#is held twice a year. and the next time for it would be summer. but the gmv im working on is bg3 and thats not an allowed source material

[munsonsmixtapes]

Fulfill My Fantasy

Based on this poll, it looks like rockstar!Eddie has won!

rockstar!Eddie x plus size!groupie!reader

summary: you jump at the chance to finally hook up with your celebrity crush in a porta potty at a music festival

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) reader calls Eddie a good boy

If you were being honest, you had been convinced that you were put on this earth for the sole reason to fuck rockstars. You had been in the pants of the most famous names out there, each one being surprisingly easier than the last. They were always so eager to get into anyone’s pants and you always left them wanting more even though you never slept with the same person twice.

Your most recent target was Eddie Munson, even though you weren’t sure you would have been able to get to him because he was always already with someone. You almost had him in Texas, but saw him enter his dressing room with another girl so you took the loss and tried again in Missouri only for the same thing to happen.

You felt a little stupid for trying so hard if it wasn’t going to work out, so you just decided that you’d give up and stopped following Corroded Coffin on tour. You then settled for men who you weren’t interested in, completely forgetting about Eddie altogether since you knew that wouldn’t happen. It was all just a pipe dream, it seemed.

You found yourself at yet another music festival, on the prowl for yet another celebrity to add to your list, but weren’t finding anyone who you felt was worth your time. They were all either creeps or just weren’t interested in you. But then, as if the universe had listened, your eyes locked on Beckett Brooks, the guitarist of one of your favorite bands, who was purchasing a beer from one of stalls.

You made a beeline for him and stood behind him to act like you were in line. You didn’t know why you were nervous since you had done the same thing more times that you could count. Maybe it was because you had looked up to him for so many years.

You tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around, giving you a bright smile once he caught sight of you. You watched his eyes rake down your body and you were eating it up, hoping he was liking what he saw.

“Hi,” he greeted and your smile matched his as he put his hand out for you to shake. “I’m Beckett,” he introduced himself and you shook his hand briefly before letting yours fall back by your side.

“Y/n,” you replied and he nodded and he turned to grab the beer he had purchased that was sitting on the counter of the stall and twisted off the cap before taking a swig of the drink.

“Can I buy you a drink?” There was no way you were drinking with no one around to take care of you, but you’d definitely take a soda or water because it was so hot in the summer heat.

“I’ll take a water.” You really needed to hydrate, especially with what the two of you were going to get up to if you played your card right.

“Sure,” he nodded and ordered you a water while you tried to amp up the flirting to really get the ball rolling.

“I saw you on stage earlier,” you told him as he handed you the bottle of water and he looked at you in interest, as if he was intrigued by what you were saying.

“Oh yeah?” He titled his head to the side and pushed some of his blond hair out of the way. You thought the long hair suited him and wondered what it felt like. It looked soft and shiny in the sunlight.

“Mhm,” you nodded, taking a sip from your water.

“What’d you think?” They were great as always, but you couldn’t help but notice that they were pitchy in a few spots.

“You guys were really good,” you told him, putting on the excited face that men always ate up. “Especially you.” You stepped closer to him and wanted to push some hair behind his ear when you felt an arm drape over your shoulder.

You turned your head and held in a gasp as you saw that Eddie Munson was standing next to you. He was dressed in a mesh top that showed off his tattoos and nipple piercings off so nicely. The top was paired with a very short pair of black shorts and you had to stop yourself from drooling at how hot he looked. Honestly, it should have been illegal.

He turned to you with his signature mega watt smile and you tried to figure out what he was up to. You had had maybe a couple of conversations with him over the years and honestly didn’t think that he even knew who you were. Especially not enough to have his arm draped over your shoulders as if you were old friends.

“Sorry I’m late, hon,” he smiled and you furrowed your eyebrows, unsure as to what he was up to. You barely knew each other and now he was acting as if you were super close despite the face that you had only had a few conversations that had only consisted of small talk.

“Eddie, man, so good to see you,” Beckett greeted him, but Eddie couldn’t have given less of a fuck, keeping his gaze on you. You looked into his eyes and the sun reflected off of them, making them a warm honey color that was just so pretty.

“Hey, Beck,” he gave him a wave, still keeping his eyes locked on yours. “I think Millie, you know, your girlfriend, was looking for you.” Eddie finally turned to the guitarist and gave him a look that told him to get lost and Beckett was quick to make himself scarce.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I should go find her. It was nice to meet you, y/n.” This wasn’t the first time that you found out that one of them had a significant other, but at least you had found out before sleeping with one them this time.

You pushed Eddie’s arm off of you and turned to face him, wondering what he was playing at. You had a feeling that this little game was for his own personal gain and that he wasn’t just trying to protect you like he may have wanted you to believe.

He just smiled at you and you hated that you almost wanted to melt looking into his stupid, pretty brown eyes. It was almost as if he was looking at you on purpose and you had a feeling that look got him out of so much trouble.

“What the fuck was that?” You yelled, ignoring the eyes that were now on you. Eddie just crossed his arms over your chest and blinked at you as if he had no idea what you were talking about.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, y/n,” he shrugged and that made you even more angry. He wasn’t going to get away with what he did and you were going to make sure of it.

“Bullshit.” You stepped closer to him and he mimicked your actions, a grin breaking out on his face.

“Oh, she’s getting angry.” You were falling right into his trap and you didn’t even care. He deserved to be yelled at.

“Of course I’m angry. You drove Beckett away while I was just about to get him.” You weren’t even close to getting him, but you could have been having him in that moment if Eddie hadn’t ruined it for reasons you were still unsure of.

“I think that was an exaggeration,” he laughed. “But I honestly think you dodged a bullet. I mean, he has a girlfriend and honestly, he’s not that great in bed.” He grimaced as if he had been speaking from experience and that didn’t surprise you since Eddie was openly bisexual and seemed to get around just as much or maybe even more than you did.

“Right, of course you’d know.” You crossed your arms over your chest and smirked as Eddie’s face twisted into a look of anger.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He glared and you just stepped closer to him so you were toe to toe.

“We both know what to means. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to find a hook up since you ran mine off.” You turned on your heel and searched around for another person as Eddie followed you, not wanting to lose you in any of the crowds. He has already been looking for you all day and wasn’t going to have all of that time go to waste.

Little did you know that he had wanted to hook up with you just as much as you wanted to hook up with him. He had wanted you the moment he saw you, but he was just so intimidated by your beauty that his mouth went dry when he tried to talk to you. So, he settled for another girl and let you slip through his fingers twice.

Today was the day, though. He was desperate for you and really needed to know how his dick felt inside you and it was driving him mad thinking about you. Maybe interrupting your conversation with Beckett was wrong, but he thought you deserved to know the truth about him even if the reason why he did it was selfish.

“Hey, wait up!” He grabbed your arm and pulled you back, turning you around to face him. “Why don’t you hook up with me?”

“After what you just pulled? Fuck no!” You laughed and even though it was at him, Eddie still loved the sound and wondered what he could do to make you do it again.

“Listen,” he licked his lips. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you in Atlanta, okay?” You figured he hadn’t been lying since he remembered the exact city he first saw you. And even though you believed him, he was not off the hook.

“I saw you backstage and ran into a wall because I was staring at you.” You didn’t believe that, though. Unless he had some sort of proof, you were convinced that he was lying. If he wanted to have you, he was going to try harder. He was going to have to beg. On his knees. With tears.

“Right. So that’s why you passed on me twice?” You had a point there. That definitely didn’t make him look good.

“I was nervous. You’re just so pretty that I was intimidated.” You laughed again and wondered how stupid he thought you were. This definitely wasn’t your first time hearing that and it wouldn’t be the last.

“This may work on new groupies, but I’ve been around long enough to have heard that line more times than I can count. You know, for an alleged casanova, you’re doing really bad at this.”

“What do you want me to do, y/n? Beg?” Exactly. He was finally getting it and you didn’t even have to spell it out for him.

“Right on the money, Munson. You’re not as dumb as you look.”

“I can beg,” he nodded furiously.

At that, Eddie dropped to his knees and grabbed onto your hips while he looked at you. You loved seeing him so small and pathetic and were eating up the way his eyebrows pinched together as if he was in pain.

“Please forgive me,” he begged, his voice coming out like a whine and you felt yourself getting wet at the sound of it.

“Gonna need a little more.” Your hands moved to his hair, giving his head a scratch.

“Please,” he said again, his words somehow coming out even more whiny. “I promise I’ll be a good boy.” Your pussy was become a sopping mess and you desperately needed him inside you.

“Alright, I forgive you,” you nodded, giving his head another scratch and he hummed at the sound. “Now c’mon.” You pulled him to his feet and took him by hand to lead him to the only private place you could think of.

“Where are we going?” He asked and you just ignored him, pulling him across the grass as fast as you could without breaking out into a full on sprint.

You finally got to the porta potties and Eddie nodded, finally understanding what you were getting at. You pulled him to the only vacant one at the far end and he opened the door, letting you in first. You both squeezed inside, the space very tight and your lips were on his in an instant, not wanting to waste any time since the place wasn’t somewhere anyone wanted to be for longer than necessary.

You liked into his mouth and he let out a whimper as his hands moved to your waist, his hands dipping into the waist band of your skirt as your tongues swirled around each other, the two of your letting out moans as you did so.

“Take off my skirt,” you instructed and he was quick to oblige.

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded.

“Good boy,” you patted his head and it drove him wild to hear you call him that, practically creaming his pants at hearing it.

Eddie removed your skirt in record speed before taking off his shorts and underwear. He reached into the pockets of his shorts and pulled out a condom before opening it and rolling the thing onto his cock then thrusting into you, both of you letting out moans as he did so.

He thrusted in and out of you slowly so the movement wouldn’t rock the porta potty even though you both always wanted it fast and hard. You grabbed onto his shoulders and dug your fingers into them, pressing little crescent shapes into the skin as you did so.

“Fuck, so good,” you moaned and Eddie continued, testing the waters by moving a little faster and harder and you moaned even louder, digging your nails further into his skin. He responded by grabbing onto the backs of your thighs and you jumped, knowing that he would be able to catch you even though you were bigger than him. Your legs wrapped around his waist and you buried your face into his neck as he fit all of himself inside of you, both of you letting out loud moans as he did so.

“Taking me so well, hon,” he breathed. “Look so good wrapped around me too. Like, fuck. You’re even hotter than I imagined.” He continued to pump in and out of your cunt and his fingers dug into your ass as he tried to keep putting all of himself inside of you, your moans getting louder as he did so.

“Same goes for you. You’re much bigger than I anticipated.” That was exactly what he liked to hear and in response, he pumped the hardest and fastest he could, nor even caring if it made the whole thing too over.

“Sh-shit, Eddie. Oh my god.” Your head tilted back as your eyes closed and Eddie wished he had a camera to photograph just how fucking hot you looked in that moment.

Just as you both reached your climaxes, the porta potty did in fact tip over and it was needless to say that the both of you had been asked to leave and were told that you were never allowed to return to the event ever again.

But neither of you cared and you laughed your entire way to your car to continue where you left off, finding it hilarious that you really thought you could get away with fucking in a porta potty. Well, at least you both had a great story to tell to tell people how you officially met.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie x you #rockstar!eddie smut #rockstar!eddie x groupie!reader #eddie munson x plus size reader

[perilegs]

spending all my time making silly little edits has finally proven worth it

#guess who made it to the amv competition finale of a con im attending later this month :3c #the gmv i made for it is far from my best work but this is just the beginning for me #i have another gmv in the making but i'm working on it bit by bit. it was originally something a friend suggested i make as a joke but #uh. it stopped being the length of a silly little edit so i turned it into a gmv #but i cant enter it anywhere until FALL this year bc the con im currently going to have my gmv shown at #is held twice a year. and the next time for it would be summer. but the gmv im working on is bg3 and thats not an allowed source material #for that con. up until recently they did NOT accept anything but anime music videos to their amv competitions which. #but in the recent years theyve expanded it to ''east or southeast asian media'' #so. cant enter it there. #but it's fine im in no hurry to finish the gmv anyways so i can wait until fall to enter it into another con's amv thing #leevi talks #also i know we're all nerds here but being like a con goer cosplay AND amv nerd on this site feels embarrassing #like. it's mortifying here. i feel like i'll get bullied off the site. which is weird considering that idc if ppl irl know that about me

[frannyzooey]

Down the Hall

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Tags: Explicit, age gap because you know what I'm about (Frankie is your mom’s boyfriend, he is in his 40s, you are in your mid-20s)

A/N: Yea….so this is dedicated to @intheorangebedroom who inspired this entire idea and to @whatsnewalycat whose beautiful brain and writing inspired me as well. Thank you to @astroboots for cheering me on, to @bageldaddy for the super in depth beta and to @the-ginger-hedge-witch who soothed by "does this hit" worries — your minds are golden and I am so happy you support this utter filth. Ily ❤️

He thought that dating someone his own age would ground him, steady him. Not that he ever paid much attention to the age of the women he dated, but he thought with someone who had their own shit figured out, he might be inspired to do the same. 

Unmoored and unattached since he joined the army in his twenties, he was pushing forty now and craved some kind of routine. Living alone gave him too much time for thinking, too many hours spent inside his own head. He knew that living like that for too long could lead to bad decisions and thought he might hold himself to a higher standard when he saw how they held themselves to one. 

He met her at a bar – the most cliche of meeting places, but for good reason. She was out with friends after work and from the start, he was attracted to the way she smiled with her whole mouth. Everything about her seemed sensuous and fun, so inviting that he found himself drawn in and when he asked if he could take the seat next to her, he matched her smile with one of his own. 

When she invited him home that night, he buried himself deep while feasting on that generous mouth. 

He stayed that night, and then one night became twice a week, became three – and before he knew it, his lease was up on his apartment and he moved in. It was nice to come home to someone after work. To know that someone was there, wondering how his day went. To have a warm body curled up next to him in bed. 

She was so independent, so driven. A corporate job that required her to dress in slippery blouses and pretty skirts with heels; the same he loved to strip from her when she came home all stressed out the way she did sometimes. And she had a kid – a daughter – already in college somewhere on the east coast, but that didn’t bother him. Dating in his forties meant people already had their own histories, and he was no exception. 

Sometimes after she fell asleep and he had time alone to think, he still felt something that itched beneath his skin. Something that pulled at him from within, something that remained unsettled. He told himself that it was just an adjustment period after so many years of being unattached, and shoved those feelings deep down inside of him, determined to ignore them until he taught himself a new way to live. 

Her breathing deep and steady beside him, he told himself that she was good for him. 

That was what counted.

He was all for it when she told him her daughter was coming home to stay the summer between semesters. He liked the idea of having another person in the house – another distraction, another responsibility to take him out of his own head. 

He worked odd hours, and during his off days, Frankie took up the task of preparing her daughter’s old room. Light pink walls, a creamy bedspread dotted with delicate flowers: his mind supplied an automatic image of the little girl that lined the hallway in frames. He knew she was older than that now, but the way her mom talked about her, he couldn’t help imagining a little kid. 

Tasked with picking her up from the airport the day she arrived, he had just stepped out of the shower when he heard the doorbell. Frowning, he tugged a shirt over his damp curls, and opened the door.

Jesus Christ. Speechless, he stared at the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. 

“Sorry I didn’t call,” you apologized, tugging a heavy bag higher up on your shoulder. “I got in early and thought an Uber would be faster.”

He stood there for a moment, just staring, his mouth slightly parted in confusion. And then he saw it: the shape of your eyes, the curve of your lush mouth. The resemblance stamped across your delicate features.

“I couldn’t find my key.” You stood there, looking uneasy on your own doorstep. “You must be Frankie. Or is it Francisco? My mom said you’d be here. It’s nice to meet you.”

At the rounded sound of his full name coming from your mouth, his gaze snapped back to meet your eyes while you hung there, clearly waiting for him to say something. His body was slow to catch up with his brain, the little girl his mind supplied was gone, replaced by the vision that stood in front of him. Still young and fresh-faced, but grown nonetheless and so, so fucking beautiful. 

When you gestured towards the house behind him, he finally shook himself from the initial shock.

“Shit,” he apologized, stepping back out of your way. “Yea, it’s Frankie. Nice to meet you.” You gave him a half smile, and when you stepped inside, he reached for your bag. “Here, let me grab that.”

His hand dragging through his curls, he stood in the entryway and watched you make yourself at home: your shoes immediately kicked off on the doormat, your jacket hung neatly next to his own like it had always belonged there. 

“Do you know when my mom gets home?”

He cleared his throat, trying not to stare at the length of your legs underneath the hem of your shorts. “Uh, she said probably around six? That’s when she usually gets home.”

You nodded, holding your hand out for your bag and for a split second, he wondered if he should bring it upstairs for you. It would be the polite thing to do, but the idea of entering your room now felt like overstepping. You weren’t a kid, you didn’t need him like that. The boundaries had suddenly blurred and shifted, and he whisked away the image of you settling into your bedroom just as fast as it popped into his head. 

When you grabbed the bag from him, he felt relief. 

It was easy to avoid you for the afternoon while you got settled. Instead, he mowed the lawn, prepared dinner, all the while with his ears attuned to the sound of you walking around above him. He felt on edge, anxious. The excitement he thought he would feel with someone else in the house had turned into unease. 

He made himself an outsider, even more so when your mom came home. Not wanting to intrude on your time together, he stayed in the kitchen to cook dinner for the two of you and delivered it to the living room, placing your plates on the coffee table. 

“Thank you, baby, that’s so nice.” Your mother scooted forward, tilting her chin up towards him in a silent request for a kiss. 

Granting it to her, he felt her familiar hold slip around the back of his neck to keep him in place for a moment, keenly aware of the way you were right there. For a split second while his lips were still on hers, he glanced up at you and it was clear that he caught you watching by the way you hastily looked away the second he met your eyes. 

He fucked her hard that night, his hand over her mouth so you wouldn’t hear. 

She was gone in the morning when he made his way downstairs, and he was pleasantly surprised to find coffee already in the pot. 

“I made extra,” you said, from your perch on the chair at the table. Sleep shorts high on your thighs, an oversized tee shirt covering your top half. The way it engulfed you made you look younger than you were. 

He looked away, busying himself with pouring a cup. 

“I drink a lot, so I made a lot,” you explained with shy self-deprecation. 

“Sounds good to me,” he replied, sitting down at the table. “Got any plans for today? Or for the summer, I guess?” 

Wading the tentative waters of getting to know someone, he watched your fingers play with the edge of the paper. 

“Just relax for a bit, I think? Catch up with some old friends? No plan really. I just didn’t want to hang out on a deserted campus.”

He nodded. “Makes sense.” 

And so began the morning routine you would both share for the next few weeks. Hesitant and quiet around each other in the beginning, sliding into something normal fairly fast. Your mother was early to rise and early to bed, but he had never been and neither were you. 

He joined you in the late morning at the kitchen table, the curve of your soft cheek highlighted in the slant of light through the window. On the couch at night, a different kind of illumination from the light of the TV, yet hitting your cheek just the same. Your things scattered around the living room, your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom, your clothes mixed with his in the wash. 

Your proximity was what he blamed for the constant thoughts he had about you. 

Every morning he admired how rumpled you looked, how sleepy and soft and inviting. It was endearing, but soon other thoughts edged out the more innocent ones: thoughts about your legs wrapped around his waist, your slender fingers wrapped around something other than a coffee cup. 

The want he felt for you pooled in various places inside him: his brain, his chest, between his thighs. It spilled down the shower drain and spilled hot across his stomach. 

It flooded your mother’s mouth, and she was none the wiser.

Afterwards, she tucked her face into the meat of his shoulder, pressing a kiss against the skin there. Sated and content, she curled herself around him. “Let’s do something this weekend together. Actually make use of that pool we have for once.”

A barbecue. She’d been talking about having one for a while. 

“We’ve been working so hard. I feel like I barely even see you, honey.” 

Something akin to guilt tugged at him, thinking of the shifts he had been picking up in an effort to avoid you. Your eyes, your smile, your stupid sleep shorts.

He hummed his agreement and she kissed him in thanks, her breaths eventually evening out as she fell asleep. 

Frankie lay awake, the image of your closed bedroom door stuck in his mind. 

–

“Jesus Christ,” you murmured as you watched Frankie climb out of the pool. 

Broad, bare shoulders, tanned swathes of skin, cute little dimples just above his ass. Water ran down over his tanned skin, the thin material of his swim shorts stuck to his ass and when he turned around to grab a towel off a nearby chair, you were glad for your sunglasses.

Fuck me. 

The material of his shorts molded to every inch of his thick cock, the shape clearly outlined. Oblivious, he ran the towel over his curls, over his shoulders and arms, down his torso – and when his hand gingerly pulled the material away from his crotch, you memorized the swirl of dark hair that surrounded his navel and led down.  

“Can you help me with the grill, honey?”

Your mom’s voice pulled your attention away from him. 

Her boyfriend, you reminded yourself. Frankie was her boyfriend.

“Yea,” he called back, chucking his towel on the chair. “Be right there. Let me put a shirt on.”

The shirt he shrugged over his head was the same one you folded that morning. The material was threadbare and super soft, the muscles of his back shifting underneath the thin fabric as he sauntered over to the grill. You knew the way it felt in your hands, and at the thought of his body heat through the material, you pressed your thighs together. 

The afternoon sun bathed you in warmth, but it was nothing compared to the heat that pooled inside your bottoms as you continued to watch him from your recline by the pool. His brown curls glinted in the sun, his throat bobbing with a swallow when your mother brought him a beer. 

When his eyes flashed over to you, you finally looked away. 

You saw those deep, doleful brown eyes in your sleep. 

You felt them on you all the time: in the dark living room during family movie time, your mother curled up against his side. In the kitchen after dinner, when you loaded the dishwasher while he put away the food. In the mornings, when you pretended to read the paper while he snuck hooded peeks at you and drank you in. 

Startled by his handsomeness from the very first time you laid eyes on him, your crush only grew with every passing day spent in his company. He was so thoughtful, so attentive and kind, but it was something else buried within his gaze that drew you in. 

A barely restrained want that shone clear on his face every time he looked at you. A need simmering under the surface, you saw the way he fought it. 

You thought about him constantly: imagined him crowding you against the counter in the kitchen, saw him pulling back the shower curtain to join you, pretended your fingers were his in your bed at night. 

Born out of your own need, you pushed him. Played with the limits of his self control, desperate for him to make a move. No action overt enough to be blatant, the way he stared at you made you feel confident, bold. The want pouring off his skin when you hung around him was obvious and thick, filling the space between the two of you until he inevitably excused himself. 

When it’s time to eat, you take a seat next to him on the bench, your thigh pressed hot against his. You waited for him to pull away, but he never did and the intimate sensation of the hair on his leg brushing against your own smoother skin made it hard to eat, though you missed it when he got up. 

Your mother, one margarita too many and giggly and loose, pulled him into a dance under the stars that had just begun to come out. He humored her, wrapping his arms around her waist to hold her close, smiling at every murmured secret she slipped into his ear. 

You watched the scene unfold right in front of you with a fond, humoring expression, and his eyes kept finding yours, flashing in the darkness. 

You pretended nonchalance, but the entire time, you wanted. 

He took her to bed while you cleaned up the kitchen. 

You knew he fucked her – you heard it sometimes. They tried to be quiet for your sake but sometimes a whimper would slip down the hall, the deep reverberation of a groan in the dark. 

Climbing into bed that night, your mind lingered on the image of his wet swim trunks. The dark swirl of hair, the heft in the outline. 

You wondered what he fucked like with a cock like that. 

–

“Something’s going on in the Arizona market,” your mom explained, tossing items into her suitcase. A silk blouse spilled over the side, and you tucked it back in with the rest. “I’ll be gone through Thursday, maybe Friday? Hopefully not the weekend, but I’ll let you know.”

“Do you need a ride to the airport?” 

Smiling at you, she stepped forward and cupped your cheek with her hand for a moment. “That’s sweet, honey, but I’m good. Frankie’s got it.”

Apprehension swirled with anticipation, the joint feelings settled low in your gut. You’d been alone with him before, but never for this long. Never truly alone, for days on end. 

The man himself poked his head around the corner of the doorway, the width of his shoulders filling out the frame. He glanced at you, and then his watch. “You about ready, baby?” 

She bustled around the room, tossing things here and there onto the bed and he looked at you again, a slight frown pulling between his brows. 

His expression gave something akin to frustration, and for a split second, you thought it was because of the time your mom was taking. When you felt his dark eyes drop down the length of your body involuntarily and then back up again, you turned away with a small smile, knowing it to be something else. 

–

For the first couple days, he stayed away from the house as much as he could. Kept his distance until he ran out of errands, until he drove down the same stretch of road too many times. He didn’t trust himself to be alone with you, and he hated himself for it. 

Self loathing creeped in every time he thought about the way his jeans tightened even thinking of you alone in the house. His girlfriend’s fucking daughter, half his age. The whole thing was fucked up. 

And yet, he couldn’t stop. 

He felt bad, thinking of you suddenly being all alone after spending so much time with people around, but he told himself that you probably loved having the space to yourself. 

He came in the shower that morning to the thought of your mouth wrapped around the base of his cock, and he was unable to look you in the eye when he saw you in the kitchen afterward. Your hopeful expression lingered in his mind all day as he stretched out the hours. 

The sky turned from light blue to dark, and he finally caved. He couldn’t stay away forever. 

The house was quiet when he walked in, tossing his keys on the entryway table. He crept around, looking for any sign of your presence, until he heard the shower running upstairs. Light spilled down the staircase, and heading into the kitchen, he tried to push down the thoughts running rampant in his head. 

He drank a glass of water, listening. 

The shower turning off (your naked body, damp and warm), your footsteps padding down the hall (that smooth skin, hidden under your towel), your bedroom door shutting (the towel dropping onto your floor). 

He stayed downstairs, turning the TV on to distract himself, the air in the house charged with a magnetic pull from your room. He waited until there had been nothing but silence for the better part of a half hour, then dared to venture upstairs. 

He’d just say goodnight, that’s all. Just so you knew you weren’t alone. 

His knuckles rapped against your door, and he pushed it open when he heard you say come in. 

“Hey,” you greeted him, slight surprise on your face. Stretched out in bed, the inviting cloud of your comforter was plush underneath your body. You paused the movie you were watching, and sat up on your elbows. “Haven’t seen you in a couple days.”

“Yea,” he replied, leaning against the frame of your door. His eyes followed a slow path up your bare legs. 

“Work been crazy or something?” you asked.

“Something like that, yea,” he answered. His hand stayed on the knob of your door, an anchor that kept him from crossing a line. “I actually just stopped by to say goodnight. I’m gonna turn in.”

“Already?” you teased. “It’s pretty early, isn’t it? Aren’t you gonna live it up while my mom is gone?”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I’ve lived it up enough. I’m an old man, remember? We don’t do that kind of stuff.”

“Forty-five is hardly an old man,” you scolded with a smile. “You wanna watch a movie instead?”

You patted the bed next to you, and his face sobered. You didn’t see it, instead reaching for the lotion on your bedside table to work some into your hands and the image of you jerking his cock with that same lotion flashed across his mind. He frowned. 

“In here?” 

You shrugged, laying back down. “I mean, I’m already all set up in here…”

You left the offer hanging, and even though he knew - he fucking knew he shouldn’t - he found himself nodding. 

You looked surprised at his answer for a split second, and then pleased. 

“Let me go get changed.”

He walked down the hall towards his room, scolding himself the entire time. Don’t do this, don’t do this, don’t go back into that fucking room. Don’t think about how smooth her skin is and how much you want to kiss her.  Don’t think about how her sheets smell like her, don’t think about how much you want to lick her cunt. 

The thoughts ran on a loop as he peeled off his work clothes. 

They echoed in his head as he pulled on his sweats. 

They followed him out of his bedroom and all the way down the hall, stopping at your doorway.

You turned your head, looking at him expectantly, looking so fucking lush and innocent, so eager to have him join you. 

He swallowed hard, mouth watering and left his guilt in the hallway, joining you in bed.

–

Pretending to ignore the heavy blanket of tension pulsing between your bodies, you kept your eyes fixed on the screen. 

Stretched out next to you, he kept a respectable distance, but you felt the heat that poured off of his skin. He looked so large in your bed, so much like a man. His long limbs splayed out over your girlish comforter, his masculine scent filled the space and when he crossed his arms, you admired the way the hem of his sleeve stretched around his bicep. 

Lightheaded and trembling with a heady want that ached between your thighs, you made it through the whole movie – until the room descended into darkness, until the credits rolled and the screen went black  

Until it was just the two of you sitting side by side in the dark. 

The sheets rustled when you rolled onto your side to face him. 

“What did you think?” you asked quietly. 

He looked down at you from his slouch on the bed, and your fingers twitched with the need to smooth away the crease that rested permanently between his brows. You would think he was mad if not for his eyes: those always look conflicted more than anything. Constant turmoil, roiling deep within the dark depths. 

Not answering, he stared down at you for a long moment before shrugging. 

“Okay, I guess. Well, have a good night.”

He then started to slide off the bed. 

Disappointment flooded your chest, the tension that you’d been feeling for the last two hours releasing restlessly through your limbs. Already making plans to get your vibrator from your side table to use while burying your face into the sheets he was just sitting on, he stilled. 

Your eyes fixed on his broad back, you could almost see the decision being made and he quickly turned before he could convince himself to stop. 

Bending down, he kissed you. 

It was consuming. The brush of his mustache, the taste of his mouth, the weight of his solid body as he pushed you into the bedding, draping it over yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth to slide against your own, and he swallowed the soft sound that caught in the back of your throat. Pushing himself into the cradle between your thighs, he forced them open wider as he deepened the kiss, and his dry, calloused hand slid underneath the hem of your shirt, wrapping around your hip. 

You knew you should push him away, but your hands only dragged him closer, grabbing everything you could touch: the slip of his curls, the curve of his whiskered jaw, the rounds of his broad shoulders. You dug your fingertips into his sides as he ground his hips against yours and your knees hitched higher around his torso. 

His hand wrapped around the top of your shin, pushing down to hold you in place.  

“Jesus,” he breathed into your mouth between kisses, his fingers tightening in their hold before sliding down to touch everything he can: the meat of your hips, his big hand cupping your ass with a greedy squeeze. Need rolled off of him in waves, his touch betraying just how long he had thought about this and his mouth shifted down to devour the long line of your neck, tasting the sweet hollow of your throat. 

Your pulse beat fast under his tongue, speeding up when he let out a groan against the sensitive skin. 

“Take – take this off–” he sat back on his ankles, his hands fumbling with your shirt.

As soon as you pulled it over your head, his mouth latched onto your nipple. His tongue swirled around it, sliding over the peaked bud with a suck. His beard scraped across your sensitive skin, leaving a wet path that glistened over the plane of your chest as he dragged his mouth to your other breast and his heavy hand reached down to cup you wholly over your sleep shorts. 

His fingers dug into the dip of your entrance and the heel of his hand ground hard against your clit. 

“I can’t stop thinking about this pussy,” he confessed. His fingers rubbed harder, and he groaned hot against your skin. “I can already feel how soaked she is for me. How much she wants it.”

You nodded with a whimper, rolling your hips into his touch. “God yes. Please.”

He pulled back just enough to stare down at your face, his pitch black eyes sliding over your features to settle on your open mouth. “Tell me you want this. Tell me how much you want my cock.”

“Yes. Please, please,” you begged.

“It’s gonna be a lot, baby.” He wetted his bottom lip with his tongue, his hand working, working, working. “She’s gonna need to be wet to take what I need her to take.”

A fresh wave of arousal washed through you, and your sleep shorts clung to your center with every grind of his palm. His thick fingers nudged the fabric to the side, exploring. 

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, releasing a heavy breath. “Fuck.” 

His eyes fluttered shut with a frown as his touch slid through your soaked seam and kissing you again, he timed the slide of his tongue with the slick stretch of two fingers. 

Your thighs opened wider around his waist, a whine crawling out of your throat when he pushed them deeper and when he started a smooth, audible stroke, you started to ride his hand. 

You’d been watching his fingers for months: wrapped around the steering wheel in the car, loosely cradling the neck of a beer bottle, drumming against his thigh when he watched TV sometimes. You’d imagined them tucked inside you so many times, buried in your mouth or your cunt, and as he worked a third one in, you let out a filthy moan. 

“I gotta work it open, baby,” he soothed, pulling your earlobe between his lips. “It’ll be okay. I know you can take it.”

His hips started to follow the rhythmic roll of his hand and when he seemed satisfied with how much you could take, he slid his fingers out, reaching to tear his shirt off over his head. When he pushed his fingers into his mouth for a moment, his lips wrapping around his knuckles as he sucked your taste off the thick digits, his hooded eyes took in the way you scrambled to take your sleep shorts off. 

Following your lead, he dumped everything onto the floor beside your bed, and it felt like heaven when you felt his bare skin against the inside of your thighs. So broad, so firm and strong, his body pressed you into the mattress and you felt the hot, pulsing heft of his cock pushing against your cunt. You clenched at the teasing sensation of what was to come, and reached down to grasp him, but his hand caught yours and pushed it into the bedding above your head. 

“Let me do it. I wanna watch your face when I put it in,” he confessed, resting his weight on top of you as he reached down with his other hand to guide himself in. 

Sticky slick smeared between the both of you, and when the tip of his cock forced you to bloom around him, his eyes fixed on your face. Greedily, he devoured the sight of your mouth dropping open, a tiny tiny frown appearing between your brows and he thickened inside you, pushing forward.

“Fuck,” you moaned. “It’s so much.” So much more than you ever thought it would be, even with all the months spent imagining it. 

He bottomed out and the air froze in your lungs, your cunt stuffed fuller than it’s ever been. 

“Shhh,” he soothed, staying in place to let you adjust. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re so fucking tight, baby. So tight.”

Squirming underneath him, you hitched your knees higher around his torso and he rocked his hips to slide halfway out before grinding back in with a weighted push. He gave you a minute: a tense minute, a minute thick and full of wanting, a minute where all you could focus on was the stretch of his cock and the heated bulk of his body and the firmness of his chest pressed against yours. 

He brushed his lips against yours, and gently rolled his hips. 

“Do you know how much I’ve thought about this? About fucking you, in this bed?” His voice deep and breathless, it sounded overwhelmingly intimate breathed against your cheek. 

You shook your head. 

“I thought I was the only one,” you admitted. “I used to think – oh fuck – I used to think about you coming down the hallway in the night. Crawling into my bed and fucking me just like this. Just like I can hear you fuck her.”

“You listen to me fuck her?” His hips rocked forward a little faster, picking up pace. 

“I can’t help it,” you whined. “The sounds – the sounds you make. I wanted to make you make them. I wanted to be the reason.”

His fingers pushed through the hold of your own, locking your hands together above your head and he dug his knees into the bed for leverage. Your breasts shifted underneath him, bouncing lightly as he fucked into you harder and his eyes dropped down to watch. “You are, baby. You are. I think about you all the time.”

Building steadily underneath him, your head pushed back into the bedding and his mouth found your throat, his teeth scraping against the tender skin. His hips never stopping their filling grind, you pushed your fingers through his curls and when he bit down with a suck, a slurred yes slipped out of your outstretched throat. 

You imagined your mom seeing it, asking you if you went on a date with someone. 

His strokes got harder, harsher, his hips snapping against yours and digging your fingers into the soft globes of his ass, you forced him deeper. When you clenched around his thick length, he looked down at you, wrecked and desperate. 

“I wish I tasted you,” he groaned. “Next time, okay?”

You frantically nodded, unable to focus on anything but the bright, shining edge of your release. 

He could see it, feel it in the squeeze of your soaked cunt and his vision blurred around the edges, his own want building at the base of his spine. 

“You gonna come?”

You are. The sounds he’s making above you and the way he feels inside you and the scent and need rolling off his skin and those fucking pitch black eyes that have been in your dreams for months – 

Slick dripped down the curve of your ass, your hips locking up underneath him and when you came with a silent cry, he groaned deep and loud, fucking you right through it. 

“Tell me I can fucking come inside you. Say it,” he pleaded, fingers gripped on your chin to hold your gaze on his. His words punctuated by the snap of his hips, you nod your head. 

“Do it,” you whined.

Your fingers threaded through his curls, it’s the tug that you give that does it. Coming harder than he had in his fucking life, he filled your tight cunt with thick ropes of his spend. Endless, smeared over the shaft of his thick cock as he continued to pump into you because he couldn’t stop, slipping out to drip onto the delicate sheets below. 

“Christ,” he groaned, his jaw clenched as the veins in his neck strained above you, his hips stuttering. Slowing them into a languid roll against your own, his softening cock was still a thick, filling weight inside and when he looked down at you, you recognized the guilt that already flooded the brown depths. 

You stared right back, holding him tight. 

“Stay,” you murmured, holding him in place when he started to roll off of you. 

You wanted to remember this. The hot press of his skin against yours, tacky and slick with sweat. The warm gust of his breath over your lips, the rapid beat of his pulse under his flushed neck. The wild curls that stuck damply along his hairline, the brush of his fingers as he tenderly thumbed at the curve of your jaw. 

He swallowed and you could see the war in his eyes, something you recognized as being there from the start. His hand curled over the crown of your head, and you pressed a kiss to his throat. 

“You can’t –” he started, eyes fluttering shut at the press of your mouth. “You can’t tell your mom about this, okay. We can’t say anything.”

We. You reveled in the sound of the word, your head nodding underneath him. A secret to share. Something for the two of you alone. 

“I won’t,” you promised. “Just don’t leave, okay?”

You felt small and vulnerable asking, and when he looked down at you, a glimpse of the girl he imagined on that very first day tugged at his memory. Not the age he pictured of course, but the way you needed him. 

The way he wanted you to need him all along. 

His face nuzzled yours, his nose sliding across your cheek. A kiss pressed against the soft, youthful curve of your cheek that he had admired for months, he nodded with your sweet taste still lingering on his tongue. 

“I won’t, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales/you #frankie morales/reader

[dragonmama76]

Beginnings

Part One Interlude Part Two Part Three

As Eddie held the broken bottle against Steve’s neck, Steve was preternaturally calm.  If asked, he would explain that he had been expecting this for years.  Today was the day that Eddie Munson was finally going to kill him.  He had fought monsters human and decidedly not human, but he always knew deep down that Eddie Munson would be the one to finally end it all.

*****************

Eddie Munson was a late bloomer and spent his freshman year scrawny and shy. It didn’t help that he was into all kinds of nerd stuff and got bullied relentlessly.  He fancied himself a keen observer of people, though, and over the summer he plotted out a multi step plan to survive high school like it was one of the Dungeons & Dragons campaigns he loved to create.  

First, he spent the summer getting stronger.  He didn’t work out exactly, but he was able to get a summer job as a house painter and by the end he was hauling paint cans up and down ladders like it was nothing.  It also didn’t hurt that puberty finally kicked in and he grew almost a foot.  

Next, he used his newfound cash to update his wardrobe.  Instead of trying to compete with the preppy jocks who tormented him, he went the other way.  He scoured the thrift shops for as much black as he could find and rounded it out with t-shirts from his favorite metal bands.  Black work boots, chains, and a pocket knife became his standard accessories and when Wayne took him to Indy before the start of school he scored a black leather jacket at a nicer second hand store.  Freshman orientation was coming and it would be time to put the final parts of his plan into motion.

The day the freshman came to tour the high school and get their schedules, Eddie was ready.  He leaned against a tree watching the new kids coming and going.  There were a few he clocked as fellow outcasts and nerds and took note.  He would approach them carefully when school started for real.  But at that moment he was waiting for something special.  And then it happened.  A group of three teens made their way to the gym doors, two boys and a girl, dressed like money grew on trees.  One of the boys was taller, more confident, with impeccably styled hair, and best of all, he carried a basketball like he knew what to do with it.  Target acquired.

Steve Harrington’s stomach was all tied up in knots.  He was nervous to be finally starting high school.  Tommy H. and Carol were chattering away but he couldn’t even hear them over the sound of his racing thoughts.  His dad had made it clear what he expected from Steve’s high school career and what the consequences would be if he didn’t follow through.  He doesn’t know what the hell he is doing, but at least maybe if followed his dad’s plan he would finally be proud of him. So he kept his head held high and imagined himself to be that guy.  Fake it ‘til you make it, right?  As he reached the gym door he felt eyes on him and glanced over to see the prettiest guy he had ever seen watching him.  As their eyes met, the boy scowled at him.  Steve winced and stumbled through the door.  What could he possibly have done to piss that guy off already?  “Not a good start, Steve,” he thought as the trio entered the school.  

Steve’s first few weeks of high school would have been pretty great if it wasn’t for his personal bully.  He landed a spot on the varsity basketball team, his teachers were nice enough to explain things twice if he had a question, and even though Tommy H. and Carol were officially dating now, they still included him in almost everything they did.  But when he was walking by himself in the halls, that older kid was always there either glaring or smirking at him.  He actually outright tripped him twice, once into a row of lockers.  Steve apologized at first, thinking maybe he had been at fault for bumping into him or something, but the guy had laughed at him and made some comment about dumb jocks better watch out.  Steve didn’t want to push back.  No matter what personal philosophy his dad ascribed to, Steve didn’t think violence was the answer.  He quickly figured out that the guy only seemed to target him when he was alone, though, so Steve started asking some of the girls in his classes if he could walk them to their next class.  They seemed to like that, and Steve was getting tired of being a third wheel all the time, so he asked a few out on double dates with his friends.  At least his dad would be happy, Steve was already getting a reputation as a ladies man.

Eddie was having the best year ever. Training this jock to be afraid of him, instead of the other way around, was a treat.  Eddie wasn’t a bad kid.  If anyone had called him out on bullying he would have been shocked.  This was a preemptive strike.  This was the ultimate battle of nerd versus jock.  This was war.  And Eddie was winning.  You didn’t have to be a genius to see that this Steve kid was asking for it.  His attitude, his clothes, his HAIR, and his, not at all surprising to Eddie, wild success with the female population of Hawkins High all confirmed that he needed to be taken down a peg.  And in the meantime, Eddie had gathered a crew of freshman nerds to spend time with and mold in his image.  He only needed one more element to complete his campaign against the jocks of Hawkins: A public confrontation.

Steve was starting to become complacent.  His plan to never be alone was working and while the scary kid following him around continued to make his presence known, at least he wasn’t pushing him anymore.  So he thought.  Except one afternoon in the cafeteria Steve’s luck ran out.  He had been balancing his tray on one hand while escorting his most recent conquest with the other when something slammed into him upending the tray of spaghetti.  Tears filled his eyes as the noise around him dimmed.  Why was this happening to him?  He tried to be nice to everyone.  He didn’t start fights or talk shit about people, even when Carol was at her bitchiest.  Why couldn’t he just fly under the radar?  As he looked up to see all eyes on him, the only noise that registered was the loud cackle from the boy next to him.  “I thought you jocks had better balance than that,” sneered his bully.  All the blood in his body seemed to rush to his head and he tried to stay calm, but when he glanced over and saw Lila covered in sauce something snapped.  

“What the hell is wrong with you?”  Steve shouted.  

“Me?” challenged the boy, “Not my fault you’re as clumsy as all get out.”  

Steve didn’t like to fight, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t.  He pushed the taller boy and advanced on him fists clenched tight.  When he got close, a low voice rumbled, “I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” as the kid opened his jacket to reveal a knife clenched in his other hand.  Steve’s eyes were wide as he backed away.  “You’re a fucking freak, you know that?  Leave me alone! And leave my friends alone!”  Steve was just posturing at this point, but he kept a healthy distance between them since he sure as hell wasn’t getting in a knife fight, even if they were surrounded by spectators.  

“I AM a freak, and don’t any of you forget it!”  the boy shouted, “And you’d better be afraid if you know what’s good for you.”  

Just then the doors opened and the vice principal walked in. 

“Problems?” he demanded sternly.  

“No, sir,” Steve backed down completely.  “No problems here.” 

 “What about you, Munson?” a steely glare was directed at his adversary. 

 “No problemo.  I was just apologizing to King Steve here for bumping into him.”  The boys separated and Steve escorted Lila to their table, offering to grab extra napkins and helping to calm her down.  

“Nice going, King Steve,” Tommy H. cackled as they sat down.  “Have you ever, just once, won a fight?” 

“Shut it, Tommy.” Steve replied, “You didn’t see it.  That freak actually had a knife.  Stay away from him, he’s crazy and I dunno why but he hates me.”  No one commented when his voice broke at those last words.  “I think you were very brave,” whispered Lila and Steve suddenly felt a little better.

While Steve had beat a hasty retreat, Eddie sauntered over to his usual lunch table with his freshman friends and held his head high. He could feel the guarded looks and shot a feral grin to a group of kids who dared make eye contact. It was the best day of Eddie’s life so far.  He had sealed his reputation as a dangerous freak and he intended to own it every day for the rest of high school.  It would keep his little nerds and outcasts safe, even if he had to keep up the act for the next few years.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #part one? #let me know if I should keep going for part two

[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part thirty-one] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, smut (mdni)

word count: 2.3k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

additional smut warnings: edging, orgasm denial, spanking, protected sex

It was in fact, not the last time you would sleep with Minho. Despite saying so, you continued to sneak into his room every night after Jisung fell asleep. You’d fuck, sometimes twice, and then go back to the room you shared with your best friend like nothing happened. To say that the guilt was eating you alive would be an understatement. But for whatever reason, you didn’t stop. 

All it would take was a single look from Minho, a glimpse of him shirtless in the pool, a smirk directed at you, and you’d decide you needed him. You were so weak when it came to him. It was pathetic.

Minho always let you do the initiating when it came to sex. He never pushed, but he didn’t exactly try to deter you either. At first, you convinced yourself that it was just because he was like every other twenty-something-year-old guy: always horny. Never one to turn down getting laid when the opportunity presented itself. But every time you hooked up, you’d notice things that seemed to suggest otherwise. 

Like how he always put your pleasure first. That could simply be attributed to him being a good lover, but it felt different. It wasn’t like he was trying to get you to cum as fast as possible so that he wouldn’t have to worry about it when it was his turn. No, he took his time with it, wanted to make it last because he genuinely enjoyed making you feel good. It seemed like each time you had sex he was trying to make you cum more times than the last. And then afterward, when you were both still catching your breath, he’d hold your hand, play with your hair, coax you into staying five extra minutes, things that friends with benefits don’t do. 

You’d be a fool to fall for him. But it was far too late for that. You had wanted him before you ever slept together. Before he kissed you for the first time. And now that you’d had him, you didn’t want to go back. 

You can tell Minho feels guilty too. You see it in the way he looks at Jisung when his back is turned. He’s less vocal about it than you but you know it’s there. 

-

The second to last day in Bali is spent hiking. Your foot had mostly healed by then, but the news was still devastating to you. 

“Do you ever read the itinerary?” Jisung groaned upon hearing your complaints. 

“I like being surprised.”

“That’s a fucking lie,” he said, calling your bluff. “You’re just lazy.”

You gasped and held your hand to your heart, feigning offense. Jisung rolled his eyes at you. 

“Come on, get up, get dressed. It’s matching t-shirt day.”

“Nooo, I forgot about that.”

“You only have to do it one more time after this,” he reminded you. 

Only one more time. That’s right... there was only one more stop on the trip before you all flew back to Seoul and spent the last two weeks of summer there. You expected to feel relief but you were filled with anxiety instead. You couldn’t pinpoint the reason as to why but you suspected it had to do with the whole fucking your best friend’s brother behind his back thing. 

“You still with me?” Jisung asked. “Did you zone out?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“S’alright. We better start getting ready, though.”

You nodded absentmindedly and made your way over to your suitcase to grab a change of clothes. You were moving on autopilot, not even aware of what you were doing until suddenly you were fully dressed and ready, sitting between Felix and Minho at the kitchen bar as Jisung blended up a smoothie for the four of you. 

You couldn’t remember brushing your teeth or putting on sunscreen but your mouth tasted minty and your skin was sticky from the lotion. 

Minho nudged your elbow. “You okay?” he asked. 

“Fine.”

Jisung glanced at his older brother and then you, sliding your smoothies across the counter wordlessly. 

“Thank you,” you practically whispered as you accepted yours.

Did he know? No, if he knew he certainly wouldn’t be speaking to either of you. But did he suspect? It wasn’t like you and Minho were being that careful... he could have easily picked up on what was going on. 

You tried taking a sip of your smoothie but it wasn’t melted enough to go through the straw. 

“Here,” Jisung said, leaning over the bar to stick a spoon in your cup. 

“Thanks, babe.”

He winked at you. “No problem.”

Okay, so maybe he didn’t know and was just annoyed with Minho. That could also be an explanation. 

Jisung’s parents assured you that the hike was an easy one but you were still skeptical. Hiking in general was an activity you preferred not to partake in, regardless of the level of difficulty. 

You liked getting out and going places... that were inside.. with air conditioning. Hiking, kayaking, cycling, all on the list of no’s for you. You were simply not an outdoorsy person. You’d much rather go to a tasting at a local brewery or sit through a play in a language you didn’t understand. To be fair, the trip had a good balance of both, so you couldn’t complain too much. The Hans, on the other hand, were outdoorsy people so you should have seen it coming anyway.

Getting to Campuhan Ridge required a short bus ride over to the site for the walk. You sat on Jisung’s lap since it was so crowded, listening to him argue with Felix about fruit. 

“They are good for you!” Jisung cried in exasperation.

“All I’m saying is that that much sugar can’t be healthy.”

“It’s naturally made sugar- I’m the one in culinary school here! I know what I’m talking about!”

The hike turned out to be relatively easy, as Nikki and Dom had claimed it to be. It wasn’t too high up either. Views of rice terraces and forests stretched on for miles in each direction, greenery as far as the eye can see. 

The only downfall was how hot it was. You were sweating not even ten minutes in and the baseball cap you were wearing did nothing to block out the sun. 

You stopped somewhere in the middle of the walk to take some pictures. It had been Nikki’s idea since she’d brought her Nikon along with her, but Jisung also asked Minho to take a couple pictures of just the two of you while Felix did the same thing for their parents. 

You wrapped both of your arms around Jisung and smiled as wide as you could manage. Jisung smiled too, squeezing your hip. 

“Okay, now do something different,” Minho directed. “The smiling is boring.”

You shrugged and raised yourself on your tiptoes to kiss Jisung’s cheek. “O-okay that’s good too,” Minho muttered. 

Jisung chuckled quietly, his body vibrating beneath your lips. It made you lose your balance but your best friend caught you before you could stumble.

“Woah, you alright there, y/n?” Dom called as he, Nikki, and Felix rejoined the three of you. 

You clung to Jisung and laughed. “Yes, thanks to him!”

“It seems like I’m always catching her,” he sighed. “Where would you be without me?”

“Dead, probably.”

His mother smiled fondly at your little display and you patted yourself on the back internally. You still had a role to play, after all. 

The sun had drained everyone so you headed back to the resort early. Felix and Minho went to pick up some take-out food while the rest of you showered off the day and waited for them to return. 

After dinner, you ended up in Minho’s bed again. It was routine at this point. Pretend like you’re going to bed with everyone else, wait for Jisung to fall asleep, wait fifteen more minutes to make sure he’s really out, and then sneak off to Minho’s room. His room was all the way on the other side of the treehouse thing you were staying in which was both fortunate and unfortunate. It was fortunate because it wasn’t close to Jisung where you might accidentally wake him up, but it was unfortunate because it meant you had to walk through the entire place in the dark to get to it. 

“Took you long enough,” Minho had grumbled when you showed up. 

“Aw did you miss me that much?” you teased. 

Apparently, he wasn’t in the mood to take his time with you because in a matter of minutes he had you pressed face down on the mattress as he fucked you from behind, holding on to your hips so tightly you thought he might leave bruises in the shape of fingerprints. 

It was a position the two of you hadn’t tried together yet but you were already loving it. Minho could go faster and deeper than when he was fucking you in missionary and it had you on the edge in record time. Except he wasn’t letting you cum.  

For whatever reason, every time you warned him that you were close, he would slow down or come to a complete stop, waiting until the feeling had passed to start again. He even held you in place so that you couldn’t fuck yourself back on his cock and finish yourself off- he’d learned to do that after you’d tried to do it the first time he denied your orgasm. 

“You’re so mean!” you sobbed, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. He’d stopped again, ironically rubbing your back soothingly as the pleasure ebbed away for the umpteenth time.  

Minho just laughed and pulled you up by your hair so that he could look at your face. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes you are! I need to cum and you won’t let me!”

“That’s your fault for telling me you like to be edged.”

God damn your big mouth. You didn’t even remember telling him that but you didn’t doubt that you had because it was true. You did like being edged but this was torture. 

“Don’t listen to past me! Listen to present me!” you begged. 

“Nice try.”

“Fuck!” 

He started moving again but slowly. It wasn’t enough to make you cum but it did make you even needier. You gripped the bed sheets as he thrust into you over and over again, trying in vain to get him to go faster.

“Always so fucking wet for me,” Minho hissed, slapping your ass lightly. You yelped in surprise. “Shh, baby.”

“I’m trying!” you whispered.

“Try. Harder. Then.”

You wanted to quip back but the words died on your lips as you felt the coil in your stomach tightening again. You didn’t tell Minho this time, hoping that he wouldn’t notice. He did, of course. Your pussy was fluttering like crazy around him and you weren’t able to control it. 

Minho stopped completely, this time snaking an arm under your body so that he could pull you up on his lap. You cursed under your breath at the change in angle. 

“You were about to cum without saying anything, weren’t you? Fucking brat.”

“I forgot?” you mumbled. 

He scoffed in disbelief. “You’re really testing my patience, you know that?”

“I guess it’s a good thing it turns you on then.”

Minho let out a sound of annoyance and brought his free hand down to your cunt so that he could rub your clit. The smirk fell from your face immediately. 

And then he started moving his hips, just enough so that your g-spot and your clit were being stimulated at the same time. 

You whimpered out that you were close when you felt your orgasm approaching again, which seemed to please Minho. But he wasn’t going to let you off that easy. 

“You want to cum? Beg for it.”

“Please, Minho! Please let me cum, I’ll be good, I promise!”

You didn’t hear what he said next because your ears were ringing from the intensity of your climax. You were vaguely aware of him cumming right after you but you didn’t register much aside from his body going tense underneath yours. You rode out your orgasm until the spots in your vision subsided and your legs stopped shaking, flopping onto the bed like a ragdoll. 

Minho was quick to lay down beside you, having recovered from his orgasm much faster than you had. 

“That wasn’t too much, was it?”

You shook your head. “It was perfect. I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard in my life. Not even by myself.”

You probably shouldn’t be feeding into his ego so much, but considering how good he was in bed it was at least a little deserved. 

He grinned proudly and rolled onto his side to kiss you. “I’m glad.”

-

You took another shower before going back to bed. That had become another part of your routine since you started sleeping with Minho regularly. You’d take a shower before dinner for the sake of appearances, and then you’d take a second shower after messing around with Minho. There was no way you could just hop back into bed with Jisung all sweaty and gross. It would be a dead giveaway, not to mention disgusting. 

The second shower always made you feel dirtier than it did clean. It felt like you were washing off the evidence not only literally, but figuratively too. You supposed that was to be expected, though. What wasn’t to be expected, however, was your best friend waiting outside of the bathroom for you when you got out of the shower. 

You jumped when you heard his voice, nearly knocking your head against the wall. Your eyes had yet to adjust so it was hard to see him but he was there, arms crossed over his chest defensively. You already knew what he was going to say before he said it but the question made your blood run cold nonetheless. 

“Is there something going on between you and Minho?”

sorry for skipping out on the taglist again- I'm babysitting tn so I'm posting from my laptop (lmk what you think though i always appreciate feedback!!)

add yourself to the taglist here!

#hm all black and white pictures #surely that means nothing #instead of you stray kids #instead of you skz #iou stray kids #iou skz #stray kids smut #skz smut #lee know smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x female reader #lee know x reader #lee know x female reader #lee know x bi!reader #lee minho x reader #minho x reader #minho smut #lee minho smut

[helloheyhihowdyheya]

Rose Thorn Blues | p. 1

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: The other Daily Bugle intern has been a thorn in your side all summer. But if you wanted the job, you'd have to work with him. And you'd do anything to get it.

Word count: ~7k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers!! Banter. Criminal activity. Swearing. A bit of angst but not really. J. Jonah Jameson lol.

A/n: I think this'll end up being around 3 parts, but we'll see. This has been tumblin' through my mind since last year, so I'm glad to finally let it out lol. Let me know your thoughts! Thanks for reading <3

You used to enjoy the clear sky on a sunny day, the vibrating blue that stretched until it curved around the horizon. Used to love the way the lapping waves of the Atlantic shimmered for miles, its ripples echoing the sky’s image. The blue of the world before the sun came up, or the indigo quiet of a rainy day.

You even used to love how red the rusted bricks outlining your apartment building looked, tracing the tips of your fingers along them as you walked by, scarlet pebbles breaking off into your palm. The cherry glow of a late-night diner’s “Open” sign made the beats of your heart stutter, its lights reflecting off the glass and illuminating puddles littering the sidewalk. Even with the occasional rose you passed on your way to work, the red petals surrounded by thorns and overgrown weeds, you still leaned your nose in to smell its sweet crimson scent. 

But that was before your internship at The Daily Bugle, before you had to write countless stories on Spider-Man all the time, and before you knew Peter, the other intern. Now, every cloudless day or trip to the ocean, hell, even the plump blueberries in the grocery store or a swirling glass of Merlot, an obnoxious red stoplight, or the tiniest cut exposing a drop of blood turned your stomach. You knew people could change you, but you’d never expected to hate the shades of red and blue — until you stared at it every day while standing in Parker’s shadow.

You’d shake your head, shove your fingernails into your palm, blink so hard your vision turned bright just to erase those colors from your mind and him from your thoughts. But you would have no such luck as you weaved your way through New York’s sidewalks under the summer sun, a barely-there breeze passing alongside the traffic. Your hand clutched your phone tight in its grasp.

On it held a photo of Spider-Man you’d just taken earlier that morning. He stopped a robbery, and you captured the moment he’d ripped off a car door to use as cover — a story that J. Jonah Jameson would love to spin into something ridiculous. You had nothing against the superhero, but it was what your boss wanted. The boss that would decide which intern would receive a full-time position at the end of the summer, and you wouldn’t go down without a fight against Parker.

He always had clearer photos and more information on Spider-Man — always seemed to get on the scene before you. You wouldn’t have been that upset if Parker actually was a better reporter than you, but that smug, chronically late asshole certainly wasn’t better than you. Not when you worked twice as hard just to watch him successfully stumble his way through this internship. 

And that stupid shrug he gave you when Jameson chose his story over yours! He’d mutter, “Better luck next time,” as if you weren’t covering for his ass half the time. You weren’t sure why you did it anymore. Maybe you didn’t want to watch him get fired since this wasn’t an easy opportunity to get, but you definitely wouldn’t mind sitting back and enjoying him get chewed out by Jameson.

But that was unimportant now as you made your way into The Daily Bugle’s building, savoring the air conditioning as your breath tumbled from your mouth. This picture and the eyewitness statements you took would create a story Jameson wouldn’t think twice about choosing, especially when Parker always came in late in the mornings.

Walking through your floor’s doors, photo pulled up on your phone, you quickly dropped your bag at your desk before making your way to pitch the idea to Jameson. You’d mentally written the first half of it on your walk here already.

Your steps faltered though as you neared the office, hearing your boss’s voice echoing through the office.

“Good work, Parker. Finish it by noon, and we’ll publish it today.”

He was already here? Silently, you gritted your teeth, peering into the room. And of course, out walked Parker, one hand holding papers and the other shoved in his pocket.

“The one day you’re on time… I can’t believe this,” you quietly muttered, feeling a weight sink into your stomach. His shoulders hung casually while yours raised up and down with your breaths. His half-smile made you stare daggers into him.

He just raised an eyebrow at you. “Good morning to you too, sunshine. Most people happen to love my presence.”

You silently ignored his nickname for you as you said, “Then most people must be lying to you. What story did you give him?” You pointed your head toward the office, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“So you can go in and try to one-up me?” He scoffed, his eyes annoyingly bright and warm. “No thanks.”

As he made to walk away, you grabbed his arm despite your aversion to being near him. Even the heat of his skin made you too warm, just another reason to stay away from Parker. “I lied to Jameson last week while you were off doing who-knows-what when you should’ve been working. Now what was the goddamn story?”

The sound of other employees talking and making coffee filled the background. If you could just beat him, you’d be part of them one day. So you didn’t let up, waiting for him to answer as he looked between your hand and your eyes. He shook off your touch after a moment.

You watched his jaw tick, his eyes roll to the back of his empty head. “Fine. And because I don’t think I could handle the second-hand embarrassment. I’ll tell you that if your story’s about whatever Spider-Man was up to this morning, you might want to skip telling Jameson.”

The grip on your phone loosened a bit, along with the hope you’d put into this — into trying to prove that you were a good reporter too. But, of course, you were always stuck finding stories on Spider-Man, and too late with them anyway. Anything else wasn’t important news, not at this company.

You tried, and failed, to keep your frustration from your voice as you asked, “And how did you get here before me with that story? You’re literally never here on time and just always have some bullshit idea that’s barely a story.”

Parker just gave a short laugh, smirking at you. “And yet… I still beat you. Kinda stings, huh?”

You gave a grumbled “Piss off” before letting him walk past you this time. You filled up your water bottle, headed to the bathroom, made small talk with some woman you’d immediately forgotten the name of — all distractions so you didn’t have to go back to the desk that sat much too close to Parker, especially while he worked on the story that should’ve been yours.

When you finally returned, you refused to look at a particular person across from you — the two intern desks only separated by a half wall. You just fished out your headphones at the cheap desk with no air conditioning under the city’s hot summer.  

A much-needed break from Spider-Man you gave to yourself, you continued working on a story you started researching last week. You’d gathered some statements and data about new unsafe water conditions in certain parts of the city. The story wouldn’t star on the front page of the website, or even the second. Third, if you were lucky.

The morning passed with minimal shouting coming from Jameson’s office and just a few “friendly” follow-up emails with sources you hadn’t heard back from. In the brief moments of silence between the end of one song and the beginning of another, you listened to traffic flowing through the streets below and the droning sounds of keyboards and the printer.

Only once you finished up the first draft of your article and turned to grab your notebook from a drawer did you notice a sticky note plastered on the edge of your desk. In messy handwriting, it said, “You type like a child bangs their fists on a piano” followed by a doodle of the sun, with sunglasses.

It wasn’t difficult to tell whose horrible scribbling this was. So after writing “Eat shit <3” on the back, you crumpled it up. You tossed it right at Parker’s face as you stood up, going to a meeting with one of the full-time writers here. Instead of knowing he caught it like always, you pretended it hit him right in the eye and gave him a papercut.

You didn’t look back as you approached Alice’s desk, the lead writer of the office. Her black curls bounced as she lifted her head, smiling at you. “Ready?”

“Yes, and thank you again for meeting with me,” you said, nodding with your notebook under your arm. She stood up, motioning you toward an empty office for the informational interview — mostly just asking her about her career in hopes it could help yours.

Sitting across from one another, you took notes as she spoke about herself and answered your many questions. Your writing filled one page after another, your wrist becoming sore but ignored under the weight of knowing this information could be important. When you asked what advice she would give to someone just starting out as a reporter, the silence that followed made you finally lift your head.

Alice looked at you with a soft smile while your pen stalled. “I would tell them that it’s not an easy career. And that it’s not for those without passion. You have to want this — and show it. The stories out there you want to tell… you can’t be afraid to search out the truth. ‘Leaving well enough alone’ has never been in my vocabulary.”

Your unfocused stare stayed on her while you processed those words… and the worry that you weren’t cut out for this work. There were stories you wanted to tell, but you couldn’t find the place to tell them. A cynical part of your mind shouted that maybe Parker did deserve the job at the end of this internship more than you.

The thoughts must have been evident on your face because Alice spoke again, her voice calm but stern. “Don’t worry. I see the passion in you. The best advice is to not let Jameson or anyone else stop you. ‘Kay?”

You nodded, unable to stop the smile on your face. So caught up in her words, you wrote down a condensed version of her answer: Follow your heart. Your thumb rubbed over the dried ink of the page, feeling the ridges of each letter. “Thank you, Alice. I’ll keep trying,” you said, and meant it. 

She let out a light laugh, the sound loosening the tight muscles in your shoulders. “You better. I’ve been rooting for you to get the job,” she whispered, giving a wink that had you laughing too.

“Well I can’t let you down then, can I?” Letting your smile fall just a little, the curve of it no longer touching your eyes, you silently hoped that you wouldn’t disappoint her. Thanking Alice again, you made your way back to your desk with too many thoughts running through your head.

Slow moments passed as you returned to your chair, the cheap thing squeaking underneath you with each movement. Still, you closed your eyes for a second, just feeling the cushion beneath you, the armrests under your hands, the backrest keeping you from collapsing. A breath filled your lungs, chest rising inch by inch. You would not wait for anyone’s permission to change the world — even if that just meant ignoring your lying thoughts to change your own little world.

Slowly, you went back through your notes, adding bits here and there that you missed while Alice had spoken. At the bottom, you just underlined her final advice… letting the words bleed into your body as you promised to keep them at the center of your stories.

It kept you focused on your article surrounding unsafe water quality in the city. Thankfully, the hours passed quickly, and you got the article up on the site by the end of the day. All with minimal interruptions from Parker — despite another sticky note that said “Thanks for the granola bar ;)” on it. And sure enough, the granola bar you had on your desk was no longer there, but you silently tossed the note in the garbage without letting him know he got to you.

Though, with no snack, your stomach was definitely grumbling as you packed up. So you made the trek to a cafe with your backpack on, one headphone in, and a middle finger aimed toward Parker when he tried talking to you, a smirk plastered on his face that told you he had nothing important or nice to say.

The summer heat hit you as you exited the building, making you strip off your office-appropriate blazer. Still, you didn’t mind the sunlight after spending all day inside. Your music drifted into your ear, the beat of it matching your steps. You turned the volume down once making it into the bakery with the best after-work treat, the pink sign outside painted with cursive words: “Pat’s Pastries.”

Baked bread and sweet chocolate filled your nose, the smell helping you forget about work for a minute. You ordered your favorite cookie, pointing to the biggest one behind the glass. Silently, you ignored the whole tray of Spider-Man themed cookies they’d begun selling after the superhero saved the store from a robbery.

Instead, you just left the shop with a bite of the cookie already in your mouth. It practically melted on your tongue, tasting better than any granola bar Parker could steal from you. The cookie lasted you all the way home, filling you with a pleasant warmth.

In your apartment, you stood in the entryway for a moment. With slow movements, you removed your shoes, setting down all of your things. You’d only been collapsed on your couch for a few minutes before your phone vibrated. Part of you thought to ignore it and let the weight of your heavy eyelids drag you into a nap, but you knew it could be work. A groan came from your throat as you saw that it was work — a comment left on your article already.

People that commented on these pieces often had few nice things to say, so you braced yourself upon opening the site. Your thumb slid across the screen until you reached the bottom. Left by some guest user, the comment simply read: “What’s new? Beaumont fumbles again…”

Beaumont. Ellis Beaumont, the current city manager. He’d certainly faced as much backlash as any other official since he’d taken over five years ago, but you hadn’t considered him all that much when researching for this article. Did he have to do with poor water conditions in the city?

Before you could stop yourself, your hands went to your laptop. Your fingers typed across the keyboard, searching for relations between him and other issues the city faced recently. What came up most often was Beaumont’s press releases after most of them. His salt and pepper hair sat tightly cut to his head, no specks of dust visible on his expensive-looking suits. In each one, he stated how he and his team would work on fixing the problem — from unaffordable housing to upgrading technology throughout the city.

It wasn’t new to see a leader promise to do something and not follow through, but something kept sticking with you while you researched. At some point, between the sun falling behind the city skyline and ordering takeout to be delivered, you found yourself with dozens of open tabs and tired eyes.

Raking a hand down your face, you let out a long sigh. You finished reading another speech where he promised to fix something, crumbling infrastructure this time — “if only we had the funds!” And cue the part where he asked for donations to his nonprofit organization or proposed a government plan that would cost the citizens in tax money. Yet… hadn’t he raised the money? The last you’d checked, the street he’d mentioned repairing still had its potholes and unusable sidewalks.

A knocking on your door brought you to it, your eyes never leaving your computer screen. You just grabbed your food and paid the deliverer with a mumbled “thanks” before walking back to the laptop.

As quickly as you could, you yanked out your notebook from your bag and wrote down everything about Ellis Beaumont — before your food got cold. Your wrist ached again as you flipped the page, continuing to fill the lines with his career, his promises, and his letdowns.

Each of his projects toward bettering the city came with asking for money — money that didn’t show back up in the work. He’d made no updates as to how much he had raised or how he was going to use it. At the end of your notes, you wrote down in heavy ink: “Where is Ellis Beaumont’s money going??”

And even as you ate, trying to watch the comfort show you’d put on, your mind kept working in the background. Had others not also wondered this? Or if they had, did he have them in his pocket already? Sleep fought you that night, making you toss and turn in bed. But you had a story.

–

Walking into The Daily Bugle, you ‘clocked in’ (let Jameson see you in the office) and dropped off your bag. With just your notes, a pen, and a granola bar so no one would steal it, you made your way back out of the building.

Right before you made it from the office, though, a mop of dark hair appeared at the door. A small part of you wanted to somehow hide, the other part unable to resist the draw of him for whatever reason. But Parker chose for you, his eyes lighting up when they caught on your form. Your following scowl was enough to make him laugh.

“There she is, our lovely sunshine,” he said, leaning against the door frame. You ignored the sarcasm dripping through his words.

Instead, you raised your eyebrows and told him, “If Jameson asks, I’m out researching a story. Got it?” 

“Woah, woah, woah.” Parker pushed off the frame. His smirk was enough to set you off, but then he held out a hand to block you from passing. Behind your unyielding glare, you secretly hoped he tripped over his untied shoelaces or smashed his hand in the office printer. As he came closer to you, he asked, “Where are you off to? I haven’t seen any sightings of Spider-Man.”

“That’s a shame,” you said, uninterested. Grabbing his forearm, accidentally feeling the hard muscle underneath, you moved it out of your way. “Have fun getting him coffee!” You shouted it over your shoulder, leaving him standing there while you ignored the heat on your palm from touching his skin. 

You shook your hand out, waving away the memory as you took the subway over to City Hall. It had to be as good as any place to start researching where the city’s money went after Ellis Beaumont flashed a white smile and pocketed it. He probably wouldn’t talk with you, but anything to get you closer would be worth it.

Emerging from the subway station, your eyes squinted against the brightness. Still morning, the heat hadn’t settled in yet — just leaving you with a sunny walk and a nice breeze.

The building’s intimidating size rose high toward the sky. A statue of justice, a woman holding scales and a sword, stood atop City Hall — staring down at each person as you entered the front doors. The ornate architecture and grand staircase inside didn’t help settle the daunting feeling crawling in your stomach.

Still, you walked up to the man sitting behind the front desk there, trying to look as friendly as possible. Smoothing out your outfit and putting a smile on, you said, “Hi.”

He looked up with a classic customer service grin to greet you. “Hello, how can I help you?” he asked, leaning toward you slightly.

You kept your shoulders back, mustering some sort of confidence in your investigation. How would Alice do this?

With a clear voice, you directly asked, “If I was looking for records of donations for a government-related nonprofit, would they be here? I couldn’t seem to find them online.” You gave him an unassuming look.

“Typically, but what nonprofit were you looking at?” he asked, typing something into his computer. You took out your notebook low enough that he couldn’t see past the desk.

Pretending to rack your brain for the name, you said, “I think it’s called Stronger Together. I love being able to see where my donation goes — it helps make me feel closer to the community, you know?”

Your hand ready to write fell limp when his mouth pressed tight, his eyes leaving the screen to meet yours. “Ah,” he said, “Well Mr. Beaumont is not always able to update that information, as he has many responsibilities to maintain.”

“Of course, I understand. Though, I also noticed that the recent infrastructure project has yet to be enacted. Is there an update on that?” You willed your voice to stay steady, to be unwavering under the impatient gaze of this man.

A muscle seemed to twitch in his jaw. “I don’t believe the organization has given one, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been working on it. He is a very busy man.”

“Busy enough that I wouldn’t be able to speak with him directly?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said, shaking his head, but he didn’t seem too sorry at all. “We could take your number for him to call you when he’s available, but…”

“He’s very busy,” you finished, giving a smile as you bit back a pained sigh. “That’ll be okay, I’m happy to have helped the cause.”

“Yes, and we’re very thankful for your donation.” The tight grin he gave looked like it hurt his cheeks to make.

“Well, thank you for the information,” you said. Just as you were about to leave, beginning to leave with nothing to show for the story, you turned back. “I know this is quite specific, but would you know what Mr. Beaumont’s next project is?”

Another flicker of impatience flashed across the man’s face, his hands clasping together. “No, I wouldn’t, but I’m sure it will be a great help to the city whatever it is. I think there may be a nonprofit fundraiser this weekend… but those are typically closed events — for investors and friends,” he said, his smile turning less warm by the minute. “You can donate online anytime.”

“Great, thank you,” you muttered before turning around, frantically jotting the little information you received down in your notes while walking away. You swore you could feel the man’s eyes on you until you slipped out the doors. 

The entire ride back to the office, this story ate away at you. Everyone seemed to be keeping information on Beaumont’s money close to their chests, even about what his supposed nonprofit was really doing.

‘Stronger Together.’ You rolled your eyes, beginning to feel like he was the only one getting stronger. And he was having another fundraiser so soon? Probably for something like conservation this time — his team would likely make a whole show of planting a couple trees and get praised for it. 

As soon as you got back to The Daily Bugle, you ignored everything as you dropped into your chair and opened your computer. Your fingers flew over the keyboard to type up the notes, both for decoding your scribbled words and ensuring you kept the information in multiple places. You tried tuning out the background chatter and the gnawing worry that this whole story would lead to a dead end, but you couldn’t ignore everything…

“Whatcha typin’ there?” Parker said as he swiveled his chair around the desks to look at you. Glancing for a moment at him, you saw the shit-eating smile pointed your way.

Your face flashed a fake grin. “Your resignation letter, Parker.” You continued typing, not responding to his quiet scoff. But then he stood up, his steps gentle against the floor. He towered over you as he came around to look at your screen.

Before he could even reach your desk, you switched tabs to a blank page. Without glancing up at him, you silently waited for him to stop watching you. It worked well enough at first, your mind happily turning blank instead of entertaining him. 

But he put his hand on the edge of your desk, his body now much too close to yours. The warm scent of him washing over you had your skin prickling, your fingernails pressing into your palm.

Barely heard above the blood rushing past your ears, his voice came out quieter than you’d expected. “So secretive. You won’t even share with me?”

Ignoring the glint of smugness on his face, you turned to look up at him. “So you can try to one-up me? No thanks,” you repeated, using his words from yesterday. 

“But given my track record for front-page stories, I’m sure you could definitely use my help.” Parker shoved a hand in his pocket, winking at you with those stupid dark eyes. In that moment, you wondered whether you could somehow frame him for helping Spider-Man and get Jameson to tackle him. 

So caught up in that happy fantasy, you didn’t catch Parker’s other hand creeping across the desk until he’d already snatched your notebook. And before you could even stand to grab it back, his leg came up and pushed on one of your desk chair’s armrests, sending it spinning.

While your legs tried stopping the chair, you heard him say, “How are you even able to read this? Okay, I won’t tell Jameson, but you’ve gotta be honest with me: do you know how to write? Or read, for that matter.”

“I was walking while taking notes– whatever, Parker. I don’t need to explain myself to your dumbass,” you whisper yelled at him, stalking over to his side of the desks. But he moved the notebook away, cocking his head to the side.

With a grin that told you just how much fun he was having, he said, “Huh, I didn’t know your pretty little head knew how to multi-task.”

You opened your mouth for a second, processing that he called you pretty, before rolling your eyes. “Must be hard to imagine anything with your smooth brain. Now give me my notebook back.” 

In the background, you heard Jameson screaming to some poor soul on the phone. You hoped it at least covered up your bickering with Parker. But it wouldn’t be able to drown out the sound of you strangling him, which you were now seriously considering as he held up a finger to you. 

In a calmer voice, he asked, “Are you really doing a piece on Ellis Beaumont?”

Scoffing, you reached over and grabbed your notebook from his grasp. He didn’t seem to put up much of a fight, hopefully mentally perceiving the threats running through your mind. As you returned to your desk, you glanced once more at him — and got caught on something in the look he gave you.

“Yes,” you told him before sitting down, leaving Parker and any distractions on that side of the half-wall. The last thing you heard was a sigh before you put your headphones in.

For the rest of the day, you finished writing up your notes and your other assigned work. In between projects, you secretly continued researching everything you could about Beaumont and where those donations went. Site after site returned empty, most of them just filled with propaganda for his non-profit.

With weary eyes and a fuzzy mind, you finally found something as everyone in the office began to finish up. You wiped a hand down your face, a weight lifting from your shoulders when you discovered an address.

Searching through countless websites, some of which you probably shouldn’t have been using your work computer for, you combed through records of donations to Stronger Together. Most listed City Hall or Beaumont’s address in their donation. But one other address continued popping up more than a few times — somewhere in upper Manhattan, far from where the organization would operate from.

If you were listening to Alice’s advice to follow your heart, you would’ve stayed home. Your pounding pulse yelled at you that going to check out this address after sunset was the worst idea you’d ever had.

On your walk home and all through dinner, you pushed back against the trickling fear down your spine — caused by the ice-cold voice in the corners of your mind filled with every worst-case scenario. It only grew louder as you neared the address. 

You hadn’t done much field work before, or any that hadn’t just involved taking blurry pictures of Spider-Man and making New Yorkers talk to you. As you walked along the sidewalk with your shoes tapping against the cracked concrete, following the directions on your phone, you wondered whether you were cut out for this. You kept your head on a swivel and senses alert, but did you have any clue what you were going to do once you reached the building? No, not really.

You had come after dark, so breaking in certainly didn’t seem out of the question. And as much as you disliked thinking about him, knowing that Parker wouldn’t back away from this if he were here kept your legs moving. 

Before long, with a warm breeze at your back, you came up to a large warehouse. It sat in a pretty empty area — one with few people around that you could see. A few street lamps illuminated the space around it, the light stretching down a small alleyway next to the building. Craning your neck, you began walking down it, seeing whether you could peer in anywhere.

Your fingers brushed along the building’s side as you passed by several dark windows. Unable to spot anything through them, you crept toward the back. No workers, or anyone really, seemed to be there. Nothing except for a metal fire escape. It seemed to lead up to a door with more windows lining either side. Fluorescent lighting shone from inside. 

Swallowing hard, you forced your body to walk toward it. Each step you took up went slowly, trying to keep your feet silent as you climbed the stairs. Under the weight of the stars and night sky, even with the sounds of traffic passing by, each breath felt too loud.

Silently wishing to anyone that’d listen, you hoped no one stood on the other side as you slowly looked in. But you only found boxes — not all that surprising, but disappointment mingled with the relief coursing through your muscles. 

Hundreds of boxes sat throughout the warehouse, lining countless shelves. You made a guess that they probably weren’t storing any tools for fixing the infrastructure like Beaumont promised. But you wouldn’t be able to find out what they held without breaking in, something you didn’t think your nerves could take.

Though… someone else could show you what’s inside. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw a brief movement along the floor of the building. Someone moved into view, dressed in a black uniform and holding a clipboard in their hands. They walked to a shelf you could just barely see and opened up one of the boxes. They set the clipboard aside to pull out something… long and metal. At the end appeared to be a claw of some sort–

Internally, you winced, instantly able to recognize it from all your articles. It was one of Doc Ock’s arms. The other side was full of fraying wires, no doubt ripped apart from a fight with Spider-Man. God, why did everything always have to come back to Spider-Man? 

And, in that moment, you must’ve pissed off some god of fate to deserve this irony. As you were about to pull out your phone to capture the evidence, your thought alone summoned the man. A web attached to the worker, the other end coming from the red and blue superhero crouched on a support beam. Within a second, he pulled them up to the ceiling and cocooned them in webbing to dangle there — the scene forcing an involuntary gasp escape your lips.

Spider-Man had jumped down with supernatural grace and looked like he was going to investigate the box further, but whipped his head toward you at your gasp. Your heart crawled into your throat, your hand snapping up to cover your mouth.

Racing down the fire escape, your scrambled thoughts tumbling around your head, you hurried back to the street away from what you’d witnessed. But before you could leave the alleyway, a flash of those dreaded shades of red and blue dropped down in front of you — your feet stumbling backward as you barely kept a startled scream from coming out.

“Hey, hey. Not here to hurt you. I do the opposite actually,” Spider-Man said, his hands up to show you he meant no harm. His voice sounded unnaturally deep, but blood rushed past your ears, clouding your senses. You shook your head slightly, trying to focus on getting out of there.

“But uh…” he continued, cautiously taking a single step closer, “I don’t think you live at this address. Is that right?”

You absentmindedly chewed on the inside of your cheek, debating on how much to tell him. He’d caught you sneaking around, but was that technically even a crime? Most likely. But clearly, you both were after some pretty similar things. So, while nodding your head toward the warehouse, you quietly asked, “What’s in there?”

His head tilted to the side as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Some no-no things. Which is probably why I should handle it, right?”

“Handle it how? By handing it over to the police?” you asked, a small jolt of panic rising in your chest. “What if it connects to something larger?” Your questions assumed that he didn’t exactly know where this warehouse came from and how it connected to Beaumont, but maybe not. Still, you couldn’t risk cutting this whole thing off early and breaking the investigation apart… and the story.

“Does it connect to something larger?” he asked, his gaze never seeming to leave you. You couldn’t tell much behind his mask, but the weight of those white eyes stayed focused on your face. They watched every microexpression crossing your face, despite the urge to hide from them.

Knowing you needed him on your side, or at least to not cover you in webs, you gave him a little more. Nodding, you said “Yeah, I think it does. I’m not sure how it all fits, but…”

“But?”

Pursing your lips, you let a breath pass before answering him. Jameson would kill you if he knew you were having this whole conversation without taking ‘photographic evidence’ and helping out Spider-Man. But that man was a prick anyway.

Letting out a long sigh, you said, “Check out Ellis Beaumont’s non-profit. I don’t think the donations are going where he says they are.”

He just cocked his head, but you moved around him, ready to leave this place and those watchful eyes. Your gaze avoided his as he let you pass toward the street, though he yelled out, “Do you need me to walk you home?” You just waved him off, your pace picking up. Still, he shouted a “Thank you!” for the information as you made the journey back to your apartment.

Unable to calm your body back to normal just yet, you found yourself jumping at every noise around you until your apartment door locked behind you. What you’d seen ran through your head again and again. 

What did Beaumont want with Spider-Man? Or was he working with the villains to get rid of Spider-Man? His money couldn’t just be going toward costume dress-up storage, but breaking into that warehouse alone was out of the question for you. Leave it to the superhero rather than risk your neck.

Your brain racked itself for answers, working to figure out what interest Spider-Man had in showing up at that warehouse anyway. Even into the next morning, these thoughts plagued your mind. It left you in a haze as you entered The Daily Bugle — the noise of the coffee machine and Jameson’s muffled yelling more distracting than usual.

Even more offputting was that sat at your desks was Parker, the second time he’d ever beaten you into the office. Immediately, his eyes found yours, but you didn’t have the energy to give him a sneer or a smart-ass comment. You just started up your computer, planning to type up your notes again. Your hand rubbed down your face as you waited for it to turn on, already anticipating the inevitable interruption.

Sure enough, Parker stuck his head over the half-wall, leaning his forearms along the top of it. His chin rested on them as he said, “You look rough.”

Without raising your eyes to him, you let out a long sigh. “Wow… Thanks,” you said, letting an unimpressed look take over your face. You opened your notebook, turning to the pages where you wrote every piece of information you could remember after the events last night.

Parker raised his hands up in surrender, as if he hadn’t insulted your appearance. “Jus’ saying, you seem a bit stressed. Need any help, sunshine?”

At that, you finally raised your gaze to meet his — his ruffled hair dipping over his forehead while waiting for your response. 

You squinted your eyes at him, your eyebrows furrowing at his words. “...I’m not letting you take this story from me, Parker.”

“Hey, I could merely co-author this story with you,” he offered with that smirk of his. “And I’m sick of writing about Spider-Man’s favorite restaurants to order from. C’mon.” He dragged out the word, practically begging you.

Crossing your arms across your chest, you considered him for a moment and his offer. His mouth tightened, drawing your gaze down to his lips and the sharpness of his jaw. Not the time.

“You really want to help me?” When he nodded, you still didn’t believe him. With a scoff, you asked, “Are you going soft on me?”

A sharp laugh escaped his mouth. “Don’t get used to it. This would cost you a week’s worth of granola bars.”

“Aren’t you the one asking to join?” you questioned with a smile you couldn’t hide. When he didn’t budge despite his ridiculous demand, you just muttered, “I’ll think about it.”

The long groan he gave as he sat back down told you how he felt about your answer, but it was easier to ignore now that he wasn’t staring at you. Why he was so interested in this story made no sense to you — not that you thought about it long as you finally typed up your notes. 

Instead, you tried to figure out where to go next, where this warehouse might lead you. But a growing fear told you that it wouldn’t lead anywhere, your research online not giving you someone to question or even contact information for Beaumont. This politician seemed to keep things annoyingly tight under wraps. 

As minutes slipped away while you ran into dead end after dead end in your searching, you internally debated whether to accept Parker’s help. Waves crashed in your stomach, the tide receding far away as if in anticipation of a tsunami — one threatening to destroy you. Letting him in meant risking your story, and risking the chance that he could get all the credit for your work.

As much as you hated the idea of sharing this with him, part of you thought you might’ve been in over your head. Especially after the run-in last night. And Parker certainly knew his stuff… sometimes. Not that you’d tell him that.

It was only once your search about Beaumont and that warehouse frustratingly turned up blank once more that you let out a sigh. It seemed it’d be a story with him or no story at all.

“Parker?” you called across the desks. 

The sound of his chair shifting joined his raspy, “Yeah?” You bit back a grin as you realized you’d woken him up from one of his frequent work naps. When he swiveled into view, the red spot on his cheek from where he must’ve laid it on his arms confirmed your suspicions. 

Still, you had to clear your tight throat before telling him, “You can help. But only if my name goes first, got it?” Before he could respond, you followed with, “And I take the lead on things, okay?” Your stare pierced his eyes, silently begging him to not take this from you.

The small laugh he gave loosened your tense shoulders just a bit, made your fists unclench. “Whatever you say goes…” he said, nodding with the most honest look you’d seen from him. “With some exceptions though. Cause you have a lot of bad ideas I’d like to veto.”

You wondered whether asking for Peter Parker’s help was one of those terrible, idiotic ideas. You hoped not.

@reidslovely

#peter parker #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfic #peter parker enemies to lovers #andrew garfield #tasm andrew garfield #tasm!peter #tasm peter parker #tasm spiderman #spiderman #spider-man #spiderman x reader #spider-man x reader

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

I Cherish You, Halcyon Days: prologue.

“You’re gonna die, kid. In the worst way possible.”

tags: afab!reader (she/her), angst, slow burn

pairing: gojou x reader + onesided!getou x reader

summary: You’re 15 years old when you’re told you’re going to die. You’re 17 years old when you realize who your killer will be. And you’re 17 years old when you make peace with the fact you wouldn’t want it any other way.

index | next chapter

In the summer of 1997 when I was 7, I almost drowned at the beach.

It was one of those summers where you watch a movie and things felt whimsical because you watched one movie about a group of kids going on a life-changing adventure you’d never go on yourself. You looked for magic in your daily life because even the smallest thing could be what led to you stumbling upon a new journey. My life-changing adventure movie? Free Willy, the movie about that foster kid and an orca. My aunt, a marine biologist, who showed me the movie always said the ocean was her greatest love. I got what she meant when I saw that movie. So that summer I spent at my aunt’s place in Enoshima was the summer I decided I’d go on some sort of adventure myself.

My expectation? Freeing Mina the beluga whale and swimming on her back to wherever the beluga whales came from. I would have even taken Kukki the dugong who I sometimes fed extra fish to when no one was looking.

What I actually got? Getting caught up in an undertow at Higashihama Beach.

Yeah, not my dream summer experience.

Undertow wasn’t a concept foreign to me at that time. Auntie warned me all about itー about how sometimes the currents below and above the surface went in separate directions.

“Don’t fight it when that happens,” she told me. “You’ll tire yourself out and drown. I know it’ll be scary but if you ever get caught in undertow, don’t fight. Go with the current and once it subsides, that’s when you swim back.”

That advice was far from my mind when I actually got caught in one though.

I screamed and thrashed and fought and fought, I probably pissed in the water twice too to boot.

And yet ー and I’m not entirely sure why ー a calm suddenly fell over me and I remembered Auntie’s words.

It would be scary, but don’t fight it.

Five minutes later, I swam back to shore and cried for ten minutes while my aunt held me.

Scary was one hell of an understatement.

I swore up and down I’d never go to the beach again. I never wanted to feel that scared again, never ever. My aunt didn’t disparage me for it, though. Didn’t tell me to toughen up. She simply took me to get shaved ice when I calmed down; said when you conquer your fear and come out on top, you should always treat yourself to something nice.

“It’s okay to be scared, [First],” she smiled softly. “Some people might say otherwise, but you know something, Auntie doesn’t think fear is a bad thing. Fear can be really good sometimes. Fear is what tells you not to do something that could lead to you getting hurt. It teaches you when not to do something stupid or dangerous. Sometimes, fear is what you should listen to instead of the ‘what if things actually go right’s. Fear only becomes bad when there’s too much of it. When you let being scared rule your life so you don’t live it.

“So it’s okay to be scared. Just promise auntie that you won’t let fear stop you from moving forward. Whether it’s rejection, worries a leap of faith will lead to you falling completely on your ass or that it might not be okay to say something when you know you should.

Live like you feel it and love like you mean it.

Don’t let the fear get to you.”

It took about a week before I was diving right back into the deep blue all over again.

Name: [Full Name] ♀ D/O/B: December 9, 1989 Age: 15

Sorcerer Lineage: Non-sorcerer lineage Enrollment method: Scouted

Recruiter: Yaga Masamichi

Notes: Student was encountered May 5, 2005

Testimony of the recruiter: At the site of Tsubame High School’s test of courage, a second grade curse appeared. [Last] activated her innate technique to protect herself and her fellow students and was able to keep the curse at a standstill until sorcerers arrived on the scene to exorcize the curse. While there were students injured, none of the injuries were fatal mostly due to [Last]’s quick application of her ability. According to the student, she began being able to utilize her innate technique around the age of 10.

Jujutsu

Student’s Innate Technique: Shields

“Rejection” Student’s abilities manifest as her cursed energy condensing into an object that rejects negative events outside of it effectively, creating shields of various sizes. This ability is one that is purely defensive and does not seem to have any offensive capabilities. As it stands, should the student make timely progress during the initial stages of her enrollment during this first year ー  should she not disenroll or meet an untimely end ー it isn’t recommended to give her solo assignments.

Notes: “Rejection” is what the student in question chooses to refer to this ability as.

Interview Question Answer: “Why I want to enroll? Because I’m scared of this curse stuff.”

index | next chapter

#look she's writing #jjk x reader #gojou x reader #gojo x reader #getou x reader #geto x reader #i cherish you halcyon days #shout to my girl orihime for the power inspo i love you bbygrl

[theteasetwrites]

Sense

❧ Pairing: Alpha!Daryl Dixon x Female Omega!Reader ❧ Era: Season 2 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT—a/b/o dynamics (leave me alone), rough sex, oral (female receiving), fingering, doggystyle, unprotected sex, knotting (shut up), heat/rut (fuck you), outdoor sex (?), like one or two mentions of breeding, swearing, Shane being creepy ❧ Word Count: 9.2k

❧ Prompt: "What do you even see in this guy?" from the Norman Reedus Whores Discord Prompt Challenge (more info here)

❧ Summary: It's that time of year again, the time when yours and Daryl's highest point of sexual desire sync up. There are a few problems, though: Daryl's preoccupied with finding Sophia, and Shane is getting a little too... attracted to you.

❧ A/N: Here it is, my first foray into omegaverse. You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain, as they say. I've become the villain. Nevertheless, I'm pretty happy with how this turned out and I didn't cringe too much while writing it so hopefully you don't cringe too much while reading it either (but it's ok if you do—omegaverse is always a little cringe).

Gold-tinted light streamed through the thin fabric of the polyester tent, allowing tiny particles of dust to shine as they floated past the ever-widening beam that shone across your eyelids, causing them to flutter open with a wince.

Something about summers in Georgia seemed to make the sun even more intense, and the heat that radiated from it even more oppressive. You wiggled yourself loose in his arms, tightly wrapped around you from the back. He always tended to cling tighter to you in his sleep, as if it was some kind of unconscious instinct. 

With a huff, you turned on your side to face him, tucking your head between the crook of his neck and the pillow in an attempt to escape the bright light of early morning, and to cling to the last remnants of sleep for as long as you could.

It was also an excuse to take in his scent, strong and woody, yet somehow also soft and musky. By force of habit, he held you closer, his arm tightening over the curve of your side as his nose gently nuzzled your cheek, tickling you awake. 

“Goddamn, it’s bright,” he mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut to keep the morning light from burning his eyes. Blue eyes are more sensitive to sunlight, and his were no exception. 

“Mm…” you hummed. Despite your state of consciousness, you felt more like you were in one of those dreams that are so vivid they almost seem real, with fuzziness blurring the usually harsh edges of your perspective. Mornings were always like this, slow and quiet. Even with the world gone to shit, at least you still had this, that one constant—waking up next to him, in those bulky arms made muscular from years of hunting with that silly crossbow. Well, you used to think it was silly. Now you couldn’t complain, since it certainly came in handy against the walkers. 

Ah, yes—the walkers. The only thing that could possibly ruin the peace of your morning. That, and Sophia was missing. Still missing. 

Daryl had been beating himself up about it for the last three days, not able to rest a second since coming to the Greene farm. He was hellbent on finding the child, relating the situation to the time he’d been lost in the woods when he was even younger than her. Only difference for him was that no one cared enough to look for him. 

But it was an inopportune time for the young girl to go missing. You could smell it on him. 

A necessary fact of life. It would happen twice, maybe three times in any given year, but it was enough to threaten his ability to find that little girl. It was radiating off him stronger and stronger with each passing hour, starting around dawn just the day before. For Daryl, it came quick and fast, a scab demanding to be picked, an itch begging to be scratched, a biological imperative he had no choice but to succumb to at some point, but he was determined to keep it off as long as he had to.

You worried for him, knowing how strong his urge was, and how much it clouded his mind and ate at his insides. For some men like him, it was much less intense, much more tolerable. For him, however, it was nearly painful, but he had to put it off, he thought. He couldn’t put himself before that poor soul lost in the forest, before the grieving mother whose glassy eyes haunted him everyday that child was gone, in danger of being torn apart by flesh-eating monsters. 

“Daryl,” you mumbled, feeling him begin to squirm restlessly against you. You knew him well enough to know he was trying to shake the rut out of him, trying to ignore it, though he knew it wasn’t good for him. You tried to hold him steady, pulling the blanket further up his body as if to keep him contained, but the fresh sweat beading on his bare chest was a reminder of just how terribly hot he already was. “Why don’t you stay here today, huh? Don’t go out there… Just rest.”

Just rest, a phrase that had been on your lips many times before, but always seemed to go unheard by the stubborn man. Such a suggestion was practically against the man’s religion, if he had cared enough to believe in one. There was less and less to believe in these days, anyway. 

“Nah,” he replied gruffly, suddenly sitting up in your shared cot to squint in dismay at the sun streaming in. “That kid’s still out there.”

You huffed and watched him move like a rabid animal as he frantically searched for his clothes, cursing under his breath when he picked up one of your jeans instead of his. “Told ya to keep your clothes separate, woman,” he huffed, shaking his head as he buttoned up his raggedy plaid shirt. 

“Mm,” you hummed with a smile, amused by his characteristic grumpiness, though you knew he was a little more irritable than usual, despite his denial. “Keeps my scent on you… Speaking of which…” You sat up to stretch, taking a deep breath as you did so. Even in your own state of slight discomfort, you were always much better at handling it than he was. “Your scent is getting stronger, you know.”

He tilted his head in slight annoyance, knowing that was your way of nagging him about his rut. “I’m fine,” he said simply. “Just stressed.”

You narrowed your eyes at the notion. “Your smell doesn’t get stronger when you’re stressed, Daryl. It gets stronger when you’re—”

“Damnit, woman!” he barked. “I ain’t ruttin’, Christ.”

“Mhm, sure… Well, my heat’s coming.”

Even after three years of being with you, he still turned a light shade of red whenever you so bluntly referred to sex. Still, if your heat was coming, that meant his rut was coming, too. At this point, they were synced, not an uncommon occurrence for mated alphas and omegas such as yourselves. 

Daryl had never quite come to terms with being an alpha, but that’s what he was, and though he often found himself frustrated with his condition, at least he had you. 

And, oh, you… 

You with your scent, the one that he’d memorized and somehow could conjure up in moments when he needed you most, but that wasn’t good enough. He needed you next to him, physically. He always did. He knew that from the moment he first held you that he wouldn’t be able to go without you again, without feeling your closeness, or taking in your sweet, floral scent. 

Sitting there before him, his ratty grey t-shirt two sizes too big draped over your shoulders, just perfectly accentuating the outline of your breasts as they rise and fall with each breath, you looked… ripe. 

Ripe in that you were at your most delectable state, your highest point of primal attraction. You were always beautiful, of course, but in your heat, you were irresistible. He hadn’t been oblivious to it the past few days, weeks even. He knew your body so well now that he had your heat down to an exact science. He knew it was coming, and if your heat’s coming, then his rut is coming, but he didn’t have time for that now, not with the responsibility he had put on his own shoulders.

Still, it was hard to say no, hard not to get back in that cot and take you, tightly gripping your hot, aching body against his as his swelling knot grew inside you, binding you to him even long after he’d released himself into you. 

No time for that, though. Not when he had a job to do.

“I know,” he said, acknowledging that you were on the verge of your heat, that you were going to need him just as much as he needed you soon. “But I gotta look.” He turned to strap his crossbow over his broad chest, the one that made you lick your lips just thinking about your hands all over the muscular tissue. “Gotta find that little girl.”

If there was one thing you loved about Daryl, it was his compassion, his willingness to risk his life to save the weak. Maybe most people didn’t get to see that side of him, but now that he had the opportunity, he could fully be the good man you always knew he was. It was sweet, but it was selfless. Too selfless. 

You tossed the blanket from your body, exposing your bare legs to the air, drawing his eyes immediately to the darkened bit of fabric at the front of your panties, just barely covered by the hem of his shirt. 

With your sudden movement, he caught a deep whiff of you, a more pungent scent than usual emitting from your core as you walked a few steps towards him. 

The feeling of your hands on his chest sent a powerful signal to his brain, one that rang out like a siren, screaming at him to give in. He could tell what you were doing just by the flutter of your lashes, the smirk in your lip, the curl of your fingers as they trailed playfully up and down the collar of his shirt. You wanted him to touch you, to make that slight pain in your core go away before it got too intense, to rid you of that heat building up inside you like a house fire. He wanted that, too. It was impossible not to let your body press up against his, not to feel the hardness of your aroused nipples against his chest, not to rest his hands upon your hips as your forehead touched his.

“Please stay,” you whispered over his lips. “I need my alpha.”

Those words were strategically chosen. You knew reminding him of his possession of you, his omega, would get that chest of his pumped full of hot air and his cheeks reddened with a surge of blood flowing to his head. Not only that, but the possession in your voice, the tone that reminded him that he was yours just as much as you were his. 

He could only muster a few deep, strangled sighs as your hungry lips pursed to kiss just below his ear, making his hands grip harder at your sides and pull you closer until he could feel your heat against his groin, your core getting hotter and hotter with each passing moment, and your scent becoming so irresistible that he found himself subconsciously, ever so slightly, grinding his lower body against yours. 

With a turn of his head, he let your lips meet his, despite how much he knew he was just teasing himself, and you, now. There was no way he could stay, no way he could let that helpless child stay out there any longer. Still, if he could allow himself just one moment to satiate his need for you, he would, even if it only eased a small part of his primal lust. 

“I want your knot,” you whispered sloppily, wildly as your tongue became more desperate to taste his, breaching the entrance of his mouth to lap up his taste. 

He growled low at your words, his hand rising up to tangle in your hair and pull your face as close as it could get. The other hand found itself squeezing your bottom, fingertips digging into the plump flesh as he held you steady to better thrust himself against you, your slick beginning to seep through the thin fabric of your panties and onto the surface of his jeans. 

“(Y/N)...” he panted. “I—I can’t…”

“Yes you can,” you panted back, now putting your own hand on the back of his head to pull his lips back to yours. When his lips peeled away, you used your free hand to drag his down to cup your clothed mound, allowing his fingers to graze the puddle of wetness. “My body needs you, Daryl… Just you. Only you.”

Another tried and true method for getting him to shut up and screw you, but the closest you got was thrusting back and forth on his palm, using it to relieve the slightest amount of tension from your aching body. It worked for a moment, but soon you nearly sent him backwards with the force of your body writhing on his hand, and you knew you couldn’t get anywhere with it—you needed the intense friction of his cock, the feeling of it pulsing inside you and hitting the deepest part of you just right.

“Oh, God,” your lips mumbled as they sloppily massaged his. “Fuck me now.”

He pulled his hand away swiftly, using it to separate his body from yours, as he was sure he couldn’t go another moment of being that close to you without ending up back on that bed. 

“Later,” he said, followed by a hard swallow as he tried to calm himself down. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping down the side of his face and wettening the short strands of caramel brown hair stuck to either side.

His body heat showed no signs of dropping, not until he could get far away from you, and he could already tell that if he stayed with you today, he wouldn’t leave for hours after he’d knotted you. There was too much work to be done, and his own biological need would have to wait. He just hoped you could wait, too, though something about the deep, trembling frown dragging on your face told him you couldn’t. At least, not without some struggle.

“Hey,” he said, trying to muster up the strength to touch you without losing it. His hands cupped your cheeks, on fire from the sheer intensity of your internal heat. “I gotta try to find that kid. It’s eatin’ me up inside.”

You mustered a small smile. He was always so damn selfless, it infuriated you. Well, it was what made you fall in love with him, besides the innate biological attraction that drew you to him. Your life philosophy had always been this: there are plenty of alphas, but a good alpha is hard to come by. Daryl was a good alpha, the only one you could tolerate, the only one you could love. You were sure of that. 

Soulmates… As cheesy as it sounded, you knew it from day one, from the moment he walked up to you in that sleazy dive bar, face blurred from the cigarette smoke curling in grey clouds all around him, his hands tucked deep in his jean pockets as he cleared his throat, then stuttered, “C-can I, uh… Can I buy ya a drink?”

If you couldn’t tell by his scent, you would’ve thought he was a beta, but his scent was always strong—you were sure it was because he was immediately attracted to you, and your scent hit him like a semi-truck, too. It was love at first… scent. 

No, Daryl was unlike any other alpha male you’d ever met, but he was one. That was impossible to deny. 

“I know,” you said with a nod. Lifting his hand from your cheek, you pressed a light kiss to his palm, then nuzzled deeper into his touch. That damn man’s hands... Being held by him felt like being a porcelain teacup carefully tucked away in layers of sturdy bubble wrap, cushioned and protected from any cracks that could threaten to mar your fragile surface. “But your rut is eating you up inside too… It’s not good to hold it back for so long.”

He rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help but be grateful for your concern, even slightly amused by how precious you were. “Always naggin’ me, woman, ya know that?”

“Mm, you wouldn’t last a day without me nagging you,” you laughed. Biting your lip, you reached up to fix his hair, still scraggly from his pillow. He scrunched his face in exaggerated annoyance, though even he couldn’t help but muster a boyish smirk at your doting. 

As your eyes met his, another deep surge of pained arousal swept through you, triggering more slick to pool in your already soiled underwear. It was tempting to strip yourself of your shirt, knowing such a sight would be the ultimate trigger to get him to lay you down, but in your heart of hearts, you knew he needed to do this for your group. If you had to wait, you would wait, but you couldn’t wait much longer, you feared. 

“When will you be back?”

“‘Fore dark.” He huffed and pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, as anything else might’ve been dangerous. Noticing your eyes lower in disappointment, he nudged his forehead against yours. “Hey, omega,” he said softly. “You gonna be okay til I get back?”

No, you wanted to say, but you knew that would be a bit dramatic. Still, you knew from past heats that your need for him only grew stronger when he was gone, and if you were already leaking with slick now, who knows how bad you might get in the meantime. 

“Mhm,” you hummed. “I’ll be fine… I think. What about you?”

He scoffed playfully. “Woman, I’m gon’ be fine. Just be ready when I get back, a’right? I’m gonna need you even more.”

“Yes, sir,” you laughed. “Be careful, okay?”

“You too, and…” His voice trailed off, his face becoming less animated and more stern with each passing moment he went over the words he was about to say. “Stay in the tent.”

Never before had you gone through your heat around so many other alphas. Rick and T-Dog didn’t worry him much—Rick was married, bonded with Lori, and T-Dog seemed respectful of your bond with Daryl, but then there was… Shane. 

Shane was an odd one in that though he was ostensibly an alpha, he seemed too emboldened, often disrespecting Daryl’s claim over you. On at least two occasions he had gotten much too close to you for your liking, and Daryl already had a pretty strong hunch that Shane had slept with Lori, a marked omega not unlike you.

It infuriated him, and he couldn’t even fathom how Shane could still be breathing at this point. If he caught even a whiff of that man on you, he’d strangle him with his bare hands, he was certain of it. 

Knowing just how much Shane’s dilated eyes followed your body on a daily basis, he was sure your heat would attract him like a moth to a flame.

“Keep that thing on ya if you gotta go out,” he added, gesturing to the hunting knife he’d given you as it lay on the foldable bedside table. “That pig cop bastard touches you, I’ll—”

“He won’t touch me,” you interjected. “Your scent is strong enough to keep him away… My big strong alpha.” Your fingers tickled his chest as you smirked, holding back a chuckle at the cheesy compliment. 

His heart fluttered, as it always did when you broke out the “big strong alpha” card. He was a sucker for it.

“A’right,” he said. “I love ya, sweet girl. Be back soon, hopefully with that kid.”

“Love you, too, Daryl.”

As he requested, you stayed in the tent for a while after he’d left, occupying yourself with the usual routine for your heat.

It wasn’t ideal, but the cot in your tent was the only place to make a nest of his clothes, a safe spot to immerse yourself in his scent until he came back to you. 

Even that proved difficult, as you became quickly lightheaded, losing your balance each time you bent over to pick up another one of his shirts. 

“Shit,” you cursed, holding your forehead and shutting your eyes tight to try to will away the dizziness. Every omega’s heat was different, and yours always had the worst dizziness, the worst fever, the worst throbbing pain in your womb. 

It was your body’s instinctual way of demanding to be bred, and thank God you still had your birth control pills, even if your irrational, heat-ridden mind desperately wanted to carry Daryl’s child more than usual. There couldn’t be a worse possible time to bring a child into the world, you were sure. 

The pounding in your head started now, in sync with each quickening beat of your anxious heart. It was as if the further Daryl got from the farm, the worse your symptoms became, the more every cell in your body screamed bloody murder in an attempt to call him back to you.

“Ah!” you quietly cried out. Doubling over in pain, you flopped yourself back onto the bed, its surface now draped in layers upon layers of every article of clothing Daryl had in his possession. 

You buried your head in his pillow, trying desperately to surround yourself in his scent. It eased the pain slightly, tricking your mind into thinking he was there with you, holding you, but you lacked his warmth, his unique touch, the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat soothing you to sleep as he held his deflating knot inside of you.

You reached down to find his favorite white undershirt, the one that always had the strongest scent. In desperation, you tugged off your shirt and laid the undershirt over your bare breasts, massaging them over top of the fabric. 

It couldn’t beat the real thing, the real feeling of his chest pressed up to yours, but at least you’d get more of his scent on you, and at least your sensitive nipples could feel the familiar tickle of the ribbed fabric of that old tank top. 

“Daryl…” you moaned shakily under your breath. You hadn’t realized just how bad it was, how much your heat had worsened just within a matter of the three hours he’d been gone. 

The wetness was beginning to soak through your new pair of panties. You reached down to slip your fingers below the fabric, scooping up the slick as you tickled your aching clit. 

Even just a little sensation was too much, and not at all the sensation you needed. Your body needed Daryl’s touch, not yours, not anyone else’s but his. The feeling stung, made you flinch in combined pain and pleasure. It might not have been him, but your hand was going to have to do if you wanted any semblance of relief before he got back.

You thrusted hard against your hand, arching your back with each movement as you desperately tried to soothe your body. All you could do was try to trick your heat-induced brain into thinking he was there, touching you… And moments later, when your fingers dug into you, squirming as they went in deeper and pumped hard to stimulate you, it almost worked.

“Oh, yes…” you sighed. “Daryl… Oh—”

“(Y/N)?”

Shane’s voice made you shoot up, sitting up straight to face the opening of the tent where the man’s silhouette was displayed from the outside. 

Shit, you thought to yourself. What the hell does he want?

“(Y/N), you in there?”

“Yeah,” you huffed, quickly redressing yourself in Daryl’s shirt, then crossing over to haphazardly step into a pair of sweatpants. “Gimme a sec.”

Now semi-decent, you unzipped the flap of the tent, and swiftly stepped out to close it, hoping Shane couldn’t see the nest you’d made, or the wet spot on the bed.

Instead, you felt his eyes on you, trailing up and down your shirt, narrowing at the slight hardness of your nipples, still aroused from your touching.

“Everything okay?” you asked him, hoping to get him to leave as soon as he showed up.

He shrugged and folded his arms. “I was gonna ask you the same question. Ain’t seen ya since yesterday… Been in your tent all day. Thought you’d be out, I don’t know… doin’ laundry or somethin’.”

You scoffed, slightly offended by the assumption, though it wasn’t like there was much else to do. “I’m not feeling great,” you said simply, but you were sure he could tell why.

Indeed, he could. The scent was enough, much more potent and sweeter than usual, yet with much more of Daryl’s heavy scent than he liked. It was a bitter reminder that you were claimed, and the smell repulsed him, yet only made him want to cover it with his own.

“I know,” he said. “Your, uh… Your scent.”

Embarrassment. That was the only word you could think of to describe how you felt, and annoyance at his invasion of your privacy, but you weren’t confrontational enough to say anything. Not like Daryl.

“Yeah, well, uh… Did you need something?”

He lifted two silver pails in each hand, and you already knew what he was going to ask. 

“Was gonna see if you’d help me pump some water from the well, if you’re up to it. Everybody else is busy, and I could use another hand.”

You always did have a hard time saying no, even if you knew your body was weak with your heat, but water was important, and maybe it could take your mind off your condition until Daryl would return, you reasoned.

Still, it was awfully bold of him to ask that of you, knowing you were in heat, and that you were with Daryl. You did as Daryl had told you—you took your knife and carried it in plain sight in the holder on your belt. 

Each step you took alongside that man towards the well made you ache even more. Every muscle burned, and every dizzy spell became stronger until you sat with a huff on the wall of the well, taking a sip of your canteen as Shane readied the rope to lower his bucket.

“You all right?” he asked. 

“Fine,” you sighed. “Just… I get really winded when I’m… Yeah.”

Shane nodded, watching closely as the water dripped from your chin, trickling onto your shirt and down below your collar. 

“Don’t envy you,” he said. “Never been more inconvenient timing…”

“No,” you agreed. “No there hasn’t.”

You watched as he lowered the bucket, then pulled it back up with a strain of his muscles. Show-off, you thought, catching onto his less than subtle attempts to seduce you.

Filling his canteen from the pail, he sat himself down beside you, much too close for comfort.

His smell wasn’t too strong, but strong enough to make you sick. Any alpha’s scent besides Daryl’s would’ve made you nauseous now, and with Shane so close, his shoulder touching yours, you felt the bile in your stomach begin to rise at the base of your esophagus.

If he hadn't been there, it would’ve been nice. The warm August breeze tickling the nearby wind chimes, the birds chirping in the golden light of late afternoon, the placid quiet that settled in when all other sounds ceased… And then he nudged your shoulder again, offering you a misplaced smile before wrapping a loose arm around your shoulder, causing your spine to straighten in slight shock at the feeling.

“You all right?” he asked, rocking you back and forth with his hand curled on your shoulder. 

Your cheek twitched in disgust at the whiff of his scent, much more powerful than usual in your heightened state. Aware of his scent rubbing off on you, you wriggled uncomfortably, thankfully causing him to remove his arm. 

“I’m fine. Just need to get back soon. If Daryl knows I didn’t stay in the tent he’d skin me alive,” you laughed nervously. 

“Where is Daryl?”

“Oh, um… He’s out looking for Sophia. Trying that new lead near the abandoned house.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Thought he’d be here with you… With you like this.”

That’s none of your damn business, you thought, but of course, you were much too nice to say that, so instead you defended him.

“Well, he knows how much it means to everyone if we find her… He cares.”

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, thinking about him, his selflessness, his bravery, his kindness. Maybe he didn’t always show it, but ever since he lost Merle, he’d been coming into his own, embracing his true nature instead of trying to be something he wasn’t. 

“Pfft,” he scoffed, and just that simple, dismissive sound was enough to get your blood boiling. “Think he oughta care more about you.”

“He cares a lot about me,” you quickly replied. “You don’t know anything about Daryl.”

“I know he should be here takin’ care of you…” He leaned closer looking you forcefully in the eye. He had a much more stern, intense look than you’d seen in him before. 

His hand caught you off guard as he tugged on the collar of your shirt, revealing Daryl’s mark on the junction of your neck and shoulder. “Hey!” You pulled away, standing up to your feet and looking back at him with wild, confused eyes. He’d never touched you like that before, and it terrified you, knowing how many male alphas could turn violent at the drop of a hat, and Shane was particularly volatile, more so than Daryl or Rick or T-Dog. He was the only one who truly frightened you at times, and immediately you cursed yourself for agreeing to go anywhere with him.

He stood up to pull harder on you, tugging more at your shirt collar to glare at the scar made by the indentation of Daryl’s teeth over years of him marking you in that same spot. 

“What do you even see in this guy?” he asked. “Sorry excuse for an alpha.”

You pulled away one last time, nearly ready to pull out your knife if you needed to.

“Fuck you,” you replied. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Don’t have to explain shit to you, Shane. I came out here to help, not to listen to you insult Daryl.”

You sidestepped around him to lift the filled pail. “I’m taking this back to camp. You can do the rest on your own,” you said, but he planted himself firmly in front of you, pushing you back towards the well. “Shane,” you said, “get out of my way.”

Before you knew it, he was lunging towards you, eyes locked on the crook of your shoulder, opposite of Daryl’s mark. If he’d gotten any further, you were sure he’d try to mark you by force. 

Holding your knife to his neck, you pushed him away with all the strength you had. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you panted. 

He shook his head, as if trying to shake out whatever desires he had. “I—I don’t…”

You didn’t wait for him to explain himself. There wasn’t any way he could, after all. He had come close to violating you, to marking you as some kind of encroachment upon you, upon Daryl’s mate.

The breeze hit you as you walked, wafting Shane’s faint smell up into your flaring nostrils. That bastard, you thought. The nerve… I can’t stand his fucking smell.

You couldn’t bear to bring that scent into your tent, so you sat several yards away from the camp, perched on a log as you hugged your legs against your chest, trying to let the scent of Daryl’s shirt envelop you. 

That, and it seemed to be the only solution to easing your cramps, twice as bad as your run-of-the-mill menstrual cramps. The heat was unbearable as the sweat on your brow dripped and caught in your eyelashes, clouding your vision for a moment. You balled your fists and rubbed your eyes, and all the while, you swore you could smell Daryl’s scent getting stronger, as if it was carried by the breeze that gently flowed through your hair. 

It was hypnotic, drawing your eyes up to instinctively look in the direction of the wind. 

There he was, strutting towards you across the grassy field, sweat glistening on his bare, summer-tanned arms as his eyes narrowed at you. His look was somewhere between scolding and smoldering, with a heavy dose of desperation thrown in. 

One thing was certain: he had one thing in mind when he saw you. 

Picking up his pace and stepping with long strides, practically jogging, he tore his crossbow from his back and flung it to the ground, a coarse grunt combined followed by a deep huff as he swiftly moved closer, like a caged tiger about to be let out.

“Daryl?” you called out to him. You found yourself walking towards him, too, eyes locked on his heaving chest as his hands frantically worked to unbutton the top of his shirt. 

The closer he got, the stronger his musky, earthy scent became—more potent and virile, more intoxicating as his energy surrounded you. 

His hands separated now, one tugging on the middle button of his shirt, the other desperately loosening his belt buckle, the movement allowing the toned muscles of his arms to flex in the glow of the golden afternoon. 

He’d been unsuccessful in his search, and the frustration of not finding Sophia only made his instinct stronger, his need greater, his arousal becoming more and more unbearable the longer he looked at you.

As he approached, there was only one thing on his mind, one sole purpose for him to commit to in that moment: taking you, filling you, breeding you.

Now with both hands on his belt, freeing the leather from the loops of his jeans, he dropped it carelessly, then quickly moved to the button. 

He was only about two yards away, but it was too far. Your feet picked up the pace, until finally you were in his arms, limbs and tongues tangled around each other, breaths heavy and chests heaving, cores hot and aching.

Shane’s lingering scent didn’t even occur to you then, not even as Daryl’s nose sank into the crook of your neck, his hand pulling back the collar of your shirt as his tongue traced over the raised scar of his mark, tickling you.

Your own hands clung tight to his shirt, nearly tearing it as with every passing moment you became more frenzied, more impatient to feel his hot, bare skin under your fingertips.

When the warmth of his mouth slowly left your shoulder, and his rose up to narrow at you, somewhere between hunger and primal rage, you panicked, grasping his sweat-drenched cheeks in an attempt to pull his lips to yours. He pulled back with a low growl.

“Why’s his scent on you?”

Your hands tightened on his cheeks as you turned to stone, wanting nothing more than to ignore his questioning and carry on with the natural conclusion of your synced biological states. Daryl, however, was not going to forget so easily.

He knew you would never sleep with Shane. That was out of the question. Besides, if you had, Shane’s scent would’ve been much, much stronger, but it was concentrated on your shoulders, and it was fading, but repulsive nonetheless.

“He—”

“That bastard touch you?”

You froze for a moment, simultaneously terrified of the inscrutable look in his eyes, and aroused by the very same look. 

“Tryin’ to put his filthy scent on ya?” he asked, more demandingly now, and yet with an oddly lustful lilt to his otherwise angered growl. “I’ll kill him… I’ll—”

“He barely touched me.”

Under your fingers, you felt his cheeks trembling in rage, his skin heat up from the inside out. He looked ravenous—out for blood, Shane’s blood. You couldn’t care less about that, though, as your body screamed to be touched, begged to be put out of its misery from the only person who could ever relieve you. 

“He’s not my alpha,” you reminded him. “You are.” Even just a matter of moments was too much to handle like this, with the heat oppressing you from every possible angle, suffocating you. Being away from Daryl during this time was hard, but being too close and not having him touch you was worse. 

You lifted your shirt above your head, rustling your hair in the process, then hurriedly removed your bra, finally freeing half your body from its cloth prison. Under normal circumstances, you’d never strip yourself out in the open, but right now? You were far enough from the camp not to care, and the heat was closing in all around you. 

Pupils dilated, swallowing the usually gentle blue in a black hole of lust, his eyes glued to your bare breasts. If your goal was to distract him from his fury, it was working.

“Alpha,” you said softly, wrapping your arms around his hot, clammy neck, drenched in sweat that could’ve been from the Georgia summer heat, but you were sure it was also just his condition, his rut taking over every function of his aching body. “You’re the only one… My mate.”

His eyes darted to your shoulder, his mark. It was his physical reminder that you belonged to him, that the first time you made love during your heat, he loved you enough to leave that unique, intimate mark in the shape of his teeth, one he’d never given to anyone else before, and never would again.

Most of all, it reminded him that no one else could touch you, that he was the only man who could know the intensity of your sweet scent, the softness of your body, the sounds of your heavy whimpers as he filled you until his knot swelled, keeping him in place. 

When his fingers trailed along the raised skin of your scar, you shivered at his touch. His face turned soft, yet strained with lust. Tilting his head, his other hand held your chin, maneuvering your head so he could nudge his nose against your cheek, his heavy breath blowing gentle, yet insistent, puffs. 

His lips softly brushing against your face, he whispered in your ear: “You need me, huh?”

Clutching your hands to his shoulders, desperate to tug off his shirt, you whimpered under your breath, sighing deeply all the while. 

“Omega needs ‘er alpha?” he asked lowly against your ear. 

Unable to restrain yourself any longer, your hands scrambled up to tangle in his hair, pulling his lips to yours.

“Now,” you mumbled into his mouth. “Need you… now…”

He nodded frantically as he worked to undo the last buttons on his shirt, then carelessly tossed the fabric to the ground. 

“Right here?” he asked, panting between kisses. Usually, such an idea would be out of the question for the private man, who never liked the idea of being so vulnerable out in the open like this, but he didn’t care much now. The tightness in his jeans and the dull ache all throughout his body made him lose sight of that, as much as he could. Privacy be damned. “Ain’t… ain’t you w-want your… nest?”

Shaking your head vehemently as his lips chased yours, desperate to cling to them, you pulled him down with you as you lowered yourself to the ground, until you sunk down into blades of sage green grass, faded by exposure from the hot summer sun. 

Daryl’s laugh melted on your tongue like an ice cube, its cadence swallowed by your open mouth as you devoured him. 

His weight on top of you provided some relief, but it wasn’t enough. What you needed was his body inside of yours, inhabiting it, reminding you again and again just who it belonged to. You didn’t really need the reminder, of course, but the thought of belonging to him was all the more arousing. 

Your eyes were squeezed shut in tranquilized bliss when his body weight shifted, and he quickly pulled your pants and sodden underwear down to your ankles, where you kicked them off with a wiggle. 

Before you knew it, his hands were hiking up the back of your thighs, resting them on his shoulders as he dove down to lick the slick that had settled between your folds. As the tip of his tongue swirled around your clitoris, your shoulders tensed and you let out a sharp hiss. It was already so sensitive, aching for more friction to stimulate the bundle of nerves.

He lowered his hand to curl two of his thick, calloused fingers inside of you, while his tongue sucked and lapped at the sensitive bud that begged for attention.

“Ah!” you cried out wildly, shaking as your hands gripped the grass, pulling it out in frustration. His fingers were not yet deep enough to relieve you of your desire, but his tongue moved so expertly that with each swirl you felt a new little shockwave pulse through you. “Yes! Oh!”

His fingers sank deeper now, pulling in and out of you rapidly, the palm of his hand hitting your sensitive outer parts each time. 

Peeling his mouth away, he watched as the clear liquid pooled onto his hand, the slick glistening in the last light of the golden summer afternoon. 

“Never seen ya make this much, girl,” he panted, pumping faster and faster to get you properly loosened up. After all, his knot would need enough room to sink inside you. “All this pretty slick… Just for me.”

With that curl of his fingers, you gasped, arching your back and throwing your arms over your face as you tried not to scream, but the feeling was intense. You were always so much more sensitive in your heat, and however he touched you, you were going to feel it ten times as strong. 

“F-fuck!” you croaked out against your arm. The harder he went, the more your voice stuttered, the more your body bounced with his hand burying into you. “Alpha-a-a!”

“Shhh,” he said, holding his finger to his lips as he leaned over you, his other hand ceasing its harsh movement to gently caress your aching clit. “Keep it down, girl.”

He looked quickly back in the direction of the camp and the Greenes’ farmhouse, hoping they were still a good distance away, and that the view of the two of you couldn’t be so easily seen from behind the bushes and the smattering of oak trees.

Lunging up to fling your arms around him, he grabbed onto you in surprise at the sudden movement, and huffed as your lips attacked his cheeks, then trailed down to his mark, the small indentation of your own teeth on his shoulder. 

His hand didn’t forget its job, though. He cupped your mound to once again penetrate you with his fingers, spreading them open inside you to better stretch you out. 

As his fingers dug into you, your teeth sunk into his flesh, reopening the old wound once again until a few drops of blood could be tasted on your tongue. 

He held you tighter with his other arm, digging his fingernails into your back as he groaned. “(Y/N)…”

In a fit of impatience, you reached down to begin tugging his unzipped pants from his body. He smirked against your lips, amused by how much you needed him. He needed you, too, though. It was torture not to be inside you, but he knew himself well enough to know he could hold out for a while, though not for long. 

He maneuvered himself to help you remove his jeans, your hands constantly fighting with his, though both had the same goal. Both of you were wild, returned to a primal state of need and desperation. You were bound to each other by flesh and scent, and it only made the need for each other so much stronger, so unbearable in the most blissful way. It was torture, it was agony, and yet it was the most pure, beautiful feeling of yearning. 

When he was bare, unburdened by the restraints of his clothes and now free in his natural state, he bent his knees under your thighs, and with his hands, pulled you up to his core until the tip of his cock met your slit. 

He cursed himself for losing his patience, as the feeling of you grazing against him sent a sharp electrical current through him, more potent than anything he’d felt before. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, holding you tighter by your lower back as he lowered you onto his cock. 

Your head once again buried in his shoulder, you groaned as he let you sit, his cock burrowing deeper every second. “Oh, God… Daryl…”

“Just… stay still for a minute.” 

He took a deep breath, holding you in your position as you sat upright with his legs underneath, and his cock now as deep as it could go. All you needed was for him to move and you’d be writhing, with an imminent release soon upon you, but he just needed the stillness for a moment, to bask in the feeling of completeness, of filling you perfectly and so effortlessly, as though your bodies were made for each other. 

He felt your slick drip down his inner thigh, and with that, he fell forward, taking you down with him until your back was once again against the grass.

“Oh!” you cried in shock. 

His hand trailed up your sides, then in a split second, he pinned your arms above your head, just as he began violently thrusting, hovering over you with an intense look of purpose.

His thrusts were fast, sloppy, wild… Yet his cock was angled so perfectly, and the friction of his body hitting your clit with each movement was inching you closer and closer to the climax, the one you needed to feel relief from your heat. 

Usually, he went slower, much more precise and sensual, but in his rut, he couldn’t hold back like he did. It was pure, uninhibited, primal lust, and you felt it, too. Clenching your teeth and letting out a hiss, you struggled to tug your arms out from the grip of his hands. Sensing this, he loosened his hands, allowing you to lean up to pull him to your face, his body still wildly moving in and out of you. Your head leaned in to catch his lips with yours, and soon your tongues were inside the other’s mouth, swirling around in untamed circles.

You always needed the closeness of him, to feel his chest pressed against yours, so you held him tight as his cock pumped back and forth within the walls of your twitching entrance. 

With a strained grunt delivered straight to your gaping mouth, he reached down to manually wrap your legs tight around his lower back. Your heels dug into his ass, keeping him steady for a moment as he paused inside of you to take a breath. 

In the crook of your neck and shoulder, he kissed your mark. Mirroring his action, you did the same to his, while the nails of your tightly drawn fingers made shallow scratches in the skin of his back. 

“Shit,” he mumbled. “You feel so good, omega.”

You laughed and grabbed his cheeks to turn his face back to yours. He looked a sight—red blotches adorning his cheeks, hefty beads of sweat trickling down his strained forehead, lips quivering and drenched in your saliva and slick. Sweat-soaked hair framed his face as the darkened strands stuck to the skin. Redness had even pooled in his chest, which heaved exhaustingly over yours.

As he caught his breath, you snaked your hand between your bodies, lowering it to your clit. The closer you got to your orgasm, the more stimulation you needed to maintain the tingly feeling in your core, so you circled your finger rapidly, feeling yourself on track towards bliss.

The sudden attention made you flinch and clench around him, sending him grunting as his eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck!” he groaned. “Ah, yeah… Shit, you’re gonna make me come.”

He pumped himself inside you again, hitting your most sensitive spot while you touched yourself, and it was only a matter of seconds now until you reached your peak. He knew that, too. His body was in sync with yours by now, and soon your bodies would be locked together, but first you needed to have your own release.

Still, he felt his knot begin to form around the base of his cock, swelling as he moved back and forth. As he hit into you, your entrance stretched more and more, preparing for your orgasm, and his knot.

“Oh, God!” you whimpered. “I—I… Daryl…”

“I got ya…” he panted back, in that deep, raspy whisper. “Come for your alpha…”

It was the last straw, the last little bit of motivation you needed as he thrusted into you harder, and your walls began to pulse with each shockwave of your orgasm.

Your body went limp underneath him as your mouth hung open to release a series of low moans. “Jesus…” you sighed. 

He smiled and lowered himself to kiss you, taking in every labored breath. “I love you,” he said. 

“I love you, too,” you laughed deliriously. 

He lifted his head back up, holding himself above you with his arms outstretched to support his body weight as he began to thrust again.

But he could sense something that froze him in place, a whiff of putrid scent lingering on the breeze.

“Shit,” he huffed. 

Catching the last remnants of Shane’s scent, he growled and pulled himself out with a small cascade of your arousal.

“Turn around,” he said lowly.

Not waiting for you to answer, his hands gripped either side of your waist to maneuver your body until you were on all fours. “Daryl,” you panted in surprise. 

The incessant pounding in his head was too loud to hear your voice call out to him, too loud to hear your strained whimper as his cock filled you again, this time with his knot so close to its most swollen state.

You felt his body align with yours, gluing itself to your back. His teeth dug hard into your flesh, with each deep, purposeful thrust making you groan in combined pleasure and pain.

To his frustration, Shane’s scent became stronger, more potent. It was sickening, but you couldn’t even notice it, not when Daryl’s scent surrounded you in a thick, hazy cloud.

No, you didn’t notice. You couldn’t even see Shane approaching in the distance, but Daryl did.

He growled against your shoulder, eyes glowering to meet Shane’s as he froze in place. He must’ve been going out to collect firewood, as he usually did around this time, but that was of no consequence to Daryl, whose rage-induced lust only got stronger.

Shit, he saw Shane’s lips move to say. He was too far away to hear, but still close enough to see the look of panic, and jealousy, on his face.

Under normal circumstances, Daryl would’ve jumped up and ran to put his clothes on, but there wasn’t going to be any separation of your bodies now, not even if he tried. He couldn’t betray his primal need, and neither could you. Besides, it was the perfect opportunity to let Shane know just who you belonged to.

“Oh, fuck!” you blurted out as his body thrusted hard into you, his cock penetrating the deepest part of your insides. “Daryl!”

He dug his teeth deeper into your shoulder, making you cry out once again. “Alpha!”

“That’s right,” he panted into your ear. “I’m your alpha… Scream for me.”

“Oh, yes! Daryl!”

He didn’t want you to keep it down now. With Shane near, that hideous reminder of his scent on the air, he needed you to scream, to let the bastard know once and for all that you were bound for life to him, no one else.

Shane was still dumbfounded, intrigued by the sight, but repulsed, too. He simply couldn’t look away, until Daryl’s snarl became so violent that he found himself backing away, finally yielding to the superior man, the superior alpha. 

Daryl’s lip quirked slightly to one side. His show of dominance had worked. He could be embarrassed about it later, but now? Now, he felt his knot swell up again, almost so big now that he could no longer pull himself out.

You felt it, too, the tightness at your entrance as his knot stretched you much further than it had in a long time. He could only knot during his rut, but you knew this was no ordinary rut.

“Feel that?” he sloppily groaned against your shoulder. “Feel my knot?”

Rendered speechless, you nodded frantically as your arms threatened to fold underneath you. They shook to stabilize you, but soon his body stopped moving entirely, and all you could feel was that knot keeping him in place, seconds before his climax.

“Fuck!” he cried out. “Shit, I—I’m…”

You felt his cock begin to twitch deep inside you, spreading his spend in the deepest recesses of your core, where you felt his warmth embrace you. 

With a gasp, your arms finally gave out, taking Daryl down with you, and with your head buried in the grass, you let out a deep sigh of relief. Something within you switched off, and finally, your heat was over.

Exhaustion swiftly took over Daryl, and he rolled onto his side with you in his arms, and you knew the two of you would be like this for a while, possibly all night. His knot would take hours to go away, it usually did.

You felt his lips gently purse against the skin of your neck, repeating several times as he worshipped you and the taste of your sweat. 

“Shit, that was good,” he huffed, laughing a little to himself at the look on Shane’s face. Soon he’d find himself fuming again, needing to throw a few choice words at the insufferable man, but he’d rather bask in the afterglow for now. Besides, he was king of the jungle now, as far as he was concerned.

Blissfully unaware of the situation, you giggled and wrapped your hand around his. “Mm, so good… And you tried to tell me you weren’t rutting.”

He shook his head and bit your neck just a little, eliciting a small faux whimper from you. “Hey!” you laughed. 

“You know just how to push my buttons, huh?”

“Better than anyone else.”

Holding each other in the grass, night fell over you like a blanket, and soon all you could hear were crickets and toads, and the faint tinkling of the wind chimes from the Greene house porch. 

Soon you were lulled to sleep, with Daryl just barely dozing off, but he tried to keep awake, in case of the off chance a walker stumbled out of the woods. 

In the morning, he’d have to corner Shane, to further reiterate the point he tried to prove earlier, to reassert his dominance. 

That could wait, though. For now, he just held you, wondering what you were dreaming about. 

He just hoped he was in it. 

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

~

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#daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd #twd fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus x reader #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead smut #twd smut #alpha!daryl #omega!reader #twd omegaverse #abo #daryl dixon abo #alpha!daryl dixon #im sorry

[lesbian-empress-nero]

3 times Yosuke feels he doesn’t belong and 1 time he knows he does 

Yosuke is 12 and living in Tatsumi Port when he realises. It hits him like a punch to the gut, except he thinks a punch would be better in this scenario. 

He realises that he doesn’t belong in this group, all rich and snobbish and definitely shunning him. None of them spare even a second glance as he slinks away, resolving to find the nearest pay phone that’d be still operating at this time of night. 

Eventually he makes a collect call to his mom begging for her forgiveness and quickly explaining that he’d lost track of time before catching the last monorail to the station by his house. His “friends” don’t call. They don’t ask where he’d gone at school the next day. They don’t care, and Yosuke knows. So he stops caring about them.

2. Yosuke is 14 and tired. He’s stopped attending school, too busy preparing to move to a whole new place halfway across the country. Inaba, his mom told him. He’s too tired to put up a fuss about moving. 

His “friends” from school still don’t call. They don’t drop by to offer help with packing. They don’t talk to him when they see him around town. 

His “friends” aren’t really his friends. He knows this. But that doesn’t stop it from stinging any less. He can’t count how many things he told them, how many secrets he’d whispered in the darkness of sleepovers, unaware that he was the only one really saying anything. 

But they also held him when he cried, they listened when he ranted about his dad, they stopped him from punching things when he became angry. 

Silver lining, Yosuke supposes. 

3. Yosuke is 15, and still tired. If anything, it seems to have gotten worse. His bones ache when he moves, his eyes feel heavy with a lead weight he doesn’t remember attaching to them. But his heart has been encased in concrete. 

Chie and Yukiko are nice, absolutely. But he doesn’t mesh with them like they mesh with each other. Because having lived here in Inaba for about a year now, he’s still the school’s exotic attraction. A city boy in a backwaters high school, with slender, gangly limbs and a face that he’d heard other boys describe as “girlish.” 

It’s unfair, really, how some people can blend so well with everyone, while he can barely blend with himself. Music is his only comfort, as pathetic as that is. The blaring from his headphones helps him turn his attention away from what’s bad in his life, and focus on what’s good. Like Chie and Yukiko not constantly making fun of him for how he looks. 

There are good and bad aspects about everywhere, Yosuke has figured out. Chie and Yukiko are good aspects, definitely. 

Yosuke is 17 and living in Inaba when he realises. It hits him like a punch to the gut, except he thinks a punch would be better in this scenario. 

He walks in a field outside Inaba, shoes discarded behind a bush by the roadside. The sky above a deep, dark blue, with black clouds rolling by lazily. A cool breeze drifts by in the warm air, carrying the sweet scent of summer and ruffling his hair. 

Beside him walks Yu Narukami, his partner and best friend. It’s been a year since the Inaba murders were solved, by them no less, and now Yu is back, and Yosuke feels gobsmacked by how much his partner has changed. 

Yu is taller now, the baby fat in his cheeks burned away to make way for handsome features. He’s taller now- Yosuke has to look up to see that Yu’s grey eyes are darker now, more stormy than steely, and his hair has grown out a bit, though it remains the soft grey it was last year. Yosuke finds that the urge to card his fingers through it has only gotten stronger as time passed. 

“Yosuke. What would you say...” Yu begins, turning his head to look at Yosuke. They both stop walking. The sky turns even darker, and Yosuke breathes in the sweet air, listens to the cicadas in his ear. 

“If I told you that my parents are letting me stay in Inaba for this school year, too?” 

Yosuke feels like he’s been punched in the gut twice. Once because his best friend is staying here again, his best friend will be within arm’s reach once again. 

Twice because Yosuke realises he likes Yu as more than just a best friend. 

It’s a terrifying realisation. But it’s one he welcomes. He knows where his place in the world is. He’s known it ever since Yu placed himself in their lives, made himself comfortable in the spaces of their hearts and made residency in Yosuke’s head, whispering soft things that make way for yearning that makes his entire body ache. 

His place is at Yu’s side, so that’s where he places himself. Hugs his partner so tight he hears bones popping into place, slots himself comfortably in the space between Yu’s arm and side, resting his head on Yu’s shoulder. The fabric of his shirt is soft and comfortable, and Yosuke makes a mental note to steal it from his partner the next time he spends the night. 

“I’d welcome you home, partner.” 

god where do I even start with this. yosuke is my beloved creature and this is just so delicious. love the detail that yosuke migh be from tatsumi port island. yosuke feels like an outcast his whole life, no real friends, no one to care about him until he meets yu. yu just brings the group together, makes yosuke feel seen, like he's important. they're partners, not just friends. yu makes him feel seen for the first time in his life and that means so much to him. yu means everything to him and he just wants to be by his side forever. loving each other. yosuke finally getting the love he deserves.

#i love this one so much actually #nero answers #shackle-foes #souyo #yosuke hanamura #yu narukami #souji seta #persona 4 #p4

[dracoandthehounds]

White Noise - One-Shot

5.1k | Drarry | AU | M | also available on AO3

Draco had nightmares.

It was something Harry had noticed immediately upon his arrival to their safe house. Even though they’d managed a whole room to spare for Draco and all the space they thought he must have wanted, Harry was still woken in the night by the sound of bleary shouting, and gasps, and, once or twice, broken sobs. It went on like that for the first month, with a sort of quiet agreement that fell into place at once that nobody would speak of the nightly ordeal Draco suffered with. Afterall, they all had nightmares, with all the horrible things they’d seen, all the horrible things they’d done. So it was definitely nothing to be embarrassed about.

But Harry learned that with Draco it was different. Because Draco had them every single night.

And Harry became sort of obsessed with fixing it.

Hermione said that Harry was just getting stir-crazy, having to wait for word from the Order about their next mission, and that was why Harry had become so determined to find a way to fix Draco’s sleep, despite the fact that Draco told them all that there was no point, and he’d been having them for years, now. And maybe it was boredom, exhaustion borne from having to pace the old decrepit house in the middle of some forest in Ireland, the exact location known only to Remus Lupin, their secret-keeper. Maybe Harry had gotten tired of watching Hermione pour over books that he knew she’d already read, or of playing chess with Ron, who always, always won, no matter how hard Harry tried, no matter what clever move Harry pulled. Whatever it was, Harry didn’t really care. Because all he saw was a problem that demanded a solution.

His first tactic was simple. After dinner, and just before they all ticked off to bed, Harry brought Draco a mug of warm chamomile tea with a dash of milk to encourage deeper sleep. Draco stared at the mug for several moments, as though waiting for it to explain Harry’s behaviour, before he looked up, eyebrow raised, at Harry, himself.

“To, erm…” Harry stuttered, “help you sleep.”

“Right,” Draco said, looking back down. The muted candlelight caught against the scar that now stretched, jagged and forked, across Draco’s cheekbone. A weird part of Harry couldn’t help but think about all the times Draco had given him shit over the years about his own scar.

And now they matched.

Harry shook the thought from his head.

“Cheers, Potter,” Draco said, sipped the tea, then split off toward his bedroom.

Harry awoke, just a little past two in the morning, to the sound of a strangled gasp coming from the wall that separated their two rooms. And he couldn’t fall back asleep with the sounds of Draco’s panic so close, echoing in the still of the night.

The next morning, after he’d heard Draco leave his room and go turn on the shower in the loo, Harry snuck into Draco’s bedroom. In short order he found the mug from the night prior, and found, to his delight, that the mug had been drained. It gave Harry two answers.

The first was that the tea hadn’t worked to quell Draco’s nightmares, since, obviously Draco had still had them, despite having clearly drank the tea.

And the second was that Draco was willing to accept Harry’s help.

The next thing Harry tried was his muggle wireless. He showed it to Draco the following night.

“And I think we should try two different things with it,” Harry explained. “First, some muggle music, and if that doesn’t work, we can try turning it to a static station— for white noise, alright?”

“White noise?” Draco asked.

“Yeah,” Harry explained. “It’s like a steady noise that you can tune out, and then you won’t be bothered by, like, random sounds. Muggles use it all the time, I think. I read this article in a muggle magazine about it, once. When I couldn’t sleep, summer after fourth year.”

Draco stared at him, then held out a hand. Harry gave him the wireless.

“Are you going to show me how it works, or am I meant to just jab at it until something happens?” Draco asked, eyebrow raised.

Harry huffed out a laugh, then stood up, so he could sit beside Draco. He spent the next twenty minutes explaining the different knobs, and cycling through the different radio stations, until Draco got the hang of it. And he tried to ignore the warm press of Draco’s leg beside his, or the gentle smell of spearmint and lavender that seemed to come from Draco’s white-blond hair. From this close, Harry could see a few small freckles along the back of Draco’s neck that he’d never noticed before. This new knowledge felt like gold.

That night, Harry could hear the gentle sounds of classical music, a bit fuzzy from how far off they were from civilization, as it filtered through the wall separating them. There was something peaceful about the muffled sound. It gave Harry a strange feeling of a far off peace. The lie that maybe, somewhere, things were working out okay.

But, again, it didn’t work. Harry woke to Draco screaming, some choked and pleading cry. He was begging that his mother be spared.

Harry’s heart felt heavy and broken all throughout the next day. Draco’s skin, which had always been pale, did little to hide the growing dark shadows underneath his eyes, as each restless night stacked against each other. It made Harry feel as though he were losing some sort of battle, right at his homefront.

“So, the white noise tonight?” Harry asked Draco over lunch, right after Hermione had shown them the results of her past week of research, some new theories as to why Voldemort hadn’t died after Sirius had hit him with the killing curse last year, during their battle in Diagon Alley.

“Alright,” Draco said, a quick nod. “White noise tonight.”

That night, after dinner, Draco had turned to the three of them, and asked the question they knew was inevitable. “Dumbledore really didn’t tell you? Before he died?”

Hermione sighed, her face falling.

“No,” Harry said. “We think… we think he meant to—”

“We’re not even sure if he knew, Harry,” Ron said, sighing.

Harry shook his head. “I know he was onto something, alright? He’d written me, remember? The night before. That he had an idea how Voldemort came back after that night in Godric’s Hollow.”

“You’re not convinced?” Draco asked Ron.

Ron sighed. “I was, for a while. But… to leave us so in the dark… I don’t know anymore.”

Hermione sighed. “He was caught by surprise. We all were. He didn’t have time to explain.”

“And that’s even if his theory was right,” Ron argued.

Harry rubbed his forehead. They’d had this conversation plenty. He wasn’t sure if it was doing them any good.

But Draco was the one to break it. Draco coughed, mouth tight, then spoke. “I didn’t even know, you know,” he said. “About Barty Crouch Jr.— I had no idea he was still alive.”

Ron looked back up, and Harry could see his strategizing mind running behind his brown eyes. It was like the few times he’d seen Dudley at the computer, and the way the machine would cycle through its programming, its lights beeping as it thought. Harry could sense the same sort of hidden calculations now running behind the neutral expression of Ron’s face.

Right before they’d rescued Draco, the three of them had agreed to not immediately pester him for information, no matter how vital they knew it was. They’d all agreed that giving him the space to answer and to settle was what mattered most, and that if they tried too hard too soon, then the only thing they’d ensure was Draco clamming up, surely assuming that they’d only saved him for information. If they acted like all that mattered was Draco’s insight into Voldemort’s inner circle, then Draco would never trust them enough to realise that they’d saved him for a far simpler reason: that he deserved to be saved.

The inside knowledge was just a bonus.

“We thought,” Ron said, each word slow, “that you-know-who found a way to restore Crouch’s soul. Either that or Crouch never received the kiss in the first place. But, well, if that’s the case… then that would mean that Fudge had been compromised, too.”

“Which, of course, we can’t know either,” Hermione said quickly. “With Fudge dying so shortly after.”

Harry nodded along, but kept his mouth shut. He was no good at this sort of thing. Gentle interrogation, basically, if he were being honest. And they really were lucky that Ron could manage it, as Hermione didn’t have the patience for it, either. She didn’t know how to change tactics in real time, to adapt to constantly changing information. Like a game of chess. What Ron excelled in.

Draco frowned. “I don’t know, either. I only found out that Crouch was still alive after Dumbledore died. I tried to ask my mother, but, well…” he trailed off.

Ron’s eyes flashed quick to Harry and Hermione. A sign, Harry could read, to not say anything more. This was all they’d be getting for the night. It wasn’t much, but anything helped, Harry thought.

At the very least, it seemed to mean that Draco was finally beginning to trust them. Maybe.

Through their shared wall, Harry listened to Draco fiddle with the wireless that night. It clicked past station after station, until Draco seemed to find one that was static enough to his liking. Harry heard a small thump, Draco putting it down, he assumed, then listened as Draco settled into bed.

Another failure.

Harry awoke just past midnight, and the sounds he heard had him choked up before he was even fully conscious.

This time, Draco was crying. He was saying, through tear-choked sobs, that he didn’t know where Potter was, he didn’t know who was in the Order, and he didn’t know how many times he had to tell them the same thing, over and over. He begged and begged until Harry couldn’t stand it, and shoved a pillow over his own head, desperate to stop the pain building in his chest from the misery in Draco’s voice.

After half an hour of this, Harry couldn’t stand it anymore. He stood up, took a deep breath, then tip-toed to Draco’s bedroom.

When he creaked open the door, Draco didn’t wake. In the muted moonlight streaming in through the boarded up window, Harry could see streaks of tears down Draco’s pale face, shimmering like dew on grass. Harry sighed, then walked over to Draco’s bed. He sat, as quietly as he could manage, as Draco continued to thrash, mumbled and unintelligible pleads spilling from his mouth like broken prayers.

And with all the gentle measure he could manage, he reached up and put his palm against the side of Draco’s face, hoping to gently wake him from his nightmare.

Draco didn’t wake.

But he did calm.

Harry watched, in frozen shock, as Draco turned his head toward Harry’s palm. At once, his face softened, as he pressed harder against it, breathing in Harry’s skin like it had been the answer all along. Harry stared, not daring to move, as Draco continued to sleep soundly for the next ten minutes. He didn’t stir, or thrash, or mumble. He only slept. His face was still and content.

When Harry’s arm went numb, and he couldn’t justify staying any longer, he removed his arm as gently as possible, stood up, then walked as quietly as he could back to his room. And from what Harry could tell, Draco slept through the rest of the night in complete silence.

When Harry saw Draco the next morning, his face heated immediately, as though something far more scandalous had happened between them in that shadowy room.

“How’d you sleep?” Harry choked out.

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed. “Differently,” he said after a moment. “I think… I think I still had nightmares, but maybe not as many…” He looked up. “I suppose the muggles might be on to something with that ‘white sound’ of theirs.”

“White noise,” Harry corrected automatically.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He walked off, and Harry considered telling him about what might have actually helped. But he didn’t know how to say it. Didn’t know if he could stand the look on Draco’s face as he did.

Around midday, it began to rain. It started as a dull drizzle, but really began to pick up around dinner, with thunder and lightning to boot.

“Rain is also a sort of white noise,” Harry explained as he picked his way through the bland vegetables that Ron had cooked. They’d run out of spices months ago, and were meant to get a package from Katie Bell a few weeks ago, but it never showed up. Harry was trying very hard not to think too much about what that meant. It could only be bad, afterall.

“Should I not use the wireless, then?” Draco asked.

Harry shrugged. “Might be worth testing the rain instead. Maybe it will work better, I dunno,” he said, looking away, so he could hide in the truth he wasn’t admitting.

“Alright,” Draco said. “Whatever you think is best.”

Harry laughed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s your experiment, isn’t it? Don’t want to mess with the results.”

“Spoken like a true scientist,” Harry said, smiling.

“That’s a muggle thing, isn’t it?” Draco asked. “I think Blaise once… he explained.”

“Yeah,” Harry said.

Draco watched, as though expecting him to continue.

“Er— Another time, maybe. It’s complicated,” Harry said, shrugging. Afterall, he still hadn’t found a good way to manage his rudimentary knowledge of science against the existence of magic. He definitely didn’t have enough that he felt confident to explain it to Draco. All of that sounded like something he ought to leave up to those Ministry researchers in the Department of Mysteries.

If there were any of them left, that is.

Harry heard Draco open his window that night. The wireless was off, just as Draco said it would be, and with the sound of rain falling outside of his own window, Harry felt himself pulled to sleep even quicker than usual.

He woke to the sound of Draco yelling. For a moment, Harry’s heart thudded, as Draco sounded more lucid than usual, but only a moment later, Harry realised it was only another nightmare. They weren’t under a real attack. At least, for now.

And like a true scientist, Harry felt he had to test this new theory of his.

He walked, as quietly as he could manage again, to Draco’s room. With a gentle touch, he opened the door, and Draco’s shouts got louder as he moved in, and the space between them cleared of walls, and doors.

And then, a sudden clap of thunder, and a flash of lightning that was far too close, and Draco was shooting up, shouting, eyes wide-open and wild.

“Potter?!” he demanded to the open air, hand over his chest. “What on— what on earth…”

“Sorry!” Harry said, gasping, staring. “You were… you were having another nightmare, I’m sorry, and last night, damnit, I’m sorry—”

Draco’s breaths finally settled, as he continued to stare bewildered at Harry. “What?” he asked again, shaking his head, eyes darting around the room, as though looking for more assailants hidden in the corners.

Well, Harry figured. The ruse was up. He began to explain.

“Last night, you were having a nightmare, so I came in, and I tried to wake you up, but, I dunno, when I touched you… you actually slept soundly, for once, and I wanted… I wanted to see if it worked again… I dunno, I’m sorry,” Harry admitted, his cheeks heating hot and strong. He felt embarrassed, and horrible, and very, very stupid.

Draco only stared at him, mouth still parted.

“Right, well, sorry, again. Goodnight,” Harry said, turning on his heel and walking toward the door.

“Wait.”

Harry’s heart thudded. He turned around to Draco staring at him.

“What?” Harry asked.

“If that… if that worked,” Draco said, speaking softly and slowly, “we should test it, again, shouldn’t we?”

“Are… are you sure?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded, though he still looked scared, as though waiting for the trick surely just around the corner. And Harry could only stare at him, struck into a bit of awe, as Draco, in small little movements, edged to one side of his narrow bed.

He was making room for Harry.

Saying nothing, too afraid to ruin this momentary miracle, Harry walked forward, then climbed into bed beside Draco. And, still staring at him, Harry lied down, laying his head on Draco’s other pillow, as Draco mirrored him, staring right back. All movements that might, in any other scenario, be simple and common, but, in this exact scenario, couldn’t be more improbable. Couldn’t be more miraculous.

“Where, er—” Draco asked, his voice hoarse, likely from the yelling, “did you… where—”

“Here,” Harry answered, bringing his hand up as slowly as he could manage, trying his best not to startle Draco. He laid it against Draco’s cheek, the exact way he had the night before. Draco’s cheek felt just as soft to the touch.

And at his touch, Draco’s eyes widened, then flicked to Harry’s hand, where it cradled his cheek. And then they shot back to Harry, who could really see how grey they were in this close proximity. They were the same shade as the stone walls of Hogwarts, or maybe they were more like the gentle grey clouds that covered the English sky in the winter. They seemed to have that same sort of diffused glow, as though sunlight lingered behind them.

And Harry could smell the spearmint again.

“I don’t think I can fall asleep like this,” Draco said after a moment, the corner of his mouth creaking up into a smile.

“Oh!” Harry said, a small breath. “Right, of course,” he said, pulling his hand away.

“Maybe, um,” Draco said, before pausing.

And Harry watched as Draco turned over, facing away. For a moment, Harry was confused, until he felt Draco’s hand, his sharp narrow fingers, grab his own.

So they could pull Harry’s arm up and over, so that it would wrap around Draco’s waist.

Even with the thunder and rain outside, there was no way that Draco couldn’t hear the sound of Harry’s heart, as it hammered in his chest.

“This alright?” Draco asked. “I think this might be the only way we can fall asleep, if you’re supposed to be touching me, and all.”

Harry coughed, his mind like fuzz. “Yeah… this, er— it works.”

“Alright,” Draco said. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” Harry said, wondering if maybe all of this was a dream. A really, really good dream.

And Draco was mad if he thought Harry could fall asleep like this.

But Harry didn’t exactly mind. He was more absorbed with marvelling over how different Draco was now, how easy and pliant he had become. Harry couldn’t imagine the Draco of his younger years ever entertaining this sort of thing from Harry. Ever agreeing to sleep in the same bed with him, with Harry’s arm laying curled around his waist. Ever trusting Harry to only want what’s good for him.

But, Harry supposed, war tends to do that. Change people. Soften their edges. Or harden them, sometimes. Harry was glad that it hadn’t broken Draco. From the stories they’d heard, the visions Harry had seen, through Voldemort’s eyes, of what had been done to Draco, that too was a miracle, all of its own. A miracle that Draco was still alive, beneath Harry’s arm. That that good heart of his, that he’d spent so long pretending didn’t exist, still beat inside of him.

Beneath Harry’s arm, Draco’s breaths seemed to deepen.

Harry realised that the tosser had actually fallen asleep. He huffed out a silent laugh, then closed his eyes and tried to sleep himself. And despite how impossible of an idea it was, to think he could relax with Draco only a few inches from him, with the warmth of Draco’s waist, pressed tight against Harry’s arm, the gentle rumble of Draco’s magic, teeming beneath his skin… There was also the sound of rain, a constant patter against the forest around them, and the smell of ozone and wet dirt that blew in with every breeze, and all of it together began to culminate into Harry actually succumbing to the sweet quiet of sleep.

Harry awoke to the stream of sunlight, and something tickling his nose.

He wrenched his eyes open, and in the blurry haze without his glasses, realised something very quickly.

During the night, Harry had somehow managed to shift even closer to Draco. So close, in fact, that Draco was now pressed entirely against him, still breathing slowly, still asleep. But his back was tight to Harry’s chest, and their legs were tangled up together beneath the sheets, and he could feel Draco’s arse, pressed right up against him, and—

Immediately, Harry’s heart set to hammering again, at the feeling of Draco’s warmth, now basically surrounding him.

And Harry, unable to help himself, could only pull Draco even closer, dipping his own head forward, and pressing his face against the back of Draco’s neck.

Harry fell back asleep, surrounded by the smell of lavender.

When Harry woke up the second time, he was alone. Ignoring the weird thud in his heart at that realisation, Harry got up, and trudged back to his room to get dressed.

He nearly walked straight into Hermione on the way.

She stared at him, her mouth opening and shutting, as though cycling through a hundred different things to say.

“Were… were you in Malfoy’s room?” she asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Er— yeah,” Harry said, scratching at his head, feeling his cheeks redden. He looked everywhere but Hermione’s eyes. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to do that.

“Oh,” Hermione said. “Okay.”

In surprise, Harry met her eyes.

She smiled.

And that was all they said of it.

Harry eventually found Draco, crouching in their back garden and surveying over their collection of recently sprouted herbs.

“Hi—”

“The basil doesn’t need to be in this prime of a location,” Draco said, at once.

“Oh.”

“In fact, you could probably swap it with the rosemary— they usually like a bit more sun than I think the one you’ve got here is getting,” he continued. “Rosemary is Mediterranean, so that means they like pretty much all the sun they can get, but basil is tropical, so all that sun it’s currently getting might be drying it out, I think. At least, from what I remember.”

“Okay,” Harry said. “You can, er— take it over, if you’d like. I’m sure Hermione would like the reprieve.”

“Okay,” Draco said, standing back up. “I’ll talk to her.”

Harry watched as he walked stiffly past him, and, as though on instinct, couldn’t help but shoot his hand out, to grab at Draco’s thin wrist.

Draco startled, before staring back down again at Harry with those big grey eyes that Harry was getting to know so well.

“How did you sleep?” Harry asked.

Draco scanned over Harry’s face before responding. “Better.”

“Good,” Harry said, nodding. He released Draco’s wrist.

And Draco took a step inside, and Harry wasn’t sure what any of it meant, but then, just before he’d walked away entirely, Draco turned back around.

“Again, tonight?” he asked, over his shoulder, refusing to meet Harry’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “We ought to be thorough. For the experiment, I mean.”

And, miraculously, Draco laughed.

That night, Harry spent a good twenty minutes sitting on his bed. It was one thing to sneak into Draco’s bedroom in the middle of the night, heralded in by a nightmare, but it was another thing entirely to go off to bed with him. Like they were… like they were something else.

But ever the brave Gryffindor, Harry managed.

He crossed down the hallway, wondered briefly if Hermione ever did this with Ron, before he knocked on Draco’s door, just twice.

“Come in,” Draco said.

So Harry did.

The only light came from a flickering oil lamp on the rusted metal bedside table next to Draco’s side of the bed.

Draco’s side, Harry repeated in his head, accompanied by a weird, almost painful, thud of his heart.

Draco was holding a book between his slender fingers.

“What’re you reading?” Harry asked, as he forced himself to continue forward, climbing into bed with Draco like any part of this was normal. Like it was routine.

“A muggle book,” Draco answered. “The Great Gatsby. I found it in the cellar.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “How is it?”

“A bit sad.”

“Oh.”

Draco sighed, stuffed the ripped bit of paper he must have been using as a bookmark back inside the book, then placed the book on the bedside table. Immediately after, he blew out the lamp, sending them into a sudden darkness.

Harry lied back down, but couldn’t bring himself to pull Draco back into the position they were in last night. It was too much, he felt. He’d need Draco to do it, or else he’d never allow himself something so unbelievable.

“Potter,” Draco said, still sitting up, and not looking at him.

Harry propped himself up on his elbows. “Yeah?”

“Is this… is this part of your whole… saving-people-thing?” Draco asked.

“What?” Harry asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“I heard Granger call it that, back in sixth year, after you told Pansy that you’d find a way so she wouldn’t have to go back home for Christmas… you know, after you heard about her family, and how terrified—”

“No,” Harry said, interrupting him. “I, er— I know what you’re referring to, I mean.”

“So?” Draco asked again, still not looking at him. “Is it?”

Harry paused, bit at his lip. How was he supposed to tell Draco that no, it wasn’t? It was something far, far more than that. Something that Harry might not have had the words for yet. Something that Harry wanted all to himself.

“No,” Harry finally said, after a moment.

Draco didn’t respond, continuing to stare forward.

So Harry reached his hand out, graced his fingertips along the cotton back of the t-shirt that Draco was wearing to sleep. Draco once wore silk pyjamas to bed, Harry knew, but he didn’t have them anymore. He didn’t have anything of his own, really, since he had no idea he was to be rescued, and therefore no clue to pack any sort of bag on that night that Harry and Ron had broken into Malfoy Manor like thieves, coming for his rescue.

Instead, Draco wore a combination of Harry’s and Ron’s clothing, along with some other bits and pieces they’d managed to collect in the long time they’d spent on the run. A flannel shirt Oliver Wood had forgotten to pack when he’d left, after only the one night with them. A thick heavy sweater that Lavender Brown gave to Hermione after Hermione had mentioned to her how cold the nights were getting, back in November.

A wool beanie that now had one or two holes, but that Harry still treasured deeply, because it had come from Colin Creevy, on the last time Harry had seen him before he’d been murdered in cold blood by Alecto Carrow.

Harry thought Draco might have shivered at his touch, as his fingers trailed along the ridges of Draco’s spine. Draco turned around, and Harry could only just make out his eyes in the heavy dark of the room. In the momentary silence, Harry could hear that the rain had started up again, just barely.

“Then what is this?” Draco asked.

Harry sat up fully. He placed his hand back against Draco’s cheek, and felt the warmth of his skin beneath his palm. For a moment, Draco looked at peace.

“It’s me being selfish,” Harry said, then leaned forward and kissed him.

He felt Draco gasp beneath him, and waited, unmoving, so he could allow Draco the space to choose for himself what he wanted next.

And Harry really did feel selfish, as he sat there, in the middle of all that tragedy and war, because, in that moment, he’d never felt so lucky. No, all he could feel was unbridled, selfish relief, as he felt Draco kiss him back.

Draco’s lips pressed firm against Harry’s, and Harry’s hands fell to Draco’s waist, where he pulled him in tighter, finally succumbing to something he’d always wanted and never thought he’d have, never thought he’d be lucky enough to find.

It felt like everything Harry had always dreamed it might, yet somehow more, somehow brighter, and stronger. As Draco’s lips slid against his, and as his tongue glided out, soft against Harry’s lip, Harry wasn’t even sure if he was still breathing. If he still needed to, at all.

Draco pushed him by the shoulders, until they were lying down, Draco half draped across Harry’s chest as he continued to kiss him, demanding, yet soft, almost like those fights they used to fall into like clockwork, but with the need, raw and scorching, that underscored all of them.

Harry doesn’t know how long they laid there, kissing, praying into each other’s bodies like they might never see the sun again. He felt as though they’d slipped into some pocket of time, far away from the world surrounding them. Because it no longer felt like war.

At some point, they fell asleep, Harry’s arms around Draco, holding him, enveloping him, like the promise Harry wanted to make him, that he’d never let Draco suffer again, the way Harry knew he had. It was an impossible promise, Harry knew that. But he wanted to make it all the same. He wanted to make it to Draco every night. He wanted to find a way to hold this fragile incredible thing safe in the palm of his hand.

He knew it was impossible. He knew everything around them was as temporary as the frost that lingered in the trees during the dark morning hours, before the sun rose to melt it all. Harry knew that, at any moment, he could die, he could be captured, he could finally meet the death he was famous for evading. He knew they were all living on borrowed time.

But in that moment, with Draco’s lips on his, and the feeling of Draco’s heart beating against Harry’s chest, Harry felt, for the first time in quite a while, the bright flicker of hope.

And that night, Draco didn’t have a single nightmare at all.

#harry potter #drarry #draco malfoy #harry x draco #fanfic #one shot #drarry fanfic #snippet

[vivienne-writes]

Wrong Flask

Summary: Self-explanatory title, Garreth was supposed to hand you a flask of his Fizzing Whizzbeer, but accidentally gave you firewhisky instead. No smut, just cute fluff.

“One should always be drunk. That's all that matters...But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.” 

― Charles Baudelaire, Paris Spleen

It was a quiet day at Hogwarts, with the sun breaking through the last remnants of a dying storm. The breeze held the first delectable hints of summer as the air grew warmer. After having been cooped up in the castle all week, its residents were eager to laze around the grounds, visit Hogsmeade, or catch a flight on their broomsticks, if only to feel the sun dance on their skin. Consequently, the castle was mostly empty, save for those who prefer the rare solace of a vacant dormitory. Garreth Weasley was one of them. 

He could finally work on his Fizzing Whizzbeer in peace without Leander or Natty constantly chastising him over his shoulder. The cauldron bubbled furiously beside an open window while Garreth carefully fanned the red smoke. He didn't want to mess with the flame, but the last time he let his concoctions fester, all of Gryffindor Tower ended up reeking of spoiled milk and burnt hair. None of his fellow housemates allowed him to sleep there for a week. 

But his potion was just about done. All it needed was the slightest pinch of ground billywig stings. Garreth's hand shook as he held it over the potion's curdling surface. Too much or too little, and months of hard work would be sent down the drain. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger the slightest bit, letting the faintest dust of powder escape his touch, and – POOF!

The potion instantly turned from burgundy red to fuchsia pink, releasing a small sparkling cloud of the same hue. He’d done it! He had finally done it! Garreth did a little celebratory jig, his foot bumping the table and nearly sending the cauldron a-tumbling. 

“She needs to see this,” he muttered excitedly, scooping a generous portion into a silver flask. 

“GARRETH WEASLEY!” 

With a surprised jolt, Garreth quickly emptied his cauldron and vanished any remaining evidence with a mad flourish of his wand before whirling around to come face to face with his aunt. 

“Good morning, Aunt Matilda,” he grinned sheepishly, hoping with all hope she didn’t see him stow the silver flask in his pocket. 

Professor Weasley sighed. “It’s late afternoon already, but I suppose you wouldn’t have noticed. What hare-brained scheme are you up to now, Garreth?”

“Nothing,” he replied quickly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed guiltily. 

Rubbing the bridge between her brows, Professor Weasley had half a mind to inquire further. But if the dormitory didn’t smell, and nothing was on fire this time. Perhaps she could let it go. Just this once. “Go join your friends, child, before I change my mind.”

"Yes, ma'am." She didn't need to tell him twice. He was gone before she looked up. By the time Garreth found his fellow fifth years, he had forgotten entirely about the flask in his pocket. 

“Crikey, Weasley’s actually left the castle!” Nellie gaped from where she lounged by the lake, the shade of the tree overhead dancing around her face. 

“Someone pinch me,” smirked Duncan. “Ow! I didn’t mean it literally, Nellie!”

“Where’s Lee?” asked Garreth, ignoring their jabs as he settled on the grass next to Natty. 

She turned the page of her book and, without looking up, replied, "Off on some stupid dare with Sallow and Clopton.” 

“It’s not stupid,” Leander said as he approached, flanked by Sebastian and Everett. Natty looked them up and down, ready to retort, but decided against it. She returned to her book with a dismissive roll of her eyes. 

“What did you lot have him do this time?” asked Garreth. 

Sebastian crossed his arms and leaned against the tree. “We simply tested Prewett’s bravery the old-fashioned way. Steal liquor from the Hog’s head. And wouldn’t you know it? The bastard actually did it.” 

Leander frowned. “You can have a little more faith in me, you know.”

“Did you swipe enough?” The devilish grin on Everett’s face grew slightly. He caught the silver flask before it hit his face. “Yes!”

“Here’s one for you, Gaz.”

Another silver flask landed on Garreth’s lap, and in a blink of an eye, he was back on his feet. The others stared at him in surprise. 

“Shit! I almost forgot!" And just like that, he raced back towards the castle, disappearing in a mad rush of black robes and red hair

“He could’ve at least given it back,” Sebastian muttered with a shake of his head. 

When he found you, Garreth was panting and out of breath. Curse the founders. The astronomy tower didn’t need so many steps! His footsteps were heavy on the wooden staircase, alerting you and Amit to his presence. 

“Garreth?” you asked worriedly. 

He rested his palms on his knees, his lungs gasping for air. “I’ve…finished…it,” he wheezed, fishing out a silver flask from his robes. 

Amit grimaced. “Not again.” He scrolled up his star chart and collected his ink and quill. “We can finish this another time. But I’d rather not be here for this.” Your quizzical eyes followed him as he darted around Garreth and made his swift escape.  

All the better for Garreth. If he was being honest, he enjoyed your company. Alone. He held out the flask invitingly. “It’s my Fizzing Whizzbeer. I promised you’d be the first to try.”

You opened the flask and sniffed it gingerly. It smelled… spicy. “Is it safe?” you glanced up cautiously, giving the flask a tentative swirl. 

Garreth nodded enthusiastically. “Chug it!”

“Well, if you say so…” With a deep breath, you brought the flask to your lips and threw your head back, downing the beverage in one go. Gulp after gulp, it felt like liquid flame setting your body aglow with spicy, smooth warmth. It tasted nothing like the candy that inspired it. But whatever this was, it tasted delicious. Perhaps an acquired taste, but delicious, nonetheless. 

“Well?” Garreth asked, waiting for the levitating to occur. “How is it?”

You blinked. The room began to spin, and you threw a hand out to steady yourself. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. But with your senses dulled, there was no way for you to tell. You just felt funny and warm all over. 

“It feels g-good,” you hiccupped, clutching Garreth’s robes before stumbling into him. 

“Oh no,” his heart sank. “This wasn’t supposed to happen…”

He grabbed the flask from your hand and brought it to his nose. Firewhisky. He accidentally gave you the wrong flask. If his aunt found out, he'd never hear the end of it. Thankfully, she never ventured up this far. And if she did, he could hear her incoming footsteps. 

"I should get you some water," he made to leave, but when he released you, one of your legs buckled. You grabbed onto the nearby steel railing for support, and Garreth cursed. He gently took hold of one of your elbows, his other hand flying to your hip to ease you clumsily onto the floor. "On second thought, let's sit here for a bit, shall we?" 

With a nod, you rested your forehead against the cool railing, savoring the feel of the spring wind that whipped your hair. It felt delicious against the rapidly growing heat of your body. Garreth looked you up and down worriedly with a gnaw of his inner cheek. And when he took in your flushed skin, your closed eyes as you enjoyed the dying sunlight and snappy wind on your serene face, guilt raced through his being before settling heavily on his shoulders. 

With a frustrated sigh, he ran his hands down his face. “What is wrong with me?” he muttered. At the sound of soft chuckling, Garreth looked up to find your eyes fixed on his. 

“You want to know what’s wrong with you, Garreth?” you smiled lazily. “We can start with how careless you can be sometimes.”

“Um… thanks?”

Your smile grew wider. "You're smart but easily distracted. Once an idea gets into your head, you never let it go. Not until you've tried it. It's quite adorable, really."

Exactly how strong was that firewhisky? You were usually less chatty. You've never looked at him this way before, either. Hungry. As if you desired him somehow. His palms began to sweat, and Garreth averted his eyes, fixing them onto the pink and purple skies as the sun’s descent welcomed the twinkle of stars. The last of its beams speared through mountain peaks, bathing everything in the valley with its fiery glow. 

“You’ve got the most beautiful eyes,” you spoke softly now, in a hushed tone that seemed more reverent than shy. “Has anyone ever told you that? Like rustling meadows in the summer.”

At that, Garreth couldn’t stop the bark of laughter. “No. Never,” he replied. “I’m beginning to think you’re flirting with me.”

He meant it as a joke to brush off your comments. But he didn't expect you to retort with, "Have been for a while now, but thanks for noticing." His heart somersaulted before pounding relentlessly against his chest. Did this mean…? "Yes, I've liked you for some time now," you continued, sitting up to watch the sunset. "But you don't seem to like me back. Not in that way, at least. That's another thing wrong with you. You're so terribly dense."

A frown tugged at your lips as you swayed. It wasn't like you to be this honest. But something about that brew made you feel light. Carefree. As if nothing mattered in the world. You could say anything or do anything, and right now, you wanted to tell him how you feel. How you've felt since the day you laid eyes on him… even if he didn't like you back, you've said your piece, consequences be damned. Garreth’s silence should have worried you, but you found you didn’t care. Your nerves sang with that uplifting warmth, and nothing could bother you. Nothing could touch you. 

Until you felt a trembling hand splay over yours, a thumb timidly rubbing your knuckles. Your head snapped up to find Garreth looking pointedly away. But the neck and ears that peeked out from his wild hair had bloomed into a furious blush. And so very faintly, underneath the howling wind that whipped through the tower, you almost didn’t hear him when he said, “I like you too.”

You giggled, blushing furiously as your heart soared. You could’ve ripped it out your chest and chucked it off the tower, and it would’ve flown up with the streaming gale. High, high above the castle towers, into the clouds beyond. 

"I didn't catch that," you teased, soft peals of mirthful laughter escaping your lips as you brought a hand up to your mouth. "Could you repeat that?"

With a sidelong glance, Garreth huffed indignantly. “You heard what I said.”

You shook your head and scooted closer, resting a head on his shoulder. Dizzy from the drink, from the revelation he shared your affections, from his hand that never left yours. “I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave,” you pouted, batting your lashes at him coquettishly. 

But the pout of your lips pulled the entirety of Garreth’s focus. They were plump and tempting, mere inches away from his. Lips he had spent countless daydreams on, fantasizing the feel of it against his tongue, his teeth. The silence and tension lay thick and heavy, as heavy as the curtain of dusk as night drew ever closer. 

His voice strained but laced with want, cut through the silence as he said, "Earlier, you told me I never let an idea go, not until I've tried it." His throat bobbed as he cupped your face, your skin underneath his fingers tingling with excitement. "I… I want to try kissing you now. May I?"

He shouldn’t have asked. You were inebriated, your inhibitions broken down by the liquid fire churning in your body. But so was he. Drunk off the very scent and sight of you. Drunk off the magnificent eyes that threatened to devour him whole. And he’d let you. He’d let you have him any way you wished, any time you wanted. 

“Yes,” you whispered, leaning closer, his soft breath ghosting your lips as you closed your eyes. Finally, after all this time pining, wanting… you were so close to finally getting a taste…

“Hey Gaz, if you weren’t going to drink that firewhisky, Sallow wanted me to – oh my!” Leander gasped. 

And just like that, his interruption sobered you up like a bucket of ice-cold water. You turned away from Garreth with embarrassment and shame as he got on his feet to hurl the empty flask at Leander's head. 

"Get. Out." He hissed venomously, bristling with equal shades of embarrassment and frustration. His friend always had shit timing, but Garreth was so close! So frustratingly close. Now the moment was ruined. 

Leander stopped the flask in its path with his wand before shoving it inside his pocket. “Trust me, I won’t breathe a word,” he said before he tucked his tail and ran. 

With an exasperated sigh, Garreth pulled you up to your feet. “Let’s get you back. You need food and water.” 

Your heart sank. Did he… did he not want to kiss you anymore? Your downcast eyes fell on your shoes as you refused to look him in the eye until you felt a soft kiss on your temple. You looked up at him questioningly, taking in the furrow of his brows as he anxiously shifted his weight from one leg to the other. 

“I still want to kiss you,” he said, eyes darting to your lips. “But not when you’re drunk.”

“So when?” This was your chance, and you didn’t want to let it go. 

Garreth ran a nervous hand through his hair. "Let me court you the right way. Take you out to Hogsmeade. I do owe you for accidentally getting you drunk."

And with a bright smile, you said, “It’s a date!”

#garreth weasley #garreth weasley x mc #garreth weasley x you #garreth weasley x reader #weasley wednesday #hogwarts legacy

[vyglitchcraft]

Twice As Many Stars

Fujin x Terminally Ill! Reader

Content: angst, short story, thoughts of death, implied early onset dementia, reader forgets Fujin for a moment, GN reader, reference to the Two Headed Calf poem by Laura Gilpin

Plot: Fujin stargazes with the reader

The night was oddly windy. Sitting down on the edge of a cliff, you feel the breeze through your hair, moving the grass between your fingers. The stars shine beautifully tonight.

You heard the soft grass crunch under the weight of someone's footsteps. He sat next to you, the man with eyes as bright as the stars above. He placed his hand over yours, a gentle warmth covering the coldness of your body. Your head leans against his shoulder, the glow of his markings makes it feel as if you're hugging the stars themselves.

"There are twice as many stars as usual"

He held your head as your tired body relaxed.

"I don't know when i'll fade away, i'm scared..."

Your eyes welling up with tears. He admits, he is scared as well, he has lived through many losses, many tragedies yet he had this lie in his head that this time, someone will be next to him until the universe itself ends. He hushes you, pulling you closer.

"Tomorrow when the farm boys find this

freak of nature, they will wrap his body

in newspaper and carry him to the museum."

Your arms wrapped around his torso as tears soaked into his clothes.

"I don't want to forget you...what if i don't recognise you anymore?"

He didn't know how to answer, from his years and years of experience, he still fell silent from your question. He only pressed your head against his chest as he solemnly looked away. "What happens tomorrow, it happens. For now, you are here with me, let us forget our future for now. Please, let us watch the stars together" you only nodded.

"What if we fade together? Will we be the stars in the night sky?"

"But tonight he is alive and in the north

field with his mother. It is a perfect

summer evening"

"No, i will not let you be just another star. You will be the constellation that guides travelers, the morning star in the sea of endless white dots, the warmth that brings life, i will make sure you shine with an unforgettable light" his voice shaky, his hold on your becomes tighter as tears fell from his eyes. "What about you?" you asked as you held his hand and pressed your lips against his knuckles "i will forever admire you from here, and when i fade, i would finally join you, together, both of us, for eternity" you smiled at his words. "I like the sound of that"

"the moon rising over

the orchard, the wind in the grass."

"When i fade away, please remember me always. When i join the stars, i will be watching over you, always. Even when i inevitably forget you, please keep thinking about me"

He finally cried, sobbing into your hair as he hugged you. The wind cried with him, howling around both of you. As you looked up, you could see the universe in those beautiful white eyes. Your hand cups the side of his face, your forehead against his. "I love you, i will always love you, from now until eternity, i love you"

You moved away slowly, letting him go as you sat beside him once more. Both of you watching the stars twinkle as if the world around you couldn't be more irrelevant. A shooting star flew across the sky and he couldn't help but ask if you made a wish but you only answered with confusion

"Who

Are

You?"

"And as he stares into the sky, there are

twice as many stars as usual."

Tonight, the sky seemed more empty as usual as if the amount halved. He sat on the edge of the cliff, now beside him is just an empty spot except for a ring for a wedding that will never come. He saved a spot for a person that won't arrive but he's fine with that. His hand planted on the ground, the grass between his fingers was warm as if you had just been there. He looked into the night sky for a lover who now watches over and awaits for his arrival so they can both finally fall into each other's eternal cosmic embrace

Author's note: i wrote this all in one sitting while crying in my bed, i have a stack of tissues beside me and i think i emptied half of it

#fujin x reader #mk11 #mortal kombat 11 #mortal kombat x reader #lord fujin #fujin mk #fujin mortal kombat #mk fujin

[inlovewhithafairytale]

You belong with me

But she wears short skirts I wear T-shirts She's Cheer Captain, and I'm on the bleachers Dreaming about the day when you wake up and find That what you're looking for has been here the whole time. -Taylor Swift

Summary: Yn knows Stiles belongs with her.

Warnings: plenty of kissing written by my unexpirienced self. So beware.

"I'm telling you Yn, she defenitly likes me" Stiles voice said excitedly in the phone.

Yn made a face and put the phone upside down on her bed, took a pillow that was laying beside her and let out a muffled yell into it.

Why did it have to be her. Actually, why did it have to be him?. Why couldn't she had fallen in love with any other guy in school? No. She had to fall in love with her best friend. Stiles Stilinski.

"Yn? Yn?"

Yn recluntantly picked up the phone and held it against her ear. "Yes my dear?" Yn said with fake merriment "stiles dude, if you're going to keep telling me of how much you love Lydia and how much you want to marry her. Call Scott" she let her annoyance drip into every sentence she said.

"Why do I feel you hate her? Do you hate Lydia?" The spastic teenager asked her.

"What? No!" She quickly answered " it's just the fact that you can't seem to stop talking about her that annoys me, buy I really see why you like her and I don't blame you. If I were lesbian she would be me top choice. She's gorgeous, smart, popular, funny, great sense of style, and did I mention she's pretty?"

"You sure you're not the one who's in love with her?" Stiles jokingly asked her.

"Stiles. No." Yn deadpanned " so are we going to keep talking about her or are you going to bring me my cheese burger?"

"But I'm already getting in bed" stiles whined through the phone, and Yn smiled knowing he wouldn't deny her anything.

"Stiles pleaseeeeee, I'm hungry, and I'm on my period. Get me my food" and with a small smile Yn turned the call off. And rested back in her bed.

Her Mom had left for her job at a restaurant they owned so Yn was home alone and bored.

Yn and stiles had met when they started middle school and soon they became best friends along with Scott.

Stiles had dragged her along when they had gone into the woods to find a dead body, and that was the night Scott had gotten bitten, and they all got introduced into the supernatural world. They stuck together through the harshness that the knowledge of the creatures of the night brought them. But since Jackson being a kanima and then leaving for London, life had gone to its almost normal routine. It was now summer and Yn spended time pretty much bored except when she hung out with her boys, as she called stiles and Scott.

Yn had fallen in love with Stiles the day that he stood up for her against a bully twice his size back in freshman year, and had gotten a black eye for it. Since then she considered him her hero. But knew that nothing would ever be possible between them because he liked Lydia Martin. And Yn didn't really stand a chance against her. Lydia was popular and Yn was, well Yn was the girl who always had her nose buried in a book and that liked to hang out with boys.

Yn heard the doorbell downstairs and inmidiatly chirped up. Jumping out of bed and trotting downstairs.

"Took you long enough" she greeted smiling Stiles who held two paper bags that smelt like fries and hamburger.

"Well you look gorgeous" he joked walking into the house and toward the kitchen.

Yn just rolled her eyes at him and walked next to him toward the counter where she sat into a stool.

"So your cheeseburger" he said placing one bag in front of her." And your dr. Pepper"

"And that my dear Stiles, is why I love you" yn replied grinning.

After eating and telling jokes to each other. They went upstairs to Yn's room.

"Do you think Lydia likes me?" Stiles asked Falling backwards into Yn's bed.

"I wouldn't really know Stiles. I don't talk personal stuff with her" Yn said in a monotonous voice. All her merriment gone.

"I'm convinced you have something against her. You've said that she was a nice person, and funny and smart, so what's up?" Stiles asked turning to look up at her.

"I don't know Stiles, maybe is the fact that you can't go on one bloody day without talking about her." Came Yn's sharp reply. She didn't really want to reply so courtly, but her emotions were all over the place and it was getting the best of her.

"You didn't stop talking about Thomas when you liked him, remember?" Stiles shot back, wanting to get Yn angry so that she would tell him what was really up. Since he had told her that he liked Lydia more than 2 years ago she had began to become more and more hostile. At first she played along seemingly glad and had seemed even happy. But now she grew annoyed everytime he talked about her, and Stiles really wanted to find out why it was. Maybe Yn had fallen in love with Lydia for real.

"Oh God, don't bring Thomas into this conversation, actually never bring Thomas up. That was so embarrassing" Yn gruffed out as she turned scarlet remembering the guy she used to like when she was 13.

"Common Yn what's up" Stiles began again this time poking her side.

Yn swatted his hand away.

" nothings up Stiles" she lied tugging some of her hair. Stiles inmidiatly knew yn was lying and frowned staring up to her in his queer position.

" you know what?" Said Yn standing up egear to leave the awkward conversation." I'm going to get water"

And started walking toward the door.

" you know?, maybe the truth is you're jealous, because you love Lydia" stiles confronted her, sitting up.

Yn sighed and turned around. Truth being told if she hadn't been in her period she would have probably thought things through but fortunately she didn't.

" you know what? I am jealous" yn stated and stiles stared at her shockingly. Never expecting she'd actually be gay." But not about Lydia. I'm jealous OF Lydia, because she seems to have all your attention" Stiles furrowed his eyebrows confused not catching up. " I'm jealous that you only seem to see her all the time" Yn kept going " when the truth is I want you to look at ME. But of course I mean, She wears short skirts, I wear T-shirts, she's the one cheering on and I'm in the library, Dreaming about the day when you wake up and Find That what you're looking for has been here the whole time."

In that moment Stiles realized what Yn meant and stared at her mouth agape.

" when will you see that I'm the one who understands you? I've been here all along so why can't you see, that you belong with me?" Yn had tears in her eyes as she looked at a very surprised stiles.

"You like me?" Asked stiles looking at her bewildered.

"Yes! I don't see how that is so hard to belive"

"Because all this time I though you only looked at me as a brother or gay bestfriend" stiles answered scrambling to his feet." All this time I've been trying to convince myself that I like Lydia when I actually like you"

It was now Yns turn to be shocked " you really didn't think you could tell me!?" She shaked her head at him " I f you had really liked me you would have asked me to homecoming or to the winter formal"

" I didn't ask you because you always went with Scott!"

" I only went with Scott because he asked me first and I thought you'd join us in our stag dance!"

"Stag what?" Stiles asked confused

" we both went together thinking you'd join us later. There was never anything romantic between us two. We were just watching memes in a corner" yn explained still looking very much confused at stiles

"OK I know see that I was the one who was wrong" Stiles accepted, scratching the back of his head" but you could have told me! You never said anything!"

"Stiles have you met me? I may read thousands of romance books, but I'll never actually say anything"

Stiles and Yn stared at each other and shook their heads.

"God we're dumb" yn muttered pulling a strand of hair behind her ear.

" very much" stiles muttered back.

Yn spared a Glace at his lips and stiles caught her doing so.

He took a step forward and putting a hand against her cheek, he bent down to kiss her.

It was just a peck of the lips. They stared at each other smiling like two stupid people who were in love. And Yn pulled him down to kiss him.

Their lips molded perfectly, and moved in a soft motion against each other, sending fireworks through their bodies. They kissed again and again. One of stiles arms around her waist and the other against her cheek . While yn had both hands pressed against his chest.

Stiles deepened the kiss and yn started forward, still kissing him, backing him toward the bed. When stiles fell down into a sitting position. They pulled back and tried to gain a little of their breaths.

"That was-"

"Amazing" finished stiles looking up at her with an admiring expression.

"Yeah it was" yn muttered and connected their lips again. Just before she could climb into his lap and straddle him heard the garage door open, and inmidiatly pulled back.

"That's my mom" yn stated.

" yes and you look like a mess" stiles said looking at yn who had her lips swollen and her hair messy from the kissing. " I need to go before your mom find us like this"

"Yes. Go, go" yn ushered as he stood up, and she tried fixing a little his hair.

"So after all this time, we finally tell each other everything" Stiles asked her before he opened the door.

"I guess so. " yn replied with a smile.

After stiles had gone out of the door, Yn happily jumped into the bed, and turned off the lights, smiling dummly into the darkness" I knew you belonged with me" she muttered with a grin.

#stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #i love you #you belong with me #Happy stiles #stiles #lydia martin #scott mccall #funny image

[justwritedreams]

Jealous Hands | Mark

Mark x Reader Word count:1966 Genre: fluff, smut. Author: maari Warnings: Mark being jealous, mentions of fingering, Mark and reader doing things in front of someone (that’s the plot). Minors do not interact, please. This is a +18 story Note: OIIII I can't believe I actually dreamed about this what are you doing to me Mark. I tried to make it a little gentle because I'm testing the waters, that’s my first attempt at writing smut so please be nice to me. Summary: Mark can't control his hands when he's jealous.

⪢ NCT Masterlist

Mark was the most understanding person you knew. One of the reasons that made your relationship so special and stable, in addition to his countless qualities that made you fall in love with him. He loved spending every minute with you, no matter what you were going to do, what mattered to him was the fact that you were together. He knew how unique each day was. But deep down, even if he didn't let it show, that Friday was being torture for his common sense and control. In theory everything would be perfect, you had arranged with your best friend to spend the turn from Friday to Saturday eating and having fun, whether with fun movies or games, since it's been a long time since you two have seen each other, her boyfriend too would be there as well as her brother. But in practice, it wasn't all so pretty. Mark noticed the moment you arrived hand in hand the way your best friend's brother was looking at you. It was the same way he, your boyfriend, looked at you. The bastard had a crush on you and his eyes wouldn't stop looking at your bare legs. It was a typical summer night and this was your best friend's house, reason enough to feel comfortable wearing a pair of denim shorts and a T-shirt of Mark's own, twice your size, and also enough to the bastard's imagination ran wild right in front of Mark. To be fair, Mark even tried to ignore the boy's presence as you were talking and even when the pizza arrived, but it was an extremely difficult task. Especially when the guy decided to put one of his hands on your bare thigh as he excitedly chatted with you while your best friend and her boyfriend went to get the pizza. Without you realizing it, Mark held your waist even tighter as he killed the idiot with his gaze.

"You should visit me at practice sometime, Y/N." he suggested and Mark raised his eyebrows, listening intently. "It would be nice." you replied and turned to face your boyfriend, your smile growing. “What do you think, babe?” Mark smirked and shrugged. “Visit the high school? I'm in!" he replied and you looked at him confused. Partly by the unrecognizable tone of voice and partly by what seemed to be a provocation. Collin, your best friend's brother, was only two years younger than the two of you but he was already in college. "I'm not the one with the blue hair." Collin replied while you were still looking at Mark and before you looked back at him, there was time to see a glint of amusement in Mark's eyes. “Y/N likes to pull when my head is between-” Mark was interrupted by the arrival of your best friend and her boyfriend, who were talking loudly about how the pizza smelled and was your cue to stare at your boyfriend in complete shock. Mark wasn't one to reveal intimate details in front of others, in fact when Haechan or Chenle hinted at anything his ears would turn so red they looked like they were going to explode, so hearing that from him was quite surprising. Mark cocked his head to the side as if silently asking you if it was a lie, which it wasn't but no one needed to know, and you had to blink a few times before turning your attention back to the pizza in front of you. The next few minutes while everyone ate was less embarrassing, Mark too busy talking to your best friend's boyfriend and Collin ate in silence, sometimes looking at Mark out of the corner of his eye and you were in the middle of it. Even talking to your best friend, you couldn't help but notice that the atmosphere had gotten heavier and Mark's fingers that didn't leave your waist didn't stop the gentle caress for a moment. After the pizza was over, everyone was too lazy to play something, you guys decided to watch a movie. You and Mark lay together on a couch while your best friend and her boyfriend lay on the rug, and Collin on the other couch. Even though it was relatively warm because it was nighttime, your best friend handed out blankets, you and Mark shared as your legs intertwined and he hugged you around the waist, your back against his chest and you were finally able to relax after a busy week. You even paid attention for the first fifteen minutes of the movie but after that, with Mark's breath against your neck and his other hand under your head making a subtle caress, you dozed off.

Mark took the moment when he felt you relax in his arms to take a deep breath and control himself. He had been jealous before, not least because he was human after all, and he knew he had nothing to worry about because he was the one you were with. It wasn't the others they tried their luck with, not even Collin. In fact, he didn't even know why it had affected him so much, but the image of Collin staring at your thighs with such desire stuck in his head and made him even more angry. Your best friend and boyfriend got up at the end of the movie, warning that they were going to sleep in bed and you woke up with the movement, still lost and agreed while stretching. However, sleepily, you didn't notice that your hips rubbed slowly against Mark's body and you moaned, feeling your muscles complain and your leg tingle from the position you had slept in. It was normal, there was no malice but that's not how Mark's body reacted. He widened his eyes and felt his ears burn as he realized you weren't the only who had woken up. The first thing he thought to do was move your hips away and he reached to take his arm around your waist and put his hand on the skin that had been exposed by the shirt to push it, but his instinct didn't allow it and he ended up bringing you closer as he brought his face to the back of your neck. Mark wanted to relax his body, he even tried but when he realized that this was a losing fight, he placed a wet kiss on your skin. And another, and another. You giggled and brought one of your hands up to his hair for a quick caress but fell silent when you felt his tongue against the back of your neck, a shiver ran over your skin and you bit your lip. You never had a soft spot on your neck before you met Mark because afterwards, no matter how intense the kiss he left on your skin, whether it was a simple peck or a long, wet kiss, every time you felt your legs give out. And now it was no different, even when lying down. Mark took your skin between his lips and you almost forgot where they were. Almost. "Mark." you whispered, hoping he'd get the message, but your voice was already weak. You weren't alone in the room, Collin was still there, he looked like was sleeping but he was still there! Your heart raced even faster as he sucked your skin hard and you wanted to roll your eyes. Had it gotten hot all of a sudden or was it the blanket? He let go of your skin and although the sound was low, in that absurd silence, it was as if it had echoed through the whole house, you started to say something but closed your mouth before any sound came out, because it would surely be another moan completely different from the one you had let go, because Mark took the hand that was on your waist to your belly button and started making circles in that area, which made all the little hairs stand on and the skin prick up under his fingers. Besides making a fire grow between your legs. The right thing would be for both of you to go upstairs if this was going to continue but Mark's fingers playing with your skin like that weren't letting you think about what was right or wrong, just how you wanted him. Sleep had even passed. "I think we'd better-" you started to speak but Mark stopped you before you finished. “Shh.” he replied, his mouth closer to your ear and your stomach churned with sheer anxiety as his hand came down, invading inside the shorts you were wearing. “They will listen to us.” you warned, looking at Collin who was a few feet away, and he giggled, his breath hot against your ear. “Let them.” you didn't know where that boldness was coming from but it wasn't a lie, you were enjoying it. At the same moment you felt your cheeks burn, his fingers reached inside your panties and automatically you took your hand to his wrist, the intention should have been to make him stop but that was completely forgotten when he started to touch you. touch. Slowly, at such a gentle pace that you were forced to close your eyes and just feel. Wet enough, he added another finger and you bit your bottom lip hard to keep the sounds from coming out, because they would be too loud, but that didn't seem to be enough for Mark who instead of just touching you, stuck his fingers in and ripped out all the air you had just sucked in. Mouth set in a perfect O, you moaned softly as he took advantage of the hottest spot on your body that needed him the most. He did a wonderful job with his fingers, but you needed more. And the heat he was emanating from under the blanket, and the fact that you were only now realizing how excited he was leaning against your ass, weren't helping your failed quest to remain silent. "You can do more than that." he spoke close to your ear and placed a kiss there, making you moan his name a little louder. If Collin hadn't heard it before, he did now. “Let them know who you belong to.” you rolled your eyes in pleasure and closed them, not caring if they heard. Screw Collin, Screw your friend and her boyfriend, Screw the world. The only thing you wanted was for Mark to take you to the top. And he was determined to do that because his fingers touched you in the right place and the rhythm increased, making your moans be constant until you feel your toes twitch and a wave of electricity run through your whole body until you release where Mark touched you, feeling him push his hips against yours and you felt the volume, another loud moan too much this time and you were finally able to take a deep breath, feeling your legs go limp and a wide smile forming on your lips as you turned to face Mark. When his fingers left your body, he took them to his mouth and sucked all the liquid he had collected, you felt your jaw drop as he smirked, a gleam in his eyes you couldn't identify but the dilated pupils you understood. “As always, delicious.” he said and you shook your head, laughing shyly. Mark brought his face closer to yours and was about to kiss you when you heard Collin get up off the couch and out of the room as fast as a rocket, Mark could have sworn he saw him huff and it made him smile even wider. The message had been sent, received and read successfully.

#mark imagines #mark fluff #mark imagine #mark lee imagine #mark scenario #mark scenarios #mark lee scenario #mark lee imagines #mark lee x reader #mark lee x you #mark lee x y/n #mark smut #mark lee smut #nct scenario #nct fluff #nct imagine #nct scenarios #nct smut #NCT Dream Scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream x reader #nct dream x you #nct dream x y/n #nct dream smut #Maari

[fanboo]

Stargazing

Slimecicle

You loved stargazing. There was nothing better, in your opinion. Often times you could be found at the park, leaned against a tree and wrapped in a blanket. Off in your own little world.

If someone were to walk around your college and ask your classmates about you, they would each say the same thing: “they’re off in their own world.” That is, if any of them noticed you. Silent in a corner, doodling in a journal until it was time to go. Of course, you noticed all of them. The students here were loud. One in particular stood out to you. Charlie Dalgleish. No matter who the person was, he seemed to get along with everyone. You found it admirable, the way he could befriend anyone with such ease. Even you, it seemed.

Halfway through the semester, the boy had started talking to you. Small at first, just ‘hellos’ in passing, then more, until somehow he’d convinced you to each lunch with him twice a week. The first time you joined him, you were shocked to see he ate alone. Plenty of his friends were around, at their own groups. Charlie seemed to not belong to any one.

Truth be told, you enjoyed eating with Charlie. He was funny, and quite kind. You’d found he was more intelligent then you’d expected. Those lunch ‘dates’ soon became your favorite part of the college, though you’d never admit it. On one such date, Charlie had asked you why you didn’t talk much. “I just prefer to think, I suppose,” you replied. “I don’t like many people, I prefer being by myself at a park.”

The response had prompted him to ask if you had a favorite place, and so you brought him to your stargazing tree at the park. You told him you came most nights just to look at the sky and breathe. “You can join sometime if you want,” you offered. “Are you sure?” He’d asked. “It’s not like I own this tree, Charlie. It’s a public park.”

Charlie did join you, sometimes. Not nightly, but two to three times a week. Sitting under the stars seemed to be magical for him. He went from his chatty self to a quieter, calmer version. Softer, somehow. As the school year came to a close, he was able to come less and less, and eventually had to stop. A week after summer began, he joined you. It was his first time back in weeks.

You greeted him with a smile and small wave. He sat down next to you and looked up. “Summer starting. Any plans?” You shook your head. “Nope. I’m staying here, just working. Y’know, my usual,” you said softly. Charlie nodded. “I’m gonna go out of state the whole time. Hanging out with old friends.” Oh. This shouldn’t have made you so sad, but he was your only friend. You were hoping you could hang out some. “Oh. Okay.”

“I’ll be back. I leave tomorrow night. I just wanted to come tell you, I guess.” The boy stood, so you did, too. “I’ve gotta get some good sleep, huh? See ya next semester, Y/N,” he said, then hugged you. The two of you held each other tightly, as if he weren’t going to return. “See ya, Charlie,” you said when he finally let go.

It was now mid-August, and classes were starting back up. You didn’t have Charlie in any classes this semester, unfortunately. You still had your tree and the stars, though. Nightly still you’d go, leaned against the tree and looking up. Tonight was no different, until you heard heavy footsteps and panting approaching.

Hurriedly you stood and turned to find the source, and you immediately found it. In the time it took you to stand, Charlie had run to you, panting but otherwise okay. “I just go back from the airport,” he huffed. “I came here as fast as I could.” You tilted your head. “You should be resting.”

“I really like you. Y/N.” Charlie looked at you. “I thought I just liked being your friend but then I was gone and I couldn’t sit with you and it was horrible and I missed you and I really like you,” he told you, speaking fast. You took a step back, thought better of it, then stepped closer to him. “I missed you too. It was awful by myself.”

Charlie pulled you into a tight hug and slumped onto you. Now that he had ahold of you, he could relax. “Every second of every day I was thinking of how much I missed you,” he whispered. Shyly, you nodded and pulled him closer. “I missed you too.”

Once the two of you had pulled away, you sat down, leaning against each other. Neither of you spoke for what felt like hours but was probably only thirty minutes. You only broke the silence after hearing a yawn for the fourth time. “You should head back to your place, you’re exhausted,” you said. Your companion nodded and stood, pulling you with him. “You should walk me there, to make sure I arrive,” he said.

So you did. You walked with him to his apartment, only a few blocks off campus. A ten minute walk away from your own apartment, you noticed. “Here we are,” Charlie said when you arrived. “Here we are,” you repeated quietly, outside his door. Charlie unlocked his door and took a step inside, then turned to you. “I-”

You stopped him with a quick kiss on the cheek. “Need to go to sleep. You can catch up with me tomorrow. Okay?” He touched his cheek and nodded. “Okay. Goodnight, Y/N. I- I’ll see you tomorrow.” Smiling, you turned to leave. “Goodnight, Charlie.”

The first thing he did the next day was kiss you.

(I’m in my Slimecicle appreciation phase.)

#mcyt fanfiction #mcyt #reader insert #dream smp #mcytumblr #slimecicle x reader #slimecicle

[grey-gazania-fic]

Root and All

Elrond, still fairly new to Amon Ereb, learns some botany and gets to know Maedhros a little better. Rated G.

Autumn had come to the south of Beleriand. Beneath the fiery canopy of the forest, the creeks and streams were beginning to run cold, and the rabbits, deer, and pheasants walked abundant among the trees. A group of men, too, were moving carefully through the undergrowth. There were seven of them -- five fully grown men and two small, dark-haired boys. Four of the men bore plain bows and serviceable blades; the fifth, who was the tallest, carried only a sword. The boys were unarmed, but they walked in the center of the group where they could be easily protected by the others.

Now and then the men paused. One or another would point something out to the boys -- a clump of fur caught on a bramble, an animal’s faint footprint just visible in the dirt. Twice, the burliest of the men knelt down and slowly strung a looped wire about a peg, which he then buried in the soft earth. The boys watched raptly, their grey eyes bright and intent.

“This time you try,” Halfion said when the group next stopped, handing Elros a length of thin wire. “Do it just like I showed you.”

Elros caught his lower lip between his teeth and began to bend the wire, his small fingers shaking slightly. It took a little time, but eventually he managed to form one end into a tightly-wrapped loop. He then slid the other end through and held up the makeshift noose.

Halfion nodded approvingly and then turned his gaze to Elrond. “You secure it to the peg,” he instructed.

Elrond took the wire from Elros and fastened it to the wood, his own hands much steadier than his brother’s. Then he tugged on it to be certain it was firmly attached.

“Very good,” Halfion said. He set the snare and then stood. “We’ll circle back tomorrow or the day after and check for more rabbits.”

Elrond smiled. While Elros would happily eat perch or charr every day if he could, Elrond had developed a taste for rabbit since coming to Amon Ereb. Stewed, braised, roasted, fried -- however it was cooked, he loved it, though a stew that was thick with meat and root vegetables was probably his favorite dish. Hopefully that was what they would eat tonight. Malnas had brought a camping oven, and they had already retrieved four rabbits from traps they had set yesterday and the day before.

This wasn’t Elrond’s first trip into the forest. Maglor had taken him and Elros out several times in the spring and summer, teaching them to fish in the streams and pluck crayfish from the small pools. But this trip was different. They had been away for a week already, far longer than the two- and three-day stretches they were used to, and in addition to fishing they were learning to set snares.

For the first time, too, Maedhros and Doronel had joined the usual trio of Maglor, Malnas, and Halfion in chaperoning them. On a longer trip, Maglor had explained, a larger group would be safer, and with more people they would be able to carry more game back to the fortress.

Elrond had been nervous at first. He and Elros knew Doronel well enough; the soldier always had a kind word for them when they crossed paths, and he had taught them both to do handstands last winter. But Maedhros remained something of an unknown. When Elrond and his brother had first been taken to Amon Ereb, Maglor had asked them not to trouble Maedhros, and the boys had obeyed. Three years had passed since then, and they still knew very little about Fëanor’s eldest son.

He was the tallest man Elrond had ever seen. He had copper-red hair. Like most of the House of Finwë, he had grey eyes, though his were a darker shade than his brother’s. He spent many nights awake, wandering the halls of Amon Ereb. And something terrible had happened to him a long time ago, something that had robbed him of his right hand and left his skin horribly scarred. But what that something was, Elrond didn’t know, nor was he brave enough to ask.

Still, over the past week he had grown more at ease in the man’s presence. Maedhros was often quiet, yet he was still commanding, and when he had something to say he spoke without hesitation. He was frequently the first to spot the signs of their prey, for his eyes and ears were uncommonly sharp. He could set cunning snares with his lone hand in a way that was truly impressive, and Elrond had yet to grow tired of watching him do it. And he stood guard every night rather than sleep, much to Maglor’s dismay.

Thus far there had been little to guard against. Though Elrond knew that orcs still roamed the forest, the hunting party had yet to encounter any -- something for which Elrond was truly grateful. He had never seen an orc, but he had heard stories both from Maglor and, years ago, from the survivors of Gondolin, the birth city of the father Elrond barely remembered. He did not want to see an orc, and he hoped that the group’s good luck would hold for the rest of the trip.

continue reading on AO3

#elrond #elros #maedhros #maglor #botany #the silmarillion #silmarillion fanfiction #silmfic #tolkien fanfic #tolkien #silm fic #kidnap dads #kidnap family #kidnap fam