#it's not even all songs there but the ones I feel the most red crackle vibes are

[lara635kookie]

#i just love this meme sm #it's not even all songs there but the ones I feel the most red crackle vibes are #carmen sandiego #graham calloway #carmen sandiego 2019 #carmen sandiego netflix #gray #netflix #red crackle #crackle #carmen x gray #cs #carmensandiego #carmen x graham #carmen x crackle #grahamcalloway #graham x carmen #graham crackle #gray cs #gray x carmen #taylor swift

[peachesofteal]

Crane your Neck

"And I placed my palm upon your collarbone, and I wished to fall asleep deep in your marrow, as gently as a mouse curled up in a ball, as gently as a mouse until tomorrow" - Lady Lamb

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick/female reader 2.1k words Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. Violence, blood, gore. Injury. Medical inaccuracies. Hurt/comfort. For @glitterypirateduck's Gazfest One shot/safe house + "I'll take care of you"/"Just like that"

The fire rages. 

It burns across the field, flames licking into the sky, smoke blotting out the sun until he’s not sure whether it’s night or day. Until it’s all he can see, all he can feel, the burn of carbon monoxide, carbon dioxide, seeping through his skin to his bones, burning into the whites of his eyes until he has no choice but to blink them closed, over and over. 

He ducks in between the row of houses, seeking shelter from the ash that falls from the sky. It’s not much, but enough, and he sticks close to the crumbling brick wall, debris and bodies and chunks of homes cluttering his route. 

He holds his weapon steady in front of his body. They come in waves, and he extinguishes each one, step by step, eliminating every single body between him and the last house on the left. 

Your last known location. 

One gets the drop on him, from behind, to his left. The man is fast, but not fast enough, nor skilled enough, to take him in close combat. A blade twists, there’s a flash of metal, of silver, before a prick of pain against his ribs, and then he’s burying his own knife into the man’s neck, seeking the soft spot beneath his jaw and ear. 

His blood spurts like a fountain. Kyle presses on. 

His mind is so focused, so dialed in, that the pain in his side is barely a hum. It sings with the throbbing of his knee, the song of the torn ligament in his ankle. They all come together to fade into the darkness, not even a thought. 

His brain will carry his body until he cannot walk. Cannot fight. Cannot breathe. It is his most powerful weapon. His sharpest tool. 

His radio is gone. The last crackle carrying just the hint of Price’s voice through to him before it chirped a final transmission and went dark. 

“- safe house.” 

He’ll make it. 

But not without you. 

"What is it?"

"What's that?"

"You're... staring at me." you motion with the rag you've got in your hand, and he can't fight the smile that pulls at his lips.

"'m not." He lies. He is, and has been, for the last hour. Staring at you, sitting in the bed of the truck, polishing some arbitrary piece of equipment while he sits and counts small pieces of parts. The sun has started to sink below the horizon, and it bathes you in a rainbow of orange and pink and red, dancing across your skin like a kaleidoscope, ever changing, but never less stunning. He's staring, because he's memorizing it, like a photograph he'll never get to take, something to hold close, to hold on to, to see again and again when he closes his eyes. When he's away from you, or across the room. When he's on a different continent, or buried in a shallow grave.

He finds you exactly where you said you’d be. Laid up in the kitchen of the last house on the left, your favorite LMG clutched in one hand, the other pressed to the wound just below your navel. There’s another body with you, an enemy’s, a man’s, facedown near the table. 

Your blood fans out beneath you, staining the worn linoleum of the room, a room that once probably, held happiness and sorrow. Family gatherings or quiet meals, tears or moments of joy. Now, all it holds is you and the dead man beside you. One in the grave, and the other, clinging to life that spills from a wound like water.

“D-damn, Gaz. Y��come all this way for me?” You cough, lips splitting wide to showcase a bloody set of teeth. You’re playing with him, as you’re prone to do. Fucking around, like you usually are with him, with Soap. It’s something he looks forward to, most days. The sound of your laughter, the way your voice changes when you’re telling a joke or, even better, the way you giggle when you’re laughing about something he’s said. 

“You’re a fucking riot, Garrick.” You’d wipe your eyes, pretty grin stretching across your face while you shook your head. It made him swell with pride, whenever it happened. Whenever he got you to smile like that. 

Now, your smile does nothing to hide the glimmer of fear in your eyes. The panic that ebbs and flows in the room with you, riding the tide every second you draw breath.

You’re in bad shape. 

“Couldn’t leave without my favorite sparring partner.” He kneels, wrapping strong fingers around your wrist. Your own dig into your jacket, trying to hold onto the wound, trying to keep him from lifting your palm. 

“Don’t.” You warn and he shakes his head.   “I’ve got it. Let me see.” His words are insistent, but patient. He won’t force you, but he’s got more strength, more energy than you. You both know it. 

“It’s bad, Kyle.”

“Can’t be too bad, you’re still giving me shit, yeah?” He smiles, and you heave a sigh. 

The exchange is quick. He’s got your hand free in one moment, enough time for blood to slick across your clothes faster than he likes, and then his hand covering it in the next. 

You weren’t wrong. It is bad. Bad enough that one look at it is enough to tell him it needs to be cauterized, and he curses himself for not getting here sooner. 

“What was it?” You grit your teeth. 

“Knife.” You jerk your foot towards the body a meter away, and he tries not think about the struggle that happened. 

“Got one of those too.” He motions to his ribs, and your face screws up into something stricken, something worried. 

“You should have gone right to the safe house.” You hiss, and he ignores it, switching his hand with yours again to source something from the kitchen. 

“Hold pressure.” He instructs, and your head wobbles when you see the glint of the knife in his hand.  “It’s too late for that-“ you mumble, but he shakes his head in denial. 

“Wait here.” 

“Obviously.” A half smile cracks across your face, and he returns it easily before slinking off into the back of the kitchen to find a burner. 

It’s the screaming, that he cannot bear. The act itself is not without struggle, but the sound of your voice breaking, again and again, would be too much for anyone to stand. The smell of your flesh searing is rife against his nose, worse than the smell of the ash and blood that permeates the air outside the door. The sounds of your screams are worse than the struggle of your body beneath his strength, the push and pull of your chest against the arm that pins you down, tries to hold you still. 

“I know, I know.” He murmurs, trying to comfort you, the blade still pressed to your skin as it finishes. “Breathe.” 

The raw scrape of your voice pains him, flickering down into his heart, past everything he’s built to keep you out, everything he’s built to keep his brain focused, to keep himself on point. 

“Almost done, love. Almost there.” He promises, letting the forearm that presses against your chest relax slightly as the knife begins to cool, pulling it away to reveal the burn that will undoubtedly scar and most likely get infected unless he gets you to the safehouse. 

The screaming has already burrowed itself beneath his skin, scarring him the same as you. Something he’ll carry always, the memory of your agony. The sound of your pain. 

He lets you rest, for a few minutes. Sits there in the house against the wall with you, your thigh pressed to his, your lashes sticky with tears. He watches your chest rise and fall, rise and fall, your deft fingers still woven with his. You haven’t let go, even when he repositioned you to rest more comfortably, even when he went to pull away. You kept your grip tight, your eyes trained on the ceiling. 

It feels like a good sign. Good enough of a sign that he’s ready to move the two of you.

“Got a radio?” 

“Negative.”

“Alright, then. Ready?” He shifts onto his feet, knees flexing as he hoists one of your arms around his shoulder. 

“You can’t be serious… I wa-was been bleeding for too long. It’s too far.” He’s a logical man. An intelligent one. He’s very good, too good at calculating the risks, and evaluating opportunities for success. He excels at his work. He strives to ensure his mind is sharp, that his tactical ability, his awareness, is just as on point as it ever was. 

You make this a challenge. More than he cares to admit to himself, to his captain, to his team. 

“Well, I didn’t come all this way for nothing.” He volleys and you scowl. “Let’s go.” It’s firm, and he’s adamant. He cannot be soft now, even though it’s what he craves. What he dreams about at night, in the room across the hall or the tent across the path from you. He dreams of folding your body into his, of holding you tightly against him, stroking your skin and pressing his lips against yours, plucking delicate sounds from your mouth with fervor. 

He wishes, so badly, to be soft but he cannot. Not if he wants to save you. 

And he will. He’ll get you there, to the safe house. There is no other option.

Your legs kick out from underneath you while you try to push upwards, and he uses your grip to leverage you against him, leaving you standing but pressed to his hip, his hand still cradling your stomach. 

You’re close enough to him now that he can feel your ribs expanding and contracting next to him, their slow and steady draw enough to settle the dark tendrils of fear that have sprouted in the back of his mind, quieting the thump of panic in his heart.  “One step at a time.” He encourages, and you glare. 

“Easy for you to say.” You protest, but you do it anyway, syncing your movements with his.

“Just like that.” You nod shakily, and he shoves down the urge to press his lips to the side of your head, to breathe you in. “That’s good.” 

“It’s too far.” You tell him again, but he rebukes it. 

“It’s not. Hardly a click.” The lie doesn’t go unnoticed, but neither of you speak on it. 

You collapse after a click and a half. Your weight sinks into his, head lolling back until he’s lowering you to the ground, squeezing your shoulders and shaking your body to jog you into consciousness. 

“Wake up, love. Come on.” He barks it, unable to be calm, desperate to get you to focus on him. 

Explosions boom from the north. Red streaks across the sky. 

They’re moving closer. The risk continues to rise. 

“Come on, come on!” You blink at him, a little out of focus but conscious, and he doesn’t bother to fight himself anymore, he strokes a hand across your cheek, rubs your temple with a thumb and the sweeps his palm over your forehead. “There you are.”

“Kyle.” Your color is off now, changing rapidly, and even in the glow of the fire, he can see how your eyes struggle to track him. 

You’ve lost too much blood. Even with the cauterization, there’s no reversing what happened before he found you. 

“Think you’ve got ‘nother click in ya?” 

“Kyle.” It’s a no, it’s a request, a protest. You want him to leave. You want him to run. “You have to-“ 

“Don’t.” He spits. “Don’ even bother, you hear me?” 

“I can’t walk.” You insist and he shrugs. 

“I’ll carry you.” Your mouth forms an o, and then closes, before you shake against him. Your fingers tighten in his tac vest, and he pulls your knees and torso towards his body, curving your spine to be carried against his chest. “I’ve got you, alright? We’re almost there.” 

When he breaches the door, it’s with a kick. Your breathing is shallow, and you stay curled beneath him, your head tucked under his chin, arm limp. 

Soap jumps to his feet with a shout, and then he’s clearing a table, helping Gaz lay you flat. 

They’re not medics, none of them have enough field medical training to do more than what’s already been done, but at least they can radio an evac and give you a sedative, some antibiotics. 

Your brow creases in pain. He strokes your cheek. 

“We made it.” He murmurs, and you nod weakly into his hand. 

Soap approaches from the other side with a needle, drawing up a vial while you stare up at Gaz. 

“Medevac?” you croak, and he squeezes your hand. 

“Yes, love. We’ll get you back, get you into medical. And- I’ll… I’ll take care of you.” You smile, teeth still splattered with blood. Smeared with it. “I’ll be with you, the whole way.” 

“Promise?” you slur out. Soap stabs your wound with the needle, but you don’t flinch, don’t even react. 

You just keep your eyes on him, until your lashes are fluttering shut with the weight of the sedative. 

He smooths his hand over your head, before leaning forward to press his lips to your forehead with a whisper. 

“I promise.”

#peaches writes #gazfest #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x you #gaz x reader #gaz cod #gaz mw2 #kyle garrick x reader #cod

[spectoris]

FOR YOUR LOVE | KYLO REN

pairing: kylo ren x gn!reader

summary: kylo's motivations come to light

contains: rivals to lovers, canon typical violence, elements of dark romance, obsessive!kylo, slight ooc kylo (he rambles), implied jedi!reader

word count: 0.9k

a/n: sentence starter from nightprompts, inspired by the song "for your love" by maneskin

“For being someone you hate, I’m on your mind a lot.”

Your words come out through gritted teeth, more of a spit than a sentence. Every inch of your body exerts as much force it contains to hold off against the clash of colors before your squinted eyes. Heels dug into the dark soil, your frame remains stagnant despite Kylo’s imposing bruteness. The crackling red of his lightsaber fills most of your vision, swallowing the color of your blade completely whole. A hesitant gulp runs down your throat. You hate how you can feel the heat of the blades across your cheeks, even in the wintery air.

Kylo sees past your sarcastic facade; you assume he can despite the helmet that obscures his face. His breathing comes out slow but heavy, signaling his exhaustion. To credit yourself, you did put up a good fight. The large crack on the side of his helmet where part of his singed hair peeks through sits as a testament to your force. Still, you’ve strained yourself far past your limits. The adrenaline may have given you a boost before. Now you can hardly keep your legs from shaking.

Despite the close proximity of the two blades, neither of them seem to come any closer. Through your fatigue, you notice Kylo hasn’t moved. His saber may be pressed against yours, holding position, but that’s all there is to it. There’s a sudden stillness to the air, a stark contrast to the tremors of the Force surrounding you two as you fought moments before.

“You are.”

The words take a moment to settle in your ears. You blink blankly at Kylo, grip loosening around the hilt of your weapon. In the split second you let up, Kylo’s lightsaber swings to attack your legs. Instinctively, your saber comes down to block him. You notice it again, the sudden stillness, the fact that he let you defend yourself before his weapon fully came down.

“You are.”

The helmet makes Kylo’s voice come out mechanical, as if programmed by a droid. Yet you can hear the slightest hint of his own unobscured tone. Desperate, like the confession pains him. Kylo’s lightsaber reaches for your shoulder, once again slow enough for you to block. Rather than hold the position, Kylo continues to barrel his lightsaber at you. His relentless attacks drive you further back. Though each clash covers part of his speech, you still hear the words clearly.

“I hate you. I hate you. I can never escape you, no matter how far I go.”

You can’t suppress your scoff. “You, escape me? If I’m not mistaken, you’re the one who keeps coming for me. You’re the one with the army and the forces and the utter brashness to spend your resources on me, Supreme Leader.”

Your foot catches in the root of a tree, throwing you back. You brace yourself for the fall, but an invisible force keeps you upright. Looking forward, Kylo’s hand is outstretched. It quickly falls back to his side. You bring both of your hands back to the hilt of your lightsaber, holding the burning blade between the two of you. Kylo’s still burns, though he doesn’t wield it.

“Everything…All I do…is for you.”

A hot flash of anger replaces the icy chill in your spine. “What in Maker’s name are you talking about?”

“Everything! The armies, the droids, the battles—I did it all for you!” Kylo steps closer. Through the helmet, you sense his face twisted in half anger and agony. “I wanted, I needed you to rule beside me. Create an empire no one else in the galaxy could touch. You could’ve had anything you wanted. I would’ve given you everything you wanted.”

Kylo takes off his battered helmet. You want to tear your eyes away. It’d be easier to dismiss his claims as a possession of the dark side of the Force if you couldn’t sense the genuinity in his pleading eyes. The Supreme Leader has toppled out of his throne.

“Of all things,” you manage to utter, “you thought I’d want destruction?”

“Power,” Kylo spits, his typical curtness returning for a brief moment. “Even the purest of minds want power. The power to heal, the power to help.”

You shake your head no as Kylo takes more steps toward you. You push your lightsaber foward, forcing a bigger gap between you and Kylo. “I’d rather be thrown to the rancors than take anything from you.”

Kylo’s lightsaber is disarmed, now a hunk of metal in his hand. Yours continues to burn and crackle. Drive it through him. Silence him. End this now. Your hands tremble as Kylo’s wraps around them, disarming your lightsaber for you. The leather is warm to the touch, softer than you expected. You imagine your eyes to be like that of a porg’s—round, dark, and helpless. What remains of the space between you and Kylo is only a few inches that shrink with each passing second. Your nose picks up the scent of blood, fuel, and earth from his skin.

To deny the curiosity that nags at your brain is to deny the strange warmth that blooms across your skin. Both run rampant, and in Kylo’s presence only grow. The dark side of his Force coming in contact with your light side creates a dangerous thrum you feel in your veins. Both of you can sense its potential growing, and neither reject it.

“Why?” you whisper as Kylo’s forehead nearly grazes yours. “Why did you do it?”

His hand holds you steady by the nape of your neck. You gasp when he brings his lips close to your ear.

“For your love.”

a/n: this is a repost... anyway if you haven't listened to the song pls pls do it's so obsessively slutty every time i listen to it i go yes!!! this is kylo's song!!!

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #ben solo x reader #ben solo x you #kylo ren fanfic

[yourantag]

norton, naib, or fredrick waking up to their s/o not in bed but s/o is up cooking? they've been doing this for a few days now and it helps soothe their nerves when they have an upcoming match, sometimes other members of the manor are up so they normally have whatever they made when they arent hungry or they make enough portions for anyone who might be up and hungry,,,generally tooth-rotting fluff, bonus if the characters are a little clingy ???

tysm <33

AN: Qjgpjwvphvsvksj thank you for this soft request! I was surprised to see a request for someone who isn't Ithaqua, but I'm extremely grateful for that. I love Ithaqua, but if I keep on writing him and him alone I'm going to lose my mind. By the way, sorry for the long wait. I didn't forget this request, I just had to deal with school lol. I was also conflicted on who to choose and how to go about it. In the end, I've chosen Naib. I must apologize, though, since I wrote him much softer than most would expect of him. Still, I hope you enjoy! Word count: 1.4k words Summary: Waking up next to you is the best part of the day. To get to see your peaceful face first thing in the morning is a blessing. It makes Naib look forward to waking up early, no matter how much his body protests. Sadly, this has become a rather rare occurrence lately. Won't you indulge him a bit?

The mornings in the manor are always quiet and serene, a stark contrast to the afternoon when matches are in full swing. The faint chirping of birds, the leaking sunlight through the blinds, and the wafting scent of breakfast come together to create a sleepy wake up call. Getting to bask in the dazed ambiance of the rising dawn is one of Naib's favorite things in the world.

Usually, he would get to enjoy this all with you. Well, kind of. You tended to sleep in more often than not, though he wasn't about to complain. You looked adorable while you slept, so completely at peace. Nowadays, he can't even see your face until it's halfway through the afternoon or, if he's lucky, in the kitchen during breakfast. 

Today marks the fifth day in a row that Naib has woken up without you. The sight of the empty bed leaves him feeling cold despite the blankets pulled over him. It's a bit bitter, too, since today was a more relaxed day where Naib didn't have as many matches. Lazing around with you would've been perfect.

With a sigh, he gets ready to start the day, though more specifically, to see you. His footsteps are light as he descends from the stairs, gloved palms dragging along the lacquered wood of the railing. Taking a deep breath, Naib scowls as he marches towards the kitchen. The few survivors who are awake, namely Emma and Victor, move away from his path once they catch sight of his expression. He'd apologize to them later, but for now, he was a man with a mission.

The mercenary quickly arrives at the kitchen, the sound of light humming reaching his ears. The wordless song is enough to put him at ease, his lungs filling with air as he lets himself breathe. His face softens, the tension in his jaw loosening and his shoulders relaxing as Naib carefully opens the door a bit more. Leaning against the doorframe, his lips curl into a gentle smile, his eyes crinkling as he watches you do this and that.

Eggs crackle and pop with oil within a cast iron pan, the scent of freshly toasted bread drifting in the air as you prepare plates. Your smile is a balm to his aching heart, soothing him as he quietly watches you place food on trays. The breeze ruffles your hair like the gentle hand of a mother, messing up your already rather disheveled appearance.

Taking a better look at you, Naib can't help but snort in amusement. Flour paints your left cheek a powdery white, jam covers your apron in splotches of jewel like reds and purples, and butter is somehow smeared across your forehead. How you hadn't noticed, he doesn't know. Still, even looking as though you had just fought a pastry chef and won, you looked so, so lovely to him.

You look up at Naib, confusion written across your face. The moment you meet his eyes, it all washes away to reveal a smile. He's tempted to raise a hand and shield himself from the brightness of your gaze. He doesn't, of course- looking away from you feels like a cardinal sin.

"Naib! I didn't expect to see you here. Or, awake at all- it's 7 AM, you should be in bed." You scold him lightly, though your cheery look negates everything you say. In the first place, he wouldn't be up if it weren't for you. But alas, his love refused to be the sleepy head he knew them to be.

"How about you stay in bed from now on so I can stay in bed too?" It's said more so as a request than a question. Naib walks up to you, fondness whispered in his every touch as he wipes away a bit of flour from your cheek. It doesn't do much, really, just leaves a streak of slightly less floured skin.

You smile apologetically, leaning into his hand and kissing his palm. Though Naib makes no reaction externally, his heart bursts in his chest, warmth blotting out the cold emptiness from before. He supposes that makes up for the disappointment of waking up without you this morning.

"I'm sorry Naib, I've just been really anxious lately. I've been getting a lot more matches than usual, and it's been making me rather nervous. I'm sorry if I've been disturbing your sleep." Your soft words, coupled with your genuinely worried eyes, causes tenderness to flood his chest again. Naib found it hard to tell you honestly how he felt, so in moments like these where you didn't hesitate to express yourself, he couldn't help but be reminded of what made him fall in love with you. Your desire to be transparent, to be sincere and communicate, made him love you all the more. It was a strength he didn't have before, yet now, telling the truth came easy when it came to you.

"You haven't been disturbing my sleep, I just miss lazing in bed with you." Naib wraps his arms around you, his chin resting on your shoulder. He doesn't care about how his clothes are probably dirty now, thinking more about how he could help you ease your nerves. Would waking up and cooking with you be better? Naib didn't mind the idea of waking up earlier just to spend more time with you.

He's dragged out of his musings as you yawn, tearing up a bit as you pull away from his embrace. You blink your watery eyes, stretching your weary limbs. Naib winces a bit at the following cracks and pops of your joints, staring at you with considerable amounts of concern.

"When is your earliest match?" He asks suddenly, watching as you tilt your head in confusion.

"Hm? It should be around 3 PM. There aren't as many matches for me today, and not as early, either. Why?"

One could practically see the gears turning in Naib's head as he smiles, untying your apron and lifting it off of you. He places it on a hook before he starts pulling you away from the kitchen. You dig your feet into the ground, frowning.

"Hey! I still need to make breakfast for the others, you can't just- WHA-"

Naib gives you a cheeky grin, continuing to walk away from the kitchen and up the stairs as he bridal carries you. His arms don't falter no matter how much you complain or tug at him. His hold is steady and unyielding, keeping you captive till you're finally back in your shared room.

"They can make their own breakfast. You haven't slept properly for a while, and I've missed out on a lot of quality naps with you. I think you can indulge me just this once, can't you?" He tilts his face down to look at you, his nose barely grazing your own. Naib watches with satisfaction as you can only grumble a quiet "fine," a light flush covering your face.

Naib was weak to you, but you were just as weak to him. You would never say no to his requests, not when it took so much courage for him to ask. And if it were something you wanted too? How could you ever resist?

When the both of you lie down once again, donning your pajamas with no regards to the risen sun, Naib feels that everything in the world is right again. You're already passed out, sleep taking you the moment your head rested against his chest and the blankets covered the two of you.

With you in his arms, he can smell the scent of buttered toast and eggs that lingers on you. He wonders if you can hear his heartbeat, pressed so close to him. Naib hopes it isn't too loud. He can't help how enamored he is, how stupidly fond he is of you. 

He can't help how in love he is with you. 

So, forgive him if he holds you a bit too tightly, as though he never wants to let you go. Please forgive him for playing with your hair, till there's one strand that permanently curls out. Won't you forgive him when he almost makes you late, sleepily dragging you back into his arms?

Naib loves you in all his quiet yet loud, straightforward yet hidden, contradictory ways. So, won't you love him too? Won't you rest in his arms lazily even as the dawn comes and goes?

#idv #identity v #identity 5 #idv naib #naib x reader #identity v fanfic #idv fanfic

[franf94]

Quogan first time (smut ff)

Ok, so after thinking about it for a LONG time I decided to share it. My vision of how Quogan first time went, back during their Senior year at PCA. Please, forgive my mistakes, but I'm not a native english speaker. It's a SMUT ff, so if you are not confortable with sex scenes... then don't read it please.

When Logan removed the blindfold, he saw Quinn's face light up.

Lighted candles scattered everywhere, drawn curtains and bulb lamps gave the room a soft light that conveyed serenity. There were scattered red rose petals on the floor, the plasma TV projected an image of a fireplace with a crackling fire inside, and from Logan's stereo came the sweet melody of one of their favorite songs, “Valentine” by Justin Abrams . The single bed where the boy slept seemed to have been freshly made and the sheets smelled of cotton and lilac.

-Oh Logan!- a sudden feeling of affection invaded Quinn who practically jumped into Logan's arms, stepping on his foot causing a slight moan from the curly haired boy.

-So do you like it?- he asked, nervously.

Quinn nodded and kissed him on the lips, slowly.

-Don't you think it's not too much for you babe? Cause, I wanted to add something magical like fireflies or some synthesizer or a perfume dispenser or... or if you want I can change the temperature of the room or if you are still hungry I can... have you bring anything... -

-Logan- she interrupted him, kissing him again. A moment later Logan had placed her back on the floor.

-Everything's perfect. Thank you - the girl looked around,  so surprised that she was really in the room 148 of Maxwell Hall dorm.

 –Did you really do all this just for me?-.

The Logan Reese who back a year ago wouldn't have moved a single chair. The one who had used his father's credit card to buy a dirty car even though he didn't have a license, the Logan Reese who constantly teased her when they were fourteen.

That Logan Reese settle down everything just for her? It had been the most romantic gesture anyone had ever done for her.

Logan stared at her with a half-smile on his face that highlighted his dimples: his eyes shining, full of love.

-You have no idea how much I love you Quinn Pensky- he took a lock of the girl's hair and put it behind her ear –and I will do anything to prove it to you-.

Quinn kissed him again, letting Logan's lips wander from her face, to her shoulders, and down her neck. Logan was holding her desperately and she could already feel how excited the boy already was. She felt his hands fumbling with the zipper of her dress and she stopped, enough to separate them.

-Raise your arms- she told him and Logan followed the order. A moment later the boy's jacket and shirt ended up on the floor. Quinn reveled in the sight of the boy's chest. Over the past few months, Logan had grown a few more inches and his muscles had become toned. And, although Quinn found the muscles a frivolous element compared to the rest, she couldn't help but touch them and linger on the pectorals. Logan licked his lips and Quinn turned with her back to him, allowing the boy to unzip her dress.

She immediately felt Logan's gaze on her, eager to memorized every inch of her body. They started kissing again, this time with more passion. Her hands in his curls, his hands roaming over her belly. Logan guided her to the bed and placing Quinn on his lap. Quinn's arms around his neck, her lips in his. They had never stopped kissing. Quinn laughed against his lips and he opened his eyes.

-I love you- the boy told her.

-I love you too-.

Then she saw Logan's gaze on her breasts, still covered. Her nipples were hard and stood out against her pale white skin.

-Quinn- he kissed her on the lips –are you… please?-.

The girl nodded and, with a deft move, undid the clasp of her bra which fell onto the carpet. She felt Logan's fingers on her right breast and his lips on her neck, she sighed, putting her head back. With each passing moment she felt the slight burning sensation in her lower abdomen increase. She instinctively pushed her hips against Logan's and he groaned.

-Quinn- he whispered…- well… I wanted to tell you something-.

He stopped kissing her and Quinn opened her eyes and stared at him. His face was incredibly serious. They were hot, excited, Quinn could almost feel Logan's member throbbing beneath her. For a moment she feared that the boy's insecurity was playing a trick on him. She placed a hand on Logan cheek and he blinked and steeled himself.

-Quinn- his voice was hoarse, full of desire – I've been doing some research and you know I won't last long. So… so I wanted to get you almost there and then come in after-.

Quinn nodded and was almost relieved. The knowledge of each other's bodies that they had gained in those months and their total sincerity towards each other had paid off for her. She let Logan lay her on the bed and then she felt his body on her.

-Wait- she said, before Logan lay down on her. The boy knelt on the bed and groaned when he felt his girlfriend's small delicate hands undoing his belt. In a few seconds Logan's black jeans were also taken off and the boy was left with only his boxers. He almost felt sick from how excited he was, but he knew he had to hold on. He lowered himself onto her Quinn and made her lie down again, then he began to leave a line of kisses that went from her neck, to her breasts, down to her lower abdomen and he felt Quinn's breathing become more labored. . When she stuck her tongue in her belly button the girl arched her back and moaned; bringing their hips to collide. They both moaned and Logan thought he was dying when the tip of her cock grazed Quinn's entrance. He raised his head enough and saw that the girl gave him a nod of agreement. Then Logan kissed the girl's panties, which were irredeemably wet. Seeing how turned on she was by her made him moan again. He sighed heavily and pulled off the last of Quinn's clothing. He smiled when he saw the girl's excitement. Quinn had already instinctively opened her legs and he just had to lower himself further. One of his hands was holding her hand, the other was on her left thigh to keep her in place. Logan mentally thanked all the sites he had visited and all the advice Quinn had given him in those first months of exploration. He kissed her labia first and then caressed her vulva, before moving back up and kissing Quinn's breasts again. For a moment the girl thought it was a joke, but then she felt Logan's finger inside her and squeaked in surprise, kissing him on her lips and stifling her moan of pleasure.

-Shhh- Logan whispered to her as he added another finger and started rubbing the girl's clit, grinning when he saw that Quinn's body responded to his stimulation. He felt Quinn's lips on his neck, felt her body instinctively rubbing his boxers against her, and, for a moment, he wondered if he had actually managed not to finish before her. Then he heard Quinn's voice, as if in a whisper.

-Logan... Log.. you have to stop...- Quinn was biting her lips, her legs rubbing together to create more friction and Logan got the message. He pulled out his two fingers and saw that Quinn was indeed ready. He wiped the juices off  on the sheet and kissed Quinn. She was hot and her hair was sweaty.

Quinn looked down at the boy's boxers and brushed his fingers against his member. Logan jumped back. He turned just enough to reach the bedside table and pulled out a square package.

Quinn gently pulled off his boxers and Logan almost groaned in pain. He was extremely close to the point of no return and was afraid that Quinn's light touch would bring him to pleasure, so he gently pushed her hand away. Quinn leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose and Logan smiled. They looked into each other's eyes for a second and Logan made sure everything was okay. He opened the package with extreme precision and took a deep breath.

So the time had truly come. He would soon become a man. All his erotic dreams would come true. His fingers trembled with emotion as he delicately slipped on the condom, unexpectedly feeling a sense of relief. He glanced at Quinn, as if to make sure he had put it on correctly: once again the boy had to mentally thank the YouTube videos for that and the week of practice he had spent going to the bathroom every hour.

-You're so beautiful- he whispered to Quinn, as he positioned himself above her again, trying to perfectly align his member with the girl's entrance. He loved her so much.

Quinn kissed him on the mouth and Logan sighed against her as he tried to enter as gently as possible.

-Are you sure?- he repeated once again and Quinn smiled and nodded, pushing him gently towards her.

Logan groaned as the tip of his cock entered her. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by that new sensation. It was like sliding into a viscous soil that opened little by little. He held his breath and pushed a little more, but he heard Quinn moan softly and stopped. His eyes widened. She stared at him with a look full of trust and love and he smiled. Their faces a few centimeters away, their breaths mixed together as one. He kissed her again, but her lips trembled slightly.

"Go ahead," she said. She wasn't experiencing the great, feared pain Lola had described to her. It was more of a quite discomfort in her lower abdomen, but other than that Quinn felt good. Logan had been so gentle with her and he loved her so much that the girl almost teared up.

Logan pulled back for a moment and with a decisive push he entered her completely, causing a moan from both of them. Quinn actually let out a little cry, muffled by his lips.

The girl took a deep breath. Now she felt the pain, as if something inside her had been torn, as if there was actually a foreign body that didn't belong to her. She felt a slight, but sharp pain in her lower abdomen. She tried to take deep breaths. A silent tear rolled down her face.

-Quinn... is everything ok? Do you want me to stop? -.

Logan stared at her with wet eyes, genuinely worried that he had hurt her. After entering her he remained still, allowing her to get used to his presence, but Quinn could see the slightest movements of his pelvis, as if the boy was fighting against his own instinct.

-I'm fine- she reassured him – I'm fine now. You can move-.

She kissed him, and let their tongues wrestle with each other. She dig both hands into her curls as she felt him move in and out; making them moan again.

-God Quinn...you don't know.. God...it's..it's...fuck I love you so much- Logan had promised himself to be slow and gentle the whole time, but he knew that the exact moment he entered her, all common sense had given way to blind instinct; and now he couldn't control the movements of his pelvis and the thrusts sinking into her. Sometimes he was sure he hurt her, as Quinn let out little squeals when he pushed in too deep.

-Sorry- he said, and lowered himself even further, trying to create more friction between their bodies. Quinn knew Logan was looking for the right angle, so she shifted slightly, spreading her legs further apart, allowing him more access and when Logan hit her just right there she let out a guttural moan that surprised her.

-Don't stop- she said, resting his head on the pillow, while Logan continued to bring their bodies together. He felt Quinn's nails on his back and groaned.

-Quin... I won't... be able to... I'm...-

Quinn nodded. Now the pain was gone, now only the pleasure remained. She and Logan had become a single entity and she would never, ever allow someone to separate them, to put an end to that extreme pleasure she felt in feeling him inside her. She felt the burning in her lower abdomen spread to the rest of her body, she felt her back lift and her toes curl.

-God, Logan…- he said, as if his mind had stopped formulating any coherent thoughts, as if all that mattered was the two of them. In that moment, in that room. Quinn raised her hips a little, creating more friction and Logan went deeper, speeding up the movements.

And then he heard it.

-Log…Logan! Oh Logan!-

Logan had never heard Quinn call him that, invoke his name like that: a mix between a plea and a scream. He watched Quinn's face contort with pleasure, he felt her pelvis meet his, he felt her muscles envelop his member and shaken by spasms a moment later he realized he couldn't hold back any longer and came inside her, moaning.

-Oh fuck, Quinn- she felt his member twitch inside her and then a sudden feeling of satisfaction.

They remained silent for about twenty seconds, while their breathing became regular again and the pleasure faded. Logan knew he shouldn't stand still in her and as soon as he felt he had oxygen back to his brain he pulled himself out of her. His member was now flaccid, and the condom was stained with fresh blood.

His heart immediately did a back flip.

He lay down next to Quinn who hadn't said a word yet. The girl was still out of breath and staring at the ceiling. She felt Logan come out of her and felt him lean into her side. She felt his lips on her cheek.

-I love you Quinn- .

She turned, completely overcome with emotion and nestled in the crook of his neck. She had never felt as much love and devotion for Logan as she did in that very moment. She had felt pleasure, not pain, and a natural sense of connection with that boy she loved with all her being.

-I love you too- she kissed him softly, while Logan's hands roamed her body again.

"You're amazing Quinn, inside and out and… and I can never thank you enough for that."

The boy let out a yawn and fought against the post-orgasm drowsiness.

-Are you sure you're okay?- he asked, one last time.

"I'm fine," she said, shrinking even more.

Logan pulled his boxers back on and covered them both with the duvet, before returning to Quinn's arms.

A few minutes later they had both fallen into a deep sleep.

#quogan #logan reese #quinn pensky #zoey 101 #zoey102 #quinn x logan #zoey 102 #headcanon #fanfiction #smut

[xoxiu]

twinkle - ot7 x reader

chapter 13 table of contents masterlist

summary: she had just wanted attention, that’s why she kept texting the strange number, updating him on everything in her life. little did she know how dangerous this relationship actually was. it had been jimin’s idea to kidnap the girl, but the ability to travel across the world to actually do it had been all hoseok’s doing. convenient how some things work, right? they knew that they were destined to have their baby with them, whether she wanted it or not.

tags/warnings: kidnapping, forced age regression, spanking, noncon, mafia au, drug use, stockholm syndrome, caregiver!bts, little!reader, nonsexual, diapers, panic attacks, fluff and angst, sickfic, referenced child abuse, unrequited love

taglist (that i keep forgetting): @frieschan, @0funsite0

Ophelia lay in her bed, layers of blankets stacked on top of her. Her current illness was getting the better of her, leaving her a sniffling mess with an upset stomach. Music softly drifted through the air, a calming piano arrangement of some pop song Ophelia vaguely remembered hearing on the radio. She closed her eyes and took it in- it was in a waltz-like 3/4 time signature, D-flat minor key, and- what was the tempo? Ophelia placed her phone in her left hand as she conducted the song gently to herself. It sounded very slow, but the actual tempo was slightly quicker than what most people thought- 100 beats per minute? Ophelia decided to settle on that for now. 

Getting out of bed, Ophelia paused the music from her phone and placed it back down on her pillow. She softly closed the door to her bedroom, and shivered at the sudden coolness of the hallway- that old hallway always felt like an ice cave. Ophelia often found herself unconsciously rushing through it to enter the nearest room with heat. Ophelia shuffled herself down the stairs and into the kitchen in hopes of scavaging some food from the cabinets. 

The kitchen was barren, no scraps of food in sight. Ophelia checked every cupboard, the fridge, and even desperately checked in the oven. Nothing other than her parents' alcohol and weed could be found. The girl sat defeated on the floor in front of the cabinet, and glanced up towards the table and saw her car keys. She could always run to the store and pick up some food, but in her current state, Ophelia thought it wise not to operate a car. A sudden hunger pain shot through her, forcing her brain to change its mind. She stood up with crackling joints and grabbed her black and yellow lanyard with her keys on it. 

The lanyard came from her state's top university, where Ophelia planned on attending next Fall. She felt so much excitement just thinking about going away from her small, boring town and into a big city, meeting so many new people in her major who shared the same interests and loves as her, and just further studying music in general. Just holding the lanyard made her feel joy and accomplish- she had been the first one in her class to get into college, and so far the only one to get into one of the top universities. 

Smile still on her face, Ophelia opened the back door only to be met with the unsettling face of her mother, who did not look happy. Ophelia could practically see the steam coming off her body; a hot, red anger Ophelia could only picture her mother showcasing. No one on the face of the earth could be as angry as she was almost all the time. "Where do you think you're going?" Ophelia felt her mother's spit fly at her face as she unleashed her words like venom.

"I'm-"

"You're sick again?" No sympathy could be found in her words. It was an accusation- Ophelia was always sick, and her mother could never benefit from it. The girl couldn't help it- her immune system never had a chance to fully develop. Her mother stopped bringing her to the doctors once they told her Ophelia would need constant supervision and special care. 

Everything suddenly got hotter, and Ophelia found herself unable to breathe. Her mother seemed enormous in her rage- she was a bull and Ophelia was the defenseless red cloth. She took a step back, but that only fuelled her mother on more.

"I have bigger issues than you being a whiney bitch all the time! You're nearly 18 now, you need to act like an adult!" Ophelia felt the glass bottles of liquor break against her skin, tearing open the skin on contact. Blood appeared everywhere, drowning Ophelia in her panic. 

"I don't know why I didn't kill you when I had the chance. Too costly to keep you around anymore, with you being a weak bitch to almost everything." Everything was loud. Her mother's voice boomed in her ears, the previously calming music pounded with increasing intensity, Rose's cries pierced through her eardrums, and Ophelia's own heart thudded seemingly out of her chest no matter how hard she willed it to stop. 

Stop.

She wanted it all to stop.

"How did they find...?" Jimin trailed off in disbelief. He believed they did everything right so no one could trace Ophelia back to South Korea, but somehow they messed up along the way. Every news outlet had Ophelia's name and images plastered wherever they could fit it. Jimin carefully read through every article to see where the police were in the investigation. Originally her parents were charged with her disappearance since they too disappeared shortly after Ophelia. Once the police recovered Ophelia's cellphone, the search branched out to South Korea from her text logs. Of course it would be the phone that gave them away- even though the burner phone was now deep in the Han River, it probably could still be tracked. 

"It'll be fine," Taehyung tried his best to hide his own anxiety to cheer up his friend, "no one knows Ophelia is here besides us. If we just keep quiet, they'll eventually give up the search." 

The crackling of the baby monitor coming to life drew Jimin out of his depressive state. With a final sigh, he stood up and headed back towards the living room. 

Lia sat up on the couch, body slightly shaking from the remaining visions of her nightmare. Her blanket was wrapped tightly around her, and she had a corner clutched in her fist. Her fingers played with her lip absentmindedly, occasionally breaking the fragile skin. From where Jimin stood, he could see tears building up in Lia's clouded eyes. 

"Are you feeling better, little one?" Jimin asked, now sitting on the couch next to the sick little. He could see how visibly tense Lia was as she responded with a small, jerky shake of the head. Jimin clicked his tongue and pushed Lia's hair away from her face, allowing his hand to linger on her forehead. It felt like her fever went down significantly, but Jimin wasn't convinced Lia was completely in the clear due to her current behavior. 

"My poor baby," Jimin cooed and started to stand up, "Do you want some-" Piercing sobs and Lia frantically reaching out for Jimin caused Jimin to stop in his tracks, sitting back down on the couch. Lia shuffled herself onto Jimin's lap, crying harshly into the crook of his neck. Jimin gently rocked her back and forth, shushing her in a fruitless attempt to calm her. When her cries wouldn't cease and Lia began shaking from the harshness, Jimin laid the both of them down on the couch, with Lia curled up on his chest.

"I think someone's still a little tired," Jimin said. Somehow, Lia's crying increased as she let out desperate cries of 'no.' Not really knowing what to do, Jimin blindly reached behind his head for the pacifier Jin said was on the table. The older feared to leave Lia while she was still sick, informing Taehyung and Jimin of every little thing to do before Taehyung ushered him out the door. That was less than an hour ago, and if that was when Lia was first put down for a nap, she desperately needed to go back to sleep no matter how much she fought it. 

Once he had the pacifier in hand, Jimin easily slipped it between Lia's lips and held it in place with his thumb. His fingers gently stroked the side of her face to soothe her alongside his soft humming. After a few minutes her cries died down, but her still ragged breathing alerted Jimin that she was still upset and nowhere near the verge of sleep still. Cautiously, he removed his thumb from the button of the pacifier, prepared to catch it before it fell to the ground after Lia inevitably spits it out. 

To Jimin's surprise, the pacifier never left Lia's mouth, and she continued to suckle.

#bts fanfic #bts x reader #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #bts #namjoon x reader #seokjin x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #mafia au #bts little space #twinkle

[chocogi]

villain (Teniwoha • villain)

or; my take on Sagau’s villain sub-au

popped in my head while i was playing said song on pjsekai and it ruined my combo and i will never forgive it

any translations i make are from google so uh free cringe for you all

~•

By the hour, the burns throbbed less. An experimental poke to the cobwebbing patterns of the newly forming scars made you hiss in the sudden pain.

Sighing, you bend back down to scoop some more snow from the surrounding area to pat on your face— please alleviate the burning somehow— before making a run for it. You can only hope Albedo isn’t in the area, or if he is, you hoped he doesnt notice the crunch of your footsteps.

You didn’t know if he would hurt you like they did, but you weren’t taking any chances, not when you already have the key to return the pain tenfold.

Jacket singed at its seams, you bury your frostbitten hands in the insulating fabric as you sprint into the cave that lead to a clearing under Daleth, the Cryo Hypostasis.

A makeshift fireplace crackled in the middle of the clearing.

Breaths visible with every puff you take as you slow down, you sit crosslegged by the fire, a manic smile pulling your lips as you take out your phone that you’d just.. took back.

You? Steal? Psh. It belonged to you in the first place.

Numbly tracing the crack on the screen’s corner, You turn it on and, after entering the password, grinned at the infamous Genshin Impact icon.

Giggling, you sing a song under your breath.

If they feel really do feel pain, well, it’s not your fault a little birdy told you artifacts hurt like a bitch when taken away.

The walls have ears, I believe is what Childe said in that Archon Quest

“Oh, Mr. Crazy, villain villain, 夜行性の花弁”

A cruel town has a beautiful rainbow

残酷な町ほど綺麗な虹が立つ

~•

Jean paced restlessly.

Back and forth, endlessly.

Lisa sighed. “Jean, please sit down. The impsotor doesn’t know the password to our Grace’s device. No one knows. Not even the most blessed acolytes.”

Diluc huffs. “As much as I would like to take action immediately, Lisa has a point. And we won’t be on our best when we do chase after that thief if you’re not well rested.”

“You’re the one leading this, afterall.”

Jean sighs in defeat. “Yes, thank you for the concern, but-”

Jean’s knee’s hits the floor as she curls in on herself, screaming.

A book hits the wooden tile the same time as a shining Wolf’s Gravestone does as well. Both Lisa and Diluc rush to the Acting Grandmaster’s side.

Blood seeps out of Jean’s mouth. “Our Grace—” She chokes out.

Lisa worried her lip. Did they do something wrong?! Their Grace never does something unnecessary—

Another scream, a choke and a cough.

The smallest amount of blood sprays on the red carpet.

Diluc keels over next, clutching his stomach.

Beside your crackling fireplace, you laugh at their newfound misery.

You crack your knuckles. Who am I if not fair? Of course they’re not the only ones who would suffer.

Somewhere in Teyvat, the Archons let off bloodcurdling screams while their Most Devoted hurriedly tries to utter a prayer.

You hum languidly, the burns covering half your body forgotten. Who’s next..?

#genshin impact #genshin sagau #sagau #genshin #genshin angst #genshin impact sagau #genshin impact drabbles #genshin imposter au #genshin impact x reader #sagau villain au #genshin diluc #diluc #genshin jean #genshin lisa

[luckyshotwrites]

Ch. 82 // Not Tall Enough // Day 56 

Contents (Warnings): A little time with Drake (slight angst, g/t, blood mentions, character and monster info as always). Read full chapter on A03

Wordcount: 3,000 +

Song I correlate to this Chapter: Runaway (Aurora) - dramatic violin version - Joel Sunny

Side note: This chapter will be with Lynette's part in third person (I'm playing/testing with it). If it's too disorienting this far into the story, go ahead and send me a message on this post! And or if you like this better, do the same!

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Drake

His hands scrambled to his neck upon waking up. His naturally clawed digits feverishly clutched at his throat and blankets. There's no blood. 

He scooped up his phone from the charger, regardless. 

He ran to their messages and called. It rang a few times before he answered. 

His voice groaned into the receiver, "What happened?" 

Drake didn't need a confirmation. There wasn't a hi or morning, simply straight to the point. 

Drake looked at his phone to check the time; it was 5:37 a.m.. 

"Sorry, dude, it was an accident."

Alexander responded with several angry, near-inaudible grunts before any actual words left his mouth, "Then what were you going to text me about?"

Drake refused to mention his dream. He wanted to avoid what Alexander might say. "Something stupid. I forgot as soon as I saw I was calling you."

There was a pause. 

He expected Alexander to push it. "Yeah, okay," His best friend's half-asleep voice said softly. Drake felt relieved, "Night then, if you remember, call me." 

"Night." 

Drake hung up.

His shoulders pressed inward, his fists twisted within the blankets. He threw himself from bed and ignored the ever-so-sweet beats from his nightstand. 

He went down the hall and stairs, passed the ballroom, and toward the back of the mansion. His footing slowed when he got to the kitchen, the Halloween party still fresh in his mind. He pushed past the kitchen to the next door beside it that led to the basement. 

It housed a private training area for them. Most monsters who wanted to train with magic were convinced to have a place within their home. So they aren't viewed outdoors, especially since not all were good at hiding it behind veils or barriers. 

His bare feet pattered against the stone steps and soon metal floor. The downstairs was like a giant metal box with magic-reinforced steel. The room was big enough for Wenna and Ulysses to fight in their forms. Drake's being smaller, of course, due to him not being over 25 physically yet. 

He got to the middle of the room and felt the swirl of magic in his core. It was warmly met with pent-up frustration. 

He lifted his shoulders, threw his arm back, and bore his teeth. I'll kill him.

When he brought his arm forward, it expelled sparks of lighting that sputtered off in different directions, before exploding into crackling red cherry fires matching his own hue. 

Each flame burst upon hitting the wall, yet after one attack, Drake felt its effect. Damn it. 

He worked on his acrobatics and pushed out attack after attack, some with flare, some he couldn't even muster. He had to take a break after each. 

It hadn't even been thirty minutes.

His fit of rage screamed out in a bellow. 

His body begged him for energy, for blood. 

I can do more. I will. 

"You suck at this, don't you? I bet short fuse would have caught me already."

Those words fueled him.

He kept going until he was on the verge of giving out. He couldn't keep himself from trembling. He needed blood. 

Drake barely made it up the stairs. His sights were first set on the kitchen—ready to down every bag of human blood in the fridge.

Then, he stopped. He found himself seduced by the slow, rich, and sonorous melody calling him from upstairs. It crushed his previous thoughts. No, I need something fresh.

He wanted to feel a prey struggle in his grip, desperately pushing away from him. 

His fangs pried their way out, yearning for their warmth. 

The feelings drove him up the stairs and into his room, where their alluring smell tugged him to them. 

His eyes locked onto the cage immediately. Specifically eyeing his prey, slumped on the bars of their temporary metal home. 

He got to it and ripped the door off without hesitation. He let it clatter to the floor. 

It spurred her awake and made her heart pump erratically.

Lub-Dub Lub-Dub Lub-Dub

"What's wrong?!" She exclaimed. 

She saw his intent, evident on his face. Drake threw his hand inside and she woefully tried to avoid him. 

He got her legs between his clawed fingers and dragged her exit. 

Anything more she might have said was canceled by her heart telling him to take it. 

He let her go for a second, giving her a bit of hope. It was simply to grab her again except better and tighter. He squeezed her tiny form to keep her still. 

You're not escaping me. Drake thought.

Then, his mind reminded him of her current height and that he couldn't bite her. 

But he wanted her. "I'll just eat you." 

His fang-filled mouth hissed open. His tongue eagerly flicked up, ready to meet his snack. 

"Drakie! What are you doing up so- OHHH! Is that a tiny sister-in-law, I see?"

Her voice obstructed his motion.

His older sister walked into his room casually. His jaw closed. 

Wenna inspected Lynette and pointed to the hand that held her. "You shouldn't hold her like that."

He opened his palm, his senses returning. What was I doing? He turned to Wenna and put Lynette in her hands, "Take her. I'm going out."

He rushed out of the room with a "Thanks!" before his sister could say another word. 

It took every ounce of his willpower not to head back.

...

Lynette

He said he'd eat me. 

Lynette didn't know what she did. One minute, she was sleeping, and the next, she saw his glowing eyes, similar to the festival. I didn't say anything this time, did I? It was different than the last time he watched her. 

Wenna sighed, "I thought I heard the basement door; he must have been training again." 

So his energy was low? Lynette liked that justification more and tried to focus on it instead of the imagine of him opening his mouth toward her with his large fangs.

She timidly pushed a question out, "is he going to be okay?"

Wenna's gaze dropped down to Lynette in her hands.

She smiled, showing her smaller, retracted fangs. "You're too sweet, Lynette." She patted two fingers on her head. "He'll be fine. We've got plenty to drink downstairs, or if he wants something fresh, we aren't that far from town." 

Lynette gave a slight nod, "If you say so." If he had drinks down stairs why did he try to attack me?

"I do." A gentle laugh left Wenna, "And hey, since you're awake, do you wanna grab some breakfast with me?"

"I don't want to be any trouble." Lynette appreciated the distraction. Wenna can probably hear my heart. Lynette could still feel it trying to escape.

The black-haired girl with lovely doll-like curls snickered, "You're not any trouble at all! Plus, I have some super small clothes that might fit you!" 

Oh, she wants to play dress up with me. 

"No thanks, the uniform's fine," Lynette said. 

Wenna's bottom lip came out slightly, "I wanted to see you in some super cute outfits." 

She walked toward the door with her. 

Lynette reached back toward the cage, "Wait, I need my phone in case Wicks calls or texts me!"

"Wicks?" Drake's sister turned on her heels, "Ah, we should invite him too!"

She walked her back to the cage.

"You want to invite my brother?" He's going to freak out. I didn't tell him I was small again.

Wenna grabbed her phone from the cage, "Getting to know my new little brother-in-law is essential."

She had a spree of pep in her step once she left the room. Lynette rested in Wenna's surprisingly gentle hands. They went down the east wing stairs, and for the first time since the wedding, Lynette laid eyes upon Danee. 

It felt weird to see her as she did. Her raven feather black hair was messily tied in a ponytail with several strains over her face. She smiled upon seeing Wenna, and then it disappeared when she saw Lynette. 

Worry cast upon her face beyond her lenses. "L-Lynette!" She cupped her hands around Wenna's, and their eyes met. "What did you do?"

"Drake did it." 

"He didn't," Lynette spoke up. Danee peered down at her. "I...I promised to do this a month ago with another coworker; Drake just decided to take care of me one of those days." Lynette said. I can't imagine having to explain the dumb situation I'm in to her or any of them, for that matter. Although Lynette assumed Drake had told Wenna. "I'll be back to normal tonight."

Danee bobbed her head slowly, "As long as you're okay, dear." She adjusted her spectacles, "This seems like a very impressive spell, though. It'd have to come from a heavily skilled user. Especially with that layering so closely woven with your flesh. I'd figure it'd be from a fae?"

Lynette brought up her hands, which rested on Wenna's finger. She can see them? It reminded her of Alexander. "They were." 

Danee read over her disbelief next, "You get to see and know a thing or two working on appraisal jobs like me." She pulled back and laughed until realized Drake wasn't with them. "Shouldn't Drake be watching her?"

"He needed a drink." Wenna took a single long breath, "he was training."

Danee's expression dropped, "ah."

"Isn't that good?" Lynette muttered. Besides how he acted after, what's wrong with that?

"Normally, yes." Danee pushed her lips together and lowered her mug to her chest, "But Drake lacks the energy restraint with magic."

Energy restraint?

"Unlike vampires, vampire beasts, or most monsters in general, his body wastes energy three times as fast when he uses magic." Danee tapped her nails against the side of the mug. "It basically overcharges his magic or causes his energy to disperse outward and not be added to the spell."

"Why?"

"It's, unfortunately, a defect he had since he was born." Her face winced. She pressed her up in a smile, but her eyes were still fixed on the teal mug. "That's why I appreciate Alexander being with him. It puts my mind at ease because Drake always had a knack for finding or getting himself into trouble."

She whispered the last part.

So that's why anytime I asked him for anything magic-related, he always said he wasn't good at it. A new question formed in Lynette's head. Then why did he even do that?

"And speaking of those, Drake and Alexander, Lynette," Danee seemed to desperately want to change the subject. Drake's mom crouched forward. "Do you know if your parents are coming over this Thanksgiving? I messaged your mom regarding it, and she had yet to answer."

Danee stood back up and put her finger to her cheek, "I did ask rather last minute."

"Uh, I'm not sure?" Lynette shrugged her shoulders. "It's next week, right?"

"It's this Thursday," Wenna said from behind.

This Thursday?! The currently tiny redhead didn't realize it was nearly the end of the month. Where did it go? 

"As far as I know, we were probably planning the usual, which is a small family gathering," Lynette replied. Wicks, Charletta, Madre and Padre.

Danee took a sip from her mug while Lynette heard the prings of someone being called on a phone. 

She flicked her head back in time to hear the name.

"Lentils?"

She soon saw Wenna on her phone, telling Wicks they should all go to breakfast together.

...

Wicks

I'm going to lock her up in her room for a month. He ran their conversation in his head as he leaned back near the door of the Sunstyle Cafe. One of the three places he knew in the city that had an all monster staff.

He squinted up at the smiley sun mascot. It was mocking him like the Happy Pizzeria did.

I can make a little slot under her door to slide her food. Those ridiculous thoughts gave him at least a bit of ease, enough to smile lightly.

His eyes studied the next car to park, he could see the black haired girl coming out with her hands cradled together.

Wenna. Her face lit up when their eyes met. Once she showed him the contents of her palms, every alarm went off inside his head.

He snatched Lynette from Wenna and studied his sister thoroughly, "LENTILS."

Even with his fast motions and frantic searching, he clutched her body and held her as gently as he could.

"I'm okay-"

"ARE YOU?!?" He voice croaked with panic. He promised her he wouldn't freak out but he couldn't help it. "You're so tiny" He held her to his chest, protectively.

"I'm pretty invincible right now."

A tub full of slimy frogs leaped around in his mind, jumping on every button labeled worst case. All because she said she was nearly invincible. As he tried to gather them up, the lesser but still irritating ones were still hopping around.

That half wendigo might try to enjoy her like this. His eyes narrowed, looking off past the cars, in the direction of the pizzeria. Though they were at least a thirty minute drive from it. I could find out where he lives and get rid of him right now. Then you don't have to worry about him, Lentils.

"As I said in the car, shame on you for not telling your brother sooner, Lynette." Wenna said with a teasing scowl.

He had forgot Wenna was with them. It stopped his hypothetical plans, for now.

"I didn't want him to get too worried or mad."

Wicks turned his focus to his sister, "I'm NOT mad, just REALLY worried." An agitated groan fled his lips with those words. He hugged her tighter, "especially when you and I were supposed to start training, yesterday!"

Her head hung low, "I'm sorry, I know we were. It wasn't my intention to avoid it."

I don't want you to be sorry, I want you get out of situations LIKE THIS. He wanted to shake his sister for the eightieth time since the wedding. He didn't.

He hid Lynette as he saw a couple pass them and head inside. He looked at Wenna, "we should get something to eat."

This cafe was a place Suzie recommended. Mostly just for him to get energy enriched food instead of taking it from people or monsters. Even though he was more human than any monster, technically, food on Earth still tasted rather dull unless it had a really strong flavor like Gorgonzola cheese, or black coffee.

Or Lynette's very sweet cake or cookies. He shivered and looked down at her. You're such a fiend with sweets.

Upon walking through the veil, there seemed to be an abundance of monsters and very few humans. This is a place where monsters could open up their cases more.

To Wicks it seemed like Edgar wanted them to incorporate more with humans and push more interactions that way. While this place allowed freedom, especially with their cases.

It did make the environment much more dangerous, which is probably why Humans are seated closer to the door like the harmless beings or those that chose to stay in their cases.

He could feel some glares. And his chest tightened, not for his own safety but his sisters. Why did I agree to bring her here. He wanted to read the intent of everyone they passed now.

"You're squeezing a little tight, Wicks." Lynette's voice brushed his ears.

He apologized as they took a seat, "I didn't want to drop you, sorry."

Wicks kept himself together, purposefully watching the actions and movement of every cafe patron, including staff.

Their talks from here were minimal, Wenna was starting at the C.P.P.A. next week, thanksgiving plans, and most importantly that Lynette was going home tonight.

Though because of his worry, he gave her a cloak for extra protection. Adjusting the time it lasted was difficult for him. And he sometimes hated that he was terrible at Encryption magic. If he excelled at it, he could give Lynette cloaks more often that last.

You're a pain and a half, Lentils.

...

Alexander

He sat back fiddling with the controller. Claudia took Lynette away for a few to discuss something. It slightly irked him especially since the little demon kept looking at him as she whispered to Lynette. Those fuckers are probably making some kind of plan.

He opened his mouth to ask Drake what they were saying since his hearing was better, but Drake spoke first.

"You're rubbing off on me in the worst ways, dude."

Alexander's confusion turned into a smirk, "what do you gotta say now?"

"I-" Drake groaned aloud and threw his head back on the giant couch. He tossed his phone at which he was holding away. "I may have considered..." he uttered, "eating her this morning."

Alexander took a second to register what Drake said, then worked up a chuckle "That's what has you so embarrassed?"

Drake flipped his head up from the back cushion to stare at his best friend beside him, "don't fucking laugh."

Alexander put both hands to his mouth in an attempt to muffle his laughter, "and you-haha-blame me?"

Drake's bangs split, so Alexander could see the his furious intent in his eyes.

It's intense stare was disrupted by his cheeks that held a reddish color, "I'll end you,"

"Uh-huh," Alexander didn't lose his cocky grin until Drake looked to regret those words. "What's wrong?"

Drake turned his head. He didn't say anything.

"I know you could have got in trouble but it's fun-"

Drake leaned forward and picked up one of the spare controllers from the coffee table, "I wanna kick your ass at something."

Fine, keep your secrets, fucker.

Alexander pushed up a smile and flipped to the screen, "can't wait to see you try."

And unfortunately for Alexander, Drake made it his mission to keep Alexander's attention off the bet they had today for pissing him off.

...

Hey, you, thank you so much for reading. I'm glad I put out a story that people can enjoy! I hope you continue to enjoy it as WE have a LOT more to go! YOU BETTER KEEP PROSPERING! (Nonnegotiable, as always~).

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Catch up, see some maps/art, or check the latest release dates down below  ↓ ↓ ↓ 

What I’d do for a Livable Income (Synopsis/Chapter - List)

#vore story #vore writing #widfali #soft vore #v/ore #v.0re #v/0re #nonsexual vore #vore mentions

[quits-writing]

VHS

a/n: here’s another eddie fic, not smut tho. we’ll save that for later, i’ll probably post other characters next. hope y’all don’t mind

cw: fluff, male reader, s4 vol 2 spoilers, eddie survived au, i hc eddie loves dark humor. it’s his coping mechanism, cringy lines (?)

It’s been a year (daddy) since the vecna incident with you and eddie moving out of hawkins, being the best friends that you both were. you stuck together like a gum under a random table.

the event was all a blur to you, really. all you could remember was your traumatic experience of almost losing the love of your life, how you’d regret not telling how you feel about him— which is ironic since you still haven’t confessed to him.

going through your stuff that’s been in a box, you saw a video tape hidden. it was the tape where eddie and dustin was begging to look at after the events of the fall of hawkins, you told them it was fully broken (which it wasn’t). however, you could remember why.

curiously, you took and played it. the video started with a dark background, muffled voices were heard as it began.

“have you started recording already?” an excited voice spoke as another voice popped in.

“just gotta ask but why are you even recording? we have a task to do”

“there’s nothing with a little videotape on this, it’s for memories!“ your own voice talked as the video finally showed something other than a dark color, showing dustin and eddie setting up their ‘stage’.

“yeah! plus it’s for bragging rights, this is going to be the most metal concert to be recorded”

“alright fair, but you better start helping right when they’re near our sight”

“got it, boss” you both replied to dustin while eddie mockingly saluted to him.

“it’s like i’m babysitting two grown adults whose supposed to be babysitting me—“

the curly short haired boy couldn’t even finish his sentence as buzzed voice came out from the walkie talkie.

“she’s in. move on to phase three” robin, you assume, reported.

“copy that. initiating phase three.” dustin replied and plugged the device.

“let’s hope they hear this”

the sound of the whining amp was heard, he maxed the sound volume while the feedback crackles. eddie getting ready to play by ripping his guitar pick necklace off of him.

“chrissy, this is for you.”

the curly long haired brunette yelped and started to play “master of puppets” by metallica, as he strums his guitar; thunders were roaring, the color of angry red envelopes the sky.

the guitarist seemed to enjoy himself as he head banged to the sound of his song while dustin listens to the music head banging as well, awaiting for the arrival of pesky flying monsters.

his fingers sliding fret by fret over the neck of the guitar, doing the rifts of the music flawlessly without stopping.

you felt like you were in that position again, reliving the memory; the video may be dark and grainy but you remembered how cool eddie munson played that song.

a smile broke out of eddie’s face as he shredded that guitar solo.

you were focused on him, you didn’t even hear dustin’s shouting until the shrieks of the bats were heard.

your eyes finally broke out the trance you were in and observed the surroundings, while the thunder was flashing you saw your figure. your reflection, eyes stuck at eddie.

you looked love struck.

oh

oh

you remember now, why you told them the tape didn’t work.

“one!”

eddie finished playing and let the sound trail away.

the VHS was corrupted and froze exactly after they wrapped the song up— technically, you weren’t wrong about it being corrupted. you were about to remove the tape from the player when a voice bloomed behind you.

“h— and here i thought you said it wouldn’t play” you turned and saw the same metalhead that you were just watching just now.

“what are you doing here?”

“we’re supposed to meet up with henderson and the others remember? celebrating mayfield’s full recovery?” he told you while leaning over to scan the video, smug as he realized how cool he looked.

“how long were you watching?”

“long enough to confirm your heart eyes on me, big boy” the lil’ shithead chuckled when he saw your embarrassed look, deciding to rub more salt to the wound; he teased you.

“i don’t blame you, i mean— i’m clearly a full course meal”

“yeah, a full course meal to a cauldron of bats” a snarky remark escaped your lips, he smacked your arms pretending to be offended.

“hey!” you laughed, it was truly a traumatic experience but he couldn’t stop a stupid grin showing up on his face. after all, you both did like dark humor to cope.

as both of your laughter died down, you finally asked him the question that’s been bothering you since he showed up.

“so, how long have you known?” he hummed, asking for more clarity; you asked again more to make your previous question more clearer.

“how long have you known that i liked you?”

tapping on the nearest object, he leaned towards you— both of your eyes locked to one another.

“oh no, sweetheart. i didn’t, i only started to have suspicions after i felt that burning desire of a stare you had while i was playing ‘master of puppets’. honestly, i thought you were gonna take me right there and then”

your gaze switching between his doe brown eyes to his luscious lips, suddenly feeling bold— a flirtatious sentence escaped through you.

“but you’d like it, wouldn’t you?”

you were shocked by what you said, mentally beating yourself up ‘cause you remembered he was just clarifying your feelings towards him; it doesn’t mean he likes you back.

before you could speak again, he scoffed.

“well obviously— i didn’t expect a man like you would be into a freak like me” a hum escaped your throat before gripping his belt to pull him closer to you.

“by freak, do you mean freakishly delicious?”

you could feel his breath hitch, he couldn’t help but force himself to you; locking lips with you, you kissed back at him. you felt his hand hold the back of your head in order to get closer to you, not wanting to let go.

after minutes that felt like hours of passionate make-out session, you both finally pulled away and stared at each other’s messy appearance. a sudden giggle escaped the other’s lips, replying to your previous comment.

“to the bats?”

a whipped smile broke out on your face, grabbing his waist and pulling him for another kiss before replying.

“to the bats.”

#male reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x male reader #eddie munson fluff #stranger things 4 #stranger things eddie munson #stranger things eddie #stranger things s4 vol 2 #stranger things finale #stranger things fix it #stranger things fic #eddie munson #eddie munson x dom male reader #dom male reader #dom reader #x male reader #stranger things spoilers #stranger things x male reader #stranger things x reader #reader insert #male reader insert #stranger things reader insert #stranger things male reader insert #fluff #stranger things fluff #fix it fic

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

MASTER

Pairing(s): Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings: none really, more so self indulgent, this is my first time writing for Eddie so I hope I did him justice

Words: 2411

Summary: like many of you I was very upset at what they did to Eddie. So I'm changing the script to the fate he deserved

Thunder crackled through the Upside Down’s dark sky, streaks of red lightening broke through the dancing particles that filed the air.

Anxiety racked its claws against the inside of your stomach knowing that this could possibly be the place where you meet your maker. You’d thought about your own death before, but never imagined such a hell to be your final resting place. Truth be told, you wanted to run, desert your friends and climb back through the portal in Eddie’s trailer.

Fingers sweat profusely around the megaphone’s handle. You wouldn’t abandon them. Not when Dustin and Eddie wait behind you. Eddie’s beloved guitar had transcended realms and was idly being tuned. Your trio hadn’t received the signal to move onto Phase 3. Was Max okay? She must have been more terrified than anyone. The only one to escape Vecna’s grasp, undoubtedly the monster would not want to let her live. He wouldn't’ accept any survivors so Max offered herself up as bait. Truly for someone so young she was even braver than you. So you’d stand your ground alongside your fellow Hellfire members.

Your free hand, having been gripping the hem of your filthy DND shirt was coaxed free by a ringed one. Startled, you relax when you meet Eddie’s dark, sweet eyes regarding you with concern.

Gulping back the lump in your throat, you offer him a strained smile. “This place should be the cover of a metal band.”

“Maybe if we survive this it can be Corroded Coffin’s first album cover.” Eddie’s tone, always jovial, was tight with stress. Finished tuning his guitar, it was now strung on his back until further notice.

Greatly appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood, you were happy that even though you were up against the nightmare creatures of the Upside Down, at least you had Eddie. Sweet, goofy Eddie who always made you laugh. Someone who filled your equally dreary days living at the same trailer park with headbanging music and good times. Since his uncle often worked night shifts and your own parents fucked off to god knows where, you kept one another company. Watching movies way into the night and plenty of weed when you really wanted to party. The two of you would order pizza, consuming copious amounts of junk food all through the night.

And you may have been young, but you were pretty sure he was the goddamn love of your life. Every time he smiled made you melt. Feeling akin to being breathless even. 

“What song are you going to play?” You ask while still watching the crackling of the sky. 

“Oh, (y/n), you know me better than that. I like to surprise you.” Now his face brightened a little as did your own. Eddie’s surprises were the best.

“Well, Mr. Munson, I’m sure it will be your best concert yet.” Chuckling, you’re now able to turn your face away from above and to Eddie. “And I’m happy to be here as your biggest fan.”

Not many could make Eddie utterly speechless. He was always quick with snarky quips but not this time. His eyes widen and mouth goes slack before he shyly smiles, his inner softness gleaming. For a moment, silence lulls between you staring at each other. 

“You know how much I love you, right?”

Your face burned and a silly, adoration filled grin breaks out across your lips. Oh how he had your heart irrevocably. You wanted to kiss him. “I know.”

“Since the first day you moved in.” Eddie doesn’t glance away from you at this admission. 

“Really? My face was covered in zits. I couldn’t have been cute.” You chuckle, remembering the day vaguely. Had it really been that long ago?

“See, that’s where we disagree. I thought you were the most stunning creature in the entire world.” 

Okay, you were definitely going to kiss him now with the gloomy sky as an epic backdrop. You even stood closer to him, your hand on his chest as he looked down at you.

“Guys!” Dustin snaps you out of the moment, reality sneaking back to your senses. “They’re initiating Phase 3. We’re up!”

There was no time for kisses.

Taking a deep breath to move you forward, the three of you scramble on top of Eddie’s trailer where large speakers were affixed to the roof. 

Like the loyal fan you were, you lift your arm with the megaphone to introduce Eddie Fucking Munson Live from the Upside Down. Your voice shot through the forlorn trailer park with the help of the audio projector in your hand. The demobats were in for a treat as immediately after the first few bars to Metallica’s ‘Master of Puppets’ came blasting from Eddie’s prized guitar.

You and Dustin stood back to let the true star take center stage. A dire situation it may have been, Dustin smiled and nodded his head forward in a small headbanging manner.

As much as you enjoyed the show he put on, you were silently praying that Nancy, Steve and Robin got to Vecna in time. There was no telling how many demobats there would be this time. What would you do if there were just too many crashing down on you all at once? You had seen what they did to Steve.

With his trailer fortified, you pondered if that would be enough to stop them. 

‘C’mon you guys. Now’s your chance to end this.’

You lean over to pick up your crudely made makeshift weapons and spiked shield.

In the distance, the red streaks offering up the silhouette of a thick cloud of hundreds of beating wings. They were coming and fast. You tried your best not to let panic freeze you completely. Like Eddie and Dustin, you wanted to be brave. None of you looked like heroes, that was too aspirational. Not with your worn out chucks or chipped, black nail polish.

But you would try your damn hardest to keep those demonic monstrosities distracted until Nancy or whoever destroyed Vecna.

Eddie continued to shred on his axe, fingers most likely bleeding from the intensity of the chords. If you survived, you would have to commend him for how quickly he mastered such a beast of a song. Two weeks since the release of it; that’s how long it had been and how long Eddie had been painstakingly practicing those brutal riffs. Slow in the beginning, you had watched in admiration as he diligently kept at it without giving up or being discouraged. 

Who knew it would be used for something like this with such an epic background.

Gauging their distance through his binoculars, Dustin loudly informs “We gotta lockdown in T-minus thirty seconds!”

Thirty seconds.

You gripped your spear and shield close to you now, legs prepared for action, If your weapons failed, you had one last thing waiting in your backpack for only when things went tits up on this plan. 

Eddie picked up speed as the count down came to twenty seconds, then ten seconds until those demon bats descended upon you. Ungodly screeches now assaulted your eardrums more than his guitar did.

When they appeared above, ready to descend, that’s when you, Eddie and Dustin hurried off the trailer’s roof and inside.

The three of you stare at the front door, anxiously awaiting for any attempt of infiltration. Soon loud bangs and the screech of sharp nails against metal rocked the trailer. Out of instinct you draw yourself closer to Eddie who puts a protective arm in front of you, the same way he did when he was forced to brake too hard in his van. Knowing it wouldn’t do much in an actual accident, but it was the thought that counted. He instinctively tried to protect you.

You involuntarily shudder as demobats threw themselves against the trailer. The window panes vibrate violently and you fear those would break in no time. 

It’s above you that should have concerned you more.From an open vent on the roof, a demobat comes crashing through. You and Dustin shriek, viciously stabbing at the creature with your spears until it moved no more. But now there was an opening that had to be barricaded quickly. Eddie moves the two of you aside since he was the tallest and could easily cover the vent using his garbage can lid shield.

Only a mere band-aid, you hear the demobats move along the vents to where Eddie’s room was located. You scramble over, catching sight of leathery wings before slamming his bedroom door shut. 

More time. They need more time but our’s is running out. 

Helplessly you gaze at young Dustin who was eyeing the rope that would save you, sending you back to your usual Hawkins. He’s prepared to bolt and you didn’t blame him. In fact you hoped he would climb up there. He was too young to be constantly facing death and too sweet. 

Forgetting about the importance of keeping the demobats distracted, Dustin indeed starts to worm his way up the rope made by bed sheets. There was no way you could stay in the trailer. Those demons would break in within minutes.

Your own hand grips the rope momentarily, staring up at the whole where Dustin was urging you to come up. 

“Hurry up (y/n)!” Eddie yells at you when he finds you paused. 

“Our mission isn’t done yet.” You whisper, it almost went unheard from the banging going on in the vents and at the windows. Turning to Eddie, your fear was gone. Dustin was safe at least. “Our mission isn’t done yet!”

His expression was frantic but he registers what you mean. 

“And before you even try to argue with me, I’m staying here to follow through.” 

 The lines on his face smooth over as he takes his place beside you, his knife already in hand. “No running?”

Neither of you were heroes. You felt it intensely when Eddie’s dark eyes widen with unrestrained fear. Even so, Eddie holds up his weapons, prepared to run out alongside you. 

“No running.”

Despite Dustin’s screams to stop, Eddie cuts the rope that would prevent your safe escape while you push the mattress you used as a soft landing away. Taking a quick breath, you and Eddie charge out of the trailer; shouldering your way out the front door before hopping onto his bike.  

You turn around slightly enough to watch the thick swarm realize you and Eddie were on the run. It hadn’t taken them long and they made fast work to catch up.

Putting enough distance between a safe Dustin and Vecna’s guard bats, both of you ditch Eddie’s bike; hoofing it to a small open field that the local kids sometimes used as a kickball area. Backs to each other and shields raised, your spears jutted out. You felt Eddie bump into your backpack in a way to tighten what defense you had.

Eardrums were pierced when the unholy screeching arrived. A barrage of them flitting by, the storm of wings recongregated and finally descended upon you and Eddie. You start stabbing anytime you see a black smudge. Vision was blotted by snapping teeth and grotesque features, all the shrieking made you deaf.

Too many. 

Way too many to the point you and Eddie are forced onto your knees when they pelted down on you ruthlessly. You felt their claws break through every so often, cutting up your face and arms.

There was no better time to use your secret weapon. With great effort while keeping your shield up, your hand drops your spear as it struggles to move your backpack from your back and to your front. Frenzied fingers slip on the zipper tag before you rip it open.

Now you had to discard your shield as well.

“What are you doing?!!” You hear Eddie scream from among the horde of demonic bats.

You didn’t have to tell him anything. One hand on a can of hairspray and the other wielding a lighter, your grimy thumb holds down the nozzle of the hairspray while the other rolls the spark wheel down into the ignition button inside the lighter.

Bright flames of orange, yellow and red ignite and swallow the demobats closest to you. Their death shrieks was music to your ears as you saw the others flutter furiously before trying to take on the flame itself. It was futile. You had them now. Growing bolder, you stand on your feet and scream obscenities at the; taking great joy in seeing their wings disintegrate from the flames. You would thank Nancy later. It was Nancy who had let slip a very important fact about the creatures of the Upside Down; that their greatest weakness was fire. Why your group hadn’t purchased flame throwers or anything similar was beyond you. But you made do with what resources you had. And that was your trusty lighter and Steve’s hairspray which you had pilfered when he wasn’t looking. 

Even Eddie was able to stand to his full height and watch in awe. “You couldn’t have told me you had something up your sleeve?”

You must have been smiling like a madman. “Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

The two of you stood there until the swarm above was eradicated. Smoked remains of your winged enemies dropped like flies onto the earth until finally there was silence and calm.

Weary, you drop both hairspray can and lighter and fall into Eddie’s waiting arms. He kisses the top of your head, thumb smoothing a cut on your cheek. “I can’t believe it. . . We’re actually alive. . .”

“Eh, I knew we would survive.” Faux smugness enters your voice. “We had to so I could kiss you. No kisses for the dead.”

Eddie laughs and as your reward he does indeed bestow you with his lips, although their dry and cracked it was the best kiss of your life.

In the distance you hear Dustin’s shouting.

You pull out of Eddie’s arms and squint. “Is that. . . Dustin? I thought we cut the rope!”

“Damnit Dustin!” Eddie shouts. 

From his stumbling figure that got closer, you deduced he must have injured his leg from the fall back to the Upside Down. 

You roll your eyes and follow Eddie.

“Y-You’re alive! Oh thank god!!” Dustin cries both in pain and relief.

“This is why we left you there! So you wouldn’t get hurt. Now look at you!” Halfheartedly you scold him but it touched you that Dustin was willing to hurt himself to make sure you and Eddie were okay.

Eddie helps Dustin back to the trailer but you lingered behind. Looking back to where you almost did die. Past the trees that surrounded the haunted trailer park, you knew Steve, Nancy and Robin were proceeding to their own mission. 

“Give him hell, you guys.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things 4

[rorywritessmut]

So, I am cthulhuandthejellyfish on AO3 and I wanted to share of my fics with you guys on here! I took my most popular one from there and am posting it here! Please enjoy and remember to read the TW!

As a reminder, I write these based off of deeply emotional experiences that happened to me because my therapist said it was good for me. Enjoy my own personal angst.

Song is The Scientist by Coldplay

TW: Abuse, underage sex mentioned not described, manipulation, homophobia

Come up to meet you, tell you I’m sorry

Izuku couldn’t believe Bakugou was choosing now to do this. He couldn’t believe that Bakugou got drunk enough to try and get back together with him, after all these years.

“Izuku-” Kaachan started.

“Don’t, don’t use my first name Kaachan.” Izuku was struggling to look him in the eyes. Kaachan had cornered him in the alleyway, his face beat red from the alcohol.

“I just want to say sorry,” He reached out and grabbed Izuku’s chin, “look at me, you damn nerd.” Classic Bakugou, he couldn’t stay civil for more than a couple of minutes. Izuku was already tired of this conversation.

Tonight was the UA class reunion and Izuku hadn’t planned on running into Bakugou, at least not like this. He figured that he was going to enjoy the night meeting up with busy friends and look stunning as Shouto’s arm candy. He thought that seeing Bakugou after all these years wouldn’t stir up old memories, but it did. Those same memories sat on his chest and made it hard to breathe, making his eyes water. Worst of all, those memories made him nauseous for all of the bullshit he let Kaachan put him through.

You don’t know how lovely you are, I had to find you, tell you I need you

“Please,” the sob cut through Izuku’s thoughts. “Please just hear me out Midoryia. Please, just let me tell you everything I’ve wanted to say for the past 5 years.” Tears were forming at the corners of Bakugou’s eyes. His form quivered and his palms were smoking.

“You don’t deserve it.”

“Five minutes is all I need.”

“No.” Izuku felt like his throat was caught in his throat. He was torn. Seeing Bakugou so torn up over him made his gut clench with guilt. However, the stronger side of him knew that this was just another form of manipulation.

“Fine. I’ll just talk,” Bakugou retained his cocky attitude, straightening his back.”I’m sorry for not treasuring you in High school. I should have been a better boyfriend than I was. My biggest regret is letting you go.” Bakugou set a gentle hand on Izuku’s cheek, stroking his cheek with a calloused thumb. His molten red eyes were lidded and soft. Seeing that face and being touched liked this set Izuku off.

“Your biggest regret is letting me go” Izuku felt the green electricity crackle with fury around him. He smacked Kaachan’s hand away from him and took a step forward. “You’d think your biggest regret was cheating on me and making me feel like it was my fault.” Izuku took another step forward.

“Izuku-”

“No! Your biggest regret should be the many times you manipulated me and humiliated me. It should be the fact you hid our relationship because you wanted to screw around!” Izuku was screaming now. Tears welled and spilled down his cheeks. Bakugou didn’t get to pretend that every terrible thing in their relationship didn’t happen. After a pregnant silence Bakugou spoke up.

“You think I hid our relationship so I could screw around?” Bakugou’s hands were smoking again. “I hid our relationship because no one knew I was gay!”

“Yet you bragged to everyone that you screwed around with Kirishima.” Izuku narrowed his eyes remembering the heartbroken redhead. He remembered how Kirishima cried to Izuku about how Bakugou screwed him then left him, about how he was nothing more than a failed experiment.

“That’s besides the point!” Bakugou was getting mad now. His spine was rimrod straight and his eyes were narrowed, focused solely on Midoriya.

“It’s not! You were a terrible boyfriend and you could never admit you were wrong. Even now you can’t own up to your mistakes!” Of course, Izuku wouldn’t miss how Bakugou focused on only one part of Izuku’s gripes.

“I just apologized,” Bakugou bit each word and spit them into Izuku’s face.

“You half assed your apology. I’m done here,” Izuku pushed past Bakugou and made way for the door. It was starting to get cold outside anyways.

“We’re not done here, nerd!” Bakugou’s voice faded as the door shut behind Izuku. He figured now would be the time to find Todoroki and get out of here.

No one ever said it would be this hard, Oh, take me back to the start

Izuku didn’t get the chance to find Todoroki before he had to run to the bathroom. He started to vomit every feeling he had into the toilet. Again, and again, and again until there was nothing left but numbness. Memories that were once long forgotten rushed back into his mind. Taunting him with happy and sad memories.

Memories like the times him and Bakugou made love at a young age. The secret the two of them held between each other until the fateful night that Kirishima came to him. The secret that Izuku thought was special between them seemed to be a secret Bakugou shared with everyone. Kirishima had walked in on Bakugou and some girl from class C. It was a shock to Izuku at the time. Yet, he stayed.

Memories like how Bakugou went on dates with women in public. Let them flirt with him in public. All those women who would fawn to Izuku about how amazing of a guy the terror of UA really was. How, one night Izuku slapped Bakugou for flirting with Momo instead of coming into his room like they had planned. How humiliated he felt when he told the class they were dating and Bakugou made fun of him, told he was delusional.

All of the manipulation came to the surface and Izuku began to silently sob. Tears ran down his face in a silent race to his chin. All the times he manipulated Izuku into sex with hate filled words. All of the times he made Izuku feel like shit for getting upset about his female conquests. The blame game every time.

“I can’t be gay and be the number one hero, ‘Zuku.” Bakugou touched Izuku’s face gently and kissed him, keeping Izuku from responding the way he wanted.

Izuku hated that Bakugou’s internalized homophobia rubbed off on him, even after they separated. It took two years after graduation for Todoroki to convince Izuku to date him and another year to convince him to go public. Izuku was scared he’d lose his spot as the number one hero if he was outed to the public but he proved wrong, again. The world loved Izuku no matter who he loved. Todoroki loved Izuku no matter who he was.

Tell you I set you apart

“Izuku,” a smooth voice broke the panic that had begun to set in.

“Sho, I-” His voice cracked and revealed every feeling that had taken hold in his mind.

“No need to tell me. I saw the way Bakugou stormed out of here. I figured it out once I hadn’t seen you after,” There was a pause, “Are you okay?” Todoroki’s voice came out in a whisper. Almost like Izuku would break if he spoke any louder.

“No.” Izuku managed to choke out. He couldn’t believe that Shouto had found him like this. A bumbling mess leaning on a toilet.

“Do you need help getting up? Do you want to go home?” Shouto’s voice was heavy and laced with concern, the love weighed down Izuku’s heart. Did he really deserve this love? Did he deserve to be doted on by the amazing Todoroki Shouto? “Don’t let your head get to you.” He could always read Izuku’s mind.

“I’m not fine, I need help,” Todoroki took that as a sign to melt to lock off the door. “Sho, not like that.” He chuckled as his boyfriend helped him off the floor and out of the bathroom.

“Let’s go home, Izuku”

#bakudeku #bkdk ao3 #bkdk angst #mha fanfiction #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #not smut #fanfiction #cthulhuandthejellyfish #ao3 #angst #sad #manipulation

[bubblesandgutz]

Every Record I Own - Day 755: Emma Ruth Rundle Engine of Hell

This is another album highlight of 2021.

Here’s what I wrote about Engine of Hell for the official Sargent House press release:

“I don’t know what to reveal about this album,” Emma Ruth Rundle responds when pressed to talk about her latest record, the stark, intimate, and unflinching Engine of Hell. “I feel like I want to be left alone for a little bit… it doesn’t feel like it’s time to wave the ‘look at me’ flag.” It’s an understandable position given the heavy lyrical content of the record and the naked and exposed nature of the accompanying music. Even the most cursory listen of the album is sure to elicit some questions. Rundle has opted to forego the full-band arrangements of her last two albums—Marked For Death and On Dark Horses—in favor of the austerity of a lone piano or guitar and her voice, putting every word under the microscope. Engine of Hell was recorded almost entirely live with minimal overdubs, and the effect is an extremely up-close and personal confessional with an ASMR-level focus on the rich subtleties and timbre of Rundle’s graceful performances. Much like Nick Drake’s Pink Moon or Sibylle Baier’s Colour Green, Engine of Hell captures a moment where a masterful songwriter strips away all flourishes and embellishments in order to make every note and word hit with maximum impact. But it’s also a record that leaves little to hide behind.

Emma Ruth Rundle has always been a multifaceted musician, equally capable of dreamy abstraction (as heard on her debut album Electric Guitar: One), maximalist textural explorations (see her work in Marriages, Red Sparowes, or Nocturnes), and the classic acoustic guitar singer-songwriter tradition (exemplified by Some Heavy Ocean). But on Engine of Hell, Rundle focuses on an instrument that she left behind in her early twenties when she began playing in bands: the piano. In combination with her voice, the piano playing on Engine of Hell creates a kind of intimacy, as if we’re sitting beside Rundle on the bench, or perhaps even playing the songs ourselves. “I really wanted to capture imperfection and the vulnerability of my humanity,” Rundle says of the album’s sonic approach. “In some small way, there is this tiny punk rock feel of ‘well, fuck this perfect, polished, produced, and rehearsed thing that we are so pressured to do. Here are some very personal songs; here are my memories; here is me teetering on the very edge of sanity dipping my toe into the outer reaches of space and I’m taking you with me and it’s very fucked up and imperfect.’”

The instrument of Rundle’s childhood is the perfect vehicle for an album that is essentially a collection of memories from her youth, though one doesn’t need to dig too deep to realize Engine of Hell isn’t some saccharin nostalgia trip. A gentle melancholy piano line introduces album opener “Return,” and when Rundle finally sings, every syllable guided with the utmost intention, she unleashes the ominously cryptic opening lines “A rich belief that no one sees you / Your ribbon cut from all the fates and / Some hound of Hell looking for handouts / The breath between things no one says.” The ambiguity may obscure the muse, but it doesn’t diminish its heaviness. However, as the album progresses, it becomes apparent that Engine of Hell is more memoir than pure poetry. By the next song—the soft-spoken acoustic guitar ballad “Blooms of Oblivion”—we’ve been given more explicit details. “Down at the methadone clinic we waited / hoping to take home your cure / The curdling cowards, the crackle of china / you say that it’s making you pure.” It gets even heavier on Engine of Hell’s third song “Body,” where Rundle recounts a childhood memory of seeing a deceased family member wheeled away by strangers.

The memories and their accompanying songs aren’t always steeped in grief. “Dancing Man” is one of the most delicate and somber songs on the album, with its sleepy cadence and hushed delivery giving it a distinctly dream-like quality. Yet the song serves a positive purpose: it chronicles a cherished memory of Rundle dancing with a friend—an experience she returns to in dark moments when she needs the reminder of “perfect days with this perfect love that exists in a space which can never be taken away from me, can never be ruined, can never be changed.”

Engine of Hell’s definitive statement comes with the final song “In My Afterlife.” The verses find Rundle singing about passing on against a drape of sparsely arranged minor chords on the piano. But the somber tone turns redemptive on the choruses, where the melody shifts to a major key, and Rundle seems to bask in the possibilities of coming untethered to the past. “I’ve been living in a state of dissociation for so long,” Rundle reflects, “and that’s what gave birth to this particular song. Once all the songs for the album were done I realized ‘In My Afterlife’ was what the album is actually about. For me this album is the end of an era to the end of a decade of making records. Things DO have to change and have changed for me since I finished recording it.” In essence, Engine of Hell signifies a major turning point for Emma Ruth Rundle as both an artist and as a person. The catharsis of this type of songwriting has effectively served its purpose, and to continue ruminating on the past going forward is less of a healing process and more like picking at a scab and refusing to let it heal. This may help explain why Rundle is less than enthusiastic about divulging the details about her muses, but it doesn’t alter the fact that these songs served a purpose in their creation, and that they may continue to bring comfort to others.

Engine of Hell is a potent album, and it may prove too emotionally overwhelming for fans of a more anodyne brand of songwriting. But for anyone that’s endured trauma and grief, there’s a beautiful solace in hearing Emma Ruth Rundle articulate and humanize that particular type of pain not only with her words, but with that particular mysterious language of melody and timbre. 

#emma ruth rundle #everyrecordiown

[bwayfan25]

Time for Bed

Cold rain pounded at the window, its sound mingling comfortably with the crackling of the fire. The peace of a quiet night reading was a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the last several… well, let’s just say since leaving Maroak.

He flipped a page as a tinkling sound came from the kitchen. Sure enough, he glanced up to see Ollis crossing towards him, a steaming teacup in their hand. They smiled at him as they took a sip.

As long as he’d known them, Ollis had never cared to tie their robe closed at night. It helped in temperature regulation, sure, but more so was meant to give a clear view of the scars on their chest. But lately, given how much their stomach had swollen, Henrik wasn’t sure they could close it if they wanted to.

Ollis handed him their cup so they could lower themself down onto the sofa next to him. They let out a sigh of relief (much as they did almost every time they sat down these days) and rested their arm on top of their baby bump.

Once settled, Henrik handed them the teacup. They began to mutter a word of thanks, but had no chance to finish as Henrik brushed their long hair back behind their ear and kissed them on the cheek. Ollis decided instead to show their gratitude by turning their head to kiss them square on the lips.

As they pulled away, Henrik caught the taste on their lips not of tea but caf. He smirked.

“Is it a good idea to be drinking this late at night?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow. “I don’t want you lying awake all night.”

Ollis rolled their eyes and then took another sip just to spite him.

“I’m more likely to fall asleep after drinking caf than I am to stay awake.”

Henrik playfully narrowed his eyes before remarking, “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Not for most people, maybe,” Ollis conceded. “But you forget. I’m special.”

“I’m fairly certain that the word is ‘weird.’”

Ollis rolled their eyes again, but settled in comfortably as Henrik put his arm around their shoulder. As they did so, they craned their neck to see the book in his far hand.

“What are you reading?”

Henrik shifted a bit, blocking their view. But the move only served to pique their curiosity.

“Come on. What is it?” they urged before dropping their voice and purring, “Is it something you can only show me if we’re alone? Because we’re alone now…”

Henrik rolled his eyes as his cheeks automatically turned red.

“If you must know…” He inhaled deeply. “It’s a book of nursery rhymes.”

He knew better than to look at Ollis right at this moment, but he couldn’t help himself. And, sure enough, they were gazing at him with that soft, loving smile that made him feel every which way but up.

“Practicing?” Ollis asked. At Henrik’s replying nod, they nodded him on with a, “Go on then. Read to me.”

Henrik rolled his eyes, but nevertheless obliged. But he wasn’t even two words into The Mad Mistress when Ollis stopped him.

“What?” Henrik said with a huff. “You told me to read it to you.”

“Yeah, but that one’s a song. You have to sing it,” Ollis insisted. “You know how it goes. Mad mistress Maja made many muffins. Many, many muffins did she make.”

“I believe the lyrics are ‘Mad mistress Marla,’” Henrik pointed out.

He showed them the book. Ollis paused for a moment, frowning, before nodding in understanding.

“I always wondered why Papa was the only one who ever sang it like that. And why Mama always gave him a look afterwards,” they remarked thoughtfully. “Anyway, go on. Sing to me.”

Henrik shook his head. But Ollis scooted closer to him and their touch instantly made him give in.

In a voice so low that only Ollis could hear him, Henrik quietly sang the nursery rhyme followed by several others. Ollis contentedly sipped their caf, occasionally singing along with him or expressing their admiration through kisses when he stopped for breath.

But as Henrik finished a particularly jaunty tune called Is There Any Such Thing?, he heard Ollis gasp and immediately tensed.

“What? What is it?” he asked quickly.

He turned, expecting to see them having spilled caf over their bare(d) chest or doubled over as a contraction seized their abdomen, but he found neither. The only movement that seemed to have occurred was Ollis’ arm having traveled from the top of their stomach to a spot on the side.

“Don’t worry. It’s okay,” they assured him calmly. “The baby’s just moving around a lot. I think they like it when you sing.”

The thought of the baby hearing him sing (and liking it) made Henrik’s chest clench. But it wasn’t the painful clench of anxiety or shame that he was used to, but a more… pleasant one. Like the feeling that preceded happy tears.

“I think you gave them too much caf,” he said, nodding at the cup in Ollis’ hand.

“I’m giving them exactly as much as the midwife said is safe. It’s you,” they replied. “So, go on. Don’t stop now. They’re enjoying it.”

For a moment, Henrik almost asked which ‘they’ they were referring to, but instead just turned back to his book. He softly sang a few more of the rhymes, but it wasn’t long before he realized Ollis wasn’t singing or urging him on.

He glanced at them out of the corner of his eye to find them sitting very still. Their eyes were closed, the teacup raised halfway to their lips. Their breathing had grown slow and even and they seemed to rock just slightly, as if lulled by the rhymes he read.

“Ollis?” Henrik asked softly. “My love?”

Ollis’ eyes slowly opened. They blinked a few times and muttered an apology. Henrik just took the teacup from them and set it on a nearby table.

“I guess you’re right,” he said, chuckling as he offered them a hand to stand up. “Caf really can put you to sleep.”

“I told you it could,” Ollis replied. “However, if the little feet kicking my bladder is any indication, I don’t think it has any effect on the baby. Which means I might end up lying awake all night after all.”

#i was feelin sappy okay #henrik singing to his pregnant husband who is drinking caffeine WAY too late at night #the great addeyr has returned #olliswell bell #henrik of gilderstone #original fiction

[fortunawren]

IV. Sitas

Trigger Warning: Mommy Domme + Light Switch Erotica. Read at your own risk. 

Here's a secret about Mommy--sometimes she likes it when her sweetheart is just a little bit rough with her.

Now, he can't speak for all Mommies. Maybe some of them don't like it when their littles seize drops of power to use against them. But, his Mommy does. She likes brats. She likes teaching them how to behave, and rewarding them when they are exceptionally good. She says it's because good boys deserve to be rewarded, but another secret is that Mommy loves cock.

Especially his, or so he's told.

Still, he was slightly surprised when she told him about tonight's game. To be fair, this isn't usually how they play and he's not sure if his recent behavior warrants such a gift. To be honest, he's been a bit of a brat lately despite all of Mommy's gentle warnings. So, when she said that she was going to let him fuck her from behind, he didn't know what to think.

A full ten seconds passed before he even said anything, and even then, it was an "If you're sure, Mommy."

Which she was.

She's almost always sure.

And she makes such a pretty picture, too. Her knees are digging into her navy blue sheets while her freckled ass is perched in the air. Her orange robe is forgotten on the floor, and lucky him, she wasn't wearing anything under it.

Mommy wiggles her hips as he approaches, cock in hand. The small shift in her hips forces a wayward thought in his head about spanking her. His dick practically twitches with the force of the idea. He's never seen what his handprint would look like against her fair skin.

But that's not tonight's game.

She wiggles her hips again, almost encouraging his naughty idea. He can't help but smile. Perhaps Mommy loves brats so much because she's one herself.

All he's really certain of is the heaviness of his cock in his hand. Each stroke is pure torture. He wants so much to take what's right in front of him. What's worse is knowing how good she feels when she's squeezing the life out of him. It's almost enough to drive a groan from his throat.

But he's not allowed to touch her.

Not yet.

He has to wait for her permission.

Still, just the thought of entering her---or again, the thought of painting her pretty skin red, makes him swell. The sound of his fist moving up and down his length is the only noise in the room beside the crackling of two wood-wick candles meant to set the mood.

He tries to focus on the subtle popping of the candle instead of the sight in front of him, or the sound of him jacking himself off because even that might be enough to send him over the brink. He tries to think about the scents that he's getting; jasmine for one, and maybe a bit of manufactured leather?

"That's right," Mommy says as if she knows that his thoughts are starting to wander to get away from the intensity, "Get hard for Mommy, Sweatheart. I need you to get nice and big--all swollen for me so you can fuck me."

The whole time she's being an utter minx with her words, she's snaking her arm down her body so her fingers can rub at her clit. He has to close his eyes---the sight is too great. Otherwise, he'll cum right there and the whole game will be over.

She releases a soft little moan, but she might as well have screamed it. The moment his ears consume the sound, it runs through his body like static. All he can truly focus on is the undeniable knowledge that she's going to be wet. Maybe even soaked.

He knows it.

As gorgeous as the siren song of her pleasuring herself is, he doesn't dare open his eyes. He's vindicated in his logic when he hears her moan again, this time louder. With it, she says something like, "Feels so good" but most of her words are muffled as if she has her face right in the mattress.

Fuck me, he thinks because now he has to know. He has to see if she's got her face in the mattress already.

It takes one quick and benign pep talk before he manages to open his eyes. Whatever fantasy he'd constructed in his head quickly disassembles in favor of the real thing. Unfortunately, it turns out to be a far more enthralling sight.

Mommy's forehead is nestled in the curve of her elbow. Her little fingers have her poor clit trapped, and she's moving them in tight, eager circles as if she's trying to push herself over as fast as she can. He's downright enchanted with the sight.

And amazed with his strength.

He tries to work his erection at the same pace as her. The only mercy he shows himself is the slight loosening of his grip, but it proves too much. Entirely too fucking much.

He's never going to last. She's going to kill him.

Mommy stops playing with her clit, and his heart skips a beat. His mind plays a gentle chorus of *finally. But she's a cruel mistress, really, because her fingers only rise to her tight entrance. She dips one finger in, humming in the back of her throat.

Then she's pulling it out with a slick sound.

Fuck.

He'd been right. She's absolutely soaked.

Mommy raises and looks over her shoulder at him with a damning little smirk. Her cheeks are pink, but her eyes are hungry. Starving, even. It's enough to make him swallow, but she's not even looking at his face. Her eyes are zeroed in on his dick. She's inspecting it. Making sure that he's ready. She bites her lip and then smiles wider.

Softly, she says, "I think you're ready, don't you?" Before he can answer, she adds a pitched, "Are you ready to fuck Mommy?"

"Yes," He nearly whines. He's of enough sense to hastily correct, "Yes, Mommy. I'm ready."

She looks away from him, easing back down. His eyes trace the movement, nearly bulging when the globes of her ass spread. He finds that he likes her like this, but knows he will like it much more when he's buried to the root.

But then she's slipping two fingers into her entrance, dipping them in so, so slowly. Her pussy eagerly accommodates. She breathes out an, "Oh" that makes him want to die. He has to bite back a groan, but in that, he's unsuccessful.

Truthfully, it could be worse.

He could be releasing ropes all over her back right now unapologetically.

Mommy pants, "Oh, that's so good."

"Mommy," He doesn't mean for it to come out--his little plea. He had no intention of begging. He didn't even think he would have to given how she'd approached him. Hell, she'd answered the door in just her robe.

"I know, baby," She coos, "I know. Just a little bit longer."

Kill me.

The voice in the back of his head taunts. It says that he should've known better. It hasn't been this easy since the honeymoon phase when they couldn't get enough of each other--when they were still learning each other and everything was so very new.

Sentimentality does a lot to relieve the ache. He wants to brag. He wants to say something along the lines of, "See, Mommy. I can control myself." but that would most likely end terribly and he probably wouldn't be able to cum for a whole week. And she'd probably call him over every single day just to do something hell-raising evil like making out while she ground down on him like they were horny teenagers just to send him home before 7 pm.

She's subtly evil regarding her psychological schemes.

"Just a couple more minutes," She pants into her arm, "Fuck. You can wait, right?"

No, not really. He wants to say, but he regains only in memory of the promise she made him in the beginning---that she wants to give him what he wants. More than anything. And, in her own way, Mommy always gives him the things that he wants. Spoiling brings her nearly as much joy as taming does.

So, he knows that eventually, she'll let him sink into her wet cunt, and eventually, he will fuck her right into the mattress like she said he could.

Just a couple more minutes. Just a couple more minutes. Just a couple more minutes.

It's faith in her promise that allows him to croak, "Yes, Mommy, I can wait."

"That's good, baby," She pumps her fingers in her pussy and his jaw unhinges. His mouth is nearly watering, and he knows that if he's not careful, he's going to start leaking. He thinks about stopping, but she knows that she'll hear it the moment that she does, and that might delay this whole thing.

*Just one more minute,*he comforts himself, just one more lousy fucking minute.

It's a shallow angle. Mommy's not hitting any of her favorite spots. All she's effectively doing is stretching out the first inch or so for her sweetheart. But he can see the highlights of arousal starting to drop down her fingers in the candlelight. It's such a captivating sight, but he doesn't stop stroking---although he really wishes he could.

Heat rises up his body starting at the base of his cock. All he can do is watch as she starts to rock back against her fingers, deliberately sinking them in further without any resistance. She groans, "Yes."

He starts to reconsider his stance on spanking.

"You know--"

She stops talking.

Mommy stops talking so she can fuck her own fingers right in front of him. He doesn't know if it's the wetness sliding down her fingers, or the slick metronome of her fingers thrusting into her pussy that makes him say, "Mommy, please."

"Fuck," She whimpers, and then she says, "You know Mommy's doing this all for you. I have to get ready for you. You wouldn't want to hurt Mommy with your thick cock would you?"

He would.

Just a little.

But instead, he says almost innocently, "No, Mommy."

She slips her fingers in and out of her cunt thirteen more times--each proving to be a greater reflection of her training. He hadn't known he could resist to this extent, especially when given something so tempting.

He's tempted to pull her arm behind her back and shove his cock into her. It's an almost bowing thought and one that takes him completely by surprise for the utter roughness of it, but there's a fire in his stomach and he knows she'd take it so well. He channels the fragments of the vision into his next words, "Please stretch your pussy for me, Mommy."

It's not directly bratty. Darker, than anything. Almost like a warning---and just a little out of character. Excitedly, and most hornily, he accepts that this is something new for them.

"Okay, baby," She pants nicely, "Just a bit more time, then. Since you want it so bad."

He looks down at his cock almost apologetically. He's starting to leak, and he'd let impulse take him when he swore he was going to behave. He clenches his jaw and closes his eyes again. He tries to maintain the pace and then wonders if he could slowly change his strokes to something more forgiving without her noticing.

Another thought crosses his mind; he could drop to his knees right now and lick up the mess she's made of herself. He'd press his tongue against her abused and neglected clit and wouldn't let up until she was crying.

But that's another game for another time--or maybe the follow-up to him filling her up with so much cum that it's dripping down her thighs.

Just the thought has him pulsing.

Mommy sucks in two breaths before she removes her fingers. The sound her pussy makes as they exit will probably haunt his daydreams during the most inopportune times.

"Okay," His mind nearly blanks with her concession, but he does manage to open his eyes, "Now, you have to listen, okay?"

Quickly--too quickly for sanity--he agrees, "Okay."

Truly, he means anything.

"You have to be slow, okay?" She moves to look over her shoulder at him, "You have to be gentle."

There's a sternness in how she looks at him.

"Okay, Mommy," He agrees as sincerely as possible, "I'll be gentle."

"That's a good boy," She grins at him---one of her truly happy smiles. He wants to kiss her, and she thinks that she would find that very endearing but the absolute pain in his dick prevents him from being that sweet. Mommy settles down low into a similar position as before, "Put your cock in me, sweetheart. Please."

He accepted some time ago she'd probably be his cause of death. He feels the start of a heart attack for sure.

But she's not finished.

"Mommy needs it bad."

He smirks.

He can't help it.

He releases his cock, finding purchase on her hip instead. He tugs her back just a little and she scoffs. He leans down and kisses her back, and says, "Sorry, Mommy."

His other hand lines his cock up with the seam of her pussy. He doesn't resist the urge to drag the tip of it across her clit, and she flinches involuntarily with the pleasure, "Don't be a tease."

He wants to bark out a laugh but he resists.

Still, he doesn't waste her time. He dips in so slowly he thinks he might die--proving to them both that he can be immensely gentle. It's an excruciating venture. The first press is all wet heat, and then maddening friction. Tight but easily pliant walls part for him at a pace that has him pondering buying her an old clock just so he could time the seconds.

He moves his hips slowly. Most controlled.

It dawns on him that this is probably the best behaved he's been in some time, and somehow Mommy is so prone beneath him. Each time he pulls out in an attempt to keep his cock coated with her arousal, she releases the softest little whimpers, urging him on with an even softer, "Put it back in."

Still, it's not long until she's swallowed him whole. His hips press against her back as he grinds gently against her, head dropping to bestow even softer kisses against her back.

"Thank you, darling," She says sweetly.

And fuck him, he knows that tone entirely too well. He knows that nothing good for his health ever comes from that voice.

"Now," She begins, and he groans. Mommy starts again, sterner, "Now, don't move or we'll have to stop. Do you understand?"

No. No. No.

It takes him a moment to respond.

"Okay?"

She checks in, and he swallows, looking down to where their bodies are joined.

"Yes, Mommy."

All he can think somewhere in the depths of his mind is that he's wearing her like a sleeve and she doesn't want him to move? This is madness. She's madness.

Mommy moves her hand down her body again---this time her fingers graze his swollen skin before she goes for her clit again. The death grunt he let out is nearly embarrassing.

"You feel so good," She whines, tightening around her as she rubs herself, "You fill Mommy up so good."

"I'm trying," His building resentment with this whole trap boils.

"Don't be bad," Mommy says, "You know what happens when you're bad."

She squeezes down on his cock while she says it. It's her favorite little trick and it's almost horrid how it'd will him into compliance. The sounds that escape her are also mind-altering. Better than LSD.

He's not exactly sure he's meant to win this game.

But he wants to.

"So good," She hums, "You're so good to let Mommy use you like this."

To buy back some favor, he leans down and kisses her skin again, "Thank you, Mommy." His kisses bring forth a new angle that has her springing forward. The smile that spreads across his lips, and against her skin does nothing to soften her intentions. He tries to remedy it, "Thank you for using me."

But it's too late.

Mommy carefully leans forward, pulling away from him. He whines. Cruelly, she listens to him and sinks back down all the way. The whole thing has him looking up at the ceiling.

"Fuck," She breathes as she does it again. And then again, and again. His eyes almost roll into the back of his head, and it's with great effort that they don't. She adds, "You're perfect."

That alone should've been the end of him. Perhaps all her training is paying off because he manages to lock his jaw instead of cumming.

She speeds up, and with her, quicker pace comes the mere sound of how wet she is. His eyes keep fighting the good fight--and maybe he would have let them win but he quickly finds reprieve in the sight of her greedily taking him for all he's worth over and over again with her little moans, and ohs and yeses.

And he knows this is what she wanted most. Him, right here, at her disposal. Her heavy, throaty sounds are the only indication he has before she falls forward. He has no choice but to dig his fingers into her hips to her in place.

"Thanks, Sweetheart," Her pace makes her reckless, and he knows that she's getting close by the way her words break, "Such a--you're such a good boy. You have such a nice cock, too. Say it's mine."

Her fingers move recklessly, her hand sometimes meeting his cock in her efforts.

His teeth are going to crack.

"Do you want to make Mommy come?"

"Yes," He says, "More than anything. I need you to cum on my cock, Mommy."

Her next words are breathy, "Good. Good," there's a long pause, "Then Mommy needs you to fuck her. I need you to be sweet--"

Sweet?

"--and slow, okay? Pull all the way out and push all the way back in. Slow."

He can do that.

He focuses on that word. Slow. And he's very slow in the way his hips rock against her. It's almost delirium in the sense that if she asked him for his social security number and bank security question responses, he'd probably give them to her without missing a beat.

But the thing is, Mommy starts rocking again and she's not at all sweet or slow about it. More like feral.

The room is overcome with the wet slap of skin. The candles no longer a constant in his ears. She moans, "Yes, just like that."

And barely a breath passes before she's adding, "You're fucking Mommy just right. The best."

She squeezes him again, and the fire is spreading through him again. It reaches his cheeks and threatens to take him. He knows that he doesn't have much longer.

She cries out, "Oh, yes. Fuck."

Followed by a long, suffocated whine. She lifts up her head for the sheer purpose of saying, "Mommy's going to cum, baby. I'm going to come on your cock."

"Please," He says. He begs, "Please, Mommy."

"Don't cum," She adds almost as a mumble into the bed, "I'm not finished with you."

A few sloppy thrusts later, he feels her tightening around him and it's not one of her tricks.

"Are you close, Mommy?" He can't help but ask. Really, he's just checking on her.

"Yes, baby. So close."

She's truly gone.

He leans back down and she curses. He whispers as he mouths at whatever he can reach, "Cum for me, Mommy. I need it. I need to feel you break. Please."

Her fingers graze his cock again and he moans. It's seconds later that she tenses, the nearest she's ever gotten to a scream falling from her lips. Her breathing is harsh in the next few moments, but his kisses are plenty. Overkill, maybe.

"Good."

That's all she says for the first few moments, "That's good, sweetheart. So good for me. Now, take Mommy."

Finally.

"Give me another."

"And then I can cum?" He asks because he has to know. He has to have a goal. There's a smile in her response.

"Yes, then you can cum."

She's ridden him senseless, and they've done missionary enough times that he knows how to fuck her. He knows how to make her cum fast, and she really needs her to cum fast. Mommy's intensely responsive, especially when you're whispering the right things in her ear. His hand goes to her breast, first as a soft touch, but then as something with a little more pressure when he gets to her hard nipples.

"Poor Mommy."

"That's your last warning," She says this as sweet as syrup. The queen of passive-aggressiveness.

But moves his hips a little faster and then circles her nipple with his fingers. He can't pinpoint a time in his head that she's been this wet, but that could simply be ego.

"More," She moans. A simple enough plea. But it quickly becomes a string of, "Oh. Oh, fuck. Just like that."

"Yeah, Mommy?" He can't resist when she sounds so overwhelmed, "Just like that?"

Uh-huh.

He's pretty sure he's winning the game.

He feels her squeezing down and grabs her hips--abandoning her poor nipple. She growls, actually growls. But the shallower, more controlled thrusts soon have her moaning once again so he thinks he's in the clear on that one. He's not exactly slow, but he's not ridiculously quick either. He knows that this comes down to friction more than anything.

He finds the spot. He knows he does because she cries, "Yes."

"Right there, Mommy?"

"Yes."

His Mommy sounds broken.

"Are you going to cum again?" He's glad she can't see his face. She wouldn't be pleased with his utter smugness.

"Yeah," She sniffles, "Yeah. You're going to make me cum. Please, Sweetheart. A little faster."

"Of course, Mommy." It's damn near angelic the way he says it.

He complies eagerly with her request.

"Don't cum," She says, "Please don't cum."

He's going to have to make a dentist appointment after this weekend. Her next moan gets stuck in her throat. She clamps down on him and it's difficult not to just let go. He wants to. He needs to but she asked so sweetly. So nicely. He can't disappoint her.

She starts moving against him again and says, "It's almost your turn."

Which, in his opinion, is a fucked up thing to say to someone on the near brink of explosion. He closes his eyes again.

And the demoness has the audacity to say, "You're going to make Mommy cum twice, Sweetheart. What a good boy."

Bitch.

That's his honest thought.

Then, she's cumming, again. Squeezing the life out of him in the hottest, wettest grip. He's going to buy her oranges from the farmer's market or some shit. He doesn't know.

But then he is seized by the realization that it is his turn. Despite the pain in his jaw, he manages to stay still long enough for her to start moving against him again. She coos, "Okay."

"You've been so good at making Mommy cum," He can tell that she is smiling from her almost lazy position, "Why don't you cum now? Hmm?" He looks down at where their bodies are joined and starts moving again in quick friction, "Yes. Use Mommy."

"Fuck," He says this time.

"Would that make you happy?" She asks, "You know Mommy would let you do anything if it made you happy, right?"

"Yes, Mommy."

Once given permission, it doesn't take him long to get there. Freedom runs through him as he empties himself into her sloppy, very well-used cunt. He pulls out of her for the sheer visual of it and the sight of their combined body fluids dripping off him doesn't disappoint.

He finds himself falling against her, kissing the back of her head. Then mouthing at her back. He can tell when she starts to come to and piece together all the things she let him get away with while they were in the throes of it.

So, he smiles, "I think Mommy deserves a present for being so creative and I have the perfect one in mind."

#booktok #free #wattpad #romance #mommy literature #mommy k!nk #bd/sm mommy #teasing #domme mommy #bd/sm kink #k!nky thoughts #k!nk community #k!nk tag #k!nks #k!nk blog #writer #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #female writers

[luveline]

a special friend, part two [Fred Weasley, George Weasley x reader]

tags: reader-insert, platonic relationships, friendship, can be read as romantic for either or both, hurt/comfort, mental health issues, implied/referenced self-harm, dissociation, quiet reader, shy reader, sad reader

relationships: fred weasley x reader, george weasley x reader

wordcount: 3.2k

read part one here

The common room was always so clean. The house-elves must work themselves half to death with effort, as you never saw a hair or speck of dust where there ought not to be one. The small refreshment table filled and refilled through every new day and the fireplace was always roaring on cold winter nights. It was especially cold that evening, and so the members of Gryffindor house benefited from a crackling fire and hot chocolate coming out of the ears.

You basked in the warmth of the flame, sitting cross-legged before it. A cup of hot chocolate cooled in between your hands, which were both laden with bandaids and germolene. Fred and George’s orders, of course. You were not to scratch, bite or mess in any detrimental way with your hands, arms or skin. If you did, you were to report to them for immediate bandaging.

At first, they’d simply been spelling each wound away. This had an opposite effect, as the freshly healed skin was perfect for picking whenever your mood turned - which was often. You found yourself blinded and basked in the light of being cared for by others, and although you may have preferred complete autonomy over your own body, you couldn’t say you minded the attentiveness of the twins. They’d made it their personal mission to prevent any self-harm, accidental or purposeful. You weren’t sure you even knew the difference half the time.

A quiet had settled over the room. It seemed as though each red and gold student was content to breathe in the smell of chestnut and pine in peaceful, companionable silence. You found yourself smiling kindly at each person who looked your way. You couldn’t imagine having done that before you had become acquainted with the twins.

Acquainted was a word you used to protect yourself. Friendly was too confident, too firm. You sometimes dreamt of horror stories where you, confident and comfortable, admitted how much you cared for them. In these dreams, they laughed in your face. Poked fun at your hope.

Of course, Fred and George weren’t cruel. If they felt that way, they certainly wouldn’t rub it in your face or make you feel embarrassed about it. But some shame never went away, and you carried it like an ever-burning torch.

Despite the pleasant warmth of the room, chills racked your spine at the thought. You pushed it from your head, attempting to think of anything else. You traced a pattern through the braided strands of the rug you were lazing upon, first the flames of a bonfire towering ten feet tall, then a mirror of the powdered sugar landscape outside.

Two warm bodies settled in the carpet on either side of you. A long arm wrapped around your shoulders confidently. The floral scent of your perfume mingled with the strong scent of burning caramel and something woody, the signature fragrance of the Weasley twins.

George moved first, plonking a stuffed toy into your lap. He positioned the neck carefully so that the teddy bear was sat as comfortable as you were.

“For you,” said Fred.

“An early Christmas gift,” George added.

The bear was spotted unusually like some sort of hybrid creature. You wondered where they could possibly have acquired such an artefact.

“We saw him and thought of you,” they said together.

That was rich. And maybe correct. After all, it was a weird looking plushie and you weren’t exactly renowned for your normality. You didn’t say much, simply handing off your cold drink to George without so much as a sideways glance and brought the bear to your face. You grazed your nose against its brown stomach and inhaled, breathing in its clean scent.

Both twins were used to the general quietness that came with your presence and didn’t pressure any response. You knew you should’ve said thank you, or even smiled gratefully, but you just couldn’t make your mouth move the way you wanted. You placed your hand on each brothers leg and applied the barest amount of pressure, hoping it showed gratitude.

“Well, I’m starving.”

“I’m so glad you said so, my brother.”

“Yes, I’m craving something savory, Gred.”

“Something juicy, Forge.”

“Such as?”

You looked between them like a muggle attending a tennis match, back and forth and back and forth. They ran circles around you for their own enjoyment, you assumed, but maybe also to make you feel more included.

“Y/N, fancy a trek to the kitchens?”

Before you could say no, or yes, or make up your mind and decide what it was you wanted to do, your stomach growled. Fred grinned wickedly.

They ushered you out of the portrait hole and down the stairs without preamble, flanking your sides like bodyguards. You didn’t mind, taking time to smile at the castle ghosts and portraits as you went.

The twins shot each other looks when they thought you couldn’t see. One said, how do you think she is? Another said, I think she’s however you think she is. Both said, she seems okay today.

It would feel a little patronizing if it weren’t so foreign - to have people care about your well-being so deeply they made changes to their day to see you and went out of their way to make you feel good; you’d find it condescending if it wasn’t so delightful.

That is to say, you felt conflicted. Happy that somebody cared, ashamed that they also felt concerned. They worried over everything these days, what you ate and what classes you had and oh, ghostie, do you need help with that? Y/N, sweetheart, let me carry that for you, lest your arms grow too tired.

It was… nice. It was nice, even if it was painful. Sometimes, it reminded you why you didn’t allow yourself the pleasure of friendship in the first place.

You hummed to yourself. Making sound had become a little easier. You weren’t inclined to say a whole lot, but allowing yourself to be louder, to take up space, had come easier the longer you spent with them. Neither Fred nor George minded if you huffed after too many stairs or if you clicked gobstones together at the foot of their beds.

The song was one of those cheesy Christmas numbers you’d heard on the radio. It was warm and comforting, bringing tears to your eyes if you thought about it too much. George slipped into song with you easily, humming much more loudly and obnoxiously. Fred just grinned to himself, keeping dutiful watch of the corridors.

You bubbled like a shaken can of coke by the time you arrived at the painting that enclosed the kitchen doorway, feeling too happy for your own good. Despite feeling very hungry, not a lick of fatigue or unhappiness tinged your mood, though the fuzzy numbness of every day threatened your well-being if you stopped to think too long.

The door swung open obediently after your half-hearted tickle insisted upon by the boys.

“What do you feel like, Y/N, sweet or savoury? There’s bound to be something you’ll fancy,” George said.

You held in a grimace. There were lots of things you wanted to try, the kitchens smelled like so many amazing things. The cloying smells of jam and treacle and custard, the hearty scents of gravy and roast dinner. It was too bad, then, that most everything you ate tasted stale. For years, your tastebuds had been slacking. During your worst days, food held no taste at all, resulting in your decreased appetite.

A tingling began in your fingers. You didn’t know what to say, or how to say it, how to convey that you didn’t really feel up to anything at all. You knew they would protest as they always did when you didn’t eat.

“Bread,” you managed. Bread was a safe choice. Dense enough to feel filling, easy to keep down, and bland to begin with.

Both boys were frowning but trying not to at your choice.

George moved forward, catching the attention of a harrowed looking house elf. They conversed with familiarity and soon you were being beckoned to a table that was relatively clear. Within minutes you were surrounded by bread, crusty rolls and sliced sourdough.

George casually nudged a bowl of tomato soup in your direction.

The surface shined with grease. It even had a swirl of cream and a sprig of basil afloat.

He looked at you, eyes pleading.

“You too,” you said.

This appeased him. The boys sat across from you with their own bowls, eating in the horrific way that teenage boys do. By the time they’d finished, you’d managed half of your own meal and two slices of bread. The nausea you experienced from just existing was starting to build, accompanied by the disappointment of your bland meal. You’d hoped an improved mood would help your appetite, but you still felt unsatisfied.

The boys grabbed a passing plate of tarts and ice cream.

Your good mood was wearing thin. You bit down on the tip of your thumb and stared at the grain of the table.

You bit down harder.

“Hey. Hey! Don’t do that,” Fred said, reaching forward as if to grab your hand. You pushed it under the table.

George pushed the plate of confectionary closer to you. “Chew on one of these instead, hm?”

You took it all back - this was patronising. Lovely and thoughtful and very, excruciatingly patronising.

You didn’t want to say no, or push it away, or eat anything else or even laugh it off. You wanted to do nothing. You lay your head down on the table, closing your eyes. You caught a murmur or two between them, though you couldn’t make out the words with your ear pressed so hard against the wood and the other covered by your falling hair. The table was smooth and cool under your skin.

A chair scraped against the floor. Footsteps. A broad hand against your back.

“You’re like a steam train running out of coal sometimes.”

You knew he was hoping for a response, a joke, a sign you’d been cheered up.

Through slow blinks, you could make out his face. Endlessly amused and a little sad, framed by the candlelight. He was beautiful, you thought absently. They were both beautiful.

“You okay?” he said quietly.

“Mm,”

“Mm? Is mm a yes or a no?”

“Mm,”

“Alright,” he said, rubbing a soothing path up between your shoulder blades and down again. It would’ve been dizzying if you could think straight, it made the numbness a little woozy. You preened beneath his touch like a pleased cat, feeling the unhappiness melt just a little.

It was crazy how affection could make you feel better, even if it didn’t always solve the problem.

Embarrassed, you mumbled, “you’re going to kill me.”

Fred smiled. “How so?”

“You’re fattening me up like a lamb to slaughter.”

He didn’t quite laugh, huffing through his nose. He really was very handsome up close. His hair was curling at just below his ears, a lush auburn colour that complemented his pale, freckle adorned skin. His eyes were a heart-melting brown so that his pupils were lost. The look he gave you was searing like he knew exactly what you were thinking about him. Your ears were tinged with heat, cheeks filling with colour.

He retracted his hand.

“Wrap some of those up, Georgie. Ghostie needs her bed.”

“It shall be done, brother mine!”

You smiled despite yourself.

-

For your birthday, the twins had gifted you a simple necklace. The chain was silver, reaching to just below your collar bone. It had no charm or jewel. It was perfect.

It helped you sometimes when you felt out of it to run it between two fingers or tug it gently from left to right, feeling the chain links rolling behind your neck.

You’d tried that, among every other coping mechanism drilled into your head by George and Fred over the past few weeks. You drew circles were you wanted to scratch, put plasters over fingertips you wanted to pick at. You took big breaths and did the stretches George insisted on. You even tried getting a full night’s sleep - nothing worked.

It filled you with guilt. You felt as though you were letting them both down by struggling.

You stared out the window of the dormitory at the sky, moonlight spilling onto your skin and staining your clothes a gauzy silver. You’d read once that sometimes when the planets were in rotation, you could see them as though they were as close as the moon.

This didn’t seem right to you. How could Mars seem so close? It was an optical illusion. The planets revolved around the sun, but humans had once thought they revolved around Earth instead.

It must’ve been a very strange experience to realise you weren’t as important as you thought. The Earth was just the Earth, spinning and wobbling its path through space.

You shook your head, feeling lost. It was ridiculous to project your feelings on the solar system. But still, you couldn’t help but feel like, despite its inhabitants and its systems, the Earth was so lonely.

Your necklace began to grow cold until it was almost like ice against your skin. One of the twins, or maybe both, had charmed it to change temperature. Cold usually meant, ‘Ghostie, you awake?’

You cringed against the sensation. Why couldn’t they booty call you like normal young men, throwing stones at your window with a boom box? Or, for merlin’s sake, an owl?

You grumbled to yourself, throwing the fleece blanket from your body. You were hardly dressed for company in knickers and a tank top, so you threw on a grey zip-up jacket and a pair of pyjama shorts that were hardly any better than the knickers. Luckily the jacket hung past the shorts. You wanted to care that you were dressed scantily, really, but the boys wouldn’t care and you didn’t have it in you to find something else.

You trekked down the stairs, your trainer socks slippery against the well-worn wood. Fred stretched languidly in front of the fireplace, a pack of exploding snap cards and a mountain of chocolate frogs beside him whilst George was sitting much more straight-backed on the sofa.

“I’m cold,” you said, announcing your arrival. The redheads turned to look at you over their shoulders. Fred rolled his eyes at you and flicked his wand. The necklace slowly heated until it was pleasantly warm against your collarbones.

You clambered over the back of the sofa with little grace, folding your knees underneath you and leaning heavily against George’s arm. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

“If I were a lesser man, I’d ask where your bottoms were, Y/L/N,” said Fred, shuffling the cards dexterously.

You raised your jacket wordlessly, exposing your bottoms.

“Wouldn’t you know, they were there the whole time.”

“You assumed the same as me, George.”

George didn’t reply, though his expression said he was similarly embarrassed.

“And do you always let girls you presume to be half-naked climb all over you?” you asked.

“So talkative,” George chastened.

“Don’t change the subject! I’m interested in the answer,” said Fred.

“Oh shove off! You insufferable tyrants.”

Ah, so he knows how it feels now, you thought. You looked up into his face, the line of his jaw.

You looked down at your legs, feeling fatigued. Smooth stretches of skin and fine hair interrupted only by thin white lines. The low light made them almost impossible to see. They shined like silver when you moved, caught by the light of a nearby candle. They felt a lifetime away now when a young you had used pins and quills and little carving knives to punish yourself for bad behaviour.

You traced a slightly thicker one with a pointed fingernail. You pushed it nastily into the scar, but it didn’t hurt.

You sighed.

Fred and George were half arguing about something you didn’t catch, Fred through a mouthful of chocolate.

It was hard, always being miserable. People often criticized the moody for ruining the mood, but it wasn’t as if you could choose how to be. You wanted to wake each day and be happy and entertaining and absurdly good-natured, like the twins. It was an abject cruelty, then, that every day you woke up and felt the immeasurable dread of continuing on another day. Not even magic could help you with that.

You rejected Fred’s offer to play, happy to sit and watch the boys play. You let yourself slide into the space George had vacated, curling into a tight ball. Your stomach hurt.

Godric, there was always something fucking wrong with you.

You were frustrated. The boys could tell. Their game of snap was stretched thin, and you knew it was your fault. You wrinkled your nose at the smell of singed hair, restless. You squirmed against the warm leather under your skin, feeling sticky and out of sorts.

You closed your eyes against the aching and slept.

You woke up crying.

Fred shifted in his sleep. He was leaning against your legs, his hair and face smushed into the leather beneath you. George was facedown in the carpet. You pressed a hand to your mouth to muffle any sound.

The clock on the wall read 4 minutes past 4 o’clock in the morning. You’d only managed an hour and a half of sleep.

You couldn’t remember what you’d been dreaming. Maybe somewhere familiar. Faces you recognized. It didn’t matter, only the feeling of being crushed by the air. You reached out without thinking, grabbing Fred’s shoulder.

He roused gracelessly, blinking through squinted eyes at you. A hard sob rocked you to the core, the feeling of breathlessness sinking deep into your chest.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

You couldn’t answer. You grasped for his arm, begging him to do something, to save you. You felt as though you were going to run out of air.

“Hey, you’re alright. You’re okay. Let’s breathe, should we? Breathe with me.” He grabbed the hand you’d pushed over your mouth and brought it to his chest. You could feel him take a huge inhale and you tried your best to replicate it.

“Good! That’s good. You’re doing so well.” Another big breath, a long exhale.

“You feel that? The leather under you.” He grabbed your free hand and put it on the seat. “Feels weird, huh? Dimples and wrinkles.” He dragged your hand over the texture repeatedly.

A big breath.

Eventually, your breathing returned. The crying stayed.

“Don’t cry, ghost.”

You frowned. It was odd to be looking down at Fred instead of up. He pressed your hand tighter to his chest.

“Bad dream?”

“Don’t remember,” you whispered.

“It was just a dream. You’re okay. I promise.”

George snored. Fred rolled his eyes. You laughed through the tears, blinking the last of them away.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”

You knew he was telling the truth.

#Fred Weasley #George weasley #hurt/comfort #fred Weasley x reader #George weasley x reader #reader #x reader #reader insert #sad reader #sad!reader #self harm #implied referenced self harm #trigger warning for self harm #panic attacks #reader has mental health issues #anxiety attack #weasley twins x reader #weasley twins #Harry Potter imagine #Shy reader #partially mute reader #Quiet reader #friendship #platonic #or romantic #it’s basically upto you #fredweasleyxreader #Hogwarts