#if she ever kicked me out I’d be completely fucked I don’t even think I’d have the energy to try I’d just give up god I’m so fucked what is

[milo-is-rambling]

Huge shoutout to everyone who was too mentally fucked up to succeed in high school but they were smart when the meds worked and when everything was okay but the second something went wrong you went back to not caring and letting yourself fail and now you’re watching everyone go to college and gain skills and friends and go new places and you’re still in the the same (or worse) shitty mental place you were four years ago and you feel like you aren’t allowed to ever be successful because you dropped out of high school and you can’t even imagine paying to take a college course.

#me when everyone is smarter and stronger and more healthy than me and I don’t have the will power to fix anything in my life 👍 #I want to scream I feel like I had one too many shitty things happen in my brain and now I’m cursed to be a fuck up until I inevitably kill #myself years from now #I know there are options but they feel like so much work. I don’t even take my meds everyday #the idea of taking steps to get better means taking steps to be broke and miserable and in pain and struggling without support #at least being depressed miserable at my mothers house means I don’t have to get a job or pay for my own weed #if she ever kicked me out I’d be completely fucked I don’t even think I’d have the energy to try I’d just give up god I’m so fucked what is #wrong with me

[milf-murdock]

Your writing is literally phenomenal - sincerely, someone who just binged your entire masterlist!! 💗 If you’re interested in this, I’d love to see dark!simon doting on reader when she’s finally pregnant 🤭 I’m sure he’d wait on her hand and foot, soothing and comforting her, but also being so smug because he’s literally a mastermind who’s been planning this for ages

Thank you so much for the kind words, love 🥹🥹 Comments like this mean the world to me and inspire me so much to keep writing 🖤

I fucking loooooooved this ask. When I tell you my brain was instantly just braining. However, I must be fully honest with you 😔 This is so fucking soft. Just. Wildly. Absurdly. Tooth-rottingly sweet. It turns out once dark!Simon actually gets her pregnant he just melts into the sweetest softie ever (shh don't tell anyone). Thinking about writing another part that's filthy smut with dark!Simon and his pregnant girl but I was just so excited about this fluff I wanted to share it lemme know if anyone would want to see that tho

Anyways, here's Simon helping her with morning sickness, Simon hearing the heartbeat for the first time, and Simon feeling them kick for the first time 🥺

Warnings: pregnancy, female reader, mentions of doctors offices, morning sickness, vomiting

Part 1 can be found here and Part 2 (NSFW) can be found here

Simon’s eyes blinked open as he registered your movements. The sound of your footsteps on the floor echoed through the room as you raced to the bathroom. His response was automatic as he rose out of bed, blinking the last dregs of sleep away as he followed your steps to find you kneeling on the cool tile in front of the toilet, dry heaving into the porcelain bowl. It seemed more often than not your mornings started this way. With no hesitation he knelt down on one knee beside you, pulling your hair up and away from your face into a loose pony tail held in his hand. His other hand rubbed soothing circled on your back, gently stroking up and down as he murmured soothing words. 

“I’m sorry, love. ’M sure this bit’s almost over.” 

As if on cue, you wretched once more into the bowl and Simon grimaced at his own poor timing. With a gasp you laid your head on your forearm against the toilet seat, eyes closed while you struggled to catch your breath, one hand rising up to flush the contents down the drain. Simon released your hair and rose to grab a cloth from the cupboard, running it under cool water and wringing it out. 

“Remember, doc said this was all completely normal. Good even, really.” Simon’s voice was nearly as comforting as the cool washcloth he pressed against the back of your neck. “Means the baby is developing and your body’s changing and whatnot.” You finally raised your head up, taking the cloth from Simon and running it over your face. 

“Yeah, still fucking sucks though,” you muttered before leaning back into Simon, his strong arms wrapping around you to pull you into him. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head as one hand snaked down to rest against your abdomen. 

“It’ll pass, babe.” Simon pressed another kiss to your temple. “Besides, you’re still stunning.” 

You raised your head off his chest, shooting him the most menacing glare you could muster. “Not in the mood for your sarcasm, Si,” you grumbled. 

Simon brushed a strand of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. “Not sarcasm, babe. I mean it. You’re glowing.” 

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the soft smile that tugged at the edges of your lips. “Whatever, you’re gettin’ soft.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Simon agreed, pressing another kiss to your cheek before rising and helping you off the floor. “Come on, I’ll go make us a tea.”

___________

It was a well known fact that Simon hated hospitals. And doctors. And, well, really any kind of medical setting. Simon shifted anxiously in the uncomfortable plastic chair next to your exam bed. The sterile smell of medical suite was practically burning his nostrils. His leg bounced up and down at a rapid pace, one hand gripped tight on his knee and the other gripping yours in a similar hold. He looked around the room, taking in all the infographic posters explaining the various stages of pregnancy, health adverts, and more.

“Si.” Your gentle tone pulled Simon from his thoughts, his eyes drifting back to your face. “Relax,” you reminded him softly. “It’s okay. I’m here with you.” You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. His eyes drift from yours down to your abdomen. He swore you were beginning to show, just the barest hint of a swell to your belly. 

There was a knock at the door and then the friendly technician entered, introducing herself to you and Simon before placing a paper drape over your lap and having you lay back. You shifted your shirt up whilst she set up for the ultrasound, giving Simon an excited smile as you settled in.

“Oh that’s warm,” you commented as the tech squeezed a light gel onto your bare skin. 

“Yeah, we have a little warmer we keep it in, just something to help make the mum’s a bit more comfortable,” she commented as she started pressing the wand to your belly. 

Simon’s eyes flicked to the screen, the waves of black and grey indecipherable as the tech  moved around your stomach. 

“Ah, there we go. See? Right….here.” The nurse tapped to a black shape on the screen as she pressed the wand a little deeper into your skin. “There’s your baby.” She tapped a few buttons on her keyboard, taking a picture. “Would you like to hear the heartbeat?” 

You nodded enthusiastically, but Simon couldn’t even get a word out. His own heart was racing so fast, his eyes staring at the screen, taking it all in. His baby. There were no words to adequately describe the pure joy, excitement, and absolute terror he was feeling. Y

You and Simon clung to each other, your joined hands serving as a lifeline for you both, tethering you to this moment. You and Simon each hold your breath, unsure what you’re waiting for. 

And then there’s a whoosh, and the sound of a steady heartbeat fills the room. Tears instantly filled your eyes. “Oh my god, Si,” you whispered. “That’s their heartbeat.” 

Simon’s own eyes were misty as he took it all in. “Yeah, babe. That’s our baby.” He blinked the tears away, internally urging himself to keep it together. He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. “There they are.” 

______

Simon was upstairs tackling the crib that he had been so fucking sure he didn’t need the fucking instructions for, only to find out that the damn pieces weren’t locking into place the way they were supposed to. “Bloody hell,” he growled, tearing through the mess of cardboard and styrofoam to find where he had tossed aside that bloody manual. 

A shout from downstairs had him freezing in place, his blood running cold as the bottom dropped out of his stomach. 

“Simon! Come here! Quick!” You shouted from your place on the couch, urgency in your voice. 

Simon dropped the drill to the floor, racing down the hall and flying down the stairs as fast as his feet could carry him. His mind spiraled, thinking through doctor’s numbers, fastest route to the hospital, or should he call an ambulance? No, he was positive he could drive faster. He rounded the corner, eyes wide and fixed on you. 

“What’s wrong? What’s happened? Are you okay? Is it the baby?” His questions rushed out like word vomit as he strode to your side. He dropped to one knee, a protective hand resting on your pronounced bump, eyes flitting from you to your stomach. 

“What?” You asked, brows furrowing in confusion at the panic-stricken man panting before you. “No, I’m fine Si, just…here…feel,” you commanded, grabbing his hand and moving it to the lower left side of your stomach. “Wait for it…” you muttered. Simon was still trying to calm his racing heart, trying to take in the fact that you seemed perfectly fine. In fact, if anything, you seemed slightly annoyed. 

“Darling, what—” 

“Shhh!” You snapped. “Wait for it.” 

And then Simon felt it. A little force pressing against his hand, a fleeting sensation that was over as soon as it started. 

Simon’s eyes widened. “Was that?” 

“Mmhmm,” you squealed with a smile. 

“They kicked,” Simon laughed, pure awe on his face. He pressed his hand a little harder against your swollen mound, moving his hand just slightly to the right. He lowered his face to your stomach. “Come on, love, let’s see that again.” As if on cue, he felt a swift kick to his palm. Your laugh mingled with Simon’s as the radiant joy overtook you both. 

“He likes your voice,” you commented, smiling down at your bump and placing your hand atop Simon’s. 

“Of course she does,” Simon teased back. You weren’t finding out the gender in advance, wanting to be surprised. You each had your own suspicions though. At the sound of his voice, another kick hit his palm, harder than both the previous ones, causing you to wince. “Oi,” Simon jokingly chided, giving a stern look to your bump. “Take it easy on your mum. She’s working hard to grow you nice and strong.” Another strong kick. 

“Looks like we have a future football star on our hands,” you commented was you rubbed a hand against your sore swollen side. 

“Maybe they’ll play for Man U.” Simon pressed a kiss to your bump, right where the last kick was before rising off the floor to sit next to you on the couch. His lips found yours, kissing you with a fierceness that took your breath away. “Thank you, love.” His voice was soft as he pulled back from the kiss. “For this. For all of it. This is the greatest gift.” 

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley imagine #simon “ghost” Riley x reader

[livwritesstuff]

‘tis my birthday today (it’s gotta be one of the worst birthdays to have, we don’t need to talk about it) anyways that’s where this is coming from

(also i’m not trying to imply that jan 1 is eddie’s bday. i wouldn’t wish that on anybody. besides, he is def a weirdo february aquarius)

The second half of the calendar year is nothing short of pandemonium for Eddie and Steve and their three daughters.

Moe’s birthday in late July kicks it off, almost immediately followed by Steve’s birthday in early August, then Hazel’s in September. Robbie’s birthday comes mere days after Halloween, and from there they dive headfirst into the bedlam of the holiday season.

Much to Eddie's relief, they all made it to yet another New Year's Day, and while the girls are definitely feeling the end-of-winter-break blues, Eddie welcomes the reprieve in festivities, brief as it may be.

His own birthday is up next – though not for another month.

He’s really not a birthday kind of guy. Never had been.

He loves making birthdays exciting for Steve and their daughters (they have a whole slew of traditions and everything – there’s names spelled out in pancakes involved; it's a very big deal), but his own…not so much.

It managed to fly under the radar for the past few years, but since this year is the big Five-Oh, he knows Steve won’t let him get away with that again.

Eddie has a complicated relationship with his birthday. When he was younger and the weight of Birthday Importance was at its peak, he never really celebrated the way other kids got to, and now, as an adult, he doesn’t know how to feel the things you’re supposed to feel about your birthday. 

Steve does a good job, despite Eddie’s weirdness. 

His favorite, Eddie thinks, was the year Moe was born, when Steve had managed to catch him off guard by renting a tiny cottage up in Maine for a few days.

“Moe or no Moe,” Steve had asked, “I’ve got Rob and Nance on standby.”

(They’d taken Moe. She saw snow for the first time. It was amazing, and people who don't want to involve their kids in stuff are a bunch of fucking weirdos).

Steve gives him a letter every year – handwritten on notebook paper and folded into whatever cheesy card he picks out.

Eddie keeps most of the letters in a fireproof lockbox along with all their passports and social security cards and birth certificates (look – Eddie doesn’t fuck around with priceless shit), but he keeps the most recent one – the one Steve gave him for his forty-ninth birthday nearly a year ago – in the top drawer of his bedside table.

He has it pretty much memorized at this point.

It says:

Ed! (with an exclamation point and everything – god, does Eddie love him)

49.

Holy shit we’re getting old.

Writing this is making me think about all the ones from the beginning, when I’d write about our future together even though we didn’t have a damn clue what we were working towards for a while.

I think we’re in it, man. Crazy, right?

(The ink color suddenly switches from blue to purple)

Sorry for the color change. Hazy decided she needed a blue pen immediately. Hope your vision hasn’t gone totally to shit and you can still read the purple.

Anyways, since I have you hostage reading this, I’m gonna take the opportunity to discuss you, because you don’t let me in real life most of the time.

You are gorgeous. Best looking face I’ve ever seen. I wonder how much time I’ve lost off my day just staring at you (actually, not a loss. I take that back)

You suck at puzzles – I know that sounds bad, but it’s great for me. I need that to rub off on Moe because she’s getting pretty good and that’s gonna be a problem for me.

You make me laugh so fucking hard every day. I’m praying the girls get your sense of “elevated” humor or whatever you like to call it

You’re so fucking smart, Eddie. I count myself lucky for it endlessly

You are completely 100% you all the time. I’m still working on that I think but I’m getting there because of you. I’m glad all that shit we went through didn’t take that away from you.

the BEST dad. Can’t believe I didn’t say that sooner. Not to brag but our kids are turning out pretty awesome (can’t go around saying that too much though it’ll go right to their heads and then any power we have left goes out the window)

You’re probably the best person I’ve ever known. Don’t think I’ll be forgetting what a catch you are any time soon, because I won't.

Thank you for loving me even all these years later. My life is better every day that I’m with you.

We’ll keep things quiet this year. Don’t get used to it though. Next year’s gonna be a rager.

Love you always!

- Steve :) ♡ ☆

#over-the-moon in love steve absolutely writes a mean love letter #to those who get steve's sign-off -> ilysm that's an old post #shoutout to the partners of birthday-haters #y’all are doing the most and it is appreciated #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

[bonitanightmxres]

I Know || NATASHA 'PHOENIX' TRACE

PAIRING: Natasha "Phoenix" Trace x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: Your growing crush on nat is hard to ignore, but everything changes after a little game.

WARNINGS: suggestiveness, dirty thoughts, smut, 18+ MDNI, fingering, sexual content, oral sex fem receiving, face-riding, language, alcohol, switch!phoenix

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

The crash of the waves against the rocks is peaceful, despite the loud hollers and laughter from the Dagger Squad. You all hold a pose for a group photo on the shore of the pacific in front of the Airbnb you all pitched in for. Nat’s arm hung around your neck, her fingers dangling freely off you, just barely brushing the exposed skin from your bikini top. You smiled at the camera, but held your breath—you found yourself doing that a lot lately when you were around Jake’s crew of friends. It was only days ago, however, that you realized that it wasn’t his friends who made you feel like you couldn’t breathe—it was Natasha. 

Being a longtime friend of Jake’s, he was the one to introduce you to them all many months ago, and it was him you blamed for getting you into this love-sick mess. If he hadn’t meddled in your social life—or your lack of one, you’d be at home right now. Alone, sure, but definitely not pining over a pilot who was definitely out of your league. It really wasn’t his fault, you knew that, but you wished it was. It wasn’t like you planned on falling for Natasha, it just happened over the course of getting to know her. Hell, you didn’t even have a crush on her the first day you’d met her–sure, she was pretty, there was no denying that. But you didn’t know her, know her.  

Not the way you do now.

Nat jogged over to the beachgoer she tasked with taking the photo, getting her phone back, while the rest scattered around the area you all claimed as your own and continued their game of dogfight football. She lifts her sunglasses up, and examines the photo in her camera roll. You watch as she rests a hand on her hip, swiping her finger on the homescreen, undoubtedly sending the picture out to everyone already. She made her way back to where you sat, walking ever so slowly, swaying her hips as she did so. You could swear she was doing it on purpose, but then, maybe you were just crazy. Black is definitely her color, you thought. The thin strings of her bikini top were tied together and held their position by nothing more than a whole lot of faith. The curve of her breasts is obvious, and the realization that you’re even thinking about her like this makes your cheeks heat up. God, it was like everything she did lately was sexual, like she knew what you were thinking. Innocently inviting you to go shopping, but picking the most sinful dress, or going to the beach and teasing you with the tiny pieces of fabric that barely covered her. It was the best kind of torture, but one that made you lose sleep—especially when her room was directly next to yours. 

“Careful, now.” Hangman's voice startled you as he came up from behind you, drink in hand.

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” he says, a smirk on his face. “You’re practically drooling.”

You scoff, “Yeah, right. Am not.”

Hangman chuckles and leans in to whisper in your ear, “Y’know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you had a bit of a crush.” 

Eyes going wide, you become tense, and laugh it off. “On Nat? No, no.”

Jake takes a long sip of his beer, narrowing his gaze on you, as if trying to search for the truth. But his smirk says it all. “I didn’t say anything about Phoenix.”

FUCK. 

“Wait a minute, I-”

Hangman walked away from you, toward the rest of the group, completely ignoring your pleas and desperate attempts to keep him from saying anything. Jesus fucking Christ, it’s like he can walk twice as fast now that he has something to hold against you, and your feet are suddenly made of bricks–no matter how fast you try to walk in sandals on the beach, all you manage to do is kick up sand and put more distance between you and him. When you finally catch up to him, Hangman’s already talking to the rest of the group—Nat included. She turns in your direction, flashing a smile.

“And here she is,” Hangman pats your shoulder. “We’re gonna play a little game. That is, if you can handle it.”

Oh god. 

—

Jake’s great idea of a game turned out to be nothing more than Truth or Dare or Shot–a stupid game you hadn’t played since college. It worked just like truth or dare, but you could pass on a dare or a question by taking a shot. Poor Bob took the brunt of it, nearly passing out after three shots; Fanboy nearly got caught skinny-dipping in the ocean and decided he’d be taking shots if he was dared to do something stupid again; Coyote and Payback had a mini competition going on against Rooster and Hangman, trying to see which pair could last the longest without taking a shot. Phoenix was fearless, completing every dare, and every truth, making you wonder how she made it all look so easy. You, on the other hand, were barely making it out alive. Answering the questions as vaguely as possible and managing to only take two shots when Rooster dared you to cliff jump and when Fanboy asked if you would ever date a pilot. Still, anxiety rushed through you every time Jake asked you a question or dared you. With a taunting look in his eyes, he enjoyed watching you squirm and die a little on the inside at the idea of coming forward with your little secret.

Now, he decided, that was about to change. 

“Alright, Phoenix,” Hangman speaks to her, but his eyes are on you. Normally you’d think you were safe, but the way he says her name has you thinking otherwise. “I dare you to kiss the hottest person in the room.” 

She scoffs like it’s no big deal, “That’s the best you got?”

Nat stands from her seat, walking in a circle around the rest of you in your chairs, making you all wonder where she was gonna stop. At this point you don’t know if you hate Jake for that or what. Really, it can go one of two ways–either he forces the secret out of you, or she kisses one of the guys. You weren’t sure which was worse. Weaving in between the seats, Nat brushes her fingers along the chairs, sometimes touching the shoulders of the one everyone thinks she’s going to kiss. Hangman and Rooster sat on either side of you, and you could easily say with confidence that she would end up kissing one of them–they had a flirty friendship like that.

Before you can even process what’s going on, Nat is straddling you in your seat, taking everyone by surprise. The buzzing laughter and conversations come to a stop, but Nat just grins–she knows exactly what she’s doing. Her hands snake around your neck and her touch feels just as electrifying as when you posed for the photo. Nat’s dark hair is loose, hanging just off her shoulders as she tilts her head, and you can smell the saltwater on her. It’s both intoxicating and addicting, making you forget all about the nervous feelings you had for her. She grabs your hands, placing them on her waist, leaning into you so much that her boobs are practically in your face, teasing you. 

Nat makes direct eye contact with you, enjoying the way you try and evade it, as if her ass isn’t using your thighs as a seat. Leaning into your ear, she whispers, “I know.” 

This grabs your attention, your eyes go wide—exactly like she planned, and using your weakness to her advantage, she presses her lips softly against yours. As if you weren’t already totally under her command, you’re absolutely fucked now. Her lips are soft, and you melt like putty against her, accidentally letting out a noise of approval when she flicks her tongue at your bottom lip. You taste a mixture of the alcohol and her chapstick and it’s overwhelming, taking over your senses.

The only thing that makes you come back is the scattered “coughs” from the guys who sat around you. 

“I said kiss the hottest person, not start a porno in front of everyone.” Jake says as his Phoenix climbs off of you. 

“What? Did we make you hard, Bagman?” Phoenix retorted, winking at you before she sat back down at her own seat. 

Jake didn’t even know what to say, and there was no answer that was going to be good enough—he could say no, but then there was the truth…

— 

When you lay down for bed, you can’t sleep. How could you? All you can think about is the fact that Nat knows. She knows. All those months of getting to know each other, spending time together, looking back on it, your crush is pretty obvious. It really couldn’t be as bad as you were thinking right? The girl you’d had a crush on for months literally just kissed you. She’d practically made out with you in front of everyone, and needless to say, your ego took a much needed boost. The feeling of Nat’s soft skin under your grip was imprinted into your mind, and if you closed your eyes and thought hard enough, it was like you could feel her lips against yours again. Just thinking about her makes you press your thighs together and squirm in bed. Sliding your hand down the waistband of your sleeping shorts, your fingers draw light circles around your throbbing clit through the dampening fabric, sending a shiver throughout your body. Your breath quickens as your fingers roam up and down your pussy, but before you can do anything more, there’s a light knock at your door. More than likely, it was Jake, back to tease you again about Nat—he’d already made cryptic comments before you all decided it was time to call it a night. You turn on a dim lamp on the desk, before making your way to the door, “I swear if you’re here to just bother me, I-” 

Oh. It’s not Jake at the door, but Nat. 

“Sorry, did I wake you? I can go.” She says. 

“N-no! No, sorry, I thought you were Hangman.” 

“And why would Hangman be coming to visit you at three in the morning?” Nat crosses her arms, intrigued, and you can’t help but notice the outline of her nipples through the tank top. She walks past you and into your room, closing the door behind her. “Better question, what are you still doing awake?” 

“I-uh, I can’t sleep.” It’s not a total lie, but were you really gonna admit you’d been lying there, trying to get off at the thought of her? No. 

“Funny,” she circles back to where you still stand by the closed door. “I can’t either. All I keep thinking about is our hot little make out earlier tonight.” Nat smirks, knowing how heated your cheeks must feel right now.

To say you’re speechless is a fucking understatement, you can’t even breathe when she’s barely inches away from you, taunting you to make the first move. . 

Nat lets out a small chuckle, “C’mon, I know you loved it, babygirl. I know I make you wet.” The air exhaled from her lips is warm against your face. Her hand ghosts over your arm, making your skin tingle as she slides her hand lower and lower, ever so slightly tugging off your shorts and grazing her fingertips over your clothed pussy. “See,” her fingers are warm as she slips them down your panties, rubbing up and down the wetness that pools between your thighs. “You’re soaking.”

Biting back a moan, you close your eyes, throwing your head back against the door, but the moan escapes anyways, “Fuck, Nat.” You’d dreamt of this for so long, and now you could barely tell if it was real life or just another dream. But the way she curls her fingers inside your cunt and teases your mouth with her tongue proves that it's your sweet reality. 

“I think we need to finish what we started,” Nat is slow to pull the tank top off her body, revealing her breasts and hardening nipples all to you. Completely on display, she reaches for the hem of your own shirt and slips it over your head, “What do you think about that?” You don’t even need to answer her–the moan that escapes your lips as she presses hot kisses to your neck says it all. Guiding her to your bed, you kiss her feverishly, like somehow she would disappear if you didn’t. Nat moans loudly as you explore her mouth, making you grin against her. Never in a million years would you have thought that you could elicit moans out of Phoenix of all people. She was a confident pilot and an even more confident woman, and she was coming undone at your touch right under you. Using your thumbs to massage her breasts, you take one into your mouth, sucking it ever so slightly. The light and gentle nature of your mouth spurs Nat, “C’mon, babygirl, more.” She brings your hand down from her breast and onto her pussy instead, arching her back as your middle and ring fingers inch their way in. It’s something you never thought you’d see, but it’s a sight you never want to forget. Phoenix is completely and utterly under your control at this moment, and it’s all the courage you need to keep going, to keep fucking her. She bites your bottom lip as you kiss her sloppily, and whines when she can’t feel you inside her anymore. Nat looks beautiful under the dim light, totally at your will. 

Trailing kisses down her abdomen, your mouth stopping at her entrance, licking a stripe in between her folds. “You’re so wet for me, Nat. You sure you weren’t thinking about this just as much as I have?” 

“G-God, you have no idea.” Phoenix bucks her hips, desperate for more friction, “I can’t stop th-thinking about you.” Her words are breathy as she tries her hardest to make complete sentences. “S-should’ve fucked you in front of e-everyone.” 

You let out a small laugh, “I don’t think Jake would’ve minded.”

He really wouldn’t have, you know that and keep it in the back of your head.

Nat’s legs shake as you swirl your tongue and suck on her clit, “F-Fuck, I-I’m, I’m not gonna last.”

“C’mon, Nat, cum for me.” The encouragement combined with the expert motions of your tongue is all she needs to let go. Her breath is hot and fast as she reaches her high, and it doesn’t take long before the pleasure leaks out of her pussy and onto your tongue, dripping like heaven. Using her elbows to prop herself up, Nat tries to catch her breath, but you’re quick to kiss her. The mixture of saliva and cum is nearly too much to handle all at once, the sweet sounds of you moaning in each other’s mouths is damn near XXX-rated. She grabs your neck, and flips you under her with such strength—a total contrast than the submissive nature of before, that you’d almost forgotten that she was in the best shape of her life and could easily do what she wanted with you. 

Phoenix throws her legs over your waist, straddling you like earlier, but the bare skin on skin contact feels even better than the tease of bikinis and denim shorts. She grabs your wrists tightly, pinning them over your head, her breasts only a kiss away. When you move forward, however, she refuses to let you take any part of her in your mouth without her say. “Nuh-uh, it’s my turn to take care of you. Get up.” 

“What?”

“Get up,” she demands, and lays on her back as you move off to the side. “Okay, come here.” You’re on autopilot, your body moves at her command before you even have time to argue or think about it. Phoenix guides you on top of her, “I want you to ride my face.” She’s nonchalant, as if this is the millionth time she’s told you to do so–in reality, it’s probably like the millionth time she’s thought about it. “C’mon, I want to taste you.”

Suddenly butterflies fill your stomach, and you feel sheepish. Nobody could blame you, though, you had never ridden a girl’s face before and you were afraid that somehow you’d suffocate her, totally ruining what you had going on with her right now. “I-I don’t know, Nat, I–”

“Don’t get shy on me now,” she says. “Were you shy when you were facedown in my cunt? Or when you moaned my name when I teased your pretty little pussy?” 

No, no you weren’t.

Alright, fuck it. 

You slide your body up, gripping the headboard of the bed for support while Phoenix’s lips meet your wet cunt. Her arms wrap on either side of your waist and press into the meat of your thighs, surely leaving bruises there later. Phoenix starts off slow, almost painfully slow, letting you relish in the feeling of ecstasy. Her tongue warm against your core, and she moans in approval, “Oh, babygirl, you taste so fucking amazing.” 

Finding your rhythm isn’t hard–grinding yourself back and forth against her mouth takes you to a new high you didn’t even think you could find. “Fucking hell, Nat. I-I-Fuck,” Your words are breathless as Phoenix’s tongue worked like magic, flicking between your slick folds and noisily sucking on your throbbing, sensitive clit. The rich sounds of her mouth smacking against your folds are nothing short of perfection. Her hands reach up and pinch your nipples, making you cry out as she sends you into a state of newfound pleasure and pain, and it’s almost too much. “God, I-I’m gonna cum.” 

“That’s it, babygirl,” she coaxes. “If you cum for me, I’ll let you suck on my tits. Can you do that for me? Can you cum on my face?”  Phoenix’s voice is sultry and demanding, like there’s some kind of drug that fills your ears as she speaks. But you don’t need much convincing. You pick up the pace, riding Nat’s face faster and she fucking loves it. It turns her on even more to see you so desperate to cum, so desperate to chase that high, but she loves the taste of it even more. Her face and tongue are slick and wet from your release as your riding comes to a stop. Grabbing her by the shoulders, you take her up on her offer, sucking on the mound of flesh and grazing your teeth on her nipple. Leaving purple marks around the valley of her breasts and her collarbone, you move to press a longing kiss onto Phoenix’s lips. She moves her hand around your neck, pulling you down and deepening the kiss. 

You and Phoenix lay beside one another, legs entangled and arms wrapped around each other’s bodies, so that not even air separates you two. The room is quiet, except for soft breathing, where you could faintly hear the ocean’s waves. 

“So how long have you known? About my crush on you?” You ask as she tenderly rubs your arm.

Phoenix smiles in the dim light, chuckling softly. “A long time.” 

---

a/n: credit to @angelic-dreams13 for giving me ideas and yelling at me to write it jejeje 🫶🏼

#natasha phoenix trace x you #natasha phoenix trace #natasha phoenix trace imagine #phoenix x reader #natasha trace smut #natasha phoenix trace smut #phoenix smut #natasha trace x fem reader #monica barbaro

[kay-lalala]

PJOTV Episode 5 - I'm sorry but WHAT DID THEY DO TO ARES???

Like... what is this.

They took away his looks, his character, AND his power.

Let me quote the book.

"All conversation in the diner stopped. The motorcycle's headlight glared red. Its gas tank had flames painted on it, and a shotgun holster riveted to either side, complete with shotguns. The seat was leather – but leather that looked like... well, Caucasian human skin."

Really? Not even flames on the bike? No guns (thanks Disney), no human skin leather (thanks Disney).

"The guy on the bike would've made pro wrestlers run for Mama. He was dressed in a red muscle shirt and black jeans and a black leather duster, with a hunting knife strapped to his thigh. He wore red wraparound shades, and he had the cruelest, most brutal face I’d ever seen – handsome, I guess, but wicked – with an oily black crewcut and cheeks that were scarred from many, many fights.“

Yeah...no. “Ares” looks like a random unwashed guy that got kicked out of his unsuccessful Norwegian metal band and is now traveling the country to find himself during his midlife crisis. No knife, not even small details like the red shirt or black jeans. And the sunglasses are entirely unimportant? Also no scars (thanks Disney? I guess?). I’m sorry but NOTHING about him is cool or intimidating.

“As he walked into the diner, a hot, dry wind blew through the place. All the people rose, as if they were hypnotized, but the biker waved his hand dismissively and they all sat down again. Everybody went back to their conversations. The waitress blinked, as if somebody had just pressed the rewind button on her brain. She asked us again, ‘You kids have money to pay for it?’”

Ares is a GOD. He is powerful as shit. WHY IS THE SHOW NOT SHOWING THAT? Instead he is just sitting around on Twitter (Just like with the Fortnite dance. Why are you trying to drag current pop culture stuff into the story?). Give this guy an awesome entrance. For fucks sake, let SOMEONE in this show be intimidating for once. His only power is snapping his fingers to open a door? Lame.

“The biker said, ‘It’s on me.’ He slid into our booth, which was way too small for him, and crowded Annabeth against the window. He looked at the waitress, who was gaping at him, and said, ‘Are you still here?’ He pointed at her, and she stiffened. She turned as if she’d been spun around, then marched back towards the kitchen.”

Ares is an asshole. Let him be a fucking asshole. He doesn’t care about personal space, he doesn’t care about humans, he pushes them around however he wants. Again, he is a God, he is powerful, and he uses his powers however he wants.

“The biker looked at me. I couldn’t see his eyes behind the red shades, but bad feelings started boiling in my stomach. Anger, resentment, bitterness. I wanted to hit a wall. I wanted to pick a fight with somebody. Who did this guy think he was?”

AGAIN, please show Ares’ powers. He makes people angry just by being around them. Even the musical did this better.

“[…] I wanted to rip this guy’s head off. ‘What’s it to you?’ Annabeth’s eyes flashed me a warning. ‘Percy, this is-’ The biker raised his hand. ‘S’okay,’ he said. ‘I don’t mind a little attitude. Long as you remember who’s the boss. You know who I am, little cousin?’ Then it struck me why this guy looked so familiar. […] ‘You’re Clarisse’s dad,’ I said. ‘Ares, god of war.’”

Where is Ares’ power please I AM CRYING. Also Ares is COOL. He’s laid-back, he’s confident, because these kids are not a threat to him. Instead, in the show, he just drives by and stops, starts exposition-dumping, and drives off to the diner. He is missing his character voice, he is missing the powerful entrance, he is missing HIS POWERS. But show Ares sits in the diner, laughing at Twitter on his phone like some loser.

“Ares grinned and took off his shades. Where his eyes should've been, there was only fire, empty sockets glowing with miniature nuclear explosions.”

NO BECAUSE WHERE THE FUCK WAS THAT????????? ‘Your quest is going to fail. Ask me how I know’ HE DOESN’T TALK LIKE THAT. Also why is Annabeth provoking Ares… She’s literally the one smart enough to not do that.

“That’s right, punk. I heard you broke Clarisse’s spear.’ ‘She was asking for it.’ ‘Probably. That’s cool. I don’t fight my kids’ fights, you know? What I’m here for – I heard you were in town. I got a little proposition for you-’ The waitress came back with heaping trays of food […]. Ares handed her a few gold drachmas. She looked nervously at the coins. ‘But, these aren’t…’ Ares pulled out his huge knife and started cleaning his fingernails. ‘Problem, sweetheart?’”

I love this. It shows how Ares is disconnected from the human world, how he doesn’t give a shit, how he threatens people so casually to get his way. How humans mean nothing to him. But this show just LOVES to tell instead of show. Literally these people do not stop talking ever. Ares in the show is like blah blah blah Zeus send his kids to look for the bolt, they will go to war ‘You’re new to the family, young one, so let me fill you in on how we work.’ AND HE TELLS THEM THE STORY OF HOW KRONOS ATE HIS KIDS? STOP? EXPOSITION DUMPING? WHO IS WRITING THIS DIALOGUE??? WHY IS HE BEEFING WITH ANNABETH???

“’Why don’t you go back and get it yourself?’ The fire in his sockets glowed a little hotter. ‘Why don’t I turn you into a prairie dog and run you over with my Harley? Because I don’t feel like it. A god is giving you an opportunity to prove yourself, Percy Jackson.’”

[…] Ares’s fiery eyes made me see things I didn’t want to see – blood and smoke and corpses on the battlefield. “

...Thanks Disney. Please, why does he go off on Annabeth. In the book, Percy doesn’t care about the threats, he rejects the ride west at first, even after Ares mentions his mom he still antagonizes him. And then he just disappears. That’s cool. In the show Ares acts immediately offended, threatens to kill them and Percy immediately agrees. You remember how in the show he didn't agree to go on the quest at first even though the entire world was at stake? Yeah.

So not only does Percy not at all fight and resist Ares, but Annabeth does even though she warns Percy in the book, because she figured him out and would not argue with the literal God of War. She literally said ‘That was not smart, Percy.’ when Percy argues with Ares. None of that in the show.

I’m done with the show. It is a lazy, unimaginative, unfaithful, unserious, passionless, Disneyfied, detail-less adaptation that had me pause the episode several times because I was just baffled. Crowley from Good Omens looks more like I imagined Ares than the show’s Ares.

I won’t even start right now about how they cut out the Iris Message scene, how Ares is the one who told Percy about his mother, or how Grover just gets left behind in the show even though he saves Percy and Annabeth in the waterpark, How they just immediately know it’s Hephaestus in the show (because god forbids it takes them longer than two seconds to figure something out), they didn’t get fresh silly waterpark clothes, no Aphrodite’s scarf, no spiders (that’s literally important to Annabeth’s character? But no way she can be afraid. Let her argue with Ares instead.) no “live to Olympus in one minute”, no “When I say go.” “No! When I say go!” “What?” “Simple physics! Force times the trajectory angle-”, no Grover saving them, no “Shows over! Thank you! Goodnight!”

Instead… Ares hangs out with Grover and proceeds to be the exact opposite of cool and powerful, Percy gets stuck in the waterpark door in a completely pointless scene, more exposition about Hephaestus’ story, the chair thing that captured Percy (why? Ares or Aphrodite would not sit down on that Ares knew it’s a trap. They know the story of the chair. So does Hephaestus want to kill any random person that comes around or what?), “It can’t be undone” and undoes it two minutes later, Annabeth saving Percy not with her intelligence but by having a therapy monologue with Hephaestus, and talking, talking, talking. This show seems to be allergic to action scenes.

“Well. This smells.” → Continues to have no physical reaction or be otherwise fazed by the smell. We love tell don’t show here. <3

They cut stuff and put useless stuff in instead, continue to butcher characters and censor everything. It’s not a good adaptation and it’s not a good show. It’s not horrible, just a 5/10 for me at max. And it’s frustrating to see them not care about the details (so many details that wouldn’t even need extra time. Just extra effort) and the characters. They change things that just fuck up the logic of the entire story later.

What I liked about the episode:

They showed that Gabe is on TV and Percy is missing. Finally. Seaweed Brain. Also finally.

I also hope Grover is wrong about knowing who stole the master bolt because if that ruins the final reveal???????? Huh???

Also please leave me aloneeeeeeeeeeee lin manuel mirandaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa why is he everywhereeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

#pjo #pjato #pjotv #pjo tv show #pjotv spoilers #pjo ares #long post #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #the lightning thief

[around1302]

XX. THE FINAL SHOW

SPARE PARTS: a series (20/20)

MSG, NEW YORK

(W) strong language

epilogue out 9pm BST ;)

THIRD PERSON’S POV

ONE WEEK EARLIER

“You know what’s funny about this?”

“Incredible sex is funny?”

Charlie rolls her eyes, tilting her head to meet Harry’s gaze. Sort of. Within their position, it proves to be a little difficult. Their fingers tangle and untangle in an unspoken game, Charlie’s cheek presses into Harry’s chest and they just lay there – basking in uninterrupted peace. It’s so strangley normal at this point.

“If I had never kissed Zayn at Louis’ party, we wouldn’t have happened. You wouldn’t have found me crying in the toilet and I wouldn’t have let you edge me.”

Harry’s chest winced at the mention of her kissing Zayn, her kissing anyone that isn’t him, but he remains cool. Chuckling, even, at the bitter tone she dips into at the recollection of what he did to her that night.

“As much as I’d love to give you some line about how we were destined, I have to agree with you, baby.”

“You can use other nicknames, you know.”

Charlie twists completely onto her stomach now, letting her chin fall on her arms. Harry plays with her hair, fingers grazing her back, smiling at the goosebumps that develop beneath his touch.

“I can?” Harry lilts.

“Mm. You haven’t used princess in a while.”

“You hated princess.”

Charlie shrugs. “Try it now. Unless you still think I’m a stuck-up brat.”

“Hey,” Harry tilts his head, thumbing at her bottom lip, “I never said that.”

“You implied it.” Charlie grins, pushing her face up with her palm as her elbow digs into his chest. Harry looks up at her now, still tracing her morning-kissed features.

“Fine,” Harry clears his throat, “princess.”

“Like slipping on an old sweater.” Charlie grins, Harry scoffs.

“You don’t call me anything,” Harry palms at her nape, scratching at the hair there. Charlie’s eyes nearly roll into the back of her head while she resists the urge to beg him for a full body massage.

“You don’t seem like the pet name type.”

“I’m actually a huge fan of honey-bunch if you’d ever bothered asking me.”

Charlie snorts. Harry wants to write a song about it.

“Okay, honey-bunch,” Charlie leans forward, nudging his nose with hers, “whatever you want.”

PRESENT DAY

When the five of them stepped onto that stage those years ago as nothing but spare parts, they never could have imagined they would ever even play further than that Battle of the Bands arena – let alone Madison Square Garden.

Niall saw himself playing guitar in his bedroom around his usual 9-5. Liam envisioned packing away the drumsticks and moving to university and living the life his parents had always planned for him. Charlie saw singing in the shower and Louis saw bass behind closed doors and Harry saw songwriting in rare minutes.

This? This was unfathomable.

Even more so as Charlie stands before them all, hands as firm on her hips as her mind was set on the simple fact that she is,

“Not doing it.”

“What the fuck do you mean you’re not doing it?” Louis spits, furrowing his brows behind his overgrown fringe, calloused fingers pausing their play with his worn pick.

Typically, the guys would put this up to pre-show nerves. It’s not unusual for Charlie to question every aspect of her career moments before it’s time to mic up, but calling a band meeting only minutes before – the sound of screams echoing the dressing room Amelia and Zayn were forced to vacate – that’s call for suspicion.

“The show?” Niall questions, scratching the back of his neck.

“Charlie, if you’re nervous–” Liam starts.

“I’m not nervous,” Charlie finishes, “I’m just not doing it.”

She avoided Harry’s eye the whole way over here, scared she’d crumble if she’d meet it. It took kicking him out of the room and a turmoil over a trillion different possibilities to come to this conclusion, it took risking being late to solidify that this is the right thing – the only thing – to do.

She wasn’t going to throw all that away because of some stupid eyes.

And yet, as she repeats her bold statement, Harry’s face seems to be the only one she can find. He’s standing away from the guys, practically cornered, anxiously playing with his bottom lip as his eyes start to well with something. Fear? Sadness? Frustration? It’s untangeable, but Charlie fixates on it and finds it only fuels her resentment.

“I still don’t understand what the fuck you’re talking about.” Louis scoffs, shoving his pick in his pocket to fold his arms.

Charlie’s eyes zero in on Harry. She has no idea what he’s thinking, and vice versa, all they know is this is the most normal they’ve been in months. Charlie mad at Harry. If anything, her belittling stare should be a home comfort.

“Do you want to tell them or should I?”

Harry drops his hand, scowling. Anger starts to bubble in the spaces guilt boiled only a few seconds ago. The boys all look at Harry, and Niall’s quick to roll his eyes.

“Oh, Jesus, what did you do this time?”

“Knew it was only a matter of time before you fucked it up.” Liam joins in.

“Leave it out,” Harry snaps, despite knowing he has no real reason to.

“Well?” Charlie sniffs, straightening her back.

“Guys!” Paula’s voice booms from outside the locked door, “two minutes, I won’t tell you again!”

“Okay!” Charlie retorts.

Paula mumbles something about them skating on thin ice, but leaves. At the end of the day, the show can’t start without them – their own rules apply right now.

“Harry?” Louis asks again, his tone beyond annoyed.

“Charlie, you’re a real prick.” Harry sighs. Charlie shrugs. “This isn’t how I wanted to do this, I had a plan.”

Charlie guffaws at that. “Tough shit, they have a right to know–”

“Oh my God, know what?”

“He’s leaving.”

Silence thrums throughout the dressing room, making the space suddenly huge.

“You what?” Niall’s the first to break it, sounding amused. Unconvinced.

“You heard me.” If looks could kill, Harry’d be a goner. “Harry decided to sign a solo contract last year with Columbia,” her voice begins to wobble, but she can’t mess this up, “to leave after this tour.”

“Yeah, right.” Liam scoffs.

“Bullshit.” Louis laughs a little too loudly.

“Harry?” Charlie prompts.

Harry collapses onto the arm of the sofa, mumbling. “It’s true.”

“Speak up.” Charlie spits. Harry glares at her.

“It’s true,” he repeats, harsher. “Look, I was going to tell you after we were finished–”

“You what?” Niall scoffs, repeating himself.

“I can explain at a better time, but right now we need to get on stage and perform to fucking thousands of people.”

“No way,” Liam jibes, “I don’t believe you.”

“What would fucking possess you?” Louis bites.

Harry glares at Charlie, again. He knows full well he’s in the wrong here, but fuck her for dropping this bomb moments before what was supposed to be the best show of the whole God damn tour. There’s no way he has the time or space to explain now–

“Right, enough is enough!” Paula’s voice travels around the four walls, the persistent sound of her fist thrumming through their chests, “out, now!”

Harry quickly scrambles to rectify some of it – if any. If that’s even remotely possible at this point. Everyone’s looking at him like he just killed a cat, but his main priority is Charlie and her initial statement.

“We have to do this together, Charlie.”

“That’s ironic.” She snorts – the sound less sweet, now.

“As much as I could kick his head in right now,” Liam seethes, “he’s right. We’re not performing without you.”

“Tough shit. I’m not giving them a lie.”

“Ten seconds before I kick this door in!”

“Okay!” They all shout in unison this time.

“Charlie,” Harry steps forward, reaching out for her shoulders but she steps back, out of his touch. He tries not to wince at that. “Please.” Harry rarely pleads, but it seems that when it comes to this girl he’d get on his knees and beg with his life if she so wished.

Charlie feels those same, annoying tendons being yanked at in her chest. Harry’s eyes and his tremble and his mouth all seem so bitterly sincere, it kills her. So she glances at the band behind him, all clearly as angry as her, and searches their faces for some kind of answer.

Nothing. Nothing helpful, at least.

“Just one more show.” Harry pulls her back. “One more, then you can hate me forever.”

“That sounds like a tempting offer.” Charlie retorts quickly.

How much quipping at Harry feels like slipping on an old jumper. Sure, maybe complete refusal was a bit hasty. Perhaps even a little irresponsible – but it felt like good payback for Harry’s carelessness. But in looking at her bandmates’ faces, she realises maybe it was just selfish anger.

“Fine,” she ignores Harry’s deep sigh of relief, “but fuck you.”

Harry’s heard those words from Charlie’s lips a million times over the last six years, but God if that time didn’t sting. Salted by the guys’ glares and shoulder barges as they follow Charlie out the dressing room, hearing earfuls from Paula as they ascend to the stage.

As much as they tried, that show was clearly a blip. Fans were already buzzing on Twitter about how something feels up; Charlie’s distance, Harry’s wobbles, Niall’s fumbles. Not a part of them let the excitement of MSG seap into the cracks formed by that contract, and instead of an adrenaline filled debrief at their tour-wrap party the five of them sat in Louis’ hotel room.

Arguing.

“We were never going to do this forever.”

“We only put out two fucking albums,” Liam’s usual level-headedness seems to be long gone, “and you already want to call it quits.”

“I’m not quitting, I’m moving on,” Harry knows he has no right to be frustrated, but trying to explain where he’s coming from fifty times gets exhausting. “I don’t feel like this is the place I want to be at anymore. We were sixteen when we started and I used to be okay with every decision being made for me, but I can’t do it now.”

“You have freedom–”

“No, I don’t,” Harry snaps, interrupting Louis, “half the songs I wrote for this album got either cut or changed. Every fucking adult life experience I’ve ever had has been because other people set that up for me, or because it was a band decision. I can’t live like that anymore.”

“Wow,” Niall laughs bitterly, “didn’t realise we were such a chore.”

Harry sighs, refusing to explain himself for a fifty-first time.

“I understand I should have said something earlier, but that’s the only thing I can apologise for.”

“You’re not gonna say sorry for fucking us all over?” Niall sniffles.

“God, I have not fucked–”

“You’re not listening,” Charlie finally cuts through her silence. Everyone’s heads snap in her direction after nearly forgetting she’s been sat here, just absorbing the conversation. “You didn’t listen to me, and you’re not listening to them. We can’t do this without you.”

“Of course you can,” Harry’s voice leaves him hoarsly. “You’re all more than capable.”

“Do you really think that low of us?” Liam quips.

“Yeah,” Louis joins in, “we wouldn’t want to do it without you.”

Harry swallows, a thick tension fogging up the suite.

“Then I don’t know what to say.”

“Jesus,” Niall murmurs, rubbing his face before groaning, “you’re such an idiot, H.”

Harry presses his tongue into his cheek; he can’t dispute that one.

“So is this it?” Louis murmurs.

They all look at each other, waiting for someone to have an answer, a solution, but no one does. They can’t do it without Harry, and Harry isn’t doing it.

“I’m not ready for this to end.” Louis continues.

“It doesn’t have to.” Harry tries to resolve the issue, again. Obviously, it doesn’t work.

“We’ve fuckin’ established at this point we’re not doing this without you,” Niall’s tone starts to soften. “Maybe this is a good idea.”

“What?” Liam splutters.

“Look, Harry’s leaving, I’m getting married. We’ve just finished tour, if there’s any time to split…”

“Oh yeah, that’s all well and good for you guys. But what the fuck do we do, huh?”

“Whatever we want...” Liam mumbles to himself.

“What?” Louis stands, “You can’t seriously be okay with this?”

“Maybe they’re right,” Liam shrugs, still sounding defeated, “what if we are out-growing this thing?”

“This thing?”

“I mentally checked out the moment I found out.” Charlie cuts in, coldly. “I’m not saying I’m happy about it, I’m fucking terrified, but…” keeping her eyes on Harry, Charlie speaks to the room when she asks, “can we have a minute?”

The guys give each other looks, but obey, leaving Harry and Charlie. Harry can’t even look at Charlie. He doesn’t know what he feels, what he can even say. He’s sorry, and he’s angry, and he’s so God damn in love with her that he’s afraid to speak.

“I need a fuckin’ drink,” Louis grumbles before the door slams.

A second of silence before Charlie’s feet padding on the floor matches the thrumming of Harry’s heart, and then she’s suddenly before him, standing between his legs as he stays perched on the edge of the bed.

Hesitant, she reaches out, forcing him to look up at her. A sharp inhale takes her off guard at the sight of him – he looks so wrecked, so on the verge of tears, she nearly decides to forget the whole thing and crumble into forgiveness. Into his arms.

“Charlie,” he mutters, “I need you to be okay with me.”

She swallows the forming lump in her throat, but it’s not working against the pads of his fingers against her hips, kneading apologetic circles into her skin.

“Please,” he asks again. Begs.

Charlie carresses his cheeks, heart breaking at the way he absentmindely falls into her warmth. His eyes even flutter closed for a second as he wonders if this is the last time she’ll ever let him lean into her like this.

“I don’t expect forgiveness I just…” he kisses her palm, his lips moving desperately up her arm as his voice cracks, “I can’t lose you, you know that, right?”

Despite Charle’s heart melting into a trillion painful specs, she remains firm.

“Harry, you lied.” She whispers.

He stands, holding her face as he continues his apology path to her neck, her jaw, her cheek, her lips. Mutual tears salt the kiss as she caves in for a second; her hands fist at his shirt as her muscles fall into memory and all she can think about is his lips on hers. Harry sighs into her mouth, fingers clawing at her nape as he begs with his tongue.

“No,” Charlie suddenly pulls back, ugly logic clouding her vision, “no, Harry I can’t.”

Their foreheads press together, jagged breaths mixing to become one as he keeps her close, as close as he possibly can for as long as he possibly can. He’s almost scared to ask the question,

“So what are we supposed to do now?”

Charlie looks up at him with those eyes, a look of disappointment- no, is it anger? Sadness. Harry really can’t tell. All he knows is she’s never looked at him like that before, and he never wants her to look at him like that again.

What are they supposed to do now?

“I know space is the last thing I’ll ever want from you.” Harry answers for them.

When Charlie doesn’t respond, Harry tries to clear his throat; rid himself of that painful lump as he prepares himself to finish his sentence.

It doesn’t work. It’s painful. So, so painful.

“Space is probably what you want, right?”

If you had asked Charlie twenty four hours ago what she wanted from Harry, space wouldn’t have even made it on the list. But now, after everything, after what should have been the best show of the whole tour but turned out to be the worse – yeah. Space sounds nice.

So she nods, shortly yet enough for Harry to register it against his skin.

“Okay.” He whispers, his voice cracking.

Leaving her isn’t close to what Harry wants to do, but he forces himself to step away from her. He knows looking at her will only make things worst, so keeping his head down he starts for the door.

But Charlie’s palm around his wrist stops his feet and his heart.

“Harry,” his name leaves her rushed, pained.

She steps in front of him. “I love you.”

He feels his whole world collapse beneath him.

“I just need a minute, okay?”

Harry’s never felt relief like that in his entire life.

“Okay.”

After six years, eight months, and several days, Harry can do a minute.

@lilfreakjez @be-with-me-so-happily @sirtommyholland @tpwksm @b-reads-things @tiaamberxx @daphnesutton @mleestiles

#spare parts series #harry styles series #one direction series #harry styles x oc #harry styles enemies to lovers #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #1d series #1d ot5 #1d smut #harry styles fic rec

[pickalilywrites]

Levi and Petra's son arrives two weeks early, born on Valentines day. Modern AU

thanks :)

two weeks more

rivetra. modern au. 1072 words.

“I’m going in there,” Levi says for the tenth time that hour. It’s the twelfth hour, and he’s said the same thing at least ten times each hour. He must have repeated it over a hundred times by now, but he clings to it like a mantra even though he’s been barred from entering after the first time he had caused a scene. 

“You can’t go in there,” Farlan says, something he’s also repeated as many times as Levi has repeated his own words. He grips Levi’s arm with one hand, ready to restrain his friend like he’s done so many times before today. Like Levi, there are dark circles under his eyes after being up for the past twelve hours. “The doctor kicked you out after you made a fuss bringing Petra here.”   

“How does anyone expect me to sit still when there’s a whole child coming out of my wife?” Levi asks. He lurches forward, but Farlan pushes him back down against the chair. He snarls at Farlan, “Let me go!”  

“Do you want to be kicked out of the hospital?” Farlan hisses, glancing at Petra’s hospital room. A cry comes from the room and Farlan grunts as he pushes Levi back against the chair once more. “Levi, sit the fuck down! Isabel is with her. It’s going to be fine!”  

“Why is it taking so long? It shouldn’t be taking this long,” Levi protests. He tries to lunge out of his chair once more, but Farlan holds him down firmly. Levi glares at Hanji who is calmly flipping through a magazine beside him. “Hanji, help me!”  

“Help you what?” Hanji asks. They turn another page, not bothering to look up at Levi’s outraged face. They only look up every once and a while when hearing Petra’s pained cries, but otherwise they seem unbothered. “Do you really think it’ll help if you’re in there screaming at the doctor and nurses? They’re professionals, Levi. Just leave them to their jobs. It’s natural for the first labor to be the hardest.”  

“See? Listen to Hanji,” Farlan says through gritted teeth, still firmly holding Levi back against the chair because he doesn’t trust Levi not to escape at the earliest opportunity.  

“Two weeks early? The baby is two weeks early,” Levi reminds them. He’s been constantly reminding of this fact the entire time they’ve been at the hospital. He had memorized the exact date that their baby should have been born: February 28. It was a complete surprise when Petra’s contractions had started two weeks prior to the date their obstetrician had given them. They had planned to celebrate their last childless Valentine’s Day together when the contractions started late last night only a little after they had gone to bed. 

“Yes, the baby is two weeks early. We know, we know,” Hanji says with a nod. They fling an arm around Levi’s shoulders. “Shouldn’t this be, you know, the best day of your life? You’re going to be a father, you know.”  

“This is the worst fucking day I’ve ever had,” Levi replies. He turns his head so quickly at the sound of Petra’s cry that his neck nearly snaps.  

“I’d say Petra’s day is infinitely worse. She’s the one being ripped in half, after all,” Hanji comments.  

At Hanji’s words, Levi makes another attempt to escape from Farlan’s grasp but his friend tackles him back into the chair. 

“Hanji, you’re not helping,” Farlan hisses. It’s taking all of his strength to hold Levi against the chair, but he’s not sure how long he can keep holding Levi back after restraining him for several hours. 

“If you don’t let me go right now, I will kill you,” Levi growls, but Farlan continues to hold him back. Levi feels his panic rise when he hears Petra cry again behind the delivery room doors. He struggles against Farlan’s hold, trying his best to break free. It takes him a while to realize that Hanji is shushing him. 

“Do you hear that?” Hanji asks. They place a finger to their lips, finally abandoning their magazine on a side table. It’s the first time they’ve expressed any interest in what was happening in the delivery room. They lean forward, a smile on their face as they hear the sound of a baby crying replacing Petra’s earlier cries.  

Isabel bursts through the doors just then, two nurses following closely behind her. “Levi!” she says, but she hardly finishes calling his name when Levi pushes past her, unable to stand being away from his wife any longer. 

When he enters the delivery room, Petra is laying in the hospital bed exhausted. She’s damp with sweat, but she’s as radiant as ever. In her arms is a babe wrapped in a bundle of blankets, red-faced and crying even as he’s being comforted by his mother. When Petra sees Levi, she gives him a tired smile. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

“I should be the one asking you that,” Levi laughs weakly, unable to take his eyes off their newborn son. The baby is so small, but somehow the his presence has shifted his entire world.  

Petra shushes the baby, but it continues to fuss and cry despite her best efforts. She smiles a little sheepishly at Levi. “He was so impatient that he came two weeks early, but it seems he’s still upset even after being born.”  

Levi can only watch wordlessly as Petra comforts the babe, speaking to him lowly as he cries and cries and the nurses fuss around them. Eventually, he asks, “Can I hold him?”  

“Of course,” Petra laughs and gently hands the newborn to her husband.  

Levi cradles his son in his arms, holding him as if he were made of glass. He doesn’t even dare to breathe as he holds their son. As he takes the baby in his arms, the baby begins to quiet down, comforted by his father’s touch.  

“All this time, we were wondering why he came so early,” Petra says with a smile. She reaches out to touch their son’s forehead, stroking the little wisp of black hair. “It looks like he wanted to meet us as soon as possible.”  

“Lucky us,” Levi says as he gazes down lovingly at their son. Only a few minutes ago he had been in complete agony, but now he feels nothing but blessed as he holds his newborn with his wife beside him.  

#rivetra #petra ral #levi ackerman #snk #farlan church #isabel magnolia #hanji zoe #modern au #asks #answered #anon #anonymous #requests

[laurelnose]

good news! I don’t have a brain tumor 🥰

so basically what happened is

mid-december: i acquire Debilitating Migraine, 10 out of 10 worst pain I’ve felt in my entire fucking life Migraine, worse than the time I spent three weeks recovering from major surgery completely sober because I am inexplicably resistant to just about every class of painkiller I’ve ever tried Migraine. (I actually only rank the surgery experience about a 6 out of 10 on the pain scale.) we get the migraine down to Bad But Manageable by locating several new Christmas light strings that turned out to be flickering at speeds the human eye could not detect but my human brain certainly could and throwing them all out. I make a doctor’s appointment.

last week: I finally see my PCP. she prescribes me a triptan, which is an abortive med that is meant to stop migraine attacks. the triptan decreases the headache but does not remove it entirely. also, the damn thing keeps getting worse again. I try it three times over the week, which is the maximum number of times you’re supposed to take a triptan in a month. almost like you’re not supposed to have more than three headaches in a month or something?? weird. well, technically I haven’t had three. it’s all the Same Damn Headache.

this same day I also pick up a topiramate prescription, which is a preventative. i am advised i can start the topiramate even if i am not pain free. maybe if i give it a day or two it will help even if i am currently having an attack??

wednesday i see my PCP for followup and tell her i am still in pain. she offers to get me squeezed in to have an intramuscular toradol (heavy-duty NSAID) shot. this kicks in within 20 minutes and doubles my migraine pain. I was at 3-ish and now I am at 6 and unhappy about it.

i do not come back down from the level the toradol kicked me up to. i survive thursday by not doing very much of anything.

uh? holy shit? yeah, sure?

friday the pain becomes unbearable. back up to an 8, which isn’t the worst it’s been but it’s also Day Forty Fucking Two and I’m so tired. I leave work early & go to urgent care where they pump me fulla benadryl and dexamethasone. absolutely none of this is fun — the dexamethasone feels like a panic attack and the benadryl makes me dizzy and light-headed + makes it very hard to think of words? what the shit do people take benadryl recreationally for? but! the pain diminishes dramatically. after the IV’s done they get me in for a CT scan and are like hey! you don’t have a brain tumor! (I was not actually worried I had a brain tumor but it’s always nice to rule it out.) but you do have a sinus infection and a bunch of fluid buildup that’s probably triggering the migraine. (really? but I haven’t been congested?) yeah, no, it’s really deep in there. do you wanna do antibiotics and sudafed about that to clear up the fluid?

saturday morning the head pain is back but it’s mild and it feels LIKE A FUCKING SINUS HEADACHE and not a migraine anymore oh my god. Guess what kinds of headaches are fucking fixable and tend not to be intractable and unpreventable. It’s also like, a manageable amount of pain? It hurts but I feel okay?? I get thru work without taking my breaks in the dark with a heat pad? I look at headlights on the dark road coming home and am not immediately debilitated? 😭 Maybe in a week and a half when the antibiotics course is done I will actually just be Fine??

I really shoulda gone to urgent care back in December. Too bad I didn’t quite realize you could go to urgent care for migraines until I’d seen my PCP for the first time and that couldn’t happen earlier bc, well, appointments are hard to come by.

I’m wondering in hindsight if the triptan WAS kicking the migraine more effectively than I thought it was and i couldn’t tell because I had a sinus headache underneath (which kept bringing the migraine back). this also explains why I was getting decent results with Vick’s VapoRub LMAO. Like some people do swear by menthol for migraines but it was probably helping the congestion too.

anyways this is why I’ve been quiet. I will be quiet for a little while longer probably bc the sinus headache is still not fun but it is getting better. in fact i had to get up and eat breakfast to take my antibiotic but it is sunday and i don’t actually want to be awake so i think i’m going back to bed

i am never letting anyone talk me into taking another NSAID ever fucking again.

#laurelnose.txt

[2dmenenthusiast]

Last Night on Earth Pt. 3

(Ethan Winters x Gn!Reader)

Me? Finally posting a chapter? Why, it couldn't be! I hope ya'll enjoy!

Also, lemme know if anyone would like to be tagged in this series!

Warnings/other info: references to injury, grief

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7 Pt. 8 Pt. 9

It was cold. The frigid air seeped in through the windows and circulated around the large room. You laid curled up on your bed, knees to your chest. You’d be warmer if you got under the covers, but you didn’t feel like moving. Didn’t feel like showing weakness, which was all you felt the past three days. Weak and helpless.

“Do you know why you’re being punished?”

You turned away from Sister Jude, arms crossed tight against your chest.

“You can be silent all you want. It won’t change the outcome.”

With a huff, you sat up, a glare aimed at the older woman. How could she treat you like this? When it wasn’t even your fault!

You could feel your nose start bleeding again, and you quickly wiped at it. Sister Jude sat on the bed next to you and reached out with a tissue. You slapped her hand away, and she sighed.

“Why must you be so stubborn?”

“I don’t know. Why can’t you punish the jerk that smashed my guitar?”

“Well, maybe it has to do with the fact that he’s currently getting a cast on his arm! Why didn’t you come to me? To any of us?”

You scoffed and stood from the bed, pacing around and throwing your arms out in frustration. “Like you would’ve done anything! All I’d get is another rant from Father O’Neil about ‘being patient’ and ‘forgiveness.’ Screw that!”

“So that means you can just go ahead and start breaking limbs whenever someone upsets you?”

“Like they haven’t done worse to me,” you mumbled under your breath.

She remained for a moment, her eyes searching your face before she sighed and stood from your bed.

“I’ll expect you at confession. If this behavior doesn’t change, you know what will happen.”

When she turned her back, you raised both middle fingers at her and resisted the urge to scream, teeth painfully clenched together. Your eyes stung as you laid back down, hissing in pain and clutching your ribs.

No, you couldn’t tell her about how the other kids dragged you into the bathroom and kicked you until you were bleeding. You couldn’t tell her about the vile and awful things they called you, the notes they stuck on your back when you weren’t looking. Because it would only get worse if you did.

***

“Well, that’s mildly disturbing.”

You’ve seen more than your fair share of disconcerting things while being trapped in your family home. The occasional decapitated limb, the entrails of the hopeless victims your mother stored in the fridge like it was last night's leftovers. Oh, and not to forget the seven foot tall mold monsters brambling around the property.

Surprised to say, “mummified child corpse” was a new one on the ever growing list.

“That’s underselling it I think,” Ethan muttered, and you took a close look at the paper stapled to the lid.

D-Series cranial nerve

D-series peripheral nerve

“What kind of freaky shit is this?

For how long you’ve been trapped, you feel as if you know about as much now as you did when this all first started. You were completely left in the dark, scrambling for answers like a blind, helpless child. The only clue you had was Mia’s hastily scribbled note she left you before she passed out. But she could barely remember her own name most days, let alone what Evie and her minions were all about or where they came from. Was she even a good person if she was involved in all this from the beginning? Did Ethan really know the woman he was married to?

And what the fuck did she bring to your home? Your family?!

The lid slammed with a loud BANG!, shaking the table underneath and the candles meticulously placed around it. You would’ve picked it up and thrown it through the window if the phone hadn’t interrupted your rage induced fit.

You gripped the phone and put the receiver to your ear. “Zoe, I swear on this god given green earth, if you’re not back inside the fucking trailer—”

“Jesus Christ, would you cool it? I’m back. I’m safe.” She sighed on the other end. You could tell she was exhausted. “You found a serum?”

“No. But we found out how to make one. Had to get through Momma and her bugs to fuckin’ get to it.”

“Yeah, could’ve warned me,” Ethan said, raising his voice so Zoe could hear him.

Your sister chuckled as you raised your hand and pushed Ethan back, stilling him with your stare. He raised his hands and shrugged, turning his back.

“We need a D-series head and an arm. Which the creepy factor in this case isn’t surprising at all.”

“A head? I think I got one around here somewhere.”

Your eyes closed, and you pinched the bridge of your nose. “That’s such a comforting and normal thing to say, Zo. Thank you,”

She laughed, and the sound made your lips twitch. It’s been a while since you heard her actually laugh. It was a comfort to know she was still able to.

“Meet me at the trailer once you get it, alright? And don’t get yourself killed.”

You told her to do the same and hung up, relieved to know that your sister was safe. At least for now. With a huff, your back thumped against the wall, and your eyes met Ethan’s. How long has it been since he first got here? Four hours? Five? It felt like an eternity if you were being honest. Time going by at a snail's pace as you both fought tooth and nail to try and stay alive. 

This serum better fucking work!

“You alright?”

Your chest heaved with a breath, and you watched Ethan’s hand twitch at his side, like he wanted to reach out to you just to make sure.

“I will be.”

You moved to step away from the wall, but Ethan was in front of you in an instant, the intense concern in his eyes freezing you to your spot. His hand raised, and you instinctively flinched away. You knew rationally that he would never hurt you. He didn’t seem like the type. But that lingering paranoia, that smidgen of fear that remained, it lurked like a cold shadow over your shoulder. A constant presence and reminder of things that once plagued you so many years ago.

Your tensed shoulders slowly fell, a small indication that Ethan could continue,  and his fingers gently brushed against the base of your neck. A dull pain throbbed where he touched, and you grimaced at the quick reminder of your mother’s hands around your throat.

Squeezing.

Choking.

Killing.

“Does it look bad?”

His hand came to rest on your shoulder, thumb gently sweeping over your collar bone and catching the chain of your tags. The cool metal dragged against your chest, goosebumps rising on your skin. His touch was so careful. Considerate. Something you haven’t experienced in a long, long time. And maybe you shouldn’t be craving more of it, because by god, this was a married man and you certainly were not some fucking homewrecker. But a part of you ached when he pulled his hand away, missing his warmth and the comfort that accompanied it.

“I think you’ll survive.”

A smirk tugged at his lips, and you tore your eyes away from him before any other intrusive thoughts were planted in your brain. Your hand rubbed at the back of your neck once Ethan stepped away, smothering the heat that spread over your skin.

You hate that you react like this. It makes you want to claw at your skin. To scrub at it until it’s raw and bleeding. You don’t want to feel like you need anything from Ethan, especially something he couldn’t give you.

Shaking your head, you immediately attempt to disperse any remaining inappropriate thought, steeling your expression and turning towards the small set of stairs leading towards an unsearched part of the house. 

The cluttered room you step into is almost comforting, homey even. If it weren't for the rotting rat stuffed in the basket at your feet.

Your lips curled downwards in a grimace, casting the sight out of your mind as you gently ran your fingers over the piano keys. They moved into a familiar position, gently pressing down until a few gentle notes clinked through. The sound immediately sent you back to a time more pleasant than what you were facing now. A time of gentleness and care.

"You play?" Ethan wondered from behind you.

You shrugged, turning to him. "Momma did. Taught me how to play a few songs. I don't remember much."

He didn't say anything after that, but he could see the heartache in your eyes at the mention of the person your mother used to be.

You quickly moved on, turning the corner and coming across another lantern and another locked door. You experimentally pushed on it, the solid weight under your palms not even giving an inch. You glanced at the lantern on the uneven scale when it hit you.

Son of a-

"We have to find her."

Ethan's eyes were wide, silently asking you what the hell you were implying. "What?"

"It's the only way to get through. Take the light and find the ingredients. You got me?"

“She’s going to slaughter us!”

“Do you wanna get the serum or not?!”

Ethan sighed in defeat, fingers pressing into his eyes. It wasn’t the smartest option, but it was the only one you could see. That, or stay here for the insects to burrow into your skin and fester.

“I’m not gonna go back to the trailer and lick my wounds when we’ve come this far. You told me we could do this, right?” 

Ethan finally looked at you, brows pinched and jaw clenched. You reached out, placing a hand on his arm and squeezing.

“Then let’s get it done.”

There was a monstrously heavy and bleak presence that loomed over you once you made your way back to the hole in the floor. You could feel it clawing at your back, breathing down your neck. It sent your blood pressure spiking, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as you looked down into the soggy pit. The water had drained, leaving mud and squiggling bugs in its wake, and Ethan reluctantly descended the creaky ladder.

You followed once he made it all the way down and cursed when your foot slipped against the wet wood, fingers tightening their grip. But, Ethan was already there before you could fall, hands on your legs to stabilize you.

“You alright?”

Gulping, you nodded. The warmth of his palms through your jeans seared your skin, and his touch only left you once your feet hit solid ground. Muttering a soft ‘thanks,’ you gingerly pulled away and looked down the muddy cavern beside you.

What you saw forced a breath out of your lungs from shock. Your mother was scuttling ahead on all fours, her limbs an abnormally long length like a gangly spider.

“Huh. Well that’s special.”

You glanced at Ethan with raised brows and shook your head. At least he could find humor in the situation.

With your gun raised, you took the lead, Ethan right on your heels with his shotgun clutched tight in his hands. Sweat dripped down your forehead, the thick and musty air clogging your lungs and sticking your shirt to your skin. Once you finally made it out through the manhole, you greedily sucked in the fresh air, your sore throat and burning skin grateful.

“Fucking—” You shoved your pistol aside and gripped one sleeve of your shirt, pulling until you heard the satisfying rip of fabric. Doing the same to the other, your muscles tensed and flexed under the cool air, a pleasant shiver running up your spine as goosebumps covered your skin. Ethan looked on with curious eyes, but you soon had the solid weight of your weapon back in your hands and were already moving on.

The crushing reality that you might just have to kill your mother was finally starting to seep in, and it felt like a cement brick had been dropped right on your chest. You had accepted the reality long ago that your mom died the day Evie infected her, and she was too far along for any cure to work on her. But… this thing. This fucking monster, it wore her face, spoke in her voice.

But she wasn’t your momma. Not anymore.

The decrepit house she took shelter in felt like it was going to collapse any minute, the wooden beams holding it up practically chewed through and the foundation sliding.

“Try not to fall through the floor again, yeah?” you said, ascending the rotten steps.

Ethan spoke up, but he was interrupted when the window in front of you shattered and long limbs stretched out towards you.

“Come on now with me! We’re gonna settle this!” Marguerite screeched.

Ethan reacted faster than you would’ve given him credit for, firing off his shotgun as you pulled the trigger on your pistol. She screamed and crawled back through the window whilst you scrambled to your feet and raced up the rest of the stairs, Ethan hot on your tail. 

Boots skidding across the floor, Ethan’s body practically slammed into yours as he tried to dodge your mother’s oncoming attacks. Her hand seized through the floor and gripped his ankle, his gun going flying as she yanked him down.

“Fuck!” He scrambled for you, and your gun went off in your mother’s face.

“Agh! You son of a bitch! I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you hear me?! 

“Let. Him. Go!”

You shot again, and she finally released her hold with a scream, crawling off to somewhere you couldn’t see. Ethan pulled his foot out of the floor with a pained hiss, blood soaking his pants and large splinters of wood piercing his skin.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded, limping over to his shotgun, “Let’s go kill that fucking bitch.”

You could make out your mother’s yelling and cursing from the floor below, and you attempted to maneuver the upstairs without falling through the huge gaps in the floor. The smell of gunpowder and smoke was heavy in the air, shots booming and Marguerite’s screams ear piercing. Ethan tried to stay close to you the entire time, whether that be because he was scared or he was trying to protect you, you didn’t know. But you weren’t complaining, either.

The vile cracking and shifting of your mother’s limbs caught your attention, and you watched with horror as she jumped all the way from the bottom floor up to where you stood. She swiped an arm out and caught your side, and your body slammed into the wall before you slumped down against it. Ethan cried out your name, making a beeline for you when Marguerite snatched the back of his shirt and threw him towards the opposite side of the house. He crashed through the wall and landed harshly on the ground, rolling onto his back.

“Ethan! No!”

He wasn’t responsive, lying prone as your mother stomped towards you. Fear gripped at your spine, chest heaving with stuttering breaths and your body so tense it felt like you were made of ice. The monster in front of you breathed heavily, her limbs dangling at her sides and her disgusting, slimy belly peeking through her dress. She looked like something out of your nightmares. A horror story the kids in foster homes would use to torment you.

You tried to stand, bracing your hand against the wall, but your leg and side screamed in pain. She got closer with every long stride, and soon, she was right in front of you, a boney hand clutching your neck and lifting. She dangled you over the giant hole in the second level, your hand coming up to grip at her arm as she bared her disgusting teeth.

“You fucking good for nothing, bitch. I wish I never became your mother!”

She screamed the words, spit landing on your face and mixing with the tears that rolled down your cheeks. There was a quiet click, and cool metal pressed against her forehead.

“My mother—” you gasp for breath, finger squeezing down on the trigger, “is dead!”

BANG!

You were floating. Falling. And then the ground meets your back like a speeding train. Your mouth opens, but you can’t gasp for breath because it’s being forced out of you. Your ears ring, and you can’t hear. Not even when Ethan is by your side, grabbing your shoulders and mouthing something you guess is your name.

Finally, your back arches with a deep intake of air, coughing on it violently before you can manage to breathe again. Ethan is there the whole time, his hands gently holding you and trying to talk you through it. When your head lolls to the side, you see your dead mother’s face right next to you. White crawls over her skin until her whole body is calcified and frozen.

And then she breaks and falls apart.

You can hear her crumbling, her face falling away until you can no longer recognize her. It hurts. More than you thought it would. 

She was so beautiful once.

“Hey! Hey, can you hear me?”

Ethan shakes you and you groan out in pain. He immediately apologizes and brushes your hair out of your face.

“Come on, you gotta get up. You’re okay. You’ll be okay.”

There’s desperation in his voice you’ve only heard once before. When he begged you to help him find his wife. And you don’t bother to question why it fills you with a bit of warmth.

You're pretty sure you fractured a rib, and it’s still incredibly hard to breathe, but you sit up anyway with his help, gripping his arm when the pain makes you seize up.

“I’ve got you. You’re alright.”

He’s got you.

Once you feel like you can deal with the pain, you shift onto your knees with a bit of difficulty, and look down at the pile of dust that was once your mom. Your hand slowly sifted through it, grabbing a handful and letting the dust fall between your fingers until a golden band rests in your palm.

She’s gone.

She’s really gone this time.

Your fingers curl around the ring and you hold it to your chest, body wracking with violent sobs. Ethan is next to you in a heartbeat, his arms carefully wrapping around you and tugging until you fall back into him. He mutters apologies and comforts into your ear, and all the while you’re screaming at yourself in your head for you to stop.

Get a grip! She was a monster!

Then why does it hurt so much?

“Hey. I know, okay? But we gotta go,” Ethan muttered, his hand gently rubbing your shoulder.

You knew he was right. You had to leave before something else came looking for you. With a sniffle, Ethan helped you stand to your feet and grabbed the lantern with his other hand, gently shaking the dust off of it. You never felt more hopeless than in that moment, injured and practically falling over if it weren’t for the man next to you. And while you’d normally detest at the idea of someone practically carrying you to safety, you wouldn’t put up much of a fight this time.

Still, you tried not to put all your weight on him, knowing he was hurt too. You leaned away a bit, but the second he felt your weight slightly lean off him, he pulled you right back against his side.

“Ethan, I can—”

“Don’t. I got you.”

“You’re hurt too, asshole. I’m not— Agh! I’m not lettin’ you do all the heavy lifting.”

Ethan chuckled and relented, letting you take a bit of his struggle. “You’re so damn stubborn, you know that?”

You smiled, and it was less painful than you thought it would be. “Is that what you were gonna tell me earlier? Back at the old house?”

“Something along those lines. Maybe a bit meaner.”

“You’ll break my heart by the end o’ this, Winters.”

The hand on your side gave you a light squeeze. 

“I’ll make it up to you.”

#Ethan winters x reader #ethan winters #resident evil 7 #resident evil biohazard #ethan winters imagine #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil #re7

[basilone]

Because she is technically yours, I am going to ask you for Maggie Paquin and a kiss at war's end - but who she kisses is entirely up to you! Have fun!

Maggie, baby, it's been too long. I love her so very much, but she's absolutely more yours than mine at this point in time. 😉 But I'm really excited about this, and I hope I'm side-stepping your fic canon just a little here! (And thank you for letting me taking her for a spin!) You know who she kisses. You know it's gonna be Lieb. Here's how that happens! Want to send me a prompt like Merc did? Read the details here.

there's a light in everything

She should be glad. Should be joining in the smiles – under the shouts of how lucky are we! – and should definitely be making use of the last remnants of champagne. The thing is, and Maggie Paquin knows full well how utterly absurd this thing is, she’s not feeling very lucky. Or very thrilled.

Her shoulders hunch as she shoves her hands into her pockets. Her fingers close around a stray lighter and a packet of gum reflexively. She balls them into her fists, until the lighter chafes against her skin and the packet feels squishier than before. Her feet kick at the rocks that litter this side of the water, further out than their usual swimming-and-diving haunt.

At first, there’d been victory in Europe. Which had been more than fine, really, and the ensuing party had made up for any lingering doubts about it at the time. And she’d still had those doubts come in, alone, later on, staring up at the ceiling in a bedroom that was at least triple the size of what she had at home. Doesn’t know how anyone would not have them, not after everything.

It’d just been easier than victory in Japan is proving to be. After all, once the doubts had set in so had the information reels about the war over in the Pacific. She’d married her doubts to that – to the crabs, so many of them she thinks she could’ve set one on Webster every night and still have been overrun herself, and the flamethrowers – and it’d been all right to act nervous when even Captain Speirs had blinked faster than usual at what they were seeing. The war hadn’t been over after all – all those damn calisthenics they’d made them do, with Sarge gettin’ real antsy every time they got it wrong – and there was something reassuring about that.

Maggie takes aim at a particularly large rock. Kicks it so viciously that it rolls down ponk ponk splat straight into the water.

“I’d ask what that rock ever did to you, Packin’, but I don’t wanna get my shin kicked next. Fuck.”

She rolls her eyes before she realizes her back’s turned to him. “It’s not about the rock,” she bites out, casting a glance full of ire over her shoulder. Rolls her eyes again for good measure. “Your shin’s looking better to me by the minute.”

Joe Liebgott actually smirks at that. “Tempting, is it?”

“I’d kick it if I thought you’d survive the way it’d snap under you like a little twig.”

“Since when am I off the Lieb-must-die list?”

Maggie huffs out a breath. Clenches her fist so tightly around her lighter that she can feel the imprint it’s making in the palm of her hand. Since there are people that actually want you dead, she almost says, except she’s not that cruel and the world’s been unkind aplenty already.

“Dunno,” she shrugs instead, turning back to the water. “Guess since they told us we’re at peace now.”

“Are we?”

Maggie’s eyebrow raises imperceptibly when more rocks are kicked down to the water by feet other than her own. It’s a loaded question – are we at peace? – that she hasn’t got the faintest hope of answering. It’s like she’s in a tunnel, these days, one of those dark tunnels that’s barely got a light at the end, one that’s almost pressing in on her every time she tries to breathe. And she’s got trouble breathing now, doesn’t she, now that the soil’s come up to her mouth and the smoke feels like it’s never gonna clear her lungs and the light goes completely pale and there’s just no air and…

“Breathe, Packin’,” she hears as if through a fog. “Fuck. Breathe, come on”– and she knows it’s Lieb, knows it’s his hands on her upper arms and his breath on her face, but she’s all inhale and no exhale and feeling damn light-headed for it –“come on, Mags, don’t do this to me, fucking breathe.” And just like that, she’s bundled up against a very firm chest with arms closing in tight around her, so warm that she startles in a breath and exhales a hiccup instead. “There you go, that’s right, breathe already. Fuck.”

Joe Liebgott’s head rests atop her own as she shudders through the next breath, then the breath after that. She hiccups again upon the exhale, not burying it in his uniform fast enough if his sharp Mags is anything to go by. She’s heaving through her breaths now, heaving until her stomach joins the somersault her lower belly’s making, and he’s just standing here holding her like that’s a thing they do now. It’s never been a thing they do – aside from shoving each other and one unfortunate foxhole-share in the past – and it’s that fact alone that’s shaking her loose from the tunnel.

“If you wanted a hug,” she says, coughing now that he’s squeezing her even tighter, “you should’ve asked.”

“Right, yeah,” he huffs, “it’s about the hug.” She can practically feel his exasperation take up root in his belly, pressed against her like he is. “Sure, Mags, whatever.”

And she’s Mags now, like she’s sort-of been since things went to shit and they got round to talking about futures as if they had any. He skipped straight past Maggie and definitely shot straight past Paquin – she’d joked, once, about Marguerite being too much for his tongue to handle – and somewhere in between all the namecalling he’d decided to land on Mags.

“Joe,” she whispers, trying to answer in kind for reasons she can’t fully fathom, “you can let go now.”

He does, in a way, except his hands now come to rest warm on either side of her face and he’s still standing too close. His eyes are closed – like they’re stumbling around in the dark, like he’d still know her blind regardless – and his breath exhales out of him in shorter puffs than usual. He looks tired, this up close, strung out somehow, and there’s such an absence of joy that Maggie can’t help but step closer to.

It’s as if she’s trying to fill a void. Like this is what she can do, even though she’s much smaller than him and hasn’t a hope of filling up a space that big. Like this is what he lets her do – and he does, she realizes, when his hands land at the base of her neck – and like this can mean something.

Maggie lets go of the pack of gum in her pocket. Lets go of the lighter, too, and gives her left hand a little shake to clear the worst of its imprint. She doesn’t trust her hands to be soft, or gentle, or anything of the dainty sort. Doesn’t think it matters any now. It’s the end of war, and she knows they’ve both never been more afraid.

“I don’t wanna go home,” she says, casual as anything, adjusting his collar and brushing her knuckles against his jaw. “I don’t know. The girls keep talking about it. Keep asking me what I’m gonna do when I get back.” She shrugs. Bites her lip as her hand lands on his neck and stays there. “I haven’t a fucking clue.”

“Yeah,” he exhales, breath warm on her cheek. “Know the feelin’. Guess you could come live in the trunk of my cab.” He chuckles, low, not mean. “You’d fit.”

“Yeah? I have a big personality, Joe. Worth a passenger’s seat at least.”

His eyes crack open just a sliver, just enough. “You upgrading yourself already? Ungrateful, fuck.”

“I’m worth it,” she grins, prodding at his chest for emphasis. “You don’t even know.”

“Don’t I,” he starts, and –

She thinks he stoops down and kisses her, first. He thinks it was her, or so she learns later, stepping up on tiptoe and kissing him first. They’ll argue about it – she knows this even as she’s kissing him, kissing Joe – and they’ll bicker about who’s first just to find someone to blame for it. But there’s no blaming this, no blaming the fire that shoots through her at the surprised sound he makes when she doesn’t pull back, no blaming his hands going to her waist while she invites him closer.

It’s the goddamn end of war and I’m kissing Joe Liebgott, she thinks, filing it away as the one thing from this victory day she’ll never tell Niamh about.

“Mags,” he says, wondering.

She wants to bolt.

“Joe,” she says instead, and reaches up to mess with his hair just to start a fight. “You fucking moron.”

#joe liebgott #maggie paquin #joe x maggie #basilonefic #band of brothers

[go-to-the-mirror]

look, hear me out, hot jon ri- [EXTENDED SOUNDS OF BRUTAL PIPE MURDER]

@a-mag-a-day

One thing you should know about me is that i will defend jonathan sims head archivist of the magnus institute london to my dying bloody breath. Another thing you should know about me is that i can do nuance, i just don't want to a lot of the time.

But. I will, put my... love... for the Jarchivist... to one side. sort of. a little bit. Look, you can't be unbiased, an attempt is all you're gonna get, mate.

But like, let it be known that I have talked extensively about scrutiny on my story, and most of it wasn't "but i love him, so, <3" actually most of it was "headinhands, jon, why"

Like, yk? Why didn't we see this coming, he's an Avatar, he's a monster, it's not making what he's doing better -- obviously -- but like, I feel like it's like... it's like... yk? we knew it in a theoretical way, and then we're like, oh, yeah, he doesn't get protagonist privileges.

I'm just rambling at this point, so, let's get onto the relisten, I guess, and I'll freak out there

ARCHIVIST The tape recorder. [SUDDEN INHALATION FROM BASIRA] BASIRA Get ready. Any idea what’s coming?

i think it's neat that they're realising that tape recorder on = (rqg pessimistic train driver voice) DOOOOOOM!

ARCHIVIST No, I… I think… [Calling out] Excuse me?

Jonathan "I don't think it's me doing it" Sims when he literally calls the guy back, fuck Jon, that's not okay!

SHIPHAND I don’t know you. ARCHIVIST [Archly] But I know you.

[ID: Marina and the Diamonds Smirk Meme /End ID]

look, hear me out-

LIKE OK HRHNR ITS COOL OKAY! IT'S COOL! IT'S AWFUL, BUT IT'S COOL!!

BASIRA Jon, I’m not sure about this. ARCHIVIST I am. Tell me what happened.

(tim voice) don't do it.

like, jon, jon, no, fuck? what the fuck, jon headinhands, headinfuckinghands

this is the theme of this ramble, okay? just headinhands but also his voice tho-

ARCHIVIST Whenever you’re ready.

it's so creepy, he's so creepy! that's just like- "whenever you're ready" SPOOOKY!!!! im kicking my legs i just think it's NEAT oKAY

The thing that was grabbing him, trying to reach down his throat and pull him apart… it was a pattern. Diamonds and swirls and colours that seemed to imprint itself upon his skin even as it pushed itself messily into his nose and mouth.

THAT'S SO COOL! I mean, uh, sucks to be him, but that's hnnrhrhnrnh <3333 it's so spooky and weird and I love it.

I followed slowly, unsteadily, but got there just in time to see Salesa throw both him and what looked like a blank rug over the side and into the ocean.

So, the pattern comes from the rug and then... attaches itself to people and/or things? That's neat!

He was drunk for the next two days, and we kept sailing on towards Cape Town.

:D I was so happy when I heard this on my first listen :3 like yay! South Africa is mentioned :3 I'm South African :3

Come to think of it, Floyd might have an Afrikaans accent. Don't quote me on that, I'm not sure, but I think so.

There was a storm over the island. I don’t know where it came from, it can’t have been more than a minute since I’d last looked at it, an-and the skies were completely clear. But now it was covered in lightning, the rolling clouds above it dark and angry.

So, the camera was keeping the island not sinking.

So I jumped ship the next chance I got. And I have tried ever since then to leave those memories behind me.

Would be lovely if someone *cough cough* Jon *cough cough* would let him. He's going to have nightmares about this till Jon dies. Like, poor him. That sucks, like even with Jess, she was leaving it behind, she was getting better and he took that from her. The bastard, christ Jon, you can't just do this to people, you can't just ruin their bloody lives because you're feeling peckish.

ARCHIVIST [Soothingly] You can go. FLOYD Erm… I, I don’t… ARCHIVIST Thank you Floyd. You’ve been… very helpful. FLOYD C— ARCHIVIST It’s alright, Floyd. You just… need a break.

I just like the way he says it, when Jon's being all monster-y, in this episode, sometimes when he's talking to Helen, I think, in MAG 187, and of course in the Crew Retrospective (speaking of, if you have stuff about the crew retrospective, please tag me, I want to see it), it's so suave, and for what. Charisma of 1, unless he's being... evil. I love him, I love that, it's so bloody suave, and charismatic, and smooth. He knows exactly what he's doing, he's in his element. Oh god, he's in his element.

Look, he may be slightly evil, but he's doing it with style, damn.

Like "It's alright, Floyd. You just... need a break" and it's like!!! HMNnn!!! No, Jon! You shouldn't be doing this to people, but also like hnhrhfhhnh so fucking cool!

ARCHIVIST Yes, Basira, he is. And I am sorry about that. But we needed it. Anyway you’re the one who wants to be like Gertrude. You think she’d give a damn about a few bad dreams? BASIRA No. ARCHIVIST No. She got the job done, and didn’t care about the cost. BASIRA But I thought you did. ARCHIVIST … I had to know, Basira. BASIRA It wasn’t right. ARCHIVIST You could have stopped me.…But you wanted to know as well, didn’t you?

Mr. Jarchivist Sims, your flimsy rationalizations are visible from space, you didn't want to be like Gertrude, you don't want to be like Gertrude, good lord, man, just... good lord.

I don't know what to say, I'm shaking this episode vigorously /pos

Ramble over! See y'all tomorrow where I'll be once again setting aside my flimsy belief (not even a belief) that Jonathan Sims did NOTHING WRONG if you ignore everything he did wrong.

End recording.

#tma #the magnus archives #a mag a day #mag 141 #jonathan sims #landscaping-your-mind-chapter-one #hot jon rights tho

[iguessitsjustme]

Be My Favorite - Episode 9 Thoughts

Am I watching this on Friday this week? On the day it airs? On time? Who am I? 

-Every week, I’m grateful for the previously on because I’ve blocked it from my memory and need to be reminded. 

-I still like the opening song. This hasn’t changed. No one is surprised. I say this each week. Krist actually has a nice voice.

-Unrelated to the show, but I’m gonna kill the bar next to my apartment. What the fuck is this beat? Need to pause until they move on to the next song that doesn’t distract me from the show. 

-Glad Kawi is quitting drinking. He doesn’t seem to be able to do it in moderation so quitting and sobriety is probably the best option for him. But that poses an interesting question in how the time travel affects him. In the future, he was an alcoholic and couldn’t stop. But in the present, he can easily quit. How does that work?

-Pear, my precious angel child. I love you. 

-I hate Pear’s mother. It took 3 seconds of Pisaeng’s explanation. A child isn’t something that you can just abandon cause you didn’t feel like it anymore. That’s not how that fucking works. You tell her Pear!

-I actually disagree with Pisaeng here. It’s ultimately Kawi’s decision whether or not he performs with the band and Pisaeng can’t make that choice for him. And then making Kawi choose between him or the band is like making Kawi choose between his future and his love life. I know Pisaeng wasn’t serious about it but it still rubbed me the wrong way. 

-What the fuck is this peer pressure to drink? It’s 2023 and people should know better. 

-Poor Pisaeng. He’s gonna get alcohol poisoning. 

-Hold up. Why the FUCK am I not eating my cake right now while I watch this? What’s wrong with me?

-I hate Pear’s dad too. Neither parent cares about the well-being of their child. He forced his forgiveness into his child and didn’t let her properly heal. Pear, darling, I love you so much. 

-Drunk Pisaeng is adorable. 

-So Kawi has charged his phone for a ride but hasn’t called Pear back even though she called multiple times. I would have at least checked in. One call, I’d text. Two calls, I’d call. Is she okay?

-This is an interesting change. This time Pisaeng got drunk and kissed Kawi. Don’t think I didn’t notice that little flip flop there. 

-Oh wait. He was denied. Lol. 

-Oh lord not Not seeing it. The absolute worst person on the planet. He should go fuck himself. Why the fuck is he calling Pear to report on Pisaeng and Kawi. Does he think outing them is gonna get him anything? It better fucking not. The only thing he should be getting is a swift kick in the ass.

-“You might not be able to resist your desire” what is this? A MAME show?

-Is this communication? Honest to god communication? In a Jittirain show?

-These assholes should mind the business that pays them. How the fuck is this their business in any way. I will NEVER forgive anyone for outing people. Ever. Especially Not who is outing his “friends” so he can have a chance with Pear. That’s completely fucked up.

-Pear deserves better than this show. Kawi sacrificed her happy future for his. Although how happy could she have been if she was marrying and extremely closeted Pisaeng. 

-Kwan, girl, Not? I mean we been knew you loved him. But seriously? He sucks. If he ends up with Pear, I’ll riot.

-Not, I hope Pear bitchslaps you. That’s all I want from Not.

-Kawi, tell me, how is breaking up with Pisaeng going to make anything better? Seriously. No really and truly. The issue isn’t that you’re with him. It’s that you didn’t talk to Pear first. Just give her some time. The rest of the issues? Not. All Not. Launch him into the sun and y’all will be good to go. 

-Pisaeng, you’re so right. Hold hands and go through it together. 

-Pear is a good person and I love her.

-That’s right! Reject him! Make him cry! I hope he cries.

-I probably enjoyed this episode more than any of the others so far! Now I just need this show to get rid of Not and I’ll be happy. 

#be my favorite #be my favorite the series #be my favorite bl #this might be turning into my favorite jittirain show #the main couple is growing on me #the only character i really have a problem with is Not #but i still have major issues with jittirain's world building #it still needs a lot of work #there are some consistency issues but that always happens in jittirain shows

[wonderlandleighleigh]

Midge steps into the diner and grins at Luke as he settles a mug in front of her and fills it with coffee. “Morning, Luke.” 

“Morning, Midge,” he responds. “Know what you want?” 

“Toast, extra butter, fruit bowl,” she tells him. “And to take Jess back to New York with Lenny and I for the summer.” 

Luke freezes. 

“Hear me out,” she says quickly. “Look, Lorelai and Rory are leaving for Europe today. He’s graduated high school, and he’s been through a shit ton of insanity over the last year.” 

“Midge-” 

“You have Caesar, and I heard you hired on Lane,” Midge goes on. “You don’t need the help. Walmart can live without him. A few months in the big kid pond would do him some good, don’t you think?” 

Luke sighs heavily. “He’s...he’s eighteen. If he wants to leave, I guess...he’s gonna leave. He’s Jess, he does whatever he wants anyways.” 

Midge gives him an understanding look. “And wouldn’t it be nice to have a proper forwarding address and phone number to use to check in on him? Instead of him losing his shit completely and chasing his asshole father across the country?”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Luke snaps. 

“I heard he and Lenny talking about it the other night,” Midge tells him gently. “He’s confused. He doesn’t know what to do. The man walked in, told him who he was and then ran away. What’s anyone supposed to do with that?” 

“Leave it alone,” Luke tells her. 

“When has that kid ever left anything alone in his whole fucking life?” Midge asks.

Luke gives another heavy sigh and nods. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay. If Jess wants to go back to the city with you and Lenny, then I guess...yeah.”  

Midge smiles at him. “I promise you will get regular updates. You’re welcome to come visit any time, and Lenny will drag him kicking and screaming down here to visit.” 

“When do you guys leave?” Luke asks.

“Couple days,” Midge tells him.

“You ask him yet?” 

Midge nods. “Lenny did. They’ve been talking about him applying for a couple of internships in the city. Stretch some non-food service and retail-related muscles.” 

Luke nods back and she can see in his face that he’s on board. “Okay. Okay.” 

***** 

“So yeah, I’ll be in New York, at least for the summer,” Jess explains as he watches Rory do her last minute packing. 

She grins at him. “Then I will send all postcards to Midge and Lenny’s brownstone.” 

He nods. “Sounds...sounds good.” 

Rory frowns and sits next to him on the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong?” 

Jess shrugs. “I don’t know. I just- was talking to Lenny, talking about what happened with my dad, and I thought about going after the guy. Trying to have a real conversation.” 

She frowns and takes his hand. “You could start with looking up his phone number. Seeing if he’ll talk to you that way.” 

“That’s probably more practical,” he admits sheepishly. 

Rory purses her lips. “And keeps you reachable for when I come home and want to see you, so really, this is just me being a little selfish, but also? Running to California to confront someone who couldn’t even finish a cup of coffee in silence? It sounds really stressful.” 

“It is stressful,” Jess agrees. “So I’ll be in New York, and then I guess...I don’t know.” 

“There’s still college,” Rory suggests.

He snorts. “Sure there is.” 

She narrows her eyes at him. “Lenny said your last report card was all b’s. What were your SAT scores like?” 

“I don’t know, I didn’t look.” 

“You did so.” 

“Rory.” 

She waits expectantly. 

He sighs heavily. “650 for math...750 for English...” 

She stares, her eyes going wide in shock. 

Jess doesn’t respond. 

“You-” she stops, still in shock. “Jess, that’s- a fourteen-hundred total score.” 

“So, whatever.” 

She lifts her pillow and hits him with it.

“Ow!” 

“That’s an amazing score! You write a good essay, you could get into a good school!” 

“I’m bad at school!”  

“You are not, you just don’t like it!” 

“Making me bad at it!” 

“If I didn’t love you so much, I’d kick you right in the butt!” 

Lorelai knocks on the door then, peaking in. “Uh...everything okay in here?” 

Rory gets to her feet, incensed. “He got a fourteen-hundred on his SAT’s!” 

“Stop telling people!” 

Lorelai blinks. “Okay. I’m- I’m gonna finish packing, you two are obviously having a very bizarre fight here.” 

“He could get into college with that score!” Rory cries as Lorelai wanders off. “Not ivy league but a good school!” 

Jess groans. “Okay. I love you. I hope you have an amazing.” 

“You’re leaving?” Rory pouts. 

“No, you are, soon, for Europe,” he reminds her. “I’m just gonna go to the diner.” 

Rory sighs as he gets to his feet, and she loops her arms around him, kissing him thoroughly. 

He smiles against her lips. “We can’t have sex right now, you have to pack, and the door is open.” 

“Shush,” she orders, kissing him again.

When they part, she purses her lips again. “I hope New York is good.” 

Jess nods. “Thanks. Call me when you get back and I’ll drive back into town. Help you pack for college.” 

Rory smiles, but doesn’t let him go.

“If you don’t let me leave, you’ll miss your flight,” he reminds her. 

She pouts. “I know, but...I don’t know. I’m going to miss you so much.” 

“You won’t think that much about me, you’ll be surrounded by all the history.” 

“Yes, I will,” Rory tells him honestly. 

Jess gazes at her and nods, leaning in and kissing her one more time. “I’ll be on the lookout for my postcards.” 

She smiles and steals one final kiss, before she lets him head out.

“Bye, Lorelai! Don’t piss off Europe!” 

“Bye, Jess! Try not to get arrested like a moron!” 

The door closes and Rory sighs heavily.

#fic #au #tmmm #Gilmore GIrls #The Schneiders of Stars Hollow #Midge x Lenny #Luke Danes #lorelai gilmore #literati #Rory x Jess

[razieltwelve]

Booze (Final Rose AU)

This is set in the Yang x Averia x Elsa AU in which Weiss x Ruby x Jahne eventually becomes a thing.

X     X     X

“Technically,” Weiss pointed out archly. “You’re underage.”

Yang stared at Weiss. “If I’m old enough to rip Grimm apart with my bare hands and wade knee-deep through their guts, then I’m old enough to drink some booze.”

“Does that mean...?” Ruby gave her sister a hopeful look.

“No.” Yang shook her head. “Not happening!”

“But... but I’m the team leader!” Ruby insisted. “I make the decisions!”

“And I’m your big sister. This is a family thing, not a team thing. No booze.”

Ruby huffed. “I bet nobody on Averia’s team overrules her like this.”

Blake cracked open a can of beer and took a swig before tossing one at Weiss. The heiress caught it and eyed it dubiously before opening it. “I haven’t known Averia as long as either of you, but I can already see that trying to overrule her would only result in horrible death.”

“Or you could get bent over a table and fucked senseless.” Yang shrugged. “That could happen too.” She smirked. “Happened last week, in fact. Shit. I love Saviour’s cloaking abilities. Hell, it even fixed up the library table afterward too.”

Ruby put her hands over her ears. “Not listening!”

Weiss’s cheeks flushed. “She’s done that?”

“Oh, yeah.” Yang snickered. “Although it’s not because she’s a control freak or anything.” Yang shrugged. “Elsa and I both kind of get off on having her take charge. And, yeah, I think it appeals to her analytical side too. I’m convinced she’s asked Saviour to optimise sex or something, not that I’m complaining. Fuck meditation. Getting fucked is my meditation.”

Blake took a long sip of her beer. “Go on...”

“Pervert,” Yang muttered. “But, come on, I’m sure you guys must get sick of having to always be in charge all the time. I mean... in pretty much any context, we’re the most powerful people in the room. But it’s tough letting your guard down, you know, trust issues and all that. But I don’t have that problem with Averia.”

“Oh?” Blake asked. “And why is that?”

“Why?” Yang snickered as Ruby continued to cover her ears. “Because she could murder the fuck out of me whenever she felt like it.” Yang grinned. “Look. If Averia wanted me dead. I’d be dead. It’s that simple. If she wanted me maimed. I’d be maimed. That’s why I trust her. She has never, in all the years that I’ve known her, ever hurt me on purpose, and believe me, she’s had plenty of opportunities.”

“Outside of training, you mean?” Blake asked.

“Oh, yeah. Sure. She kicks my ass in training. There wouldn’t be a point if we were fighting with kid gloves on all the time.” Yang paused. “And during sexy times. You know, because sometimes hurting in just the right way makes it feel so damn good...”

Blake nodded sagely. “We really need to talk about this more. But, yeah, I get you. Whenever I try to date anyone, trust is a big thing. Are they actually interested in me, or do they just want to say they banged a huntress who happens to basically be the princess of Menagerie?”

“I can see where you’re coming from,” Weiss said. “Jahne and I may have...indulged in a few things over the years. Despite some concerns people may have about her and her mother, Jahne has never been anything less than a completely loyal friend to me.”

“Yeah, Averia said she’s like that. If you’re her enemy, Jahne is straight up poison, the kind of person you wish you never met. If you’re her friend? You’re golden. She’ll take care of you no matter what.” Yang sighed and gently eased Ruby’s hands away from her ears.

“Are you done talking about your sex life?” Ruby growled.

“Yeah, yeah.” Yang smirked. “Now, we’re talking about Weiss’s.”

Ruby considered raising her hands to her ears for a moment before squinting at Weiss. “You have a sex life?” She paused.

“With Jahne,” Weiss drawled. “From time to time. Maybe.” She took a swig from the beer. “Like just before we went on this mission.”

“Oh.” Ruby’s eyes widened, and she trailed off, staring into space with a silly smile on her face.

“And people call me the pervert,” Blake drawled. “I’m pretty sure that she’s imagining a threesome with you and Jahne.”

“I am not!” Ruby hissed.

Weiss just gave Ruby a blank look, downed the rest of her beer, and reached for another. “I am way too sober to be thinking about that. Ruby, come see me in a couple of years.”

“A couple of - wait!” Ruby held up one hand. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t know.” Weiss sighed. “Maybe. Probably. Shit. I think I’m drunk.” She looked at Ruby. “Dust, you’re pretty now, but you’re going to be absolutely stunning in a couple of years.”

“Lightweight,” Yang teased. “And don’t think I haven’t seen you eyeing up Weiss’s sister whenever she visits Beacon, Blake.”

The Faunus tried to hide behind her beer. “I simply happen to have some expertise in covert operations and the like. I’m merely curious to know how her expertise compares.”

“Yeah, ‘expertise’. I’ve seen how you look at her.” Yang scoffed. “Weiss, I give it a year before we catch Blakey here with your sister.”

“What?” Weiss scowled. “That’s...” She paused. “Not that bad, actually. I mean I’ve met some of Winter’s previous girlfriends. I never liked any of them, but Blake isn’t half bad.”

“Thanks,” Blake drawled.

“You’re welcome.” Weiss flopped onto her back. “But you really should approach her. My sister despises cowards.”

“Hey, guys,” Ruby said. “Do we have any drinks that aren’t booze? Because I already finished my soda, and I’m kind of still thirsty.”

Yang looked through the cooler. There was nothing quite like drinking it up on a private beach after a successful mission. “Here.” She tossed Ruby a can of cola. “There.”

“Yay!”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

The gang are a little bit more laidback in this AU, and Yang is a bit happier to talk about her love life too. If you’re wondering where Sally is, she didn’t go with them on the mission. Instead, she’s currently hanging out with Diana and Strangles at a mango farm that Yang bought. Since she isn’t an expert in farming or mangoes, she wanted Diana to check it out, and Sally invited herself along once she heard there were mangoes. And, yes, Yang basically bought it for Sally because Sally absolutely loves mangoes, and there aren’t all that many of them on Patch. Diana, meanwhile, is an expert on farming and mangoes (or basically anything food related), so she’s there to make sure it’s all in order.

#final rose #fanfiction #ruby rose #weiss schnee #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #team rwby

[ritualoftheancients]

Ritual of the Ancients - Chapter 1: Delicious Neighbors

by Roan Rosser

This is a chapter of a complete vampire novel with a trans-masc main character and a gay romance subplot. New Chapters are posted every Sunday. If you like the novel and want to support the author, ebook and paperback copies can be purchased here. *****

The locked door to my apartment building stared at me mockingly. I rattled the door in frustration, then rested my forehead against the glass.

This was the capstone to a truly terrible evening.

“Fuck,” I muttered to myself, but my words came out at less than a hoarse whisper. I coughed and massaged my neck, trying to clear my throat so I could buzz my roommate and ask her to let me in.

I hated to do it, given it was the middle of the night. Sleep deprived Lindsay was scary. But, as much as I dreaded her inevitable lecture on responsibility, I’d been mugged on my way home from work and the thief had made off with my keys—and almost everything else, including my museum employee badge.

At least, I assumed that’s what had happened, since I had no memory of the time between leaving work and waking up in a dumpster covered in blood. I didn’t even know whose blood it was, since I was unharmed except for a pounding headache and a sore throat. But it didn’t really matter.

Steeling myself for Lindsay’s yelling, I entered our apartment number into the keypad. The phone rang for a long time before Lindsay’s voicemail picked up. She had probably turned off her phone. Not the first time I hadn’t been able to reach her late at night.

I rattled the door again and then kicked it. I was exhausted and thirsty. So thirsty. All I wanted to do was drink a gallon of water and then crawl into bed.

I lingered by the front door while I debated what to do. If I got lucky, someone would come by and I could just follow them inside. But given it was the middle of the night, if I got unlucky I’d have to sleep outside.

I caught sight of my reflection in the glass and was horrified by the sight that greeted me. Nobody was going to believe I lived here looking like this. I scrubbed the worst of the dumpster’s grime from my face with my jacket sleeve and then smoothed my short black hair down. Nothing I could do about the blood stains down the front of my jacket.

After about ten minutes, another resident of the apartments came up the walk and unlocked the front door. I tried to follow him in, but the man turned to glare at me, blocking the doorway.

“Do you live here?” he asked me, planting his feet and crossing his arms as he glared at me.

My reply caught in my dry throat. My tongue felt like sandpaper. I tried to sidle around him to the elevators, but the man threw out an arm to stop me.

“I don’t think so,” he said, moving closer and lifting his hand to shake his finger at my face.

I scowled and took a breath to try again to reply when the most delicious scent hit my nose—like all my favorite foods had combined into one delightful potpourri. Two sharp objects pricked my bottom lip. Without thinking, I lunged forward and bit down on the man’s hand.

Liquid warmth hit my tongue. It was the most delicious thing I’d ever had in my life, yet the taste was totally indescribable. As I greedily sucked down the blood, warmth spread through me, chasing away the chill. I hadn’t realized how cold I’d been until then.

My neighbor screamed and pushed me away. I stumbled backwards, but with my mouth clamped on the man’s hand, I dragged him with me. We spun out onto the walk, the man beating at my head with his free hand. But between the taste and the warm feeling, he might as well have been on the moon for all I heard or felt his cries.

“Get off him!”

I was only dimly aware of the voice until someone punched my jaw, and although it didn’t hurt, the shock of it made me open my mouth and let go.

“He bit me!” my neighbor slurred angrily.

I fell back a few steps before getting my feet under me. A second man, dark-skinned and wearing jeans and a leather jacket, stood in a protective stance between me and the neighbor, who was clutching his bleeding hand to his chest and beating a hasty retreat toward the apartment doors. I recognized leather jacket man as another resident of the apartments.

“What the hell were you thinking?” leather jacket growled. I narrowed my eyes at my prey getting away behind him.

There was a lump in my throat, and I was having trouble swallowing. “Thirsty,” I managed to get out. The unfamiliar shape of something against my lips made it hard to talk.

I met his eyes, and then my gaze traveled lower, to his neck. To the way the vein there seemed to jump to some silent beat. I wanted it.

Growling, I darted forward. Leather jacket man crouched and spread his arms, expecting me to try to dodge around him, so he was caught unprepared by my charge. I hit him in the chest, mouth spread wide, and bit down hard on the front of his neck. He bellowed, but I barely registered the sound. More delicious nectar danced along my taste buds, commanding all of my attention.

That was until the smooth skin under my lips began to sprout hair. The shock of feeling the hair against my tongue made me let go.

I stumbled back, landing on my butt in the grass. I felt like I was well on my way to drunk. I opened my eyes to find that the man was gone. Standing in his place, on four legs and wearing the man’s leather jacket and jeans, was a coyote.

“What the hell?” I sputtered in surprise as I licked my lips to get the last of the flavor off of them.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” the coyote said.

“The coyote… talked.” The mugger’s blow to my head must have been worse than I thought if I was hallucinating. At least the headache that had been bothering me was gone, as was that intense thirst.

The coyote put its ears back and glared at me while kicking off the jeans that were wrapped around its back legs and tail. “Are you a complete idiot? Wait, never mind. Don’t answer that,” the coyote said when I opened my mouth to reply.

The coyote trotted over and sat in front of me, looking incongruous in his leather jacket and shirt. “You are in so much trouble.” The coyote glanced around and then back at me. I blinked stupidly at the coyote while the dew from the grass soaked into the seat of my khakis. “At least it looks like your victim made it onto the elevator before I changed. Still, I’m going to have to write you a ticket,” the coyote said.

My head spun as I tried to keep up with the coyote’s words. “Ticket? What?” I could see the blood staining the coyote’s shirt collar, confirming that this coyote was the person I’d bitten on the neck. “What is going on?” I looked around for hidden cameras, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary in the quiet neighborhood. “Am I on a prank show?” It was the only explanation that made sense to me.

The coyote stared back at me, looking as confused as I felt with one ear cocked back and his head tilted to the side. “Who’s your Maker?”

“What are you talking about?” I snapped back. Somehow this night was becoming rapidly weirder, and I didn’t even understand how that was possible. “How is a coyote talking to me, anyway?”

“You.” The coyote reached up with one paw and placed it over its eyes in a very human gesture. It put its paw down and sighed. “First, I’m not a coyote. I’m a jackal. Second, you can’t just eat random people off the street. We have rules, young lady.”

“I am not a lady, I’m a guy.” My heart sunk at the misgendering, as accidental as it had been. I pushed the disappointment away and forged on. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to try and eat you, or that other guy. You both just smelled,” I took a deep breath, eyes fluttering closed at the memory of the smell and the taste, “delicious.” All I wanted to do was go home and have a shower, followed by a stiff drink. Was that so much to ask?

“It’s not for some reason. Didn’t your Maker cover anything before sending you out on your first hunt?” The coyote—scratch that, the jackal looked around and then shook his head. “We shouldn’t even be discussing this outside. Come on, let’s go to my apartment and we’ll get this sorted out.” He trotted on four legs over to the jeans and tennis shoes that lay abandoned on the sidewalk, then turned to look expectantly at me. “You’ll have to let me in, keys are in my front pants pocket. And bring my pants and shoes while you’re at it.”

I’d stash the amulet, and then get a ride to the hospital. I was obviously hurt worse than I thought if I was hallucinating talking jackals. I walked over to the jackal, picked up the jeans and shoes, and found the keys in the front pocket, just as he had said.

The jackal followed me to the front door, the corners of the jacket’s unzipped sides dragging on the ground under his chest, and waited while I unlocked it. We got inside the elevator together, and before I could press the button, the jackal jumped up and bumped the five button with its nose.

When we got off the elevator, I trailed him over to an apartment door. The key from his keyring worked, and I let myself in. The jackal darted in after me. As I shut the door behind us, he said, “Just drop the pants and shoes by the door, and I’ll get them later.”

Shrugging, I did as the jackal said and then followed him farther into the apartment. He turned and looked up at me. “Wait on the couch, I’ll be right out.

I sat on the couch, looking around. The apartment was neat and tidy, except for a dirty cup on the coffee table and a discarded magazine on the couch. I picked it up and flipped through it to see that it was all about hiking and camping. Ironic, since it was owned by a talking jackal. I snorted and tossed the magazine on the coffee table next to the dirty cup. Framed movie posters from famous action and detective films lined the walls. Given that I saw literal masterpieces every day at work, the movie posters were actually a nice change of scenery. I might have to get some for my apartment.

The man, human again, came back into the living room. He’d changed into a new dark-blue button-down shirt and dark slacks. He rubbed the side of his neck ruefully, although my teeth marks were gone.

I winced and touched my own neck. “Sorry about the…” There wasn’t a delicate way to put this, so I just spit it out. ”… biting. I don’t know what came over me. Why aren’t you bleeding anymore?”

He shot me a hard look that I couldn’t read, and moved to stand in front of the coffee table with his arms crossed, looking down at me. “As a vampire, you should know better than to let yourself get so thirsty.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” I threw up my hands and flopped against his cushions with a cry of frustration. “I’m not a vampire!”

“You most certainly are.”

I crossed my arms and glared back at him. “Let me repeat myself. I’m. Not. A. Vampire.” I ran my hands down the legs of my pants, trying to hide the way my hands started shaking at his questions and carefully avoiding touching the amulet through the cloth. “My name’s Everett, by the way. Nice to meet you.” I stuck out my hand.

“Jack.”

Jack didn’t move, just looked down at my outstretched arm, and I pulled back awkwardly. He briefly closed his eyes and reached up to massage his temple. The gesture looked better in his human form than it had when he’d done it as a jackal. He sure was handsome. I realized I was staring and glanced away, blushing.

“Okay, Everett,” Jack said, moving around to sit on the chair closest to me. “I see I’ll need to start at the beginning. You are a vampire. Apparently one with a very negligent Maker, but trust me. You are a vampire.”

“And you’re what, a werejackal?” I snorted. “That’s stupid.”

Jack shook his head, looking somehow both bemused and frustrated. “It’s not stupid, it’s the truth. Now, it’s not your fault, it’s your Maker who’s going to get in trouble. I’m just glad I found you when I did. How many people have you drunk from?”

“I assume you mean the biting?” I asked.

Jack nodded.

“Then just you and the other guy you saw.” I wondered where his questions were leading.

“Did he recognize you?”

I shook my head. “He didn’t want to let me inside the building, which was how it all started, so no, I don’t think he did.”

“Good. Hopefully he’ll just think you were a pissed off junky, rather than a vampire.” Jack cocked his head, frowning. “Have you been feeling strange?”

I nodded, puzzled. “Yes, thirsty and fuzzy, with a persistent headache. It started after I was mugged earlier tonight. I’m not sure how else to describe it. I feel more alert now, though. Since I bit you two, it’s like everything is in sharper focus.”

“Tell me everything you remember.” Jack sat forward, focused on my face.

“Why?” I froze in the act of running my hands down my pants again. The amulet hidden in my pocket felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

Jack sighed and put his hands on his knees. “Look, I didn’t want to tell you this, because I can tell you’re nervous, but I’m a, well, a cop. Of sorts.”

This day was just getting better and better. Now it turned out that not only was I sitting in a cop’s living room with stolen loot in my pocket, also I was now a vampire? I had no idea which was worse, but at this moment I was leaning towards the former.

I licked my lips. I could still taste blood on them, and I wanted more. Jack was looking at me expectantly. ”Of sorts means that you aren’t a cop,” I said, looking at him in what I hoped was an expression of innocence and not guilt.

“Not in the way you’re used to, I expect. There’s a whole supernatural society threaded through the human world. I keep the peace in that world. Punish people who don’t follow the rules, help newbies, and make sure we’re kept secret. Which is why I need to find out who made you and why.”

I sat back, blinking. “Oh.” This was even worse than I’d thought.

Jack drummed his fingers on his leg while he regarded me. Every few seconds his eyes darted up to a clock on the wall that showed that it was just past midnight.

“Do I have blood on my face?” I reached up to touch my chin.

Jack shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to figure out what to do with you. I’m late for work as it is, but a newly-made vampire shouldn’t be left alone.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I snapped, glaring at Jack. “I’ll just go home and hang out there. I need to shower and change clothes anyway.”

Jack sighed and stood up. “No. I’ll take you to your place so you can grab a change of clothes, but then I’m taking you to the office with me.”

Crap. That would be bad. “Look, I’m not going anywhere. I’m in apartment 609 on the sixth floor. I’ll hang out there. Just come by after you get off work.”

“And leave you to get burned to a crisp by a stray bit of daylight coming in through your window? I don’t think so. This is one of the reasons vampires get in trouble if they abandon a newbie like this. You don’t realize how quick you’ll go up in flames if daylight touches your skin.”

Jack kept talking and I rolled my eyes, stifling a groan as I followed him into the hall. I was still having trouble believing this vampire story Jack was trying to sell me, but I couldn’t figure out what he would get out of lying to me. I needed to find a way to ditch him.

~~~~

If you are enjoying this novel, you can pick up an ebook copy at the store of your choice: https://books2read.com/ritualoftheancients

Continue on to chapter 2~

#trans masc #ftm fiction #transgender #trans-man #trans novel #trans author #original fiction #writing #LGBTQA Novel #vampire novel #urban fantasy

[iarchmybaculajk]

Zombie Baby

Series Page

Chapter summary: Jimin pov, stressed from a court appearance, Jungkook tries to help his boyfriend relax.

wk: 6k

Chapter 1

The restaurant smelled of incense, and not the good kind. Just that heady warm stink that tends to choke you if you linger in a smoke shop too long. But Jimin breathed it in deeply anyways, thankful for something other than the smell of rotting flesh for once. 

That was just how it went these days, everywhere you went the smell rose up from the earth the way steam sizzled on the asphalt after it rained on a hot day. It was thick and permeated everything. There were times Jimin felt like he'd be forced to shave his head and burn his clothes just to be rid of it. 

Even while he silently thanked his lucky stars this restaurant had a decent ventilation system and was vehemently Anti-Undead, his eyes burned and watered from the hot sweet smoke of the incense. 

He blinked rapidly and wiped a little tear from the corner of his eye as it watered, giving his date a small grimace in the process, being sure to wrinkle his nose. 

"Er, yeah," Jungkook began taking a small sniff, "It's almost as bad in here. Sorry about that." 

He shrugged, running a hand through his blonde hair, a small smile on his face, "It's fine, gotta fight fire with fire I suppose."

He nodded, “So I guess we won’t be taking a post-date stroll in the park.”

He laughed coolly, “That would indeed be an accurate assumption. You can’t even take a stroll to the toilet without a shotgun these days, and I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not spoil the evening by tenderly wiping brain matter off your cheek.” He paused for effect, a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth, “I’d rather kiss it.” 

The grin that spread across his face was a genuine one, which was hard to come by when most of your time was spent struggling to survive or simply trying to do something as simple as grocery shopping without dealing with the nuisance that was the Zombie Apocalypse. The term only loosely applies though, as it wasn’t so much an apocalypse as it was a totally annoying and somewhat debilitating pain in the ass that just so happened to have weeded out some of the stupider people alive. 

After all, this isn’t the movies, only the completely mentally incapacitated got themselves killed. How hard is it to run faster than a corpse, or better yet, fight one off? They had absolutely no motor skills and zero upper body strength. However, their fluids, which they tended to share quite generously, were extremely hazardous – deadly even, or better yet, UN-deadly.

“Well, it is a really nice cheek, so I guess we could arrange something.” He stroked the almost too-smooth side of his face as if he were appreciating texture. 

“You’re lucky you amuse me, or else I might think you’re a totally cocky jerk.” Jimin smirked, distractedly playing with the ice cubes in his water with a spoon. 

He was admittedly a little preoccupied today; he was due to appear in court later this afternoon on an unlawful disposal of an un-dead person(s) charge. This wasn’t his first rodeo, he was pretty well known in his town for kicking ass and taking names when it came to the zombie pest infestation, and no one ever seemed to care before. But now, those damn tree-hugging morons were trying to give zombies rights, that’s right, ZOMBIES. Unfortunately for anyone with a brain, that meant that staying alive was only going to have that much more red tape and bullshit involved. 

Piss off one jerk-off neighbor who is keeping his Grandma’s reanimated corpse as a pet and get thrown in jail. It’s not like he didn’t tell him to keep her in his own yard, but she kept getting into his garbage, so it was time to put Granny down. 

People always wondered why he was so callous towards zombies, no sympathy, no remorse when he snuffed their non-existent life. That was probably because they were fucking zombies, DUH. He knew there were plenty of people who shared his views on the situation, and more than a few people that would support him in his quest to thin out the zombie herd, but as with everything there is always going to be enough dipshits to put a cramp in his style with their, “Zombies are People Too” campaigning.

Why couldn’t they just go back to policing social media, fixing climate change and saving the whales? It was like that Tootsie Pop commercial, the world may never know.

Jungkook feigned shock, “Me cocky? Yeah right, I’ve got modesty coming out the wazoo.” He frowned slightly, “Wazoo…” He said slowly, testing it out on his tongue, “what an idiotic word, I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Yeah, I was gunna point that out, but you beat me to it. I guess we can take word-smith off your list of attributes.” Jimin joked.

“Pfft, I’m a catch and you know it.” Jungkook grinned widely, his round bunny teeth in all their glory shining pearly white. 

“Yup, you’re the best.” Jimin smiled sweetly and leaned forward, thankful for the mindless conversation that came so easily with Jungkook. He was the perfect distraction.  “Thanks again for lunch, despite the lung cancer I now have from 2nd hand incense smoke, this place was pretty alright.” He took Jungkook’s large hand into own smaller ones.

“You’re welcome, I think.” 

“Now kiss me, PUBLICLY!” he demanded, tugging his hand towards him and pursing his plush lips.

Jimin knew how much he hated PDA, and Jungkook knew how much he loved to tease him about it.

“Fine, aish!” He rolled his large round eyes and gave him a kiss, but the grin on Jungkook’s face told him he didn’t mind nearly as much as he let on. 

He masked up, threw some money down on the table next to his crumpled napkin and discarded chopsticks, standing. “You ready?”

He glanced around the booth, putting his mask on quickly and making sure he had his bag. He lugged the oddly heavy bag out of the seat and threw it over his shoulder, pulling out one 9mm semi-automatic pistol from his treasure trove of deadly goodies, and took his boyfriend’s hand with his free one. 

“Jesus, do you even have a chapstick in there, or is it only weapons?” Jungkook asked, eyeing his hand-gun with a cursory glance.

“I have a few spare masks and some hand sanitizer in there too. What, would you rather I carry a full manicure set? Maybe I could mani-pedi a Zombie to death!”

He laughed as he pulled Jimin along, leading the way as he typically did. “You’re such a brat.”

Jimin shrugged, “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

They walked toward the exit hand in hand, the modern day couple; where it wasn’t entirely unusual to see a petite, 5ft '7, 27 year old man grasping a gun in one hand and his boyfriend’s hand in the other as nonchalantly as if it were a diet soda. 

As they reached the door, he unclasped Jungkook’s hand and stepped ahead, leaning against the blacked out windows of the Chinese restaurant’s door, he opened the door slowly, making sure to scope the entire parking lot before he opened the door in its entirety. 

“It’s cool, babe.” Jimin stated, and allowed Jungkook to push forward and assume his ‘alpha male’ role once again. Jungkook hated that Jimin was the one with the gun, but that was just the way it was. Jungkook may have played the more dominant role in the streets, and between the sheets, but it was Jimin who took care of the zombies. It didn’t exactly make sense, but hey… it sounded cool right?

“As much as I love having you being my savior and all, you probably should be a little more discreet with that gun.” Jungkook led the way to the car, his precious piece of shit Hyundai. Jimin mostly ignored him as he hopped into the passenger side, the one with the seat that wasn’t entirely bolted down and the seat belt that had no buckle to latch it. 

“What are you so concerned about? It clearly isn’t safety judging from the death trap you’ve been driving us around in.” He fiddled with the seat belt, finding the lucky bolt on the inner side of the seat and hooking his belt to it. He pretended for his own piece of mind that it would somehow keep him from flying through the windshield, one could dream right?

“Well, I was just thinking about the fact that you’re on your way to court and all. Maybe a little discretion would go a long way? Besides, this car is as safe as any. Never did me wrong.” He stated defensively, popping a key into the ignition.

“Yeah, except that time it broke down. I mean, times.” Jimin smirked, purposely ignoring the court comment, he was already nervous as hell. 

The car thankfully burst into life and puttered their way out of the parking lot. Jungkook squeezed his knee affectionately, “Don’t be jealous, there’s room in my life for both of you. Plus the cat. And the fish.”

“You sure about that? Sounds like you’ve got quite a lot on your plate, a car, a cat and fish. Are you sure I can fit into that little love quadrangle?”

“Oh yeah babe, there’s plenty to go around. Plus you’re at the top of my list, just don’t tell the cat. She’s a jealous bitch, and would probably poop on your pillow.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Jimin chuckled darkly. 

All things considered, Jimin was a lucky guy. He had an amazing and utterly gorgeous boyfriend, enough ammo in their house to defend a small country and while the whole world may have gone to hell in a handbag, at least they had each other.

He glanced over to his boyfriend, who was absentmindedly pursing his lips in the endearing pout that he usually wore when he was concentrating, or lost in thought, which was often if we’re being honest. It was one of Jimin’s favorite things about him. He was snarky and cocky at times, but Jungkook was also very deep and thoughtful. The list of little things Jungkook never realized were so adorable was long, and Jimin preferred it that way, lest he get an even bigger head. 

The man knew he was attractive, and that confidence was what Jimin first noticed. Though, at the time, he thought he was a presumptuous jerk, albeit a beautiful one. He had approached Jimin at a bar, while hanging out with his friends one night during their weekly attempt to blow off steam in one of the few safe parts of town. 

It was a noisy, dark club, with the kind of sexy, cool clientele that seemed to always have a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Jungkook was no exception. Jimin had been eyeballing him from across the room long before Jungkook had approached him. 

He had tousled black hair that was shorn short on the sides above his ears and longer in the back. Clad in a black leather jacket and an all black ensemble that fit his body in ways that made Jimin drool, his heavily tattooed hand holding an unlit cigarette idly while he leaned against the bar ordering a drink. But he wasn’t alone. His two friends stood off to the side, talking to each other animatedly in between sipping their drinks. 

They all looked so handsome, and extremely cool. It almost made Jimin jealous.

Jimin hadn’t realized he was staring, but he most definitely was. Jungkook had turned his head slightly as if he felt Jimin’s eyes on his back, a small smile curling his lips. When the bartender returned with his drink he leaned forward across the bar, murmuring something inaudible to the man on the other side, who nodded and left again, coming back with a second drink.

He took his bounty from the bar and immediately locked eyes with Jimin. He wore a satisfied smirk on his gorgeous face as he sauntered the distance between them. 

Jimin froze, embarrassed but unable to tear his eyes away from him, caught red handed. He never usually ogled strangers at the bar, and it was even less frequent that he was approached. Not that Jimin wasn’t attractive, on the contrary. He had visuals that most would kill for. But he was shy, and a bit socially awkward around people he didn’t know. Not to mention the fact that his day job usually involved a lot more gun wielding and dead things than most people were willing to deal with. 

Jimin sucked in a breath, his eyes impossibly wide when he casually sat down next to Jimin, fixing his large round eyes in a narrowed sexy way on Jimin’s face. 

He silently slid the extra drink over to Jimin and put his arm around the back of Jimin’s chair, leaning forward so he could be heard. 

Jimin didn’t move and kept his face locked forward, almost afraid of the proximity of his body, but he could feel the stranger’s sweetly scented hot breath against his skin.

“I’m Jungkook,” He said into his ear, as if he was the answer to the greatest mystery Jimin had been pondering, which he kind of was. “Do you want to get to know each other a little better?” His words were dripping with suggestion.

It was incredibly sexy. Too sexy. It kind of pissed Jimin off how evocative he was, and how his nether regions seemed to twinge despite his better judgment. He silently scolded his extremely pent up, deprived sex drive, for daring to betray him at the first hot guy to whisper seductively into his ear in far too long.

Jimin was horny, sure, but he was not a slut. The implications purring from Jungkook’s sweet mouth made Jimin recoil despite himself. 

He leaned into the feeling of annoyance, lest he instead give in to his extremely tantalizing suggestion and do something he would later feel dirty and used from. 

Jimin turned to face Jungkook, trying to not get caught up in his pouty lips, and dark provocative eyes that seemed to want him. 

“Uh, thanks for the drink,” he stammered, instantly feeling tongue tied and less confident in turning the attractive man down. “But, I’m good. I’m with my friends.” 

He knew this guy was interested in sex, and not much else, and as titillating as a roll in the sack would be with this alluring stranger, he had to keep his wits about him. He had fuckboy written all over his face, and honestly the audacity to approach Jimin like that in the first place was a turn off. 

But then why was Jimin squirming under his smoldering gaze, practically wetting his pants at the invitation?

It didn’t take long for the handsome presumptuous stranger to wear Jimin down. Before the night was through, Jimin was bent over a table in Jungkook’s modest kitchen, clothes forgotten somewhere in between there and the front door. Giving up on ever making it to the bedroom, Jimin took Jungkook’s hot thick cock from behind, in what would end up being the first of several locations and pornographic positions that fateful night. 

It proved to be a night neither of them could forget, when Jungkook surprised Jimin by calling him, immediately after their rendezvous, unable to get the beautiful, bendy, plump lipped blonde out of his head. 

Somehow Jimin fell into a relationship out of nowhere, and they hadn’t looked back since. That was over a year ago. They had somehow carved a little piece of the world out for themselves, with Jimin moving into Jungkook’s small house, joining his motley crew of pets and friends. Finding themselves intensely comfortable and content with each other. 

Jungkook didn’t even bat an eyelash when Jimin confessed what he did for a living, paying his rent and student loans off with money he made from his zombie assassin side hustle. It wasn’t legal, mind you, but it paid the bills, and there wasn’t exactly a lot of honest work to be found these days. The economy was in the toilet, and jobs were scarce, but there was never a lack of zombies that needed disposing of. 

He advertised mostly by word of mouth, but there were plenty of places that one could go when they were looking to make contact with someone who specialized in his services. He had deals with a handful of different underbelly organizations that kept the client's rolling in. There were other hunters, of course, but it wasn’t exactly a job people were clamoring to get so all he had to do was keep his rates fair to not have much competition in the market. 

The government's stance on the zombie infestation was irritating. While they had made it illegal to dispose of zombies, they also had taken their hands off the steering wheel, allowing them to run amok. They were working on a cure, and while hell would likely be freezing over while everyone waited for that to happen, they had halted the mass killings by military enforcement and instead had taken a role of doling out safety guidelines and red tape for everyone to trip over. 

All that meant was that people were expected to wear facemasks, wash their hands profusely, and avoid being eaten by the slow stupid animated corpses. It wasn’t too hard after all. But that didn’t mean that people weren’t still turning left and right, just simple stupidity ending their lives in a ugly mockery of what they once were. 

Plenty of people were holding out that there was a cure on the horizon, but Jimin was there for those who were realists. Families who had agreed amongst themselves that if they were to ever turn, they didn’t want to be left to wander the streets or potentially infect their loved ones or others. Or people who had to live in fear while a neighbor housed their own infected family members, putting the safety of everyone in proximity in mortal danger. 

When there was a zombie that needed taking out Jimin was there, no questions asked. For the low low price of 500$ a pop. 

Of course, now he was wishing he had been smart enough to not kill a zombie when he wasn’t on the clock. Taking out his neighbors granny had been a dumb idea, it wasn’t exactly hard for his neighbor to figure out he had been the one responsible after all. Killing too close to home was his downfall. 

Well, downfall was perhaps a bit dramatic, he was only going to be fined more likely than not. There was the potential for minor jail time but usually a couple of greased palms from his contacts could take care of the harsher sentences. There wasn’t a lot money couldn’t fix, not that he was swimming in it or anything. But he was owed a few favors, and he was cashing them all in to avoid jail. He was too pretty for jail, let’s be honest. 

It didn’t stop him from being nervous though, he hated the formalities of court, the imposing harsh gaze of the judge, it was all too much pressure for him. Even a speeding ticket caused Jimin to break out in a sweat. He wasn’t sure what it was about authority figures but he hated them. They made him feel weak and helpless. Which he most definitely wasn’t. 

Only one person was allowed to make him feel that way, and only in the bedroom, and that was Jungkook. Something about letting him hold him down, using his strength to pin him to the bed, or the wall, pressing his hard body against his smaller one, made him feel helpless in the most delicious way. 

But give Jimin a gun, and you wouldn’t have to worry about his small frame or diminutive height any more. He was a crack shot, thanks to his stint in the military, his unit being stationed on the front lines. Jimin had been specifically trained in military weaponry and excelled quickly becoming a weapons specialist. 

Jungkook was two years younger than Jimin, and had managed to avoid ever being conscripted thanks to the whole apocalypse thing, the war over North and South Korea being forgotten with the fate of the planet as a whole being on the line. It was quite a time to be alive. 

While Jungkook was ever the macho man, good in a fight, and masculine in all the right ways, he had no idea how to use a gun. Given the opportunity to learn, he had turned his nose up at it much like the majority of gun fearing Korean’s of yester-year. But he was fine with Jimin taking up the helm, it was their give and take. Jimin felt safe on the arm of Jungkook around people, and Jungkook felt safe with Jimin around whatever else was lurking. He was glad Jungkook wasn’t the kind of guy to feel his masculinity being threatened because his smaller boyfriend was the one carrying the gun.

He really was a catch.

___

Later that evening, Jungkook was waiting in the parking lot of the court, car idling. Jimin spotted the silver car as soon as he set foot outside. His armpits were damp, and his hands were still clammy from the anxiety of his court hearing. One 500$ fine later, he was breathing shakily but a lot easier than before. The relief of seeing his boyfriend waiting for him patiently outside made him feel even better. 

Jimin eyeballed the parking lot, sure enough, there was a zombie stumbling in the back of the lot, aimlessly walking and turning confused in circles. Not much of a threat. Which was good considering he obviously wasn’t packing at the moment. All the more reason for Jungkook to pick him up despite them not living far from the court house. Nothing made Jimin feel more vulnerable than not having his gun on him. He hurried to the waiting car, hating how nervous he was feeling. 

Jungkook leaned across and threw the car door open as he approached. Jimin hopped in letting out a breath of relief. Jungkook reached back over Jimin’s lap and popped the glove box, Jimin’s 9mm glowing in the light from within. 

“Awe, you’re too sweet.” Jimin said as if he had discovered a box of heart shaped chocolates. 

“I know how you get when you don’t have at least one weapon on you.” Jungkook quipped, running his hand up his boyfriend’s leg. 

Jimin smiled, tucking the gun into the waistband of his pants and settling back against the seat, appreciating the cold hard gun pressed there, a constant reminder that he could handle whatever happened. 

Jungkook took in the sight of his slightly sweaty, nerve-wracked boyfriend. He had closed his eyes, his breath was shallow, through slightly parted lips. His neatly styled blonde hair was starting to ruffle, with a tendril or two falling into his eyes. His shirt was clinging to him, the button down damp and uncomfortable looking at this point. But he looked extremely sexy.

“How’d it go? From the looks of how sweaty you are… I’d say, good?” 

Jimin chuckled, shaking his head, neither to agree or disagree. “500$ fine. It sucked. But I’ve lived to tell the tale, and I’ll be back to taking out zombie’s before you know it. But perhaps not our neighbors next time.”

Jungkook nodded, and squeezed Jimin’s thigh, “How about we get you home, and out of those clothes. Take a nice shower and have some dinner?” Jungkook offered, with an emphasis in his mind on getting Jimin out of those clingy clothes. 

A steamy shower with his sexy boyfriend sounded like a great way to relax and forget about how annoying and stressful court was. Who was he to say no, “Yes, please.” 

They plowed through the parking lot and on to the street, putting the courthouse and the odd lone zombie in the rearview. 

___

Jimin was naked before he knew what was happening. 

It started in the car, in between shifting gears, Jungkook was rubbing his thigh, all while never taking his eyes off the road. The only sign that he was getting as turned on as Jimin, was the way he was biting his lip ring, pushing his hand between Jimin’s spread thighs and rubbing deeply, grazing his stiffening cock with each movement. 

Jungkook was eager to destress his poor boyfriend. Eager to get him home, so he could watch him melt into a puddle from pleasure only he could give him. 

Jungkook kept the deep massaging of Jimin’s inner thigh up all the way until they parked the car. He was possessive, arms around Jimin as soon as he pulled him from the car, walking with him wrapped up inside them while Jimin fumbled with the keys to their house. Jungkook only made the job harder, while he pressed his crotch to Jimin’s ass and buried himself in the crook of Jimin’s neck nibbling and kissing his still damp flesh. 

As soon as they were in the house, Jungkook stripped them both, tossing Jimin’s gun along with the rest of his clothes on the couch, kissing and tugging him towards their bathroom. They were barely able to navigate the house if not for the muscle memory, Jungkook was touching and kissing all the while. 

Jimin was in a fit of giggles and little gasps as Jungkook hurried them to their destination, quickly running the shower and back to pulling Jimin in close to put his hands all over his naked flesh. It was all hungry touches, and kisses. Jungkook was paying special attention to Jimin’s earlobe, pulling at the silver hoop there with his teeth. It always sent shivers down Jimin’s spine when he put his mouth anywhere near his ears, reminding him of the first time they met, his warm sweet breath purring seductively against it. 

The steam was starting to build in the small bathroom, indicating the shower was ready to melt Jimin’s cares away, not that Jungkook wasn’t doing a fabulous job of that already. He pulled Jimin in behind him, closing the curtain and letting the hot water drench their naked bodies. 

Jimin let Jungkook do all the heavy lifting, just willing to be touched and let his hands work themselves across his body. Jungkook, took a shower puff and squeezed a vanilla body wash into it, working the lather across Jimin’s chest, following the sponge with his hand as he felt Jimin’s nipples harden under his touch. Down his soft smooth belly, lightly caressing his toned abs, appreciating the subtle ripple of muscle beneath his pale skin. 

Jimin watched his hands move down his body, enjoying the way his boyfriend was so engrossed in the ritual. Jimin rested his arms loosely around Jungkook’s neck, draping them languidly and casually twirling the wet hair at the back of Jungkook’s head. 

He was ever so appreciative of the attention his boyfriend was giving to his body that bordered on worship, Jimin smirked inwardly wondering exactly who was getting off on this more. Jungkook was rock hard after all, his eyes following his hand movements, like he was drinking in every inch of the soapy naked sight. 

After Jimin had been perfectly lathered, Jungkook pressed his hard body against Jimin again, slickly moving his chest and abs against Jimin’s as he kissed him deeply, his hands grabbing fistfuls of Jimin’s tender soapy ass. 

Jimin kissed back, loving the way his boyfriend’s soft lips felt, tasting the water of the shower beading down their faces with each flick of his tongue against Jungkook’s. 

They hadn’t had shower sex in a while, but it seemed pretty evident that it was where they were headed. If the hands on Jimin’s ass, slipping between his cheeks and rubbing soapy circles around his hole, were anything to go by. 

Jungkook swirled his tongue slowly in Jimin’s mouth, almost in sync with his movements against Jimin’s rim. The two sensations eliciting a low moan into Jungkook’s mouth. Jimin bit and tugged at Jungkook’s lip ring in approval. 

Jungkook, slipped a wet finger into his hole, Jimin instantly mewled against his lips. The wet finger was  dipping in and out slowly, knuckle deep. Soon, it was followed by a second finger, stretching and twisting to make room for himself inside. 

Jimin was already weak in the knees, Jungkook knew exactly how to stretch him slowly, making his body ache without the burn of going too quickly. He was working him over with two fingers, scissoring wider at the tips til Jimin was blooming and softening like a flower opening to the sun. 

With the introduction of a third finger, Jimin was panting, gripping Jungkook’s hair at the back, with Jungkook folding himself around Jimin, head over his shoulder watching himself as he pulled Jimin’s asscheeks apart so he could get a better visual of his tattooed fingers doing what they did best. 

Jimin writhed under his fingers, holding onto Jungkook for dear life, twisting and pressing his aching dick against Jungkook’s upper thighs enjoying the slippery friction, feeling his equally hard cock press against his stomach. His ass was so full of Jungkook’s fingers, pushing slow and deep, pressing down against his prostate as he pumped them, giving Jimin a taste of the pleasure yet to come. The sweet pressure was building a fire inside his belly that was soon aching for more.  

With one final stretch, Jungkook pulled out his fingers, and slapped Jimin on his wet ass, the sound cracking in the air. Jimin gasped, the mixed pleasure and pain from the sensation making him fall apart. 

“Turn around.” Jungkook said bossily, his eyelashes were wet, his face dripping and hair a mess but he was oh so sexy when he got commanding. 

Jimin instantly twisted around, and Jungkook took him by the wrists from behind and nudged him against the shower wall. The tile was still cold and wet, it sent a shiver through Jimin’s hot body. He took Jimin’s hands and pulled them up, placing them on either side above his head, folding his fingers through Jimin’s and molding himself to his boyfriend’s body. 

Jimin immediately pushed his ass out, pressing it into Jungkook’s damp crotch, feeling his cock slipping between his asscheeks. Jungkook grinded against him, not entering him but sliding himself up and down against his ass with his dick nestled between his cheeks.

After some teasing, Jungkook finally released one of Jimin’s hands, “Don’t move.” He whispered into his ear. 

Jimin obediently waited, feeling Jungkook pressing his cock against his pliable hole, rubbing it there at the entrance as if checking if it was going to let him in. 

Jimin bit his lip in anticipation, his hole fluttering against the cock tip. That seemed to do the trick, Jungkook applied pressure, his hole immediately swallowing the cock head neatly, since he had already been so perfectly prepared for it. It didn’t stop Jimin from gasping at the sensation and sudden stretch. 

Jimin moaned deeply, while Jungkook fell against him, burying himself immediately inside of his perfect pink hole.

Jungkook put all his weight into it, and Jimin was impossibly full. No matter how many times they had fucked over the last year he never got over the way Jungkook made him feel so utterly complete and whole when he was inside him. 

“Uhhnnn, Jimin, baby. You always feel so fucking good on my cock.” Jungkook quietly purred, his lips close to his boyfriend’s ear. He wasn’t particularly loud during sex, that was usually Jimin’s role, but when he did he saved it for whispering lewdly against his neck just for Jimin to hear. It was Jimin’s biggest turn on. Hearing him breathily, quietly, coming undone just for him was like pornographic music to his ears. 

Jungkook was thrusting deep, his thighs slapping against Jimin wetly. He kept his hands above his head, not daring to move but his knees were growing weaker by the second. His dick was throbbing untouched, and Jimin wasn’t sure if it was the water or his precum dripping blissfully from the swollen tip. 

He had never been big on dirty talk before Jungkook, the idea had always made him giggle. He just couldn’t take someone saying stuff like that to him seriously. But when Jungkook pulled him by his hair, and praised how well he took his cock it nearly made Jimin cum. He never wanted him to stop. He couldn’t help the way he folded, responding in kind with sweet submissive agreement. 

“Mmm, just for you.” He managed in between gasps of pleasure. 

They were words he never could have imagined coming genuinely out of his mouth with any other man. Only Jungkook had ever made him feel so desired, so completely possessed. He was all his, his body was made for his pleasure.

Jungkook loved Jimin’s responsiveness, pushing his face against the shower wall firmly but gently, getting off on the way Jimin became his when he was inside of him. “All mine.” He grunted, grabbing Jimin’s hips and rocking himself harder against his ass. 

He was hitting Jimin’s prostate with each thrust, pounding it mercilessly. The sounds of their bodies clashing were louder than the shower itself and only drowned out by the sound of Jimin’s moans, which were sharp and pointed with each hit of his sweet spot. 

“Gunna cum.” He breathed weakly, his eyes screwed shut tight, letting the sensation of Jungkook’s hard grip on his hips and powerful rapid thrusts overtake him. The hot lightning rod of pleasure was hitting its peak.

Jungkook kept up the speed, but leaned forward again, wrapping his tattooed arms around Jimin’s chest tightly, holding him close and hard, shallow, fast pumping as he climbed toward his own orgasm. 

“Cum on my cock baby, show me how good I make you feel.” 

That was a request Jimin could most definitely fulfill, with Jungkook’s cock buried to the hilt and his breath against his neck Jimin was spiraling over the edge. Jungkook’s arms held him up as he nearly fell to the shower floor, fucking into him as his orgasm was purged from within, spilling rope after rope of cum beneath him.

His walls were clenched hard and tight against Jungkook who continued to pound Jimin. He couldn’t even feel his feet on the floor anymore, his orgasm still hitting him like crashing waves, moans and sounds he wasn’t even registering were flowing from his lips. 

Jungkook’s orgasm was close behind a few short hard thrusts later with an intense guttural groan, keeping himself deep within Jimin’s hole. He was panting hard, riding out the sensation overload with a deep grinding roll of his hips, seemingly never wanting to part from Jimin’s body. 

As if cured from some kind of sex poison, Jungkook grinned, his voice breathy but returning to normal, “Feel better now?” 

Jimin couldn’t stifle the laugh, Jungkook was still buried in his ass, and he was being cute. “Much.” He managed finally finding the strength to stand again. Jungkook buried his wet face against Jimin’s neck and kissed him repeatedly, “Good.” He murmured against his skin. 

When they had finished up in the shower, Jimin felt like an overcooked noodle. Soft and pliable. Jungkook wrapped him up in a huge fluffy towel, and carried him to their bed like a bride, eliciting giggles from Jimin. He was impossibly relaxed, in a way only Jungkook seemed to make him. Content, blissful and sleepy. Jungkook snuggled against his burrito wrapped boyfriend until they both fell asleep, forgetting dinner, and zombies, court and the whole world all together. 

____

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