my live.”

His little admission has your cheeks heat up, and you turn a little bashful.

“I’m the lucky one, Eddie.” You turn around towards him, and with only a few steps you’re standing in between his slightly opened legs.

“You’re the strongest, most resilient and kindhearted man I know.” You whisper, while cupping his cheek, gently, guiding his face to look up at you.

He still looks tired; not even the warm and forgiving glow of the candlelight can conceal the lingered shadows underneath his eyes.

But the way he gazes up at you, utter adoration and trust swimming in his eyes has your heart skipping multiple beats, like your favorite Sam Cooke record, that you and Eddie picked up at one of your first dates during a visit to a vintage vinyl shop.

Despite its flaws, you still listen to it frequently, and while Eddie complains about it occasionally, you know he actually really enjoys some of the classic tunes.

You nuzzle your nose gently against his before grazing his lips carefully in a tender kiss.

“Gotta get you out of your clothes, my love,” you whisper in between the kisses, and Eddie hums in agreement.

“You too, though,” he reminds you, and his persistence to get you to join him in his bubble bath has you giggling.

“Of course, sweetheart,” you promise, before your fingers find the hem of his shirt, pulling it up slightly, and Eddie can’t help but shiver at the feeling of your slender fingers brushing against the skin of his bare stomach. 

Jeez, he’s even more sensitive when he’s sleep-deprived, you think. 

“Arms up, love,” you softly order, and Eddie complies without really thinking too much about it.

“There you go, sweetheart.” Your voice is still so full of love and so utterly tender, that he feels like he might melt then and there, quicker than the little bath salts you’ve already added to the steaming water.

Eddie helps you out of your shirt, too, and both items of clothing get dropped somewhere on the bathroom floor, without much of an afterthought.

You’re standing face to face with Eddie now, and you can’t help but admire the man that’s looming slightly over you.

He’s so tall, and lean and despite having seen his tattoos scattered all over his body a million times before, the sight still makes you slightly feral each time.

As usual, you have to stand on your tiptoes in order to kiss him, and his hands come up immediately to your waist.

“You’re so fucking pretty, baby,” you mumble into the kiss, and Eddie blushes at the praise, a faint cherry color adorning his cheeks now.

“So, so fucking pretty,” you repeat in a whisper, as your lips trail down his neck, traveling lower and lower, till you’re suckling hickies all over his chest.

Your lips linger on the dark tattoos that bloom all over his skin, and Eddie keeps moaning and whimpering at the feeling of your soft lips against his bare chest, and the constant little praises that slip from you don’t help his short-circuiting mind and heart in the slightest.

“Fuck, angel, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans after you playfully bite one of his nipples. 

Uh-oh, you’re getting carried away yourself, you notice. This certainly doesn’t qualify as winding him down anymore, does it?

“Sorry love, can’t help myself, still get a little crazy when I see you like this. You know I meant it when I said you’re the prettiest boy in Indiana.”

Eddie still can’t quite believe it;

Can’t believe that he gets to call you his girl.

Can’t believe that you actually, earnestly desire him. 

Him.

Eddie “the freak” Munson.

But you’re here in your shared bathroom, looking up at him with loving eyes and a smile so gentle and bright, that it has his head spinning once more.

Or, maybe, his head never really stopped spinning after he first laid his deep brown eyes on you, he thinks; either way, he feels like he’s going to fucking transcend when you gaze up at him like that.

Your fingers are now playing with the elastic band of his boxers.

He’s quite erect, because how could he not be, when you’re kissing him like that, whispering your little praises into his ears like that, looking up at him with those big, bright eyes of yours like that, eyes so full of love and utter adoration.

“You want me to take these off, pretty baby?” You whisper, nails trailing slowly up and down his little happy trail, and he shivers. He feels entirely too hot all over his body, and while he likes to think it’s just the warm steam that steadily fills the closed space of your bathroom, he knows that’s not actually it.

You’re a fucking menace, but you’re his fucking menace, and he can’t imagine a life without you now. 

You’re about to rid Eddie of his boxers completely when you remember something. 

“Wait! I forgot to put the bath oils in!” You exclaim, and Eddie needs a moment to even understand what you’re talking about. 

Right, the bubble bath.

Because that’s why he’s here. 

“How much do you want, sweetheart?” You question, the little bottle now tightly in your hands.

It’s the one bath oil that Eddie actually really likes. It has the perfect vanilla scent; not to sweet, not to overpowering, just a nice warm fragrance that makes both of you feel really cozy and relaxed.

“Uh,-“ Eddie tries to figure out how the English language works again, exactly, or any language for that matter.

“Normally I’d put in like one cap of it, but because some extra bubbles might be fun, I’m going to put in two.” You decide, and all that Eddie’s capable of doing is nod his head.

“Uh-huh.”

When you turn back around towards him, he’s still dressed in his boxers.

“Sweetheart, what exactly are you waiting for?” You teasingly ask, before your eyes soften at the lingering sight of him.

“Want me to get you out of those, don’t you?”

Eddie nods his head once more and you try hard not to coo.

You’re careful when stripping him of his underwear.

He’s quite worked up by the looks of it; the tent in his boxers had been hard to miss anyway.

“Oh, love,” you mumble at the sight of his erect dick; red, hard, and leaking. “Gonna take care of you, I promise. But you have to get into the tub first, okay?”

Eddie whines, but complies.

“Good boy,” you whisper, before getting rid of your panties as well.

Seeing you completely bare in front of him, Eddie feels like his heart is going to give out.

Either that or his dick. 

Fuck, you’re beautiful. 

“Scoot over, love,” you instruct, before stepping into the bathtub, coming up carefully behind him.

The water you two immerse yourselves in is at the perfect temperature, and you watch with slight fascination as the steam keeps rising up from the light blue liquid, which manages to peek through the soft carpet of bubbles.

The space in the tub is tight, but not uncomfortable and Eddie’s sitting between your legs.

“Lean back, sweetheart, I got you.”

Eddie does what he’s told, and you can’t help but smile a little at how obedient he’s being. You’re not often the one in charge, but the few times you are, are always really exhilarating.

You’re leaning back into the edge of the bathtub now, and Eddie’s leaning back into you.

He lets out a content sigh at the feeling of your warm skin pressed against his back, and the warm water sloshing around his legs and torso.

He might as well be in heaven, he thinks, though he doubts the angels there will be as pretty as you.

That is to say, if he’ll actually make it to heaven, which is a bit questionable, but who cares about that right now?

He certainly doesn’t.

Your hands come up to gently brush his dark curls to one side, giving you free reign over the now exposed part of his neck.

A territory that your lips instantly take over and claim.

You’re planting little kisses down the back of his neck, moving them up towards his ear, before coming down to his shoulder and his broad back again.

“Feels nice,” he mumbles with a groan, “Fuck, feels so fucking nice.”

“I know sweetheart,” you mutter in between lingering kisses that get more slopy by the minute.

“Love you so much, Eddie. So, so much. And I’ll always keep you safe, you know that, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie whispers, eyes closed, feeling completely blissed out.

One of your hands has come down to his narrow waist, as a way to keep him close.

It’s not like he’s gonna slip away anytime soon, not on his own accord anyway, but you still like to hold him like this.

Your other hand is playing with the curly strands of his hair. 

Jesus, he thinks, you could make a religion out of that.

Out of the way you touch him so tenderly, while your lips grow slightly more possessive again, nibbling and sucking away on his pale skin, that looks almost golden in the candlelight.

“You’re safe, Eddie, no one’s gonna hurt you now, not anymore.”

The sound that leaves Eddie’s lips is somewhere between a whine and a hum of agreement. 

Cute. 

After some more minutes of nothing but gentle touches, and even gentler words, and hungry lips that stand in such stark contrast to the previous two actions, you quietly mumble, “Gonna wash your hair now, okay, love?”

All that Eddie can muster is a hushed, “Yeah.”

And you can’t help but smile at how much he seems to enjoy your impromptu treatment.

He’s completely leaning back into your touch, eyes closed, a blissed-out smile on his face, and little content huffs and sighs leaving his plump lips every now and then. 

Prettiest boy in Indiana, obviously. 

His smile only widens, as you lather the shampoo up in his hair, and he absolutely melts into the touch of your hands, as your fingers keep gently grazing his scalp.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers, “Fuck, don’t stop this feels incredible.” 

Instead of answering, you just keep working the shampoo through the dark strands, before deciding to let your lips wander down his shoulders and neck again.

“You have the prettiest sighs, love,” you mumble against his skin, and watch, slightly amused, how a faint red tint travels across Eddie’s cheeks once more.

You don’t think you’ve washed anyone’s hair as deliberately or long as you’ve just washed Eddie’s, but it’s hard to stop when he keeps making these little noises, that go right to your heart and core.

“Gotta rinse your hair now, Eds,” you explain, and the guy trapped between your legs whines. 

“No,” he states, and you can almost hear his pout.

“I’m sorry, love, but I gotta. But there’s still the step off the conditioner, so your head massage isn’t quite over yet.”

Eddie just lets out a disgruntled huff, and you can’t help but smile into the lingering kiss you just left in an apologetic gesture on that one spot behind his ear, that always has him reeling.

“Tilt your head back a bit. Yeah, that’s it.” You softly praise, before turning the shower head on, rinsing Eddie’s curls off the fruity shampoo.

You’re mindful not to let any of the water-shampoo-blend run down Eddie’s soft features, hand brushing over his forehead repeatedly in a preventative measure.

Once you’re done, you work the conditioner gently into his hair, and Eddie’s back with his little whines and sighs.

“Fuck, I-fuck-“ He mumbles quietly. 

“What is it, love?” you question, slightly concerned at the breathiness of his voice.

“Fuck, I’m just-I’m just so fucking hard.” He admits lowly.

“Yeah?” you ask teasingly, before offering one of your hands out to him.

“You wanna show me?”

Eddie doesn’t even really answer, as his hand quickly grips yours, guiding it towards his pulsing cock. 

Fuck, he really is hard, you think, once Eddie’s hand wraps yours around the part of his body where he currently needs you the most. 

God, you’ve done quite the number on him.

“Oh, love. Does it hurt a lot?”

Eddie nods his head, mumbling something unintelligible in agreement.

“You want me to take care of it?”

Another vigorous nod.

“Need your words, sweetheart.”

“Please,” he mumbles, hand squeezing yours around his thick member, “I need to be inside of you, please.”  

He bucks up his hips for emphasis, and you have to stifle a small laugh at his blatant urgency.

“Alright, alright, I did promise you that I’ll take care of you.” You concede, before shifting slightly in your seat.

“Eddie, you’ll have to scoot to the side, so I can get past you. Yeah, that’s it.”

You move past Eddie, so that you’re facing him now, instead of sitting behind him like you did mere seconds ago.

You’re quick to curl into his lap, straddling him, and another needy whine slips past Eddie’s lips.

“Patience, love,” you gently scold, as you line him up with your center, before slowly sinking down on his achingly hard length, and you both groan and the sudden and pleasant feeling. 

Fuck, you feel so full, so utterly and completely full, and you think you need a moment to adjust to his size; but Eddie’s has trouble waiting as his grip on your waist tightens, and his hips buck up into you slightly, trying to get some friction going. 

“Relax, baby, I said I’ll do the work, remember? You just have to be a good boy and do what you’re told.” 

“’m trying,” Eddie mumbles, voice shaky, “I’m trying, but you just feel so good, fuck, so warm and tight, ah-“ he lets out a startled little yelp as you lift yourself up ever so slightly, before sinking down on him completely again. 

God, finding a rhythm like that is not as easy as they make it out in the movies, you think.

It’s a bit more slippery than you’d anticipated, and you quietly curse yourself for putting in so much of the relaxing bath oil, because getting a grip on anything other than Eddie, or the edge of the tub is rather difficult now.

The way your legs are bend is certainly not the most comfortable position either, and you know you won’t be able to bounce around like that for a long period of time; but luckily, judging by Eddie’s needy and already flustered state, it probably won’t be that long anyways.

Your hands find their way back to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling into his dark and wet curls as you lean in for a messy, open-mouthed kiss, all while lifting yourself up and slowly sinking back down on him again.

Eddie whines at the feeling, and the combination of your touches, movements, and kisses has his mind absolutely spinning out of control.

“Shh, you’re doing so good for me, Eddie,” you whisper, before nibbling playfully on a spot underneath his ear, and the action has him buck his hips back into you again instinctively.

Normally you would tell him off, but you let it slide.

You’ve been teasing him quite a bit after all.

So, instead, you keep rolling your hips against his, trying to find a rhythm that’s both not too fast but not to slow either. Eddie’s hands come up more securely around your waist, and he looks up at you with awe and hearts in his eyes as you keep moving up and down on him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, so beautiful, look so pretty bouncing on my cock,” he mutters, voice strained.

“Love you so much, fuck.”  

The groan that leaves Eddie’s lips is loud and rough as you clench around him, and he throws his head back in pleasure as you shift slightly, changing the angle and taking him even deeper.

“You feel so good inside of me, Eddie,” you mumble against his damp skin, “Might have to keep you like this forever, you know.”

“’s fine,” he slurs, eyes half closed as he watches you a little longer before his hands move down to your hips.

“Know you said I shouldn’t do anything, but I wanna help.”

He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck before nibbling feverishly at the skin there.

“Please, let me help,” he whines, and the small nod of agreement is all that he needs before his hands guide your hips up and down on his length, helping you hold your pace.

Seeing Eddie as far gone as he currently looks, completely fucked out and desperate, only adds to the growing feeling of the pleasant pressure inside of your pelvis that you know all too well.

You can’t help but clench around him again, and the movement causes his breath to hitch.

“Shit, you gotta slow down or something, or I’m gonna-I’m gonna cum.”

“It’s alright, Eddie, you can come whenever you’re ready,” you reassure him gently, your pace faltering only slightly, as you start to feel your thighs ache a little.

“But you haven’t-haven’t come yet,” Eddie whispers, voice trembling.  

“That’s okay love, this is about you right now,” you remind him, but he shakes his head determined.

“Don’t wanna, need you to come first.”

“Eds, baby, it’s okay, I can see how badly you need this. I can still get off with your fingers, or maybe, if you’d like, I could just keep using your cock.” You breathe quietly against his ear, and the mere idea of the overstimulation has Eddie’s mind in scrambles.

He starts bucking his hips more, trying to meet yours with little trusts, and you deliberately clench around him again.

“Fuck, fuck,” he mumbles, before his hands wander lower to grip your butt roughly, working you up and down his length in an increasingly desperate matter.

“Shit, I’m gonna-“

“I know, love. I know. You can come. Fill me up, Eddie, need you to give me every last drop of your cum.”

“Fuck, I-“ Eddie cuts himself off by burrowing his face in the nape of your neck, groaning deeply, and pushing himself as far into you as possible, before holding you there tightly.

You feel him twitch inside of you, and it’s followed by the exhilarating feeling of the warmth of his seed that coats and spreads through your cunt, and you clench around him once more.

“God, your pussy’s the best one I ever had,” he mumbles with a pant, his sweaty chest rising and falling quickly underneath the soft palm of your hand, his heartbeat going a thousand beats per minute. 

 “Oh fuck, you didn’t-“ Your boyfriend realizes as he comes down from his haze slightly.

“’s alright, Eddie,” you whisper while playing with his soft curls again.

“But you said-“

“I know what I said, but I don’t need to come right now. Seeing you like this has been quite the enjoyable endeavor all on its own.” 

You shift in his lap, and Eddie hisses at the movement, his cock beyond sensitive now.

“Shit, sorry,” you mumble, placing an apologetic kiss on his shoulder, before detangling yourself from him gently.

His now flaccid cock slips out of softly, and you watch the water around where you two were connected mere seconds ago grow slightly milky.

Fuck, that’s hot. 

Talking about things that are hot, though, the water certainly isn’t anymore, you realize with a small shiver. Eddie, ever the attentive boyfriend, notices, and he’s quick to pull you back into him.

Screw his sensitive cock. But not literally, ‘cause as hot as he thinks that the whole  overstimulation thing is, it has proven itself to be a bit too much most of the time. 

“Still have to get that conditioner out of your hair,” you murmur against Eddie’s soft and wet skin. “Gotta wash your body now too.”

Eddie hums at that, before kissing your nose with a teasing smile.

“I can still give you a helping hand, you know; I‘ve been told my tongue’s quite good as well.” 

“Yeah, but that’s most definitely not an option right now, unless you want to drown between my thighs.” 

“There’s worse ways to go.” 

You can’t help but huff at that. 

What a dork. 

“Alright, you freak, let’s get the conditioner out of your hair, and figure everything else out after that.” You state with a playful shove against Eddie’s shoulder, before grabbing the shower head once more.  

“Fuck, I feel so warm and cozy,” Eddie mumbles against your bare skin.

You’re currently both cuddled up together on your living room floor, in a heap of fluffy blankets in front of your small fireplace, and you smile back lazily at your man.

“Told you when we got that place that you would thank me for insisting on having that.”

You point a finger at the crackling and flaming logs, the hue of it warm and golden on your skin.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Eddie huffs with a laugh, before pulling you close and capturing your lips in a searing kiss, that’s putting the hot and flickering flames next to you to absolute shame.

Your hands find their way into his hair instinctively. It’s still wet from the bath you took less than half an hour ago, but you don’t mind. Instead, you curl up more into your boyfriend, nibbling playfully on his lower lip, and he groans.

“You absolute fucking minx,” he mumbles, and you just smile at him brightly, after pulling away from him for a moment.

You can’t help but notice how he looks utterly adorable, cuddled up next to you in two different blankets, because he couldn’t decide on the fucking color.

You watch him yawn with a small smile, your heart leaping gently at the sight.

Looks like someone’s finally getting sleepy, you think.

“The bath was a great idea,” Eddie murmurs, voice low.

“I’m glad you feel a bit better.”

“Yeah,”

Eddie’s brown eyes gaze into yours lovingly.

“Got my mind of everything for a bit.”

“Have these thought been coming back again?”

“Just briefly,” he admits, his voice taking on a more vulnerable tone.

“You know it’s not your fault, right? You probably don’t feel like it, but what happened to Chrissy and Patrick, that’s not on you, even if some of those stupid Hawkins residents would disagree.”

You cup Eddie’s face once more, gently.

“You did everything you could, and then some.”

“Still think I should have done more,” he admits quietly, “Think I should’ve known that something was wrong with Chrissy, when she asked me for those fucking drugs.”

“You had no way of knowing what she was going through, Eds.”

You’re carefully drawing some soft patterns on the bare skin of his chest, before kissing it gently.

“It’s going to take time, but it is going to get better. And before you say that I don’t really know that, I do. I do know that because I know you, and I meant it when I said you’re the strongest most resilient man I know.”

He huffs at that, but the look in his eyes is tender.

“You really think so?”

“You bet I do,” you whisper, before kissing his lips softly. Only breaking away again because Eddie can’t quite stop the incoming yawn.

“The kisses are that good, huh?” you tease, and Eddie looks at you slightly confused.

“What are you talking about?” he questions, and you just smile and shake your head.

“What do you need now, my love?” You ask instead, your voice is still utterly soft, and Eddie contemplates your words for a heartbeat or two before his face lights up.

“You still have you’re copy of Something wicked this way comes, right?” he questions, and you immediately know what he’s on about.

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, would you-I mean if you’d want to-“

“You want me to read it to you again?” You finish the stammering sentence of your boyfriend.

“Yeah,” Eddie’s voice is hushed and a little timid, and you stifle the urge to coo. 

What a sweetheart. 

“God thing I grabbed this earlier, then,” you state with a smile, before pulling the book out from beneath the pile of blankets, waving it softly.

“Aw, man, you know me better than I know myself,” Eddie whispers, slightly in awe, before cuddling up close to you.

“Think we left off at chapter 17,” he adds with a mumble, and you laugh.

“You really like that story, don’t you?”

Eddie just hums in agreement, and you brush your nose gently against his before opening the book back up. 

You’re barely three pages in, when you hear the telltale sound of Eddie’s soft snores, and the smile on your face only widens after you see him curled up and clinging to you tightly.

You gaze at his sleeping form with tender eyes.

Eyes full of love and adoration for the man next to you.

Brushing a strand of his unruly curls out of his face, you watch his lashes flutter faintly at the touch, before he’s nuzzling deeper into your embrace and warmth.

You can’t help but feel a little proud that your plan worked out perfectly.

You’ve adorned the ground with enough blankets to spend the night where the two of you are currently residing, without risking exorbitant amounts of back pain in the morning.

You’re going to stay here, with Eddie snuggled up in your arms, because you’ve been having the growing feeling that sleeping somewhere that isn’t his bed, might actually be a little easier for Eddie.

He keeps putting all these kinds of pressures on himself, about what he should be doing or should have done.

So, falling asleep in a place that he doesn’t typically connotate with sleeping, might be a bit easier than trying to fall asleep in his bed.

You’ll have to talk to him about that tomorrow, you think, before turning your attention back towards the beautiful man in your arms. 

God, he looks utterly peaceful, even if it’s just for a while.

But you’re convinced that he will get better because it’s him.

Eddie. 

Your Eddie,

and he truly is the most amazing person you know.

You observe with soft eyes how his chest falls and rises with steady breaths.

You keep a careful watch on him for a while longer, just to make sure that he’s dreaming alright, and not getting pulled back into another gruesome nightmare.

“I love you so much, Eddie,” you whisper gently into the dark, lips brushing briefly against your boyfriends temple, before pulling the blankets around you two tighter, and then you’re drifting off too, joining Eddie in a tender and beautiful dream. 

____________________

And that's it! This has been my first time writing some actual smut, so if this really sucked, blame it on that.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson smut

[bread-tab]

i'm trying to get over my deep embarrassment about being So Bad At Math and let myself accept it and work on it and really think about it again—

which is hard! because every time i even bring up my struggles and/or the idea of having dyscalculia i get shut down like "no you're too smart, you can do math, you're just anxious, you're just overthinking it"

... yeah, i can do math, but i do it slowly and by shortcuts and memorization and being good with calculators and by redoing everything five times as fast as i can to catch the inevitable stupid mistakes. i can do math like the average dyslexic person can read.

i'm a cashier and i can't count people's change back to them using that subtraction(?) trick. i mess up too often.

i'm overthinking it because i keep having to relearn significant parts of multiplication and division every year or two.

—and, uh, anyway, and now that i'm thinking about it again after getting back into therapy and all that. working actively on self-acceptance. it just hit me that the number i have the most trouble with is 1.

like of course i didn't want to admit that. one. one! can you even explain to me what one is? probably not! it's too obvious! it's intuitive, right?

well. not for me.

1 is actually a very abstract number. when you're looking at stuff in the real world—counting beans, slicing pies, whatever—you're actually arbitrarily grouping billions of atoms and molecules into a "single" object. you're one person, but you're also trillions of cells.

i do fine with the real world, but not so well with abstract quantities. my intuition is concrete. in the real world you can't multiply things. that would violate the conservation of mass. you just move things around (or compare them to each other). and practically speaking you're always moving around lumps of stuff and an atom or a crumb here or there doesn't matter. 100 vs 99 is not a big deal. 1 vs 2 is. (sometimes i get very upset about fractions.)

i can't hold the idea of "one" as a pure quantity in my mind very well. i think of everything as a set. (i was very happy to encounter set theory in middle school. genuinely ecstatic.) i have to visualize 1 as something tangible, give it a shape. a dot. a circle. a square. the problem is, 1 is really small. either i'm picturing it as something big enough to have other stuff in it—too big—or as basically an empty set, which ends up resulting in a lot of errors because i treat it like 0.

i can think it more easily in binary sometimes—explicitly distinguishing between 1 and 0!—but that means a lot of repetition which i can't keep track of well enough for regular arithmetic. the repetition is worse for my working memory.

idk, it's late and i'm rambling. it's just. this is a disability i have. it's on my mind because i've been struggling really badly with time management and today i really realized that a big part of that is because time management involves constantly doing math. i get to see my little arithmetic mistakes add up to cascading problems in real time.

what's a little 1 misplaced here or there? whoops, that 1 was an hour. 15 minutes is basically the same as 20. oh but 20 is about the same as 30. is there really a big difference between half an hour and an hour? well, i have 60 whole minutes, might as well waste 5. 45 minutes is almost an hour.

15 minutes late is "you no-call no-showed your appointment." 10 minutes late is "your timecard is looking bad. you're on your first warning, after your third one you're getting fired." 5 minutes late is a "tardy," and i've never had a clean attendance record.

it's past 3 a.m. i need to get up at 11. will i get 8 hours of sleep?

do i ever?

this is not a very kind world in which to struggle with simple math.

#dyscalculia #don't get me started on what it's like to manage money #at least you can't go into time debt #long post #venting #i guess #ableism

[spearxwind]

Hi hello I wanna talk a bit about CD currently but Im not sure if its gonna be too long/negative so I'm gonna put my thoughts under a lid <3

So like. To start off it's really not a secret that I have a lot of trouble when it comes to crafting stories. This has been the case for many years, and will continue to be the case probably forever.

Challenger Deep felt like an exception to this at first, but since starting development on it my life took some turns that made it clear that CD suffers from the same and from different problems

To start with... I started using it as a vehicle for my grief at the start. Talas (especially) and Graves were both used as vehicles for my grief while I was going through stuff the past couple of years, and that inevitably bled through into The Everything.

It's not a bad thing to do this at all mind you (It helped me immensely) but it gave CD a strange foundation for me to build on that now I feel like I am at a major disconnect with, so I would like to build some more foundation around it, so to speak.

I would like to recraft the story (not rewrite it entirely because theres things i rly love, but theres others that I'd like to improve), and a lot of the lore (I feel like I closed my options a bit too much with some of it so I want to make it more expansive too. Part of why I wrote it the way it was was so I could invite friends to make stuff for CD but that did not go over well at all so I think I am going to not do that again). I just havent had the time to work on it properly, and since it's in this state where I feel like I need to "fix" it, I don't feel as passionate about it as last year so at the moment I'm letting it ride and waiting for when I'm excited to work on it again

I would like to add more characters as well and actually do justice writing-wise to the characters that are already in there too.

Also I won't lie, a big part of my investment in CD until recently was my oc ship, with Talas and Hades, and ever since I got into my current relationship I just havent thought much about them at all because I started pretty much actually living all of the shitposts and tropes I'd written and it started making me feel a bit strange to write/draw about that, so I need to fix that as well. See why I feel weird about it and what I can do to stop it and get back to those two

Additionally I've had a redesign of talas and hades' markings in my WIPs for months now. Hades is done, but on Talas' side Im not sure how to add in his bioluminescence pattern because something isnt working for me. I wanted him to be more visibly purble though with said markings. Everything else I really like, its just the glowy pattern (though watch me change the markings anyways bc im an indecesive beast)

Here's a snippet of them:

I wanted them both to have more natural fishy looking markings pretty much

So yeah, that's currently the state of things. I miss it a lot and i rly wanna work on it again proper, maybe now that I've acknowlegded it and made a post about it I will get a second wind like I've gotten before after getting The Gunk out of my chest.

If you read all that thank you I hope you have a swag day <3

#thunderclap #challenger deep #putting this in the tag in the meantime for anyone who might be curious as to why i havent really spoken about it #windyart

[scarlettrose567]

MyHouse.Wad: What a fucking trip

Just finished MyHouse.wad. And goddamn, just goddamn. First of all, it is a fucking fantastic game let alone considering it's a free mod, easily on par with the original doom in terms of quality.

My overall impression is that this is a type of game that could ONLY come out as a mod. I mean, can you imagine say the next Call of Duty game where you can beat the whole thing as normal, but if you dig deeper it has a whole separate game exploring an endless house?

That all being said, two main gripes

The final fight was waaay too large/long, and if it was half the size it would be twice as impactful imo.

Ending is somewhat underwhelming, although that's somewhat inevitable since it's not going to straight up tell you what happens.

Oh yeah and 3) The labyrinth.

I love the idea of the labyrinth, however wish it was developed slightly more. I don't want there to be any enemies, but maybe a scrap of story or flavor would've been warmly welcomed. As is it's completely optional and you can't do anything apart from leave. However, it is indeed very unnerving (loved the touch of having the doors you open while inside being louder than average when they close by themselves).

Oh yeah, plus the blood appearing in the airport's bathroom did feel a bit janky/random and somewhat frustrating to trigger.

But in general it's all in the spirit of what it is trying to accomplish, and it absolutely excels in making you feel on edge, like the House is trying to get you to leave while drawing you in further and further.

But, you may be asking, what about the central mystery? What the heck is MyHouse.wad about anyway??

So, I won't rehash the exact wording (you can find that online easily enough), but to put it simply the creator of the mod is allegedly brushing up an old .wad file found in the floppy disc of a deceased childhood friend, and a journal as a word document plus some photos are attached to the mod when you download it.

Reading over the journal, a few odd section stuck out to me. He mentions that an old childhood friend passed away, and yet the very next day he writes "I never imagined that I would be saying goodbye to my friend so soon." Not something you would say about someone you only knew when you were a child, and hadn't been in contact with for years.

He starts working to restore and add things to the .wad he found. Over time, he becomes increasingly obsessed with it and it starts to affect his dreams.

He dreams about a house burning down, and finding a still born baby in the attic, of being hunted and finding refuge in a cave...

Something *very* strange happens on Dec 16. He seems to revert to a childhood persona, writing "it'll be nice to have some time away from the school", despite mentioning his job earlier, and "i'm sure they'll be a lot of fun and there wilL be plenty of laughter and good times". The day after he makes a comment about lack of sleep.

He dreams more. He dreams his reflection winks back at him, that he enters his bathroom mirror and finds comfort in that strange world.

He dreams he is in a car crash, then a plane crash. He survives the car crash. He does not survive the plane crash.

Valentines day: "Happy Valentines day to the only person I ever loved. For a short time, you brought a little happiness to this painful existence called life. I hope we can be together again one day. In the meantime… I’ll keep looking for that other someone who can be the ray of light in my life that you turned out to be."

He mentions how "After 13 years" he finally has the skills to finish the map, despite him mentioning he worked on it first 20 years ago with his childhood friend, according to the original description for the .wad.

He writes how the map is altering code by itself, growing when he's not looking;

"Without my guiding hand, the map doesn’t know what to build. But I can help it. Guide it. It seems to respond to my designs, changing them to match my emotional state. It knows what I’m feeling. It knows how Thomas felt."

He dreams of lying on a beach, safe and content, only to realize it is all fake. He writes about the agony of a heaven, and eternally being tormented by your own anguish, and how lucky his winking self is, to live a mortal life on a real beach, finding happiness in the small things he can control.

He finally publishes the mod, with no further entries apart from how he managed to publish a "safe" version. He won't allow the House to corrupt anyone else.

So, what to make of it all.

First and obviously, he clearly knew his childhood friend a lot more recently than his childhood, and the Valentine's Day strongly supports the fact they were partners - however, I do think they weren't in contact for at least a few years before his friend died. The "13 years ago" comment, plus the fact that items in the mod state "It was not to be" when picked up suggest that they were together for a time after, but then broke up. Both the crash and plane crash suggest something went wrong - maybe they fought, maybe there was an actual physical action - who knows. The airport section of the map further suggests that perhaps one or both of them traveled away from where they grew up? Moreover, the creator's comments about a "mirror version, happy on that other beach" suggests that maybe he made a mistake, and he's tormented knowing in another universe he could have been happy with his partner.

During the Brutalist area of the mod, you find two dogs - one completely harmless, the other a two headed monster that can kill you relatively easily if you aren't careful. But if you kill one, the other dies as well. Similarly, they can never meet each other. That could be a metaphor for their relationship - they couldn't be together, but couldn't bear being apart either.

However, there is of course a far darker possibility. A few items in the mod tell you "I want pop", and "The boy deserves a milkshake." This suggests a father-son relationship of some kind. Indeed, the very first area outside the house itself is a nursery for very young children, suggesting at some point he and his childhood friend adopted a child at some point. However, the fact that the house can burn down at some point, plus the constant dreams of disaster and the stillborn child could point to the fact that the child died somehow, possibly in a violent manner. If this is true, this would explain why they broke up, and why the original creator buried the memory - it was simply too traumatic to think about, until the death of his former partner forced these memories up to the surface, leading to him creating this mod as a coping mechanism. His comments about dealing with his own thoughts for eternity also suggest this - he could not bear to think about what had happened over and over and over again without being able to change anything.

The constant use of mirrors within the mod also tells us how much he wishes things had turned out differently - how he wants to live in a different dimension altogether, where this didn't happen, where he remained with his partner. The fact that if you leave the house without grabbing all the items might suggest they also sold (and potentially demolished) the house itself.

The house that can never leave his mind.

#two shots at midnight #doom #myhouse.wad #house of leaves #theory #fan theory

[edenatknight]

Hello Mudblood - a fanfic of a fanfic

Based on Manacled written by SenLinYu. Draco Malfoys pov after Hermione arrives at the manor. Go easy on me. Manacled is my first fanfic and I am still in recovery lol. So I guess technically this is the first fanfic I've written too. Pls excuse spelling mistakes etc, this is a first draft I wanted to get out of my brain, written on my phone on the way to an appointment! I've not absorbed any extra material either, such as Sen's Q&As, so this is born from my own imaginings based on reading Manacled. I've tried to emulate Sen's style, with minor changes to (attempt to) add narrative impact form Dracos POV. Feedback very welcome - Genuinely. If I get some good pointers, I might do more.

Sorry I guess this is a Dramione fanfic account now lol

~ Hello Mudblood ~

Draco headed to his bedroom ready to dive into a bottle of fire whisky, like he had nearly every night since he was told Hermione was found.

He swung the door open and almost stoped dead in his tracks. Fuck. Hermione was sitting at his desk with eyes frozen with fear. What is she doing in here?!

Fucking Astoria. She did this.

He hadn’t even had time to think about the inevitable. Between his death eater duties, immediately plotting how to get Hermione out, dodging Astoria in the house, and burying this horrid situation behind occlumency walls just so he could get through a day, he was not ready for seeing her for the second time. He’d been avoiding her and avoiding thinking about it. Since he found out she was being put into the breeding program. Since he found out it was he who was meant to “breed” her. The thought was abhorrent and the nausea hadn’t left him since she arrived.

He’d done the mental acrobatics trying to figure out a way to avoid it. Get her out before he had do do it. But it just wasn't possible. Plans were in motion, but just not quick enough. He even contemplated just ending it both for them in a dramatic murder suicide. But he wanted her so desperately to live. She would never forgive him, but she’d be alive. He wanted her to be free, even if he never lived to see it.

There was no way out, only through. They were both trapped here. If Voldermort saw that he hadn’t tried to impregnate her as instructed, it would be over for both of them. Not just over, they’d both be tortured in unimaginable ways before dying. Draco suspected he might not even be killed. He’d be kept alive in agony long enough to serve as an example to any who dared defy the Dark Lord, and would probably be made to watch as Hermione was tortured in front of him. Like his mother all over again. Except this time there would be no out, no Dumbledore to assassinate, no hope of saving her.

He hated this house. His room. This estate. One of the few untainted memories he had of the manor was Hermione unsuccessfully trying to hide her awe at seeing the library for the first time. Then later waking up in his bedroom with him coiled around her warm body. Those memories fractured when he saw her standing in the entrance hall dressed in scarlet. He hadn’t seen her for so long. All he wanted to do was hold her and feel that she was real. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even risk a loving glance. All he could do was dive into her mind and rapidly verify that she genuinely didn’t remember him. It was the only thing keeping them both alive.

The moment he found out she was arriving he buried everything good, everything loving, every happy moment with her, as deep as he could to protect her, the way she’d done for him.

His occlumency walls held for as long as they needed to. As soon as he was out of sight and alone long enough he collapsed on his hands and knees exhausted from the effort. His chest heaving and dry sobbing as he tried to hold back the wave of relief that he’d seen with his own eyes that she was alive and the tide of dread overcoming him.

Voldermort had caged another person he loved. He was torturing another person he loved. And Voldermort made him the torture instrument. It was tearing him apart. Undoubtedly Voldermort would delight in finding out the added layer of inadvertent torment. He swore to him self he'd never let that happen.

And now here she was in his room sitting at his desk.

For a split second a moment of casual familiarity flashed before him, of Hermione joyfully turning pages amongst a pile of books in the same spot. Since he hadn’t see her, he had replayed that memory and many others a thousand times. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to fall into her skin and never leave. He swatted the memory away and hardened his face. He collected himself quickly in the way only a skilled occlumens could.

He could file away his own feelings but couldn’t fully bury the feeling of her terror. It was like an itch in the back of his mind from the fucking blood ward so he could monitor her. And he couldn’t ignore the physical feeling of her rising pulse against his finger from the ring that told him she had been alive all this time.

He could see Hermione was still wearing her ring but but unaware of it. Wearing this ring and feeling her heartbeat telling him she was alive somewhere all these months was the only thing that kept him going all this time. Now he wanted to throw the fucking thing across the room.

He’d almost forgotten it was today. Or maybe he just was trying not to think about it in some futile attempt to wish it away.

I’ll fucking kill Astoria, he thought. He didn’t try to hide the rage in his face as he entered the room. Use it, he thought. Use every dark impulse, every moment of anger & hate, channel it into this room. She had to believe he was everything awful & terrifying she imagined Death Eater, High Reeve, Malfoy to be. I am the High Reeve, he told himself, Death Eater Draco Malfoy. Executioner to the Dark Lord.

Feeling Hermoinies eyes following his every move, he walked over to the tall wardrobe and opened it. Selected a bottle of fire whisky, uncorked it with his teeth, and took a long glug.

Fucking Astoria. He wanted to down an entire bottle before tonight. Now he didn’t have time. He hadn’t even thought about how to do it. How do you plan to rape someone you love?

His only goal was now getting her out. Was keeping her alive. She will never look at him the same way again. Good. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve her. He hated her for being there. He hated himself for what he was about to do.

He gathered up all his hate. All his rage. Every moment Voldermort had tainted. Every drop of loathing, disgust at himself, and his very real anger with Hermione for breaking her word, put it in a cauldron together with the triumph of every success he had in perusing his goals. He felt it bubble up inside him and pushed it all to the forefront of his mind.

Unhesitating. Cunning. Unfailing. Ruthless. Unyielding. Driven to succeed.

Time to put on a show for the Dark Lord.

“Today is the day then, Mudblood.”

#manacled #dramoine #fanfic #draco malfoy #harry potter fanfic #hermonie granger #draco lucius malfoy

[inevitably-johnlocked]

hey steph! i hope you’re doing well!! i know you have all the fics you’ve read in a masterlist doc you made yourself, and i was wondering if it was worth the time it took to make that? if so, do you have any tips on how to go about doing that? thank you :]

Hey Lovely!!

I am SO sorry for the delay in a reply to this... I saw it and then it just got buried LOL. I'm SO SO SORRY, wasn't intentional!!!

I do indeed have all my fics listed on an offline RTF Text Document (not even a word doc, it's Apple TextPad lol) and OOOF when I first decided to start filing it, UGH it was A CHORE. I'm talking a LONG time because I went through, at the time, all 500 of my bookmarks and just spent DAYS AND DAYS of holiday time just copy pasting them all into a tumblr post, and then copying those over to the lists. I chose to use the Tumblr formatting since that's where it would inevitably be posted to.

"Why not use a spreadsheet??" I've been asked before. It's literally because I hate spreadsheets, I don't like using them, and by using an RTF formatted document I can keep the formatting consistent between Tumblr and the lists offline. I wanted to make it as PAINLESS and easy as possible to copy-paste between Tumblr's ever-changing UI and my offline lists. I literally just have to double click a block of text and I highlight the whole rec :)

Now, at the time I thought I was wasting time doing it, thought it was all for naught re-reading EVERYTHING so I could properly add tags to fics that didn't have them or so I could sort them better. But it's now 500 more fics later, and I'm SO glad I streamlined a process to do it. Having the posts this way, WITH my own tags makes it MUCH easier for me to call up the fics you guys are needing, or if I need to make a quick-list in-a-pinch. It was well-worth the time to initially sort the bookmarks. It's worth the time to format not-read fics on a separate list so I can quickly find them again and add them to my Bookmarks list already-done. And I keep going back to my bookmarks every couple months to add those new fics to my offline lists.

That said... it's a lot of work, and it's REALLY fortunate that my OCPD actually functions well for this kind of website. I like digital organization, and I'm meticulous about how things are organized, because it feeds that need for control in my brain. So I can say it's ALSO not for everyone, but if you're just looking to do it for yourself, just add tags to all your bookmarks on AO3 (make sure all your bookmarks are private, otherwise the authors can see what you're tagging or noting them as. All my bookmarks are private because my tags are all spoilerific and I don't know if those would show up for other people).

BUT if you want to run your own blog, check out this post here for some past things I've written on the organization and time management tips for your own :)

Finally though, Yes, it's worth it. While not getting the traction I used to, I know that my recs bring joy to people, and honestly being someone who people can come to to find what they're looking for is heady and humbling. I love being able to leave my mark on the fandom in some way. :)

Sorry again for the delay, but I hope this helps answer your question. Please don't hesitate to ask something else if I missed anything or misunderstood <3

#steph replies #my blog #blog things #fic recs #about me #my tutorials

[incorrectgallaghergirlsquotes]

Number one, number one, number one!!

Song #1 on my Spotify Wrapped: Where do we go now? by Gracie Abrams

(This story is gonna take place during a few different scenes throughout books 3-6. It's a little different from my usual style I think so I hope you like it)

Sometimes the most interesting things in life come from not fighting magnetic pulls. That feeling you get urging you either towards or away. The inevitable moment when you meet someone's eyes across a crowded room.

Cammie had one of those moments on an election night, when she was a high school junior, in a crowded ballroom. The boy made his way over to her and his hand found its way into hers. And then she found herself outside, in an alleyway off 24th street. The heat of Zach's hand and arm pressed against her was all she wanted to focus on. That magnetic pull that told her she was okay there. At least that's what she tried to tell herself. The magnetic pull had to be towards something good for her, right?

She tried not to think about how the weight and warmth of Zach's embrace may have actually been triggering a mental fire alarm. Because a lot of their interactions that semester had felt wrong. She just wanted it to feel right. He was there, looking at her like he had when he had kissed her, not the way he looked at her when he didn't. And she missed him. Maybe she should have done it. Maybe it would have been worth it for Cammie to bite the bullet and lean forward and kiss him for a change.

But she didn't. If she had it would have been a lie. And there were too many lies between the two of them to add one more. Not when Cammie was already juggling too much, trying to hard to keep everyone and herself together.

It was already so fake, the front she was putting on while trying to help Macey. And then it wasn't about Macey. It was actually about her. And she'd have to fake it for the longest time following that.

Where do we go now?

Maybe running away wasn't the best decision. Maybe Cammie would be able to admit that eventually. It was always up for debate what was harder: running away, being left, or coming back. For a while it felt like the hardest thing about coming back was how different everything was. All of the trust that had been built between Cammie and her friends was gone. She'd have to find a way to get it back.

And then she was with Zach. And it was the most they had interacted since she had come back.

They were alone and she had expected it to feel good once Zach started talking to her again. The return of his warmth against her was welcomed and he even kissed her. Maybe that's where it went wrong. She remembered that. What kissing Zach had felt like before and it felt the same now. But she couldn't shake the circumstances, the demons that lurked around every corner. So, when Zach kissed her it was fine. It was when he pulled back and looked at her that she felt a pang in her gut.

Zach's hand was cupping the side of her face, keeping her held close to him. He looked into her eyes, his thumb swiping over her cheek and he studied her.

His expression lingered and Cammie read it immediately. He looked hopeful, she realized. Like he and her were supposed to work somehow. Like maybe they still could. 

Cammie slinked away from him and she heard herself ask if he was afraid of her. Zach said no and Cammie heard herself admit that she was afraid of herself. Couldn't Zach tell that? Couldn't he see that whatever had been between them had burned out with the part of her that had burned up over the summer. Sure, he was standing in front of her in that moment and kissing her in that moment, but she couldn't shake the moments she knew he'd shared with Bex. Whether they were real or in her imagination they sat in the back of her throat, adding to all she already felt she wanted or needed to cry about.

Still. She'd try. She'd go to the Grand Hall, she'd hold hands with her boyfriend, she'd talk to her friends.

But it was different. Zach sat a little closer to her than he ever had before in what could be an endearing gesture or could be to keep her in place. Instead of talking about class or boys her friends were talking about her; her hair, her weight, her eating. There was a level of hand holding happening that Cammie hadn't felt since childhood. As she looked around at everything that looked the same but was so different she was startled by the unshakeable feeling that there was nothing left for her there.

The idea rocked her, the Gallagher Academy had always felt like home to her. But the thought was there, that there was nothing left there for her and all of her and her friends best years were behind them.

What a brutal way to die.

As Cammie spent most of senior year outside the walls of the Academy she reflected over her last three years there.

"Do you ever think," she asked Zach. "Do you ever wish you had done things differently?"

They had been sitting shoulder to shoulder with Zach's head on top of hers. She felt him turn and cast his eyes down towards her. "That tells me you're thinking about it."

Cammie sighed, not entirely pleased with how Zach could see straight through her. "I don't know," she said. "I can't think of any specific instance where I would chose anything different than what I did."

"You wouldn't turn around and just not meet me?" He teased.

Cammie fought the urge to roll her eyes. She wasn't entirely sure how Zach could still joke so effortlessly. "No. I don't think I would."

Zach smiled and tilted his head so his mouth was closer to her ear. "I know," he whispered.

"You know?"

"Yeah," he said, quietly. "I know you. You'd chose this every time."

So, where do we go now?

All of Cammie's graduating class had such great and fantastical plans following the day they got their diplomas. It was a day they had been planning and prepping for, for years, if not their entire lives. There was an excitement buzzing amongst them. But Cammie's group was different. There was still excitement, but the overwhelming question hanging over their heads was-

"Where do we go now?" Bex asked.

The four girls exchanged glances before Cammie finally spoke. "I guess our separate ways." The sentence came out with a sigh. Like it was tough to say, but necessary. She could see her own expression reflected in Bex's. Whereas Macey had a familiar clench in her jaw back, a tell other people might have missed. And Liz, well, Liz looked like she might cry.

"Come on, Lizzie," Bex said. "Don't do that. We'll all be back together again before you know it."

Liz nodded, but it did little for the way she was trying to swallow back her tears.

"We'll meet down the line," Cammie said. "After all of this time, we've been through too much. We'll come back together again."

Finally, Liz nodded, Cammie's statement getting through to her. She glanced over at Bex. "Give it an actual try," she said, quietly.

Bex flashed her a quick wink before resuming her previous expression while Cammie and Macey looked at each other. "I can't promise you'll like it."

"When has that stopped you?" Macey asked. "Stopped any of us."

"It's true," Cammie said. "We've been through changes before. We can do it again."

"Changes this big?" Liz asked. "I mean we've been together for years now. All of that is about to change overnight."

The group fell silent at that. Eventually, Cammie shrugged. "I know I changed overnight. Not that I blame you for fighting it," Cammie added, turning to her. "But you can't always. And I mean, you read my reports, living in that... I wanted to fight it. I was losing my mind."

"We all were," Macey added. Everyone turned to her. "But we got through it!"

Where do we go now?

Cammie looked down at the postcard she had just received in her dorm mailbox. It had a beautiful image on the front. The back had familiar handwriting on it, saying, 'Half of myself here without you'. There was no signature, but Cammie would always know her best friends handwriting. She returned to her room and placed that post card with the others. One in Liz's handwriting and another in Macey's. She let her fingertips linger on the card as she set it down before leaving her room again and heading across campus. 

Her time at the Gallagher Academy had brought her the best people in her life. The girlhood and sisterhood that was founded in those walls was still there in the absence, but it was hard not to feel as though it was something she had lost sometimes. She thought back to her conversation with Zach, about if they would do anything differently. In hindsight, so much of their lives had actually been more out of their control than they had really thought. When things fell through and her friends were hurt, they were doing the best they could while playing by someone else's rules. In that way, it was one sided, still, she hated how she had hurt them.

Maybe space was the thing that she needed. The thing they all needed.

She purchased four postcards from the on campus store, quickly scrawling the same message on all of them. She dropped three off to be sent out before heading to an apartment just a few minutes away.

When Zach opened his apartment door he found a card taped to it. He pulled it off, reading the short message- just four words- that would reach the other three recipients within the next few weeks. Despite immediately recognizing the handwriting, he turned the card over, seeing the image of Georgetown University. Finally, he looked up at the girl who was now standing in front of his door.

"Hey, Gallagher Girl," he greeted, before inviting her in. The two went inside, the card left on the dining table with the message face up.

'But I miss you'

Where do we go now?

#we are so back #gg spotify wrapped #gallagher girls series #gallagher girls #gg fanfic #cammie morgan #zach goode #bex baxter #macey mchenry #liz sutton

[spnhunter4life]

So Long

Summary: Jenna and Dean have known each other since she was 9 and he was 11. Their fathers often hunted together, so they grew up in next door motel rooms, keeping each other company and watching out for Sammy. They were inseparable until their dads inevitably fought and stopped working together. Shortly after Sam left for college, her father had been killed on a hunt and his dad had been more and more distant, so they started hunting together. In a world where everyone has a tattoo of their soulmate’s name that appears somewhere on them on their 16th birthday, it took them a ridiculous amount of time to figure things out.

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: I’ve always really loved the soulmate cliché, so I decided to write one of my own. As I was figuring out the basics of what I wanted to do, Niall Horan’s song So Long came on my playlist. It’s a beautiful song and I realized how well it fit the story I was trying to come up with, so this is based off of it.

A/N 2: So I just jumped back on the Supernatural bandwagon. While I was never truly off the wagon per se, it was more of a background appreciation for it while I was interested in other things. But I finally convinced myself to finish season 15 and now I'm all in again.

I remembered this fic I started like four years ago. I never posted it because it wasn't finished. It's still not, but I went back and reread what I have so far, and I'm actually super happy with it. So, that being said, I'm going to admit that I'm a super inconsistent writer. I might be super motivated to write for a few days (which I definitely am right now) and then not write again for a year. That's half the reason I never posted it. The other half is because, while I don't actually write things down often, I make stories in my head constantly and I've realized that I often go back and change details to fit the new direction I've decided to go in. And so I didn't want to post this until I was all done in case I wanted to make changes. But I decided I can edit and let people know things changed if it comes to that. I'm hoping if I can get some people to see this and get a little feedback, it will keep me motivated to write. All feedback is appreciated! Tell me what you liked. Tell me what could improve. Let me know if you find any grammar errors or inconsistencies. As long as it’s said nicely, I’m glad for absolutely any comments you might have.

My plan is to update weekly to give myself time to get the next chapters done. The second chapter is currently done/super close to done. Not sure if I want to add more to it or move it to another chapter. I’ve got a decent start on chapter 3 also. With the outline I have currently, this story is set to be 8 chapters. That could easily change though. 

Also, shoutout to @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​. You probably don’t even remember, but you read this chapter over for me way back when I first wrote it, so thanks for the support you gave me then!

Sorry for the super long note, and thanks for reading this far if you did!

Series Masterlist

Looking back through changes Where we started from Don’t know about you but I Knew it wasn’t wrong

Ages 16 and 17 June 25, 1996

I woke up, not exactly expecting to feel different, but maybe hoping. Today I would find out who my soulmate was. At least, I’d get a first name. Even though I knew it was stupid to get my hopes up, I couldn’t help but secretly want it to be Dean’s name. I was also nervous. Did I really want to know? If it wasn’t Dean, how would I deal with the disappointment? But if it was Dean, how could I possibly approach a subject like that? And even then, it wouldn’t mean it was Dean Winchester I was meant to be with. There were other Deans in the world. And wouldn’t he have said something by now if my name was tattooed on him somewhere?

Taking a deep breath, I looked over all of the skin currently exposed by my pajamas. Nothing on my arms or legs from the knees down.  I looked at the clock and saw that it was already 9:30. I couldn’t believe I’d slept that long, that my dad had let me!

I jumped out of bed, grabbing my towel and clothes for the day, heading straight for the shower. I’d made one friend in this small Louisiana town, a very outgoing girl I’d bumped into while getting groceries with Sam and Dean. She’d been excited to meet someone new, saying all of her friends were on vacation for the summer, and she and I were supposed to meet up soon to spend the day together.

I started the shower to let the temperature adjust and then started the process of removing my clothes, checking each inch of revealed skin for a name. Nothing yet, then. Supposedly, the name showed up around the time of day you were born. I had no idea what time that was, so I would let Alyssa distract me for the day and check again tonight.

When I came out of the bathroom wearing shorts and a t-shirt with my hair in a ponytail to combat some of the summer heat, my dad was just closing the door, chocolate chip muffins, my favorite breakfast food, in his hand.

“Happy birthday,” he smiled. “How does it feel to be sixteen?” He asked this question every year, but this was the big year, and it held a little more weight behind it. “It feels… pretty much the same as every other year I guess.” I told him honestly. Other than my nerves being slightly on edge with the upcoming soulmate reveal, it felt like any other day. “What are you still doing here? I thought you and John would’ve left by now.”

“That was the original plan, but I couldn’t leave without seeing my daughter on her birthday. I wanted to have the chance to eat breakfast together. The case can wait a couple hours.” He told me, sitting down at the table.

“Where are those two shadows of yours?” He teased as I took a seat across from him and grabbed a muffin. I knew he wouldn’t ask about my tattoo. He didn’t like people prying into his life and he didn’t pry into mine. He knew I’d tell him if I wanted to.

“I have no idea,” I replied as I peeled the wrapper off my muffin. “I haven’t seen either of them, but I just got up. Thanks for letting me sleep in by the way.”

“I figured one day can’t hurt. But don’t think you can go slacking off. It’s back to morning runs and training after this.” He said before taking a bite of his own muffin. “I still don’t understand why those boys aren’t here. You three make such a big deal out of each other’s birthdays, I half expected them to break down the door.” He mused.

“Maybe they forgot. And we don’t make ‘such a big deal.’ One present and a movie night isn’t too much to ask. Besides, it’s mostly Sam. Dean always made a big deal about his birthdays growing up and so Sam learned to do the same for us.” I told him.

“Yeah but a bunch of kids scrounging up enough money to get those presents for each other is a big deal.” He said with a fond smile. Taking the last bite of his muffin, he stood and grabbed something off of the counter. “Speaking of presents,” he said as he handed it to me.

“Dad, you didn’t have to.” I told him as I grabbed it. 

“I know I didn’t, but it’s not every day your baby girl turns sixteen. It’s not much, but I thought you would enjoy it.” He replied a little awkwardly.

I grinned and wrapped my arms around him, Backstreet Boys CD clutched in my hand. I had found them on accident really. It was all Alyssa’s fault. I generally enjoyed the same music as Dean, but she had showed me one of their songs and I couldn’t get it out of my head. Dad had heard me humming it one day which led to an embarrassing confession.

“Don’t tell Dean.” I pleaded, knowing the endless teasing and likely judgment I would be on the receiving end of if he found out. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare.” Dad laughed, pulling away from the hug.

“I should probably go find him though,” I said, glancing at the clock. “I’m supposed to meet Alyssa soon and he said he’d drive me.”

“Have fun!” I heard him shout as I left our motel room. I saw the Impala parked by the room next door, so I knew he was here at least. Since Dean has legally been able to drive, John gave it to Dean and the two of them take either my dad’s truck or the one John had purchased after gifting Dean the Impala. As I raised my hand to knock, the door flew open.

“Oh!” John said, startled. “I was just going to tell your dad we need to get going. I’m glad you’re up.” Then he was in the motel room I’d just abandoned, not waiting for my response.

“Hi to you to.” I mumbled under my breath. I walked through the door John had left open to see Dean sprawled out on the couch. He turned to me when I closed the door and grinned.

“Hey, there’s the birthday girl!” He exclaimed, prompting Sam to run out of the bathroom, dressed and looking fresh from the shower, toothbrush in his mouth.

“Jenna! You’re here! I wanted to go to your room a while ago, but Dean told me to let you sleep. Were you sleeping?” Before I could answer him, he rushed on. “He told me you’re going to spend the day with your friend, but we’re still going to have our movie night, right? We have to have our movie night. It’s our tradition!”

“Breathe, Sam.” I chuckled. “Of course we’re having movie night. It wouldn’t be a birthday without it. Now how about you go finish brushing your teeth before you start drooling on the floor.” Content with my answer, he hurried back to the bathroom, hand cupped under his chin where toothpaste bubbles were trying to drip down.

“So,” Dean drawled, getting up off the couch. “The big 16. How’s it feel?” He walked over to stand next to me and, not for the first time, I was struck with how effortlessly gorgeous he was. His hair was tousled and still slightly damp from the shower he must have taken this morning. He wore his usual jeans, t-shirt, flannel, and boots, the amulet Sam had given him hanging around his neck, but somehow, he was the most attractive guy I had ever seen. I knew it wasn’t a biased opinion, every girl in every school always drooled after him.

“I assume it feels the same as you felt a year ago.” I replied once my brain started functioning again. “You still good to take me to meet Alyssa?” I asked.

“Sweetheart, have I ever bailed on you?” He asked, mock offended.

“Well…” I trailed off, remembering the handful of times Sam and I had been left to fend for ourselves while he was off with a girl. When I saw him looking at me expectantly, I sighed. “Not when it really counted, no.” I relented.

“Did you ask her yet?” Sam questioned, reappearing from the bathroom and heading for Dean. Dean sighed and looked at me. “Is it ok with you if Sam comes with to drop you off? I don’t know why he’s even asking. I know you don’t care, but he wouldn’t leave me alone about it this morning.”

“That’s not true!” Sam denied. “He told me I could come if you said yes, and I know you usually don’t care, but since you’re 16 today I thought you might want to talk.” He stated matter-of-factly.

“Talk about what?” I asked, brow wrinkled in confusion. There’s not much Dean and I didn’t talk about in front of the kid. I don’t know why he thought there was suddenly a need for privacy or what being 16 had to do with it. “About-” he started, but then cut himself off, looking anxious. “I don’t know.” He continued, head down and shuffling his feet. “Just… being 16?”

I looked to Dean, hoping for some kind of explanation, but he just shrugged his shoulders, although he seemed a little annoyed, like he knew more than he was letting on. I wasn’t in the mood to press the issue though.

“Ok…. Well I don’t have any super-secret conversations that need to be had with your brother, so if you want to come along, that’s fine.” I assured Sam. 

“Good! When are we leaving?” He asked excitedly.

“If Dean’s ready, then right now would be good.” I replied, looking to Dean. He answered by shrugging on his leather jacket, plucking the keys off the table and holding the door open for me.

With everyone piled in the car, Dean started toward the mall where I was supposed to meet Alyssa. It was a typical car ride, Sam chattering away in the back, and Dean humming along to Led Zeppelin. I told Dean where to park. Alyssa wasn’t there yet, but I was content to sit and wait with the boys.

“I thought we might have to wait until tonight to give this to you, but I’m glad we don’t have to.” Sam said excitedly, pulling a box out of his jacket pocket. “It was my idea to get this kind of present for you, but Dean helped me pick it out.” He looked to his brother with a proud smile before handing the box to me.

I was a little nervous to open it. Sam was so excited, I didn’t want to disappoint him if I didn’t like it. Although he’d never say anything, I could tell Dean was a little nervous too by the way he tensed his shoulders and bit his lip. I carefully opened the box and gasped.

Inside was a bracelet made from ribbons of silk. It was twisted around so that it looked like four different strands. The top and bottom of each ribbon was an olive green while the middle was mulberry. One of the ribbons wrapped through a gold button that was used to adjust the size. I couldn’t believe something so beautiful was for me.

“I love it!” I told them as I took it out of the box to place on my left wrist. I noticed Dean’s quiet, relieved exhale and turned to hug him. “Thank you.” I whispered. He wrapped his arms around me before mumbling a quiet “You’re welcome,” into my hair.

“And thank you too!” I said, pulling away from Dean to face a fidgety, giddy looking Sam in the back. He flung his upper body over the seat to get a hug of his own. “You’re gonna have a pretty hard time topping this one.” I informed him as I sat back. Sam just grinned.

“My friend at the last school had a bracelet that she wore all the time and I asked her if that was a good idea for a 16th birthday present for you,” he explained. “She said if you like jewelry it was a good idea, and I know you like Dean's amulet, so I told him about my idea and he said we’d keep an eye out for anything you might like. There was a lot of stuff I thought you would like, but Dean kept saying they weren’t right.” I glanced at Dean and saw a slight blush gracing his freckled cheeks.

“He liked that one as soon as he saw it. I didn’t know why you’d like it any better than any of the ones I pointed out, but I know you guys know each other really well so I just told him to make sure you knew getting a bracelet was my idea.” He finished, slightly out of breath.

Before I could say anything to assure Sam I appreciated his efforts and relieve Dean of his embarrassment, there was a knock on my window. Startled, I jumped a little before facing the window where Alyssa stood waiting. Turning to look at the boys, I thanked them again for the amazing present and then opened the door to get out of the car and say hi to her. As I was closing the door, I heard Dean say my name.

“Just a second.” I said to Alyssa before opening the door again and sticking my head in. “What’s up?” I asked.

“I was just wondering when and where I should be picking you up.” He replied. “Oh, right. I didn’t even think about that.” I said, turning to Alyssa to figure out the details. “Cleary.” He teased. I looked back at him, sarcastic comment at the ready, but I saw the twinkle in his eye and knew he was just joking. I shushed him and closed the door, turning to once again face Alyssa.

“I can drive you back, it’s no problem.” She assured me. 

“Are you sure? Dean doesn’t have anything else he needs to be doing, and I know he likes to do it anyway. He’s a bit protective like that. The first time he dropped Sam off at a friend’s I thought he was going to sit outside the house the whole time.” I told her, smiling at the memory.

“It’s really no problem. I don’t have any definite plans for the day so I wouldn’t know what to tell him anyway.” She said. 

“Ok…” I trailed off, giving her one last chance to change her mind. She gave me a look, clearly stating that she wouldn’t so I passed the information on to Dean.

“You don’t even have a guess about when you’ll be done?” He asked. I knew he liked to have a timeline so if someone wasn’t back when they were expected he would know something was wrong. If he didn’t have any schedule to follow, he’d spend the whole time worrying, unsure if something had happened or we just weren’t done yet. 

“Well I have to be back in time for movie night,” I reminded him with a wink in Sam’s direction, “so I won’t be gone any later than… say 8:30? That should give us time to watch a couple of movies before Sam passes out.”

“Yeah, ok.” Dean relented, slightly less on edge now that he had a set time. “Have fun.” He smiled. I closed the door and watched them drive off.

“Are you ready to do some shopping?” Alyssa asked with a grin.

~~~~~

“You have to have a swimsuit!” Alyssa insisted as we walked by racks of them at Kohl’s. “Not if you never go swimming, you don’t.” I countered.

“But what if you do go swimming? What are you going to wear then?” She argued. “I don’t know. I’m sure if the opportunity came up, I’d just go buy one.” I told her. “Then why not buy one now?” She asked.

“Because,” I sighed. “We move around a lot. We’re not exactly hitting up five-star hotels with pools or renting homes that have one. I think the last time I went swimming was when I was 12 and the house we were renting had a pond.”

“Ok, well I have a pool, it’s the middle of summer in Louisiana, and I might invite you over to swim sometime. Besides, I’m buying so you can’t really argue that much.” She said, flipping her strawberry blonde hair as she turned and pulled me towards the swimwear.

“That’s a nice bracelet,” she commented, looking at my wrist where I was half-heartedly searching through a rack of one-piece swimsuits. “Yeah,” I smiled. “Sam and Dean gave it to me for my birthday.”

“It’s pretty. I didn’t think boys were any good at finding decent jewelry.” She remarked as she moved on to the next rack. She didn’t like the one-pieces anyway and had only been humoring me, ironic since I was only humoring her about the swimsuits in general. 

“I swear Dean has some sort of sixth sense for what people will like. Well,” I corrected, “not people. But me and Sam.”

“This one! You have to try this one!” Alyssa said excitedly, breaking me out of my thoughts. I looked to where she was holding a white and blue two-piece. “I know you didn’t want a two-piece, but this isn’t a bikini. It doesn’t show much more than a one-piece would.” Seeing my hesitation, she continued. “Just try it on. If you hate it, we’ll put it back.”

“Yes!” She cheered, seeing my resignation. She handed the suit to me and led the way to the changing rooms.

It was definitely a nice-looking suit, I’d give her that much. The top piece was thick enough all the way through that there was no danger of anything showing. It had a clasp in the back and three strings to tie around my neck, two white and one robin’s egg blue. The bottom piece started like a normal bikini bottom, but thicker. Above the hips it cut in to cover only the front of my torso, leaving my back and sides exposed, and went up to the bottom of my ribs. There were three strings encircling my back, keeping the material up. It was decorated with flowers in shades of blue, and as much as I liked it – although I’d never admit it to Alyssa – I didn’t think I would be comfortable wearing it in public.

“Are you ready yet?” I heard her ask through the door. 

“Kind of. I have it on, but I don’t know if I want to come out.” I admitted. 

“Come on, you can’t look that bad.” She encouraged.

“It’s not that.” I told her. “I’m just not comfortable showing this much skin. I live in jeans, you know. The only reason I’m wearing shorts is because I might actually die from this heat.”

“Just come out. No one’s going to see you. I promise there’s no one else around.” She encouraged.

I sighed before opening the door and peering my head around. I was met with an unimpressed look. “Alright, I’m coming.” I relented. I stepped out of the changing stall and was greeted with a wolf whistle from Alyssa. “Cut it out!” I blushed.

“Why? You look great!” she exclaimed. “As much as I like that bracelet, it really doesn’t match the-” she cut off. 

“What?” I asked nervously? 

“Umm… did you find your tattoo yet?”

I was a little shocked. It was an awfully personal question to be asking someone you’d only known for a couple of weeks. “No. Why?” I asked a little defensively. She nodded toward my left side where my hand was hanging by my hip. I impulsively lifted it to my face, scanning for the name. 

“Not your hand,” she said.

I slowly looked down to my left side just above my hip where, just as she said, I could see the top of thick black letters peeking over the swimsuit.

~~~~~

“Alright, right’s wrong?” Dean asked, pausing the movie. We were halfway through our second movie of the night, Mission Impossible, and while I was enjoying it, I couldn’t seem to sit still. I was sat between the two boys, Dean’s arm resting on the back of the couch behind my head, our usual seating situation on movie nights. Sam was slouched over, starting to drift off. He could never seem to stay awake for more than one movie.

“What? Nothing’s wrong. Why do you think something’s wrong?” I asked him.

“Well, you haven’t sat still for more than five minutes at a time and I can see the wheels spinning in your head. You know you can talk to me about anything right?” He sounded genuinely concerned. 

“I know.” I sighed.

“Nothing happened, right? You’ve seemed a little off since you got back.” He pushed, not for the information he knew I wasn’t ready to give, but for assurance that I was alright. 

“I’m fine,” I told him honestly. “It’s just… I found my tattoo while we were trying on clothes. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it, figure out how I feel.” I confessed.

“Oh.” Was his only response. I could tell he wanted to press for more information, but he stayed quiet.

~~~~~

“I can’t look at it. I don’t want to know what it says. What do I do?” I asked. My breath was coming faster and I was starting to panic.

“Hey. Hey! Jenna! Look at me. Deep breath.” Alyssa calmly instructed, demonstrating and breathing with me until my breathing was back to normal. “You’re going to have to see it sometime. It’s unavoidable. Right now, it doesn’t change anything. It just gives you a name. You can do whatever you want with that name once you have it. It doesn’t decide anything for you.”

I knew she was right and steeled myself to look at it, Alyssa waiting patiently. Carefully, I pushed the swimsuit strap down just enough to reveal the name underneath.

DEAN

 Ages 14 and 16 January 24, 1995

Dean’s POV

I stared at the ceiling, willing myself to find the energy to get out of bed. I heard Sam moving around, getting ready for school, but I couldn’t bring myself to do the same. I knew that by the end of the day I would have letters inked into my skin. Letters that spelled out my soulmate’s name. I had no illusions about my family’s lifestyle and what it would mean for my soulmate. It would be a bittersweet moment, finally learning her name, but knowing I could never allow myself to be with her, to put her in that kind of danger.

With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I rubbed my eyes before standing up and starting to get ready for the day. I had decided I wasn’t going to look for the tattoo. I would put it off for as long as I could and see it whenever I happened to stumble upon the patch of skin it showed up on.

~~~~~

It had been a pretty good morning. My anxiety had faded to the background when a smiling Jenna came into our room with bacon, eggs and toast for breakfast. It wasn’t elaborate by any means, but it was more than we usually had and the fact that she took the time to make it for us, for me, made it that much more special.

The two of them had given me the gift they picked out right away this morning when an excited Sam decided he couldn’t wait until after school. He halfway disappeared under the bed for a few seconds, wiggling his way back out with a box clutched in his hands. He proudly handed it to me and then watched in eager anticipation as I opened two new movies, Jumanji and Batman Forever.

“Now we have something to watch for movie night too!” He exclaimed. I thanked them both and then we headed to school, Jenna’s dad dropping us off.

Now I was sitting in the locker room, changing back into my regular clothes after gym class. I had opted out of a shower, not wanting to find my tattoo in this miserable place, surrounded by strangers I would have to guard my reaction around. I had my foot up on the bench I was sitting on, switching out my sweaty socks for a dry pair, lost in my thoughts when I heard someone to my left snicker and say, “Isn’t Jenna your sister?”

My head whipped around to look at Matt, the guy who had spoken. He was a sophomore like me, and while he wasn’t wildly popular, he sure thought he was something special. “What?” I snapped, confused about why he was asking about her. My protective instincts flared up. We had only been at this school for a week, but I was well aware how attractive Jenna was, and if this kid thought he was going to try something he had another thing coming. “Why?” I asked, failing to keep the suspicion out of my voice.

“Didn’t the two of you show up around the same time? And I’m pretty sure I’ve seen the two of you coming to school in the same car,” he mused. “So you must be her brother. That’s gotta be pretty awkward. Unless you know another Jenna?” 

“I don’t have to explain anything to you,” I snapped.

“Dude, don’t they have different last names?” Chimed in a freshman whose name I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure if I should be grateful for or irritated by his input. “So unless they have different dads or something… I don’t think they’re related.” Irritated, I decided. He hadn’t said anything offensive, and his analysis wasn’t wrong, but I found I didn’t like the way he was obviously looking for Matt’s approval.

“Really? How do you know that?” Matt asked. Without waiting for a reply, he continued.

“Well that’s a relief. It would be pretty weird if your sister was your soulmate.” He laughed. “Too bad though,” he continued, having gained the attention of most of the locker room. “She’s not half bad looking. I might ask her out anyway, see what she really thinks about her pathetic, loser soulmate.”

I clenched my jaw. Having lived in tight quarters for years, Jenna and Sam had learned to back off at this, that it meant I was seriously pissed off. Matt had the misfortune of not knowing me so well. “Leave her alone.” I warned. I had managed to keep my temper so far, but if he actually made a move on her, all bets were off. 

“Don’t worry,” Matt drawled on. “I’ll test her out for you. Let you know if she’s actually worth your ti-”

Before he even realized I was moving I had crossed the couple of steps to him, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and shoved him back into the lockers. “I don’t know what you’re even talking about,” I seethed, “but you better stay away from her or I’ll make sure that my pathetic loser face is the last thing you see before I put you in the hospital.”

I turned away from him and, after taking a step, ducked, effectively dodging the punch I had seen him getting ready to throw. I spun back around and landed a solid punch to his face before grabbing my shoes and walking out the door. It wasn’t until I was sitting in the bleachers lacing up my boots that I saw it. Inked into the skin of my left ankle was her name.

JENNA

Chapter 2

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