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steveshairychest · 1 year

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At exactly 9pm every night, Steve's upstairs neighbour plays his guitar just as Steve is falling asleep. It wouldn't bother Steve if it was a sweet acoustic guitar, he's sure that sound would lull him to sleep, but it's not. It's an electric guitar that screams into the night for at least 3 hours. Sure, whoever it is, is really fucking good but he's causing Steve to lose sleep and it's been going on for weeks now.

It's the night before his big medical exam that Steve decides enough is enough. He needs some fucking sleep. He doesn't even bother putting a shirt on or changing out of his pyjama pants because he really wants the 40 year old man that no doubt lives above him to know just how sleep deprived he is. Steve thinks about knocking politely but decides to bang his fist on the door instead.

Instead of the bearded old retired rock star Steve was expecting to answer the door, a young dude with crazy curls and pouty lips pulls open the door. He's also wearing pyjamas, so Steve doesn't feel too out of place.

The way the guy openly looks Steve up and down causes him to shuffle awkwardly from foot to foot.

"Can I help you?" He drawls and leans against his door frame. Steve eyes are drawn to the tattoos that cover his arms and legs, and it takes the guy clearing his throat for Steve to remember he came here with a mission, not to oggle his apparently hot upstairs neighbour.

Steve folds his arms across his bare chest, trying to hide himself from the guys burning stare. "Uh, yeah, your guitar is really loud, like crazy loud. You play it at the exact time I go to bed every night. Could you maybe turn it down? I live directly below you." He awkwardly points at the floor and shrugs.

The guy, to Steve's shock, seems genuinely sorry when he pushes off the door frame with a soft frown pulling at his lips. "Shit, really? I'm so sorry, man. I'm used to the noise, so I kind of forget how loud it really is." He pulls a piece of hair in front of his face and then quickly drops it, a look of disbelief taking over his face. "I've been working on this song for weeks! Why didn't you say anything sooner?"

An embarrassed flush creeps onto Steve's cheeks as he rubs the back of his neck. "I thought you were going to be some scary old metalhead, so I kept chickening out." Steve realises how ridiculous that sounds. He should have just come up the first night it happened.

He laughs, and Steve is mesmerised by the way the laugh causes his whole face to light up and his nose to scrunch. He looks so different, so soft. He leans against the door frame again and gestures to himself. "I'm a metalhead. Are you saying I'm not scary?"

Steve snorts. "Your garfield pyjamas are absolutely terrifying."

He glances down at his pants and t-shirt and curses softly under his breath. "I forgot to put my scary pyjamas on."

Steve's face hurts from smiling so much. This isn't how he expected this encounter to go and he's so glad Robin called him and gave him the courage to actually do it. He would never have met the sweet metalhead upstairs if it wasn't for his best friend bribing him with free food in the morning.

Shit, he's got an exam in the morning.

"I've got an exam tomorrow, so I've gotta go. Thanks for being so understanding and not super scary." Steve gives him his best smile and turns to leave, but a hand shoots out to gently stop him. His hand is cold and rough and it takes every ounce of self-restraint not to shiver as he turns back around. "Yes?"

"Would you maybe, uh, like to come to my gig on Saturday? I'm going to play the song that's been keeping you up for the first time." He chews nervously on his bottom lip and hovers in his own doorway, almost like he'll slam the door if Steve reacts negatively to the offer. He grabs something from a small table just inside his door and holds it out to Steve; it's a flyer. "We play at 8."

Steve takes the flyer from his slightly shaky hands and briefly skims it, pretends to think about his answer even though he's already mentally deciding an outfit for the show. "I think I can make it. You have to buy me a drink to make up for all the nights you've kept me awake."

He beams and nods enthusiastically, his hair bouncing. "Yeah, yeah, of course! I'll see you on Saturday then. Oh, I'm Eddie, by the way."

"Steve." They shake hands briefly; the size of Eddie's hands causes Steve's brain to short circuit. This whole interaction has been so surreal. Was Satuday a date? A hangout? Who knows? He's just excited that he'll get to see Eddie again.

"I'll see you on Saturday." Steve says with a shy smile before waving and heading back towards the stairs down to his floor.

"Night, Steve." Eddie calls out.

"Night, Eddie."

For the first time in weeks, the apartment above him is silent when he crawls into bed, but instead of falling asleep like he planned, Steve lies awake trying to figure out what on earth he is going to wear to a metal gig 5 days away.

#THIS WAS A LITTLE RAMBLE I HOPE IT'S OKAY #I HAVENT PROOF READ IGNORE ANY MISTAKES #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #st4 vol2 #steveddie #stranger things s4

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hanniedream · 1 month

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Hiii, really like your writing, it feels so comfy, I would like to ask Minghao + “will you please just come back to bed?”, I just imagine this after a fight, like he just giving up aferre a few days and asks you to go back to normal

( is okey if you don’t like it or do feel inspired by it, also thanks for this dinamic)

that's such a nice compliment, thank you so much. ❤️ thank you for requesting!

there's only so much silence minghao can take. he's never been a fan of the silent treatment and prefers to talk things out and get things resolved as quickly as he can. you're very aware of that but you refuse to make the first move and he's made it clear that he isn't backing down either. the both of you were stubborn like that.

this is the biggest fight you've ever had with him. you'd gotten into little bickers here and there before but those would be fixed right away and you'll usually work out the more serious arguments within 3 days but it's been a week now and you've also been choosing to sleep on the couch instead of on the bed with him.

minghao lets out a huff when you move past him to make your way to the couch, ready to go to sleep. he abandons the thought of resting to follow behind you, mind set on reconciling tonight no matter what.

"this is ridiculous," he tells you as you pull the blanket up to cover yourself. "will you please just come back to bed?"

"no," you turn your back to him.

"you're going to get backaches if you keep sleeping here," he takes your blanket away.

"good, maybe that will distract me from the heartache you caused."

he sits on the edge of the arm rest you were using as a pillow. "then let me sleep on the couch as a punishment for the pain i caused you and you can sleep on the bed."

"no," you refuse willfully.

you feel the blanket over your body again before the heat of minghao's body as he presses his chest flush against your back and drapes an arm over your waist. it feels comforting and you have to force yourself not to snuggle up against him.

"move in a little more, i'm about to fall off." his warmth breath tickles the back of your neck.

"go back to bed, it's too cramped here." you grumble with a feeble attempt to shrug him off you.

"the bed feels too cold and empty. if you're going to keep sleeping here then so am i." he pulls you closer to him.

you won't lie, his actions and the sound of his raspy voice is crumbling your resolve bit by bit.

"i'm sorry for what i said and i'm sorry for hurting you," he continues.

you let out a hum in response.

"i promise i'll be more careful and considerate of your feelings from now on," he nuzzles your hair and you cave completely.

you flip around to face him and realises just how much you actually missed him once your eyes meet his warm, sparkly ones.

"am i forgiven yet?" he asks softly as he reaches a finger out to tuck away a strand of hair that had fallen over your face.

"yeah, you are." you lean forward until your lips touch his briefly and he chases them when you pull away.

"let's make a promise to never let a fight get this bad again," he runs a hand up and down your arm.

"yeah, the couch is super uncomfortable to sleep on."

minghao smacks your arm lightly with a chuckle before getting up. "come on, let's go back to bed."

💌 request open!

#seventeen fic #svt fic #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #seventeen drabbles #svt drabbles #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #minghao fic #minghao fluff #minghao drabbles #minghao scenarios #seventeen x you #seventeen x reader #svt x you #svt x reader #minghao x you #minghao x reader

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starlingflight · 14 days

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loml

Written for @corneliaavenue-ao3 TTPD Several Sunlit Daylights challenge.

Read on AO3 or below:

I. lesson of my life

Every illusion Ginny has ever had is shattered over the course of a single night.

She doesn't go into the chamber willingly. She claws, and scratches and fights against Tom's commands with all her might. She cries, and she struggles, but in the end it makes no difference. She isn't strong enough. As the darkness swallows her up, her final childish hope is for a rescue she knows isn't coming.

When she opens her eyes again it doesn't feel like a miracle. The cold from the stone floor has seeped through her skin, a chill has settled deep in her bones and she knows, with absolute certainty, it will never fully go away.

Of course Harry is there, holding a mighty sword, a dead monster behind him. The very image of the conquering hero she's always fantasised about, but this isn't like one of Ginny's fantasies. He's covered in blood, and his eyes are wide with the same terror that's taken root deep within her soul. There's no triumph in this moment, only horror.

This isn't a dream. It's a nightmare. One that Ginny won't fully wake up from for a very long time.

She learns many lessons that night, but the most important one will come later. After she's spent weeks, months, years putting herself back together, because Harry might have rescued her from the chamber, but, as Ginny will come to realise, the only person who can really save you is yourself.

II. light of my life

Harry's never known a darkness like this. It starts when he watches Sirius fall through the veil, tiny tendrils of black slowly leaking out from his heart, unfurling with increasing urgency until he's overwhelmed by a cold, empty abyss that he's sure nothing will ever penetrate again. How can it when Sirius is never coming back?

He doesn't even notice the first ray of light. It happens so quickly. He's in the hospital wing, trying very hard to let Hermione's commentary on the latest news from The Prophet distract him from the aching chasm in his chest, and the unbearable weight of the prophecy, when it happens.

Luna says something completely ridiculous about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks – whatever they are – Harry can feel Hermione's exasperation from across the small gap that separates her bed from Ron's. Ginny's chocolate eyes meet his, and something happens that he'd assumed would never happen again.

Harry smiles.

It's fleeting, lasting less than a second. There's very little time to dwell on it before they're looking away from one another, and the grief washes over him again, a tidal wave that steals the air from his lungs.

That's just the beginning though… or maybe the beginning had been years ago. Maybe the blush he'd once thought of as the setting sun had actually been the opposite; Ginny's light rising, her warm, rosy glow beginning its ascent into his life.

She continues to rise that summer, forcing the darkness back with her sheer brightness. Her smile turns black to grey; her laugh is powder pinks and bright oranges; the jokes she coaxes from him are pure, cloudless blue.

When she runs at him across the common room months later, she's blazing, burning red. When she reaches him, when Harry finally kisses Ginny, the sun reaches its apex and his whole life is awash with bright, brilliant gold.

For a few shining weeks there are only sunlit days.

III. loss of my life

Fittingly, they're at a funeral when it happens. Ginny always knew he had great comedic timing. She's not laughing, however, as Harry lays out all his stupid, noble reasons why they can't be together. She's not crying either, though; that feels like a small mercy. The only one she's going to get for a while.

She does cry when she finally makes it home. It's silly, she knows. Silly, foolish, naive Ginny Weasley, a familiar, cold voice whispers through her mind. For once, she doesn't try to argue with it, but she doesn't try to stop either.

Instead, she buries her face into her pillow and lets herself sob until her eyes run dry. Her tears aren't just for her broken heart, but for everything Ginny's already had to sacrifice; her childhood, her innocence.

It isn't until weeks later that she realises the true magnitude of what she stands to lose.

“And then what does she think's going to happen? Someone else will kill off Voldemort while she's holding us here making vol-au-vents?”

The fork Ginny is holding almost slips from her grasp. Her heart falters in her chest. Harry playing his flippant comment off a joke does nothing to return it to a steady rhythm.

It plays round and round in her mind that night. Her knuckles are ghostly white where they grip her bedsheet. Vaguely, she'd known what he'd planned to do, but vague notions and knowing with absolute certainty are two very different things. The task Harry brought up so nonchalantly in the kitchen is nothing short of a suicide mission. It hits Ginny with the force of a barrage of stunning spells, knocking the air from her lungs; Harry might not come back to her.

Two days later, when she kisses him in her bedroom, it doesn't feel like she's saying happy birthday, it feels like she's saying goodbye.

When Harry follows Ron out of her bedroom door, he takes a piece of Ginny with him, one she prays she hasn't lost forever.

IV. longing of my life

She haunts him like a ghost. What was once screaming colour and pure unfiltered brightness is now just a memory, a pale imitation permanently stuck on repeat in his mind.

Harry moves stoically from one hiding place to another and, though they're separated by miles, Ginny follows him to every single one.

He can hear her laugh in the wind that shakes the canvas sides of the tent. He can see her smile in the sunlight that penetrates the thick canopy of the forests they move between. At night, when he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend the sheet brushing against his skin is her fingertips.

It's worse when he has the locket on. Then, he's tormented with visions like the one he'd imagined on his birthday; of her moving on. Finding someone else. Living a life that can never be his.

Horcrux or no, he can't stop himself thinking about her. Aching for her. Longing for her.

He clings to memories of Ginny like scraps of driftwood, the only thing keeping Harry afloat when he's been set adrift.

V. lament of my life

It's like the chamber all over again. Ginny's whole world is flipped upside down in the space of a single night.

She doesn't see Fred go. She doesn't know the last time she sees her big brother that it's the last time.

“Take care of yourself,” he'd shouted over his shoulder as Ginny had gone hurtling down a corridor in pursuit of a Death Eater.

“Don't I always?’ she'd called back.

What if she'd told him to do the same? Would he have listened? Would he still be there?

There's very little time to dwell on such questions in the middle of a battle. Especially not when every passing second brings another devastating loss.

Lupin. Tonks. Colin.

Ginny's heart shatters into a million little pieces until it doesn't exist at all. Or so she thinks, until she sees Harry's body cradled in Hagrid’s arms.

Then she knows she still has a heart, because it's in unbearable agony. She doubles over from the pain of it. His name escapes her lips on a scream, as though she might be able to call him back to life through sheer desperation.

Tom Riddle talks; for the second time in Ginny's life, she's unable to hear him, but this isn't like the Chamber at all. This time Ginny wishes she was dead.

When the battle resumes, she jumps straight into it with wild abandon. Ginny's lamentation is not filled with tears, or wailing. It's fire and rage for everything that's been taken from her. Tom Riddle already stole her past. Now he's taken her future. She will take everything she can from him, or die trying.

VI. lowest of my life

He's never truly let himself imagine what it might be like to actually defeat Voldemort. If he had, Harry doubts he would have pictured it like this.

If it's a win, why is there so much loss?

He doesn't know whether the grief or the hope is more overwhelming. They mingle together, like waves in the ocean, swelling and breaking, threatening to pull Harry under.

He can feel it crash over him as he stands in the great hall the day after the battle. The bodies are still there; all the people who don't get the second chance Harry does are laid out in front of him. Lifeless eyes staring, unseeing, up at the enchanted ceiling.

The guilt and the pain sweep through him like ice water, filling his lungs; rising up in Harry's throat until there's no possible room for air. He takes a step back, desperate to flee somewhere he can sink down into the cold, lonely depths.

Before he can, a hand, small and warm, slips into his, pulling Harry back to the surface. He releases one, long, deep breath before looking at her.

Ginny's attempt at a smile is tinged with sadness, sunlight peeking through dark grey clouds.

Only hours ago, he'd contemplated all the things he needed to say to her, but now no words are exchanged at all. Only a look. It's all they need. All they've ever needed. Everything has changed. But he's still Harry, and she's still Ginny.

Instinctively his arm comes around her. Ginny buries her face in his chest, sagging slightly against him, as though she was waiting for this moment to let herself rest. Like she needs him as much as he needs her.

Harry's head rests against hers, the floral scent of her shampoo is faint, lingering beneath everything that's happened. It makes his heart falter anyway. He holds her tightly to him, something he never thought he'd get the chance to do again. As he's come to expect, time seems to stop for her. They stay like that for what might only be seconds, or possibly an entire lifetime passes.

Eventually, Ginny pulls out of his grasp. It takes less than a second for her hand to find his again, fingers entwining. She pulls gently, silently commanding him to follow her. Harry almost asks where they're going, but he doesn't really need to. He's free to go wherever he pleases now. He'll follow her anywhere.

Ginny looks up at him as they walk towards the double doors. He can still see the embers of her blazing light smouldering in the dark depths of her eyes. He was right, there will be hours, days, and years in which to talk, but he doesn't need her to say a word now to know where she's taking him. He lets her pull him forward, lets her light guide him to a future he's still not sure he deserves to have.

VII. loser of my life

For a while, Ginny thinks she'll never recover from the loss, from the grief and the heartache. It's not the first time she's felt this way, but this time she doesn't have to face it alone. Once she has Harry back, he doesn't leave her side again.

They fall back together naturally. They stitch themselves back together slowly until one day, years later, the sun is blazing brightly in the sky, the pleasant summer breeze is ruffling the grass beneath her feet, and Ginny feels whole again.

“Ready?” Her father asks, holding out his arm out to her.

“Ready,” Ginny agrees, threading her hand through the crook of his elbow. Holding her colourful bouquet of wildflowers in front of her with her free hand.

There have been times, in her darkest moments, when she wished she was someone else. A girl who hasn't dwelt in a darkness that most people don't ever see even in their worst nightmares; a witch who hasn't looked into the eyes of evil and refused to bend, refused to break; a woman who hasn't lost things that can never ever be replaced.

Now, as soft music begins to swell in the summer air, and her gaze locks on Harry, waiting for her at the end of the makeshift aisle formed by the rows of chairs that have been put out in her parent's orchard, Ginny doesn't regret any of it. Everything she's lost is a step she's taken towards this.

She can feel dozens of heads turn towards her, but Ginny only has eyes for Harry, and he, it appears, only has eyes for her. His smile makes the sun look dim in comparison. Still, the corner of his mouth trembles; even from a distance, Ginny can see emotion well up behind his glasses.

‘Don't you dare,' she mouths, feeling her throat tighten as she does. Her arm stretches out, lifting her bouquet like it's a wand, miming hexing him. She's closer now. She can hear the tremor in his laugh as he puts his arms up in mock surrender.

It's too late; the laughter she's coaxed from him doesn't stop the tear that slips down his cheek. Of course, one of her own escapes only a half a second later.

“We look like such losers,” Ginny informs him, shaking her head, as her fingers slip from her father's arm into Harry's awaiting hand.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, quietly enough for only her to hear. He's still smiling as another tear slides unconcernedly down his face. His free hand reaches up, his thumb swipes away the ones that are currently leaking traitorously from Ginny's eyes. “But you're my loser.”

It takes her a moment to regain her breath. A fleeting second in which she can't quite believe they're here; that they made it. Then she smiles even wider than before. “Not officially – not until we get through this ceremony.”

Harry's gaze holds hers. Ginny almost forgets they have an audience. The world reduces down to just the two of them, grinning madly at one another. Harry's fingers squeeze her hand. “We'd best get on with it then.

VIII. legacy of my life

Books are filled with what many consider to be his finest achievements. Tales of thrilling battles, speculations on unsurvivable curses, and records of great victories are inked across the pages of history.

As are the many titles thrust upon Harry; The Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, Saviour. To him, they're little more than noise, assumptions from people who don't really know him, and never will.

When he slips the wedding ring onto Ginny's finger, Harry gets the first title he's ever chosen for himself: husband. Her husband.

Not long after, he gains another one, this one unplanned, but no less momentous. James, tiny, and so precious, is placed into his arms, and Harry becomes a father.

His real legacy begins there. It's not just his, it's hers too. Their legacy.

It's recorded in baby books and photo albums rather than history books. It's memorialised in finger paintings and handmade Christmas ornaments (made under Ginny's expert supervision) instead of plaques and statues. It's hundreds of little memories of their family that will never see the inside of a newspaper, but that doesn't make them any less noteworthy, not to Harry, who'd never dared to imagine that this life could be his one day.

IX. love of my life

“Dinner!” Her mother calls from the back door of The Burrow, her voice ringing out across the garden.

The sun is setting, dipping below the topmost branches of the orchard. The sky is a tapestry of pinks, purples and golds, stretching out for miles above them.

“What do you think?” Ginny asks as her feet meet the ground, dismounting from her broom. “Could I make it as a pro?”

Harry lands beside her. His eyes sweep appraisingly over her. Ginny's stomach swoops like she's still in the air. “I don't know,” he says thoughtfully. “The League is brutal. It requires rigorous training.”

Ginny shrugs unconcernedly, hoisting her broom onto her shoulder as she does. “Do you know any Quidditch captains who might be interested in helping me with such an undertaking?”

“I know one who might be able to make some time for you this summer,” Harry says as he falls into step beside her. He inclines his head towards her broom.“I can take it for you?”

Ginny's eyes narrow, prepared to tell him she's perfectly capable of carrying her own broom, but, when she turns, the way he's looking at her makes her heart race, and the words die on her tongue. without her permission, her expression transforms into a grin. “Very chivalrous of you.”

A weight is lifted from her as Harry settles her broom beside his on his shoulder. “That's kind of what I'm known for.”

“Only ‘kind of’?” Ginny's eyes wander to the quickly darkening sky above them as she laughs. “In that case, I'll be sure to let people know of this latest act of heroism – personally, I don't think you get enough attention.”

“Well, if that's how you feel, you could always give me more.”

Ginny stops midstep. Her head turns sharply back to Harry. She should keep walking, the words that are on the tip of her tongue will lead to something that neither of them planned for on this particular summer evening.

Harry's eyebrows rise upwards; even in the dusk, Ginny can see the challenge sparking in his eyes. Unbidden, she takes a step towards him. “Are you flirting with me, Potter?”

He doesn't back down, but he doesn't make a move towards her either. The brooms he's holding clatter together as he shrugs with just a bit too much tension in his shoulders to be truly nonchalant. “I might be.”

Ginny's blood thrums in her veins as she takes another step towards him. “Need I remind you that I'm spoken for?”

“How could I forget?” Harry's head lowers despite her reminder, until he's so close Ginny can see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. “I suppose he's deeply in love with you?”

“Yes,” she nods with absolute certainty. “And I feel the same about him.”

Harry's head dips lower, the determination in his eyes making his intention clear. Ginny rises on her tiptoes, unable to fight the pull that always inevitably beckons her to him.

Barely an inch of space remains between them. Her heart flutters wildly–

“Oi!” The loud, obnoxious shout comes from the far end of the orchard, making Ginny jump. She turns towards it and finds a lanky figure glaring at them from where he leans against the fence. “When you're done being disgusting, Nanna says to hurry up – dinner’s ready and the rest of us aren't allowed to start without you.”

James doesn't wait for a response before turning on his heel and marching back towards the house.

Ginny rolls her eyes at her son's retreating back. Her hand slips into Harry's, the most contact they're getting, at least until after dinner. “Remind me again why we had children?”

Harry sighs, allowing her to lead him towards the gate James has just departed from. “You said they'd be cute.”

“Well, they used to be,” she says fairly as she pushes the gate open with her free hand. “I wasn't thinking as far as them becoming teenagers.”

Harry nods seriously. “Really, who could've predicted such an unforeseeable outcome.”

Ginny looks up at him as he follows her through the gate. Brown eyes meet green through the burgeoning twilight. Two identical smiles bloom like flowers in spring.

“Certainly not you, judging by your appalling Divination grades.”

#several sunlit daylights #hinny #harry x ginny #TTPD

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dutchess-of-fear · 9 months

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Secrets

Jonathan crane x reader

Warning: angst but fluffy at the end

Masterlist

Jonathan crane was late again going back home, for the two weeks he had been coming home late whenever you are sleep and then goes off to work before you even wake up, you do understand the importance of his work at Arkham Asylum but this was getting ridiculous.

I decided to woke up a little early to talk to Jonathan, when you went to the kitchen he was surprised by you awake, "my dear? Why are you early up?" He then offer you coffee which you accepted "well apparently this is the only time to see you" I stated drinking the coffee that was quite too bitter for me, I heard him sigh for a bit as I went to add some sugar into my coffee.

"My dear you know how it is like working at a place like arkham, you would expect days I be gone for a long time at work" he began to explain his reasons but stopped talking when he see me upset by the lack of time we spent together, "look Jon.. I know this job takes a lot of time from us to be together I understand, but...I just like to see my boyfriend, from time to time" I replied placing my cup down on the kitchen counter and talking to him directly "but I have patients I have-"

"to work with and need you're upmost attention but don't you think you're girlfriend need just a small bit of attention too" I felt tears stinging my eyes as I try to hold them back.

I don't want to be like that's girls that are desperate for attention but now I started to act like them, Jonathan then held my hand in his and his other hand held my cheek as I look into my lovers eyes, "I'm so sorry, I made you feel this way, I try to be back home early as I can" he kiss me softly on my forehead as I relish in the feeling I had missed for so long, but it ended all too soon as he had to get to work, let's hope he kept his promise.

Timeskip

(Jonathan Crane Pov)

I promise (Y/N) that I be back early this time around but I don't think I won't be able to keep my promise if this Batman give ups, But is just wishes that will never come through.

But maybe my wish did came true as I had the chance to give him some of the fear gas, which in turn worked as it startedto take effect on him, and it was my chance to get away and run back to my home, I just hope (Y/N) isn't too mad.

The house was dark I check down on my watch and seen it was 11:35, weird she would be awake at this time, she must be tired, I unlocked the door and slowly got in and close the door behind me, I only realised I still have my scarecrow mask on so I need to get to the bathroom and remove my mask and hid my briefcase before she would find it in the morning.

I care for her too much to lose her now, "Jonathan you were late again" I suddenly heard for the living room 'shit!' I mentally said to myself "I'm sorry my love I was late, I am just going to the bathroo-"

"No! Jonathan, you are going to explain to me what have you been doing that you are always late home?" She said and I can see in the dark, tears in her eyes and it hurt me seeing her like this.

"Are you cheating on me Jonathan?" My eyes widened as I look over to where she was in the living room "My darling would never, ever do that to you," I softy said to her hoping it will calm her, "then let me see your face so I know it's not true" she went over a switch the light on as I think of how do I explain this.

((Y/N) pov)

I turn the light on and saw my boyfriend with some sort of mask that would resemble some sort of scarecrow, I stood there confused as my boyfriend hung his head low, "Jonathan why do you have a scarecrow mask on? Are you- Uh.. you" I stumble over my words as I slowly go over to him as I lift the mask from his face, he didn’t had his glasses on as he looked sad 'is this what he was hiding from me? That he is the scarecrow?' I place my hand on his cheek and he nuzzled into my touch.

"Well at least I can say one thing...is that you didn't cheated" I softly spoke as he smiled very softly as he finally looked into my eyes "but this is a lot to take in" I said as I see the sadness in his eyes, I walked over to him and caress his cheek softly smiling to him

"but I am willing to accept for who you are and what you do and would stay by your side" his eyes brighten with happiness as he held my hands "thank you, and you should know I would never hurt you, your too precious to me" he said kissing my hands.

My heart began to rapidly beat and butterfly's appeared again inside me like the first time me and Jonathan met and I feel in love with my man even more "oh! Jonathan I know you wouldn't hurt me. I trust you very much" he then finally kissed me as he held me close, with this kiss it was feel with love and care for me, as I melted into the kiss leaving all the worries for another day.

#jonathan crane #the dark knight #batman begins #cillian murphy #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow #dc comics #nolanverse #the dark knigth rises #the dark knight trilogy #scarecrow x reader

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princelancey · 11 days

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bodyguard au x flirting under fire for strollonso?

page written yay, let's get gay!! this was fun and perhaps could be made into a longer fleshed out fic? let me know <3

Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP

I've written for a very similar prompt to this before so I'm gonna mix it up this time.

Lance is the bodyguard to 'businessman' Fernando and he's seriously regretting taking on this job offer. He's been shot at three times already this week and it's only Tuesday, and he gets the impression that walking away really isn't an option for this job. He's also concerned at how quickly he came to not actually care about any of this, despite the bullets flying over his head he can't actually imagine quitting this job.

His boss totally, definitely doesn't have anything to do with that. It's not like the look Fernando gave him on his first day rewired his brain or anything, not like he'd do anything to be on the receiving end of that look again. Right now that anything appeared to be putting himself between four men with assault rifles and Fernando. he heard one of the safeties click off and immediately tackled Fernando to the ground behind their car, which is bullet proof of course.

the goons sent after Fernando are obviously not the sharpest tools in the sheds, just spraying the obviously reinforced car with bullets in the hopes that something happens, honestly the laziness offended Lance. They were making such a scene that the police would already be on their way and really Lance was happy to let them take care of things, there was nothing incriminating Fernando or himself, as long as they played dumb they'd be home in time for dinner.

Lance is still covering the older man with his own body, hovering above him, arms strained, his entire body is tense and when he looks down at Fernando he sees that look he's been craving since he accepted the job. The two lock eyes and it's like Fernando can read his mind, more likely he's reading Lance's face the man cannot hide his emotions to save his life. Fernando tilts his head and smirks up at him and delivers the killing blow "is that a gun in your pocket or are you happy to see me?" it's corny it's cheesy it absolutely should not work but Lance can feel his entire face heating up, he can hear Fernando chuckling under him.

Something about the sound flips a switch in his head, he shouldn't be embarrassed, he's the one who has Fernando laying on his back under, how many people would kill for that? actually Lance might be able to answer that by the end of the week. Lance has control of this situation, and he realises now he also has an equally interested party. Lance drops his knee and elbows to the ground, essentially trapping Fernando under him, he can feel the rise and fall of Fernando's chest beneath his own they are so close now. He leans in and whispers into Fernando's ear "I thought a man of your reputation would be able to tell"

he can feel Fernando's breath stutter beneath him, the man hadn't expected that from Lance and that alone fills Lance with a ridiculous amount of pride. He's waiting for Fernando to make the next move when the gunfire above them is replaced by police sirens and the moment is broken... for now

#asks #answered #Anonymous #strollonso #sorcha writes

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perfinn · 7 months

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let neptune strike ye dead

merman!din djarin x lighthouse keeper!reader

wc: 2.8k

summary: you've spent the last year in near total isolation on an island, tending to a lighthouse and slowly losing your mind. something begins leaving you gifts.

cw: nsfw, no pronouns used but reader is afab and will later be established as a woman, masturbation (not particularly explicit), paranoia, isolation, general decent into insanity, lighthouse keeping inaccuracies (i did zero research)

read on ao3, banner by cafekitsune

The stairs inside the lighthouse have no rails. They're cut from stone, winding up into the heavens as a tower of brick, beaten by decades of crashing waves and brutal storms. Unmoving, unforgiving. And you, godforsaken you, are forced to climb those winding stairs each day and night. Tending to a light that never goes out, once clinging to the stone bricks now confident in your wretched climb. You will not fall, you know, and if you do then there is little more can be done for you. You need only hope that if you do, you'll fall from the lowest steps.

Would they relieve you of your duties if you broke a bone? You doubt it. They couldn't hope to get another keeper in time, this job is as wretched and undesirable as the tower is ancient. You had been tricked into it, you came to realise after a torturous fortnight of lighting that lamp, of clinging to those cold walls along the stairway. Still, your contract was immovable. Two years tending to the lighthouse. Two years of near complete isolation. Two years to lose your mind on a tiny island with only a ship's captain to talk to twice a month.

It's not all bad, the isolation. There's nothing to waste your hard earned wages on, like sweet treats from a bakery. The food you need is delivered by that captain, a sweetener to the deal you'd signed a horrifically long twelve months ago. The wages are generous, too. Without the trappings of rent and bills and little expenses that seem more and more ridiculous the longer you rely on yourself on this island, you're saving thousands of dollars.

Your sanity seems a low price to pay for what will be plenty of financial comfort when you finally return to civilisation.

(Though the longer you spend away from it, the harder it becomes to believe you'll ever be fit for society again. You begin to wonder if you may die on this island.)

There is another hidden benefit to the isolation, you’ve found, that comes in the form of being able to make as much noise as you like. You can scream at the very top of your lungs if you like, and no one will be around to complain.

When your myriad of work is finished for the day, you retire to your measly lodgings. You can't do much to personalise it. You didn't bring any decorations with you, and you can't exactly pop out to get yourself some nice succulents to warm the place up. Succulents would probably die out here anyway. So, with little other choice in the matter, the room is impersonal. Your activities in the room are not.

There isn't a lot to do in order to fill your idle time. You tried cooking– it didn't stick. You tried knitting– the captain didn't bring enough yarn to tide you over until his next visit. The only hobby – which is no true hobby at all, really – that you’ve kept up, is masturbation.

On the mainland, you had toys. Vibrators, dildos, whatever else you desired. You didn't bring them with you, assuming you wouldn't need them.

(Which, for a time, was the case. In the beginning you’d end the day so exhausted that you fell right into your cot and passed out. As your body adjusted to the workload, this became less and less common. You were growing stronger and more durable, and so was your stamina.)

You only have enough service for perhaps one phone call a week, which you usually reserve for your family just so they’re certain you haven't drowned, so internet is out of the question. And you’re not brave enough to ask the ship’s captain about the magazines you’ve seen poking out of a drawer in the bridge of his ship. So, no porn.

You’ve, in turn, gotten incredibly creative with your fingers and your imagination. Were you perhaps deeper in the depths of your impending insanity, you might even go so far as to act out your wildest fantasies like a one woman show. You’re not quite there yet, so the fantasies remain inside your head. That doesn't stop you from making a frankly egregious amount of noise. You scream, moan, whine and yell as much as you please, more than you ever did in the apartment you lived in on the mainland.

The walls were too thin there. They’re too thin here, really, but that doesn't matter, because no one’s around. You make as much noise as is physically possible because you assume no one in the world can hear you.

(You assume wrong.)

You obviously don't notice anything strange during the act, due to all the wanton screaming, that combined with the incessant crash of waves against the rocks doesn't make for a wonderful listening environment. You have every reason to assume that there's no one out there to hear you except perhaps an unfortunate seal or two. The oddities which begin, happen outside of that time.

Seaglass.

There's an abundance of it on the beaches below your island, washing up from decades of glass litter, formed into something lovely. Generally, you leave it to the sea, figuring that if the waves can beat it into a shape they like, they’ve earned the right to keep it. But one day, after a rough storm, a few pieces of it sit on the end of the dock.

It's odd, but not enough to arouse much suspicion. You assume it’s the result of some well arranged wind and waves, and gently knock the pieces of colourful glass back into the ocean.

But then, it happens again.

It's after another storm, (of which there are many, hence the need for a lighthouse) when you’re stood at the paved stone edge of a small cliff and your boot almost crunches on three pieces of seaglass.

You yelp, stepping back to avoid shattering them and crouching down. You pick them up, brows drawing together as you arrange the treasures in the palm of your hand. Two of the pieces are a seafoam green, but the other is a pretty orange. You pluck it between your fingers, holding it up to the rising sun. A smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

You try not to make a habit of keeping seaglass. Don't take too much of the earth’s abundance and what-not. But you do have a few exceptional pieces arranged on your windowsill, and you’ve never seen one this colour before.

“Alright,” you concede in a murmur. You place the orange piece tenderly into the pocket of your overalls. “I’ll keep this one. But you can have these back.”

As you gently plop the other two pieces back into the waves, you try not to think too hard about the fact that you’re speaking to the ocean like it's listening. You briefly consider telling yourself that you’re just talking to yourself, and not the ocean. But that's probably worse.

“God,” you murmur, running a hand down your face. You make a mental note to call your mother.

The odd occurrences stop for a time. That, or your sanity has slipped too much to recognise things as odd. Reality is askew when you’re this alone. Things that are strange don't seem so out here.

Though, you know you can at least attribute your attraction to the supply ship’s captain to the simple lack of contact with anyone else. He’s not ugly, not by any means, but certainly not your type. But Christ, what you wouldn't give to rip his clothes from his body and have him until you finally felt satisfied again.

Your loud masturbation can only satisfy your libido so long. You give it another three months before you’re crossing a lot of professional lines with Captain Fett.

You’ve become friends, at least. He’s your only real connection to the outside world, other than your shoddy transistor radio and your phone calls with your mother that last thirty minutes on average. (Which she only uses to fill you in on family gossip because you generally have nothing of import to tell her.) When he comes by, you force him to sit and enjoy tea with you and tell you about life on the mainland. He’s funny, if a bit gruff. But he makes you laugh, makes you sane.

And then he leaves again, and you watch his ship disappear over the horizon, feel that horrible isolation sink back onto your shoulders and suffocate you. You picture Captain Fett when you scream-masturbate that evening.

The next morning, there's a pile of fish on the edge of the dock.

You stare at it for a long time, brain ticking over as you try desperately to make sense of it. It's a decent variety of fish, all quite massive sizes. Nothing that you generally catch off the docks on the days you try to fish. This is from much further out, in the open ocean where the fishing boats make their rounds. You crouch down, sniffing at the pile. It doesn't smell, they seem as fresh as anything.

Perhaps you have lost it entirely, because you pick up what you know to be a cod and look it over, sniffing it. It smells fishy, obviously, but not rotten. It’ll make a far better dinner than the soup you had planned. You eye the other fish, wondering if you ought to waste them, or let the waves take them back to their fishy graves.

You take the cod inside, and return to the dock with a bucket full of ice in order to collect the other fish. Even if you can't eat them all before they go bad, you’re damn well gonna try. This isn't like the seaglass, you tell yourself. These fish are already dead, it would be wasteful to just ignore them and let them rot away at the end of your dock. As you settle the last fish in the ice bucket, you hear a splash in the calm water.

A tiny thing, barely even a plip. But it makes your head snap up, makes your eyes dart around at the water around you. You curse the fact that the ocean is never completely still, so any disturbance is lost in its perpetual motion. You can't find the source of the splash, but you know it wasn't something innocuous.

(Were anyone to ask you how you knew this, you couldn't tell them. You think it may be some sort of paranoia you’ve acquired in your isolated insanity.)

You feel watched. Perhaps not by something sinister. But watched all the same, like an intent pair of eyes are trained right on you as you accept this gift of ocean’s abundance. You stand up, hoisting the bucket up into your hip as you squint out at the waves. The sun reflects off the water and hits your eyes, and you’d be upset with it if you weren't trying to cherish the rare day of warm sun. You huff, taking one last glance at the slowly lapping waves before turning and heaving back up to the lighthouse to get to work.

You know there’s another storm coming that night. Weather so forgiving is never not followed by something brutal. You’ve grown very accustomed to the mercurial weather of this godforsaken island.

(That, and you heard it on the weather report on the radio.)

Still, generally the best you can do in this weather is make sure the lamp is lit and you’re safe and warm inside. You have two of your fingers buried knuckle deep in your pussy when thunder first cracks. You barely pause, glancing toward the window as rain begins to beat down on the panes, before closing your eyes and focusing on hitting that sweet spot again.

When you’ve moved to rutting against your pillow and letting wanton moans tumble from your lips, an alarm goes off high up in the tower. Your eyes snap open and you look up– the light’s gone out.

The very most central thing that you’re expected to do in this godforsaken lighthouse is maintain the light. Now, in this kind of weather, more than ever. You barely give yourself a moment to pull on a discarded pair of overalls before you’re scrambling up the stone steps to the light. You swear to yourself as you fix the light, glancing out the windows to the dark and stormy oceans.

You pray there’s no ships out there, pray you won't suddenly hear a deafening crash as some poor fishing barge slams into the cliff face. There shouldn't be any ships out in this weather, but that's really the whole point of the lighthouse, isn't it? Just in case.

But you manage to secure the new bulb, relief flooding you as the room is illuminated and the beacon shines out over the horizon. You turn to look out the windows, thankful when you note there’s not a ship in sight. In the five or so minutes where the ancient lighthouse wasn't faithfully emitting its beacon, no one even came near. As you’re about to step away, though, the light illuminates something that catches your eye.

You’re not able to make out much from this distance, or from the brief second of illumination, but you’d swear on anything that you saw someone out there. A head and shoulders, with brown hair, just poking out of the waves.

You’re scrambling on the steps again before you even realise you’re moving. Slipping and stumbling down those wretched stairs, uncaring of your safety since instead your brain is thrumming with fear and adrenaline and a screaming need to help whatever poor soul has somehow ended up in the stormy waters. You grab a flashlight and a floatation device from by the door before you’re stepping into the unforgiving elements.

You don't even know what you’ll do when you get out there. As you rush out into the bruising wind and rain hammering down on your skin, you can't think of any sort of plan. You’re sure as hell not going to dive in to get them, that would only end up with both of you dead. You make it down to the dock, slipping several times in the mud but managing to stay upright. You’re barefoot, you don't have anything to cover you but your worn pair of overalls, so essentially your entire torso and arms are bare to the elements. One wrong move and your tits will probably spill free too.

But you don't think about that. You think this poor drowning idiot won't care that you’re sort-of-kind-of-half-naked, they probably have more important things on their mind. You make it to the end of the dock, shining your flashlight out at the waves.

“Hello?!”

You’re not sure you can be heard over the wind and the rain and the thunder clapping overhead. You can't see anyone either. Whoever it was has probably been pulled under, or out further into the waves where you can't help them. Still, you search frantically amongst the blackened water, eyes wide and breathing quick.

You catch something in the beam of your flashlight. Something, again, so quick you think you may have imagined it. A tail, flicking up before disappearing beneath the waves.

Unlike any tail you’ve seen before, large and wide, a dark colour almost as black as the water. You freeze, flashlight lingering on that spot, silently begging the universe to let you see it again, just so you can know it's a seal or something.

But a seal’s tail doesn't look like that. Nothing’s tail looks like that. You squint in the rain, desperate to prove your insanity wrong. But it doesn't appear again. You’re left only with the memory of a tailfin and the distant view of a person’s head and shoulders, and the sinking feeling of knowing your insanity has reached a point you can't be certain you’ll return from.

When you’re about to give up on the poor soul that you probably-definitely hallucinated, you glance downwards. You think of the seaglass and the fish, and wonder if those were hallucinations too when your flashlight reflects off something new. Another gift from the ocean. You reach down and pick it up, heart thrumming in your chest.

It's a cowrie shell, but that's not what sends your mind spinning into confusion. There’s a carving on its surface. You run your thumb over it, clearing it of raindrops for a brief moment before it’s covered by them once more in the unrelenting downpour. It's a symbol you recognise, Captain Fett has one hanging from the gearshift of his ship. You’d asked him about it once, and he’d recounted an old mariners tale about it.

A mythosaur.

You look back up at the waves, searching their murky depths for explanation. There's none. So, shaken, you pocket the cowrie shell and turn away to go back inside, not noticing the pair of brown eyes that watch you from just below the dock.

part ii

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin/reader #the mandalorian/reader #din djarin #merman!din djarin #theres another chapteri prommy #my work #the mandalorian #din

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 7 months

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This happened a while ago but it's been bothering me.

In high school, my best friend (Hayley) and I briefly dated after we A: realised we weren't straight and B: had romantic feelings for one another. We didn't tell anyone about it at the time, and due to the circumstances behind her breaking it off, it just. Never came up with friends. It was a little on again off again for years due to her issues around commitment and vulnerability, and eventually I put my foot down and said I was over her and just wanted to be friends, nothing more.

Around this time, a mutual friend set her up with a friend of her boyfriend. I was the last one to find out in our friend group that she was dating Tim, and only really because she asked for permission to tell Tim that we had dated, because they were starting to get serious.

At this point in time, we were all about 23, so it had been over 5 years since we'd been romantically involved. Everyone in our friend group knew we were queer, but we weren't out publicly yet, and they still didn't know about Hayley and I dating. But I still agreed because I understood her wanting to be open and honest with him.

Fast forward a year and Tim cheats on her with his ex-girlfriend. I won't go into details about how messy this was, because a lot of it is personal to them, but the relevant part is that Tim justified this to his friend group by telling them that he'd done it because he was upset about Hayley doing it first.

He tells them all that Hayley and I had dated, naming me in the process, and lies that we (Hayley and I) slept together on a recent girls trip. We find out because one of his friends is a mutual friend's boyfriend, and suddenly all hell breaks loose because our friend group finds out Hayley and I dated, and both of us are not only outed, but rumours start spreading about us cheating.

It's important to note that I'm asexual, and have some trauma around being discussed sexually that I hadn't fully dealt with at the time. Tim never apologises to me for any of it, Hayley jokes to me on the phone while in tears that it's particularly ridiculous because I'm asexual, and the two of them get back together.

Here is the messy part. I don't bring up how I'm feeling, because I'm more concerned about Hayley's feelings, for various reasons, and I have a very strong people pleasing streak that I also had not dealt with at the time.

Fast forward two years and I am suddenly unpacking all this trauma, while also dealing with a lot of personal turmoil. My friendship with Hayley has become more and more strained as we grow and change as people, and I begin to realise that we haven't really been the same around each other for a while now.

This culminates in Hayley messaging me one day to say that she and Tim are engaged, and I, caught up in what was going on at the time (and I was also at work), don't immediately reply - partially because I'm figuring out how to word a reply I don't actually mean. Except I forget to respond and later that night, she messages me and essentially tells me not to bother.

I give her space, as she told me not to message her, and then she messages me two weeks later angry about me not contacting her. I am dealing with a lot that I'm not getting into here, including a court case and a death in the family, but finally I decide to just come clean.

I message her and apologise for not responding sooner. I explain that I'm still unpacking a lot of my own problems and trying to figure things out, and I'm realising that I haven't been comfortable around Tim since the incident happened. I explain that I don't hold it against her at all, because I didn't voice any of this at the time, but it also isn't something I can ignore. I explain that I feel like we've both been trying too hard to maintain a friendship that just isn't working anymore. I tell her that I would never ask her to put a relationship aside for my sake, especially with our history, and I don't want to put her in an unfair situation by making her feel like she's having to balance the two of us, but neither do I want to put myself in an unfair situation by continuing to ignore my own feelings about him and the entire debacle.

So I tell her, point blank, that I still care about her, but we've grown apart, and I think the healthiest solution is to end our friendship. I wish her the best with Tim and explain that this isn't anyone's fault, it's just that we were already growing apart and with everything that's happened, I don't think that our relationship is repairable.

Since then, I've not had much contact with the extended friend group for similar reasons, though I'm 90% sure they've sent a gift basket for my last two birthdays, they haven't attached a name or said anything about it.

I still feel terrible about the entire situation and sometimes doubt if I did the right thing, or if there was a better way of handling things. So. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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xerotiny99 · 26 days

Text

Strangers // Ethel Cain #2

Strangers (Part One: Knuckle Velvet)

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x Reader

Warning: cannibalism, graphic depiction of cannibalism, violence and death, smut, and heavy on angst.

Note: sequel to knuckle velvet, adaptation of the song "stangers" by Ethel Cain.

Gist: having lost all hope for Yunho's return, you go on about your life to find him back at your doorstep in a couple of weeks; with much more menacing personality than before, he continues to play you along to his tunes. You don't realise how detrimental he was for you, not until you were counting last of your breaths.

Song Rec: Strangers by Ethel Cain

Word Count: 2,568

Reader's Perspective.

"Don't talk to strangers or you might fall in love."

My mom would always tell me to stay away from strangers. I kept her words in my head until the day I met Yunho. The moment my sullen gaze was casted on him, everything in my head turned to mush; I saw him in the home supplies aisle of our local supermarket. He stood confused, contemplating what brand of bleach to buy. It seemed ridiculous, for a guy to ponder on the brand of bleach. I used to work at the supermarket, it was my humbling duty to help him out. And surprisingly, we hit it off quite quickly then.

For a mere minute, I believed he was genuinely interested in me, and maybe he was. Who could even resist his presence, or his tantalising words? He was irresistible in every sense, be it his personality or his appearance. I still remember the day we first went out. It was a drive-in theatre; they were showing the old classic, notebook. Though, there wasn't much watching involved when we were both busy sucking each other's faces off. Kind of vague and pathetic, I know. It's the reason why I knew we'd never work out.

My doubts were soon blown out to my reality. He was abusive, irresponsible, and arrogant. A complete three-sixty from the face he had. One might seemingly assume he's one of the angels, a dearie. He's not. He never was. I still carry the marks and bruises on my skin, he left them with much malign he shrouds in his heart. I'm a tattered piece of his rage, evermore stuck and hellbound to the torturous depths of his anger. Yet, I never learn. I never learn to rid myself of him; he isn't a part of me. He doesn't define me. Then why do I run back to him the moment he acts a little different?

After he left that day, I stayed close to the door, hoping for his return. He didn't come. He never did. He was never going to. Though, a couple of days ago, I saw him hanging out by the pier, rolling blunts and smoking them with his friends. It hurt me; I'll admit. But with the way things were left between us, I wasn't hopeful he'd come back to me.

And then the unthinkable happened.

He was standing on my front porch, heart in his hand, apologising. He made this face, almost like a despondent puppy, reeling me in with those tearful eyes. My heart lurched in a minute, believing his apologies, believing him.

"Come with me, sunshine," he said, "come with me, and we'll be forever together." He took a long pause then, "I've changed my ways, I've made myself better. I want to be better for you."

I believed him.

I stared at his hand, extended, outreaching mine.

I laced our hands together.

And together, we left my old house.

A house accommodating my schizophrenic mother and no one else.

He took me to a better place. His place. A house on the prairie. Secluded. It was our own paradise.

A paradise I would soon start to resent.

───────────────

I heard your footsteps outside. Outside this basement door, in the mere darkness I was trapped in. Was the darkness just in my head? Because you said this place would be mine to live, mine to roam, mine to stay. Then what am I doing in your basement? Lying in cold, under the ambiguous ceiling of stone, I wonder what you're doing standing outside all alone.

I knew it then, when the door rattled open. I shouldn't be keeping hopes with you again. You're not here to make me feel better about this situation. You're here to do what you do best. Seeming to help me. It's funny how I never considered myself tough. I fell in love with you without weighing my thoughts. I gave myself to you so easily, never putting up a fight when you had your way with me, with your fists and teeth.

"Hey, sunshine," your soft voice calls out, "how are you feeling today?"

You're so handsome walking over to me. A piece of art, as I'd always considered you to be. Sculpted by the Gods, your face so comely and beautiful. It brings butterflies to my belly every time I see your face.

Lifeless, I've surrendered myself to your ways. If I could mumble out a string of words, they'd be all about how pretty you are. You know that, right? You know you're too pretty for me, right Yunho? It was my mistake to fall for a handsome face, rather than for a handsome heart. But you went on to make me believe you were virtuous. Who knew you'd be so sinister.

You crouch down next to me. And me, unfazed by your presence, keep staring at the ceiling. I don't know what I'm thinking about, though it's certain I'm thinking about you. Ruminating mindlessly about your face, and your warmth.

"Come on, won't you sit up for me? I'm here for you." your feigned affection is a deadly concoction of hate and love. Should I even be concerned? Should I believe you like I usually do?

"Be a good girl for me, sunshine," you prompt, cupping my face with your cold hands.

"I haven't been a good girl to you, so far?" I mumble, my eyes darting to your face; you had a frail smile on your lips, murmuring, "you have."

You pull me up, forcing me to sit straighter. "You've been such a good girl for me."

"Am I really no good for you, Yunho?"

You shake your head, as if to push my worries away. "Sunshine, you are. You have been good for me."

"I just want to be yours." I whisper my words, rambling, "can I be yours? I am yours, right?"

"Yes, you are," you state, stroking away the stray strands of my hair from my face. "You're mine. And I'm yours. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yeah." I bite my tongue, contemplating speaking.

You have this look in your eye, as if you're satisfied, yet tempted to devour me. You've been doing it for a while now. Devouring me raw.

"Just tell me if I'm turning in your stomach and making you feel sick."

"No, sunshine. You're not." You lean in to kiss me, capturing my lips in haze which burns in my head.

Our touches have always sparked my desire for intimacy, our bodies are so compatible with each other. Is that why you've been cutting off my flesh and eating it? Do I taste any better? Do I make you sick? I don't want to make you sick. I love you too much for that. Our kiss blazes, growing to an intimate extent; we were lost in the carnality, in the darkness of your basement. And then, we made love for the first time.

I vaguely remember what happened afterwards, but you, taking care of me was burnt in my soul. You didn't keep me confined in your basement since then; instead, you put me in a room. It was comfortable, decorative and warm. Just like you. Though, you were delicate with me, my thighs felt sore. Why was it? Was it because you had taken away the flesh from my thighs? I felt so light. Agony was slowly creeping up my stomach, making me sick. I don't want to complain about you cutting off my body, you can have as many pieces of me as you want.

One early morning, you took me to the local supermarket. We were buying some ingredients for the meal tonight. You said you'd cook me a meal, treat me with dinner and make me forget about the pain. I trusted you. I trusted you blindly, anticipating for the night planned out in front of me. You held my hand so tight in yours as we roamed aisle to aisle, picking out the different ingredients needed for the meal. I mellowed down when we came across the dairy aisle; my mom would come here every day, grab two cartons of milk and leave. If I meet her here, I'd run up to her and embrace her in one of the warmest hugs. But she wasn't there. My heart sunk to my gut; if she was there, she'd cry.

We came back home after a long tour of the supermarket. It was almost the time for dinner preparations. The sun was setting on the skyline, painting the horizon with hues of orange and red; somewhere in the purple sky, the moon started to peek out. A world hushed with our whispers, when you lead me up to the house's attic. You said you had a surprise for me. I was eager.

Coming to the attic, my senses were numb. You had decorated that small space with all my favourite things; a shahmina sitting in the centre, fairy lights on the ceiling hanging low in curves, and countless pillows littered the mattress under the shahmina. You led me further inside, by my hand. We drifted to the night breeze crawling in through the open window. And the cold made us find a way to warm ourselves.

You kiss me then, your lips tingling on mine as I straddle your lap; we're going at it, hands roaming each other's bodies, wanting to strip each other bare. I was tugging at your leather jacket, anticipating. In some carnal enthusiasm, I do rid you off your clothes, keeping you warm to me only in your briefs. You were eager too; I could feel it in the way your cock rubbed my belly. Sinking into your lap, you break the kiss to tear my clothes off.

I watch the pieces of my dress lying around me, torn by your brute strength; wearing nothing underneath made you drool, salivate at the way my body was still holding the bruises you left behind. Every scar on my skin is a reminder of your ways with me, when you'd abuse me to your heart's content, make me mewl and whimper your name.

You don't want that now, do you Yunho?

While we're in each other's arms, pushing all our limits to be one together, the moon outside is brightening up the sky. Your grasp on me is tight, your fingers digging into the remaining flesh on my thighs; you want me so badly and I did too. I was grinding myself in your lap, getting any friction I could get from you.

"You're too eager, sunshine." You mumble, kissing my cheek and then trailing your lips under my jaw. "We've got the whole night. I'm not going anywhere. So aren't you."

I should've known what you meant by it then. But I was too engrossed in the way your hands seared my skin, pulling at my chest and tugging at my prodding nipples. Your bare fingers dance along my skin, tracing lines to my belly and then further down to my cunt; when your fingers curl inside me, I feel so cold. It was the good kind of cold. Should even I be feeling good about it? I don't know.

We made love then too. All night. You, fucking my brains out, as if I was the last person on the planet with you. God, it was so euphoric in some strange delight. We stayed in each other's arms till sun broke out from the dense of the night, we were tangled in each other's bodies; tired from all that we had done, forgotten about the dinner completely.

You told me then, "you're happier here, sunshine. You should be."

I believed you.

I believed every single word you said to me.

I believed every lie you fed me.

I believed even when I didn't want to.

I believed even when I saw straight through your lies.

You sat my dying body in front of you, staring straight through my eyes as you put a raw piece of meat in your mouth. That was me, right? You were devouring me, as you would. You're so handsome when I'm all over your mouth. When my blood smears on your lips, it makes me feel we're connected to each other on a spiritual level; we should be right? Because we're lovers.

I tried to be so good for you. I let you have me. I let you have me as you pleased. You're really breathtaking when you have me all over your face, the littlest streaks of crimson, and the sweetest taste of my flesh on your tongue. I am a good girl for you; though, as far as I'm concerned, I don't know who I am or what I am anymore. I wonder if others are missing me, worried about me? Sad for them, the only memory they'd have of me is the polaroid in evidence.

"Am I yours?" I asked with my dying breath, and you nodded your head, "all mine."

"Do I make you sick?"

"You do not."

It was then I knew, I was no longer in the position to keep going. Am I making you feel sick? I don't want you to feel sick. Am I making you feel sick? I don't want to...

Please tell me if I'm making you feel sick. I don't want to make you feel sick, I don't want you to fall sick because of me.

────────────

In the last moments of my life, I thought about my mother; how she must have been waiting for me, sitting by the window of our old house, patiently watching me come home. But I found her in my memories, only to tell her I've made it real far.

To tell her, I never blamed her for raising me the way she did, while she was torn apart. While she had her own woes to take care of. I don't blame her for my heart, or the way I turned out. I knew just how much she was going through to raise me right.

I'll wait for her here.

"Don't think about me too hard, I know you have trouble sleeping." She'd never sleep a wink again at night, knowing what had happened to me.

"Don't worry about seeking me or my eyes. I know you'd miss them."

"Mama, just know that I love you. I really do. And I'll see you when I get here."

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez yunho #jeong yunho #jeong yunho x reader #jeong yunho angst #ateez angst #yunho angst #angst

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moonyheartache · 2 years

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So, the brain worms ara at it again and I thought "haha Merlin AU where not only Arthur returns but also Gwaine bc the whole «courage, strenght and magic» thing"

Me inmediatly also thinking about "well then maybe Lancelot should come back too"

You know, to spice things up

And then somehow it evolved into all of them returning from the dead

Like, every other week some dude sprouts from the ground like a daisy and the authoroties are already dialing Merlin's number.

He obviusly has a house in the forest.

Merlin still has to work so imagine all 6 idiots being left alone in a closed space

Like imagine them getting hungry and then trying to figure out how an oven works so they can cook a chiken

Arthur: well Merlin always gets the food from the bridge-

Elyan: fridge

Arthur: that thing

Gwaine: I don't think this chiken is good, it's all frozen over

León: maybe we can use fire to heat it up?

Percival: I think we can use the oven to do that

Lancelot: I know where Merlin puts the matches

Gwaine: ok great, how do we turn it on

Dead silence

Fifty minutes and nearly three explosions after Merlin comes back from work to find them sitting in the forest floor with a small fire going on so they can eat

"Why is Elyan crying?"

After maybe a month or so they learn how tf the T.V. is supposed to work

No, it's not magic. Yes Percival I checked. No Arthur it isn't alive. Yes I'm a 100% sure of it

They decided not to watch the news anymore after Arthur almost had an Aneurysm

"At least the cat is doing his job"

Cue to more shenanigans since they happen to land on "Young Sheldon"

Merlin is starting to realise this may have been a mistake.

He is really starting to regret it when they discover "F.R.I.E.N.D.S"

He really hopes they don't find out about the other Sheldon.

They definetly freaked out about cars

Like an actual lot

Lancelot thought they were alive

He got bullied for that

Whoever introduced Gwaine and Percival to donuts, they don't realise the caos they ensured.

Let's not even talk about "Hawaian Pizza"

Arthur says that when he is king again he will ban it forever.

Lancelot doesn't mind it (almost gets bullied again)

Surprisingly Leon likes it

Actually gets bullied

"Guys don't be mean it's not so bad" "Percival not you too"

Merlin has no coments in the situation

Also, angst time ;)

They go to the zoo

Both Elyan and Gwaine hate the reptile house

Gwaine had a panic attack

They go to the museum

Lancelot discovered that he was supposed to be a french prince

Gwen's dress was in exibit

Percival wants to punch the guide in the face

They go to Merlin's work

It's a bookshop

Turns out he owns the bookshop

"Merlin I can't read this" "Sounds like a you problem" "MERLIN-"

I'll let the shenanigans up to you

When they finally learn enough to get a job

Lancelot and Arthur work at the same coffee shop

Somehow Arthur became the manager

"I want yo speak to your manager" "Ma'am please don't-" "What do you want bitch"

Karen vs. Karen

Elyan works with Merlin, he likes the quiet

Gwaine is a mascot for s fast food restaurant

Percival got a job at a restaurant as the delivery boy

And don't ask him how because he doesn't know the answer but Leon gets a job as a Taxi driver

He doesn't want to talk about it

Fun fact, Aithusa can speak now, barely

So when he was coming to visit one night he sees Leon chillin on the porch and decides to greet him

Now imagine a "I haven't drink water in 3 years" voice convined with a VERY HIG VOLUME and the utter darkness areound + Aithusa is very sneaky

"Greetings Sir León" "JESUS BLOODY FUCK"

He threw a few more colorfull insults he learned from his job

After (a lot) calming down and (also a lot) catching up the knights come to the realisation than Merlin saved their asses in múltiple occasions

Like, it's actually ridiculous

"I always knew"

Merlin: don't think too much about it

All the knights: No, I think I will

Now they want to AT LEAST do something nice for him

You know, for saving their literal lives, multiple times

So Elyan, Lancelot and Arthur are working to sneak out a lot of pastries form the coffe shop

"We were goin to throw them out anyways"

The thing is, tho, that they don't know that Leon, Gwaine and Percival are actually doing something similar

"Won't your boss suspect when a bunch of fruit is suddenly gone?" "Shut up and drive"

Cue to being too much food

"You guys realise that we don't need this much food right?" "It's for you" "Well actually I don't mind sharing"

It's the thought what matters

I'm gonna make a post when all of them discover what a phone is

#bbc merlin #package deal AU #arthur pendragon #sir leon #sir lancelot #sir percival #sir gwaine #sir elyan #percival #gwaine #lancelot #bbc elyan #leon #bbc arthur #merlin emrys #merlin is tired ™️#aithusa #modern au #package deal au is a good name I won't take critisism

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snowdropluck204 · 1 year

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When They Want Affection - Haikyuu

PART 1 - Setters

Oikawa Tooru:

We know that Tooru is a major league drama queen! And I definitely think he would bring it up a few levels just for you, I mean, you are his partner, so you have to pay attention to him at all times!

~ "(y/n), (y/n), (y/n), (y/n), (y-" ~ "Enough Tooru!" You nearly shrieked at him, it had been two hours, you needed to study for a test you had coming up and your boyfriend was being a massive pain in the- ~ "Cuuuuutie!" Tooru once again interrupted your thoughts with his incessant whining, "I'm all sore from training, I want you to take care of me!" ~ Tooru gets really demanding when he wants attention, but this isn't the first time this has happened, you knew exactly what to do, ignore him. ~ "I'm sorry honey, but I've got to finish this, just keep yourself entertained for a little while longer." You told him gently, but with an edge in your voice that anyone with decent survival instincts would hear and run from. ~ Tooru did not have good survival instincts. ~ He kept up his pout and kept up his adamant whinging! ~ He kept making his own odd noises, huffing and humming and generally just being annoying, but you continued to ignore him, writing down notes and highlighting paragraphs in textbooks. ~ Once he realised that you weren't budging, he kicked it up a notch, beginning to sigh, ridiculously loudly. ~ You blink slowly, breathing deeply to keep from throttling your lovely boyfriend, but that was no where near good enough for Tooru. ~ He then begins poking and prodding, starting with fiddling with your pens and the stationary on your desk, moving to playing with your hair and finally poking your cheek. ~ You smack his hands away softly a few times, but he keeps coming back, poking at your cheek, or your shoulder, or your thigh. ~ Huffing, you close your textbooks and your notepad, rolling your eyes when you realised that your bratty boyfriend had won and he had realised too. ~ Picture a puppy that you'd left at home for twenty minutes to go to the store, you come home and he is so excited his eyes light up and his tail wags like crazy. That was Tooru right now. ~ He basically tackled you onto the bed, he had his head in your lap and his hands on your hips as your fingers ran through his hair. ~ He had this cute, content smile on his face, but beneath it, you could see the biggest conniving grin you'd ever seen. ~ "Knew you'd see things my way, love you baby!"

Miya Atsumu:

I feel like Atsumu would get the most upset about your attention when you're giving more attention to his team mates, I think he'd get really grumpy and try to give you the silent treatment… Let's see how that works out.

~ Atsumu sat away from the rest of the team, they were all on the bus on their way to some practice camp, he had been looking forward to it! ~ He was excited to show off just how good he and his team were, but he was also thrilled to be able to spend a whole week with you! ~ He always felt so bummed when he had to walk you home at the end of the school day, even though the two of you were basically joined at the hip at the weekends as well, when he didn't have practice. ~ This week would be awesome! ~ Or at least, it should have been… If you weren't so busy talking to everyone else! ~ Even though they were only ten minutes into an hour long journey, you had spent none of that time with him! ~ The guys knew what they were doing to him, they knew that he had been planning for the two of you to sit at the back of the bus, away from everyone else, so you could cuddle, watch some of the stuff he had downloaded, hold hands… ~ But now all that went out the window! ~ He could see Suna and Osamu smirking at him over your shoulder, they had pulled you down to sit near them, saying they weren't feeling well. Liars! ~ So Atsumu sat at the back of the bus pouting. ~ About half an hour left in the journey, you came to the back of the bus to check on your boyfriend, mostly because he had been completely silent and had distanced himself from everyone, so safe's to say you were concerned. ~ You sat next to him, watching his eyes light up as he struggled to keep the pout on his face, "You okay baby?" You asked, making sure your thigh was against his and you had taken his hand in yours, Atsumu was blushing like mad. ~ But he didn't tell you what was going on, he didn't say anything actually. ~ Realising what your boyfriend was doing, you sighed, this would be insufferable if he kept this up. Luckily, you knew how to fix it. ~ "Well, if you're not going to talk to me, I guess I'll go back to Suna and Samu…" You mumbled, knowing full well just how bad his jealousy gets. ~ He grabbed your arm, immediately whining, "Noooooo! You've been with them the whole time! It's my turn!" ~ You giggled and sat with him again, letting him snuggle into the crook of your neck, leaving kisses on his head.

Kozume Kenma:

It's very rare that Kenma would get super upset that you're not paying him any attention, usually it's the other way around, but I feel like the one time he would desperately crave you're attention, is when he's sick.

~ Kenma had gotten a nasty cold and had text you, practically begging you to come over after school. ~ You were coming over anyway, you had heard from Kuroo that he was sick, so you had collected his homework, got some soup and medicine from the local convenience store and made your way to the Kozume House. ~ Knocking out of politeness, you knew nobody would be at home other than Kenma, but just in case! ~ You walked into the house, hoping you wouldn't find your timid boyfriend how you though you would, meaning, out of bed, sat in front of his computer, playing games… ~ Therefore you were really surprised when you saw him snuggled up in a million blankets and pillows in bed. ~ You didn't want to say this, because you knew he wasn't feeling well but you couldn't help it! "You look so cute!" You cooed. ~ And he did! His nose was all red, as were his cheeks because of a slight fever, his hair was slightly dishevelled and he was wearing the biggest hoodie he owned (a hand-me-down from Kuroo). ~ He looked up at you, naturally he did have a game console in his hands, but you were just glad he'd listened to your earlier text that told him to stay in bed. ~ "Whatever." He mumbled, but you could see him trying to hide his cheeks in the covers. "Could you- maybe- I… Never mind…" He whispered. ~ You looked at him confused, he was shy sometimes, sure, but he knew he could ask you to do anything, the only time he got this nervous was when he- ~ When he wanted cuddles… ~ You smiled, taking off your jacket and school blazer, before getting under the covers with Kenma, he looked relieved that he didn't have to ask, but also seemed worried. ~ "Wait, you're gonna get sick…" Aw that's what he was worried about? ~ You laughed lightly, "Well, then I'll get sick, cuddles with you are rare! I'm taking what I can get!" You cheered, while you wrapped your arms around his, his head on your chest as he continued his game. ~ You could hear him let out a sigh of contentment, happy about getting what he wanted. ~ "Thank you love…"

Kageyama Tobio:

Tobio would crave your attention during practices and his games! Like, he knows he's good, but he wants you to know! I can see him performing his quick with Hinata and getting super excited, turning to see if you saw your baby do good!

~ This was an important game for Tobio, well, all of his games were important to him, but this game was special. It was his first time playing an actual match where you attended! ~ You always tried your best to go to his games and made time for his practices, but things always seemed to get in the way, you had to help your parents or work or had way too much school work to finish. ~ But today was different and Tobio was thrilled! ~ He spent his time during the warm up, craning his neck around to find you in the stands, seeing you wearing a shirt you and your friends had spent time on, orange and black with his jersey number on the front. ~ Tobio blushed seeing you wearing it, he wasn't expecting you to come wearing that! He was very happy to see you in his number though… ~ "Hey! Kageyama! Get it together, warm up!" Coach shouted, startling him away from his staring, his face got even more red as he saw you covering your mouth, trying to hide what he assumed was a laugh… ~ It was halfway through his first match, he could see you cheering him on, as well as his team, this specific team he was against weren't much competition, but he didn't want to get too full of himself. ~ The final point was up for grabs, obviously it was him and his team's to take, he and Hinata performed their freak quick attack and scored the winning point for Karasuno! ~ He looked over to you and saw you cheering and jumping with your friends in the stands, you saw him looking and blew him a kiss, smiling a big smile with your eyes closed. ~ Leading to Suga crowding Tobio, worried about the boy who now had a nosebleed.

Akaashi Keiji:

After a long day of being a mom and taking care of Bokuto, making sure he doesn't run into traffic or something, Akaashi comes home or goes to your place and silently begs for attention, he'd be too tired to do anything, but that doesn't mean he wants you doing things either. You should be cuddling him!

~ Keiji knocked once at your house before entering, he knew your parents weren't home, even then, they love him so he would probably just come in anyway. ~ He let out a big sigh, taking off his jacket and shoes at the door, he was so tired! ~ Bokuto was really difficult today, first he was too tired to get into practice this morning, then he refused to eat his greens at lunch and he went into emo mode during evening practice… ~ On top of that, his final exams were coming up, plus nationals… It was all just too much right now. He needed you. ~ He followed the smell of dinner into the kitchen, where you were stood at the stove in a cute apron, stirring a pot of something, he didn't really care, your food was good either way. ~ Walking up behind you, he made sure to make some noise, not wanting to frighten you as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, his head on your shoulder, leaving kisses on your neck and cheek. ~ He wasn't able to hang out with you as much today, or this week for that matter, he had been far too busy babysitting a certain owl child… ~ "Hiya Keiji, tired?" You asked gently, squeezing the hand he'd left on your hip. ~ He muffled a groan, nodding into your skin, he was glad you were around, that you hadn't gotten upset with him, he was upset with himself for being too busy for you, so these moments with you were very important to him. ~ "I love you sweetheart." His voice was blunt, as always, but you knew he was sincere, he always was.

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holdmytesseract · 2 years

Text

I got a Man - but I want You (18+)

Robert Laing x fem!Reader

Summary: Robert has been your best friend for quite a while. Now, you're on a party together. A heated discussion between the two of you about the 'usual topic' suddenly becomes more than just an argument...

Warnings: veeeery suggestive smut/light smut, cheating, quite a few swear words, alcohol, cigarettes, bad writing? Sorry to all the guys named Toby!

Word Count: 2,1k

a/n: Honestly, I have no idea how this one happened... I was just listening to 'You Right' by Doja Cat and saw a few pics of Dr. Laing and boom! Damn you, Hiddles - and your good looks! 😠 Nah, just kidding. I love him. 😂 I can't even tell if this is brilliant or an awful attempt at writing Robert Laing... 😅 Also, I rated it 18+, just to be on the safe side...

Tagging you guys from the Hiddles Taglist... @lokisgoodgirl @lovingchoices14 @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @acefeather2002 @lulubelle814

...and a few peeps who I think might enjoy reading this - if it's even a joy to read it 😅... @michelleleewise @chantsdemarins @vbecker10 @lokisninerealms

"Stop that, please." I said annoyed, while reaching out my hand to grab the fourth - or fifth? glass of cheap champagne from the cocktail bar. "Stop what, darling?" I rolled my eyes. I was way too tipsy for having this conversation with him, but now that he set the ball rolling, it was most likely inevitable. Why couldn't he just listen to me once and do what I am asking him to do, without questioning it? "That, for example." I brushed past him, passed a lot of other party guests. We were at one of those amateur parties, they held at least four times a week. People, cigarettes, drugs and a lot of cheap alcohol.

My flight from him had been a miserable attempt to prevent the upcoming collision. It was always the same. "That what?" It was no use, of course. He followed me around like a lost puppy. Like he did so often. "Calling me 'darling' for example. Or following me around, wherever I go." He huffed out a breath and took a long sip from his drink. "Why? I thought you liked that." Once again, I rolled my eyes. "Do we really need to discuss this now, in between all those partying people, loud music and empty champagne bottles - again?" "Not when you're finally admitting that you want me." He gave me one of those ridiculously handsome and smug smiles and took another sip of his drink - what caused me to get even more annoyed. I groaned in frustration. He just couldn't stop this shit. "How many times, Robert... How many times have I told you, that we are just best friends. I don't want you!" I didn't realise that I had raised my voice - until I had finished my sentence and recognised how a few other party guests were staring at us. I clenched my jaw and rolled once again my eyes, before I grabbed harshly Robert's arm and dragged him behind myself, through the French door and out on the balcony. I didn't want to discuss that topic further with him when all those curious people were around.

"Why did you drag me out on an abandoned balcony then, when you don't want me?" The man in the deliciously sexy dark grey suit asked - wait, what? I shook my head and teared my gaze away from him, crossing my arms over my chest. "Robert... For the last time... I don't want you!" "Yes? Is that so?" The doctor leaned casually against the railing of the balcony and lit a cigarette. "Yes! We are best friends! Nothing more, nothing less! I have a boyfriend!" He frowned. "You meant you have a drag." I felt how the blood started to boil inside my veins. That smug bastard drove me so utterly mad. "Shut up, Laing! You're talking about my boyfriend!" Robert took a long drag of his cigarette, shaking his head. "Yes, but... Y/N. Let's be honest... Toby isn't the right man for you. Hence, he's not even a real man. Perhaps not even a boy. He's a milksop. A loser. A pussycat." I clenched my jaw, hands turning into fists. I was on the verge of punching this wanker in the face. The problem? Deep down, I knew he was right - and that made me even more angry. "I don't even know how Toby actually made it to be your so-called boyfriend. How could he get his hands on such a hot woman like you? I mean... You're way out of his league. You clearly deserve someone better, darling..." Robert smirked at me once again as he took a last drag from his cigarette, before he stubbed it out. "You, Y/N, are a power woman. There's fire and passion flowing through your veins. I know that. You..." He took a step closer. "… need a real man. Not such a wannabe alpha, who got stuck in puberty." I raised an eyebrow at him. "A real man?" Robert nodded, a seductive smile playing around the corners of his mouth. He took another step closer. "A real man, yes." And another. "A man who challenges you." By now he was circling me, like a predator it's pray. I felt how my heart rate picked up. His words sending shivers up and down my spine. On one hand I was utterly angry at him, but on the other... I had to admit that what he was doing triggered something inside me... Lust. "A man who can tame this fire." He whispered in my ear with a deep voice, before he walked back over to the railing, grabbing his half empty drink on the way and leaned once again casually against the it, taking a swig. His dark – and without a doubt sexy voice echoed in my head and caused another shiver to run down my spine. "Not such a milksop, who couldn't even handle a teenage girl." Robert continued, smiling in amusement.

I thought that was the end of his 'speech'; thought that the torture was over - but then he lunged out for the knock-out punch. The death sentence. The straw that broke the camel's back. "I bet he doesn't even know how to pleasure a woman of your kind in the right way." That was it. I had enough. "Must be so exhausting to pretend that the sex is good and that he's giving you a good-" I approached Robert at lightning speed, interrupted his sentence by grabbing the clueless man by the lapels of his suit jacket and slamming him against the nearby wall, causing a low huff to escape his lips. I looked at him with a death glare, kept him pinned against the concrete wall. He certainly didn't see that coming - but instead of apologising or pleading me to let him go, he just... started to laugh? "See? That's what I am talking about. You say you don't want me, but if that is the case, why does my words bother you that much? Why can't you just shrug them off and laugh about them? I recognise a sexually frustrated woman when I see one - and you, Y/N are such woman. I may be your best friend, but you can't keep your eyes off me." I wanted to speak up, say something, protest against him - but he shook his head, cut my attempt to speak on an instant off. "Don't deny it. You can't deny it. Did you really think I wouldn't notice the longing looks you're giving me? How your eyes are practically undressing me? The tension between us, whenever we are dancing together at the parties? How you were grinding your backside against my crotch? How our hips moved in sync to the rhythm of this ridiculous song?" His words left me speechless. I didn't even realise myself that I was doing this, but now that Robert had spoken it out loud it came crashing down on me. Deep down, I knew what I did. "I noticed everything, darling... Even if you're denying it now." I was so stunned, that he could free himself easily from my grasp. Robert straightened his suit jacket, "I would've never said no to you, you know... I had casted an eye on you from the first time we met. I could've made you mine a long time ago, but I didn't want to destroy your relationship, because you were happy – and that was fine for me. I want you to be happy. But… You're clearly not happy anymore - since months…" and turned to walk away, towards the French door.

I was like petrified. Robert had been right with everything he had said. I wanted him. I had always wanted him. The sexual attraction was there from the very beginning – just not as strong as it was now. I stopped seeing him as just a best friend a long time ago... And Toby? Well... He really was a loser, had no job, no perspective. I was the one, paying the rent. And our sex life? Don't get me even started... Robert was right - and that was the reason why I had to stop him. Why keep on lying to myself? Why still holding on to that 'milksop', when a real, devastatingly handsome man was right there in front of me? "Robert!" I called out his name - louder than I intended to. To my luck, he stopped in his tracks and turned around to face me. "Wait... Please." I added in a small voice. "You... You're right." I mumbled, looking defeated at him. His eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. He clearly didn't expect me to actually give in and admit it. "You're right. With everything you said. Toby is such a loser. He brings about nothing. I'm the one who looks after everything and pays the bills, while he still believes in getting famous one day with his stupid inventions... It's not that I don't believe in him, but... Let's be honest. No human being on earth needs them. It is never going to work." I took a deep breath, eyes meeting Robert's oceanic blues again. Oh, those eyes... How much I loved them. I'd drown myself in them if I could... "He's a childish boy and will most likely never going to be a real man - and gods, yes... I need a real man. A man like you, Doctor Laing." Robert had listened to my words intensely. A playful smirk crept on his face at the last sentence falling from my lips. He ran a hand through his short blonde-brown curls, before he put the drink in his other hand on the garden table beside him. Then he stepped closer, shoved his hands in the pockets of the way too tight dark grey suit trousers he wore. "What's holding you back from having me then?" That one sentence, coming from those kissable lips of my drop-dead sexy friend, was enough to break down the barrier inside my head completely. There was no way I was able to hold myself back anymore.

So, I literally jumped him, grabbed his tie harshly to yank him down, our lips colliding messily in a passionate kiss and within seconds it was all teeth and tongue. My hands were buried in his hair, while his hands roamed the curves of my hips, pulling me closer - what caused our hips to clash together. A soft moan escaped my lips at the sudden contact, which Robert swallowed immediately with another feverish kiss. He maneuvered us to the garden table, walked me backwards until my ass hit the edge of the piece of furniture. For a short moment, he retreated from kissing me, his lips now red and swollen. "Are you really sure about that?" Robert panted, breathing heavily. "You're about to cheat on your boyfriend with your best friend, darling." He added, teeth grazing the pulse point on my neck, while his hands were working on shoving the red mini dress I wore higher - all the way over my hips. I nodded with closed eyes. "Y-Yes... I never wanted a man as much as I want you, Robert." I bit my lip. "If I am still able to walk straight tomorrow, then I am never letting you have a go again." Robert chuckled low, "Oh you won't, darling, I promise." and tapped the back of my thighs. A wave of arousal overran me at his words. "Atta girl, get on that damn table." Without hesitating a second, I followed his orders and sat on the garden table. Robert immediately kicked my legs apart and stood in between them, his lips finding mine once again. He shrugged his suit jacket over his shoulders and threw it carelessly aside, while I undid his tie and a few buttons of his shirt. I didn't make it to undo all of them, because Robert pushed me gently but firmly back, so that I was more or less laying on the dusty table. Then he grabbed my legs again and pulled me closer to the edge. When I suddenly felt his lips on the skin of my thighs, kissing and nipping, another moan left my mouth. "R-Robert... You d-damn tease..." He smirked at me and nipped one last time on my delicate flesh, before he quickly unbuckled his belt and zipped down the zipper of his posh suit trousers. I gripped the edges of the table, ready for a hopefully unforgettable ride. "Are we really going to do this now?" I panted, heart beating rapidly against my ribcage. "I-I mean here, on a dusty garden table? With dozens of people inside the flat, who could catch us any moment?" Robert looked up to me. Hungry eyes meeting mine, bursting with lust. "Yes, we do. If it means that I am finally able to fuck you, then it's a risk I am gladly willing to take." Before I even had the chance to answer, my best friend threw us over the cliff, sending us both into the deepest abysses of pleasure.

#robert laing x reader #robert laing x fem!reader #robert laing x y/n #robert laing x you #high rise #dr robert laing #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston characters #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x reader

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max1u3 · 7 months

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The Decline of the Anniversary Event, Part 3

The final remix event took place in August and just...ugghhhh

Tada, here are the Rem-mixes...

I just...

I'm literally studying concept and character design and I would get fail for plagiarism if I tried something like this.

As usual, here are the originals. You won't be surprised to see another skin that already has a twin colour pallet worm it's way in here.

It's not like there are literally dozens of skins that don't have twin skins Blizzard.

But really.

You do you.

Some real classics in there, skins I know people really adore. Then they go and get those crappy remixes. It just makes me wander what Blizzard was thinking.

I'm not as mad about the weekly challenges this time, for the purely selfish reason that I skipped the last two special events because I thought the skins were mid and was glad for another chance to get them.

I can understand why Blizzard would want to give new players the opportunity to get these skins, but it also feels like laziness wrapped up in false generosity. It still miffs me when I realise we got absolutely NO new, original, content for three whole events.

But, I guess it doesn't compare to this years Anniversary event.

For starters, there isn't even a trailer on their YouTube for it. Nor is there a separate post for each week on their Instagram.

I was busy during the first week, *cough* playing Baldurs Gate 3 *Cough* and I didn't get a chance to earn any of the rewards of SS the information, so this is all I got for week one.

In the first week the Winter Brawls and the Battle for Olympus mode came back and they had a series of challenges and rewards tied to them. Most of the rewards were pitiful credits, which are still a pretty dead currency even with the anniversary shop being open (for only a month). Everything still costs a steep price even if the currency is credits. Other than that it you can earn the classical hero icons for Junker Queen and Sojourn. The big reward here is the Echo highlight intro.

Wait.

That's weird.

I can't find the skins.

What?

Where did they go?

Oh wait-

There they are, costing as much as paid for OW1.

Oh yeah, here's the anniversary store, where you can buy everything with 'credits'.

The only skins you could buy with credits were the space raiders ones, the Ice Angel skin, the Art Deco skin, the Pearlescent skin and the Infinite ace. The Beekeeper and Hermes skins still cost real money, they're just discounted.

I can't say for certain those are all the credits skins though. I had the space raider skins on pre-order and I bought the infinite ace when it came out.

Anyways, here's week 2.

Once again, we have returning events, nothing new, and a series of challenges to complete. More classic golden player icons, a few credits and a Junker Queen victory pose.

It's not really screaming, quantity is it?

Finally, week 3.

Finally, in week 3 we see the return of the Summer Games modes and the mischief and magic game mode. The rewards are mostly the same with the golden player icons and credits, but finally, finally, we're presented with our first free skin. The cursed captain Reaper skin!

Hooray.

A single skin.

Lucky us.

Honestly.

Blizzard started out with 11 free legendary skins you could get through loot boxes, and now all hey offer is a card machine and a single free skin?

Do better Blizzard please.

I'm literally paying the price of OW1 for every skin I buy.

It's just getting ridiculous.

Apex Legends manages to have loot boxes and a battle pass, so why can't we?

#overwatch #ow2 #overwatch 2 #ow #anniversary

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stars-and-darkness · 9 months

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WIP WEDNESDAY!!!

week #6

this week, i thought we might do something a bit different, guys. this isn't technically a wip, as i don't believe i'll actually ever finish it. t's the first piece of tvd writing i ever did, over a year ago now, and i got some 2.5 k words in before i realised that it's not really going anywhere? so the chances of me picking it up again are pretty slim, but i thought you might enjoy reading what i have anyway. looking back on it, it seems that my love of the idea of liz adopting a bunch of mass murderers some 950 years older than her started early, heh.

but also, like, keep in mind this was early on, and that i didn't have as good a grasp on characters as i do now, lol.

happy mother’s day

Liz Forbes’s relationship with her daughter has been at an all-time best since Caroline became a vampire; she thinks she’s finally getting the hang of this whole motherhood thing. So naturally, she does the next logical thing and decides to adopt the first generation of vampires.

Their parents were shitty anyway.

Years ago now, Liz Forbes had read an article. She remembers it only vaguely; it was not a good time for her. Bill had left to chase his happily ever after or whatever with his boyfriend, and Liz had been left alone—scorned by the closed-minded conservative circles that made up most of Mystic Falls’ social scene, and with a daughter to take care of. A daughter who, as the days went by, sunk deeper and deeper into teen-typical moodiness, until what little understanding there was between them before Bill left was turned to dust.

The article was full of technical jargon she could not comprehend, and longer and wordier that it needed to be in order to convey its intended sentiment (at least in Liz’s opinion). It spoke of teenage brains and amygdales and other similarly confusing things. In the end, Liz was left with the dreadful piece of information that made all the years ahead of her dealing with her own impossible teen seem even more daunting.

Human brains fully develop at the age of twenty-five.

The first time Liz meets the infamous Klaus, he is the last thing on her mind—because not too long ago, Matt Donovan had carried her daughter into their house in his arms, weak and shivering, the skin at the crook of her neck torn and oozing sickly.

Still, the part of her mind that is still the Council member—and, oh, how ridiculous the premise sounds now, when her own daughter, her precious, precious Caroline is a vampire in her own right and happier than she’d ever been as a human—that part appreciates that she stands here in front of the ultimate predator. The monster monsters fear.

Klaus speaks, and it’s with a quiet, soft, oh-so-compassionate voice. He looks younger than Liz had imagined him, and so much sweeter; with his kind words and his golden curls and his dimpled smile. Monsters should not look like someone had taken all the finest features off the church cherubs and hewn a person from them.

And his request—oh-so-reasonable. Her support in the future, in exchange for Caroline’s life. Inviting him in in exchange for Caroline’s life.

She doesn’t even have to contemplate what her answer to his ultimatum will be.

When she is sure enough that he is gone, Liz stalks upstairs. The window of Caroline’s room gapes open; and Caroline herself rests on her bed, wan and weak, but already so much better than before. Where the ruinous bite had been on her shoulder is replaced by smooth skin.

There is still a drop of scarlet blood staining the corner of her lip.

Liz doesn’t ask any questions; she closes the window and strokes Caroline’s hair until her uneasy slumber turns into real sleep.

In the morning, Caroline won’t meet her eyes. Liz, who has had the whole night to contemplate just what she had invited into her home, can’t fault her for it.

(A diamond bracelet remains hidden up in Caroline’s room, with Liz none the wiser.).

The invitation is half-hidden in a way that means Caroline both wants and doesn’t want Liz to see it.

Mikaelson—it seems odd until she remembers some of Damon’s comments, and the fact that the eldest vampires in the world are actually Vikings.

It’s what is on the back that astounds her, though. Klaus’s handwriting isn’t the fancy cursive she would have attributed to him, but the blocky capital letters are in fact closer to the pictures she’d seen from the caves underneath the Lockwood estate. Runic. Because Vikings.

Save me a dance, he’d written, and though she’s only spoken with him for a moment, Liz can hear it in his accented, soft voice. Fondly, Klaus. As though there could be any confusion as to the writer’s identity in the first place.

“I can’t believe him!” Caroline rages and rants, all righteous indignation. A gown came with the invitation, layers of deep blue fabrics the names of which Liz doesn’t know.

Caroline refuses—at first—to even look at it. Liz feels mildly ill just thinking of her girl in that viper’s nest and yet—

Bill; dead. Caroline’s feelings towards the man who’d kissed her scraped knees and let sun ravage her sensitive, immortal skin will never be resolved.

“You should go,” Liz finds herself saying. “Take your mind off of everything.”

And if Klaus had wanted you dead, he had plenty of opportunity to do it that fateful night, and every moment since, she doesn’t say.

Caroline stares at her like she’d gone mad. But she goes, truly resplendent in the blue gown.

Liz notes the diamonds around her wrist. She assumes they came with the dress.

Caroline returns; uninjured but also somehow worse for wear. In the spirit of their newly-found connection, Liz tries to get to the bottom of the problem. It’s a blessing, this new understanding. The same part of her that warned her of the monster lurking behind Klaus’s blue eyes reminds her now, cynical, that all her daughter had to do for it was to die.

The new part replies, adamant and unyielding, that her Caroline has not gone anywhere.

“For a moment,” she answers cryptically, hair still done up and makeup still on even if the dress had long been replaced by a jumper and a pair of sweatpants, “I thought I saw the human inside the monster.”

“And he proved you wrong?” Liz asks before she can stop herself.

Caroline just shakes her head; and refuses to speak of it any more.

Days pass; Liz knows the Salvatores, the Bennetts, Elena and Caroline are scheming. They always are, as of late. She hates that the burden of fending off the oldest vampires in the world has fallen to children, yet somehow she can’t think of anything to do to help.

And no-one thinks to tell her everything.

One morning, she wakes to her daughter sitting listlessly on the couch, a half-drunk mug of blood in front of her.

She is dressed to entice, but her makeup is smudged, her dress rumpled and her hair a mess. Something went down last night.

“Caroline?”

“Bonnie’s mum was turned into a vampire.”

The rest of the story comes in halting pieces—a mother who had given her children eternal life now seeking to take it away, an ultimatum with Elena Gilbert’s life hanging in the balance, a betrayal of a deal—

And Liz can honestly say she doesn’t give a damn about Abby Bennett and her vampirism, because all that rings in her head is distraction, distraction, pretty blonde distraction.

“Caroline? You ... you ... a distraction?”

Caroline makes a face. It makes her look even more miserable than before, somehow.

“Klaus thinks he fancies me.” The word is odd, something Caroline herself would never use, yet Liz hears it perfectly in Klaus’s accent.

“Does ... does he?”

He can’t. That’s not how the world works, and by all accounts, there isn’t enough human left in Niklaus Mikaelson for him to ... to ...

Caroline throws her head back with a groan. “I don’t know! Maybe?” Then she shakes it, as though she’s giving up. “Even if he did, that’s over now.”

Liz doesn’t prod, but Caroline tells her anyway, fitting snugly into her embrace, her head slotted underneath Liz’s chin, like they used to do before—before.

“I used it against him, Mum ... there’ll be retaliation.”

And he has a standing invitation to our house, Liz realizes, and it chills her to the bone.

But the retaliation doesn’t come.

Life goes on as usual—or as usual as it can in Mystic Falls in these recent years. The mysterious murders take up most of her time, and her fear for what she’ll discover is almost enough to push the vampires and their spats out of her mind. It helps that the Originals have scattered with their mother’s failed attempt on their lives.

Here’s the thing, though.

Caroline may have recently celebrated her eighteenth birthday—and she’ll celebrate her nineteenth, and twentieth, and hundreds more if Liz has anything to say about it, and she does—but her body will forever remain frozen.

Seventeen.

And Liz remembers that damned article, and she realizes—Caroline’s brain will never mature to twenty-five. She’ll forever remain a teenager. What does it even do to vampires like Caroline and Stefan, stuck forever, with more experience under their belt than a human can have, aging them, yet immortality keeping them frozen in that young, young state?

It keeps her awake, sometimes.

The Originals all have false identities. She knows, because she’s the sheriff and things like these go through her hands, and she knows because Klaus’s place of birth is listed as London and his day of birth as January 15th, 1987. To a creature like him, those measly twenty-something years he claims to have must seem like the blink of an eye.

The sister’s, Rebekah’s, the one who stayed even after her elder brothers dispersed in the wind, claims she’s nineteen.

And Liz supposes that she is, in a way, except Rebekah has also been nineteen for over a millennium.

And it really shouldn’t matter that they’re stuck too—stuck in this odd limbo between child and adult, or that Liz keeps thinking, over and over again, that both their parents tried to kill them all in the span of a few weeks.

It shouldn’t matter.

It doesn’t—honestly.

Liz would like to file a formal complaint.

In the future, she would certainly like to be informed if a weapon that can kill Original Vampires has been found. Or if her friend, the resident vampire hunter who just so happens to also be her daughter’s history teacher has been turned into a killing machine with the express purpose of eradicating the vampire-kind, you know, the one her daughter belongs to.

This way, she doesn’t learn until the friend, the resident vampire hunter who just so happens to also be her daughter’s history teacher in question outs her daughter and her boyfriend as a vampire and a hybrid in front of the entire Council.

(Is the Council even aware werewolves are a thing, much less hybrids? Or are they still stuck on vampires? Oh, to be that oblivious again …)

She learns that Klaus is successfully desiccated and stuck in a coffin on its way to be dropped into the Atlantic when she is informed that Elena Gilbert will wake as a vampire in a matter of hours as a result of his sister’s vengeance. Then the Council kidnaps her daughter, Caroline somehow gets away, Elena completes her transition, and twelve people she’s known since she was a girl die in a gas explosion.

She doesn’t have time to celebrate Klaus finally leaving their lives for good before she sees him strolling casually down the street they live in, hands in the pockets of his probably-exorbitantly-overpriced jacket. His eyes meet hers, and he smiles in a way that reminds her precisely how easily his fangs can drop.

Liz runs home as fast as her very human legs can carry her, and bursts into kitchen with such urgency Caroline nearly drops the mug she’s taking out of the microwave. If it weren’t for those handy vampire reflexes, they’d probably have to spend the evening cleaning B positive out of their kitchen tiles.

“I saw—” Liz grinds out, fingers digging into the counter, “there—just—Klaus!”

Caroline turns towards the window, but the street is now deserted. Knowing the bastard, he strolled down it just to scare the living daylights out of Liz.

“Caroline! Why is Klaus not rotting in a coffin at the bottom of the ocean?”

Her daughter has the gall to look sheepish. “Don’t be mad, but—”

And that’s—finally—how Liz learns that:

Yes, Klaus had been desiccated. It took the combined effort of Tyler and the Salvatore brothers to hold him down, Bonnie’s magic and Jeremy’s sacrifice, but it had been done.

No, it didn’t last, because Bonnie Bennett would not risk the lives of her mother and friends with the Evil-Ric on a rampage. Considering that her daughter’s life was in the balance, and that Ric did manage to stab the White Oak Stake into Klaus’s heart, Liz doesn’t complain.

And, no, their Original infestation is not at an end—especially since Rebekah and Elijah returned into town to try and collect their brother’s body before they thought he’d been killed.

“And,” Caroline finishes, “I’m pretty sure Kol’s coming back, too, so …”

Liz does the only thing she can do and decides to deal with the problem after she has had a nap.

It takes Liz three days of cajoling to have Caroline confess to her how she’d escaped the Council, when neither Elena, Stefan, nor Rebekah herself has succeeded.

The answer, delivered in an annoyed growl, starts with a K and ends with laus.

“He was still in Tyler’s body,” Caroline continues. The pen she’d been using to write out their shopping list snaps in her hand and she doesn’t even notice. “Mum, I made out with Klaus. While in my boyfriend’s body. Why do things like these happen to me?”

Too much information. But also, the implications … “Care …”

She looks pained. “Nothing happened. He—look, I don’t want to give him any credit—gah. No. I can’t talk about this with you. You’re my mother.”

It’s not like Liz wants to discuss, or indeed, know, anything about her daughter’s sex life. “Care … are you sure? I know that—um. If you were … hurt …”

She looks supremely uncomfortable. “Mum …”

“You know you can tell me anything, right? Fine, nothing happened the other day, but …” She shakes her head. Her daughter is a vampire. There are very few who can hurt her anymore. “I’m here for you.”

Caroline gives her an odd look, and doesn’t speak again.

Liz doesn’t deny that she is tense. Weeks pass, and for some reason, no new and imminent threat emerges to wipe the world clean. The remaining Originals have settled down in their massive manor at the edge of town. It’s odd to think that the four of them are the most powerful vampires in the world when she sees them in the street, acting no different than regular humans. It’s odder still to remember that last year, there were six.

#klaroline wip wed #klaroline #tvd #ella writes #ella originals

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