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jgracie · 19 days

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ONCE UPON A DREAM — PERCY + CHILD OF HYPNOS

masterlist | rules

❝ Hi! Can you do hcs of Percy Jackson dating a child of Hypnos!reader please? I love all your other headcanons ❞ — anon

in which percy dates a child of hypnos

pairing percy jackson x hypnos!reader

warnings none

on the radio . . . once upon a dream (lana del rey)

Cabin inspections weren’t Percy’s favourite things in the world, but there were worse jobs to do at camp

Still, he couldn’t help but feel like a bit of a hypocrite whenever he gave a cabin a low cleanliness grade, considering he wasn’t the tidiest person. If it weren’t for Tyson, he’d have dish duty for dirtiest cabin every week

What Percy did like about cabin inspections was getting to know the other cabin counsellors. Now that minor gods had their own cabins, the pool of people for Chiron to choose from almost doubled, making inspections a lot more interesting

Last time Percy was on cabin inspection duty, he was paired with Lou Ellen Blackstone from the Hecate cabin, who taught him the basics of tarot while they inspected. He forgot half of the stuff she said, but it was still really cool

Today, Percy looked at the duty sheet posted on the notice board and found his name next to someone called Y/N from cabin 15

There’s nothing Percy hated more than when people referred to cabins by their numbers instead of Godly parent. He barely managed to learn the first 12, now he had another 8 to memorise

Oh well, it’s not like it mattered. Percy didn’t have to go collect you from cabin 15, since everyone knew people on cabin inspection duty are supposed to meet at the big house then check the cabins in numerical order

Or so he thought. Percy waited ages and watched as people came and went, yet there was no sight of you. Had you forgotten you were supposed to be on inspection duty? Were you a new camper and got lost? Percy scratched that last thought, since you wouldn’t be cabin counsellor if you were new

After about 10 minutes, Percy got tired of waiting. The next time someone passed by, he asked them which God cabin 15 was for: Hypnos

Clipboard in hand, he made his way over to your cabin

“Hello? Is there anyone in here?” Percy asked, rapping his knuckles on the front door. This was his third time knocking, and he was getting quite tired of it all. Being met with more silence, the boy decided to invite himself in

Walking into your cabin, Percy nearly tripped over one of your half-siblings, who was sleeping on the doormat. Looking around, Percy realised almost everyone in this cabin was at least daydreaming. He felt like he’d entered a new world where time stopped and responsibilities were non-existent

“So…” he began, unsure if he should wake one of them up or hope they wake up by themselves, “which one of you’s Y/N?”

There was no response. Just as Percy was about to tap one of your siblings on the shoulder, another pointed in your direction whilst asleep, which freaked Percy out, “uh… thanks,” he said before turning in the direction of their pointed finger

What he saw next had him debating between bursting out laughing or facepalming. Somehow, you managed to fall asleep in the middle of tying your shoelaces, and so you stood with one foot in the air, the laces slipping from your fingers

“Hey, uh, do you need some help with that?” He asked, gently shaking you awake. From the outside, you seemed to be in deep sleep, but all it took to wake you up was one small shake

Blinking the sleep away from your eyes, you were met with a pair of aquamarine ones, “what time is it?” You mumbled, tying your shoelaces as if nothing had happened, clearly unfazed by the position you woke up in

“9AM,” as soon as Percy uttered those words, you suddenly seemed much more alert

Scrambling for your own clipboard and pen, you exclaimed, “what?! Oh Gods, I’m so late. I was supposed to meet this guy at the big house an hour ago!” Then, to Percy, “do you know how many alarms I set? I was so close, too! Fell asleep right as I was about to leave,” you said, eyebrows furrowed in disappointment

An endearing smile tugged at the corners of Percy’s lips. He wasn’t annoyed anymore. He couldn’t be, not at your cute pouty expression

“It’s okay, I don’t like cabin inspections that much anyway,” he said, causing a wave of relief to wash over you

While you inspected the cleanliness of cabins together, you got to know each other and Percy learnt more about your cabin. You heard the stuff the kids from other cabins called you - lazy being the most commonly used adjective - and were quick to dismantle all the stereotypes surrounding you and your siblings whenever you got the chance. It wasn’t all of them, of course, but it was enough of them to rub you the wrong way

It’s not that you cared what they were saying about you, but you couldn’t stand the way they’d speak about your father and his domain. There was a very good reason why mortal doctors preached about sleep so often, after all

Also, you and your siblings didn’t sleep just for the sake of it - you often trained in your dreams, seeing as you were closer to your full potential the deeper your slumber was, so you weren’t lazy at all

As all of these thoughts spilled out of your lips while walking around camp with Percy, you were confused. Sure, these things bothered you, but you were usually in good control of your emotions - always serene, always calm. Even when you did complain, you didn’t do it like this

You stopped for a second and took a good look at Percy, then it hit you

“You are the most tense person I’ve ever met in my life.”

“Excuse me?” Percy replied, caught off-guard and a little offended. He’d been so forgiving with you, and this is how you thanked him?

Noticing his discomfort, you recollected yourself, “no offence, Percy, but you haven’t been relaxed a day in your life. Your tenseness is rubbing off on me, that’s why I’ve been so heated. Would you wanna book a meditation session with me? I think it’d really help.”

Percy blinked, his brows furrowed in confusion. Before, he was offended, but now he didn’t know how to feel. You’d basically just called him an emitter of bad emotions. At the same time, though, something was telling him he should trust you. He felt the relaxed aura of your cabin even before walking in

And meditation with you sounded quite nice. He didn’t think he wanted to rely on the slim chance that Chiron would pair the two of you up a second time just to see you again

“Okay.”

Turns out, the Hypnos cabin had a whole meditation business set up. Very few people knew about it, since very few people cared to see past your sleepiness, but your cabin was a safe haven for those who did

You had a slot open the next day right after breakfast, so you quickly put Percy in, promising him you’d actually be awake when he shows up

He was a little apprehensive and considered not showing up at all, but he’d committed and so he was at your cabin door as soon as breakfast was over

Soon enough, Percy would learn that his showing up to your meditation session that day was the best decision he’d ever made

You were so sweet as you guided him through his emotions and helped him practise breathing techniques to relax, as well as giving him tips on how to get a better night’s rest

The two of you eventually started spending time outside of his meditation sessions, too. Percy felt really bad when he heard you speaking about the treatment you’d get from other campers on the day you first met, so he introduced you to all his friends and soon enough, you became a part of the friend group

Secretly, you still preferred spending time with Percy alone. He was so funny and nice, unlike anyone else you’d ever met - both in the mortal world and at camp

You would often meet at this giant oak tree Percy had found you dozing off next to in the early days of your friendship. It was one of your favourite nap spots, but you were more than happy to share it with him

This was one of those instances. Percy had a comic book in hand, some series Leo insisted he should read, but he wasn’t super into it. Meanwhile, you sat next to him, occasionally commenting on the silly drawings in it or telling him little bits of your day

The moment was so peaceful, it was only natural for your eyelids to begin getting heavier. As you dozed off, Percy finally got to a part in the book that could get him to justify why Leo enjoyed these so much, not noticing you were asleep until your head landed on his shoulder

“Oh, goodnight, Y/N,” Percy said, smiling fondly at your serene expression. You always looked cute - Percy knew this better than anyone, considering the massive crush on you he’d been harbouring, but you looked extra adorable in your sleep, your eyelashes tickling your cheeks as light snores left your mouth

He sat very still, not wanting to move a muscle in case that’d cause you to shift positions. He liked where you were sleeping right now. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend you were a couple

Percy began playing around with your hair as he said, “this is nice. I really wish you liked me. I mean, I know you like me, but I want you to like like me, y’know?” He sighed, taking this opportunity as he knew you wouldn’t be able to hear him

Just as he was about to continue reading, he heard a voice - your voice - pipe up, “I like you too, Percy. Really like you.”

And so, you began dating <3

Honestly such a cute relationship. You’re the only one able to calm Percy down whenever he’s upset. The whole Aphrodite cabin could be using their charmspeak on him and he wouldn’t fully relax until you place a gentle hand on his shoulder

You guys also have a lot of sleepovers. Mostly at his cabin, since yours is too full for a proper sleepover

During said sleepovers, you guys always try to visit each other in your dreams. You’re aware that children of Hypnos could enter other people’s dreams and desperately wanted to figure it out, and who better to test it on than Percy?

For one of your attempts he makes those aluminium foil hat things that cartoon characters would use to dream together or whatever it was, and you laugh at first, taking it as a silly joke, until you actually try with the hats on (because Percy insisted) and it ends up being your closest attempt

Now, you wear those aluminium foil hats religiously

Speaking of dreams, yours are more vivid than the average demigod’s, but you had no one to talk to about them until Percy came along. He loves hearing about all your silly slumber adventures <3 especially when he’s in them

Whenever you mention a dream he happened to be in it’s literally like the “oh and there was crazy drama that happened in bloxburg–” “HUH?! I NEED TO HEAR ABOUT THIS!!!!!” audio

“Percy, oh my Gods, I have to tell you about this dream I just had!” You said, not bothering to knock as you made your way inside his cabin. Percy, who was currently trying to fix the fountain in the middle of the room (idk where it is sorry), greeted you with a, “hey sweetie,” clearly very invested in his task

You sat on his bed and proceeded to give him a rundown of your dream: it started off at camp, but you were in a cabin you didn’t recognise. You decided to explore for a little bit and came across this seashell, which you picked up.

Instantly, it transported you to what you assumed was Poseidon’s underwater kingdom, since the God himself came over to greet you, Amphitrite and Triton trailing behind. He showed you around his castle, then left you at the door of your room, where he said was a special surprise for you

“Okay, so I go inside and you’re there–” immediately, Percy turned, losing his focus on the fountain and drenching you in water as a result

Grabbing you by the shoulders, he said, “You need to tell me about this! Did we get married?!”

“I thought you were busy with that fountain. You didn’t seem to care about my dream before,” you said, teasing him

Pouting, Percy replied, “no, baby, I’m sorry. I was listening, honestly! It’s just that the fountain has been making the most annoying noise ever and how are we supposed to continue our dream visiting endeavours with it distracting us?”

You continue your meditation, but more informally. He doesn’t have to book slots to see you anymore, you’d gladly guide him through whatever he needs at any time

The two of you reminisce on your first meeting a lot, too. Percy likes to claim it was his divine intuition that made him choose to look for you that day instead of inspecting cabins alone, while you just play along and try not to laugh at the way he over-exaggerates all your interactions pre-dating

To Percy, though, he isn’t over-exaggerating. Every interaction with you is a big deal. Whenever Percy wakes up in the morning and finds you next to him, clinging onto his arm with a leg draped over his body, he can’t help but fall in love all over again <3

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson #percy jackson x gn reader #pjo #pjo x reader #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson headcannons #percy jackson x hypnos reader #percy jackson x child of hypnos #hypnos pjo #children of hypnos #cynwrites

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trashogram · 3 months

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He Chose You (Pt. 2)

Lucifer/Reader

Rated E for the smex coming next chapter I SWEAR. ((Also there will not be any non-con in this fic, so please don’t worry. You’ll see when you read.))

Tag Requests: @loslox, @for-hearthand-home, @navierkalani

‘The worst thing they could be are swingers.’

Your heart was racing, and you felt ridiculous for how uppity you felt at the prospect of having dinner with your two elderly neighbors.

Normally, meeting new people would cause a healthy amount of anxiety in you. You’d grown up into a recluse and upholding social niceties took most of your energy. It was even worse to be in their home, and among people that you likely did not have much in common with.

These were personal reassurances that you told yourself after denying the first invitation for dinner with the Farrows. The guilt you felt, paired with the subsequent relief of not having to spend more than five minutes with your chatty neighbor, stirred an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Of course you’d been unable to stop thinking about what a wretch you were, how karma was going to bite you on the ass for denying an old couple some company.

And oh Karma did come back to bite you. Hard.

You felt like you were hanging by a thread at work. Three weeks into the job and you’d already been reprimanded. Even the memory of your supervisor looking down her nose at you from the other side of her desk made your eyes water.

“We have a ‘three strikes’ policy here. I’m afraid this will count as your first.”

Never having been fired from a job notwithstanding, you felt like the idiot your parents always purported you to be.

If you’d have just stayed in your hometown, living off your parents’ good graces and kept your head down, instead of prancing out the door as if you had self-respect and no need for a safety net…

Maybe things wouldn’t be so dire.

Maybe you wouldn’t be on the verge of having a panic attack at this very moment, feeling the anxiety and restlessness from declining the previous invitation tenfold.

With a deep breath in and out, you crossed the hall with the hesitance of a mouse approaching a snap-trap. You knocked on the door to Unit 606 with a shaking hand.

There was a moment left to blanch at the realization that you hadn’t brought anything with you. Like the shittiest, most thoughtless guest ever.

——

“You made it!” Mrs. Farrow held her arms out dramatically. “Come in! Come in! You’re right on time! Oh and you look lovely dear!”

“Thanks.” You felt heat rise to your cheeks as the door closed behind you.

The layout of the apartment was a mirror image to yours, but you were overwhelmed by just how much stuff had taken up the space. From the kitchen to the living room, the apartment was brimming with kaleidoscopic color. Antique statuettes of unknown deities, handcrafted vases and sculptures in-set with gems and gold filigree, expertly framed posters of old Hollywood, and Persian rugs beneath well-worn furniture were visible from just a cursory glance.

It distracted you from the unusually bitter, earthy smell that assaulted you upon entering.

“Wow,” You said in genuine awe. “Your home is lovely.”

“Aw, you’re too kind sweetheart. Too kind. Here, let me take your shawl - we’ll hang it up on the rack here, see.” She took your cardigan and placed it on an old hat stand before steering you out to the living room by the back of your shoulders.

There was a man sitting in a leather armchair adjacent to the couch. He was wearing a tweed jacket and his silver-blond hair had been combed back finely to show a pale, wrinkled face and eyes so dark they shone almost black in the lowlight.

He looked at you with interest once you’d finally caught onto his presence, and opened his mouth to speak.

‘Quack!’

“Lou!” You laughed as the duck came racing over on its little legs.

Without delay, the bird climbed onto your flats with an impatient flap of its wings, trying to balance while looking up at you adoringly.

You couldn’t help but reach down and pat his little head, murmuring ‘hellos’ and ‘how you doing buddy?’ softly and sweetly.

The man opposite you both smirked. “My wife was right. He’s quite taken with you.”

“I’m always right!” Mrs. Farrow called out from the kitchen.

You looked to the kitchen and back to, presumably, Mr. Farrow, an uncertain smile on your lips.

“Welcome to our home.” The elder man’s voice was almost hypnotically deep. His hand was outstretched and waiting. “Please excuse me for not greeting you properly. When you get to be as old as I am, your body does everything it can to make you stay put in one place.”

You shook your head. “Oh no, please don’t worry about it! I understand.”

Mr. Farrow’s smirk seemed to soften as you spoke.

“Please make yourself comfortable, my dear.” When he gestured to the couch, you awkwardly shuffled to sit down. Lou was right on your heels, loathe to spend even a second without your warmth.

The duck ended up snuggled on your lap after begging to be lifted as you sank into the plush sofa. And you were grateful, hugging Lou to you gently as if he were a plush toy.

It helped take your mind away from that spine-tingling feeling when it made a comeback — the way Mr. Farrow’s eyes glittered when he looked at you and his duck.

‘Oh god, they probably are swingers. And they lure in their targets with this crazy well-trained duck.’ You thought, punching yourself in the face mentally. ‘And you fell for it. Walked right into their den of debauchery. You stupid bitch.’

“Here’s some water, honey. We’ll save the stronger stuff for dinner.” You jumped in your seat when Mrs. Farrow appeared at your side, setting a glass of ice water down on the end table beside you.

You reached for the glass as its contents sloshed over the edge. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Farrow.”

Mrs. Farrow beamed.

“What did I tell ya, Warren? Isn’t she lovely? Just a peach. Lou is smitten.” She patted your shoulder. “And it’s Cassie, honey. Call me Cass.”

“You were right, Cass.” Warren Farrow intoned.

He took on a conspiratorial tone as he addressed you once more. “You must know, my wife hasn’t stopped talking about you since you met the other day. I wondered if she was preparing us for a new roommate.”

Heat flooded your face for the second time. “Aw.”

“Oh poo, as if you wouldn’a done the same.” Mrs. Farrow sniffed derisively. “Dinner in 5 minutes!”

Her exit left room for you to start a conversation, but you couldn’t find it in you to say anything. Mr. Farrow kept staring, smiling, which made you stroke Lou’s feathers for comfort that much more.

The silence lasted a little while, save for the clinking, crackling, thudding from the kitchen dining room. Aside from catering to Lou, you surveyed your surroundings in an effort to avoid bouncing your legs.

The Farrows didn’t have a TV, only a large fireplace that they’d positioned their furniture around. There were displays on either side of the grate. On one stood an oversized chalice with intricate, swirling patterns. The other had a statuette of a goat-headed figure sitting crisscrossed on a throne, one arm poised to reach out to the sky.

“Baphomet.”

You turned from the sight, head swiveling to face your human companion. He was eying you keenly again.

“O-oh, the statue is…?”

Warren nodded. “Baphomet. Conceived as a false god around the time of the crusades. Most people see him as a depiction of Satan these days.”

The association wasn’t too far-fetched, you figured with another look at the figure. Its goat-head and large horns were the most eye-catching thing about it.

“I apologize if the sight upsets you, dear. I hadn’t thought to remove it before your arrival.”

“Oh no, please. It’s alright.” You said. “It doesn’t bother me. It’s very interesting.”

The rumbling hum at your side seemed to signal approval, or maybe general geniality with your neutral response. “Are you religious by chance?”

You turned to Warren again.

“Ah, no.” You replied apologetically. “I grew up in a Christian area, but I was never very involved with the church.”

Warren nodded. “That’s just as well. The institution and its practices can be stifling. I was never very involved with it myself.”

“Religious artifacts have always been fascinating to me, however. There’s no shortage of temples and synagogues in this world.”

“Have you been to many? For the history?” You were genuinely curious.

The old man nodded again, stately and dignified even as he puffed up in his armchair like a peacock. “Cass and I are seasoned travelers. We’ve been to all 7 continents at least twice, seen the wonders of the world from the Hindu shrines in Malaysia to St. Basil’s Cathedral. I have a particular fondness for those countries surrounding the Mediterranean Sea. I was able to convince Cassie another trip to Rome wouldn’t put us in the poor house last year.”

Your little huff of laughter was sincere, though the idea of traveling to Rome - or anyplace outside of the familiar - sounded amazing. “I’d love to be able to do that.”

Warren’s head tilted to one side. “You’re quite young, I’m sure you’ll get the chance if you haven’t already.”

“Sure.” You scoffed before immediately falling into contrition. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me —”

“Dinner time!”

Mrs. Farrow hollered from the kitchen, stopping you from trying to come up with a suitable excuse for yourself.

Luckily, Mr. Farrow chuckled good-naturedly. He rose from his chair stiffly, legs visibly straining. “No need to apologize, my dear. But we best get going before the Missus comes out and drags us by our ears.”

——

All things considered, the dinner was perfectly fine.

The jitters never left your frame, but you had chalked that up to a simple byproduct of your skittish nature. The red wine that Cass had insisted upon you made you feel warm and solid, at least.

As did the fact that Cassie Farrow could hold entire conversations all on her own with very little effort or input from yourself.

“You got a boyfriend, honey? Or girlfriend? No shame in that at all. We may be old but by no means bigoted. We’ve been all over the place, seen so many things - what’s natural to you and me could be the furthest from, in certain places. Isn’t that right, Warren?”

“Men in Ancient Greece often had relationships with other men.” Warren replied. “Royals in Europe had extramarital affairs with different sexes. It was all about keeping the bloodline pure, but romance was a different thing altogether.”

“I haven’t dated in a while, actually.” You said. “It’s not been a priority.”

Cassie nodded, exuberant as she drank from her wine glass. “That’s good too! Plenty of independent women these days! It’s about time, I say.”

‘Quack quack’

Lou was beside you, red eyes locked in as he gazed upon you at the dining table. It made you giggle.

“Mm!” Cassie had a spastic moment. “I almost forgot!”

The chair lurched out from under the old woman as she rose and scuttled out of the room. It left you blinking, and out of the corner of your eye you saw that same smirk on Warren’s face before his wife had returned.

She had a small wicker basket in her arms.

“This is for you, honey. Housewarming present from your kooky neighbors across the hall.”

As she drew nearer, you caught a glimpse of the contents, some of which shone beneath the light of the overhead chandelier.

“Thank you! You really didn’t have to.” The basket was pressed into your arms and Cassie was back in her seat before you’d finished your sentence.

“Nonsense. It’s the least we could do. I still can’t believe no one welcomed you for a whole week!”

The basket was lined with shredded filler, and nestled in between were little gemstones and crystals.

“There’s jade and ruby in there, and I believe there’s moonstone as well.” Mr. Farrow recalled. “Is that it, Cass?”

“Yes, yes, and carnelian too. It’s all scattered about there, with the Scrabble and the socks and the hand cream and oh!” Mrs. Farrow laughed. “Forgive us honey, we saw that little rubber duck and just had to get it for you.”

There was a little rubber duck. It was a novelty type, with a tiny red jacket and a tiny black top hat.

“It’s a carnival barker. No, it’s something like that. It’s on the tip of my tongue.” Your nose scrunched in thought. “Oh, a circus ringmaster!”

“Exactly! See, what’d I tell you, Warren? She loves it!”

“I believe I was the one who suggested it.” His voice carried through the otherwise silent dining room.

“Oh well maybe it was, so what. She likes it. Don’t you, honey?”

“Yes, but…” You felt funny again. Tingly. “This is too much. Really. You’re both so kind but I can’t accept this.”

A hand laid gently on your shoulder and you looked up at a frowning Warren Farrow. “It’s no trouble at all, my dear.”

“The cost must’ve —”

“No cost, really. Gemstones and crystals are quite popular these days. You can find them all over. And the little trinkets are just the same. Given to you in good faith of course.” He patted your shoulder gently.

You swallowed, eyes once again roving over the little mundane treasures. Silken feathers brushed against your ankle under the table and you met those red eyes, sparkling like the crystals in your basket.

Lou was such a funny little thing. So expressive, he looked as if he were waiting as he stared at you.

So funny.

… You felt funny.

Perhaps the anxiety from before was doubling back, just like that prickling sensation. It was less of a tingle and more a shiver or chill as you sat there.

“I think it’s about time for dessert, don’t you?” Mrs. Farrow was saying somewhere far away. “You like chocolate, sweetheart? I made mousse, all fancy-like. It’s not as fancy as the kind you get at that restaurant downtown, the Ivy, but they’ve got fancy ingredients and such…”

Reaching up to wipe the sheen of sweat from your forehead, you felt heat coming off from between your temples. With a shaky breath, you slumped down in your seat.

The basket was gone.

Your chair was scraping against the wooden floor as it was pulled out from the table.

“Are you feeling alright, my dear?”

Wrinkled hands swept the hair from your face as your eyes rolled in their sockets. Words couldn’t get past the cotton-dry feeling in your throat.

“It’s the wine, the wine. Said she’s not much of a drinker, it has to be the wine.”

Cass’s voice was dampened and thick, like it was trapped underwater.

Or perhaps you were trapped. Your head was spinning, limbs heavy as if you were a puppet sans strings. You had to be picked up from under your arms like a toddler and pulled upright.

The next second you were walking through your neighbors’ kitchen, the door held open for you.

“Maybe we oughta call a doctor? Honey, can you hear me?”

“I… yes. I can hear you.” It felt like an Olympic feat, but you spoke clearly. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s happening.”

You stumbled against the wall and strong arms caught you when your knees buckled. It was Mr. Farrow allowing you to lean on him, solid as a rock.

“Cass is right, you had quite a bit of wine.” He said. Another pat to your shoulder.

Did you? You could’ve sworn it was just a glass.

Your apartment was barren and blank, the smell of laundry comforting against the memory of that earthy incense smell.

“Get some rest, honey. We’re right across the hall.”

“Thank you.” You breathed, lying on your sofa bed. “Again, I’m very sorry. Thank you for the welcome.”

“Oh no, thank you.”

——

When you opened your eyes next, you were shrouded in darkness. The outline of your entertainment system was in front of you, and the kitchen at your right.

It was raining outside; little raindrops smattering against the glass. The sound was normal, no longer muffled until you were straining to hear it.

‘Well that’s good.’

The heavy feeling in your arms was still present.

‘That’s not so good.’

You felt perfectly sane and hysterical at the same time. It was like being caught in the eye of a storm. The danger had abated momentarily, but would begin again shortly.

Your door opened, and in your peripheral you saw a shadow cut across the wall as a new figure emerged from the hall.

You squinted in the dark. ‘Lou?’

The duck’s silhouette stilled as if you’d spoken aloud. You could feel something shift in the air, tension breaking through to your mind when it could not seize your body.

That shift grew stronger, sucking in the air around it until a dazzling flash and crack of light blinded you.

Lou’s shadow was gone. Or… it had changed. The shadow on the wall wasn’t a duck anymore it was…

Your blood ran cold as the man stepped into your apartment and let the door close behind him.

“Hello there!”

#hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel

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nouvellevqgue · 4 months

Text

IS IT TOO LATE NOW?

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: the slip up and the gossip was a problem enough, but what if the situation is more complicated than you imagine it would be? or is it?

warning: slight hate comments from internet, paparazzi, break ups, complicated storyline, timeline inaccuracies, not even me understand about what is happening here.

a/n: this ended up going a bit too short with too little drama, but anyway, i hope you all enjoyed it!

taglist: @ushygushybaby @iamahallucinationnn @1655clean

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆｡✦˚‎

popcrave

popcrave singer y/n l/n is reportedly breaking up with actor louis partridge after a year of relationship. the sun reported that they were breaking up peacefully and still remain friends even after their lost of love relationship.

liked by username, username, and 73,280 others

view comments...

username NOOOOO MOTHER AND FATHER ARE SEPARATEDDDD

username it's definitely because of that charles guy

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username and you believe the sun as your source? don't be ridiculous, everyone knows that the sun was always spread lies

username one year full of fun 😞💔

username or full of gossips of annoying f1 fans

username who the charles man is?

username how dare the f1 fandom do them like that

username why am i feeling that the driver is the one who steal her from him?

⤷ username because he is

username i refuse to believe this

username it must because of the news in one of the gossip accounts of f1 drivers gf

username yeah i mean they can fix this, but not with break up

username they're literally so lovesick with each other...

username charles is literally has a gf, he's not gonna get with her bcs she is so far from his standard

⤷ username she is everybody's standard, ain't no way that he wouldn't date her

username remain friends meaning that she would write the most heartbreaking songs for him

username peacefully your ass when in fact that they still love each other deeply but living with the gossips bother them

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yourusername watch me turn into a vampire in a matter of second

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username yeah bc you are the vampire

username traitor pt 2? or else bcs we got sour in a whole thing

username her new mv or....

louispartridge looks like ramy

⤷ yourusername at least he cooks good then idc🤷🏻‍♀️

username when i see louisy/n interaction now but they're not together anymore is quite sad tbh

⤷ username after the kiss i think it's her new thing

⤷ username but i'm convinced with the gossip

username like just be fr he's been targeting after her for a long while until she's finally breaking up with him

⤷ username okay but is he even breaking up with his girlfriend like she did too? too bad that he's not

⤷ username i think someday bcs i think alexandra is too good for him

username you see her history???💀💀

⤷ username she's a childdd

⤷ username y/n and alex's age gap is just a year tho💀

⤷ username at least she is successful and not a nepo baby🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

username i hate when i said i converted from louisy/n to chary/n stan💔💔

username just look how fast she moved on from lou

⤷ username they remain friends though, at least there ain't no war between them

username it's sad how louis is always had this kind of a girl who just want his fame

⤷ username mind you both of them are successful and unlike you who just sit in your dad's basement eating chips

⤷ username easy no need to bomb them with truth

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f1wagsupdate

liked by username, maxverstappen1, and 78,622 others

f1wagsupdate charles leclerc and his girlfriend, is reportedly confirming their break-up in their recent photo taken around in his apartment in monaco today. according to the fans who saw them, they were taking a walk together towards the building before charles is accompany her to her place, which leading to the news of their break up.

view comments...

username not surprising tbh

username after a thousands likes on y/n pic on insta, we had finally got our time

username y/n and charles is real‼️‼️

username WHAT IS MAX DOING HERE?😭😭

⤷ username probably celebrating his girlfriend's break up news?

username LESTAPPEN NATION WHAT ARE WE FEELING NOW‼️‼️🔥 🗣️ 🗣️ 🔥 🗣️ 🔥 🔥 ❓❓❓

username max liking this post is my mood for today bc he too is so invested with this whole thing (same)

username surprised but nothing so surprising abt this

username IT'S CONFIRMED Y'ALL

username feeling bad for alex but also celebrating our victory yassss

username idek if i should be sad or happy rn

username CHARY/N NATION CHEER‼️🔥‼️‼️🔥🔥🍷🍾🍾

username istg i manifested this to happen

⤷ username y'all r praying for them to break up? what is wrong w u?

username i think even a strongest soldier is tired of this whole fucked-upiness😞😞

username my god respect their privacy

⤷ username it's paparazzi, what are you gonna do if they were there

username let this break up moment be peaceful, not with y'all's celebrations

username i hate to say that i'm glad that she broke up w him, bc i'm tired of seeing him getting shipped with another girl

username i think y/n and alex are friends right?

⤷ username maybe, bcs nobody knows their friendship relation🤷‍♀️

username i can see her tired face bc she had enough

⤷ username i'm tired too tho💀

username poor alex, but i love chary/n

username after a long while i think charles rlly belong to y/n bcs duh

username if i were her, i'll be booking a plane ticket to maldives and forgetting all of this year's silly season and gossips

username i can't wait to hear y/n's new single about this whole shitty ass love square

enews

liked by louispartridge, username, and 172,380 others

enews 🎺🎺🎺 LOVE IS IN THE AIR!!

singer y/n l/n is seen ‘so deeply in-love’ with her new boyfriend as they were kissing in the middle of the busy night street in italy. this also lead to their confirmation of the relationship between y/n and charles.

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username louis liked this...

⤷ username apparently they were good staying as a bestie

username her little ponytail making me snort so loud💀💀

username why is he becoming max with the undetachable hat

⤷ username f1 drivers cons >>>

username CHARY/N FAM WHAT ARE WE FEELING NOW ⁉️❓❓🔥🔥🔥😍

⤷ username victory? yes

username i hope shes not gonna make a crazy rock song for him when they break up

⤷ yourusername am i that easy to guess?

⤷ username yes you are

username let's take a look at twitter and smell at the fresh tea served on the table

username he's secretly celebrating his victory

username should we thank joris?

username i love them i hope both louis and alexandra could be together next time

⤷ username girl wym💀💀💀💀

⤷ username anything is possible though

username they looks so good tgt aww

username aw even if it's cute, i still don't understand the concept of kissing your partner in the middle of the street

⤷ username that's called a sudden urge to make out even if it's just a tiny (🤏) bit.

charles_leclerc added to their story!

caption: is it too late to say you're mine now?

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yourusername comfiest one to hold.

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username HOLY PIECE OF SHIT IT'S HAPPENING

username YEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

username omg i love your new added accessories to your neck, hips, and arm.

username i will pass out

username parents>>>

charles_leclerc 😚😚😚

username hard launch hard launch hard launch

comments on this post has been limited

yourusername added to their story!

caption: the photographer is my ra-men😋🍜

Y/N'S DIRECT MESSAGE

landonorris replied to your story!

: that is a bad one

yourusername

: i know but let me have this one in peace

landonorris

: simp

charles_leclerc added to their story!

caption: je vais t'aimer pour toujours mon petit chou🥬😚

CHARLES'S DIRECT MESSAGE

yourusername replied to your story!

: why r u calling me a cabbage?

charles_leclerc

: remind me of your green jacket

: looks something like a cabbage

yourusername

: why not something like brocolli or apple?

charles_leclerc

: mon brocoli? or ma pomme?

yourusername

: ma pomme is better

charles_leclerc

: you're still my favourite chou of all time❤️

yourusername

: my favourite chou is silly

: but i love you too💗🥹

: my frenchman<3

charles_leclerc

: say that word again or i'll block you

yourusername added to their story!

caption: ❤️

INTERVIEW WITH EMMA CHAMBERLAIN

#✶!#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc x y/n #f1 x you #f1 imagines #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #is this too long?#...or even too short for the ongoing drama

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katieaki · 11 months

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My post-apocalyptic Lesbian Cowgirl Mailman choose-your-own adventure has just updated! Read it here, for free on my Patreon! This is only the third installment of PART TWO, so it's still a great time to hop on board!! I just made a summary of the first part, here, which tells you basically everything you need to know about Lou, her unrequited(?) love, and the ill-advised journey she is beginning as of this update.

In the previous update, we found out (kind of) what the object of Lou's affection wrote to her in that heavily, heavily perfumed letter. In this update, she has to deal with what she learned. Her traveling companion/special delivery, Holliday, is being... quite nice? At least, comparatively? They have a bit of "And There Was Only One Bed" going on, in that they're sharing a tent made for one. That's fun, right? Sleepover!!

Excerpt under the cut!

“I’m sorry to have been the bearer of such bad news, Lou, truly I am,” she said. She stroked the back of Lou’s hung head. Lou was surprised to find she found the gesture comforting, not condescending or overly familiar.

“It’s not all bad,” Lou said, her head still resting face-down on her knees. Her voice sounded pinched and nasal to her own ears and her throat felt almost too tight to speak. The knees of her jeans were thoroughly soaked through with tears. “She said she loves me.”

“Oh,” Holliday said, her brows knitting together. She held her other hand to her chest. “Oh, you poor thing.”

“She said. Right? That she loves me back?” Lou said. “She did say.”

“Oh, honey,” Holliday said. She cupped Lou’s chin and tilted her face up, searching her face for something, but Lou didn’t know what. Her hand was not as soft as Lou had expected it to be since everything else about her was so refined. “Bless your heart.”

Something about having to meet her eye made the tears start back up with renewed vigor. It hurt. It hurt bad. She wanted to say that it wasn’t fair, but that wasn’t how these things worked and frankly, Venus was right. That only made it hurt more. She couldn’t even gnash her teeth and wail against the injustice of it all. Venus was right, she was never around. She was always away. She was unpredictable and unreliable. She’d been so happy to be a rolling stone, gathering no moss for so long and now it was biting her in the ass. Turned out, girls liked when you were a little mossy.

#Wasteland Pony Express #katieakipresentsthewasteland #original fiction #original content #oc #Lou #Louetta Primrose #lesbian fiction #interactive fiction #choose your own adventure #queer western #western romance #cowboys are frequently secretly fond of each other #lgbtq fiction

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love-belle · 4 months

Text

we caught that holiday glee !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which it doesn't take a genius to know that they're actually the icons.

for when you want to spend all of your christmases with them. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // charles leclerc x fem!reader

prequel - you got me thinking nonsense ⋆·˚ ༘ *

warnings - language

author's note - hahahahaha hiiii!!!! im so SORRY for being absent i've been going insane over school 😭😭😭 it's all just a mess rn (IM IN LOVEEEEE I MET THIS GUY) and hopefully, i can post often but still, i can't promise anything!!! HAPPY NEW YEAR MY LOVES <3 i hope ur all doing okay!!!! i love u all so much :)

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, carmenmmundt and 2,417,916 others

yourusername here's a lil carol i wrote it's abt u and me 🎀

11,628 comments

username SCREECHING TOO MUCH TO UNPACK

username no bc nonsense christmas is so

username everyone shut up im focusing on "i need that charles dickens"

username SANTA DOESN'T KNOW U LIKE I DO

username roman empire or roman empire??? yeah that's what i thought

username somebody sedate me im going feral over nonsense christmas lord

username i know l*ndo ascended to the nth circle of hell after hearing this

username I NEED THAT CHARLES DICKENS

-> username girly did NOT hold back

maxverstappen1 ears are bleeding

-> yourusername ur 26282837 messages crying about cindy lou who say something diff but maybe that's js me

-> maxverstappen1 SHUT

-> username nah cindy lou who is PAINFUL

username charles and y/n 🤝 "what if we hypothetically broke up"

-> username nah bc i KNOW those mfs giggle while writing songs together

username THE TSHIRT OH MY GOF

-> username need that for educational purposes

username "i've been there through the good and the bad" ur honour i am unwell

alex_albon THIS IS WHY HIS NAME IS "north pole💈" IN YOUR PHONE ??????????

-> yourusername says who

-> alex_albon don't gaslight me

-> yourusername gaslighting is not real ur js crazy ☺️

username the lore is revealing itself good lord

username i will never be as iconic as y/n y/l/n and i don't think i can be

username OPPOSITE OF SMALL?? BIG SNOWBALLS?? girl u used to sing for DISNEY

-> yourusername i js need to cut a few words off and then it's the perfect disney anthem wdym 🙄🙄🙄

-> username start "cutting a few words" and the whole song is GONE 😭

username i played this in front of my mom y'all what am i supposed to DO

username WHAT'S 12-4???? YEAH

lewishamilton certainly an experience listening to this for the first time, seb and i are proud of you xx

-> yourusername i love my unofficial parents thank u xx

username i am unwell.

charles_leclerc so proud of you mon ange ( my angel )

-> yourusername thank YOU for writing songs with me ☹️

charles_leclerc forever and ever in awe 🥰

-> yourusername i love you

username THE TSHIRT OMG

-> username it's a need fr

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

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charles_leclerc we caught that holiday glee

tagged yourusername

comments are disabled for this post

#f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 imagines #social media au #fake instagram imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff

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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 7 months

Text

IT’S YOU, HAPPY ALL THE TIME ─── jonathan breech ✧☾𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else." — ‘Jessica gives me a chill pill’, Angie Sijun Lou.

pairing. jonathan breech x reader

summary. you’ve bared your heart to your bestfriend, jonathan, more times than you can count, whilst knowing practically nothing at all about him. what is friendship if it is not equal… what is love if it is not returned? can your relationship survive such one-sidedness?

warnings. swearing, TW mention & description of suicide/attempts & depression, very introspective/kind of a character study???, alcohol & drug use, pining, ANGST!!!!, crying, fluff, smut with feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 10k (WTF??!?!!??)

a/n. the title is from “she won’t go away” by faye webster:) btw this is… rly angsty (and SO long omg im still in shock) so beware🫡 ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN WHILE!! SCHOOL IS KICKING MY BUTT & THIS FIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE MONSTER TO WRITE LMAO

There are very few words in your vocabulary you can use to accurately describe Jonathan Breech.

The boy is an enigma, a matryoshka doll that never ends: he is witty and lighthearted and sarcastic, but you’ll always catch that edge, the air of malaise he carries around himself, the unspoken elephant in the room that screams WHO ARE YOU REALLY?

He had always been more of a figure, a landscape; something to witness, observe-- experience without letting it do the same to you. You don’t know if that’s something you want, either: there’s an imbalance in his hilarity, and he always takes things a step too far. Jonathan lights matches and lets them burn all the way down to his fingertips; he shaves and lets the blade leave stinging little nicks, rivulets of blood running down his neck; he chainsmokes cigarettes in his room and only opens the window when he feels his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for air.

You meet him — or, first experience him in a similar fashion: he had been in the university library, standing on top of a creaky, old bookshelf, shouting something you couldn’t understand over the music blasting through your headphones. You could certainly see him though, gesturing animatedly, dressed eccentrically in his signature winter trapper hat and a velvet blazer. That thin, effeminate figure of his was making winding, marionette-ish steps along the wood, an action that had everyone readying themselves to catch his inevitable fall.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere and catching you completely off guard, you caught his eye. He began stepping from one shaky shelf to the next, a complete miracle none of them toppled over, before stopping on one close enough for you to read his lips.

“Hi,” he mouthed, shifting uneasily on his left foot before regaining a steady balance, “you’re in my class, right?”

You nodded, hesitantly— yes, truthfully, you’d seen him in your Introduction to Literary Studies course a couple of weeks ago, sporting the same outfit as he did now, but you thought nothing of him. He’d been generally well-behaved then, asking slightly odd but in-tune questions that more or less answered all your inquiries, so you didn’t think the guy would have a penchant for, well… book-shelf hopping.

He grinned, about to say something else, before something — or someone, made him flinch. A professor, probably, considering the unintelligibly muffled, booming voice behind you. However, Jonathan made quick work of the situation, sneakily climbing down and escaping out the door.

The next time you see him, he’s sidled up beside you in your shared class. “Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice had asked, to which you murmured a non-committal knock y’self out, before realizing with wide eyes. His presence had caught you off-guard, as he so often did, and you sensed a pattern blooming.

Jonathan certainly made for an odd desk-partner; his personality warped the environment around you, and it was suddenly so much easier to tear your eyes away from the lecture and land on Jonathan’s own. It’s something you never thought you’d ever do, because you adore the material being taught.

At the end of class, he asks you out for a drink: he’s just found the best Irish stout in the entire city, and what better way to make it known than to take anyone and everyone he knows there?

Rejection is written on your face clear as day— you have class tomorrow, an essay that needs to be finished, and honestly, pubs just aren’t really your scene.

But in the end… you still bite. You can’t help it: he’s disarming and warm and looks like he should smell like a bonfire. Somehow, that just does it for your brain; it’s here you learn of the charm that is Jonathan Breech.

That night goes everything and nothing like you expected: you expected not to be able to predict his actions, and that’s exactly what happens. When you meet Jonathan at the aforementioned pub, it’s not actually the one he’s meaning to take you to— it’s just the closest public place to the on-campus dorm, which is where he says he’s rooming.

“‘ve got a neighbor m’pretty sure is trying to sleep with me,” he says absently, ushering you onto the back of his bike, which had been leaning against a NO PARKING sign. “He’s always toget’er wit’ our dorm advisor, so I should l reject him before I get kicked out, if y’get what I mean.”

Now, you honestly should’ve expected this from a guy who jumped from six-foot book shelves, but Jonathan’s biking is all swift turns and jilted stops, mere milliseconds from repeatedly running red lights. You want to ask if he just learned how to ride the thing yesterday, but can’t, not with how utterly reckless and shameless he is about it, his terrible steering making you instinctively wrap your arms around his chest.

You clutch him tightly, making him hum in approval, and you feel your ears burn flusteredly. You would’ve pulled away, but then he cut from the right lane to the left in one swift move, barely missing several cars, and you practically shrieked instead. “Oh my god!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. You can’t see his face, having shut your eyes in fear, but after hearing the blatant cheekiness in his tone, you can imagine clear as day how gleefully it contorts. You want to slap him somewhere, anywhere, but that’d defeat the point of being mad at his recklessness, so you squeeze him tighter instead, and he chokes on his breath. “Jesus-- m’sorry, really!”

When the two of you make it to the pub — alive and uninjured! — annoyingly all the way across town, your first few steps off his bike are stuttered, dizzy: “We are-- not going by bike next time,” you gasp, leaning against a random brick wall.

“Next time, eh?” He grins, and this time you really do slap him— just on the arm, bless your self-control and niceties not to beat this oddly comfortable-to-be-around near-stranger to death.

The pub, with its forgettable name and dingy stools, has a minimal, lackluster crowd. A kitschy neon sign flickers and dies as you walk in, making you raise a brow, but Jonathan merely drags you by the arm to a cozy corner table, then disappearing deeper within the venue before returning moments later with two pints of black beer in tow.

“Go on, then,” he gestures, setting the tall glass on the table, sitting down in the chair in front of you and taking a hearty sip of his own drink.

You let out a little hesitant sigh at his words, before relenting and taking in a long gulp of the liquid. “…Huh,” you remark, impressed. Jonathan smiled knowingly behind his glass, letting out a smug little ah, you see?

“Worth the long ride?” he inquired innocently, as if that was the only thing wrong with the night.

“Worth the ride, but not worth almost dying for,” you rolled your eyes goodheartedly, knocking back the rest of the bitter drink and making him whistle.

The rest of the night goes like this: Jonathan orders two more rounds of the quality Irish stout before the two’ve you are stumbling out of the pub, exploring all the nightlife there is to offer, like the crowd surrounding an out-door live comedy group performing down the street that has you and Jonathan giggling for hours after, or the underground speakeasy you accidentally find yourselves shoved into, a nasally guitarist singing on a smoky stage, several more drinks finding themselves in your system despite how nauseous you already feel.

“You-- d’you fancy him?” Jonathan slurs behind you, steadying himself by pressing his hands to your waist.

“F-fancy who?” you blink blearily, leaning into his warm touch.

“Who else m’I talkin’ about, girl? The singer!”

You shake your head no numbly, practically collapsing into his arms now, your head lulling on his chest. You’re so close you can smell the distinct scent of his skin, that unique musk everyone has, and it’s strangely familiar, like those smells that evoke old, nostalgic memories. It’s like how sunscreen summons the smell of the sun after a childhood beach day, or how vanilla extract takes you back to the smell of your mother’s baked goods on a specific winter evening.

“Reckoned you wouldn’t,” he assumes, hands coming away from your waist to wrap his arms around your shoulders, swaying to the music slightly in the crowded club, “looks like a -- right bleedin’ dope… wit’ that mop of hair.”

You giggle, alcohol riddled beyond belief, unable to formulate a response with the conflicting blurry thoughts in your head: it’s telling you Jonathan Breech isn’t the crowd you want, that you need to go home and work, that you let loose too easily— but it also tells you that you can see yourself becoming friends with him very, very quickly.

It’s there, in that club, Jonathan Breech moves into your life and fills a gaping hole you didn’t know existed, like a hole in your stockings you only notice when you get home. You have friends, certainly, more than you can count on both hands, but they never get as close as Jonathan does. After that night, an unknown force pulls the two of you together, making you run into him everywhere, and a tight friendship blooms like a lilypad in a raging storm; beauty within the chaos. In the multitude of close friendships you’ve harbored, he is the first to see so many sides of you. The last thing that did was your mother; it had only ever been your mother.

He is an endearing, amazing friend, both the intent listener and the charismatic speaker all at once; he knows his friends like the back of his hand, can recount their life like he can count the number of moles on his face-- but you, and everyone else, know absolutely nothing about him.

At least, close to nothing-- you know he likes ice cream and hanging out and going to the pub; you know he likes biking and doing drugs and women; you know he hates the sea and his brother and his father, but you don’t know him. All you’ve ever seen him do is smile or laugh or shout in mock anger; there is a carefully glued mask on his face he takes meticulous caution in preserving-- he is terrified to let go, despite the blasé persona he lets on.

Or maybe the mysterious matter of your bestfriend is tripping you up for no reason; maybe you’re psychoanalyzing something that doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed, reading between lines that don’t exist. But if you were asked to answer honestly, there’s just something about Jonathan you don’t get. There is a split seam in the tapestry of his life, missing pieces in the story he pretends to tell with utmost accuracy. There are things that he never talks about, that he recoils when asked like you’ve poked a tender wound.

“So, what were you doing before… all this?” You ask him once, laying on his messy bed in his dorm-room and scanning the water-damage constellations dotted along his popcorn ceiling. By all this you mean going to university, being the resident party boy, aimlessly pursuing a degree you’re 99% sure he picked blindfolded (culinary science) and standing here, with you, snorting a line of something on his creaky wooden desk.

Jonathan freezes, still hunched over. “What d’you-- what d’you mean?” he says, tone breezy but, uncharacteristically tense… jilted and preoccupied. You could’ve brushed it off as him being seriously focussed on his drugs, but the way he shifts, how his shoulders curl in like he wants to disappear, tells you otherwise.

“I mean, before going to school here… y’know, what were you like as a dumb teenager?”

You two’re twenty, barely not-teenagers, but it still makes a world of a difference: you’re living away from home, doing what you want, experiencing (a juvenile, naive version of) freedom and adulthood.

“I dunno… kind of a tool, that's f’sure,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose roughly. He’s being funny on purpose, a jester’s distraction: he doesn’t want you to realize his answers’ not really one at all.

You shifted on his bed, now leaning against his headboard. His answer strikes you as odd and uncharacteristic despite his attempts to evade suspicion: usually, Jonathan pounces at the chance to yap on and on. “What, the great Jonathan Breech doesn’t have any wild stories to tell? No bones broken, girls dumped, houses trashed?”

He snorted at that, like some inside joke you weren’t privy to was brought up in your words, and he descended back down on a carefully partitioned line of white. “I broke my baby finger once,” he relented vaguely when he finished, dusting off the table and licking the remains off his hand. “I cried and I cried and I cried.”

“Did it hurt that much?” you grinned, mind trailing off to imagine a baby-faced Jonathan Breech, a juvenile highschool boy, doing something silly to break that finger. Maybe he accidentally flung off his bike, broke it because of a dare, or maybe it happened just by slipping and falling.

“It - uh… didn’t hurt enough,” Jonathan smiled, tight-lipped and paltry. All at once the air in the room had changed, like someone attached a vacuum to the window and sucked everything out.

Your grin fell, and you watched him carefully: perhaps, had you not been as close to him as you were, he’d have let something show. A twitch in the smile, a break in the facade. But you were, and his face stayed the same, and your thoughts ran circles around themselves. This was… something else, something belonging to the part of his life he didn’t talk about.

The atmosphere had grown tense, taut, a rubber band twisted ‘round and round, threatening to burst, so you leave the matter of his injury alone; of his life alone. You go back to staring at his ceiling, he goes back to his drugs; Jonathan collapses within himself, and you don’t notice how badly he suffocates… how suffering in silence is also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found.

ii.

Sometimes, despite his self-imposed distance, Jonathan lets someone look inside his head.

You are both the sometimes and the someone; you don’t know why it’s always you, but you chalk it up to the fact that beneath his unpredictable demeanor, the murky and unreadable feelings he holds for others, is this uncharacteristic constant: he holds a softness for you. It’s what lets you know there’s something haunted lurking beneath his happy-go-lucky surface.

You don’t know where this softness comes from, either. But you know you see it, in lingering touches, tender duchenne smiles unlike the devilish tilt his lips usually hold, how he clasps his hand around yours after a night at the pub and walks you home because he knows you get paranoid. You see it in how he comes over to your apartment when you don’t answer anyone's calls during exam season, how he remembers what your mother’s name is and what your childhood pet was and what your favorite flowers are. How his lips brush past your cheek when he pulls away from hugs, his hands shuddering around your shoulders, like he’s afraid he’ll crush you.

You only wish you could do the same. You want to sit by his side and mend his heart, lend an ear to his most mundane fears, you want to take his hand into your own and kiss it softly, return all that he has done for you, take the same as you have given to him: what is friendship if it is not equal, what is love if it is not returned? It is something broken, unable; split halves of one heart, an imbalance in the scale, Bonnie without her Clyde, a fish out of water.

Jonathan pours his heart into your own, filling holes you know you don’t have, and you think he may be overcompensating for something else, seeing things in you that really belong to him. It is maddening, and you just want to beg and plead he lets you in.

But you settle for the gentle pokes, the prodding, and try to decipher the vague answers he gives you. Most days, you can’t really make sense of it.

“Sorry,” you apologize, about to leave the outing you planned with Jonathan — studying, or, trying to study, at an intimate coffeebar the two of you frequented — “my dad’s gotten drunk with his lads and my mum needs help dragging him home.”

“Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it: my dad used to do that all the time,” he waves your words off casually, but you don’t miss how jilted he says used to and the pain in his tone at all the time.

“Oh, surely she was fit to go to the madhouse?” you laughed once, responding to Jonathan’s complaints about an eccentric classmate in his agricultural studies. He laughs back, he always does, but this one is hollow, forced; barely stopping a grimace from coloring his tone.

You notice these things like it’s a shadow following someone in the sun. He is lying, hiding; about something you don’t know but it is happening. It is happening, and you are so very curious: you pick up on the littlest tendrils of him, fed wholly on any information you can squeeze out. He is a mystery you want to delve within completely; answer that question of WHO ARE YOU REALLY? and leave no room for error.

You’d give yourself to him the very same if he merely asked; you’d whisper childhood fears and tell the origin stories of faded scars on your knees and why you check under your bed before sleeping. You’d detail your entire life from sunset birth to starry night end if he even made a passing comment about knowing; you would trust your love, your heart, your entire life in his beautiful, shaky hands. This is the relationship you have built around yourselves, and it is beginning to feel terribly one-sided.

Alas, your curiosity overwhelms him, and you take it too far, just once. Only once.

“Where’d this come from?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over a scar above his eyebrow. It’s something you see only now, his hair mussed and wild from the various blankets and pillows on your dinky couch.

He’s crashing at your apartment tonight, an invited event, because you often miss him like you miss home; the boy is sneaky— he slinks away like a street cat and only comes back for food. It’s only fair he lets you wrangle him back like this, making him stay by your side at least once a week.

Your words make him freeze, like he often does; it reminds you of hikers, who freeze when they see mountain lions— he thinks if he stops and stares and pretends to disappear you’ll look the other way, drop the question, forget him completely.

But you don’t. You don’t know what’s affecting him -- not that he wants you to -- so you just stare back into his cornflower blue eyes. You stop and stare and see right through him; you hold the question like a knife to his neck, and commit him to memory.

“The scar?” Jonathan pales, shuddering despite it having long since been healed over. The aftershocks of an earthquake.

You simply nod, fingers pulling away. You’re still closer than ever though, the two of you being the only things in your cramped concrete apartment, the chosen movie on your telly still running and long forgotten.

Your attention remains on him, brandished into something dangerous, like you’ll carve the answer out of him if you have to— but the moment passes. He doesn’t say anything and you accept that as the answer. Gone is your razor-sharp focus, and there is nothing more to the matter.

But Jonathan doesn’t register this, no, he’s thinking, gears in his head turning and creaking. His tongue grazes against the backs of his teeth, jaw chattering like it was as cold as it was when… as cold as it was back then, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone— but it’s you. You’re not just anyone.

You’re the one he holds a certain softness for. The one he equally bares his heart to and holds the most secrets from. The one he’s most terrified to know. The only one he wants to know.

So, he decides to tell a partial truth— something digestible. People adore that which can easily slide down the gullet: news headlines don’t detail the goriness of a murder, they give the “insider” scoop of the scared neighbor. To be able to digest information is what makes the world go round, and he does not think you could digest the full truth-- he does not think he wants you to.

He feels ill at the thought of anything between you changing— oh, how ruined he’d feel if you began treating him like fucking glass.

This abhorrent social pressure is what makes Jonathan grit this sentence through his teeth: “I got into a car accident,” he gulps dry, “when I was nineteen. Was drunk… went fer a spin. I skidded off a -- um, an empty highway. The tall sorts; high up, y’know. Fell.”

His voice makes you look back up at him, and your eyes are beautiful and tense— it breaks his heart. He knows you’re probably thinking it was in-character, how expected that is of Jonathan Breech, how you’ll easily take this partial truth, how you’ll never know the full one until it comes in a letter under your door and he’s long gone.

“Tell me,” you ask him, lips falling into a near-frown instead of laughing or grinning wider. It’s hushed, whispered like a secret, “What did it feel like? Falling, I mean.”

Jonathan licks his lips, bores his shaking gaze into your own, and tells you not everything feels like something else. That the word connotes all you need to know. Falling meant he was falling; his arms raised and the air took him and that was it.

It makes your brows twist and your lips press into a thin line: his nonchalance is worrying, no more his signature characteristic— there is something wrong about this apathy toward injury, toward the potential death.

“Is that how you broke your finger?” You murmur, and it startles him. How you pieced the two things together, how you weaved a web from what little you knew about him; how futile his attempts to hide could be.

“What?” he responds, hoarse. There is a lurking shadow in his bones telling him he’ll taint you, telling him to be ashamed, telling him how badly you will never be his. It is such a damning reality, that no matter how much he may yearn for you, he is too incomplete to meet your needs; he is too hurt not to hurt you too.

“The car accident. Is that how you broke your pinkie?” you repeat, and you gripped his hand resting at your side, bringing it up to present the finger to him like he forgot where his pinkie was.

Jonathan’s gaze darts from you to the finger, and he feels his insides quiver; so badly does he want to spill his entire soul to you. But that internal reminder -- hurt people hurt people hurt people -- makes him settle for nodding, parted lips locking closed.

Nothing special happens that night, no shocking revelation or bombarded confession; Jonathan nods, keeps his lips sealed, and gets up from the couch, figure dreary and fatigued. He murmurs an incomplete excuse, something half-baked and blatantly unconvincing that he has to leave, and you let him go. You think you’re imagining the shudder in his shoulders, the shake in his voice as he says goodbye, and you let him go.

It’s there, like that club so long ago, you discover another thing about Jonathan Breech: push too far and he shuts down, closes shop and puts up his guard forever. It’s the mere fact of how attentive you are to his words; you remember how he broke his finger, and he realizes he cannot hide from you any longer.

You’re reaching a point in your friendship -- your relationship, no matter platonic or romantic for all lines have been crossed; nobody is so raw to one another with love not involved -- where you’ll bare your hearts on your sleeves, share your every thought and dream and fear. But Jonathan won’t be able to reciprocate, and the very thought of rejecting you, betraying you, makes his stomach twist in knots. That crestfallen face of yours would haunt him for all time, your every melancholy feature burning into his memory like the scars left by cigarettes on skin.

So he leaves, hurt people hurt people hurt people echoes in his ears all the way home; he turns into an alleyway shortcut and prays death swoops down and takes him right there. He leaves his consciousness curled lovingly in your arms; his shell walks home and prays you’re none the wiser. But you’ve already reached that point in your relationship; you already know.

When people die, or friendships do, sometimes they end with just a goodbye, a mild, casual goodbye because you think there’ll be dozens, hundreds more-- but there won’t be. Suddenly, alone in that cramped apartment, the buzzing from the tv filling your ears, your couch still warm from someone long gone, you know.

You know you startled him, that he’s left your apartment and he’ll never come back. Your heart cools, and she whispers that you took it too far, that you crossed a line you were never made aware of, that when you see him in class tomorrow he might not sit next to you, he might not talk to you, that you might lose him forever because he is too stubborn to open up and you are too stubborn to let him go.

Well, you were too stubborn to let him go.

It’s three weeks before you speak to Jonathan again. Three long, dragging weeks, moments in time where he avoided your gaze, evaded your presence, slipped past you before you got too close. You certainly try, of course— you seek him out every chance you get, trying to get an I’m sorry, please talk to me out before he runs off, but it’s virtually impossible.

Once, after class, you’d caught him in the middle of a flurry of exiting students by the velvet blazer, your hands curled around the lapel. “Jonathan,” you panted, trying to drag him off to the side to escape the bustling activity around you, “please, we need to talk--“

But then Jonathan had faced you, eyes widened and spooked like he’d seen a ghost, a never-before-seen-by-you fear covering his gracefully cut features, before he tugged off the black blazer and escaped into the crowd. He had seen you, widened his eyes, left. Such a simple action tore your heart in two; it had confirmed your suspicions— you’d gone too far, he was never coming back, and you were all alone. There you stood, fingers wrapped around one of his favorite articles of clothing starkly without its beloved owner, completely alone.

In three measly weeks, he has put up a biting winter of distance between you two.

Your feelings are unable to comprehend themselves— they fight and sob and run circles around your mind, they make you doubt, crumble, devour yourself from the inside out; they make you ask yourself what you can do to salvage this, what can you do to fix this? What is there to make of him, of his behavior; what do you do with yourself and this guilt?

If you could imagine time was a construct, you were certain you could convince yourself this stretch of time was nothing… propel yourself into a present where Jonathan does not afflict your mind, take over your every thought— does not ruin you like so. If only you could do that, you could close your eyes and reopen them when you’ve let go. But you were always too stubborn to let him go, weren’t you?

It’s three weeks to the day before you speak to Jonathan again, and it happens through the crack of his dorm door, your arm wedged through it because you know he is not cruel; he will let you in without a doubt.

“Please,” you plead to Jonathan, “just— I just want to talk. Please?”

He stares at you straight, expression cold and reserved, before he breaks and pulls away; bites his lip, lets you in his room, doesn’t look you in the eye. Looking around, you sense something in his dorm has changed; it had gained a bereft quality, like it was attuned to Jonathan’s state of mind and felt depressed beyond your comprehension. There was a cold air to the place, an utmost frigid demeanor to a room incredibly warm just weeks prior. In your absence, the dorm had been neglected, gutted, abandoned.

“I’m sorry,” are the first words that tumble out of your mouth. “I- I know you don’t like… talking about -- about your life before here, and I’m sorry. But please, Jonathan, just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

He sits down on the edge of his weak bedframe, pulling his knees up and pressing his face into them. “You don’t need to-- don’t… don’t apologize. You don’t need t’make it better, either. All’s grand.” he promises, words muffled and shaky. It’s a weeping kind of tone; you could just as easily imagine him sobbing with that voice.

Your brows knit. Your emotions are wavering, treading brutally between disbelief, despair and rancor. “Then -- then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you avoid me? Why did you - why did we spend these last three weeks playing cat and mouse, if you weren’t mad at me? Is this your sick idea of a joke?”

“No! I-- jesus christ,” Jonathan looked up from his hands before immediately pressing two fingers between his eyes, “I wasn’t … avoiding you.”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks!” you point out painfully, exasperated. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me for longer than this. You— you push me away any chance you get. You’re afraid. I don’t know of what, but you’re- so fucking secretive, and it’s tearing me apart.”

“I’m not - afraid of anything. I’m just a private person— you know this. Would you, if I ‘pushed you away?!’”

At his denying deflection, something within you snaps: “Why won’t you - fucking let me in? I’ve — I’ve bared my soul to you; you know me from the inside out. I trust you with my life— why, why can’t you do the same?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! And I didn’t — I didn’t mean t’get so close to you, okay?!” He bursts, and you flinch. His hands shakily come up to his face once more; he wipes roughly but it’s no use— you’ve already seen his delicate tears threatening to spill, and it burns more holes in your heart than you thought his suffering would.

“What are you talking about?” you pry, now without any cautious reservations about his demeanor.

“I didn’t mean to get so fucking attached, because - ‘cause I…” Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “fuck.”

“What?” you repeat, but it’s softer, concerned; how quickly his body language shifted from irritated to terrified has you scrambling to support him. “Talk to me,” you ask, taking nervous steps closer, like you were approaching a wounded animal.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it, like he did cigarette smoke, before exhaling heavily. “Okay- okay. When I was - nineteen, I drove a car… I drove off a cliff and tried t’kill myself. I was-- admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and when I got out I moved here f’school. I- I… promised m’self I wouldn’t let anyone get too close.”

The confession hangs in the air, a lonely little thing; it’s a bleeding piece of his own heart he’s plucked and placed in your palms. He shudders, and you want to nurture it like nothing else. This is a culmination of a year’s worth of evasion coming to a close; you’re seeing him completely, rawly, for the first time.

“But- but why? You don’t have to— Jonathan, you don’t need to do that just because you - you… y’know.”

“I’m- I know that,” he starts brashly, defensively. “It’s b’cause I am very, very aware of my - of m’own self destructiveness…” His words taper off into something of grief; the Sisyphean struggle of wanting to live, while that depressive boulder pushes him back, colors him completely. “I just… I didn’t want to - t’hurt anyone in case I -- in case next time I succeeded.”

“Next time?” you repeat, and your voice broke in a way you wish was less vulnerable, less blatantly miserable.

“This is why I didn’t want to—“ Jonathan sighs, deflates, “I’m not telling you this because I want you to - t’fucking save me, okay? I’m telling you this because you wanted to know, and I couldn’t hide from you anymore. Because you asked.”

“You didn’t need t’hide it in the first place!” you exclaimed, coming closer to him. “You’ve never had to hide a fucking ‘ting from me.”

“You wouldn’t have understood!” He said back, volume nearing a shout. “You’ll treat me differently now, you see, you’ll look at me fuckin’ different—“

It made your heart sink-- how sure his words were, how certain he was of your rejection. How little trust did he have in you?

(You remember he wanted to sink, too-- lose himself in the baby blue sea; let it swallow him whole and never be seen again.)

“You - you really think I’ll treat y’differently because of this? You know my every crevice, my every thought-- I have never once doubted that you’ll accept me.”

“I-I… why should I - expect any of this to stay the same?”

Suddenly, you took his face into your hands. “Because I-- I fucking love you, okay? And it’s not just friendly, or romantic, even if it’s both— I’m… I love you like nothing I’ve ever loved before. I accept and adore your every skill and flaw and antic; you wormed your way into my heart and I want to worm my way into yours.”

“That doesn’t mean—“ Jonathan tried to interject, a noise all utter disbelief. You cut him off, though, continuing your sudden confession; you hadn’t been privy to these own romantic feelings of yours till moments prior, but everything being said just felt right.

“Jonathan, I don’t care if you drove a car off a cliff or cyanide-poisoned our professor or blew something up, because I love you. You, with all your problems and great, big, beautiful life. All I want is for you to want that life; I want you to want me in it. I feel it in my bones that I’m meant to love you; you are meant to be my home, you are everything I am supposed to know. It won’t fix you or fix anything at all but I just need you to know-- I need you to know the why to my every action. It’s because I love you.”

He looked up at you, wide-eyed, head resting in your gentle hold. “I - don’t know what to say… are you - for real?”

“As real as can be,” you smiled back at him, tracing circles along his smooth skin; you could’ve drank in that attentive stare of his for hours upon hours. “I love you, and nothing and no-one, not even you, can change that.” An aching grip had clenched around your heart at his words, that blatant disbelief: are you for real? God, had you ever been-- had you ever fucking been.

Jonathan’s mouth opened to speak, but instead, he let out an agonizing sort of cry; an exclamation of utter surprise at the loving acceptance. Then, he hesitantly leaned into your touch, as if he’d never hugged before, wrapping his arms around your waist to snatch you as close to him as possible. He held you tighter and tighter as the seconds went by, like this was all a mocking dream his yearning mind had made up; that if he closed his eyes now he’d wake up desolate, alone, without you for eternity. His worst nightmare.

“…God, I’m so - fucking stupid,” he grumbled, sounding angry, but you could feel vulnerable, hot tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “To assume you, of all people, would act that way… you of all people.” He said that tenderly; you of all people certainly meant miles more things you weren’t explicitly aware of, but you still felt the sentiment. “I’m not -- poetic or anything like that… but I love you, too.”

You chuckled a beautiful, wet laugh. “You don’t hafta’ say anything sweet or special. You’re everything to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you onto the mattress with him. He flipped you beneath him, and held himself up by the forearms laying on either side of your head. “Fuck, I love you. I love you.” Jonathan repeated the words several more times, strange and foreign but right at home being said to you. Like his mouth was made to only ever say I love you to you.

Suddenly, you pressed your lips to his, shutting him up momentarily. You could still feel the vibrations of I love you rumbling in his throat as you kissed him. Your tongues danced along one another, an all consuming waltz; you wanted to know everything about him, down to the taste of his tongue, memorize how sweet his mouth felt on yours. Oh, how you longed for this moment; how could you ever think about love again, and yearn for it, without thinking of Jonathan?

You reckoned that’s what this had been the whole time; your love started as a little flame, something under the guise of friendship, but the two of you had fanned it, nurtured it-- all of a sudden the miniature warmth of platonic love burst into a raging, adoring fire. You’d fed this flame with tenderness, and it responded in kind; you could never again look at Jonathan without a certain intimate reverie. Perhaps that’d been why Jonathan found it so hard to cut off this relationship as he had dozens others: something primal and unconscious within him had begged him not to let you go— some higher being knew his home was only ever in your arms.

Jonathan deepened the kiss hungrily, pressing his weight onto you and pushing you into the mattress. Your head was spinning from the lack of air, and one of your hands had to sneak beneath his hat and tug at his hair to get him to stop. “Hey,” you panted, looking worriedly into his eyes, “what’s up?”

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, hanging his head lowly for a moment before meeting your gaze once more, batting his long lashes. “Jus’ missed you. Thas’ all.”

“Missed y’too,” you murmured, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Your hands left the crown of his head and trailed down his backside, tracing over the curves and bumps of his frumpy yellow v-neck sweater.

That touch of yours seemed to spur him on even more, and his kisses began to travel; along your jaw, to your pulse, down the long ravine of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the hollow of your collarbone, making you squeal. He chuckled against your skin, a genuine amusement rather than the mocking one you two so frequently practiced, and it all went downhill from there. His hands skillfully tugged off your tank top, knee between your clenched thighs, more teasing kisses being planted along your now bare -- save for your bra -- chest.

You didn’t mean to come over, profess your love and suddenly jump into a steamy, yearning makeout session (which, you were pretty sure was venturing off into sex…) but you supposed that apologizing— arguing, whatever —meant your relationship went back on track to wherever it was heading… which may have been set to end with an ardor romance anyway. This love of yours would’ve bursted at the seams of friendship; it could not be confined by such mere things as labels.

“Fuck,” you groaned, arching into his teasing kisses along the peaks of your breasts, his hands ghosting around your clothed chest but never touching. “Please, Jon.”

You could feel his cheeky grin on your skin, “Tell me what you want, love.”

“…Take this off,” you demanded gently, referring to Jonathan’s sweater.

“Your wish is my command.” he snickered, obliging and removing the yellow knit-- as well as his white undershirt and pajama bottoms. He was left in a pair of boxer-shorts and that silly, silly winter-trapper hat, his fingers sneaking up to your supple thighs and tickling the edges of your jean-shorts; a silent plea.

“Eager,” you mumbled, noticing his over-compliance in completely stripping, smiling and guiding his hands to the waistband of your shorts to tug the tight article off.

When he did so, you shivered, both at the feeling of being only in your underwear, as well as Jonathan’s sharp, attentive gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he panted, eyes exploring your every sweet feature.

He was enamored with your bare body, not in a sexual way despite the blatantly sexual situation, but rather in a worshiping, religiously devoted way. It may’ve been blasphemous to think so, but Jonathan’s sudden chaste kisses along the curve of waist only seemed to prove you right; his mouth on you was gentle, like he’d held you before, except now without any guilt or hesitation. It was a holy way of loving you; something all-consuming, becoming the epicenter of a life, becoming the purpose, motivation, and belief all at once.

That familiar broiling in your gut occurred as he made his way closer to the pulsing, lace-covered place between your legs; your hands were gripping the sheets tightly in pure anticipation, his hot breath on your sensitive skin. “Don’t be such a tease,” you pouted, legs fumbling for purchase along his body, trying to pull him closer to you.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he hummed, but his fingers still curled into the band of your baby-blue panties and dragged them down in one desperate go, “but I do wanna taste you….”

Jonathan’s veiny hands pried your quivering thighs apart, murmuring an offhand already stole y’panties, don’t get all shy on me now when you whimpered flusteredly, before he descended on your dripping lips, licking a flat-tongued stripe up to your clit.

You gasped at the sudden action, but it quickly morphed into a choked moan when he pressed himself further and parted your lips, nose to your pelvic bone; he made quick work of you, artfully curling his long tongue into your hole and slurping your slick.

“So sweet,” he praised, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs clench around his head. He hummed in amusement at your reaction, lapping you up quicker; he kitten-licked and slobbered, feeding on your sticky cunt, tongue darting in every direction, feeling your walls and prying deeper into your hot hole, which ached for the cock straining against the mattress now. The bottom half of Jonathan’s face was now positively soaked, glistening with his own drool and your needy wetness, all of it mixing dirtily and sliding down the length of his neck.

“Jon!” you mewled, hands tearing off his trapper hat and flinging it elsewhere before curling your hands into his mousy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy, desperate to come. You were riding his face now — or, attempting to, more accurately bucking up into him — adoring his unceasing ministrations. He was basically fucking you with his tongue, overstimulating your clit with teasing licks then pulling away, feeling along the ridges of your walls.

“Pick m’hat up later, love,” he tutted, pulling away slightly to see where you’d haphazardly thrown it, and your desperate whine neared a sob. He breathed in sharply, taking in how quickly he’d undone you: in a matter of minutes, your expression had grown wanton, eyes blown out, drooling, hair askew, bra riding up your tits and revealing your sweet, puffy nipples.

Jonathan quickly forgot about the state of his beloved hat, and went back down on you, mouth devouring in full force once again. You rolled your hips forward, and when he pulled his tongue out of your wet hole to suckle softly on your fleshy nub, your eyes rolled back into your head and your legs shook around his face, toes curling tightly. A choked moan left you alongside the sudden climax, sounding a hundred percent pornographic and all for him.

You panted, silent and unmoving for a moment, and Jonathan began moving to get up and let you take a breather before continuing, absolutely terrified to push you too far or do anything you didn’t want to do— he was the spontaneous one, and you were the responsible one, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted to force anything upon you. His simultaneous decisions were made mostly in part with your interests in mind; he made the decisions you were too nervous and over-thinking to choose quicker.

However, you took a long breath, then trailed your hand over the painfully noticeable bulge within his soft boxers. “Wan’… make you feel good,” you murmured, flattening your hand against his erection.

Jonathan inhaled sharply, pitifully affected by the minor touch but holding back with an incredible amount of self restraint. “I can wait,” he offered sweetly, one of his hands coming up to your flattened hand’s forearm to rub the skin.

You shook your head foggily, cupping him through the fabric, slowly adding friction by sliding your hand up and down.

“S-shit,” he bit his lip, “you want this now, baby?”

You nodded vehemently with a whimper, and to make more of a point, you reached behind and unclasped your bra, tossing it elsewhere on his dirty dorm floor, before beginning to slip off his underwear.

The hand on your arm stopped you, though, in favor of doing it himself and pressing his weight further onto you, your chests flush with one another. You were only able to take in thin breaths, making your head spin, but it also amplified the arousal blooming in your cunt when Jonathan slotted himself at your soaking entrance, collecting his saliva and your slick on his tip.

Before he pushed in, however, his head dipped into the hollow of your neck, plush lips brushing past the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to your temple.

“Please,” you whined, hands pushing flat on his back to bring him closer to you.

With that, Jonathan slowly buried his length within your cunt, making your breath hitch. “I love you,” he groaned, entering you inch by inch, relishing how your warmth swallowed him whole. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your hole was stuffed beyond belief, but Jonathan was gentle with you, caressing your waist with the rough pads of his fingers and massaging you, trying to ease his entrance into something painless. Obviously, with that length and thickness it couldn’t be painless at all, but his attempts helped your mind drift off elsewhere and take some of the attention off the stinging stretch.

After a long moment of ragged breathing, Jonathan cooing words of praise into your neck as he kissed you without moving, you dug your fingers into the skin of his back: “More,” you choked out, the fullness in your cunt now feeling delicious rather than cringeworthy.

He smirked against your skin, “Looks like you’re t’eager one now.”

“Oh, get on with it,” you rasped and he let out a low chuckle, sliding out of your hole before thrusting back in. That first movement already made your hips jerk up into him, back arching. It was like all the warmth in your body had collected in your cunt, leaving you freezing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, but still with a needy, burning fire in your insides.

Jonathan’s pace was affectionate and rhythmic: you could feel the tenderness in his each and every gentle roll of the hips. It made you feel like the sun, how attentive he was, but he was also so fucking slow. If anything, that had your walls clenching onto him harder than if he hammered into you— that slow build-up of friction was dizzying. You squirmed, cunt clenching and contracting around his smooth thrusts— you wanted to take him within you completely, cause more friction for you were going stir-crazy with this lazy speed.

“F-fuck! Faster, please,” you cried out, unable to take his sensual movements any longer. Your legs were twitching with his patient movements, and you could’ve sworn you saw a cheeky grin on his lips. The bastard— even in sex was he teasing you, wanting to torture you until you gave in to the pleasure and begged him to ruin you.

Sure, this was your first time together, and was going extremely pleasantly and sweetly, but you were actually pretty fond of the idea of letting him pound into you like there was no tomorrow…

At the lewd thought, your walls pulsed around his cock, making him buck up unintentionally, hitting that sweet spot within you. He grunted at the feeling of your tightened cunt, while you cried out his name, pleasure running like a current through your body. Your face was on fire, reminiscent of a raging fever, and your insides were coiling— god, how did his cock just feel so perfect within you?

“Oh,” he grinned in a pant, “found y’spot, didn’t I?”

Jonathan didn’t give you a chance to speak before he pulled out so far his tip was the only thing in your hole, before slamming back in and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Props to him-- he hit your g-spot with utmost accuracy, and you let out a long, stuttered mewl, scratching at his freckled back, legs twitching. Your wail was almost catatonic, loud and cock-drunk, dripping unabashed, filthy pleasure.

“Makin’ such sweet noises f’me,” he praised huskily, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, “fuck, ‘ve gotta hear that again.”

He must’ve noticed your neediness earlier, when he was slow and languid, for the new speed he set was double- no, triple that: his hips were snapping against yours, balls smacking filthily against your lips, left hand pinning your hips down and letting him sink into you faster. Shocks of pleasure tore through you at the sudden increase in speed- he’d inured you so well to the torturously slow pace from earlier that this new frenzied one felt like getting hit by a bullet train. You were overstimulated and needing more of him all at once, practically vibrating with need under his touch.

“I’ve- hnngh- wanted this…” you gasped between moans, “f-for so long…”

“Wanted m’cock?” Jonathan questioned in a hiss, feeling with his every inch how your walls absolutely soaked him. His tone was, obviously, sarcastic, but it still made you feel incredibly lewd.

You shook your head numbly, “Wanted you… I love you, Jon!”

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he purred, fucking you faster and making you writhe beneath him, “love you s’much.”

Jonathan targeted the spongy, swollen spot deep within your cunt, suddenly filled with a renewed vigor and motivation to make you come as quickly as possible, and he pounded into that one, specific spot, watching how you twitched and squirmed, heavy moans exiting you. He was relentless, hands reaching to hook under your knees and spread you wider.

At the new angle, his cock penetrated you even deeper, fuller, which you thought wasn’t possible with how goddamn full you already felt, but when his thick cockhead brushed up against your cervix you thought you were going to burst. Then, one of his hands came up to your tits to knead the flesh, and you squeaked when he tweaked your soft nipples. He was pawing at your sweet tits, fondling you in a needy, boyish way, like yours were the first pair of boobs he’d ever felt.

“M’close!” you gasped, mind going fuzzy with pure ecstacy. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, cold sweat running down your spine, a terribly stark in contrast feeling to the warmth buzzing under your skin.

“C-can’t last much longer either,” he choked, still pumping in and out of your sticky hole and savoring the feeling of your tight warmness on his long length. He looked absolutely exquisite above you, and you lost yourself in the ethereal picture. Maybe you were in love, or maybe he really was just an empyrean beauty; you took in the sight of his focussed iceberg blue eyes, the cute flush spreading along his pale cheeks and bare chest, how he bit his pink lips to muffle his needy grunts and moans.

Then, you mewled and convulsed around him, your walls spasming and contracting as you came undone, reaching the precipice of your pleasure. That made him fall off the edge— you had tensed all over- all over, and Jonathan couldn’t help how his hips stuttered, knees buckled, cock twitched; he only gave one last, powerful thrust into you before spilling himself inside of you. He painted your soft walls white, and you felt that familiar heat spreading within you; you welcomed it completely, and wanted such warmth to be there forever.

You milked him for every last drop, cunt like a vice grip, and Jonathan gave you another wet kiss, this time on your lips, and your hands wrapped around his neck, allowing you to kiss him back. Your brows knitted at the sour taste of yourself on his lips, but it just made everything feel so real— Jonathan and you had “made love”. It was a phrase you always wrinkled your nose at, feeling uncomfortable and juvenile at the intimacy it entailed, but now you understood it completely.

“I love you,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to say anything else that conveyed what you felt for him.

Honestly, you weren’t sure anything could accurately do so— you felt infinitely about him, your love touching all edges of your mind, heart and soul, filling you completely. You supposed you felt about Jonathan how the sun felt about the moon— without one, there could not be the other.

“I love you-- too,” he responded, pausing in the middle at the aftershocks of your orgasm, which had caused you to tighten around his softening, sensitive cock for a second.

You peered deep into his baby-blue eyes, watching the utter love that coloured them; it was like submerging yourself in a great blue ocean, except you didn’t want to come out, because you knew you wouldn’t drown in those eyes. No, you knew Jonathan would always be there to pull you out.

Speaking of pulling out… Jonathan slipped himself out of you softly, careful not to agitate that first stretch any more than necessary, before collapsing back into your arms. The two of you tangled yourselves in a messy flurry of limbs on his cushy mattress, sweaty and breathy, something that should’ve been terribly uncomfortable but just wasn’t— you swore you could fall asleep anywhere, no matter your own state or the circumstance, as long as you were with him.

Blearily, both your eyes began to droop, until you gave into the familiar presence of deep, dark sleep. It was a dreamless sleep for you, but you had an ever present comfort at his weight on yours, something you could feel even in unconsciousness.

Hours later, in a brisk, shuddering early-morning that you felt all over due to Jonathan’s unruly habit of opening his window at the peak of the day’s hottest weather and forgetting to close it before cold nightfall fell, you awoke to Jonathan watching you carefully, so close you could feel his warm exhales of breath on your cheek.

There was no goodmorning or anything like that, just pure, uninhibited being, reveling in the space you two occupied together. Like you two were the only things left in the world.

When Jonathan noticed you woke up, he shifted, presumably to extract himself from your grip. You stopped him, though, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you.

“What did it feel like?” you asked instead, for the last time. You brushed your fingers over his scar, and, knowing exactly what you were asking, this time Jonathan doesn’t flinch away. This time, he leans into your touch: it doesn’t burn, not anymore, and he wants your tenderness to swallow him whole.

You didn’t mean what it actually felt like, of course. You meant, what were you thinking? What have you done, and what will you do to yourself? You meant, I love you.

“It felt like,” falling; not everything feels like something else; I raised my arms and the air took me and that was it-- “it felt like… giving in. Letting my desperation find its purpose. It felt like I’d reached a point of peace… gained clarity after a long stretching, wounded moment came to an end. It felt like becoming something only meant to be talked about in past tense.”

You don’t say anything to that; you know he doesn’t want you to. There’s no need for you to hush or plead or make better, you just need to listen, and love him. He knows you accept him for everything he is, all his flaws and his strengths; he knows your love is all accepting- it veers on saintly.

At your silence, he melts into your arms and you can finally relax; there is an admission in the action, a release, an acknowledgement -- is suffering in silence not also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found? -- you have found him, at last, and you will never, ever let go.

You take it too far, just once. Only once. And you let him go just once, only once; never again.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #jonathan breech #on the edge #jonathan breech x reader #jonathan breech x reader smut #jonathan breech smut #cillian murphy x reader smut

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il-miele-che-scrive · 4 months

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a lil xmas-y smau charles leclerc x reader, faceclaim sabrina carpenter

yourusername made something special for you guys for the holidays 🤍 fruitcake is out of the oven

view all comments

username1 wtf is she holding?

↳ username2 a fruit cake I assume since the album's name is fruitcake?

carlossainz55 I gave it a listen before it came out and I'm gonna make it everyone's business

↳ yourusername alright Chili stop flexing or I won't let you pre-listen to anything else in the future 🙄

carlossainz55 you know that's not true

yourusername you're lucky I value your opinion

georgerussell63 Y/n send help Carmen hasn't stopped blasting the album since it came out

↳ yourusername seems like a you problem darling🫶

carmenmmundt don't listen to him Y/n, he secretly loves fruitcake

maxverstappen1 this is better than the Dutch national anthem

↳ yourusername thank you I guess 🤔

↳ username5 that's such an underrated compliment

username3 literally how dare you release Cindy Lou who when you literally stole Charles from Charlotte. Alex 'stealing' him from you is literally your karma

↳ username2 but Y/n and Charles have been recently seen in France together 👀

username3 oh great 🙄 what a homewrecker, also notice how she's flirting with literally all drivers in her comments

username4 they're friends she's not flirting with them lol plus Charles is still in her likes so they're def back together

↳ maxverstappen1 literally shut the fuck up

username5 lmaooo Max being the big brother Y/n never had

username2 tell them queen 💅

username6 i live for the friendship between Y/n and Max 🙏 oh what a girl gotta do for a friend like this

landonorris slay bestie

↳ yourusername you know it

username4 so we're all just gonna ignore the fact that Y/n has been seen with Charles in France and they still follow each other and like each other's posts?

↳ username7 i mean that's just how adults are but

username4 nah just wait and see

yourusername a quick trip to Paris 🤍 je t'aime

view all comments

username4 SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

username8 THE 3RD PIC WHAT

charles_leclerc je t'aime moi aussi ❤️

↳ username4 THEY'RE SO CUTE AND FOR WHAT

↳ username5 I love how Y/n is like a younger sister to Max and dating his biggest nemesis of all times

yourusername i asked them to be nice to each other

username3 nah that's too much, I hate this drama and this girl

↳ username8 imagine being so bitter to post a comment like this

↳ maxverstappen1 quit stalking her page then?

username7 big brother max strikes again and we love to see it

↳ username3 weird how Y/n became Max's sister when she started dating Charles 🙄 sister my ass, she's def cheating on Charles

username4 i haven't read a comment as dumb as this since your previous one, Charles and Max were friends before Charles started dating Y/n so he introduced her to Max, what's weird about that?

username3 and what does that change? people make new 'friends' while in a relationship and end up cheating with said friends

username4 sweetheart you're embarrassing yourself, Y/n said in an interview that she's grateful for Charles introducing her to Max because he's like an older brother to her AND WE CAN CLEARLY SEE THAT

username3 what was she supposed to say? Yeah, I'm fucking my boyfriend's rival?

username5 you jealous bitter asshole, go cry to your mom about men and women being friends

carlossainz55 But when are you coming to Monaco? We all miss you

↳ yourusername I'll be home for Christmas

username9 not Y/n replying with a song lyrics lol she's so unserious

username10 what did you expect her to write a whole paragraph about how she's going to be there for the 24th/25th of December

username9 she said she'll be home for Christmas, she's going back to America

charles_leclerc so grateful to have you here for Christmas ❤️ welcome home

view all comments

yourusername i couldn't be happier 😭❤️

↳ charles_leclerc btw we should bake together more often

yourusername you mean I bake and you occassionally steal the frosting more often?

charles_leclerc call it whatever you want darling but we have to repeat it sometime

yourusername bet, now that I live with you you won't avoid it

↳ carlossainz55 In the name of the whole grid could I fill a request to try your baked goods?

yourusername sure if Charlie won't eat all my frosting

username4 SHE'S IN MONACO AND SHE BROUGHT HER DOG???

username5 that's why she said she'll be home, because Monaco is her home now 😭 I'm not crying you are

landonorris haters been really quiet

↳ yourusername they're scared of Charlie and Max joining forces to defend me

maxverstappen1 as they should am i right @/charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc so right mate

↳ username7 so sexy of them to be so protective of y/n

username5 so sexy and for what

username7 for us to fangirl I guess

carmenmmundt Okay but when are we going to hang out? Since when are boyfriends more important than friends?

↳ yourusername we had a double date a few days ago didn't we

carmenmmundt I meant a girls night

yourusername you got separation anxiety or what😭

carmenmmundt Only with you though, it doesn't work like that with George

↳ georgerussell63 I mean, she's right, I haven't experienced any separation anxiety from her

yourusername excuse me @/georgerussell63 the last time i checked she was your gf

charles_leclerc should I be jealous?

↳ yourusername absolutely not!! <3

↳ carlossainz55 Don't worry mate, in the worst case @/landonorris and I can take you on a date

landonorris the worst case?!

charles_leclerc well, it's not ideal is it?

landonorris is it not?!

username7 help cause i've always imagined y/n and charles as parents and lando as their kid

↳ yourusername i mean, he did thirdwheel us a few times

landonorris and loved every second of it

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #F1 smau #Charles leclerc x reader #Charles leclerc smau #Charles leclerc social media au #F1 social media au

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 5 months

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.⋆｡You're Gonna Go Far｡⋆.

Batsis!reader

We ain't angry at you, love You're the greatest thing we've lost

Warnings: older sister syndrome, angst, mentions of Jason’s death (seriously Lou not every fic), hurt/comfort, all platonic

Stick Season (We'll All Be Here Forever)

The letter in your hands felt far heavier than the small envelope of papers should have felt. You knew already what it said, what it meant and by god it was tempting to just shove it into your desk drawer and forget about it.

But you couldn’t forget, not when the words inked on those white pages meant that you could finally follow your dreams. Your thumb traced along the emblem at the top right corner of the letter as you read over the excited paragraph of acceptance yet again. It was a spur of the moment thing, a brief lapse into insanity when everything got to be too much and now, the consequences had come.

Could you go? Could you really leave all this behind and do the things you’ve always wanted to do? The seed of hope began to sprout in your chest, slowly weaving through the years of responsibility and obligation you had used to bury it as deep as you could.

But then, you heard muffled arguments through your bedroom door, seeping in like a thick fog. It brushed against your feet, sending a freezing chill through your body. It licked at your fingertips until you couldn’t stand the cold.

Quickly, you shoved the envelope and the letter into the bottom of your trashcan and stood. “What are you fuckheads fighting about this time?” Your siblings responded with more shouting and as you left your bedroom, you doused that little bit of hope with the poison of your duty.

——————

“What did you want to be when you grew up?” The question hung in the stale air for a moment, looming over you as you worked on sharpening Damian’s favourite sword. Your father was sitting at the massive wall of screens, wearing all of his uniform except for the cowl. A pensive look on his face, he seemingly couldn’t meet your eyes.

“A dinosaur cowboy rockstar.” You snipped back. The letter flashed through your mind but disappeared quickly enough with another pull of the blade against the sharpening stone. Bruce’s brow furrowed.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” You sighed heavily through your nose as your shoulders tensed with the blowout that was about to happen. His eyes pierced into you, watching you with that same bit of intensity they had the first time you donned the Robin suit.

The leather hilt of the blade creaked with the strength of your grip and the cave settled into a tense silence. But you couldn’t feel that anger that you used to when he asked that question any time before, all you felt was that overwhelming, devastating sadness of what your life could have been.

The first time was when Dick left; Bruce wanted comfort, to know that what he had condemned you and your brother to do was right. You had swallowed down that anger, the urge to scream at him and blame him for everything in favour of telling him exactly what he wanted to hear. “I’ve always wanted to help people and being Robin was the best thing I could be.”

It was after Jason’s funeral when he asked next. Your eyes were still swollen with your tears, your shirt ruined from where Dick had been clinging to you and the bruises from the explosion that took your little brother not yet healed. You had refused to answer him, just telling him to get some rest and that the mantle of Batman would be yours until Alfred determined him fit for the field once more.

You supposed this time had been brought on by Tim’s departure to college barely a week ago. The house was noticeably dimmer without the boy genius and it had quite obviously been affecting your father. You nor Dick or Jason ever got the chance to go to college so it was a massive change.

The bite of your nails into the palm of your hand brought you back into focus where your father was watching you, unblinking. Bruce was a patient man, you’ll give him that.

��Why exactly does it matter? I have a job to do here- protect my brothers, protect the city, protect you in that order, just like you taught me.” His flinch was almost imperceptible to the untrained eye but you were far from untrained.

“Is that really what you want out of your life?” He was probing for something and you didn’t really care. The blade slid easily back into its sheath as you approached the wall of weaponry behind you.

“What I may want isn’t relevant here, I’m doing what I can- is that enough for you?” With more force than necessary, you slammed the sword into place, turning your back on your father. “I have shit to do, call me if you need backup.”

——————

You had been avoiding your room like the plague for three days now. Each time you stepped foot in there, all you could think about was the letter and how the deadline for the offer was drawing ever closer. The easiest solution would just be to throw it out or even calling the university to tell them that you were declining their offer but the easy way of doing things was not your style.

Instead, you started staying up all night and crashing on the couch whenever you needed a power nap. You weren’t dense enough to think that your family hadn’t noticed your change in behaviour but they at least didn’t mention it and you were grateful for that.

“Hey Dams, I need you for a second.” Ever eager to avoid his homework, your youngest brother perked up, his undivided attention now firmly on you. You chuckled softly. “Can you go grab my charger from my room, it should be on my desk.”

“Tt, so forgetful.” He muttered but obeyed anyway, leaving you smiling softly as you returned to your book.

You hadn’t noticed how long he had been gone until it was Jason that strolled into your father’s office. Still donned in his leather jacket, hair still damp from the rain that had only just started, he looked like a mess. “I thought you vowed never to come back.” You quipped.

“Har har, you’re still annoying as shit I see.” But even with his harsh tone, Jason plopped himself next to you on the couch and leaned his head on your shoulder. “Are you ever gonna get outta here?”

Your eyes flicked to your not so little brother. “Why is everyone asking me that, I mean if you want me to move out, I can.” You brushed off with a laugh.

“You don’t have to stay y’a know, you can go if you want. No one would be angry at you.” Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. That little seedling of hope began to come back to life once again, tentatively putting out roots.

“Where would I go Jay-bird?” He shook his head, forcing his face into your neck just like he would do when he was little.

“Anywhere, somewhere far from here.”

“But then who would be around to protect you Robins hm?”

“We aren’t little anymore, we can take care of ourselves.” You wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders and kissed the top of his head. Before you could respond, the office door opened once more and most of the rest of your family filed in.

Each of them looked haunted and almost withdrawn, save for Damian who angrily stomped over to you, and shoved Jason off of you so he could crawl onto your lap. “Who died?” You let your youngest brother wrap your arms around him as you made eye contact with your father.

But it was Dick that stepped forward, a piece of paper in his hands. “Why didn’t you tell us?” His voice shook with that unique mixture of rage and heartbreak that it seemed only he could perfect. The paper trembled in his hands, making the embossment at the top visible.

You poked Damian on his side. “I told you to stop looking through my stuff, you little shit.”

“Couldn’t find your charger.” He responded indigently, his fingers curling into your shirt.

“This is a big deal miss, not just anyone gets into this university.” Alfred, ever the peacemaker, laid a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “You should have told us.”

“It’s nothing, it was a lapse of judgement. I wouldn’t leave you all.” You brushed off but evidently, that wasn’t good enough for anyone. Dick and Jason scoffed while Bruce just looked like he was about to cry.

“You could go, leave this place and you’re giving it up for some idea that we need protecting? That’s fucking stupid.” Jason shoved himself away from you, angrily rising to his feet as he ran a hand through his hair. “You have a real shot here.”

“Is that what this is, some kind of fucking intervention? My life is my own thank you very much, I don’t need all of you telling me what I can or cannot do.” You tried to pry Damian from you in some vain attempt to get away from the conversation but that sneaky shit had dug his fingers into your shirt so tightly that there was no way you were getting him off of you without ripping off your shirt.

The roots were taking hold and it made you feel like shit. Who were you to leave this all behind when it could so easily be ripped away from you? You were needed here, your purpose was here not at some college where you couldn’t be there to protect your brothers.

“We’ll be ok, you can go.” You shook your head, biting back tears that were already building. Bruce came closer, taking your face between his hands. “I have put too much on you, I should have realised long ago. I’m sorry Birdie.”

“You haven’t called me that since I was 12.” Your father laughed sadly.

“Oh my girl, I haven’t been a good father to you have I?” His calloused thumbs wiped away the tears that you hadn’t realised were now steadily rolling down your full cheeks.

“You were never a good dad.” Jason scoffed which was quickly followed by a yelp as Dick elbowed him in the stomach.

“They’re having a moment.”

“I put so much weight on your shoulders, it was my job to protect all of you but I don’t think I’ve done a very good job at that. This shouldn’t be your dream, you deserve to make a life for yourself without having to worry about all of us.” It was so strange to see your father laid so bare in front of you, freely admitting his mistakes. “You deserve so much more than this.”

You looked at your brothers as if they would give you some excuse to stay, to reject that offer but their faces remained stern if not a little sad. “You can go sis.” Dick nodded.

“You’ve done more than enough for us, I think it’s time that we pick up the slack.” Jason bumped him with his shoulder and gave you a big grin. “Besides, I think it would be nice for you to actually have a social life instead of nagging us all the time.”

Alfred spoke again. “I believe what Master Jason is trying to say is that we won’t hold you back from chasing your dreams. In fact, we are actually quite proud of you.”

A solid weight against your chest brought your gaze back down to the youngest of the group. “Damian?” You knew that boy was incredibly attached to you and would take some kind of issue with you leaving to go study somewhere else.

“If you don’t go, I will never talk to you again.”

“Well I guess that settles it.” You said thickly, struggling to speak through the lump in your throat. “I’m going to college!” Bruce didn’t hesitate to scoop you into his arms in a hug so tight you felt your ribs creak. Damian whined a slight protest but made no move to slip out from your arms.

“Good because Tim already accepted the offer for you, you start in a couple months.” As your laughter filled the room, the hope in your chest blossomed, casting your guilt and pain into the shadows of its petals.

[Verse 1] The only time I got to praying for a red light Was when I saw your destination as a deadline "This is normal conversation, babe, it's all fine" Making quiet calculations where the fault lies This is good land, or at least it was It takes a strong hand and a sound mind [Verse 2] The college kids are getting so young, ain't they? They're correcting all the grammar on a spray paint And I even gave up driving after nightfall I got tired of the frat boys with their brights on This is good land, or at least it was It takes a strong hand and a sound mind [Pre-Chorus] It makes me smile to know when things get hard Ooh-ooh, you'll be far Ooh-ooh, you'll bе far from here And, while I clеan shit up in the yard Ooh-ooh, you'll be far Ooh-ooh, you'll be far, far from here [Chorus] So, pack up your car, put a hand on your heart Say whatever you feel, be wherever you are We ain't angry at you, love You're the greatest thing we've lost The birds will still sing Your folks will still fight The boards will still creak The leaves will still die We ain't angry at you, love We'll be waiting for you, love [Post-Chorus] And we'll all be here forever And we'll all be here forever We sure will [Verse 3] We're overdue for a revival We spent so long just getting by That's the thing about survival Who the hell— who the hell likes livin' just to die? You told me you would make a difference Well, I got drunk and shut you down It won't be by your own volition If you step foot outside this town But it's all we've had For always [Chorus] So, pack up your car, put a hand on your heart Say whatever you feel, be wherever you are We ain't angry at you, love You're the greatest thing we've lost The birds will still sing Your folks will still fight The boards will still creek The leaves will still die We ain't angry at you, love We'll be waiting for you, love [Post-Chorus] And we'll all be here forever And we'll all be here forever [Outro] You're gonna go far You're gonna go far You're gonna go far You're gonna go far Yes, you are (Ooh-ooh) If you wanna go far Then you gotta go far

All works

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @alexxavicry @ravenwings73 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @silverfire475 @psychadelichues @mvyalx @faefanatic @evansqueen54 @anamiad00msday @th3slothy @princess76179 @Lanielagenev @luvvvjada @Lucypaulette @midnight-shadow-va @mooniequeen @km-ffluv

@snedhdh @kobaltdragon @blackhawkfanatic @8bookishworm8 @honkytonkbabe @certifiedhunter @qardasngan

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louloulemons-posts · 7 months

Text

Bumps and Binx

Eddie Munson X ScareActor!Reader

Summary : You worked as scare actor at Halloween events, you weren’t expecting to make someone jump so much he fell in love.

Word Count : 0.9k

Warnings : Not proofread, halloween-y, swears, blood (it’s fake blood), clowns, eddie hits his head, 3 uses of Y/N, rambles for the spooky season, in true Lou fashion it was written at 1am 🫶🏻

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

You’d worked as a scare actor a few times now, loving all things horror, you always enjoyed making people jump. The fact you could dress up and give people a good fight was incredible.

You lurked around the haunted house, well it was actually a haunted big top. Dressed as a clown, you had black paint on your teeth making them look sharp, blood dripping from your mouth, contacts that made your eyes appeared white.

That wasn’t what scared people though, it was your ability to hide in the darkness and appear, screeching as you did so. This made people freak out, not expecting you to be there.

It ended up in screams of their own, hysterical and fearful laughter, and sadly, but rarely, tears. It was a huge mix of emotions. That’s why Binx (your character) had become a favourite of many.

The night was in full swing, many people had already passed through, you terrified the majority of them. Even having one run away from you whilst you chased after them like a maniac - it was fun.

Another group was making their way towards you, you’d heard them scream and laugh as they’d passed your colleague. It sounded like there was quite a few of them, oh this will be a good one.

Hiding in a dark corner, you crouched down, hearing them get closer. It was great, you’d make them thing they were safe and then just appear. A lot of people thought your too was the end of the attraction … it was not.

“No! I don’t want to go first,” you heard someone say, a whine in their tone, clearly scared. “Fine, fine I will. Jesus christ Red this was your idea and now you’re freaking,” another spoke.

The curtains were pushed back, a figure entered the room, turning to face the rest of his group, “Oh I think it’s over,” he said, shrugging. Sneaking closer to him, you smiled, cocky fucker.

More and more people entered the room, around ten in total. A big scare - a challenge you absolutely loved. Following after the first boy, he chatted away, “It wasn’t even that scary, you’d think they’d have one huge scare at the en-“

Leaping out with a screech, the bodies flew, everyone letting out a shriek, especially the first boy. Shouting, and losing his footing, ending up on his ass.

He went down with a thump, hand coming to rest against his head, “Holy shit, that was- oh my god my heart,” he laughed, smile appearing on his face.

You had to stay in character, keeping the scene, but you couldn’t help being concerned for the way he winced as he touched a particular part of his head.

Snarling and snapping at the group, bare and bloody teeth on show, another boy with dark hair helped the curly haired one up off the floor. The younger girls squealed and laughed, the two older ones linking fingers, squeezing tightly.

Making their way to the final room, you heard screams and shouts, another group was coming your way. Your eyes remained on the boy until he was out of your sight.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

The night had been a great one, full of people coming to enjoy the spooky festivities. It was time for you to go home and rest now, which you were thankful for, your throat sore from the work.

Your face was clean of makeup, attire now normal and comfy, you headed to your car, bag full of special effects makeup slung over your shoulder.

You made it to the car quickly, wearing through the few remaining guest, none of them paying much attention to you now. You had to admit you were thankful for it now.

Something caught your eye, or rather someone. It was the boy from earlier, the one who bumped his head. Quickly shoving your bag and costume in your car you jogged over.

He was stood by an old van, it look rickety and kinda creepy. It was actually pretty cool and suited him in a strange way.

“Excuse me,” you called out to him, as he looked up you smiled, “Hey.”

“Uh hi, what can I do for you?” he asked, his head tilting to the side slightly, it reminded you of a puppy.

“This might sound strange, but I wanted to check if you were alright,” you chuckled, playing with your fingers, now realising how weird this situation was. “I’m fine, why do you ask?”

“I play Binx, you know the clown, I gave you quite the fright earlier and you bumped your head. I just wanted to make sure you were all good.”

“No way! Oh man you’re so cool. Sorry I didn’t recognise you,” he said sincerely. Shaking your head, you shrugged, “It’s fine, I look different out of character, Binx is pretty scary and I’m well-“

“Very pretty,” he spoke softly, taking in the features of your face, but his expression soon became panicked, “Shit sorry. That was weird.”

“No no, it’s okay. You’re very pretty too uh ..”

“Eddie,” he finished, “could I get your name or would you prefer Binx?” he joked.

“It’s Y/N.”

“Well Y/N, I think it’s only fair that due to you and Binx scaring me so much you make it up to me,” he grinned. Matching his smile, you questioned, “And how can I do that?”

“Go on a date with me.”

“A date?”

“Mhm, somewhere that I’m not going to become concussed preferably.”

“We can do that, I’ll need your number though.”

“Oh yeah sure,” he moved quickly, opening the door of what must of been his van. He pulled out a marker and an old takeout menu.

Handing it to you, you couldn’t help smiling at the messy scribbles. “I’ll call you then.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Have a good night Eddie.”

“You too Y/N.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Thank you so much for reading!

Please leave any requests 🤍

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7s3ven · 4 months

Text

CINDY LOU WHO. cedric diggory

( master list )

IN WHICH… Y/N L/N helps her crush and longtime best friend, Cedric Diggory, get with another girl. Deep down, she knows she’ll never be the bright and bubbly girl Cedric wants. She’ll always be the cunning snake with a knack for starting fights.

“Cindy Lou is bright, bubbly, and extraordinary… she’s everything I’m not.”

A/N: I do take requests so feel free to ask for one :). I mainly write for Maze Runner, Harry Potter, PJO, and Hunger Games

Guess you make him happy like I couldn't do. Cindy Lou Who. With your hair so long, lips so red. Maybe we met once, I forget

Scrolling five years back, I'm obsessed. Breaking my heart, 'tis the season, I guess. The snow's gonna fall and the tree's gonna glisten. And I'm gonna puke at the thought of you kissin'

“The boy who I love who's now in love with you. Cindy Lou Who.”

—

Y/N sighed as she impatiently checked her watch and tapped her foot against the stone floor. It was almost curfew and Cedric was still a no show. The rules were less strict now that school was done, but Y/N had a reputation to live up to. It was the least she could do with all the trouble she had caused this year.

“Y/N.” Cedric jogged towards her, looking out of breath. She arched an eyebrow and her gaze scanned his untidy uniform.

“… Do I even want to ask?” She questioned.

“Ah.” Cedric sheepishly smiled, “My friends and I were playing hide and seek. It was a pretty intense game.” Even during his senior years, Cedric was still the bright-eyed kid Y/N had grown up with.

“Right. Well, why did you want to see me? You know how I don’t like going out before curfew.” Y/N folded her arms over her chest, “Plus, you’re late.” She quickly added.

“I know. I’m sorry about that. I just had to grab this.” Cedric pulled out a black box, smiling. He carefully opened it, showing the necklace to Y/N. “Do you recognize the crystal?” He questioned, making Y/N scoff.

“Of course I do. It’s my birth month crystal. (Insert crystal).”

Cedric grinned. “You still know so much more about gems than me. You should’ve been put in Ravenclaw.”

“Oh, please. If I was put there, I would be sleeping in the hallways. I can’t figure out riddles.”

Cedric playfully nudged her with his elbow. “Don’t say that. You’re smart.”

The pair walked beside each other as the moonlight shone through the cracks of the castle. Cedric had slipped the necklace box back into his pocket and he gently cleared his throat.

“I’m going to give the necklace to Cho.” He suddenly blurted out, causing Y/N to pause. She looked over her shoulder at Cedric, wondering if he was joking. He wasn’t.

“Why? She’s your ex.” Y/N felt mildly disappointed that the necklace wasn’t for her. For the longest time, she had been holding onto her feelings for Cedric. Everybody could see it; the Golden trio, the teachers, even Draco’s posse. And yet Cedric had never caught on. She was starting to wonder if he was just messing with her.

“She helped me through a lot. I owe it to her.” Cedric smiled. Y/N gazed at him before she nodded.

“Okay… I’m guessing you want my help?”

“Yes. Please.” Cedric was ready to get on his knees and beg. Though, he was sure Y/N would find great amusement in that. She had always been a little sadistic.

Y/N briefly looked away, blinking away small tears and recollecting her composure so her voice wouldn’t crack. “What do you want me to do?”

edric had wanted to meet Cho at the black late, which was where he and Y/N usually hung out. That stung.

Y/N tied the last of the heart-shaped balloons before securing them to a nearby tree. Cedric was pacing around, wildly muttering under his breath.

“Will you relax?” The Slytherin girl piped up, rolling her eyes. “You’re making me feel nervous.”

“I can’t help it.” Cedric replied. Of course, nobody could help but feel anxious around Cho Chang. She was beautiful and smart and kind. Y/N had talked to her a few times, and if she were a guy or lesbian, Cho would be her crush too.

“Well, that’s the last of the balloons. Good luck, Ced. I’ll be nearby if you need help. Just don’t expect me to hug you if she rejects you.” Y/N playfully punched her friend’s shoulder. Cedric boyishly grinned and quickly embraced her.

For a moment, Y/N was speechless. She slowly hugged him back and awkwardly patted him. She could smell his expensive cologne and it almost felt Cedric was confessing to her instead.

Y/N was the first to pull away. She wished Cedric luck once more before hurrying off, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt envious of Cho. Y/N had been by Cedric’s side since day one. She had comforted him and supported him and hid her breaking heart when Cedric admitted to liking Cho the first time.

And now it was all happening again.

Y/N hid behind a tree just in time to see Cho walk out of Hogwarts and make a beeline for Cedric. She watched as they conversed and when Cedric showed Cho the necklace, she jumped with joy.

Y/N let out a small sigh. She pressed her lips into a thin line, accepting that she wasn’t the girl Cedric would ever go for. She wondered that if they weren’t childhood friends, would Cedric still be nice to her?

She was a Slytherin. A somewhat mean one with a soft spot for certain people. She started too many fights to count, and the threat of expulsion was always hanging over her head.

She wasn’t Cho Chang, who was pretty like the starry night shining above the calm ocean. Cho Chang was kind, sweet, and loving.

Cho Chang was Cindy Lou and Y/N was the Grinch with no room in her heart to change.

The next time Y/N saw Cedric, he was by Cho’s side. Y/N usually sat at the Hufflepuff table with Cedric, much to some people’s dismay, but today Cho was with him.

Y/N didn’t feel welcomed at that point so she sat with her friends, completely missing the way Cedric gazed over at her in confusion.

“Ah, Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang. Everybody’s favorite couple has finally reunited.” Ivy, a pale-skinned girl with light freckles lining her cheeks and soft silver hair grimaced as she sarcastically spoke.

“It’s a shame you never dated Diggory, Y/N. You guys were perfect together.” Hime sighed as she poured herself a cup of pumpkin juice. She offered to fill Y/N’s glass as well, but the H/C-haired girl declined.

“Boys are always stupid.” Evan, short for Evangeline, piped up. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing. I agree with Hime. He should’ve gone for Y/N.”

Y/N silently ate as she listened to her friends complain about Cedric, probably in an attempt to make her feel better.

“Has anybody noticed how he keeps looking over here?” Hime questioned, whispering quietly. “Chang never seems to have his attention for long.”

“I’m telling you, Diggory secretly likes Y/N but he’s scared she’ll reject him. So he’s playing it safe and going for an ex who he knows he had chemistry with.” Ivy retorted, sparing another glance at Cedric.

Y/N huffed in amusement. “Where did you come up with that?” She spoke for the first time.

“It’s obvious.” Evan backed up Ivy’s theory. “When he wins a Quidditch game, who does he run to? You. When he needs help with homework, who does he find? You. When he wants to go to Hogsmeade, who does he immediately ask?”

Evan arched an eyebrow while Y/N sighed.

“Me.”

“Exactly!”

“It’s a plausible theory.” Hime uttered. “You two have been friends for ages. He’s close friends with Hermione Granger too, but does he hug her and look at her like he does to you?”

“That’s probably because she’s younger and he doesn’t want to end up with a sentence.”

“Good point. What about Floral over there?” Hime nodded over at the Ravenclaw girl who was always arranging flowers or reading about them. Her name wasn’t Floral but everyone called her that and it stuck. “You three are all friends, right?”

“More like I was forced to befriend her, but sure.”

“Diggory doesn’t look at her the way he looks at you.”

“And how does he look at me?”

Ivy slammed her hands on the table, looking like she had been waiting years for this question. “He looks at you like Jack Dawson looks at Rose. He looks at you like Chuck Bass looks at Blair Waldorf. He looks at you like Luke looks at Lorelei. Like Morticia and Gomez, Bella and Edward, uh.. give me another one!”

“Percy and Annabeth?” Evan suggested.

“Yes! That’s how he looks at you. He’s giving you the I wouldn’t want anybody else by my side look. He’s probably just… confused. You’re like his Cindy Lou Who. You make him happy and you bring out the best in him.”

“Cindy Lou is bright, bubbly, and extraordinary… she’s everything I’m not.” Y/N gestured over to Cho, who was giggling with Cedric. “Cho Chang is more like Cindy Lou.”

“Cindy Lou Who has a nice ring to it.” Evan said, off topic.

Y/N nodded in agreement. “It does. The rhyme is satisfying.”

“Enough about language features! You have to get your man back, Y/N.” Ivy intensely stared at Y/N, determined to get Cedric and her together.

“He was never mine to begin with.”

“Then make him yours! Come on, Y/N, you’re beautiful- no. Gorgeous. And sure, you have a bitter side but guys who can’t deal getting a little burnt aren’t worth it. And I know that you burnt Diggory over and over again, with both your anger and literal fire.”

“Just so we’re clear, the fire thing was an accident. And I don’t want to force anything onto Cedric. I’ll just… go with the flow.” Y/N ate the last of her food and stood up, “I need to wrap presents. Don’t you dare try and sneak in to see your’s.”

Y/N was mainly referring to Ivy, who lifted her hands in surrender.

Again, Y/N failed to notice how Cedric’s eyes trailed to her. But Cho saw it.

“Cedric.” The raven-haired beautify tugged on his sleeve, “Can we talk?” She spared Cedric’s friends a look. “Alone?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

The pair walked off, fully aware of how Y/N’s friends were watching them closely.

“What did you want to talk about?” Cedric questioned, tilting his head to the side.

“I don’t want to assume anything, Cedric. But to me, it seems like you only confessed to me again to play it safe. I can tell that your true feelings don’t lie with me.” Cho glanced at Y/N, who exited a nearby bathroom and was too busy drying her hands to notice the couple. “They lie with her.”

Cedric followed Cho’s gaze, softly staring at Y/N with that damned look of adoration.

“I think someone else deserves this necklace.” Cho gently removed the jewellery, handing it over to Cedric. “Face it, you love her. You always have. You can’t try to love me, Cedric, not when Y/N exists.”

“She doesn’t like me back.” Cedric muttered, grasping the necklace.

“Are you sure?” Cho quirked an eyebrow. “Why do you think she stayed by your side for so long? Even when the other Slytherins teased her, even when you two argued, even when you kissed me in front of her. How could you not notice, Cedric? She brings you drinks after quidditch practice and buys you gifts and even stays at Hogwarts so you aren’t lonely. Why do you think she never dated anybody, Cedric? It’s because you were the one she wanted.”

Cedric shook his head. “No. She doesn’t like me. Y/N is smart and amazing and cunning. I’m not her type. Her type would be someone like…” He paused, thinking, “Matteo Riddle.”

Cho sighed as she shook her head. “You really have no idea, do you? Spend more time with Y/N and hopefully you’ll notice the things the rest of us do.”

She quietly walked off, leaving Cedric standing outside the Great Hall. Cho made an immediate beeline for Ivy, Evan, and Hime and sat in Y/N’s spot.

The trio clad in green glanced at her, confused and a little hostile.

“Cedric likes Y/N.” Cho quickly uttered so the group didn’t explode on her. “I got through to him but he thinks Y/N doesn’t like him back.”

“Thats bullshit. It’s so obvious!” Ivy groaned.

“Exactly.” Evan agreed, “But Y/N doesn’t think Cedric likes her either.”

Cho sighed. “It’s obvious they have mutual feelings but neither of them believe it. So, let’s force them to confess.”

Hime raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you like Cedric? Why are you willing to help us?”

“Despite our dating history, Cedric is still my friend. And I want to help him in any way I can.” Cho smiled.

“Oh, I have an idea!” Ivy exclaimed, “What if we get them under the mistletoe? But instead, they have to fight! We can call it mistlefoe!”

Cho, Hime, and Evan exchanged looks.

“I think we should just stick to mistletoe.” Cho uttered. “We could, uh, surprise them by decorating one of their common rooms? The Slytherin room is never decorated, right?”

“I wish it was.” Evan sighed, “It’s a cute idea. We could surprise Y/N by decorating the common room and then led her in and Cedric can be standing in the middle of the room under the mistletoe.”

“But to pull that off, we’ll need more help.” Hime added, “I don’t think four people can do that. And it’s only us in the Slytherin common room. Not even Matteo is here. So he can’t help.”

Cho glanced past Hime and Ivy, staring at the Golden Trio and their extended group of friends. She smiled. “I have an idea. But it’s going to involve working with Gryffindors.”

The group of Slytherins all glanced at each other before they shrugged in unison.

“Anything for Y/N.”

“Whatever.”

“Do I get to kiss Oliver Wood after Diggory and Y/N kiss?”

Cho, Evan, and Hime stared at Ivy, who only cheekily grinned.

“Um… I’m not sure about that last one. Let’s just start off with asking the Gryffindors first.” Cho sheepishly smiled.

“Ivy and I will get the decorations.” Hime offered, “There’s some extra ones in the basement if Hogwarts too. Evan, Chang, you can get those after you ask the Gryffindors.”

“Call me Cho.” The ravenette smiled before she stood up. “We don’t have much time. Let’s hurry.”

“Wait, we forgot something.” Ivy piped up, “Who’s going to distract Y/N?”

“Evan can distract L/N. I’ll ask the Gryffindors myself and if they accept, they can help me get the decorations from the basement.”

“Okay.” Hime looked around, slowly nodding. She smiled. “Let’s go.”

Cho approached the red table while Hime and Ivy hurried towards Hogsmeade and Evan rushed off to find Y/N.

It took a few hours for everything to be set up, but finally the Slytherin room was decorated and ready.

“I need to get something. I’ll be back.” Evan smiled, lying through her teeth. She watched as Y/N entered the Slytherin common room and rushed off to find her friends.

Y/N squinted her eyes as she walked into the dark room. “Huh? Ivy? Hime? You here? What did you do to the lights?” Nobody answered her. She tilted her head to the side, confused.

The lights suddenly turned on, along with multiple Christmas LED lights. She quietly gasped as she stared at the tinsel covered stairs and brightly decorated tree.

In all her years at Hogwarts, the common room had never been decorated. Slytherins weren’t exactly big on Christmas.

Y/N looked around, realizing she wasn’t alone. “Cedric?” She stared at the brunette boy. “What are you doing here? Have you seen Ivy or Hime? I can’t seem to find them anywhere.”

Cedric silently looked up. Y/N, puzzled, followed his gaze. She lifted her head, staring up at the floating mistletoe above her head. “Oh.” She whispered.

She looked at Cedric again, jumping when he was only a foot away.

“I’m sorry if I ever hurt you, Y/N.” He uttered, “I should’ve noticed.”

“Noticed what?”

Cedric didn’t say anything as he leaned forward to softly kiss her. Y/N froze, her heart almost leaping out of her chest.

“Y/N,” Cedric pulled away and brushed a strand of loose hair aside, “You’ll always be my Cindy Lou.”

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