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#boy were those an awful amount of tags
enhemel · 2 years
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have a bunch of my favourite fe3h characters ✨
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immajustvibehere · 4 months
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Amidst a Crashing World (1/5)
Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader
summary: You had left the gang about a year ago. There were many reasons as to why, but that you had received a rather gruff rejection from the man you loved was definitely on that list. Now, Arthur appears in front of your little cabin with an interesting demand.
tags for this series: fluff, little bit of angst, no-tb-Arthur, literally your love redemption, maybe smut (but probably not), slow burn (but I mean how slow can a story really burn in five chapters?)
Link to my Masterlist
1600 words, less than 10 minutes reading time
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It had been a year since you had last seen him. He was one of the reasons why you had decided to leave the gang. Because it had become unbearable to be around the man you had feelings for. The man you had confessed those feelings to and the man who had rejected you. It had been an uncomfortable moment, to say the least. Dutch had been talking about a bigger score for a while now and the mission had only been a few days away. You had approached Arthur who had been seated near a campfire with Hosea and Reverend, deep in a seemingly serious but one-sided conversation.
"May I talk to you for a moment?", you had pleaded. Your hands had been shaking. You had been aware: every score the boys went on held the possibility of never seeing them again. And you had felt brave that day. Brave enough to finally confess that you had feelings for this man. He was kind enough and caring towards you. He never was someone to express affection too openly so you hoped...that even if he did not feel entirely the same, he might be open to get to know you better and give you a chance.
"Sure", Arthur had grunted, a little groggily and stood up. You had walked a few steps away from Reverend and Hosea, just far enough to make give them the impression that this was supposed to be a private conversation. Quickly, but precisely and not without a certain shake in your voice, you let Arthur know that you liked him. More than the normal amount at least.
You peaked through your curtains to watch this very man dismount from his horse and caringly fix its reins next to the one of your horse, which was barely acknowledging the visitor.
For a moment, Arthur had just stared. Then he had shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck with a warm but stifled chuckle escaping his throat.
"Yer joking, aren't ya?", he mumbled as he nervously peeked back to Hosea and Reverend, who hadn’t exactly given you attention during this ordeal. When Arthur had caught your dead-serious face and how you swallowed after he had said those words, he knew that you, in fact, hadn’t been joking.
"I- ehr...I don't see ya like that, I'm sorry", he had stumbled over his words. His voice hadn’t been upbeat or hopeful, not even apologetic or friendly. No, the longer you had turned those words over in your mind afterwards, you heard how bitter, how disappointed, and somewhat accusatory he sounded. He had turned around and had walked back to his log, shaking his head, chuckling coldly.
Arthur's hand plunged into his jacket, and he pulled out a wrinkly, yellowy paper that he unfolded. As he held the paper in one hand, a grin flitted across his face, before he took a breath and started loudly:
"I'm looking for the fierce, the ferocious....", Arthur stopped and plucked a ripe tomato from its stem. You had been growing this beautiful tomato plant right next to the gate that separated your garden from the path that travellers commonly used. But Arthur was the first one who had the audacity to help himself. Then he went on: "The downright awful degenerate y/n. Supposedly, she robbed a stagecoach and left the driver in a condition that left much to desire...She has fled to find refuge from her abhorrent, ginormous bounty of 15 proud dollars!"
Arthur had a shit-eating big grin on his face when you finally pushed the door to your little cabin open. He popped the tomato into his mouth, savouring the taste as he watched you step into the light and lean against the door frame.  
"That you?", Arthur asked indistinctly with his mouth full, quick to catch some tomato juice with his sleeve as it escaped the corner of his mouth. He held up the bounty poster that showed the most unflattering sketch of your features that you had ever seen.
"I look myself in the mirror quite often, but I've never seen this creature staring back", you joked as you nodded at the sketch. You were still unsure what his sudden appearance at your doorstep was supposed to mean.
Arthur shrugged and sarcastically answered: "I really think they did ya justice. Have you seen the pictures going round of me?"
You had. They weren't nearly as bad as the one he held up of you. But they did paint him more cruel than he looked right now. Honestly, knowing him better, all you can see is an actually soft man which might look big and scary when he swings his gun around, but now, as he took his hat off, he looked harmless. The afternoon sun nearly blinded him as he looked at you, but he deemed the gesture necessary to be polite, apparently.
"Yer trying to take me in for a 15 dollar bounty?", you asked and crossed your arms.
"Don't want'a sound rude but that's barely worth it...", Arthur smiled, "No I ehrm...was close by. A farmer down that way told me you was living here. I helped him fix a wheel on his waggon."
"Sure...", you mumbled suspiciously. There was no way you would have naturally come up in this conversation.
"'s been a while...", Arthur commented.
"Yeah. More than a year. Took me this long to figure out how it'd bear fruit", you pointed at the tomato plant Arthur had stolen from.
Shamelessly, he plugged another one and ate it, "They're good."
"I know", you sighed. You had given up and moved aside to let the man into your cabin.
It was a humble little place. Just big enough to fit a table, three chairs, a bed, a stove and a cupboard. Arthur noticed the rifle that leaned next to the bed, the few books that were scattered on the table and finally his eyes fell on a couple of sketches you had pinned onto the wall. After leaving the gang, you had tried your luck with drawing. Yes, it was a way to remember Arthur, because though you haven't seen many of his drawings, you knew he sketched everything he laid his eyes on.
For a moment, you hoped that Arthur would comment on your sketches. There was one of a doe that you were particularly proud of, but Arthur just briefly scanned them before turning his attention back to you.
"Nice little cabin ya got here...killed the fella that lived in it before or...?", Arthur suggested, his eyes falling on a little hole in the roof that needed fixing and the bedframe which was uneven and brittle.
You almost laughed at the suggestion: "No. It belongs to an old lady who went to live with her sister in the city. She gave me the cabin to look out for, until her grandson is old enough to live in it."
"Oh", Arthur commented, fidgeting with his hat.
You had spent months trying to forget this man. You were sure you'd never see him again, not if you could have helped it. You were glad about leaving your affiliations with the van der Linde gang behind. However, this had never been the official deal. The deal had been that you could roam for a while, figure yourself out and then join back. You never did. And now you had a sour feeling as to why this man was currently scanning your backyard through the window.
"Why are you here?", you asked, your tone serious.
"It's good to see you again", Arthur light-heartedly said. It almost sounded like a joke.
"Arthur", you warned him.
"Lot has happened since you left...", Arthur said, still wandering around in this cabin as if he was scanning the small territory, "we lost some people in Blackwater...Mac and Davey...Jenny..."
You knew about Mac. It was reported in the newspaper, but when Arthur mentioned Jenny, your jaw dropped. You felt a sort of anger flare up. You had gotten along well with Jenny. She was a kind and funny girl and you had considered her a friend.
"How did- Why...How did this even happen?!", you grumbled, "Jenny wasn't someone who would be in the midst of a fight. Hell, she knew how to handle a gun, but-"
"I know", Arthur interrupted, "couple weeks ago we lost Sean, too."
"Why are you here, Arthur? And why are you telling me this?"
"Wanted to see how you've been doing...", he shrugged, but his demeanour changed when you opened a drawer. You didn't even need to pull out the gun before Arthur stopped with the sugarcoating.
"Dutch wants you back."
Hell, this didn't sound like a suggestion. It was more like a threat. Arthur was here to collect you. Not for a 15-dollar bounty, but for Dutch. Because he had lost too many people and now you needed to jump in. Also, every bit of hope you held close to your heart, that Arthur...that there was a tiny bit of him that wanted to see you. That he really wondered how you had been doing.
It died with those words. It stung.
"Get out", you demanded.
"Y/N-"
"Arthur, I'm not coming back."
"Dutch-"
"I don't care. I don't give a fuck what Dutch wants", you yelled, slowly pulling the gun out, "Honestly, you have some nerve showing up with this request."
Then, you had to laugh. Laugh at the absurdity of it and laugh because you were hurt. The laughter helped to supress the tears, for now.
"Ya ain't gonna shoot me, sweetheart", Arthur said knowingly, putting his hat back on and slowly backing out towards the door, arms still raised because he didn't want to give you the impression that he'd draw on you.
"Don't flatter yourself", you said, slowly walking towards him to make him move out of your house, "I wouldn't shoot your pretty face, but I can put holes in other parts of your body and it would hurt enough."
You felt bold, cocked the gun and aimed at his leg.
"Y/N..."
"Tell Dutch you didn't find me. Tell him I'm dead. Tell him I forced you to draw on me and you shot me...I honestly don't care. I'm not going back. I'm not...canon fodder for a cause I don't believe in anymore", you stated, your eyes fixed on Arthur. He might just notice that tears pricked your eyes, there was a hint of concern in his features.
When he opened his mouth, you were quick to interrupt him: "If you care for me just the tiniest fucking bit...yer gonna fuck off right now and not come back."
You thought about how he'd answer, 'I don't see ya like that', lasso you and drag you back into whatever hole the gang was hiding at the moment, but instead, he tipped his hat, turned around and mounted his horse.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Next chapter: here
I never have the nerve to keep a consistent taglist, but here are some tags for people who said they might be interested in that sort of story:
@pinkiemme @loveheartarthur @lonesome-ranger @twola @shiokitsune @hugthedragon @missredemption @kakashiislut @thewalkingdead1463
If you want to be tagged, please comment under this post if you want to be included to the taglist for this story OR any fic I post in future.
Special thanks to @little-honeypie 'cause we've been cooking that story up together <3
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chiliyue-archived · 9 months
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One more kiss or maybe three
↬sometimes Riddle needs the reminder to rest
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Includes; Riddle Rosehearts
GN!Reader
Tags; early bday gift for @cupids-chamber but anyone can read it <3
[Twst M.List] ♡
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Clack clack clack
The sound of pen meeting paper, you came to learn, was rather obnoxious when listening to the same drone again and again and again. What hour was it now? You'd had lost sense of time as minutes molded into an impeccably long hour.
Your scarlet lover was a busy one, you couldn't hold it against him for the hefty amount of duties he had to perform now and again; however, such responsibilities kept you waiting beyond the hours of twilight just so you can bid a goodnights rest with him by your side.
Riddle Rosehearts would scoff at this behavior, finding it rather unhealthy(while he himself failing to recognize the hypocrisy in his words). His mouth would move in slow drawls, urging you to sleep in his absence and that he mustn't keep you from your subconscious.
" My rose, it is unwise to force yourself awake. Please get some sleep. I will join you soon." The words left him nonchalantly, his eyes stilling on the words dipped within the parchment. He moved his pen to position it upon the page, gliding it with ease whilst his free hand fiddled with spare documents.
Such concerns would fall on deaf ears and a cordial, " It's alright, I can wait," would slip from your lips. And such responses would coax a tingle of guilt to gnaw on Riddle's mind.
He truly felt awful for keeping you awake at late hours for his own needs, but a dormleaders' work is an upmost task. Even at the betrayal of his desires.
Tonight, his workload just happened to more than usual, he wasn't fond of it of it but it couldn't be helped.
However, while also acting upon the role of leadership, he also had to uphold his role - arguably similar in prestige - his academic studies. Normally, the Roseheart boy would plow through his paperwork and coursework with ease albeit with droopy eyes and buckling knees at the end of it - however, for reasons he struggled to fathom, his duties only doubled that week. His mother would certainly be displeased.
You were not blind to the way his shoulders sagged with each document he filed away, his fingers becoming sluggish, and the writing was starting to become ineligible. Nor did you turn a blind eye to small yawns he gave or the way his eyes flickered to the clock - a look of disappointment would flash on his features at just how much time has passed. And how much work was still left. It was evident in his stature, dropping with the weight of gravity.
"Perhaps we should turn in for the night." You mumbled your concerns, vacating the seat and instead coming to lean beside him. From this new angle, you could clearly see the bags in his eyes, taunting him in a display of mockery. The temptation to kiss it away was compelling, and your knuckle went to brush aside his stray strands.
Though your lover was the stubborn one, it didn't surprise you when he replied; " I will finish here soon, but please get some rest yourself."
Despite his laud achievements, even he couldn't suppress the urge to recline against your touch as your fingers ran along his sculp. A hum escaped him the more your nails lightly slaved to rose colored strands. And while he's been privy to such actions many times before, a light pink nonetheless doused his cheeks, deepening the longer your ministrations persisted.
You couldn't help but grin when he placed the mountain pen down, his eyes squeezing shut soon following. In a show of tenderness, a gloved hand reached out for your own.
Muscle memory kicked in, his lips pressing to the flat of your hand like he had done so, so many times at unbirthday parties. It still made his heart quake in a candor he struggled to scribe words upon - but it made his stomach tumble over a stirring of emotions.
He came to associate those emotions with a sense of warmth. It tickled and squeezed his heart far more than anything else did, and the feeling was palpable even long after your touch withdrew. It was embedded in hot streaks, cascading down his spine and coaxing mild shivers in his wistful reminiscent moments. It was unsavory how it would soon fade away, merciless to time - however, he never had to wait too long until he felt your familiar touch once again.
Silver eyes glanced at the ticking clock. It was terribly late indeed.
A sigh of resignation slipped him - and that's how you knew you won. " I suppose I should credit myself some leisure time." His murmur came out more to himself than to you and his head dipped in consideration.
A silence shrouded over the room. Before long, his gaze directed back to you, cheeks stretching to accommodate a gentle smile.
He was still getting used to that - smiling. For something so humane, it felt oddly alienated to him. But he was slowly familiarizing himself with it. He noted how the gesture was always flickered to his lips when he was in your presence. Smiles were associated with joy or some form of saccharine feeling. You had always filled him with vitality, so it only made sense.
He can't clearly recall when he last smiled prior to attending the school. His mind went vacuous whenever he called upon the memory. He does, however, remember having a nose stuck within a book at all times with his mother's voice in the background.
Still, the emotions you stirred meandered in a questioning trail. The abstruse truth was far from his knowledgeable mind, but he wasn't too frightened by that.
His reverie halted as your hands peeled him away from his desk, lightly tugging off the accessories that clung to his person. Afterward, you gave Riddle the time to properly dress into his night clothing.
You were already in bed when you felt the mattress dip in weight. Instinctively, his body arched to meet yours, hands - now freed from its gloves - moving around your waist. His pulse echoed in his ear as your chest pressed against his own, your head finding solace on his shoulder.
The gaze you sent him heated his body far more than the thick blanket did. It was punctuated by the fanning of your breathing - caressing his collarbone at regular intervals. Without realizing it, his hand had gravitated to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered. He didn't want to lose your touch just yet.
" Can I get a goodnight kiss?" He chatised himself with how shy his voice left him; however, it complimented the reddening of his cheeks even in the poorly lit setting.
You laughed softly to yourself, your "of course" barely audible. Leaning up, you pressed your lips to his carefully - he still had the faint sweet taste of jam from earlier. Riddle's hand traveled down to the dip of your back, holding you in place even as you withdrew.
" Another one, please?"
He was terribly pliant to your kisses despite being unable to admit it outloud. Even your touches yielded a similar effect and even more so your words. His penchant to your affection was unmatched, and your love felt like slices of dessert. His stomach grows full yet perpetually more greedy for each taste. And his heart feels even fuller in yearning of you. Just you.
He has heard a saying before that home was where the heart is. When envisioning home, his hometown residence always came to his mind in full clarity. The same place that stripped him of his empathy and tailored him to a life curated not by his own wants but his mother's.
And yet, he was also greeted by your gentleness. Reconstructing his marred understanding of emotions with patience and rewarding him with your love - even when he was greatly so undeserving of it.
As you press pecks along his warming cheeks, Riddle couldn't help but wonder if home was where you were. You had ownership of his heart, that much was certain. And you cradled it gently even when his demons surfaced.
And for a second, he pondered how much of a future he held with you. He questioned how much of his reverie was fatuous thinking as a means of satisfying his heart and how much it would be truly possible. Selfishly, he made a silent plead for it to be latter.
But for now, he centered his foucs back to you. For right now home was with you in this bed - smothering him kisses and leaving him breathless until sleep eventually overtook him.
He hopes to have you in his dreams.
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A/n; sorry if this is just a bleh of words. I've been writing for the past idk hours. Poorly proofread too
Feedback is appreciated !!
Anyways, happy birthday, love/p. I hope this made you smile:)
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plasticfangtastic · 7 months
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American Royalty. Ch. 1
A Homelander X F!Reader fanfic
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A/N: I am writing this alongside another fic so sorry for the publishing schedule altho I got 2 chapters done, this is my dadlander fic and hyperfixation explorations
Sypnosis: Homelander never wanted to remember you again, but after welcoming Ryan into his life, he thought of you, and the lie that tore you two apart, but now... thinking back, thinking of your betrayal-- was he perhaps wrong about who the father of your unborn child was? Did you perhaps told the truth all those years ago? That it was his.
Tags: mild gore, angst, slow burn, fluff, OC characthers, child neglect, dadlander, romance.
Chapter One
Blue
It had been by pure chance, whether it had been a combination of forced reminiscing and exhaustion that Homelander had thought of you after all these years; These meetings had been proven wasteful of his time, nothing the PR and Digital Marketing departments could come up that was good enough, and somehow he had gone from irritated to just defeated.
He sulked in his chair listening to their meandering voices brainstorming potential ideas as to how Ryan’s new origin story had to be developed and handled, whether it was too squeaky clean or absurd, how much could they risk offending the child, how much of his mother should be kept from the public (not that they were very aware of the fine details, as Homelander had been more than just vague about it, he had simply no intent to divulge about his son’s conception, upbringing or his mother’s fate) Homelander would never allowed the public to look with pity or fear at his son, he would not allow them to brand him as a murdered over an accident– he could still hear his son weeping and shaking in his sleep, waking up in a fright, seeing invisible blood in his hands.
Homelander had grown overprotective of the boy, he was made indestructible but his mind and heart were glass, still pure and uncorrupted by the awful world they inhabited, he would never allow anything else to taint it and bring him nightmares– so this had to be perfect.  
To make it worse, the kid was growing impatient and depressed, forced to stay in the tower until this story was concocted, he couldn’t attend school or interact with other children until he was trained and learned his lines, making his father increasingly more paranoid that his son was slowly growing resentful. 
“Mister Homelander… what if we base Ryan’s mom off one of your other ex-girlfriends?” A rather tired intern had muttered– preferably somebody dead…”
The room shot daggers at the nameless intern but Homelander simply sat in silence and gave it a thought, he had plenty of unsuited mates disposed and handled in the past, the amount of NDA issued made for a small but noticeable stack alone, he looked at the table and the box of cannolis that the group had been munching on, looking at the small printed italian flag on the box’s side.
That he thought of you for the first time in years.
You had been his new personal chef, your interactions minimal as you brought him his meals, he hadn’t known at first how heartbroken you’d look as he returned half touched dishes over and over, it had become a competition against yourself to make him eat, every leftover morself a cause of grief, as if your honor and ego had been beaten mercilessly with every dirty plate.
One evening, Homelander sat on his couch watching a documentary by Orson Wells, he hadn’t noticed you there as you brought him dinner, the way you looked at him with spite waiting to throw the most likely untouched plate of pasta back at his face, it would get you fired and possibly killed but you couldn’t take it anymore. You were a chef, a professional, you had turned down a dream job and left the restaurant you loved for the honor of being Homelander’s personal chef, the job that would open you a thousand doors but it was without reward now it felt like your biggest mistake, no matter what you made he fucking hate it but offered no feedback, you had no clue what he wanted, what he disliked and liked, what he craved, or how he liked his meals– he simply left your food untouched.
Diverting his gaze from the film, he noted your food and that you were still there with a block of pecorino and a grater in your hands.
He stood up with a groan, lifting the silver cover to reveal boring pasta and bolognese sauce, it wasn’t styled exceptionally, it didn’t even look too appetizing, it was just some fresh linguine covered in meat sauce, he stared at you as if this was some sort of joke but your dead eyed expression was off-putting.
“Would you like some fresh cheese, sir?” Your voice might as well have been automated.
Frankly he didn’t want any cheese but pasta had to be eaten with cheese, he gestured for you to grate watching an off-white pile form on top of his pasta with no intention of stopping.
“That’s enough” he said sharply, he took the plate looking at the mound and then back at you who was still in the room, he wrapped his fork with the pasta doing his best not to stain his suit.
You just wanted to save the time with coming back to pick up the insults, but there he took the first bite of this homely dish heis eyes opened up, there hadn’t been anything special, you simply had taken some left over pasta and brought a jar of your grandma’s sauce, a recipe she had guarded fiercely ever since she stole it from some italian friend’s mom many many years ago, you adored this recipe, it had been the reason why you fell in love with food, you loved visiting your grandmother when it was time to jar the sauce, and when she served you a humbled serving of bolognese– he gave it a second bite letting the tangy and fresh sauce wash over him.
And that’s when he finally noticed you for real, how closely you watched him eat, smiling as he took another mouthful and mixed more of the fresh pecorino, there had been something warm about this meal, it lack pretense, it was something that no high end 5-star restaurant would serve but it tasted… warm.
From that point on, he looked forward to his meals, wanting to see what the fuck had you done to make food taste worthy of his body, noting you would personally deliver the meals after he failed to clean the plate on the previous one, he hadn’t even known your name but he noticed you.
You were cute, your voice had gained some warmth since that awkward first impression, he could tell it was these homemade meals that tasted the best, as if you put everything you had to make them taste delicious, there were no frills with these, just good homemade fair, made with love, he had began asking for things he had been curious but never served as if they were above his status like meatloaf, carbonara, shepherd's pie, etcetera. These were the kinds of meals the families he’d seen growing up behind the screen would eat, he had been the first to strike a conversation.
You listened, you talked, and before he knew it, he had found himself asking for your company at the dinner table. You were hesitant at first but he was handsome and charming, but above all he was the Homelander! While apprehensive you still took to his offer just to smugly enjoy seeing him enjoy your food, proud that you had triumph in this battle where so many had been defeated, you’d cracked the code and god it felt good.
It became part of your weekly schedule, having dinner at his penthouse and chatting about anything, he loved talking and eventually it became apparent that it wasn’t because he was in loved with his voice but simply… he hadn’t got anybody who enjoyed listening to him, you were attentive, you responded well and even if you weren’t sure about something you weren’t going to let him feel as if you weren’t approachable anymore, you were more than happy to hear him explain to you a topic because his eyes gleam like those of a small kid telling you about something new they learned at school– in truth you loved how happy he became when he could rambled about things, as if nobody in the world had ever given five seconds of their time to let him talk about strange events from history and his theories, tonite he wanted to talk about the Dyatlov Pass incident and star formations that he was sad that he couldn’t see from New York, wishing you could see how the sky looked like from his cabin.
You’d spend more and more time in his home as the conversations grew more frequent, as he wanted to hear more about your interests and hobbies.
Thinking of how cute you looked while baking, how cute your laugh was, of the way you always held him after long days, that first real date, that first time you held hands, the first shy kiss after dinner.
As he took a long whiff to catch some of that gentle sweetness, he thought of the last day you were together.
That sound.
The thing that’s the size of a bean.
The anger, his heart shattered, all the colors of the world had dissipated when he saw that tumor growing in your stomach, he wanted to hurt you as much as you did, to shut you up as you threw excuses, begging him to believe you.
But that thing wasn’t his.
It couldn’t be his.
You said it was his, that the baby you didn’t even know was inside you was his, but he couldn’t be the father.
His eyes widened, he stood up and left the room, his mind focused on your name. They had tried getting his attention but could only give up as nobody would dare to chase after him, Homelander found himself entering the analytics offices towards the first chump he spotted.
“Can you find me information on a former employee?” He said firmly, the junior staff jumped at his seat nodding frantically– their name was Y/N L/N.” he said quietly.
The staffer didn’t have to do much work, you were easy to find, your name attached to Brooklyn’s most loved pizzeria for the last couple years, your face on their socials, and even a video from some food channel following what it was like working in Brooklyn’s hottest pizzeria had you in it, your shop had been listed as the best two years in a row, Homelander couldn’t bare looking at your face, but he asked for an address.
That night after spending time with Ryan who seemed to be sulking more and more, as he watched him eat his dinner, he thought of you, the kid was meandering whatever was on his plate didn’t feel appetizing, his meal was no different from what it was served in a high-end restaurant and the kid had no desire to eat it, he wanted Ryan to have the finest things when all he wanted was to have his mom’s tacos– his son opted to head for bed early skipping dinner all together, it was almost 10 pm, a heavy feeling had been boiling in his stomach since that meeting.
Taking flight all the way to some red brick Brooklyn projects, hovering about until he encountered you.
Time had been kind to you but you looked tired, the glow in your skin now dulled, your appearance unkempt, your clothes worn and old, your shoes the nicest thing you worn but they still creased and dirty, you looked beyond exhausted, your eyes half closed and your arms dangling on your sides as you carried a couple grocery bags, he looked around at the constructions and rubbish, at the hooligans and wannabe gangbangers, and the rancid smell. Hundred buildings all the same, he wanted to get closer as he watched you walk alone in those sticky white painted brick walls, you stopped suddenly by one of the brown doors, there were only four other doors in that floor, waiting patiently, an old lady opens the door, you two exchanging pleasantries as you handed the lady two of your grocery bags, a small dog came to say hello and then… there she was.
She was small for her age, she didn’t jump with excitement or say much to you, just a slight bow to the old lady and she walked in front of you as you said goodbye, only stopping two doors down.
Your apartment was small, two small bedrooms, small kitchen and barely sparsely decorated, but it was clean and tidy, your daughter dropped her school bag, and headed for the bedroom while you moved to the kitchen, never really talking to each other, he found himself flying closer just to get a perfect vision of that child.
She was a mini-you, taken so much from you, whoever the father was it didn’t seem to have mattered in the end for the kid got nothing from him, she changed to her pajamas as you sat on the couch after throwing away your uniform to the floor.
You two talked briefly, you didn’t read her any stories before bed or kissed her good night, you simply stared at each other and talked while you stretched your feet.
The little girl entered her room, a tidy space, books piled up on the floor in sharp stacks against the wall, a desk containing some electronics and a couple stuffed animals.
She was a cute thing, just like you had been once, her hair short and her straight bangs covering most of her face, too long for it too be safe, she had your complexion and jet black hair, she sat on her desk turning the desk lamp and picked her Kindle up, looking at her clock then back at her Kindle, she sat there for a couple minutes digesting some pages until it was almost midnight, before heading to the living room– you’d passed out on the couch, she took your phone and put it to charge fidgeting with something before leaving it, turning the TV off, and finally turning around to slip a quilt on top of her mother.
Homelander almost felt sorry for the kid, after all you had done to him only to neglect your child, you were just as much of a scumbag as he had imagined, he had had enough wanting to fly away until he saw the little girl staring back at him.
The lights were off on the home, and it was dark with the streets below shaded piss yellow, he looked around wondering if there was something nearby that caught your daughter’s attention but she was staring straight at Homelander, she forced the window open peeking her small frame slightly out the window, in the dark starless night while strangers made a ruckus a couple streets from here, a bright twinkling of pale blue illuminated your home.
He got closer, something caught in his throat as he came only a meter away from your daughter.
She looked so much like you but her eyes even as they lost their unnatural light were so blue, as if the entire ocean lived in her eyes.
The curtains slid shut, his chin flicked in surprise as he caught the small figure plainly ignoring him, he was loved by all, especially children! Even those whose favorites were Noir, A-Train or Maeve loved him! Yet this little girl had just shrugged him off and ignored him, simply returning to her bedroom to shut the second set of blinds and jump straight to bed.
Homelander was left dumbfounded, not once had he seen such disinterest and callousness from a member of his safest demographic, so he stood in mid-air pondering about killing both of you briefly, just as the heat from his cheeks cooled down, he stared at the now sleeping brat, wondering about that inhuman blue light that glossed her big round eyes.
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xstarsdiary · 20 days
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SWEET GIRL ❤︎︎
𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒 - 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖱𝖣𝖠 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗆𝗒- 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗄𝗂𝖽𝗇𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍 ’𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉’. 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍.
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𝜗𝜚 miles quaritch x female sully reader (22)
warnings - 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗱𝗻𝗶!! choking, degradation, hair pulling, slight kuru play, degradation, praise, begging, orgasm denial, unwanted creampie, I didn’t know how else to end it 😭
word count - 2.2k 𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑎𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡.
vocabulary - vrrtep: demon/s, uniltìrantokx: dreamwalker/s, tawtute: human, skxawng: moron / idiot, thanator: (palulukan) creature on pandora.
tagging - @neteyamsoare ❤︎︎ ( 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍! )
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Getting kidnapped by Colonel Miles Quaritch - the man who was presumed dead, murdered by your mother herself - was one thing. But the things the two of you did behind closed doors was another thing. Another very, very bad thing.
The RDA had taken you after holding you and your younger siblings hostage, spider as well. You had been moved from room to room over the few weeks you stayed there. Or maybe it was months? You had no idea.
Just the other week you had been moved to a different room, a much smaller room. And the very first thing you noticed was that all the walls were a clean white colour, not a single wall held your reflection in it like the large one in your past room.
The vrrteps must’ve thought you were stupid, you thought. You always knew that they were watching you from the other side of the reflective wall as well as the small contraption in the corner of your old cell, which would have a small dot that flashed red whenever they were watching you.
Not only did they watch you. The vrrteps in lab coats would often strut into your room, running all kinds of tests as at least a few uniltìrantokx stood around, their big guns firmly held in their grasp. You couldn’t do anything but sit or lay there helplessly, occasionally hissing to show your displeasure as your hands stayed bound in orange cuffs.
Other than that, you were pretty much left alone. Sometimes you wondered how spider, the human boy who often hung out with your younger siblings was. He had been taken by the RDA too, but you still haven’t seen him since the first day, when you watched with worried eyes as the sky people used their awful machines against him.
It was a horror sight to see a kid be tortured like that, to be in that much pain just because a woman in military clothing wanted answers from him. You were grateful for whoever stopped the machine before your eyes landed on the culprit, the person just happening to be Quaritch.
That was the first time you got a good look at the man. You studied him from your place on a bench in the lab, where the scientists poked and prodded at you with their sharp needles and gloved hands.
His muscles flexed as he tensed up, quietly speaking to the tawtute woman who looked up at him with a frustrated expression. Only the most unholy thoughts filled your mind as you watched his outstretched arm flex, his biceps hardening and fingers slightly twitching.
Your mouth went dry and you internally scolded yourself as you remembered who this man was, disgusted at yourself for even allowing those thoughts- those images to come to mind.
You didn’t know what came over you the first night he came to your cell, predatory eyes scanning over your slim figure as his hands tightly held onto his vest. Hell- he didn’t even know what he was doing.
He felt like he had already failed his mission the second he realized that he- no, his body was attracted to you. Your figure was slim and lean with just the right amount of muscle and the perfect amount of fat in all the right places.
He couldn’t help it. I mean, he gets bought back in a whole new much younger body, of course his hormones are everywhere. He felt like a horny teenager all over again.
He knew it was so wrong being in your room for this reason. You’re his targets oldest kid for fucks sake. But the second he had you on your knees, the side of your face pushed into the soft mattress beneath you and your hands held tightly behind your back while one of his it all felt so right.
You were the perfect stress relief. The perfect distraction. He guessed that's why he would find himself walking towards your cell almost every night, his cock throbbing painfully hard inside of his pants.
The events from earlier today had him especially stressed. Him and his team had gone out into the forest, this time without Spider. Big Mistake. They had almost gotten lost a countless amount of times and had a bad run in with a Thanator.
One of his soldiers was injured, not too severely but enough to be put in the hospital wing for a decent amount of time, definitely putting him at least a couple days behind on his mission.
However, all of that stress seemingly disappeared as soon as he rubbed his pink tip against your wet cunt before pushing inside of your tight hole, relishing in the way you suck him in so perfectly. You were always so good for him on nights like these, so obedient.
You didn't know why you would succumb to him every time. Maybe it was the fact that you were equally as horny, desperate for release. Or maybe it was the fact that you were slightly attracted to the man.
Whatever the reason was, you didn't really care. Especially when he’s pumping in and out of you this fast, his cock filling you up so perfectly that you’re starting to think it was made just for you.
Your heels dug into his shoulder blades as his hand found its placement on your knees, helping to hold our legs up. You didn't even know what to do with your own hands as they gripped the bed sheets above your head, your moans getting choked up in your throat with each rough thrust he gives you.
There was no denying that Miles was rough and relentless when endorsed in intercourse, well at least with you he was. You weren't complaining though, no. You secretly loved the way he would tug on your hair, the way he would switch up between praising and degrading you, a perfect mix of both.
His voice was always rough and demanding, authoritative would be the best way to describe it. And excitement filled your body every time he would speak, making your pussy clench harder around his thick cock. “Such a good girl, hm? Sweet girl.” He would murmur, one of his hands moving to wrap around your throat.
Your hands instinctively move to wrap around his wrist, but still not making any effort to tug his hand away as your nails now dig into his skin instead of the soft bedding beneath you.
“Fff-uck!” You curse, struggling to get any words or noises out as his hand wraps harder around your throat, almost restricting any air from entering as you lightly gasp. With your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head and every now and then fluttering closed you mewl, hips bucking upwards to match his merciless thrusts.
There's a low growl that emits from his throat, his hand unwrapping from your throat before he grabs your waist with both hands, lifting you up off his cock as you unhook your legs from over his shoulders.
You let out a pathetic whine at the feeling of being so empty, the pressure that had just started building up in your abdomen already lost. Miles lifts you upright as if you're some ragdoll. Some toy just for him to play with when he's bored. And maybe that's really just what you are to him, a dumb slutty toy.
Now straddling his lap as the both of you sit on your knees, you grind against him, your wet cunt gliding smoothly against his cock. Your hands wrap around his neck, dainty fingers running through his buzzed hair before finding the base of his queue and wrapping around it.
“So needy aren't you, doll? Always being such a little fuckin’ whore.” And with his harsh words he lifts you up by your hips, roughly slamming you back down on his cock.
You cry out, nails scratching and clawing at his back, surely leaving stinging red marks. The sudden penetration was painful, taking you by surprise as your body stiffened.
Miles let out a quiet hiss, one of his hands tightening its grip on your hip as the other grabs a fustful of your braids and roughly tugs. Tears cloud your vision as the stinging pain in your scalp replaces the throbbing pain in your pussy, your teeth biting down hard on your bottom lip.
Suppressing a moan, you bite down on your plump lip harder, eyes staring up at him. You didn't want to admit it but you didn't mind the pain, it was pleasurable even.
A guilty feeling brews in your stomach as you’re reminded of all the pain that this man has bought your family, your people. However, that feeling is forgotten almost as soon as his hips bucked upwards, cock burying impossibly deep inside of you before he lifts you up to pull out again, continuously slamming you down on him.
Your mind was numb. Silent. You couldn't think of anything except for the way his length slid in and out of you so deliciously, a wet clapping noise echoing around the room every time you bounced back down on his dick.
His grip on your hair loosened, allowing you to tilt your head back down and face him. Your mouth is hung wide open, breathy moans and whines escaping, worming their way out of your sore throat.
That familiar pressure in your lower stomach begins to build up, encouraging you to bounce harder, Miles’ hand still holding your plush hip as he guides you up and down. A series of moans leaves your mouth, followed by a few curses here and there.
Miles can tell you're getting close by the way your cunt is clenching around him. He lets out a groan of his own, watching your flushed face as he fucks you. “You close, girl?” He questions almost pridefully.
With another whine you shake your head, denying what's true as to save yourself from the humiliation that's soon to come.
He lets out a gruff chuckle, grip tightening on your hip. “Yeah you are. I know you are.” I can tell by the way your pretty pussy is gripping me even tighter. Miles thinks to himself, smirking slightly as his eyes drift down to where his cock is ruthlessly fucking you.
“Please- please just let me come!” You plead, speaking with a heavy accent in English in hopes that that will help convince him to let you have your release. Miles always liked when you spoke in his mother tongue.
“Please what?” His words are harsher than intended, sharp and demanding.
Sucking up your pride you answer. “Please sir.. I need to come!” You sucked in a breath of air, on the verge of snapping and finally feeling your blissful climax.
“Fuckin’ wait. You’re so fuckin’ impatient.” And as his hand tugs your hair once again and his cock begins to twitch inside of you, you can tell that he's close as well. Miles isn't one to give. You know that for a fact. He just takes and takes, not leaving anything else for others.
And that's exactly what he does to you. With a long strangled groan he stills inside of you, tip pushing against your cervix as he spills his hot load inside of you.
“Nooo-” You pathetically whine out, tears finally leaving your eyes and sliding down your cheeks as you lose your upcoming orgasm completely. Trying desperately to move off of his cock you choke out a sob, hair now freed from his grasp as both of his hands are now gripping your waist, sure to leave marks.
Eventually you give up, falling forwards to rest your head on his shoulder, getting over the fact that he just came inside of you. There's nothing you can do about it now other than pray to Eywa that his seed doesn't take.
“Fuckin’ shit-” Finally Miles lifts you up and pulls out of you, coming down from his high as you weakly sit on the bed infront of him with a pout. “Why didn’t you let me come?” Your eyes look up into his as your brows furrow in frustration.
Your stare follows him as he stands, watching as his back muscles flex before the red scratch marks on his back momentarily catch your attention. You can feel his come slowly ooze out of your hole as you continue to wait for his reply, still kneeling on the soft bed.
“Next time.” He nods, pulling his pants up and not even bothering to put his shirt back on as he holds it in his hand, hurriedly leaving your cell.
Your anger grows at that, brows furrowing even further as the crease between them deepens. He said that same exact thing last time, yet he still didn't let you come. What a skxawng. Getting up with trembling legs you grab your loincloth and beaded top, the same clothes you've been wearing for the time you've been here.
With a sigh you finish dressing yourself, fixing up your bedding before plopping down on your back, hands resting on the top of your head as you wait for the other uniltìrantokx to come and pleasure you in ways that Miles Quaritch never could.
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blueraineshadows · 1 month
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Part Two
Sebastian Sallow 🔺️ F!MC 🔺️Leander Prewett
We go back in time to see Sebastian with his MC before returning to their present day. Sebastian is playing a dangerous game, whilst Leander does his research for the case before paying another visit to Azkaban.
11.9k words. Triggers: violence / angst / blood / blood magic / emotional distress / wand combat / manipulation
Mutual tag list at the end ✨️ 💗
Chapter Master Link and Ao3
Two: Light in the Dark
MC
Summer 1891 - End of 5th year
There was a muted peacefulness that encompassed one in the Slytherin common room. She wasn’t sure if it was the sensation of feeling like you were underwater, the ebb of the Black Lake making the weed dance a delicate weave outside the huge windows, the shoals of fish gliding past without a care in the world. The movement of the water shimmered with the light, giving the huge underground chamber an illusion of constant movement, the soft sounds of music adding to the calmness no matter the hour. 
All she knew was that she found a moment of peace seated near those windows, especially in the quiet hours of night when most of the other students were in their dormitories. It was her favourite time of the day to take stock and shift through her thoughts, the soft snap and fizz of the fire behind her, and a book in her lap. Even if she hadn’t picked the book up to read, the feel of the leather bound cover beneath her fingers was enough sometimes, quite content to sit and hold it with the promise of those inked pages hidden within.
Tonight, she wasn’t alone. Sleep wasn’t just eluding her this balmy night. With only a few days left before they left Hogwarts for the summer break, there had been much to reflect on. The physical wounds from the battle under the school may have healed, but the darkness that lingered in her mind was harder to hide from. Chased from her bed by the memories, she had crept out to the common room and found Ominis there, his wand held over the pages of his own book. They had sat in companionable silence for a while, content with the other to take the edge off the loneliness.
She heard his book close with a thump, a soft sigh leaving his lips that made her turn to look at him, the muted light reflecting off his blonde hair. His sightless eyes were staring towards the great windows, shifting slightly without focus, the swirling pale blue of his irises almost otherworldly. He was a classically beautiful boy, his skin flawless apart from the scatter of beauty marks that adorned his cheekbone like a constellation of stars. He had no inkling of the striking appearance he offered to the world, born blind and oblivious to the effect he had on a person when he strolled the halls with his wand held aloft to guide his way.
A Gaunt by name, most gave him a wide berth, but MC had come to value his company despite the bickering that went on between them at times. Never being daunted by his fits of temper or his cutting tongue, perhaps he appreciated her hardy spine and thicker skin, although he readily voiced his displeasure at the amount of trouble she always seemed to find herself in. While he scolded both her and Sebastian, he still remained at their sides, if sometimes a little snippy when he was. 
“Does your bed finally call to you, Ominis?”
He pressed his lips together in thought, a slight crease between his brows. “Perhaps, but when I put my head on the pillow, I doubt that sleep will come.”
Knowing the feeling, she sighed, twirling a lock of hair about her fingers as she considered trying to go back to bed. Her lips twitched upwards into a smirk. “Does Sebastian keep you awake with his snoring?”
“He would ordinarily, however he has not come to his bed tonight,” Ominis said, his frown deepening. “He rarely comes to bed now.”
The sickening twist of her stomach made her place a hand to it, a lingering guilt and horror still swimming inside after the awful events that had taken place in the catacombs. The tension between the three of them had been so thick that the bickering had been becoming almost unbearable of late. It didn’t seem to matter how many times they assured Sebastian that they would not hand him over to the Aurors, he still felt the need to bring the matter up, the dark desperation in his brown eyes too painful to meet sometimes. MC was struggling with her own reactions to the sight of Solomon’s body laying in the dust. She could only imagine the horror that Sebastian was feeling.
Closing her eyes and trying to steady her sour insides, she had a fairly good idea of where Sebastian would be at this time of night. Rather than seeking comfort in the company of others like she had, Sebastian had taken to sequestering himself inside the Undercroft, alone. 
“Are you two still not talking properly?” She ventured the question with a hint of hesitancy in her voice lest she poke at the boy’s short temper. “I thought perhaps things were a bit better between you now.”
“You know how he is,” Ominis said, his head turning in her direction, his eyes eerily landing on her with accuracy. “He is a stubborn fool, and despite his promises, he still insists on chasing a cure for Anne.”
“You cannot blame him for that, Ominis. She is his sister, and he loves her. Of course, he wants to find a way to rid her of that curse,” MC said, sitting up straighter and tucking her dressing robe more tightly around herself. 
“Yes, yes, but how long will it be before he finds himself back on that path of Dark Magic, hmm? I find it very hard to trust him after everything that’s happened. Believe me, I wish that Anne could be well. I feel just as powerless when it comes to her, but I can not take any more of Sebastian’s foolishness, and you should not encourage him.”
A flicker of sadness shadowed her face as she gazed out at the waters of the lake. “I just want to help, Ominis, that’s all. I honestly thought that ridding the world of Rookwood would have solved the problem. Whatever he did to her, the knowledge died with him. I should have tried harder to find out before I took him down.”
He sat up straight, his face one of stern reproach, his voice almost a hiss. “You should not be running around getting blood on your hands for him, MC. You have had quite the eventful year already. Whilst ridding the world of a man such as Rookwood wasn’t exactly the worst thing, you should not have to become a murderer in order to satisfy Sebastian’s wants. Neither of you should have blood on your hands at our age. Mark my words, MC. This does not bode well. I have seen it with my relatives. The dark path is one to regret, and the lure of the power is too great for some to get off it once they start. Do not lose yourself to it, MC. I beg you.”
“I won’t, Ominis. We’ll be alright,” she said, reaching out to put a gentle touch of her fingers to the back of his hand. He almost flinched but kept his hand steady as she lightly stroked the smooth skin there. “As long as we stick together, everything will be just fine. You’ll see.”
….*....
The sliding groan of the metal gate to the Undercroft made silent entry into the underground chamber impossible, the flickering of candles the only light as MC stepped through, her slippered feet quiet as she crossed the stone floor towards where Sebastian was waiting for her near one of the tall, decorated columns. She had not thought to dress, coming to him in her long nightgown, her dressing robe tied at her waist and her hair loose about her shoulders. Once, not so long ago, the thought of presenting herself to a boy in her night clothes would have had her cheeks turning pink, but not with him.
After the first time he had kissed her, a shock to them both after a rather emotional breakdown of grief had led to being tangled up in each other’s embrace, their lips had discovered a passion for kisses. This, in turn, had led to hands seeking comfort against skin. Whilst he had not taken her, her maidenhood still intact, she had found that their new found intimacy was one she enjoyed. Craved, even.
Meeting his intense brown eyes, MC hurried forward, her arms reaching for him as he stretched out his hands towards her. Not a word passed their lips as he drew her against him, cradling her with a fierceness that stole her breath. Her nose nuzzled against the skin of his throat, breathing in his now familiar scent, and some of the tension in her shoulders seemed to fade. The darkness receded just enough for her to feel the warmth that came from the reassuring press of his solid frame against hers. She shivered at the feel of his hands sliding through her hair and squeezed him tighter.
“What are you doing here this late?” He murmured, his lips grazing against her head.
“It just made sense,” she whispered, her fingers caressing the expanse of his back, the cotton of his shirt worn soft with use. “I hate the thought of you being alone down here in the dark.”
The touch of his fingers was achingly gentle as he caught her chin, tilting her head back so that he could look at her, his eyes dark and searching. She could see her own shadows in them, twisted and painful torments that had no release, winding so tightly into a vortex that was pulling them downwards. Would there ever be an escape from it? 
“I can’t lose anybody else,” he said, his voice almost breaking, his eyes squeezing shut as his lips pressed together in an attempt to hold back whatever tide was pulling him under. 
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said fiercely, her fingers now gripping his shirt. Her eyes conveyed the truth of it, burning into his. “I won’t leave you, Sebastian. I promise.”
“What if I have to leave you?” He said, the words pulled painfully from his lips. She could see the fear in his eyes. “What if they find out? What if I’m taken away, caught out, and sent to…to Azkaban.”
The same fear, over and over, the horror and the guilt far too heavy a burden for a 16 year old to carry. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. MC felt the burn of tears as she clung to him, shaking her head in denial. “Nobody will ever find out, Sebastian. I swear to you, I will never, ever tell a soul. Ominis won’t either, and Anne has punished you enough already by abandoning you. I doubt she will do anything more.”
“You are all I have left, MC,” he said, taking hold of her face, his forehead pressed to hers as tears leaked from his eyes. “Don’t leave me. Promise me. Promise you’ll stay with me. I…I can’t do this on my own.”
“I promise,” she whispered, shifting to press her lips to his cheeks, kissing away the tears with urgency. “I promise.”
His mouth was hungry, claiming her in a kiss that stole her breath, his tongue immediately probing for entrance. Parting her lips, she gave him the access he craved, meeting his demand with a fire that was growing slowly through her veins. Her body seemed to instinctively know what he wanted, her very skin tingling with anticipation as he pulled her closer, the kiss deepening and drawing a low moan from his throat. 
There was something different about this kiss. His intensity, the way his hands gripped her, she could feel a power building between them that sent a shiver down her spine. It was new, thrilling, and even a little frightening. Pulling back a little and breathing hard, she looked up at him, their foreheads pressed together. His eyes were so dark, his gaze penetrating.
“Would you swear your life on it?”
She blinked, heart pounding. “What?”
“Your promise,” he said, his eyes serious as his thumbs caressed her cheeks. “Would you swear on your life that you will never leave me? I’d do it for you. I’ll do it right now.”
“What are you talking about?” She lifted her hand to his wrists, the look in his eyes making her stomach flip.
“A blood pact. We can make a promise to each other and perform a spell, a charm that will seal the promise with our blood. I’ve read about these spells. It is the ultimate commitment, a promise between two people who would lay their lives down for each other.”
His face seemed to come alive with the thought, the fire in his gaze making him smile with a frantic energy that made her pause. He pressed a firm kiss on her mouth, letting her go so he could pace before her, his enthusiasm building as he clenched his fists.
“It’s perfect! We could make a pact to never turn against each other, to keep each other’s secrets forever,” he said, his eyes meeting her’s expectantly. “It would be a promise we would keep until our deaths, bonded forever in a way that no other could touch. Imagine that! Linked forever. We would never be alone again.”
“Where did you even find a spell such as this?” She gaped, her mind in a spin as she tried to process what he was implying. “It sounds rather dark to me.”
A frown flickered on his brow. “You’re not going to give me a lecture, are you? It’s not my intention for it to be dark, MC. This is a pact made between two people who care about each other. But, if you really must know, I found it in a book from the Restricted Section.”
“I’m not going to lecture you,” she sighed. “It does sound rather serious, though. Aren’t we a little young to be making a pact like that? It sounds even more serious than marriage.”
A smirk curved his lips. “I’d marry you if that’s what you want,” he said cheekily. Her cheeks flamed with colour, her eyes widening even more at that suggestion, but he continued to speak, caught up with his idea. 
“However, we aren’t of age to do that legally yet. Technically, we're not old enough to perform a blood pact either as we are under seventeen, but you don’t need an officiant to oversee it. We could do it right here, right now. Just us. Nobody could take it away from us. It would be ours.”
She stared at him, shaking her head a little at his audacity. “What happens if one of us breaks this blood pact?”
“The betrayer would die,” he said calmly, his voice so matter of fact.
Her eyes bulged. “What? Sebastian…”
“But that won’t happen, MC. Not to us,” he insisted, taking hold of her elbows and urging her close again, his eyes fixed on hers. “We are different, you and me. We already hold each other’s secrets. This would just make it official. Don’t you think it would be a comfort to know that we would always have each other’s backs? We will always have each other to turn to, the pact an unbreakable bond of trust and safety. No more being alone.”
MC stared up at him, his words spoken with such conviction were luring her towards the possibility, and yet she could hear a part of her head whispering about the risks. To tie yourself to someone like that. Forever. It was scary. 
“You and me. Always, MC,” he said softly, stroking her hair with gentle fingers. “Tell me you want that, too.”
All her life, she had been alone. There had never been a choice. She'd had to learn to find her own way or end up another lost soul somewhere. Stepping into this world of magic had given her power, friendship, and him. 
Looking into those eyes, she wondered if she would ever be able to deny him anything. In the short time she had known him, she had followed him, learnt from him, and allowed him past the walls she had built around herself. Trying to picture her life without him felt bleak and empty, void of the warmth and safety she had become accustomed to whenever he was within reach. 
The darkness didn't feel so daunting when she had his hand to hold, and a pact sworn until death to keep that, to know that if she ever needed him, he would be there. Her darkest secrets would always be safe with him and his with her. 
He was right. Nobody else could touch them. Their very lives would depend on it, and both of them would fight to protect the other, or they would die. It was reckless and romantic. It was utter madness. It sounded like them. 
“Let's do it,” she said, nodding. 
His eyes flared. “Do you mean it?” 
“You and me. Always,” she nodded. 
The excitement in his eyes was infectious as he pulled out his wand, urging her to do the same. She watched as he held the tip to the palm of his left hand and cut a neat line through his flesh. Scarlet blood beaded at the wound, and he held his hand out towards her. 
“Now, your turn,” he said, his voice low and firm. "On your left hand."  
He watched as she copied his action, the sting of the cut making her wince as she watched the blood well up on her left palm. Sebastian placed his bloodied palm over hers and held his wand over their hands. She met his gaze, and he smiled reassuringly. 
“Hold your wand like this and repeat after me,” he instructed. She joined her wand with his, her heart thudding hard behind her ribs. 
“I swear by my own blood that I will never turn my back on you,” he said clearly, his eyes locking with hers. She repeated the words at his nod, and a swirl of magic came from their wands, a shimmering wisp of pink and white that encircled their hands as they spoke. 
“I will keep your secrets, protect you, and put you before all others until death parts us. This I swear, with my own blood, and may death take me should I fail.” 
The slice on her palm began to burn, the sensation spreading up through her arm, the shimmer of the magic making the veins at her wrist glow with warm light. She gasped and flinched, but Sebastian kept a grip on her hand, both of them breathing harder and faster as two droplets of blood floated up above their hands.
“Sebastian,” she whispered, her eyes wide as she followed the droplets, watching them join together as one. 
He squeezed her hand, a smile on his lips and a look of awe in his eyes as their combined blood shimmered and morphed to form a blood-red gemstone. Around the stone formed a silver setting, delicate and beautiful, the swirls of magic from their charm creating a solid symbol of their promise. 
A tear slid from her eye as her blood seared with the strength of the charm, both of them trembling as the amulet floated downwards towards their joined hands. Sebastian let go of her and caught it, holding it up with his fingers with a look of satisfaction. The stone shimmered as though made of liquid, and yet it glittered like a precious jewel in the candlelight.
Their blood, their promise, and their lives joined as one. 
It was too late for regrets, despite the warning Ominis had given her less than an hour ago about walking a darker path and bloodying her hands for Sebastian. She had literally cut herself open for him, bled for him, and she realised she would do it again. For Sebastian, she would do anything, for her heart seemed to beat for him. Her young heart, foolish or otherwise, loved him. 
The burn in her blood began to fade, and when she looked at her palm, the cut had sealed into a red scar. It didn't even hurt anymore. 
They had done it. They were now sworn to stand by each other, to keep their secrets and protect one another forever. To stand against him would mean death, to betray his trust would end her. 
“I love you,” he said, unshed tears making his eyes glisten as she met his gaze. 
“I love you, too,” she said softly. 
She stepped into his embrace, buried her head against the safety of his chest, his heart beating just as hard as her own. This was her forever. From now until her death, she belonged to Sebastian Sallow, and he belonged to her. 
They would never be alone again. 
Sebastian 
1895 - present day
The blushing young couple on the river bank had been holding hands and smiling shyly at each other for a while now, both of them edging closer and closer, soft gazes lingering in the hopes of a kiss. They could have been no more than fourteen or fifteen, and Sebastian smirked as he remembered that awkward moment of a first kiss, the desperate anticipation and the crippling nerves about getting it all wrong. 
Shifting on his feet, his back pressed up against the brick wall of a ship building yard beside the River Clyde in Glasgow, Sebastian rolled his shoulders that were stiff from waiting. He had been told to wait here for one of Rookwood’s men from the city, a partner for today's little raid. To pass the boredom, Sebastian had been people-watching, and the young couple had caught his eye. 
At that age, you loved with abandon, and every shy glance stole your breath with the hammering of your heart, like a new discovery that promised so much more. 
The reality was rather different. Love brought with it the vulnerability of pain and loss, that heavy feeling of failure when things took a downward turn. Love hurt. 
Turning the palm of his left hand over, Sebastian looked down at the red scar that had never faded, vivid against the flesh of his hand. The memory of that night in the Undercroft was seared into his memory, the glow of candlelight in MC’s eyes, the elation in his soul when she had agreed to bind herself to him forever. If he closed his eyes, he could remember the warmth of her skin under his fingertips, the scent of her filling his awareness until he ached. 
The loss of her hollowed his stomach, and he had to suppress it before it could swallow him whole. The bond had meant to stop him from ever being lonely, and yet here he was, alone. The ones that really mattered were out of his reach.
Another glance towards the young couple showed them to be walking away, still hand in hand, heading off into their unexplored future. Sebastian wondered if there was heartache waiting for them there or if they would get their happily ever after. He doubted it. That kind of ending didn’t exist in real life. It was a plot tool used in stories to plant a hope inside a person, a hope that was doomed to die. His happily ever after had been torn from him, and the bitterness was still hard to swallow.
Or had it?
Rookwood's tantalising suggestion of being able to get MC out of Azkaban had been dangled in front of him yesterday, an idea that had kept him awake last night, his mind going over everything again as he wondered what it would be like to see her again. 
Did she think of him as he thought of her? Did she miss him? Or, had that prison stolen her mind and left a shadow in her place? The very thought of it made him shiver, a coldness that he didn’t think he would be able to shift until he saw her with his own eyes. 
The subtle sound of someone Apparating in made him straighten, swiftly tucking his memories to one side and looking alert as the tap of booted feet sounded around the corner of the yard. They were light and swift, and his brow furrowed until the blonde haired witch appeared before him, soft, spiralling curls framing her face. Eyes like a summer sky smiled at him, the curve of her mouth almost sinful as she paused in her step, one hand on the curve of her waist as she appraised him.
“Sallow,” she greeted, her eyes saying so much more. 
His eyes had a will of their own, sweeping over her, taking in the length of her legs encased in trousers so tight it left nothing to the imagination. A low under-bust corset was cinched about her waist, the softness of her breasts pushed up under the fabric of a billowy blouse, her long, floor length coat cut to utter perfection, the collar jauntily up. There was no denying that Luella was a beautiful woman, the light in her eyes, and the delicate shape of her bone structure cutting a devastating profile that turned heads.
“Lulu,” he said affectionately, smirking slightly. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
Those eyes of hers saw everything. She was quick and smart, cunning and smooth tongued. You would be a fool to underestimate her, to let her beauty distract you from the perfectly competent witch that she was. Sebastian had looked into those eyes often enough over the last year, her skill with a wand and sheer audacity in a fight had caught his interest, but then she had opened her mouth and he had felt himself curiously drawn. The soft huskiness of her voice was laced with a trace of French accent, her words articulate and educated.
“Perhaps if you had been expecting me, you would have worn a smarter jacket,” she said, lifting an eyebrow as she caught the edge of his collar and tugged gently. “Isn’t it about time you lost this old thing?”
“It’s comfortable,” he said, shrugging slightly as he pulled his jacket from her grip and shifted. He met her gaze, his face guarded. “So, what’s the game plan? I didn’t think Daddy would send you down here for such a trivial raid.”
Her smile was slow and playful. “I volunteered. Besides, you seem to be the current favourite. Once we’re done here, he wants me to bring you back. He wants to talk to you. As for the plan, we get in, find the shipping papers, and then get out. Same as always, Sebastian.”
The sound of his name leaving her mouth was always a delight, her accent giving it a little something else. Learning her name had made him pause when he had heard it, wondering if it was a mistake to get too close to her, but then her position in the gang was very advantageous to him. He would be an idiot to ignore it. 
Firmly within the inner circle and the perfect way to gather intel, Luella Rookwood had swiftly caught Sebastian’s attention. Her usefulness in his endeavours was too good an opportunity to pass up. And so it was that he lured her into his bed, right under the cold eyes of her father, a comfort under the blanket in the loneliness of the night whenever she happened to be at camp. By day, she was an ally, a foothold into Rookwood’s inner circle. Their dalliance was their little secret, with only Rosier knowing for certain that anything more took place, making himself scarce when need be. 
Resisting the urge to show his dark delight at being called the new favourite, Sebastian maintained an air of cool indifference as they began to walk towards the street, the clatter of horses and carts combined with the din of many voices highlighting the busy nature of the city’s riverway. With summer fading into autumn, the air still clung to warmth under the sun by day, but in a few hours, the sun would sink and plunge the city into the chilling promise of colder weather.
Scanning the street with a practised eye, Sebastian politely gestured for Luella to step out before him, both of them walking with purpose towards the warehouse buildings at the far end of the street, set back from the bustling quay side.
“Did Rookwood say what it was he wished to speak to me about?”
“You know Father,” she replied with a smirk. “He likes to keep people guessing, but I’m going to assume it's about the little witch rotting in Azkaban with the ancient power. I understand you used to know her?”
Luella turned curious blue eyes his way, and Sebastian could feel her gaze burning his profile as he made a show of scanning the street again while he gathered his thoughts and fought to keep his face neutral. His stomach had tightened at the mention of MC, the amulet sitting heavy in his pocket.
“Ah, yes. He spoke to me about her the other day, actually,” he said, carefully indifferent. “She was in my year at school, a fellow Slytherin, in fact. She is a rather brilliant witch.”
“I’ve heard all about her exceptional gifts. Father goes on about them enough,” Luella said, a slight edge to her voice as they arrived at a gated yard. They paused near the gate post whilst casually checking the area. “So, you must have known her quite well being a fellow Slytherin. You were friends with this girl?”
Sebastian finally looked at her wondering just how much she knew about MC. Rookwood knew enough, and perhaps even more that he was holding back. How much detail would he have placed in the hands of his daughter? Either way, Sebastian knew he had to be careful.
“It was a long time ago,” he deflected. “She is powerful, make no mistake, and I can understand why your father would covet such a thing. But, she is locked up in Azkaban. Nobody gets out of there easily. Seeing her out before her time is something I will believe when I see it.”
“Yes, well, don’t underestimate my father,” she said, slipping her wand out, glancing around one more time before giving him the nod. “He tends to always get what he wants.”
They hurried across the yard towards a door in the side of the huge warehouse, swift as shadows until they were inside the dim interior, dust motes dancing in the shaft of light that pierced the gloom before they closed the door behind them. The silence echoed around their still forms, the soft draw of their breaths stealing the air as they waited for their eyes to adjust. At this hour in the day, pushing past tea time, the staff were gone and perhaps only a warden or two to worry about.
“The office is at the far end, second floor,” Sebastian whispered, his scouting out yesterday giving him a clear idea of the layout. “The door is likely to be locked.”
Luella twirled her wand in elegant fingers, her smile evident now that his eyes had grown used to the gloom clinging to the huge room filled with storage crates. “Luckily, locked doors aren’t a problem for us,” she whispered.
She turned to look at him, and he felt a subtle brush of fingers against his arm before she was gone, blending into the shadows as she slipped past him and along past the crates. Stiffening under her touch, he waited a moment before following her, the intimate gesture just another indicator that she was getting too close. As good as Luella was at sneaking around, perhaps anyone but her would have been a preferable partner today for this job, especially considering her sudden curiosity about his connection to MC.
Treading carefully, Sebastian followed her, heading for the wrought iron stairs that led up to the office. Inside would be the ledgers detailing the shipments that were due in and on what vessel. Rookwood was particularly interested in the ones that were due in from across the Atlantic, crates being sent from MACUSA containing artefacts found on the American frontier for the perusal of the Ministry. There were restrictions and rules around the shipping of such things, but somehow, a leak had led them to the harbour here in Glasgow.
Luella paused at the bottom of the steps, and he came to a stop beside her, wand out. “Are you going up, or shall I?” He murmured.
“You go,” she said, her mouth close to his ear. “I’ll keep watch.”
Ignoring the feel of her breath against his ear, he nodded and crept up the stairs, looking out across the expanse of storage crates for any sign of movement before he aimed a swift Alohomora at the office door. It clicked open, and he silently slipped inside. 
Glancing around the office, Sebastian noted the filing cabinets and shipping maps on the wall. The cluttered desk before him was his worst nightmare. Books were left open and not neatly stacked, papers in loosely shuffled piles abandoned haphazardly everywhere. How did anyone manage to focus on this chaos? He shook his head with a sigh and began to ruffle through the papers, checking the dates in the logbooks to find what he was looking for. 
A sound from the warehouse made him pause and look up, his ears straining to hear more but was met with silence. He bit his lip and flicked the pages faster, reading as quickly as he could by the light of his wand.  
Finally, he found the correct page in the book and pulled out a blank piece of parchment from his jacket pocket and cast a copying charm over the data, transferring it across to the blank sheet within seconds. As he was folding the parchment, the flare of a spell lit up the small glass window in the office door and the sound of something falling onto the metal stairway made him shove the parchment deep into his pocket and grip his wand.
Hurrying for the door he paused behind it, opening it just a crack to peer out into the warehouse and then jumped back as a spell blasted against the door frame.
“Shit,” he cursed, stumbling backwards, his heart rate picking up. 
The door banged open, swinging on its hinges as a figure appeared in the doorway, a woman with dark hair and long, dark blue robe. She had the look of an Auror about her and she didn’t even hesitate, her pouty mouth widening into a smile as she shot a stunning spell right towards him. Sebastian blocked it with ease, launching himself sideways and knocking a stack of papers from the desk.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Sebastian Sallow,” she purred, her movements almost feline as she moved into the office. Parchment papers were scattering across the floor, floating in lazy swoops, while his pulse raced with adrenaline. “We’ve been looking for you.”
Definitely an Auror. Sebastian blocked another spell and followed it with a quick curse that she immediately ducked from, the blast of it hitting the map on the wall behind her and obliterating it into ash. She was quick. He’d give her that.
Making a dive for the door, he bombarded her with a flurry of spells, working up a sweat as she valiantly fought back. As he grabbed the door frame with one hand, he sent a filing cabinet to flip forward, the drawers opening and spilling its contents, paperwork flying everywhere as it crashed down near her feet. She screamed in surprise and frustration as he flashed her a cheeky grin and disappeared out onto the stairway.
His boots thundered down the iron steps, hitting the stone floor at a run, dashing past the stacked crates towards the exit. He risked a glance over his shoulder as a spell hit a crate near his head, ducking with a scowl as he saw the Auror heading down the stairs after him.
“You won’t get far, Sallow,” she yelled. “The net is closing in on you and your little gang friends.”
His heart thudded erratically against his ribs as he hurtled towards the door, hoping that Luella had done the sensible thing and got the fuck out of here as well. He rounded a huge crate, feet thudding at a fair pace, almost sliding sideways with the momentum as he laid eyes on the door. He hit it with a Depulso to open it, the force of the spell blowing the door clean off its hinges and into the yard outside. All sense of being discreet long gone as he hurried out into the early evening sunset.
“Seb! Over here!”
Luella was to the left of him, gesturing madly to hurry, blood on her face and her hair in disarray. He immediately leapt towards her waiting arms, grabbing hold of her tightly, her arm encircling his waist before she Disapparated with a sharp crack.
They hit the ground with a roll, both of them grunting from the impact as a bed of dry leaves crunched beneath them. Sebastian found himself on his back staring up at a canopy of trees, the light muted and the evensong of birds filling the air. They were no longer in the city, the scent of damp earth and trees an assault on the senses after the heated stench of Glasgow by the river.
Luella was beside him, her arm trapped beneath him, her soft curls tickling at his face as she twisted herself up to look at him. He turned his head to meet her gaze, the amused glint in them making his lips twitch. 
“It’s not funny,” he said, starting to shake his head.
Her smile widened and then she chuckled, the sound infectious, and soon he was joining her. He put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes, the close call and adrenaline tipping him over into relieved laughter.  
“Please tell me that you at least got what we were looking for,” she said, shuffling even closer.
He nodded and patted his jacket pocket, the scent of her perfume dominating his every breath. “Of course,” he grinned. “You forget who you’re talking to here. Since when do I not get the job done?”
She cupped his cheek and pressed her lips to his, her velvety, soft mouth claiming a kiss that was both celebratory and demanding. He stilled, surprised, his eyes widening as he looked at the soft sweep of her dark lashes against her cheeks. Without returning the kiss, he gently urged her backwards, her eyes opening to meet him with a questioning look.
“We should get moving,” he said, softening his words with a smile. He shifted out from under her and sat up, freeing her arm. He avoided her gaze as he got to his feet, glancing around them at an endless forest as he fluffed his hair with his hand. “Where are we?”
“If my aim was accurate then we are not far from your camp,” she said, brushing leaves from her coat, watching him carefully. “That was a close one back there. That Auror knew your name.”
He glanced at her and nodded. “I did notice. I’m not sure if I should be flattered or miffed.”
“Your reputation is growing, Seb. You are beginning to get noticed,” she said, stepping closer, her boots crunching in the leaves. She tilted her head, her teeth catching her lower lip as she regarded him. “My father wants you in on the prison break job, doesn't he? Why? Is it because you know her?” 
Sebastian shrugged, his face carefully blank as he straightened his jacket. “I guess so. He wants me to prove my loyalty, and this job would be a good way to do it.” 
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I suppose it would given she went down for murdering a Sallow. Your uncle wasn't it?” 
He met her gaze and swallowed. Her smile was slow, knowing, as she nodded. “I can read, too. I did some digging on this witch after hearing father constantly fixating on this ancient power of hers. She took out a goblin rebellion, killed father’s best duelist thinking it was him, and murdered your uncle. I've got to say, she sounds fucking crazy. Just the kind of witch father respects. Is she really that powerful?”
Sebastian nodded, reluctantly. “Yes, she is. I saw her take down a troll with my own eyes when she was 15 without hardly breaking a sweat.” 
“Fucking hell,” Luella breathed, shaking her head. She fixed her gaze on his, her jaw tensing. “And you want to help break her out of Azkaban after what she did to your family?”
“It's what your father wants, isn't it?” Sebastian shifted, his wand hand flexing. “What was I supposed to do? Say no?” 
She hesitated, a shadow flickering in her eyes before she slowly shook her head. “Don't cross him, Sebastian. Father has already sent word to his contact to find out more about this witch's Azkaban situation. My father doesn't trust you as it is. Don't even think about crossing him over this girl. If you help break her out and then exact some kind of revenge on her, it's not you my father will hurt.” 
It was Sebastian’s turn to narrow his eyes, a flicker of panic fluttering in his chest. He would never wish any harm on MC. Ever. But it had never been the plan to get revenge on her. That was all saved for Rookwood. But, of course, Luella had no clue about any of the truth. 
If Rookwood even got a sniff of his real thoughts, then there would be trouble, but surely that trouble could only come to him.
“What are you saying, Lulu? Who will he hurt?” 
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her voice lowering despite them being utterly alone here in the forest. When she opened her eyes again they were softer, pleading almost.
“If you cross my father, it's not you he will come after. You have a sister, don't you? I know you have never spoken of her to me, and it's alright, I get it. But, my father knows. She is called Anne, right? She is married to one of the Gaunt sons, and she is your twin.” 
Heart dropping with a sickening lurch, Sebastian clenched his fists as he stared at Luella. “Don't you dare threaten Anne,” he warned. “I mean it, Luella. Don't you dare.” 
Luella’s eyes widened subtly, a flash of fear appearing at the dark look in his eyes before she smothered it. He had called her by her given name, something he hadn’t done since they had shared a bed, but mentioning Anne had crossed a line. 
No matter that him and Anne were not speaking, she was still his twin, and nobody threatened her. Nobody. He would still protect her at all costs. He had killed before, the first one being the hardest, but as the years had gone on, eyes that he had closed forever became easier to come to terms with. What was one more?
She held up her hand. “I'm not threatening her, Sebastian. I'm merely warning you what my father knows.” 
“And why would you warn me?” He asked, tilting his head. His tone was soft like silk, his blood raging with his temper, but his mind spinning with cunning clarity. “He must have told you all this for a reason. Rookwood rarely does his own dirty work. Does that mean if I misbehave, he will send you after my twin? Is that it?” 
Luella shook her head, taking a step back as he stepped forward. “No, that's not it. He hasn't asked that of me,” she said. Again, a softness glimmered in her eyes. “I wanted to warn you, Seb. Please, don't do anything foolish. Don't make him hurt you.” 
He had allowed her to warm his bed for too long. He had feared she was growing too fond of him. Her little touches, the long looks. Now she was telling him secrets that would likely get her into trouble with her own father. 
Isn't that what he had wanted? Didn't he charm her into his bed because she would prove useful? Apparently, it had worked like a dream. He had her right in the palm of his hand. 
Or at least, it appeared that way. He would be a fool indeed to trust a word that came out of her pretty mouth. She was a Rookwood after all. 
If she really had gone soft for him, then she was going to be disappointed. As a bed mate she was feisty and fun, but she would never get past the walls around his heart. There was only room for one girl in there, and if things went to plan, then she would be getting out of Azkaban soon. 
Watching Luella, seeing the fleeting emotions in her eyes as she stared back at him, he knew that the game wasn't over yet. The flyers were all still in play, the golden snitch was yet to be caught, and at the moment, Rookwood held all the points. 
Despite his anger at the threat made towards Anne, he allowed his lips to curve into a slight smile as he relaxed his hands and stepped forwards. He could see the subtle relief in Luella’s eyes as he lifted his hand to her cheek, brushing his thumb lightly over the exquisite curve of her cheekbone. 
“I appreciate how risky it is for you to speak of this. Thank you for telling me,” he said softly. 
He may have been smiling at her, but if she touched one hair on Anne’s head, he would end her. No matter how pretty her moans were for him in bed, he would kill her without a moment's thought. Some bonds went blood deep, and she barely scratched the surface.
“Don't worry, I'm not going to fuck this up, sweetheart. Trust me.” 
Leander
The bustle of the busy Auror office was nothing but a faint hum in the background as Leander sat at his desk poring over the case files for Rookwood’s gang. Now that Harrington had put him on the case, Leander wanted to make sure that he had absorbed as much information as possible. Gang members, known locations, everything that Rookwood’s gang had been up to and reported, Leander had devoured it all. There was a stack of folders next to him on his otherwise neatly kept desk, and he closed the last one with a sigh before rubbing his face with his hands. 
There was one file left and he had put this one off until last. Peeking through his fingers, he eyed the blue file with MC’s name on it, her prisoner photograph on the front in black and white. She looked so lovely in the photo, just how he remembered her from school. The only thing that made the picture painful to look at was her eyes. Sad and resigned. Sighing, he took his hands from his face and slid the file closer towards him, flipping open the cover to reveal the notes inside.
“You look like you could do with a coffee, Prewett.” 
The pleasant voice came from the desk in the next cubicle over, his head turning to glance that way at the witch who sat there, a little smile playing on her full, pouty lips. Odessa McKinnon was one of those incredibly beautiful women who had the capability of making Leander blush with just a look. He felt his cheeks heat up now as he noticed the way her long legs were crossed, a graceful arm leaning on the edge of her desk as she considered him. Soft, dark hair framed her lovely face, her brown eyes watching him with interest as he bit his lip and looked back down at the file before him.
“I’m alright,” he said, the blush spreading further down his neck, his fingers fiddling with the corner of the parchment. “Just trying to catch up on the Rookwood case.”
“Ah, yes, Harrington said he had brought you on board,” Odessa said, standing up and moving closer towards his desk.
Leander tried not to stare as she perched herself on the edge of it, he forced his eyes to look up at her rather than linger on her tempting curves, the delicate scent of her perfume teasing at his nose. Her smirk was far too sinful for an office setting, and he cleared his throat, shifting on his chair as she continued.
“How are you finding it? If you have any questions, I would be happy to help you out. I have been on this case for a while.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it,” he said, offering her a tentative smile. “It was an honour to be asked to join.”
“You’re a good Auror, Prewett. I’m glad Harrington has noticed. It is no more than you deserve.”
Her eyes drifted down to the file before him, and her eyebrows lifted as she leant down for a closer look. “Oh, I see you have MC’s file. She is a rather interesting case, that one. There is an air of mystery about her, isn’t there? I’ve not seen her myself, but I hear you have been assigned to question her. What is she like?”
Leander sat back in his chair, feeling rather pleased at her praise, his shoulders straightening as he smiled up at her. “I shared classes with MC at school, which is why Harrington thought she might open up to me. However, I haven’t managed to get anything new out of her yet. She doesn’t trust me enough, and after four years in Azkaban, she isn’t exactly the girl I remember anymore.”
“Hmm, yes, that place does things to a person’s mind,” Odessa said, touching her finger to her lower lip as she thought for a moment. “Have you tried baiting her with Sallow? She went down for murdering his uncle, there has to be more to that story, and Sebastian is definitely in thick with Rookwood. I saw him not two days ago, in fact.”
“You saw Sallow?” Leander asked, leaning forward with a frown. “Where?”
“Up to no good in Glasgow, stealing shipment papers with none other than Miss Rookwood,” Odessa said, her face one of wry speculation. “He must be high in favour indeed if he is running about with her. It might be worth dropping that little tidbit to MC. Weren’t she and Sallow childhood sweethearts, or some such thing? It might rile her up a bit and get her talking if she thinks he has found himself another woman and the enemy’s baby girl no less.”
A crease of concern appeared on Leander’s brow as he looked down at the photograph of MC in the file, her image moving as though she was really inside the little white frame. Digging at her about Sallow and another woman would probably upset her, and hadn’t she been through enough? That soft part of him wasn’t sure if that was the best way to go about getting her to open up to him, but it had been three visits now, and she still wasn’t talking. He had a job to do, and he needed to do something. His first shot at a big case, and he hadn’t managed to achieve anything yet. 
“I’ll give it some thought,” he said, straightening his already impeccably knotted tie. 
“Yes, do,” Odessa said, standing. She reached out to place a well manicured hand onto his shoulder. “I shall leave you to your reading, but remember, if you need any help, I’m only a desk away.”
He smiled his thanks and watched Odessa return to her desk to retrieve her coffee cup, his eyes following her as she made her way towards the staff room. He realised that he wasn’t the only one watching her go, a few of his colleagues had been unable to resist the soft sway of her hips, or the graceful movement of her long legs. There was something almost feline about the way that woman moved, and he remembered how agile and quick she had been during their Auror training. He wondered if he would ever be given the opportunity to do some field work with her, the prospect an enticing one. 
Turning his attention back to his desk, he took a moment to stare at the framed photograph of himself with his family the day he graduated from the Auror training program, a proud day captured with smiling faces in the sunshine. He smoothed his hand down the front of his waistcoat, long fingers subconsciously checking every button as he watched his family smile at him over and over in the moving image. 
If he could make a difference in this case, it would be a career changing moment. Not only would he be a graduate with an impeccable record, he would have a noted case under his belt which could lead him onto other opportunities to put his skills to the test. His fingers touched the Auror badge that sat snug in his pocket, polished to a shine, a symbol of the job he took pride in.
He could do this. He could find a way to get the information they needed, and maybe even help MC in the process, because despite everything he was about to surely read about in this file, he still couldn’t help but feel like she wasn’t quite the cold blooded killer they made her out to be. He just couldn’t help but seek out the good in people, and he had been so certain that there was some good in MC. 
With a determined sigh, he settled into his chair and began to read MC’s file, losing himself in the content so deeply that he didn’t notice Odessa returning with her fresh cup of coffee, or the curious gaze that she sent his way.
….*.... 
It didn’t matter how many times he came to Azkaban, the chilling cold and the oppressive atmosphere would always creep into Leander’s soul. The dampness seeped through your clothes. The dark halls were substantial in size, but the heaviness of the shadows seemed to press against you, the flickering flames of the magical firelight doing little to brighten the prison. And then, there were the prisoners themselves.
Walking down the corridor of MC’s wing, there was a screamer that always hung against her bars, her skeletal arms reaching out towards him, her eyes pits of despair that were sunken in her haggard face. Leander tried not to look, refused to imagine that MC would end up like that one day, but the evidence was beginning to show on her and he hated it. Maybe she wouldn’t scream, maybe she would be like the man a few cell doors down, withered and drawn, his mouth a flat line of misery and he never uttered a sound. His dark eyes would watch Leander, following his movement like a creepy old Muggle painting, his arms hanging by his sides in a desolate stance that made Leander quicken his steps. 
Unlocking MC’s cell door and entering, she was curled up with her back to him on the stone ledge that ran the length of one wall, the soles of her feet filthy black, her thin arms wrapped around herself. At the sound of the door, she moved, turning as she sat up, her lank hair falling over her pale face. Her large eyes stared at him, sunken, the shadows beneath them like bruises. It always made his chest tighten when he saw her. This was his fourth visit, and he wondered if he would ever get used to it.
“Hello,” she said, her voice croaky, her legs swinging around and over the side of the ledge as she sat up.
He hesitated at the greeting, surprised she had spoken first before he closed and relocked her door. Was that an expectant look in her eyes as she shuffled to the edge of the ledge, her boney fingers gripping at the stone as she watched him. 
“Hello, MC,” he said, moving closer towards her, his eyes moving towards the old wound on her temple. “How is your head today?”
The tiniest twitch in her lips almost became a smile as she nodded. “Much better,” she said.
He gestured towards the stone ledge beside her. “May I?”
She looked down at the bare, hard stone beside her and gave it a gentle pat with her hand. Leander couldn’t keep the slight smile from his lips as he moved to sit beside her, their eyes meeting as he did so. There was the briefest flicker of something warm in the haunted depths of her gaze before she looked away, drawing up her knees and wrapping her arms about her legs.
“I like your hair that way,” she said, surprising him.
He nervously touched his fingertips to the hair behind his ear. The back and sides had been shaved rather close, the top a little longer than usual but still neatly swept back with a side parting. He felt warmth flood his cheeks and he looked down at his lap, smoothing his fingers along the neat press line of his trousers. “Thank you,” he said softly. 
“You are always dressed so neatly, always smart,” she said, still not looking at him. “You don’t belong in a place like this.”
“I’m just here doing my job, MC,” he said, linking his fingers in his lap. “There’s no harm in being presentable when doing one’s job. It makes for a good impression.”
“I suppose you had better start asking your questions, then, Auror Prewett,” she said, her voice dropping into a colder tone, her shoulders rounding as she hunched over her knees.
Old insecurities plagued him, that uncertain feeling that always seemed to settle at the back of his neck and slide slowly down his spine. All his life he seemed to say the wrong thing, putting his foot in his mouth and making social interactions so much harder than they needed to be. The tiny glimmer of warmth that she had shown was gone already, and he bit his lip, his gaze moving around the desolate coldness of her cell.
Sifting through his thoughts, he recalled the training he had received, tried to summon the courage to fire hard questions at her in an attempt to prise the truth from her lips. It felt so wrong, and he closed his eyes, slowly shaking his head as he scolded himself for letting her get under his skin. He couldn’t care about her so much. It was dangerous.
He just couldn’t help it, though.
“A question for a question,” he said softly, glancing at her. “We can take turns. You first. Ask me anything you like and I will answer it as best as I can.”
The silence in her cell stretched, the distant sound of prisoners unimportant, the damp coldness seeping deeper into his bones as he waited. She didn’t even move for what felt like the longest time and he was beginning to think that this was going to be yet another wasted trip, but then she turned her head, those haunted eyes seeking him out, glittering with something that touched him deep inside his chest.
“What day is it?”
Such a simple question. The simplicity of it stole his breath, the realisation of just how cut off from reality she was slicing right through him.
“It’s Wednesday, the 18th, September,” he said, trying but failing to hide the pity on his face.
She stared, blinking slowly before turning her eyes up towards the faint glimmer of light that shone through the slit in the stone wall of her cell. Her lips curved with the softest expression. “All the leaves on the trees will be turning soon.”
“Summer is stubbornly clinging on in the city. London is still hot during the day, but at least the nights are cooler,” he said.
She met his gaze again. “I know it’s your turn, but can I cheat and ask one more?” she asked wistfully. “What year is it? How long have I been here?”
“It’s 1895,” he replied. “You have been here four years, MC.”
Her lips trembled slightly, and she turned away, her whole body shuddering as she took a deep breath. Leander lifted a hand as if to touch her, pausing just before his fingers could reach the filthy fabric of her prison shirt. Desperate to offer her some form of comfort, but torn by his duty to the badge and his office, he let his hand drop back to his lap. It didn’t do to become too familiar with a prisoner or let your emotions take over. He was failing miserably at this. 
“It’s your turn,” she said, her voice hoarse, her fingers gripping at her clothing. She hadn’t turned around, hiding her face from him still.
Her file had been full of information, details collected by the Ministry over the years. Everything from her birth to the orphanage she had been placed in, the poor thing had been shifted from one children’s home to another before receiving her Hogwarts letter so much later than other children. The Ministry had been watching her for a long time, the notes about her ancient magic making it clear that they were expecting her to produce it at some point. The information was classified all the way up until she stopped the goblin rebellion with her battle under the school in 1891, and her powers became known to the rest of the wizarding world. 
There were a multitude of questions he could ask her, so much he wanted to know, not just for the case, but because he was curious. She was fascinating, a truly one of a kind witch, and she was stuck in here rotting away into a wisp of her former self.
“Do you remember the day Garreth had you try his Fizzing Whizzbeer?” He asked, the memory popping into his head. A smile lit his face as he thought about that day. “He was really anxious about asking you. He thought you were going to say no, but he wanted you to be the first to try it after you pilfered the vital ingredient for him.”
Her head turned slowly, her eyes lifting to his, peering at him over her arm still wrapped about her knees, her hair falling over her face. She didn’t say anything, just stared, and he continued to speak.
“I was convinced we were going to get caught by Professor Weasley, and Garreth was running out of warnings about messing around with his potions. When you knocked the drink back, I thought you were really brave, and then your feet lifted up off the floor.”
Leander chuckled, shaking his head at the memory of MC floating upwards and not stopping, realisation dawning on Garreth’s face before he lunged forward to grab the hem of her robe in an attempt to pull her back down.
“The funniest part was the look on your face when Sebsatian barged in,” she said, that soft look entering her eyes again. “You went so pale I thought you were going to pass out, and then you flushed redder than a tomato.”
“I thought it was a professor walking in!” Leander laughed again, putting his hand to his forehead. “I swear Sallow did that on purpose.”
A soft, breathless laugh slipped past her lips. “He did! He hated that I was keeping a secret from him. He couldn’t stand it, not knowing what I was up to with you two, and two Gryffindors no less. It took all three of you to get me down in the end.”
There was something almost ethereal about the look on her face. With her skin so pale and drawn, the harshness of her bones showing and the shadows under her eyes, to see her smile was quite transforming. The ghost of the girl she was could be seen in her eyes, and it warmed him. For that moment, he could almost forget where they were. When she met his gaze, that softness remained, the memory suspended between them like a ray of summer sun cutting through the gloom and despair of the fortress around them.
A shiver slid down his spine, and he frowned, glancing about the cell as he realised the temperature was plummeting fast. MC whimpered and pressed her hands to her ears, shaking her head as her terrified eyes swung towards the door of her cell.
“No, no, they are coming,” she gasped. “They could feel it.”
Leander got to his feet, ice spreading thick and fast across the walls and floor. The oppressive doom felt like a ton weight was dragging him downwards, and he feared he might freeze in place. His hand instinctively went for his wand, but of course, it wasn’t there, and his heart plummeted into his stomach as he saw the shifting shadows of the Dementors gathering in the corridor. Horrified, he stood there, transfixed as a gnarled, withered hand appeared to caress the lock of the cell door. With a click, it opened, the iron squealing as it swung back.
The death rattle breaths of the Dementor filled the cell, the world seeming to drain of all colour and light as it floated into the room. Leander tried to focus, but it felt like he was being drained of every happy feeling he had ever known, and it was hard to gather the strength to summon his magic.
Whilst the training had been provided as part of the Auror program, wandless magic was very difficult to master, and he had only just about scraped through to a pass in his exam. Now, he was in dire need of a miracle as the Dementor advanced towards him. Not only did he need to protect himself, but he also needed to shield MC as well, who was cowering on the stone ledge with her eyes wide in terror.
There were more Dementors in the corridor, not content with sending one down to them, a whole gathering had appeared. Each faceless wraith of death hungry and eager to feed. Leander held out his hands, brow furrowed in concentration, a cold sweat breaking out at his temples as he willed his magic to come. He could feel the rush of it in his veins, but he was struggling to manifest it, his own fear mingling with the dread that sapped any minute speck of warmth from the room. 
Not now, not here, not today. Not her.
A blast of white shot from his hands, lighting up the space and halting the Dementor in its tracks, but it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t stop it for long, and the others were now hovering outside the door waiting.
He faltered, swallowing hard as the Dementor drew closer, a horrid sucking sensation sweeping over him as its maw of a mouth opened wide.
This was it. He was done for. He would never succeed in this case. He would never see his family again, and he would fail MC. 
A hoarse scream filled the room. Leander jolted in shock at the blur of blue and white that shot across to block the Dementor from him, his eyes squinting against the brightness as the Dementor reeled backwards with a reedy scream.
Leander stumbled back, his hand to his chest as the light increased, a frail figure glowing in front of him as the Dementors began to back off. The magic was like nothing he had ever seen before, stronger than any Patronus he had ever witnessed, the heat and brilliance of it stinging his eyes. 
The Dementors faded into the gloom of the corridor, the blue and white light bursting outwards and raising a cacophony of screams and shouts from the other prisoners. Leander blinked against it, holding up a hand to shield his face as gradually the magic began to recede.
MC was standing in front of him, her frail frame shaking uncontrollably with her hands held out towards the open cell door. She turned in a stiff, jerky movement, and Leander could only gape at her in stunned silence.
Her eyes were glowing with the blue and white magic, glittering and sparkling like lightning bolts as she staggered towards him before falling to her knees. He glanced at the open doorway, the training that had been drilled into him telling him he needed to get it closed and locked immediately, but instead, he dropped to his knees in front of MC.
She was shaking so badly her teeth rattled, the magic slowly fading from her eyes as she looked at him.
Should he touch her? Would it hurt him?
The intense crackle of the magic could still be felt in the air around them, strands of her hair lifting upwards as though drawn by magnets. He held out a tentative hand towards her, and she grabbed it. Her hands were freezing, her fingers like bone as she clung to him.
“L…Lee,” she stuttered, her hands now clutching at his sleeve, groping upwards until her trembling fingers touched the ashen flesh of his cheeks. “Are y..you…alright?”
Her touch sent flurries of shivers through him, her fingers pressing against his cheeks and jaw, fumbling up to trace along his hair and brush against his ears. As she grazed them against his neck, he gasped, his own hands reaching for hers, wrapping his large hands around her small ones like he was protecting tiny birds.
“I’m okay,” he assured her, despite the way his heart was still hammering against his ribs. “What was that, MC? What did you just do?”
Her eyes shone with tears now, all traces of the magic gone, but she looked utterly exhausted as the tears began to fall and track through the grime on her cheeks.
“Not you,” she said, her voice breaking. She shook her head and leant forward, pressing her forehead to their joined hands. “They come for happy memories, anything that’s wholesome and wonderful. I couldn’t…I just couldn’t…”
Emotion twisted Leander’s face as she began to sob, and before he could even think about what he was doing, he was pulling her against him, cradling her head against his chest as she sobbed and trembled. The reality of her frailness was shocking now that he had her in his arms, it wrenched at his insides, and a tear escaped his own eye. A resolve coursed through him to help her. Fuck the rules.
How could she be such a murderous monster? She had just thrown herself between him and a hoard of Dementors. She had literally saved him, draining herself in the process.
“Was that your ancient magic?” 
It was a question. His second one in a row. He had allowed her two, so he figured she wouldn’t mind. She nodded against his chest, her fingers gripping the fabric of his waistcoat.
“Please don’t tell them,” she whispered. “I didn’t even know I could do that without a wand. I couldn’t bear the thought of them taking you. I had to stop them, and it just burst out of me.”
“Why would you do that for me?”
A soft huff of laughter sounded through her tears. “I told you. You don’t belong in a place like this. You are too good, Lee. They can feel it.”
He stroked the back of his hand against her cheek, his knuckles damp with her tears. “It won’t stop me coming back tomorrow, though,” he said firmly. “I shall be here to see you.”
“Because you have a job to do,” she said, her lips twitching with a smile.
“Because I have a job to do,” he nodded. 
To be continued...
Taglist:
Big love and thanks to @eternalremorse and @slytherin-paramour 💗✨️💕
Huge thanks to @ellivenollivander for the use of her OC, Odessa McKinnon. Brilliant!
Reader tags: @evaslytherpuff @eternalremorse
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redlegumes · 4 months
Text
Dec 3rd: Stolen Pine
Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles
prompt: Mutual Pining | AO3: link | wc: 946 | rating: G | cw: none | tags: idiots in love, 'pine' ing, Christmas tree without glasses, light theft
Summary: Spontaneous tree theft and decorating, paired with some pining.
⍋↟⍋♡⍋↟⍋
They'd hauled in the tree. Eddie kept talking about how the evergreen part was the important bit and continued to explain Christmas's stolen nuances from paganism. Steve nodded and did his best to follow along. That was what he did lately, follow Eddie. Whether it started with a need to assure himself the guy was okay after their Upside Down torments, or if he'd honestly found Eddie intriguing from the get go, Steve couldn't say. 
It didn't really matter anyway. He was positive that his feelings weren't going away as he nodded along with Eddie's excited ramblings. He hadn't even hesitated to join Eddie that night without product in his hair, glasses on.
Steve's vision had started to degrade. He'd noticed after his first run in with a Demogorgon. Pretty soon he legally needed corrective lenses to drive. Vanity prevented him from letting anyone other than Robin know. She'd assured him, ‘a boy is allowed to have his secrets. Just not from his platonic soulmate.’ Kinda the same reasoning behind why she knew how utterly hopeless he'd become around Eddie. The type of lovesick that had him helping Eddie with his non-christ related, Christmas tree caper.
continues after the cut
Eddie already knew about Steve's vision after helping Steve through an awful migraine where he just couldn't stand to have the contacts in. Steve'd been so nervous but Eddie just teased him about commiting to an ’Indiana Jones’ look and they kinda just moved on.
Steve hadn't expected Eddie at all that night when he knocked on his door. He'd come late to ask for help stealing a tree off some wooded, government owned property. He took one look at Eddie's ridiculous smile and dancing deep eyes and threw on a parka to help.
Now they were attempting to get the damn thing in a stand in the white-walled, impersonal living room of the house the ‘’Department of Energy’ had provided Wayne Munson with. They managed with no small amount of grunting and sappy fingers. More than once Steve reminded himself not to stare too hard at Eddie through the pine branches. He even liked Eddie's frustrated faces, the downward curve of his lips, the wrinkling of his forehead. Jesus, I'm pathetic. 
When they finished he and Eddie stood back admiring their fresh cut theft.
“Wayne's at work for another two hours. Think we can get it done ourselves before he's back?”
“Do you have decorations?”
Eddie sheepishly twisted where he stood. “I picked up some lights, and yeah, there's a box of ornaments.”
Steve stilled, bowled over by the waves of ‘adorable’ pouring off of Eddie. “Uh yeah, I think we can manage.”
The box was one of the few items in a very small storage room Al Munson's name was on outside of town. Eddie had been contacted once as ‘next of kin' to make payments on the thing, and that's when he went to see it himself. Inside were his dad's ‘tools of the trade,’’ some suspicious looking luggage and duffels he recognized from a hair brained scheme or two. What a lame cache, he'd thought at the time. That was before he reached the cardboard boxes in the back. They were his mother's. Winter decorations and clothes that were never brought back out when the seasons changed after her death. 
It was one of those boxes he'd picked up and brought to the new place, dragging it out now for Steve. Steve stopped unraveling lights to examine the ornaments. “These look like heirlooms,” he said, carefully picking up a blue, blown glass sphere and turning it in his strong hands. 
Eddie loved the care and attention Steve directed at the one piece. The way a tendril of hair fell over his forehead; the consideration on his face. Steve was already in his ‘Clark Kent look’ when Eddie'd shown up to his place that night. Which made sense, it was late, but Eddie loved the glasses on Steve. He liked the superman analogy too. Steve was basically Eddie's superman anyway.
“They were my mother's,” Eddie said, touching the edge of a carved angel's wing inside.
Steve's mouth made a small ‘o’ shape and he carefully set the ornament back into the nestled layers of tissue paper. “They're beautiful Eds.”
They decorated together, and it was easy. Eddie was warmed just being near Steve but they seemed to naturally work well together, joking and spacing the lights and decorations just right. Steve got Eddie's radio out and they listened to crackly Christmas tunes as they went along.
They finished about thirty minutes or so before Wayne's anticipated return. The men stood back to admire their handy work. Steve took his glasses off.
“Prettier that way,” Eddie asked, breathier than he wanted to sound.
Steve chuckled. “Good both ways, but yeah. One of the only perks I guess? The lights all expand and blend a bit.”
Eddie stared at Steve taking in the tree. If the lights were as fuzzy as he'd said, Steve wouldn't notice Eddie's stare. Truth be told, Eddie always wanted to stare at Steve. The lights reflected in Steve's light brown eyes… Christ, he is so pretty. Eddie's fingers itched to twine themselves with Steve's. He was dying with every little kindness Steve showed him; dying to bite the bullet and confess. He wanted to know if his crush was one sided, but if things took a different turn... Telling Steve could ruin what they had, and then who would help him steal a Christmas tree at two am?
He could live with this for now, watching Steve lit by the glow of Christmas lights they hung together. 
“Thanks Stevie.”
“Anytime Eds.”
2023 RedLegumes Steddiemas 1 2 3 4 5 6 10 SteddieHolidayDrabbles 1 2 3 4 6 8 9 10
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heartthrobin · 10 months
Text
then brush my nights with black stained palms (2)
mechanic!eddie munson x farmgirl!reader
wc: 5.1k
warnings: reader is a (little) bit less of a meanie, swearing, dirty sweaty eddie, desperate mutual pining, cowboy being a dramatic baby, nauseating amounts of fluff
an: sorry this is late :(( uni is eating me alive i but here it is !!! i tagged everyone (i hope) that asked, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist. love y’all <333
summary: the grease-head was beginning to crowd the space between each of your thoughts. it wasn’t helped by the fact that he was insistent on melting you against the hot soil with those warm eyes and smooth mouth, also that your boyfriend seemed to adore him. 
part one & part three
The next few days passed very much the same.
Eddie would arrive by midday, disappear into the barn - he didn't need navigating again after the first afternoon - and you only really knew he had arrived if you heard his pick-up or when you noticed Cowboy.
Cowboy had taken to lingering by the door of the barn, his front half stuck in the shade while his ass shone in the sunlight, tail wagging amusingly. He would sit and watch Eddie work for hours.
You couldn't say you blamed him.
Around three o' clock, you'd slip out from whatever chores you'd been jammed between to creep into the coolness of the kitchen and rummage around for different sandwich combinations.
Then you'd cross the yard, glasses and plates in hand, step carefully over the almost hundred-and-fifty pound dog before falling down against one of the crates.
Eddie would talk animatedly, and you'd pretend you weren't watching the way his hands scratched at his neck or he licked at the sauce around his mouth.
It took at least couple afternoons, but he'd managed to coerce your name out of you.
You thought about it often. How he'd repeated it back to you, sighing around your name like a song or a refreshing sip of iced-tea and how it made your vital organs liquify.
Eddie was standing now, a piece of salami plucked from between his sandwich and holding it high over his head.
"Sit."
Cowboy stood at his feet, nose level with the man's chest, and blinked happily up at him - tail waggling viciously - but showing no signs of dropping his bum to the floor.
You watched from where you were perched against what had become your usual seat on the crate near the left wall.
Eddie gave the dog a stern look, "Come on, big boy. We practiced this, sit."
The grin on your face was practically criminal.
Cowboy didn't seem the slightest bit confused, seemingly convinced this was the game for the afternoon.
"Listen," Eddie’s head lifted to meet your eye, looking sheepish. "He was doing it fine before you came in, he had the hang of it."
A giggle couldn't help itself when it escaped you loudly.
"Is this what my old man pays you for?"
Eddie rolled his eyes, flashing a embarrassed smile at you. "Whatever. I was just trying to help."
He tossed the piece of salami at Cowboy, who caught it mid-air.
The dog was chomping loudly, clearly pleased with himself, when you whistled lowly.
Cowboy paused his chewing to look back at you.
"Cowboy, sit."
The ninety pound bum hit the floor with a loud thud.
It was almost as loud as the sound of Eddie's jaw hitting the floor beside it.
"That's—" he was pointing at you, eyes wide in awe. "You let me stand here for fifteen minutes and make a fool of myself."
Your head was thrown back in laughter, motioning to the dog who was panting happily: eyes darting between Eddie and yourself. "Not me, him."
The grin that curled into the side of his mouth made you think he wasn't really so bothered.
"You're both conspiring against me."
"Oh, definitely." You went to stand, gathering up the plates and glasses. "Now that I'm done making your life hell, I should get back to my day job."
The barn door creaked loudly when you swung it open for the sixth time that week, ready to leave and have the greasy mechanic plague your mind until the next afternoon.
"W-Wait," his voice held an edge of apprehension. You glanced back at him over your shoulder.
"Mhm?"
His black-smudged, ring-clad hands fidgeted with the dirty rag that hung from his back pocket.
"What work you gotta do now?"
You surveyed him, eyebrows tilting in confusion. "Gonna go into town, pick up some groceries. Apparently there's some grease monkey cleaning out our fridge."
"Madeline’s?"
"That's the one."
Eddie shifted from one foot onto the other. "That's a long way out. Thirty minutes back into town."
"Indeed." You turned to begin walking again, but he stopped you again: this time he jogged up behind you.
It took a sharp turn on your heel to realise he was much closer than before - arguably too close because you could smell the grease and aftershave floating off of him.
"I could give you a ride? I'm almost done here."
Your brow pinched. "And how will I get back here?"
Eddie shrugged. "I'll bring you back, a'course."
“That’s over an hour out of your way?”
“It’s not too bad.”
“No, Eddie. I really don’t need your help, I can—“
“I really insist.”
There was a long quiet moment.
His eyes brushed a soft finger over the apple of your cheek. You huffed.
“Fine.”
-
The truck rumbled beneath Eddie. His fingers trembled against the steering wheel.
That afternoon before he left, Jacob had taken the truck to run some rounds for Carl and spilt half a carton of milk over the backseat.
Eddie had cursed his name when he’d gotten into the car earlier, forced to have all the windows open for the smell - letting in dust and bugs - but found that right then he would kiss Jacob on his fucking forehead given the next opportunity.
The wind flying in through the car was whipping at your face and you’d shut your eyes to feel it’s warmth. You looked like something out of a wet dream with the sun painting the arm you’d stuck out the open window and the side view of your face he was suddenly privy to: how your nose curved against the backdrop of brown Tennessee.
The drive was long, as long as Eddie knew it would be, but you made surprisingly light conversation. The radio hummed and Cowboy panted loudly in the backseat, clearly the second most impressed individual in the car about the open windows.
When they passed the auto-body shop, it was close to closed. You mentioned some Chinese restaurant that used to exist there. You also told him about the flower festival the town hosted annually.
Sooner than he would’ve liked, Madeline’s came into view. He pulled into park.
Nobody in the parking lot turned a head when the giant hound leapt from the back, clearly Cowboy frequented your trips to the grocer, but Eddie himself was catching strange glances.
He squinted, noticing how you’d fallen into quicker step towards the doors. Jogging to catch up, he leaned down closer by your ear: “Why is everyone looking at me funny?”
Your eyes raked the parking lot once, the doors of the market slid open.
“I told you Greenie, you’re a greenie.” You pulled a cart out from a lineup, “People don’t know you. New faces are always interesting.”
An elderly woman was smirking at him from where she was checking out, she wiggled her fingers at him in a wave.
Eddie offered a confused half-attempt at a smile in return.
“Hey, off!”
He turned back to find Cowboy with his paws leaning up against the cart, it teetered dangerously to one side. You swatted at his paw. He dropped his paws reluctantly back to the ground, grumbling quietly.
“Drama queen.” You mumbled.
Eddie squinted at you, considerably amused with the interaction.
You sighed, beginning to push the cart.
“When he was smaller I used to let him sit in the cart. It was wrong of me I guess, cause now every time we come he wants to climb inside.”
Cowboy trailed behind with a miserable look on his long face, Eddie got the impression he knew he was being spoken about.
He patted him on the head consolingly, but the dog only huffed at him.
The store was busy. Every second person they passed greeted you, you’d smile and offer a polite good afternoon.
Some prompted longer conversation: like the middle aged clerk stacking cans of tuna on the shelf.
Her eyebrows shot into her hairline when she noticed Eddie.
“Well, good afternoon sweetpea,” the woman’s voice was light, friendly - as a store clerk’s would be - and she ran a familiar eye over your figure.
“Good afternoon Mrs Washington.”
Her gaze turned back to Eddie, where he was lingering just close behind you. He wondered maybe to a passer-byer if he looked like your boyfriend. He wondered more whether you would mind that. You probably would.
“And who’s your handsome ... friend?”
You looked over your right shoulder to find Eddie, you took a step to the side chuckling awkwardly.
So she does mind.
“He’s a mech from Mr Carl’s, helping my dad out with the Cobra.”
“Aha. Is that why you’re shopping for—“ she peeked into the cart, “—milk together?”
You laughed lightly again, nervously. Eddie was pleased to find that this was the first time he’d ever seen you look nervous. He had a fleeting urge to take your hand into his.
Instead, he stuck his hand out to the woman. “I’m Eddie.”
“Nice to meet you Eddie. I’m Janet.”
Cowboy nudged at his knee, whining loudly.
You took it as a cue to interject again. “Well, Mrs Washington, it was good to see you.”
The cart was being pushed again down the aisle before the woman had chance to respond. Eddie found himself chasing your heels again.
He noticed your red cheeks, how you were quieter as you created distance down the aisle from the woman that had just stopped you.
You paused by the bread. Eyes raking over the selection as Cowboy sniffed at an open packet near the bottom-most shelf.
Picking up a orange packet, you offered it to him. “You like sweet-potato loaf?”
He hesitated, “Uhm … I’ve never—“
“If you don’t like it, we can get something else.” You turned back, beginning to list off other types. “There’s regular brown, sour-dough, ciabatta…”
Eddie could feel the birds returning to fly in circles over his head again, feel his chest turn static.
Here you were in the middle of the store, trying to choose breads that he would like for the sandwiches you so thoughtfully made him every day.
It was just about the most endearing thing you’d done yet, and he was tempted to tease you about it. Watch your face redden at his words.
But he also knew you would suck up and shut on him like a clam. That acting like you didn’t hate him would be the most embarrassing thing you could possibly do.
“Eddie?”
Your voice drew him back to the aisle. Imploring eyes blinked up at him, you held a plain brown loaf.
“Which one?”
“Uh— oh, I’d like to taste the sweet-potato … it sounds good.”
You nodded slowly, watching him with a notably high level of skepticism. Maybe you could see the little birds too.
Passing through the cold meats, he watched you pick up salami and pastrami and ham and chicken loaf, each time motioning over your shoulder: do you like this?
He nodded each time.
It was just after the baking supplies, you were gleaming up at a shelf lined with different boxes of chocolate, when your name washed over him from further down the row.
Eddie turned as if it were his own.
There were two people, a guy and a girl. He could tell in their faces they had to be siblings.
The girl’s braids hung long past the back of her knee and the guy had a fish-shaped birth mark over his eyebrow.
You turned, Eddie had never seen your face light up so quickly.
Leaping into the girl’s arms, your laugh echoed off the shelves. It warmed the pit of Eddie’s stomach.
“Oh my god!”
You hugged the man next, Eddie’s eyes narrowed over where his hand lingered on your lower back.
Pulling back you were still smiling.
“When did you guys get back?” You asked, grabbing Cowboy by the collar as he licked at the man’s knee.
“Just last week. It’s been a crazy semester …” her smile was white as Eddie had ever seen. “How’s … how’s the farm?”
Maybe if Eddie didn’t spend every free second he had with you studying the tugs and twists of your face, maybe he wouldn’t have noticed how the curl at the edge of your eye vanished and your lips sunk at the ends.
“Oh— it’s, it’s fine. Same as usual.”
The boy chuckled. Eddie wished he wouldn’t.
You looked back at Eddie, suddenly realising he still existed.
“I-I’m being so rude,” your voice shivered. “Eddie, these are the twins. Caleb and Imani.”
The man stuck his hand out, “Pleasure.”
Eddie took it. He shook hers too.
“So where you guys coming in from?” He made an effort on conversation.
“It’s summer break, we drove in from college last week. University of Alabama.” She beamed, nudging her brother. “Go Elephants!”
“Oh, nice.”
“We used to go to school together,” Imani motioned over to you. You seemed to busy yourself with a Cadbury box, looking up briefly to nod. “But you are definitely a newcomer.”
Eddie laughed shortly, “That’s what they keep telling me.”
“Dating a newbie, that’s a shocker for you, huh?” She nudged you in the ribs, you choked around nothing. “Not very adventurous, this one—“
“I’m—“
“We’re not—“
You coughed, “we’re not dating. Eddie is helping my dad with the Cobra.”
Caleb looked uncomfortable. Imani looked amused. Eddie felt like he was gonna be sick.
Cowboy had taken a firm seat at your side, watching warily up at the two people.
“Ah, that makes more sense.” She chuckled, “You’re not much of a dater anyway. I remember in high school, you used to stay as far away as physically possible from those poor boys—“
“It’s getting late, I think.” Caleb strung together the first words Eddie had heard since they came over to ruin his mood. “Maybe we should head home, but it was good seeing you … a-and meeting you.”
“Definitely, I’ll see you guys around.” Your knuckles whitened over the cart handle.
Caleb was practically ushering Imani away. “We’ll see you guys around!”
For a moment, you and Eddie just stood. You watched their retreating figures.
“That was completely charming.” Eddie tone was crumpled around the edges. Unimpressed.
The tightness in his grimace loosened lightly when he noticed your expression. You looked more dejected than he’d ever seen you.
“They’re my …” your voice was soft, like you were talking to yourself. “Well, they used to be my friends.”
Eddie huffed.
“No offence, but your friends are pretty rude.”
Cowboy pressed his nose into your hip. It seemed to dislodge you from your hazy state.
You looked back, down into the cart.
“Looks like I’ve got everything I came for.” The wheels squeaked as you began pushing it again. “Let’s get out of here.”
At the counters, the lines were short. Beyond the glass front of the store, Eddie could tell that the sun was minutes from dipping behind the post office in the distance.
The sign against the wall reminded him that the shop was closing in a half hour.
“Hey!”
“Oh, hey Aimee.” Your voice was lighter again, friendlier.
Eddie could feel eyes on him, not for the first time since leaving the car.
He looked up to meet the sparkling blue eyes of the cashier.
She had to be the same age as you, blond hair pinned up in a neat bun and a cross necklace hanging low down her neck.
“Eddie, this is Aimee.” You motioned over to him for what felt like the tenth time since he’d entered the store. “Aimee and I went to school together.”
Is every grocery visit a walk down fucking memory lane like this one?
He nodded kindly. “Hi.”
She blinked her thick painted lashes at him. “Hey. I like your hair.”
Your hand stilled over where it was packing a carton of milk into a bag. Eddie felt your gaze.
The compliment flattered him.
“Thanks.” His hand came up bashfully to pat over the hair on his head. “It’s a lot of work.”
The girl leaned over the counter, closer to him. “Well I’m in hairdressing school at the moment, I’d love to get my fingers in there if you’re ever interested?”
Eddie rubbed his jaw where he’d forgotten to shave that morning. “Ha, yeah. Maybe sometime.”
“I hate to interrupt.” Your lip was twisted at the edge in a way that Eddie hoped he wasn’t misreading. “How much do I owe?”
Aimee cleared her throat, sitting back and offering you a only slightly irritated side glance as she took the bills out your hand.
“Thanks.” You lifted your bags. “It was good seeing you.”
Aimee nodded. “Yeah, of course. And I hope I’ll see you around Eddie?”
He turned to nod over his shoulder. “Sure, yeah.”
The parking lot was busy. Last of the late-comers leaving the store, you traipsed ahead - surprisingly quietly - and Cowboy trotted happily by Eddie’s side: a grocery bag swinging from around his neck.
The hound took no prompting at the door opened for him and leapt in, you cooed at him from where you’d already managed your way into the front seat.
Eddie’s hands found the steering wheel again. The truck rumbled to life.
“Jesus, you know a lot of people.”
You managed a laugh. “Every day feels like a ten year reunion.”
His palms rubbed slowly over the leather. His eyes peered periodically over at you.
Beyond your figure, out the window: sun had long began to set behind Tennessee. The sky had turned a violent shade of dark purple.
It was quiet in the car. Your eyes stayed out against the road, the corner of your lip tormented by your canines.
“You okay?” He asked quietly.
You nodded. “Yeah, of course.”
Eddie nodded back.
“So,” his hand came up to ruffle the side of his hair, desperate to revive your playful nature. “you think I should do something with the mane? Dye it maybe?”
Your shoulders eased. Your face turned to meet his. You were smiling.
“Maybe you should shave it.” Your knee came up to your chest, settling against the seat. “Aimee could help you, she’s just dying to get her fingers all over you.”
Eddie laughed, head meeting the back of the seat. Cowboy yapped behind him.
“Sounds like someone’s jealous.”
You scoffed loudly. “Please. She is welcome to get her fingers into that grease-trap on top of your head any day of the week and I will sleep just fine.”
Eddie gasped dramatically, “Grease-trap? Now that’s taking it too far, farm girl. This head of hair is nothing less than a work of art.”
“Farm girl—?”
“But I’ll let it slide, because I know it’s coming from a place of jealousy.”
Maybe it was the reflection of the blinking indicator on the dash, but he could swear your cheeks had turned a flashy pink.
“Only in your wildest dreams.” It sounded half-hearted.
You reached for the volume on the radio. Stevie Nicks hummed in the space between the two seats.
To the gypsy that remains. She faces freedom with a little fear.
The entrance to the farm driveway came into view in the darkness.
“You close to done with the Cobra?”
Eddie’s heart sank like into his stomach.
“Oh … uhm, not really. Should be a couple more days at least.”
That was a fib.
More than a fib, it was a lie.
Honestly, the Cobra was only a couple hours from completely road ready.
Eddie had begun tinkering in places that didn’t necessarily need tinkering purely because he was scared that the day he finishes that fucking car that he’ll leave the farm down Jasmine road and you will never darken his door step ever again.
Maybe he’ll catch you in Madeline’s and he’ll remember you picking out breads that he liked. You’ll greet him just as offhandedly, as politely and conversationally as you’d done all the others in the store.
He’d go home and fawn over the thought of you, just like he would tonight, but then there would be no solace of sandwiches and lemonade in a hot barn in the morning.
“Jesus, don’t look so disturbed.” You broke through his whirling thoughts, the light flutter of a laugh behind your words brought his mind to a standstill. “It’s just a car. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
He hadn’t even realised that the car had stopped. He’d parked in front of the porch and you’d already gathered the bags in your hands - hanging another around Cowboy’s neck.
“I’m not…“ he stuttered, quickly trying to re-grasp reality and maybe a bag or two to help carry. “Let me help—“
You swatted his hand away.
“Eddie. We’re fine.” But you were smiling.
“You sure?”
“Don’t undermine my decision-making ability.”
He sunk back into his chair, shaking with soft laughter: hands up in surrender. “Fine.”
Both doors swung open. Cowboy bounded towards the house.
You leaned over the open window. “Thanks. For taking us, you were useful. And good company.”
The earnest in your voice made his ears ring.
He tilted his head, maybe if he had a cowboy hat like yours he would have tipped it: “anytime, doll.”
You turned back to the house, boots thudding against the dust.
“Hey!” He called after you, leaning over the passenger-side.
You turned, silhouette against the porch light. “What?”
“You really think I should shave my head?”
Eddie knew you could make out his smirk even across the way by how you matched his - although yours was hidden under a veil of pretending to look unamused.
“No. I was joking.”
He nodded, pressing his luck.
“So you think it’s hot then?”
There was a short, curt laugh and you turned without another word to jump up the three steps onto the porch.
Eddie watched your figure retreat into the house before twisting the key in the ignition, reversing out and into the night.
-
It was on the tail end of breakfast the next morning, crumbs littering the plates, that the phone rang.
Daddy sighed. Setting down his mug, he leaned back in his chair to where the phone was perched against the wall.
“G’morning?”
You were less than interested, only mildly annoyed by the loud interruption so early in the morning. Honey dripped around the sides of your mouth, the toast set down for a sip of coffee.
“Ah, hello son. What can I do you for?”
Son. A young man. Daddy called them all like like that.
You briefly wondered who it might be.
Outside the sun had just spilled over into the sky, Bullseye sat watching it at the edge of the porch.
“That’s no problem. Yeah. You have a good day now.”
The phone clicked back against the receiver. Your dad picked up the mug again. You stabbed at a piece of sausage.
“Who was it?”
“It was Eddie.”
Your head flew up from the plate. Daddy seemed not to notice.
“Eddie? What did he say?”
Did that come off too interested?
“He said that he won’t be working on the car this week, Carl’s asked him to do some extra shifts at the shop.”
“Oh.”
You looked down at your plate, then over at the window, then to where Cowboy’s tail was wagging from somewhere under the table. Then only briefly back to daddy, then the plate again.
You’d hardly slept the last night. The little adventure to Madeline’s replayed like an over-pixelated movie in your brain.
Eddie. Mrs Washington. Bread. Chocolate. Imani and Caleb. Aimee. Eddie.
The car ride home. Fleetwood Mac on the radio.
You thought about how you’d like to do it again, only because he was there. It made facing the changing lives of everybody except your own a little easier to bear.
There was a moment you almost reached for his hand, to walk down the aisles like that. To have Mrs Washington beam at you as she did, but this time when she stuck her nose in your business: “and who is your handsome friend?”
Maybe you could say, “oh, Mrs Washington, this isn’t my friend he’s my—“
“He’s a good boy.”
The thought was sucked through the mouth of a vacuum straight from your head.
“Huh?”
“Eddie.”
“Oh. Yeah, I’m sure.” You nodded, still distracted, but you could feel the old man gauging your reaction across the kitchen table.
“I hope you’re not giving him a hard time.”
You had the nerve to guffaw around the mouthful of toast you’d taken in just to look busy. “Me? Giving him a hard time?” It was muffled.
Daddy chuckled, leaning back in his chair looking amused. “Don’t play semantics with me young lady. I know how you dislike these fellas from Carl’s shop.”
You huffed, trying to cover up a hum. Maybe you liked this one more than you should.
“I don’t give him a hard time, daddy. Besides, even if I was, he's a big boy. He can look after himself.”
Still his eyes lingered suspiciously over your face. You avoided them.
“Right. Fine.” The chair scratched loudly against the hardwood floor. It seemed the topic has been abandoned. “I want you to hose down the shed and give it a fresh paint. There’s still some tubs of paint in the barn behind the Cobra, you can choose the colour you like.”
He rounded the table to press a warm peck against your forehead and picked his hat up from it’s spot on the hanger.
“Don’t get up to any trouble, Cherry.”
“No promises.”
The door shut behind him.
-
It was more than a week before you saw Eddie again.
The first couple days you’d still hang around close by the farmhouse just after eleven, hoping that maybe you'd hear the rumble and find his truck meandering down the road like a white beetle.
You wondered whether he thought about you as much as you did him. You determined the thought to be improbable.
His insistence on taking up perfectly useful space in your brain made you more adamant to find ways to distract yourself.
By the fourth or fifth day, you’d stopped craning your head over your shoulder in the afternoons to find the driveway empty again.
Instead you busied yourself with work as far out from the driveway as you could manage. Repotting plants, cleaning out sheds, tightening screws on old shovels, trying to teach Cowboy to roll over.
It was a Thursday afternoon, late: just before six, when you bumped the back door open with your shoulder and sauntered into the kitchen - a nosy Cowboy lingering at your heels.
You tossed your hat against the counter and made a beeline to the fridge.
Behind you, Daddy emerged from the stairwell.
“Hey,” he neared you, ruffling the top of your head. You ducked out from under his grip, chin dropping in juice from the nectarine you’d dug out from the bottom-most shelf of the fridge. “Don’t ruin your appetite. We’re about to eat dinner.”
You’d stormed in so quickly that you hadn’t noticed the oven ticking, or the sweet scent of cooking chicken roasting in it’s depths.
“Mm, smells good.”
“Damn right it does. Been marinating that bird the last two days.” He ran the water from the tap into a glass, taking a long sip. “Set the table, will ya?”
You nodded, wiping the remnants of the juice around your mouth and tossing the nectarine pip out the back window into the vegetable patch.
The cupboard door squeaked where the plates were kept. You slid out the two at the top of the pile.
“Set for four, Cherry.”
Your hands stilled over the plates.
“Four?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Why?”
“We’re having guests.”
You watched him skeptically, bringing the four plates down onto the wooden kitchen table with a soft thud. He didn’t seem half as perturbed.
Guests weren’t uncommon, but Daddy usually mentioned them at a moment earlier than right before dinner.
“Who?”
Daddy opened the oven door, squinting against the heat to examine the food sweltering within. He nodded quietly to himself, seemingly pleased.
He looked back up to you. “Carl Abernathy will be joining us. And I told him to bring that Eddie along with him.”
The cutlery you’d just counted out from the drawer wobbled in your grip. Your stomach gave a hard lurch.
“W-What? Why?”
“Full of questions aren’t ya?”
“Daddy.”
He sighed, taking a long aggravating pause before speaking again.
“I invited them to say thank you. Carl’s been a man down this last week and that poor boy’s been working in that barn day in, day out. I thought it was only right to invite them for dinner.”
Your mouth hung like the latch had broken.
“And I want you on your best behavior, miss. You’ll treat that boy nice, y’hear?”
You scoffed, gulping for air like a fish: “I don’t … I’m not— what time are they coming?”
The quiet evening air out past the porch was pierced by a low rumbling. An engine.
“That should be them.” Daddy leaned over the sink, humming in conformation as the white truck pulled up. “Yep …”
Your mouth felt dry. Your legs itched, itched to dive up the stairs - run a brush through your hair, maybe wipe the dust off your cheeks with a damp cloth.
The socks in your shoes squelched. You looked down to your boots: caked in mud. Your jeans had a hole down by the ankle—
Stop.
Outside a car door slammed closed.
It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.
Eddie was just some sideshow mechanic with looks maybe slightly better than the average of his kind that usually strolled onto the farm … but he’s just the same in all the other ways.
He was too flirty for his own good and had preposterously inflated sense of self. Eddie was probably just trying his luck, looking for a fun piece to play with while he was in town. They all did that.
The front door protested against the hinges as it leaned open.
And then he’d probably leave again. Jump town over to the next and find another partially innocent and delusional enough playmate to waste his time on. Well, while he was here: in your town, you’d be damned if you let him mess around with you—
“Hey doll.”
But there he was. Silhouette glowing in the light of the doorway. The sound of his voice eased where your shoulders had grown tense.
You had to work to suppress how relieved you felt at the cadence behind his favourite little nickname.
“Oh no. You again?”
He chuckled softly. “Oh no, me again.”
-
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hana-no-seiiki · 1 year
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Okay, it may sound weird, but what if the manager is also an artist, like daft punk/Banksy? They are famous but also anonymous, and are just working for the idol/rockstar? They got popular during their time as a manager and they cannot quit because it would be too suspicious and so sudden, like they are waiting for the right moment to quit, hut until then, the are just going to be 'the manager' in public.
YAN! POP IDOL [EVE] x MANAGER/ARTIST! READER (ft. YAN! ROCKSTAR [FEROZE])
AAAA I ACTUALLY HAD THIS IDEA BUT WAS LIKE- WHAT IF GENIE’S READERS HATE ME FOR CHANGING THE MANAGER TOO MUCH- but bAH fuck it! HAVE THIS!! THE THREESOME SMUT WILL HAVE TO WAIT-
@moyazaika tagging you just so you’re informed and can add more on Feroze’s side if you’re free:
Anyways if you manage to be both an artist and manager at the same time, props to you for your god-like time management cause that’s honestly fucken commendable. Like manager-nim you’re actually a god at this point.
I imagined reader to be completely out of the genre FerozEve (are we surprised by who the top is at this point) in order for the double trouble makers not to find out immediately.
I don’t know how wide Feroze’s music tastes are but for Eve he practically listens to every genre. As a teen his favorite were the rockstar and ofc pop. He got into Hip-Hop/Trap through the main rapper from his group, and Kpop has a ton of genres mixed into it including but not limited to EDM, R&B and Punk Rock. Soon enough, he hears of this underground DJ who’s known for not only making fire music but being their own choreographer and VJ. Talk about being blessed by the gods.
You (and his bae Khan ofc) inspired him to create his own music and eventually go solo. He went undercover sometimes to send you tracks. You thought he was just a kid/teen since his early ones were kinda . . . not it, but was impressed by the amount of passion he put into improving.
Years later, your activity died down due to working on Feroze’s career more. Those exclusive interviews and world concert arrangements don’t do themselves yknow!
Eve was saddened by your lack of releases and performances but understood. Besides he had your manager persona in mind to obsess over.
The collab happens and you joined Eve to look over the tracks in the album. From the amount of iced americanos he’d down, you could tell he was super out of it and really needed rest BUT HE WOULDN’T GODDAMN LISTEN TO YOU-
*ahem*
So you decided to help him instead.
You gave minor pointers here and there really. Nothing much in your opinion.
But to Eve he was just in utter shock and awe. How come he didn’t think of that?? The synth really elevated that section of the chorus?? Why were you hiding this genius from him??
You explained that you wanted to be a producer for the company but since it ended up reducing your passion for music so you otped for a managerial position instead.
Eve isn’t even listening at this point. He just has heart eyes. Like he didn’t know he could fall further in love with you. Boy is whipped.
Overall Eve kinda do be dumb and dense so he wouldn’t figure it out. But I’d imagine the revelation to happen sort of like this:
You were helping out Eve with vocal arrangement one day, assisting with adlibs and what not when . . .
“I think it’d be better if you put this here, and double it.”
“Woah that sounds fire.” Eve’s eyes were glued at your focused face. You looked so adorable all focused like that. He was so close to jumping out the recording booth just to give you a big ol smooch.
At his approval you continued, “We could build it up more. I’ll punch you in here and you could do a lower note? Like this.” You played a section of the song, perfectly harmonizing with his voice like it was nothing, before turning to him for approval.
He was silent. Mouth slightly agape.
“Eve?”
“. . .”
Holy shit. You’re one of his favorite artists-
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Hey anon, I have screen-shotted your ask because I am going to try stay out of tag/term searches here, which in an of itself probably answers your question XD
So! Thoughts as they occur to me!
I did give the whole first season a watch. Partly out of giving it a chance, partly out of morbid curiosity, like when you can't look away from something awful happening in front of you even when you really want to close your eyes.
What I think is interesting actually, is that my main issues with the show have somewhat changed since I initially watched it. While watching it my only thoughts were "wrong, wrong, that never happened, wrong, wrong, wrong, look how they massacred my boy (gn), wrong!" And while those thoughts themselves haven't changed my main issues have changed to focus more on how it's such a badly structured story (the timelines feel both stretched and compressed in a way that doesn't add anything to the stories being told) and how I don't think it knows yet what it wants to be (it's Tolkien, but it's its own thing, but it's a 'prequel' in the very modern franchise sense of the word to the PJ films, but it's also not those films).
For the structure, I personally wouldn't have put two major stories into one show. I don't think there's the time for that. Both the Akallabêth and the creation of the rings exist as very sketchy narratives that cover extremely long timeframes. Original content was always going to be needed to fill the gaps. But by putting both tales into the one show, I feel they've doubled the amount of gap filling needed while halving the amount of screentime they have for it because there's now twice the amount of canon to cover (tbf, they don't seem to want canon so maybe that's not an issue for them...). To force them to run simultanously and then add original content that isn't just filling the gaps but appears to be completely original, you end up with a story that is both too empty and too full. Nothing is getting the time it deserves. Big moments feel undeserved or rushed. It takes the wind out of its own sails. (and that's without mentioning that these stories running alongside eachother just throws timelines and motivations out of whack, but I refuse to get us all bogged down in the minutiae of my grumblings!)
It's a pity, the story of the fall of Númenor and the creation of the rings have such good parallels, but that would require them to focus on things like religion and politics etc and they seem to be more interested in mystery boxes, so... oh well?
In regards the show's identity crisis, to be fair to them, that's really not that unusual in first seasons. They're not special XD Let's face it, how often have we all been recommended something that came with the caveat 'you need to get through the first few episodes/first season before it gets good and finds its feet'? Especially fantasy and sci-fi that has to establish facts about the world as well as characters in a way a drama set in the real world doesn't. I wouldn't be shocked to learn that the show hits its stride a bit better in later seasons.
However, my current biggest gripe with the show is what I'm seeing in the writers' attitude to storytelling. I can't stand it. The actor for a certain someone whose name begins with H didn't know who his character really was until after shooting the first few episodes. There's the back and forth of is it H or the guy who fell from the sky who'll turn out to be the villain. Sky man even gets some stalkers whose only purpose was to add confusion to this situation and then be immediately killed, no further context. One of the writers (I don't remember who) when asked about deviations from canon said something to the effect of 'we don't want book fans to be episodes ahead'. It's the modern Marvel school of story-telling. It's mystery boxes and twists and fears of spoilers and people knowing what's coming next. That's not how you tell a story. You need more substance than that. Big moments are only interesting if you've earned them with a well crafted lead up. And what's the point of a big moment if it adds nothing to the story in the first place. They had one of fantasy's most iconic villains, why was there a secret? The Second Age is where he's cracking out his most rediculous long cons. The man's twirling his mustache while kicking up his feet and writing 'evil' into every date in his diary for at least a millenium, what does a secret identity add to this story really?
Don't worry, I will move swiftly on from the topic of my boy who is not really my boy before we get in too deep... No one needs to hear that... But do you get my point? Big reveal. No substance.
To add a note of positivity, I actually really like Sky man's music. It's genuinely a really nice piece of music. I also liked that they wanted to add one of the 'original' orcs, that's a cool concept!
Oh! And whoever okayed those American 'stage-Irish' accents needs to be fired into the sun :D
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sentientcave · 14 days
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The Good Ol' Rugby Game
It's the middle of the so called "work week" and you know what that means:
IT'S WIP WEDNESDAY
I was thinking about Rugby AUs because have you seen the thighs on those lads? But I don't know anything about Rugby tbh this is just vibes and thots. Something somethin elaborate rituals. But it's also fun. Pardon my errors I wrote most of this on discord today
Reader is a trans man - No name but he's referred to as Ripper by Simon and Johnny because they think he's like a little terrier/ankle biter on the pitch (It's a pitch for rugby, right?). And he is.
Contains: Mentions of alcohol, mentions of rugby, takeout food, Johnny and Simon, bros being bros, you know how it is
You've won.
It takes a minute for the cheering to register, for you to realize that the whistle's been blown and the game is finished, and by the time you do realize, you're in the air, brawny arms hooked around your middle, flying until you hit the ground hard, Johnny on top of you. "Fuckin' beautiful!" He shouts, his voice hoarse. And then an even heavier weight drops down on the two of you, squeezing all your air out.
"Brilliant, lads," Simon growls, knocking his forehead against yours. "Fuckin' perfect play."
"Riley, you're going to break me if you don't get your fat arse up," you grouse. "You too, Tav. Fuckin' muppets."
"Aw, love you too, Ripper," Johnny lands a wet, sweaty kiss on the side of your head before he shoulders Simon off the two of you and pounces on the giant, kissing him on the mouth with zeal.
You get up with a groan, your whole body one big fucking bruise. "Shoulda picked football," you complain to no one in particular. "I'm going to feel this forever."
Johnny swats at you blindly as you limp off, somehow managing to connect, his hand a guided missile that's only capable of targeting asses.
It’s just an amateur league— You know that, everyone on both sides of the pitch know, but it feels like your neighbourhood never got the memo. As the seasons gone on, more and more people have been showing up, wearing green and white, and when you go out to the pub after games, you never have to buy your own pints. It’s almost like being a girl again, except now you feel at home in your own skin, and the only person that tries to grab your arse is Johnny.
You know it’s Johnny and Simon that everyone’s there for, and you don’t care— You’re proud of your huge friends. They joined the league a little after you did, newly retired from the military, both of them with too much energy and muscle and training to not play some kind of sport. And they rope you into training with them. Runs with Simon so early in the morning it’s still practically dark, running drills on free afternoons in the park, tagging along to the gym and watching Johnny lift insane amounts of weight. It’s more fun than you think you’ve ever had.
You’re definitely a third wheel, but they’re good about it, obviously together but obviously wanting you around, careful to include you.
And it feels good to be one of the boys.
You grab your bag from under the bench and head off the pitch, eager to go home and shower the grass stains and flecks of someone else’s blood off of you, maybe curl up with a pint of dark beer and a pint of chocolate ice cream. Everyone’s likely going out for drinks, but you’ve been jostled around plenty for the day, head still ringing a bit from an elbow you took to the side of the head during a scrum.
“Hey, Ripper,” Johnny yells after you. He has lungs, even after a game of shouting himself hoarse. “Ye comin’ to tha pub?”
“Nah, not tonight,” you shout back. “Can’t be arsed. Goin’ home to order a Chinese.”
He’s about halfway deflating, and perks back up at the mention of greasy take out. “Order for Si ‘n’ me too, aye? We’ll be round in an hour.”
“Alright!” you call back, because that’s easier than shouting across a crowd that you were really looking forward to cozying up in front of the tv and— Oh, right. “Bring beer!” That saves you a stop on your way home.
You get home and scramble to clean up a bit-- Johnny doesn't mind a bit of mess, but Simon will stare at clutter like it personally offends him (because it does), or worse, just start tidying up. He always tells you you're not as bad as Johnny, but it's not much of a consolation. Half the mess is your roommate's anyway, who is at her girlfriend's for the weekend, again. It likely won't be long till she moves out, and you'll have to leave your cozy little spot. But at least you now have large friends to help you move.
That done, you order takeaway and pop into the shower, tossing your sweaty uniform into your hamper, and you're just getting dressed again when someone knocks at your door. You nearly forget to tuck your packer into the pocket you've sewn into all your boxers, remembering only as you almost reach the door. If anyone on God's green earth will notice that you suddenly don't have anything in your pants where you usually do, its Johnny.
"Takin' ages," he complains when you finally do answer the door. Behind him, Simon is paying for the takeout, making the delivery man look so nervous it would be funny if you didn't feel bad.
"Didn't have pants on yet. And Si, you don't have to--" He shoves the paper bag at you, cutting you off. Okay. Fair enough.
Johnny kicks his boots off haphazardly at the door. Simon takes his off neatly and sets both pairs neatly to the side.
Johnny's already in the kitchen, stowing beers in the fridge, then banging cupboards open and shut looking for plates. You'd think he'd remember by now, but he never does.
"You guys didn't have to skip the pub, you know," you say, unpacking the bag of takeout on the coffee table. "Everyone'll want to congratulate you."
"S'no fun without our little Ripper," Johnny says, tossing you one of the few beers you did have in the fridge, grinning. "Wouldn't even bother with the league without you."
"Don't be ridiculous," you say, laughing. "You guys are good. Best we've got."
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andyboops · 6 months
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omfg okay i know its been a Minute since the post abt it--I jst saw it on my dash: people were calling JASON a cop !?!??? Batman literally is canonically besties w the Head Cop . have they SEEN the military bs in marvel films ??? cut my boy some SLACK sdkjhfgdkjfghd I love tea tho can u pt me in the right direction to know what they were saying sdhkjh <3
Yeah, it's pretty ridic. There's an alarming amount of it out there, so if you really want to find it I'm sure it's in tags under "anti Jason Todd" or "Jason Todd is a cop" or somesuch. The really weird takes come from people who don't seem to think the rest of the BatFam are particularly cop-like but zero in on Jason for whatever reason. Here's one of those from someone who is well-meaning but probably just doesn't actually know much about Jason, along with my very personal response (content warning for discussion of trauma related to sexual assault, mostly in terms of the impact of lack of familial support & victim blaming). I've actually been meaning to repost my response anyway with some editing to make it work as a standalone read, because it's cathartic to write about how deeply I relate to Jason.
But anyway, to return to the topic of seeking out bad takes on Jason: be forewarned that that stuff can be crazy-making. I don't think most Jason haters understand why people are drawn to him, and some of them aren't just criticizing the character but also saying some awful things about his fans. Like they look for the worst potential motivation one can have, and assume it applies to all Jason fans. Some of them seem to think we all just have cognitive dissonance because we find Jason sexually attractive, and haven't considered that a lot of people see him as a representation of themselves as victims of abuse/violence.
So yeah, just... be cautious seeking that stuff out, and be well regardless 💕
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bubblybookworm4 · 11 months
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Sweet Assumptions
Part 4~Desolate Distractions
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Requested: Yes/No
TW: Strong Emotion, Wanting to hurt someone
Word Count: About 1.3 k
Overall Summary
Part Summary: You come to into lunch, happy to spend time with your friends. Only to find three new kids in your spot and a shocking amount of evidence that the Quagmires never liked you at all. It’s seems to you like your friendship is doomed, spending the rest of the day giving them a cold shoulder. This might have wrecked you, but you were going to do something about it.
Current Setting: The cafeteria, hallway, and your dorm
A/N: I am so sorry this took so long. See I like to be two part’s ahead before I post the next chapter, and with standardized testing I was in a writers block. Don’t worry though, part five will be out real soon. Hope you enjoy!
Read the other parts here—> Masterlist
* I do not own A Series of Unfortunate Events or any videos included
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You burst into the lunchroom late after stopping by the library. Sneaking in a practice session while you could. Lunch was the only time tardiness wasn’t punished. Music in your mind you were satisfied to know another song. Humming, you pick up a lunch tray and approach the latest lunch attendant. You grimace at the beige goo on your plate. New hires, same food, you think.
Smiling, you turn searching for your table. Only to find three others sitting in your spot. An older girl with straight hair and bangs, a boy about your age with glasses, and an infant. Instantaneously your smile drops, were they the new kids? You had heard some awful things about them this morning. So why were your friends sitting with them? Staring unnaturally, you furrow your brow in confusion.
“Oh? Well, we just put up with her,” you hear from Isa as you glare at the floor. Wait, was she talking about you? It never seemed like you were a burden. Your mind spins, almost losing your balance. You thought they really cared about you, but nope. This gut punch may have wiped away any remaining reason in you, still, it was still blatantly clear. You’d been replaced. And because your friends never cared about you in the first place. Shoulders at your ears, you hear them laugh. Oh god, they were better without you. Nope, you couldn’t handle this, not today. Rushing out you dumped your food. It's not like you were going to eat it anyway.
Back to the library door, you collapsed. Of course, the Quagmires took the spare key with them last night. Tears well up, and a knot appears in yot throat. You draw your knees to your chest, heart heavy. They didn’t want you anymore. Trying to shove it down you rested your head back. With nowhere else for your emotions to go, you sing.
Play song⬇️
youtube
Skip to .51 seconds to get to the right part
♫Silver-white winters that melt into springs
These are a few of my favorite things …♫
Your voice was weak and cracking but you continued. Tears wet on your face you hope the uplifting lyrics would save you.
♫When the dog bites
When the bee stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad…♫
Stop Song
By the end, you were no longer crying. Still, you couldn't bear being “ put up with” and then replaced. You sit there a bit before hearing some footsteps. It didn’t matter who found you. No one but the Quagmires even talked to you anyway. And now they have the next best thing, those rich pillocks. You cusped your face in your hands expecting them to walk past. Instead, they stop right in front of you.
“ Y/N? We’ve been wondering where you were,” A familiar boyish voice comments. Putting together that it was Duncan, you look up. Hurriedly flicking off your tears, you survey the scene. Catching the new boy's confused glance. Which reminds you that no one at this school was your friend anymore. You stand up, narrowing your eyes.
“ We were just showing the Baudelaires around, if you wanted, you could tag along?” your former best friend suggests. No way were you going to be their third wheel. Well in this case the sixth wheel. Especially after what you’d heard from them. You looked at their little group for another second. Sadness, anger, confusion but most of all jealousy spinning through your mind. But you guess they didn’t need you, so you sure didn’t need them.
“ No, thanks '' you scoffed curtly, whizzing past them without a second glance. Guilt flooded over you, but you didn’t owe them your respect. After all, they completely abandoned you. Pacing the halls you pushed the whole conflict away. For now at least.
Your afternoon classes dragged on. How could you think your life was dry before!? Without the Quagmires, no one acknowledged your existence. Which wasn’t a bad thing, it was just simply odd. All you did was sit, alone, in your misery. It baffled you that the Quagmires, of all people, would purposely hurt you like this. Keeping it in wasn’t healthy, but who did you have to turn to? You were without motivation for music either. So everything stayed inside, building and burning, stronger than before.
Then came the 7th period, your favorite class of the day. Mainly because Isa sat right beside you. Usually, you two would giggle and pass notes throughout the lecture. But now? Well, you didn’t dare look at her. She was too busy chatting with the new boy anyway. She didn’t care how you felt and you didn’t either. Which was all just fine. Horrendously the boy sat behind you. Squeezing you right between them. Their regular and happy conversation struck a nerve. You’d been the one smiling with your friends only yesterday. Even if she never liked you, you were the one by her side. Not him, not anyone else.
By dismissal, you were ready to snap. Desperately needing to sob, hurt someone, and claim back your friends all at once. Thankfully you made it back to your dorm before doing any of those things. You throw your bag to the floor but know melting down won’t fix any of it. What you needed was a simple distraction.
Habitually, you’d sneak into the library in moments like these. You knew that was hopeless, though. Relaxing on your desk chair, your eyes daze around the bland room. Not at all like it was shown in its pamphlet. Your corkboard stands out, bursting with color. Typically just looking at it could make you giddy but not today. And you stared at it for a good minute, joy simply never appeared.
Letting your focus drift, you zone in on your nightstand. Your storming mind dissociates. Your only companions betrayed you and it's your fault. Conscience whispering, you battle with rationality. They've only replaced you because you could have been a better friend. How could you let that happen Y/N? For the second time that day guilt hit you in the face. Breath rushed and choppy. Mollifying your anxieties, you think. None of that could be true, right?
You slouch in your chair, absentmindedly, the situation weighing you down. Your life was now a civil war, internally and externally. Refocusing, you look upon your few mundane objects. Which includes the red cutex nail lacquer that sits next to your table lamp. Instinctively, you pop up to grab it. Fingertips gliding its surface, you relax back onto your bed.
All you do is gaze at it for a time. While thinking over your desolate day. Fiddling with the lid, you place your feet on the cool vinyl flooring. The color reminds you of going to the movies each summer break. Red in tone with the curtains and seats of that local theater. In this thought, a straightforward plan takes hold.
Extending your wrists you note your drab nails. Nothing exotic here, you think. Zooming back to your desk, you snag a napkin you kept from lunch. Your stomach grumbles at the reminder. You’d only had a small muffin this morning. Still, this idea had you buzzing, even with the turns during the day. Food would have to come later. You lay the napkin out, protecting its surface. Not wanting to pay for a stain on the school's furniture. Feeling better than before, you start to paint.
As it turns out little things, like a manicure, could clear your mind. A new-found strategy against trying experiences. You’d always let these obstacles push you back. Well, not now. This time you were going to push back harder.
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apocalypticavolition · 7 months
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Let's (re)Read The Eye of the World! Chapter 45: What Follows in Shadow
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What do I even need to say at this point? There's going to be spoilers for the whole Wheel of Time series in this post? Block the tags? Some kind of quip about the picture here being the result of seeing spoilers and/or protection against it? Not so. This place is far too decayed to be much of anything, anymore.
Not so for the chapter though! It starts with an icon of the Flame of Tar Valon, another reflection of how the crew would have died so many times in these early days if it weren't for Moiraine keeping them going.
“I had not dreamed the decay had gone so far. If the bridges themselves are breaking, it may be that I cannot find the path you want. It may be that I cannot find a path back, either. The bridges could be falling behind us even now.”
It's cute that Loial assumes any amount of significant decay means the whole thing must be collapsing as they speak. Everything must seem hasty to an Ogier.
Rand took the bay up beside the Ogier. “When this is over, Loial, you show me your stedding, and I’ll show you Emond’s Field. No Ways, though. We’ll walk, or ride, if it takes all summer.”
I hope that they do get to do this, after everything is over. Loial absolutely deserves to know Rand is alive - once he's published his book - and getting to be road trip buddies is exactly what they'd both love.
The Aes Sedai rubbed her fingers against her palms distastefully. “You feel the taint, the corruption of the Power that made the Ways. I will not use the One Power in the Ways unless I must. The taint is so strong that whatever I tried to do would surely be corrupted.”
Was it even safe to channel in the Ways back before the corruption? The place is so orthogonal to normal reality that you'd think the Power would be weird here as a general rule.
“People there mentioned a gleeman, but they said nothing of him dying. They would have, I think, if a gleeman had been killed. Whitebridge is not so big as for a gleeman to be a small thing. And Thom is a part of the Pattern that weaves itself around you three. Too important a part, I believe, to be cut off yet.”
No body = no death. It's a trope that's about as old as storytelling, so Rand should be ashamed of himself for not being sufficiently genre savvy.
Rand found himself grinning back. Burn me, if I didn’t come out best for a change. I wish I knew as much about women as Perrin.
This is possibly the only time that it makes sense for one of the boys to assume that another boy is more of an expert than him, what with Perrin being solely responsible for this victory by mentioning Aram while Egwene's getting jealous about Min. I'm really glad we're basically done with this because this version of Egwene is annoying. I miss likable Egwene.
As she passed from him to Mat, he wondered if she thought it was that simple, that she could tell him he was safe and he would believe it. But somehow he did feel safe—safer, at least. Thinking that, he drifted into sleep and did not dream.
Sounds like it is that simple, Rand. Placebos are powerful things!
Lan pushed the bow down before Mat could nock another. “Stop that, you village idiot. There’s no way to tell who it is.”
Let's just all appreciate how wonderful life can be when Lan snarks. I am willing to pardon the show for most all the rest of its Episode 7 & 8 awfulness that couldn't be helped because of COVID and Harris leaving but that was no reason for them not to steal Disney's CGI actor insertion tech just so that we could hear Daniel Henney say those words.
“If you fall behind, Warder,” Loial said firmly, “you’ll spend the rest of your life in the Ways. Even if you can read Ogier, I have never heard or read of a human who could find his path off the first Island lacking an Ogier guide. Can you read Ogier?”
Didn't humans make this place, Loial? Surely those dudes were able to go between the first steddings to connect them?
The Aes Sedai faced them calmly. “Trollocs.” She ignored their frightened gasps. “Or Fades. Those are Trolloc runes. The Trollocs have discovered how to enter the Ways. That must be how they got to the Two Rivers undiscovered; through the Waygate at Manetheren. There is at least one Waygate in the Blight.” She glanced toward Lan before continuing; the Warder was far enough away that only the faint light of his lantern could be seen.
Moiraine is normally so subtle and here she's just going, "Great job to your family for making our lives so much harder, Lan. Shame they couldn't hold Malkier for just five more decades. It only lasted a thousand years before they fucked it up."
Moiraine might not have believed a trap could be set for them, but for all the haste she spoke of, she made them travel more slowly than before, pausing before letting them onto any bridge, or off one onto an Island. She would step Aldieb forward, feeling the air in front of her with an outstretched hand, and not even Loial, or Lan, was allowed to go ahead until she gave permission.
I really wonder what she's up to here. She says she's not channeling in the Ways unless absolutely necessary, so it can't be any active probing with saidar. Moiraine also can't sense anything happening with saidin at all, so that doesn't work. Are the circumstances so dire that she's channeling a very small weave of the power, wiggling it around in the hopes of finding somewhere it can't go because there's already saidin, and then letting go as quickly as possible?
Loial pulled his horse up just short of the next Island and cocked his head to listen. Slowly his face paled, and he licked his lips. “Machin Shin,” he whispered hoarsely. “The Black Wind. The Light illumine and protect us. It’s the Black Wind.”
Machin Shin is that delightful third ingredient in the inhuman cess pit that Padan Fain is about to become. It's another standout bit of weirdness in that like Mashadar we don't really get any hint as to why metaphysical evil should suddenly take animate form. There's lots of theories about where the wind really comes from, both semi-credible (another Ba'alzamon project, since the Ways only started going dark around the time of Hawkwing) and bizarre (a parasite that infected the Ways even though most parasites need some kind of reason to exist), and we get neither answer nor (unlike mashadar) resolution. Perhaps Jordan intended for the Ways to be cleared out during the Last Battle as part of some desperate gambit to save Caemlyn? We'll never know.
Moiraine raised her staff and flame lanced from the end of it. It was not the pure, white flame that Rand remembered from Emond’s Field, and the battle before Shadar Logoth. Sickly yellow streaked through the fire, and slow-drifting flecks of black, like soot. A thin, acrid smoke drifted from the flame, setting Loial coughing and the horses dancing nervously, but Moiraine thrust it at the gates. The smoke rasped Rand’s throat and burned his nose.
Pro-tip should you ever find yourself in an extra-dimensional singularity with keyed points of egress: Do not try to burn through the barriers! It will not end well and depending on just how badly you bork space-time it may not appreciably end.
The wind shrieked in agony; it screamed in rage. The thousand murmurs that hid in the wind roared like thunder, roars of madness, half-heard voices cackling and howling promises that twisted Rand’s stomach as much by the pleasure in them as by what he almost understood them to say.
It's interesting that Rand's first true taste of madness isn't from channeling at all, huh? If I'd told you this paragraph was part of his Callandor sequence in Path of Daggers, wouldn't you have been pretty likely to believe me?
Flesh so fine, so fine to tear, to gash the skin; skin to strip, to plait, so nice to plait the strips, so nice, so red the drops that fall; blood so red, so red, so sweet; sweet screams, pretty screams, singing screams, scream your song, sing your screams. . . .
Another great mantra for meditating to! Always sing your screams folks!
“There is worse to be faced yet,” Moiraine said softly. Rand did not think she meant it to be heard.
She meant for you to hear it Rand, just not any of the others, or the political queen here woulda kept her mouth entirely shut.
And now it's time for me to close my mouth, folks. See you next time as we finally make it to Fal Dara and get the real dangers going!
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kkkkkafka · 10 months
Text
ONCE
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Pairing: Michael Afton/Charlie Emily
Tags: Smut | Alternate Universe (College AU) | Vaginal Sex | Vaginal Fingering | Creampie | Menstrual Sex | Blood
Summary: Dealing with period was never pleasant for Charlie Emily, both as a teenager and an adult alike. But at least as an adult, she got a boyfriend who was always beside her at her service
Notes: This is a reposting of my old work. Minor editings have been added in this version
AO3
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To say Charlie hates being on period was an understatement. No word can describe how much she was irritated, angry, and annoyed at this certain time of the month.
The back pain that came from nowhere? Horrible. She felt as if someone had been banging her spine with a gigantic hammer for hours. If the back pain went away, then the stomach cramps would be there as a replacement. Sometimes it even went so awful to the point she could not even go out of her house.
Or the anxious feeling came from the fear of staining her stuff with leaking blood. Charlie didn't really mind the sight of it cause she had been seeing worse things in her life in 1983, but she hated cleaning up the stains, which were very time consuming if it was smeared on things like bedsheets.
And to top it off, the emotional train. Usually, she was not that type of sensitive person who cried at the drop of a hat, she was really calm (maybe too calm, even, according to Michael). Yet as strong as she was, when on period, she was a mess, literally. The lights were blinding her eyes, the sounds of traffic passing through the road was too loud, not to mention, the cramps torturing her and she just wanted to scream out for them all to stop. Everything could make her go into a fit of anger, or hours of crying under a blanket because she accidentally stumbled on her feet and bruised her knees.
That was what Charlie had to deal with as a teenager. Now even when she was an adult, not much difference happened.
Except that her and Michael now were sharing an apartment flat together.
Back then, when she was a teenager, she would try to deal with her "monthly problem" alone. She only asked her dad or her brother to do stuff for her iff the cramps got worse, because she knew they would not mind her business much since they were family and they loved each other. The only time she asked for help from someone else was when she was home alone and ran out of pads. Charlie remembered she broke down sobbing on the phone, asking Michael if he could run to the store to fetch her some pads. At the age of ten, Michael was too naive to understand what his best friend was going through, but judging by the crying he heard through the phone, he thought it was something very awful and rushed to buy Charlie's requests as fast as possible. But, he didn't know what kind of pads she would use so he got every brand a package. Well, perk of being the kid of a pizzeria owner, he supposed. And the moment Michael brought the huge bag over for Charlie, she couldn't help but feel kinda guilty cause it was her making the boy go out to buy this much. She insisted that she should pay him back with the amount of spending on those pads, but Michael kept resisting the offer, saying that he would not take it cause it was normal for him to take care of his loved ones.
Since that moment, Michael had been a volunteer trying to help Charlie out whenever she was on period. Because they were living in separate houses in the past, he could only do things like keeping the spare pads inside his backpack, or bringing some snacks and a heater pack over.
And when they decided to move in together three years ago, he could be at his girlfriend's service as much as he wanted. 
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Just a while ago, Michael came back home to a broken dish beside their kitchen counter. And standing next to the scene was Charlie, her face stained with tears and her hands clutching tightly the bottom of her large shirt (which was the original property of Michael).
"Oh my god, Charlie! What happened? Are you okay?" His eyes widened in panic, and he quickly went to check on the crying girl and gave her a hug to comfort her. There was nothing but only the sounds of Charlie's sobbing muffled by his shirt, and the hushed words of comfort that were coming from Michael.
They stayed like that for a while, Michael gently rubbing the girl’s back up and down, until Charlie had calmed down and reached a hand up her face to wipe her tears off. 
“Mind telling me what happened previously?” Michael softly asked as he pulled away from the hug, his hands now were on Charlie’s waist. 
“W-Well, I was hungry, so I tried to make a sandwich for myself. But as you just saw, I dropped the plate on the floor… And I don’t know what overcame me, I just feel like I was a dumb fuck who can’t do shit right without anyone, so… Uh…” Charlie trailed off, her cheeks now were in deep shades of rouge, due to the previous crying and embarrassment. 
She was so used to taking care of herself and others as a child, as her dad said, “lifting others up into her arms” and growing up, that made her feel bad whenever she asked for help, even if it was the smallest one. With Michael here, he helped her realize that it would be fine to ask for favor, and she was really grateful for his existence. Yet, at that time of the month, the hormones broke her down in an emotional mess and she could not help but feel guilty about it as she thought Michael would think of her as a burden to him.
But Michael had proved her wrong, he was always there if she needed, he tended to her wants without asking anything returned. He did it, regardless of whether Charlie asked him or not. He was always there, at her beck and call.
And just the thought of it made Charlie teared up again.
“- I think we should get some fried chicken for dinner, so we won’t have to clean up much, there is a new place down there- Whoa, wait! Are you okay?” Noticing the water running down Charlie’s face, Michael jolted up and scrambled to wipe away the tears, but Charlie stopped him.
“It’s okay, Mike, nothing big. Sometimes even happiness can be overwhelming like now, y’know?” She smiled, and reached up to pat Michael on the head and he leaned into the touch just like a huge puppy, eyes closed in bliss and that put a wider smile on Charlie.
She let Michael pick her up and carried her in bridal style to the couch, where she already made up with a huge pile of blankets and pillows. Charlie wrapped herself in the blankets and giggled to herself as she watched Michael hurried to make her warm tea in a thermo and went to their rooms to give her some plushies and finally went out to buy the dinner he talked about previously. But before that, he did not forget to give her a peck on the lips and a gentle pat on her cheeks.
“I will be gone for a bit, try not to break anything, okay?” Michael lightly joked, as Charlie playfully slapped his arm.
“Yeah, you dork. Now go get me dinner!” 
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As she relaxed back on the couch, wrapping in a cocoon of blankets, Charlie felt very warm, and happy for having peaceful moments like this as she snuggled deeper under many layers of them. A boyfriend who was always available there for her, her favorite movie was on the TV, surrounded by soft plushies and comforters, she could not really ask for more.
However, the blissful moment was short-lived, as the stomach cramp crept up on her again. As she curled up into a ball because of the pain, Charlie could feel the certain gross feeling smearing through her clothes.
Fuck.
She rushed to the bathroom as fast as she could, despite the burning pain inside her stomach. As she sat down on the toilet and took off her sweatpants, Charlie silently cursed to her own ears, there went another pair of panties and pants, ruined by the blood. She quickly ripped the blood stained pad away and threw it into a bin nearby while her panties and sweatpants now were the laundry basket.
Charlie wanted to get up and change because she could go back to the comfortable couch so badly, but there was something inside that held her back, gluing her to the toilet seat. As the stress from the pain and the hormones crawled on her shoulders and consumed her, Charlie found herself crying again with her knees up to her chest. Loudly.
She was so immersed in her own world filled with sobs and salty tears, that she didn’t notice the bathroom door creaking open and a very worried Michael stepped in.
It was lucky for Michael that he did not have to be in the long line to get those delicious meals that he had promised, as he was skipping happily on the way back to the flat. But when he opened the door, he was greeted with an empty couch and the TV still turned on. He almost got into another wave of anxiety because he thought that Charlie had disappeared somewhere, then he heard the sounds of wailing coming from the bathroom. 
Michael found Charlie sitting on the toilet, he did not say anything, but sat down on the bathtub’s edge and waited for her to calm down this time. He knew that whenever Charlie curled up like this, she did not want anyone to touch her or talk to her, so he would be there, patiently letting Charlie pour all of her emotions out in order to feel better.
When Charlie finally looked up from her knees, the first sight she was greeted with was Michael sitting beside her, and in his hands was a box of tissues. He wordlessly passed one to her, and Charlie took it quietly to wipe up her face.
"Thanks, Mike. I really appreciate it." She said gently, her eyes were still red and puffy from the previous moment while forcing a pained smile on her face. Although the cramps had not gone away yet, it did lessen a bit. But it was still enough for Charlie to groan out.
"Do you want me to fetch you some painkillers?" Asked Michael, now moved into a kneeling position in front of Charlie, his eyes softened. She did not say anything and just shook her head in silence, whining pitfully.
"No? Is there any other thing I can do for you?"
Still nothing coming out of her, and Michael noticed Charlie reaching out to him to pull him in a hug. He complied eagerly, wrapping his arms around her and rubbing her back up and down in order to soothe her. 
"You said you want to do things for me right?" Charlie's voice interrupted, making Michael pull away to look down at her.
He nodded, feeling confused by her question. 
"Well, there is something I always want to try out… But I don't know if you will be grossed out by this…" She continued, her green eyes darting away.
"IwantyoutofuckmewhileIamonperiod!" 
Charlie, just realizing what she had blurted out and seeing the dumbfounded expression on Michael's face, groaned out loud and buried her face on her palms. That's it, as expected, he was not ready for this. She should have told him to wait for her to clean up and they would eat dinner together. Charlie felt like she had fucked up very terribly this time. She tried to gather up her mind to tell Michael that he should ignore it and it was not her intention, but he cut her off.
"Okay."
What? 
Most of the time, Michael was quite slow on catching what others were telling him and he always had to ask them to repeat again. But on some rare occasions, like this moment, he fully heard what was being told to him, even if it was faster than usual. He knew what Charlie was trying to say and he would listen to her desire as she wished.
"Y-You don't find it disgusting?" She hesitantly spoke up, her hands clutching into Michael's arms, as he shook his head. 
"I was kinda weird out at first, yeah. But gross? Never. It was just a natural process of the human body!" He chirped, smiling up at Charlie to reassure her. 
"Also, I have read somewhere that it can help to ease the cramps too. Maybe we should test that theory out?" Michael continued, as his face wore a mischievous expression now. 
This time it was Charlie who stared at him with an astonished look, then it was quickly replaced with embarrassment as reaction to the playful tone of Michael. How the hell he could go from a cute and adorable boyfriend to a tease, she would never know. 
"Well thanks, your honor. But let me clean up the dirty toilet seat first, and get that dinner, then we can do whatever we were up to." Charlie responded, turning around and trying to hide the fact that her cheeks were hurting so much from a grin plastered on her face.
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After Charlie had done cleaning inside the bathroom, she rummaged through the underwear drawer and put a new pair on with a clean pad. She did think that maybe she should put on sweatpants, but abandoned the idea since she was not really in the mood. And her stomach felt as if a mini earthquake was inside now.
When Charlie stepped back outside, she found Michael sitting back on the couch, trying to hold back their cats from having a bite from their dinner. 
"Nooo! Basil! You can't have that! I already gave you a chicken nugget!" He whined, one hand holding Basil the black kitty back from crawling on the table, and another cat, Pepperoni, was held in one of his arms.
The sight was really amusing to her, as four little cats teamed up against her huge boyfriend and he was helplessly defending the food from them.
Charlie observed them silently for a while with a huge grin, until one of their cats, Pepperoni, perked up from his place on the young man’s shoulder and noticed her presence. As if they were sharing the same brain, when the orange feline began to walk up to her, Michael also turned back and waved for her to sit down.
"Hi! I already unpacked all of them, you just need to eat only! Here, let me grab you some of it." He beamed, giving her a piece of chicken. It had cooled down for a bit, but it was still warm enough to enjoy. Plus Charlie did not enjoy the thought of her burning her own tongue.
They ate in silence, whilst Michael tried to sneak a glance at Charlie to check if she was fine. There was a small smile on his face as he did so.
"What are you staring at? Is there something on my face?" Charlie asked him, her eyes wide with curiosity. 
"Nothing! It's just you look really cute while wearing my shirt!" Michael exclaimed, now glancing at her with that lovesick stare in those ocean eyes of his. Charlie could feel heat begin to rise up her cheeks under it. But he did have a point, since Charlie was really petite compared to him, her body was literally drowned in his button-up shirt, which made the long sleeves look like paws on her if she did not pull them up. 
She did not reply anything, but instead turned back to her food in order to relieve the awkward feeling inside herself. 
They sat in peace like that, with Michael looking at his girlfriend with fondness and adoration in his eyes while Charlie munching on her meal silently. When she finally finished and wiped away the grease from her mouth, Michael offered to clean up the table so Charlie could have a small rest before the main event. He stood up to gather all the trash in a bag, and then placed it inside the bin. He returned to Charlie still sitting on the couch, with her face propped up on her arms and her look bored into the TV, her hair slightly messed up from what happened previously and her legs swinging back and forth. 
Again, Michael thought that she was the most endearing girl in the world and how lucky he was to have her.
He flopped down on the seat next to her, and chimed up, "So, do you want to get to work now?" 
"Well, I do. But can we move it into the bathroom? I don't want blood stains anywhere…" Charlie trailed off, now looking up to the man next to her and shivered lightly at the thought of cleaning up. 
As soon as Charlie finished her words, Michael picked her up, his arms wrapped around her body as he took long strides to the bathroom, flipped the light switch on and gently set her down to the large bathtub while also getting in there himself.
His lips closed upon hers, with Michael's hands on the side of her face and Charlie's arms wrapped on his shoulders. It was just some pecks then and there at first, exchanging between soft laughs and giggles. But Charlie got impatient, as she got bored of the slow moments, she decided to bite on Michael's lower lips when he tried to pull away. Michael eventually caught up with her intentions, as he began to swipe the tip of his tongue gently on his girlfriend's lips. 
Charlie took on the cue, and slightly opened her mouth so Michael could slide his own tongue inside. When he did that, she whimpered and a blooming heat spread between her legs, her hands gripping the fabric underneath harder. They pulled away for a short moment for air, then immediately went back in, engulfed themselves in the heated and carnal desire. It was so deep and wet to the point when Michael parted from her lips, Charlie felt almost lightheaded. Her eyes were clouded with hunger, her lips were cherry red and puffy.
“Is this okay?” Asked Michael, his breathing hitched for a little bit as he cradled her cheek in one hand, the other started caressing her back soothingly. Only when Charlie closed her eyes in bliss and muttered out a small “It’s okay”, did Michael began to unbutton her shirt. He pulled the large shirt over her shoulder, tossed them to the side as he took in the sight of her chest.
Normally, his girl had a smaller chest, yet inciting to him very much, and fit perfectly inside of his palms. But now, they were so full, swelling and aching more than usual.
Michael hesistantly reached up a hand to palm the bare skin before him, his eyes seeking for a sign of approval. When Charlie nodded her head, he took it to go further. Both of his palms now made tender, deep movements against sore breasts. The sensation of her boyfriend’s rough and calloused hands against her softest parts making Charlie airly moaned out, her core ached for more.
In a swift move, Michael leaned down and enveloped one of the pink buds inside of his mouth, his tongue rubbing and sucking in a soothing motion to ease the aching sensation. Charlie ran a hand through his soft brown locks now, sighing in pleasure as Michael did so. Her other hand, now placed on her boyfriend’s hand on her chest, encouraged him to massage the swollen flesh more. As Michael pulled his mouth away, he could see a string of saliva clinging to the nipple and the tip of his tongue.
He leaned back, and hastily claimed Charlie back in another kiss.
Charlie could feel Michael grinning against her lips, and her heart did a small flip due to the happiness growing inside her chest. Maybe also because of his palms kneading her breasts too. Whatever the reason was, she just felt very content, and delighted around Michael, especially at this time.
Michael pulled his mouth away from Charlie, he gave her a quick peck on her forehead, then proceeded to take off her panties. The sight of the bloodied pad had taken Charlie back for a bit, yet she silently observed Michael ripping the pad off her underwear and throwing it into the trashcan next to the sink while her discarded panties lay on the bathroom floor. 
Michael was going to move inside the bathtub to touch Charlie again, but was abruptly stopped by her pout and a hand on his chest.
“At least take off your clothes first. I don’t want to make your clothes dirty.”
Right, how can he be that forgetful?
As Michael was undressing himself, Charlie took it as a chance to be awe at the sight of his naked body. Sure, they had seen each others’ bodies many times before, but Charlie could not help but flushed at the sight of it. She felt as if she was an ordinary school girl giggling and kicking her feet in embarrassment.
Michael caught her stare and just rolled his eyes in amusement. No matter how hard she tried, Charlie would always be obvious to him whenever she indulged in her own fantasies of his body. Not that he complained though.
After he finally stripped down to nothing and completely bare, Michael stepped inside the shared tub, effortlessly dragging Charlie into his lap too. 
"Hey." Michael beamed, the tip of his nose touching the girl's.
"Hi." Charlie greeted back, her cheeks painted pink, yet there was a smirk adorned her face. 
"How are you feeling?" Michael asked, as he bent over to nuzzle his head on Charlie's chest, inhaling the mild scent of her body.
"A bit in pain, but generally speaking, I'm good. Thanks to you." Was her reply, following with a light playful huff as she moved her hand down Michael's torso to take a hold of him, which made him hissed out in pleasure.
No words were exchanged between them. While Charlie worked at her boyfriend's length with languid strokes, Michael also did not waste any time, he started to leave bite marks on Charlie, on her cute little neck, on her pale chest, and on her collarbone too. His mouth was so hot against her skin, letting out breathy moans and making her inside clenched at the feelings.
When Charlie released the length from her hand, there was white sticky liquid running down on it. An idea popped inside of her head as looking at Michael panting in exhaustion of the post-orgasmic feeling.
"Hey... Would you look at this Mike?"
At the sound of her voice, Michael peeked up from his place.
He was greeted with such a blessed sight for his own eyes.
His girlfriend sitting on his lap, her body bare for him was enough. But now, it was improvised by her own hand, smeared by his release, and was now running across her chest and glowing softly under the lights. And it did not help that her eyes were half-lidded, with a small smirk on her lips.
Oh, if she wanted to play with him that bad, then he also had a few tricks up his sleeves too.
Michael leaned over Charlie, capturing her lips in a kiss. As she was taken back by surprise, he held her hip firmly in one hand, and the other started to wander down her body, lightly pinched on a slick nipple, and finally stopping at her cunt. His fingers brushed against her clit, tapping at it lightly.
Michael continued to move his fingers against Charlie, drawing out moans and whimpers from her. He moved them up and down in a slow motion, only flicked at her clit, teasing around her entrance and refused to put them inside. His fingers were drenched in blood and fluid, and it made his movements more sloppy than usual.
Charlie felt like she was on the verge of crying. Waves of pleasure crashed down on her body, it was too much, she wanted to cum so bad, yet Michael kept denying her from that sweet release. Her body was throbbing, her pussy soaked with want. 
"Aw, what's the matter? You want to cum?" There was it, that fucking wicked smirk. Charlie wanted to slap that smile off his face so badly, but she knew damn well that in her position, she was almost powerless under his hands. 
So Charlie did not say anything, but nodded.
"Nuh uh, words! Or you will get off on your own. Do you want that?"
Charlie hated this, but as her release was slowly creeping on her, she gave in.
"Please, Mike? Please let me cum? I promised I would be good?" She pleaded, and even batted her lashes at him while tilting her head to the side. 
"Well, since you have asked so nicely—"
The next second was a blur. Michael's mouth found her chest again, now biting harder on it making Charlie let out a pleased scream. His fingers rapidly went in and out, his thumb worked deftly on her clit, her soaked cunt was practically begging for him. Her body jolted up and twitched in desire, her face was twisted into the look of raw lust, her hips tried to rock up and down to meet his pace.
And finally when Michael pressed on that one soft spot, it was like a switch flipped inside her stomach. Charlie was shaking in satisfaction, her legs trembling and her eyes shut tight but could not stop the tears flowing down her cheeks. 
Michael did not stop there, his fingers still kept going whilst pressing soft kisses on those tear stained cheeks, until Charlie was overwhelmed by the pleasure and pushed him away from her. 
"Are you okay?" He asked, as he was rubbing the girl's arm up and down to soothe her. She just nodded, the teasing coming with the orgasm had worn her out a bit. 
Michael gave Charlie a reassuring smile, then pulled her over his lap. She noticed that his cock had hardened again, the tip was slick with precum. Just the thought of it going inside her made her all hot and bothered. 
Michael placed small kisses on Charlie's throat as his cock sliding between the puffy lips of her cunt, blood and slick down there coated it in a thin layer. 
A groan rumbling out of his throat, "... Can't take it anymore. I need to be inside you now… "
"Please, Michael," Charlie whimpered, "Do it already… Don't make me wait, please— Ah!!"
Michael did not even wait for her to finish the sentence and started to thrust inside. Sex was a normal occurance for them, but Charlie could not stop herself from groaning out at the feeling of being stretched. Plus, she was more sensitive than other days too, which resulted in the feeling of both being sore and soothing. 
Yet, Charlie found herself craving more of it.
"Michael," she whimpered softly, "Oh god, please, more… "
"Shhh, it's fine, I got you, okay?" Michael replied, letting a deep groan follow suit along with the high pitched moans coming from his girl. He started to make deeper strokes, sliding in and out of her cunt. Despite being lubed up, Michael still found it quite hard to move, as Charlie was tighter than normal. So he tried out with shallow thrusts first in order to make Charlie relaxed more. 
After a while, Charlie had gotten used to the feeling, Michael began to pound inside her cunt with harder strokes, and her toes curled in euphoria. Her body trembled in delight, her nails dug deep on to the young man's back in crimson lines. 
"Oh, Michael," Charlie moaned, her voice broken, "Want more, more—" 
"Don't worry baby, I'm here… You can always have me, as much as you want…" Contrast to the rough thrusting down there, Michael leaned into the girl on his lap, showered her in wet kisses and tender bites on her neck. 
Charlie fluttered her eyes shut, basking in the moment. She tried to push her hips in tandem with Michael, making his length go further inside, and the act made Michael growl lowly. He pulled her face closer, and locked her in another searing kiss. Their tongues intertwined together sloppily, chest heaving and burning with passion. 
Feeling his release was approaching closer, Michael sped up his thrust, his hands now moved to grip on Charlie's thighs and spread them wider for more access. His hips now slamming harder into hers, plunging in a faster pace and it made Charlie parted away from his mouth, gasping for air because the erotic needs almost took away her breath.
With Michael's sped up pace, and the fact his cock kept grinding against the sweet spot deep in her cunt, Charlie could no longer hold back anymore.
A piercing scream came out of her throat, her tongue lolled out making her spit dribbling down her chin, creating such a lewd look. Her body trembled hard, legs closing around his waist as her head threw back. Her pussy clenched tightly and released her juice all over the cock was inside her. Her brain was fogged and blurry after reaching climax, there was nothing inside that head of hers beside the man above her.
Michael, only Michael. 
As Charlie finally reached her orgasm, Michael up there was not much far from it. When he felt the moist walls clamped down his cock, he knew it was the end. His head threw back and he let out a shrill groan. He gave Charlie the last thrust as fast as he could and immediately released inside her, pulling her into his chest and stroking her back gently. 
Michael did not stop there after the release as he still remained inside Charlie. His pace turned messy as trying to fuck his semen back in. He stayed like that for some time, then pulled out when his cock softened.
It was the first time both of them witnessed Michael's pearly white cum mixing with Charlie's blood. It was such a sinful and also a very erotic sight. 
Michael could not resist his urge, so his fingers scooped up some of the mixed liquid and rubbed it all over Charlie's mound and pushed some of it back inside her pussy too, and Charlie watched him with ragged breath and an unfocused look.
He gently brushed back her hair and gave Charlie a peck on the forehead, still wrapping his arms around her in a firm hug. She leaning into his chest with her legs around his waist, her voice small,
"Thank you." 
It took Michael a moment to realize what Charlie was saying. His chest bursted out with warm and fuzzy feelings at thoe words. But instead of replying back, he reached over to turn on the tap, and changed it into the shower head so he could wash away the remaining fluid on their bodies. 
Michael did not let Charlie lift a finger, as he took his time to wash her hair and massage any annoying knots on her body. The feeling of warm water running down her skin and her boyfriend's large palms running across her body was one of the best feelings in the world, according to Charlie.
After Michael was finished with washing her up, Charlie turned back and asked him if she could do the same to pay him back for the favor, he happily let her. Her small hands ran through his brown hair, kneading against his muscles and tried to do their best to make Michael more relaxed as he shut his eyes in happiness.
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When they were both done, they got dressed (in which Michael only had a sweatpants on and Charlie was stealing one of his shirts to sleep as usual), dried their hair before settling down for bed. The warmth emitting from the blankets was very tempting, but somehow they still could not get sleepy.
"Charlie?"
"Mm yeah?"
"Was I going too rough back then?" Michael asked, his eyes now filled with worriness when he thought about what happened.
"Well, I can handle it, don't worry much. When you got a whole ass over six foot tall boyfriend, it's just a normal thing to take. In fact, I can handle even more" Charlie chirped from under the blankets, her back was in front of Michael. 
As hearing that, Michael quirked up, scooting closer to her
"You can handle more? Then let's do it again!!" 
"Wha— Hey! Not now!" Charlie frowned, turned back to flick Michael at his forehead. 
"Aw, too bad!" On hearing the response, Michael faked a sigh of pensiveness, pouting at Charlie. At the sight of his sad face, she was defeated.
"Well, I won't do it now cause I have enough sex for today, but does tomorrow morning sound good to you?" 
"Okay, then, morning is it? Now we should go to sleep, my eyes are protesting!" Michael grinned, now digging his nose into Charlie's head and took in the scent of her mint shampoo.
"Wow, so much for someone who wants to do it now." Coming from Charlie a sarcastic reply, with a light hit on his chest as a result.
"But you love me ~"  
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f1yogurt · 2 years
Text
What a Brat Gets
Minors DNI 18+
So in the middle of answering my inbox prompts, I have created this filler masterpiece.
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Summary: After a long day, you arrive home to a very horny Sebastian. Seb is a brat and really wants the both of you to take it straight to the bedroom, but you have to teach him a lesson in patience first.
AO3 Link -- WHAT A BRAT GETS – Link to my Fic Request Guide
Fandom: Ich Und Kaminski | Me and Kaminski (2015)
Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI 18+
Relationships: Sebastian Zöllner x fem!Reader
Tags: Shameless Smut, sub!Sebastian, Femdom, Sebastian is a little brat, Overstimulation, but he loves it, Begging, prostate stimulation
Word Count: 1896
Warnings: no aftercare because I got lazy
You walked in with the groceries, knowing Sebastian would be home already. As you had predicted, the man in question rushed to greet you as you set things down in the kitchen. No sooner had you placed a few things in the fridge than he already started whining.
“Oh schatz, I’ve been needing you all day,” he pouted, putting on his best puppy dog eyes and draping himself over the counter dramatically in an attempt to get your attention. “Bitte, bitte, hurry up so we can play.” You raised a brow at his demands. He knew not to be pushy, especially when you were already focused on a task.
“Sebastian, I know that I told you to be patient and wait until later,” you said firmly, placing the bread in the pantry. “You know the rules.” Oh, he did. The brat just enjoyed breaking them.
“B-but, I need you now!” he cried pitifully, moving himself between you and the fridge, effectively blocking your path. You nearly growled, restraining yourself from giving him the slap across the cheek he so eagerly wanted.
“Kneel. There. Now,” you said, pointing a jabbing finger at the entrance to the kitchen. Sebastian followed the order without question, positioning himself in the spot that you had pointed to and dropping to his knees. He folded his hands neatly behind his back, smirking up at you like the cheeky bastard he was.
“I want you to keep that naughty mouth of yours shut,” you told him. Now, the brat could sit and watch you quietly as you took your sweet time.
To his credit, Sebastian remained obediently silent as you put away the rest of the groceries and started on your dinner. His eyes followed you as you moved about the kitchen, and you were just waiting for him to cave and start begging more.
Soon though, it must have been too much for him to take, because you watched as he started fidgeting on his knees. He let out a pitiful whimper, which almost succeeded in drawing your attention to him.
“Please, I…I need…” he trailed off into another whine, loud and exaggerated. Oh, so desperate. You turned to gaze at him sharply. A slight flush of arousal had risen to his cheeks, and he blinked those big brown puppy dog eyes up at you.
“Hm, last time I remember, naughty boys don’t deserve anything,” you said, refusing to acknowledge him. “And I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut.” Sebastian smirked, opening his mouth to give some snarky reply, but you interrupted him.
“Come here, now,” you ordered, pointing my finger down to the space next to you. “Bad boys like you need supervision. You can wait here until I’m done making dinner.” Sebastian snapped his mouth shut and started to get up, but you stopped him.
“Nah ah! Crawl,” you said insistently. Sebastian blinked once, then he quickly dropped back onto all fours, obediently crawling to your side. Eagerly, he positioned himself next to your leg, almost close enough to rub up against you. Then, he gave you a cocky smirk, as if he had the upper hand here.
To remind him of his place, you rocked your leg roughly against his crotch, catching the brat by surprise and causing him to let out a strangled noise. You were pleased to find that his cock was already straining against his trousers, no doubt causing him a considerable amount of discomfort. But brats didn’t deserve mercy.
“Aw, schatz,” you cooed in false sympathy. Seb swayed against you and smooshed his face against the side of your leg, letting out a desperate whine. You allowed it, because you knew how worked up he was getting. You reached down to pat his head lightly, a mockery of the intimate touch that he was craving.
“There’s a good boy. Now why don’t you sit there as I finish up our meal?” you teased, turning back to finish working on the pasta you had boiling on the stove. This time, Seb remained obediently silent, determined to show you that he could follow instructions at least some of the time. You could tell that he was really struggling, though, because every so often he would fist his hands in the material of your skirt to remind you of his desire.
Soon enough, you had finished with your task, and you pulled away from him so that you could strain the pasta noodles over the sink. Seb whimpered at the loss as you walked away, but he stayed put and watched you as you moved around the kitchen.
You didn’t bother to plate the food, because you had plans for Sebastian before you both would eat dinner. As if sensing your thoughts, you heard Seb whine needily from behind you. To make it worse, when you turned around to rebuke him, you saw that he was palming himself through his trousers. He was gazing up at you with his best bedroom eyes, clearly determined to hurry up the whole process. Oh, naughty. You leaned your hip against the counter, fixing him with a dangerous gaze.
“You think you can get away with this, Sebastian. But naughty boys deserve punishment. And you have been a very naughty boy.” You pointed a finger in the direction of the bedroom, not coming closer to him to give him the relief he was craving.
“Go sit yourself down in the bedroom,” you ordered. “You know how. I expect this to happen in less than a minute.” Sebastian’s eyes widened, and he scrambled to his feet. You quickly grabbed a dish towel and wound it up before swatting his ass with it, the towel making a satisfying snap against his backside. Seb yelped and stopped to turn and give you a dirty smirk, opening his mouth to make a teasing remark.
“Forty-five seconds,” you told him instead, giving him a stern look. Sebastian took the hint and immediately left the kitchen. You could hear his footsteps padding against the floor as he hurried to the bedroom, no doubt stripping his clothes off along the way.
After precisely one minute, you made your way to the bedroom. As usual, Sebastian was splayed out on the bed. He had draped himself dramatically against the pillows like he was some kind of sex god, and the shit-eating grin on his face was absolutely devious. You raised a brow, not enjoying his attitude.
“So that’s how it’s gonna be?” you asked, surprised he wasn’t talking your ear off with snarky remarks yet. His smirk said enough, and he knew it.
You climbed atop the bed. Sebastian grinned, thinking he had gotten exactly what he wanted.
“Ah, you couldn’t resist,” he jeered, but he quickly fell silent as you continued climbing up towards his head. Getting yourself comfortable, you knelt above his face.
“Perfect. Now, hurry up and make that mouth of yours useful. I’m not waiting all day,” you said, acting impatient. If he could be impatient with you, then you could be with him.
Seb just smirked and stuck his head underneath the skirt of your dress. He hooked his thumbs in the lacy fabric of your underwear, but you quickly grabbed his wrists to stop him.
“Nah ah, only good boys get to take this off,” you rebuked. “But you’ve only been naughty today.” You smiled at his pitiful groan of frustration. However, Sebastian was never one to turn down a challenge, and he eagerly went to work.
His mouth was a wonder, even if he was a bit aggressive and impatient. You kept one hand in his hair, giving it slight tugs to guide him, or to pull sharply when he got too impatient with his technique. He knew exactly what to do with his tongue, and he would tug on the lacy underwear in just the right way to provide even more stimulation.
“Sebastian, I don’t have all day,” you said, barely managing to say the words without gasping. You tugged aggressively at his hair, making him groan as he worked against you. It wasn’t long before you could feel yourself getting close, and Sebastian’s own needy noises weren’t helping.
“Fuck, Sebastian, your mouth is so good when it’s not talking crap,” you said, grinding down against his face. Sebastian moaned, pulling you closer to him. It didn’t take much longer until you were shuddering your release, your hands tangling in his hair as you let out a groan.
However, you didn’t give him or myself much time to recover. Sebastian was still cleaning you up with little kitten licks when you shifted off of him. His face was a mess, glistening with all of his hard work, and he blinked over at you in dazed confusion.
You reached over into the nightstand drawer and pulled out the lube, spreading the gel liberally over your fingers as you crawled down between his legs. Sebastian immediately realized your intention and spread his knees wider, allowing easier access to his ass. You grinned.
“Such a slut for this, aren’t you?” you teased, already working your finger into him. Sebastian moaned, somehow managing to keep eye contact with you.
“Stop teasing,” he groaned breathlessly. Hm. He was still able to be a brat even when he was on his back with your fingers in his ass. You smirked deviously.
“Oh, what was that? I’m sorry, I don’t speak brat,” you said, shoving two fingers into his ass. Sebastian whined loudly and fisted his hands in the sheets.
“Please, please, c-can I touch myself?” he panted desperately. The poor boy was leaking all over his tummy, his arousal neglected and pressed against his belly. You just shook your head, eyeing him innocently.
“I don’t think so,” you said. “Only good boys get to touch themselves.” Grinning mischievously, you curled your finger against his prostate, hearing him practically wail in overstimulated delight. Tears were forming in his eyes, and you cooed as you continued to press against the sensitive spot.
“Aw, look at you. Earlier you couldn’t wait for me to play with you, but now it’s too much,” you purred, hearing him moan. You still refused to touch his erection, and Sebastian let out another wail as you leaned down to nip at his thigh. He was practically crying now, but he was loving every second of this.
“I can’t tell, Sebastian. Are those crocodile tears, or are they real?” you teased, listening to his pitiful whines as you worked your finger in him. “You can put on a show for everyone else, but not with me.” You finally caved and grasped his erection, giving it a firm stroke. The unholy noise Sebastian made was like music to your ears.
“Sebastian, you’re a brat. But you’re my brat,” you said, placing a gentle kiss on his sweat-slick skin. That was enough to push him over the edge, and suddenly Sebastian was spilling all over your hand. He came hard, nearly sobbing his relief as he let out a cry of pleasure.
You coaxed him through the shuddering aftershocks, watching as his body trembled, and you leaned up to kiss away the tears from his cheeks. Sebastian tangled his hands in your hair, cradling your head gently as he was at a loss for words. You smiled.
“Well, darling…that’s what a brat gets.”
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