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weasleyreidstyles · 16 days

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Serendipity; snippets of navigating fifth year with Fred Weasley

series masterlist

based on a request from ages ago. its a little choppy, but bare with me, ive just suffered the worst bout of writer's block ever😓 (i'm actually so sad that i've neglected serendipity so much but im back and i have so many wips to share with you all!!!!)

pairing(s): fred weasley x fem!reader, brief theodore nott x fem!reader (platonic)

Hogwarts doesn't feel the same anymore. The usual air of magic had been snuffed out with each imposing rule that was nailed to the Entrance Hall walls. There is no more laughter in the corridors, no more soft chatter from the figures inside the magical portraits; instead the repetitive notes of Professor Umbridge's sugary sweet tone rattle over deafening speakers.

All boys and girls must remain eight inches apart from eachother.

There will be no house fraternising during meal times.

Talk of any unauthorised groups will be met with adequate punishment.

Curfew must be met by every member of the student body.

That last one still haunts you in your peaceful moments.

It's the reason you sit on one of the uncomfortable plush seats in Professor Umbridge's office, a cursed black quill clenched in your harsh grip as you write out those very words, the familiar cursive of your own handwriting etching painfully into the skin of your non-dominant hand. She was smirking at you under the guise of sipping lengthily from her pink teacup, watching as the tears steadily building in your eyes finally spilled down over your cheeks, which were flushed red from the pain.

How had you found yourself in this predicament exactly?

You were made a prefect at the start of the year, alongside Hermione and Ron, which you'd found out when you got your letter detailing which books you would need for your fifth year. You remember the pride written across your parents' faces and how elated you had been to be given such a prestigious role, one that many Ravenclaw students in your year wanted just as badly as you. It was a revered spot after all. Everyone was elated for you, but none more so than the oldest Weasley twin.

"Are you going to give us unlimited leeway with pranks now that you hold such a position of authority, gorgeous?" Fred's husky voice joked in a whisper as the two of you sat at the dining table during the small party that Molly and your mother had set up in celebration for the three of you.

"Are you asking me to take advantage of my new position, Weasley?" You ask, a small smirk making its way on your face as you fight the blush threatening to paint your cheeks at his sudden closeness.

All summer, he had been flirting with you. At first you put it down to his lack of contact to the outside world and you laughed at his well-timed jokes and played into his flirtations with rebutting jokes of your own.

But then one night, when you flirted back daringly, he kissed you. He actually kissed you. It wasn't your first kiss. No, that went to Harry in a random game of truth or dare back in second year (something you both agreed was wrong on so many levels; it was never discussed by any of you again). But this kiss with Fred felt incredible and it cemented a closer bond with the older twin, whose brilliantly blue eyes sparkled with something more whenever he stared at you after that moment.

He'd rewarded your achievement later that same evening, after the party, behind the closed door of your temporary bedroom, leaving you smiling and giddy for the rest of summer. It's what prompted Ginny and Hermione's loose bet as to how long it would take for the pair of you to get together officially.

Your elation lasted until the very moment you stepped into the Prefects' Carriage and found out who you'd be partnered up with for the year.

Theodore Nott. Notorious for his aloof attitude as well as his surprising intellect that rivalled Hermione's. He was part of Riddle's group, one of the most popular groups in school, possibly trumping even the Golden Trio. But because he was part of Riddle's crew you had learned to hate him just a little – his teasing remarks towards your friends, especially Ron, always sent you into a spiral of brewing animosity.

So when Alicia Spinnet, who had been given the prestigious role of Head Girl, announced that she was pairing you with him, you cast her a look of utter betrayal, which she vehemently ignored.

You did not speak to Nott for the entire time you were meant to familiarise yourselves with eachother, and he made no effort either; grey eyes misted over as if he wasn't even part of the present conversation altogether. Gods how you despised him.

~∞~

Upon returning to your original compartment, following slowly behind Ron and Hermione, Fred had immediately seen your crestfallen look.

"What's up, gorgeous?" he asked from his seat by the window, ignoring Ron's faux gagging at the nickname. He'd also moved further into the corner to allow you the space to sit down.

You thanked him with a quiet smile before sitting down with a sigh.

"Alicia paired me with Nott for prefect rounds. How unfortunate is that?" You mumble, resting your head dejectedly against his burly shoulder.

"You're joking?!" He says with wide eyes. "What the hell was she thinking?"

"I assume it was because Davies paired Parkinson with your counterpart, so you got paired with Nott as a consequence." Hermione said from the opposite seat. "The Ravenclaws and Slytherins in sixth and seventh year were paired together as well."

Yes that was an overarching trend that had seemed to stick over the years.

"Maybe it won't be too bad." Ginny says and you all turn to her in synchronised disbelief. "What? I've never seen Nott speak. Maybe that'll be a good thing. A mute partner is better than a snarky one."

"Just the thought of being in his presence makes me uncomfortable. Mute or not." You say quietly, so only Fred can hear.

"If he does or says anything to you, let me know yeah?" He replied with equal secrecy and you nod your head imperceptibly in response.

He lets you use his shoulder as a makeshift pillow when you find your eyes closing drowsily, brushing the loose hair that falls into your face and ignoring George's knowing glances.

~∞~

The very first round of Prefect duties was utterly boring and painfully long. You and Nott had patrolled the Astronomy corridor with lacklustre precision, both eager to get away from eachother's presence.

It was like this for a while, a few months to be exact, until you both became accustomed to the silence, to the point where it was actually bareable. No longer were rounds a labourous activity; you and Nott began to partake in small talk, to the most minute extent – in no way did this make you aquainted and in the daylight, you returned to steely looks and barely contained snarls of discontent, which was mirrored by your friends, and his. You barely noticed the extra attention that Voldemort's son seemed to be giving you as your friendship with Theo progressed at a steadily growing pace.

At your budding friendship with the Slytherin Prefect, Fred began showing up at the end of your rounds to whisk you away, never sparing Theo a glance. The two of you would wander the desolate corridors, hands interlocked as you spoke quietly and unhurriedly. You noticed that Fred, always grinning and never unnecessarily angry, would grow agitated in Theo's presence and you never understood why.

Until one night, when Fred was loitering at the end of your last corridor to patrol, Theo had said something that made you burst into pearls of laughter; his face had lit up with a delighted smirk at the sound.

Fred's face was stoic and so unnaturally like his usual cadence that it took you completely by surprise.

"Of course you're waiting here, Weasley." Theo had mumbled, mostly to himself, but Fred had bristled from where he was leaning against the wall.

"You have a problem with that, Nott?" He had snarled and you'd looked at him with widened eyes at the edge in his voice.

Eager to defuse the tension, you took Fred's hand and gave Theo a look that read 'stop being an arsehole', before leading the ginger boy away.

Theo had gone back to his best friend to report that Mattheo's suspicions were indeed correct: you had been learning Legillimancy and had unknowingly spoken to Theo without so much as moving your lips.

And Fred had no idea.

~∞~

This routine continued for you and Fred, leaving you at the butt end of George and Lee's teasing. You came to expect him to be waiting at the end of your rounds, where you would part ways with Theo before spending at least an hour in Fred's presence.

On some occasions when it was far too cold to continue wandering the hallways at night, he would tell you to go straight to the Gryffindor common room, where there would be a fire in the hearth and plenty of blankets to snuggle into.

On such occasions, Theo offered to walk you there, despite him not wanting to be anywhere near the lions' den. It was during these times where your friendship with him became cemented as pure and real. Your friends were surprised when you actively sought eachother out during lessons.

Fred hated your budding friendship, but he said nothing about it; it wasn't his place to undermine your friendships.

But it became hard to hold his tongue when Professor Umbridge unveiled her new Inquisitorial Squad, which Theo and his friends had joined in quick succession.

The Inquisitorial Squad was a massive hindrance for Dumbledore's Army. The lot of you had to be more vigilant with your timings for the meet ups in the Room of Requirement, lest you get caught out by these glorified prefects. The Inquisitorial Squad is how you ended up in her office in the first place.

You had been patrolling with Theo, who was complaining about how frustrating having magicless lessons was becoming in the lead up to ypur OWL exams (you'd felt guilty about the DA not including any Slytherins all year, and this further cemented that feeling), when Adrian Pucey and Professor Umbridge came waltzing around the corner.

"Good evening Master Nott." the Professor says warmly, before her gaze sweeps over to you and her beady eyes catch onto the flashy Prefect badge pinned proudly tp your chest.

"Miss Meadow, why are you out past curfew?" She asks with faux concern, mouth twisting with a sadistic smirk.

"Uh-" You look at Theo, who looks just as startled as you. "We're just about to finish our rounds, Professor."

Umbridge lets out a heinous giggle that grates on your nerve.

"Oh my dear, didn't you see the newest decree?" She asks, her face alight with victory when you shake your head. "I have no need for Prefects anymore. I disproved them as a group."

"Wha- Why?" you ask, disbelief painted across your face. Pucey smirks as he looks from you to Theo.

"The Inquisitorial Squad has overtaken that job, Meadow." He spits your name like its dirt on the bottom of his shoe. You share a look of alarm with Theo.

I knew nothing of this Meadow, I promise you.

He looks sincere and you believe him, word for word.

"This sheer display of disobedience cannot go unpunished." Her harsh giggle is the only sound that fills the corridor.

She hands you a detention on a silver platter and you go into it blind. You didn't know that Harry had been trying to protect you, Ron and Hermione from the same fate as him.

~∞~

She dismissed you with a delighted giggle after an hour of writing the same line over and over again.

Curfew must be met by every member of the student body.

Your hand is throbbing from the pain, but all you feel is numb. You wander the hallways like a ghost, not bothering to pay mind to where you're walking, until you find yourself at the portrait of the Fat Lady leading to the Gryffindor common room.

"Password?!" Elizabeth says impatiently, as if she'd been repeating herself over and over.

"Gillyweed." You mumble and she finally takes in your appearance, completely forgetting to open the portrait hole.

"Oh my dear, are you alright?" She says, voice full of concern, and if she were able to, you're sure she'd reach a hand out and place it delicately onto your shoulder.

"'M fine, Elizabeth. Just need to sit down." You didn't realise how tired you were, but from the slurring of your words and the speed with which the portrait swings open, with no hesitation towards the blue and bronze tie donning your neck, you must be on the verge of collapsing.

Fred sees you first.

"Meadow? What are you doing here, gorgeous?" he asks, voice filled with concern.

"Don't know. But 'M really sleepy." You say and you grip at his arms with barely any strength, which he notes with wide, panicking eyes.

"Shit- okay, come on let's go upstairs."

He guides you slowly towards his dorm, ignoring his brothers and Hermione and Harry's looks of worry. He sees the blood dripping from your hand in the dim light of the room, which prompts him to usher you much faster.

He sits you on the marble of the ensuit bathroom, the cold of the tiles barely registers to you.

He's mumbling a series of healing charms against your hand, jaw clenching when the blood flow slows enough for him to see the culprit of your bloodlust.

"Did she do this to you?" He asks, his voice as low as a growl that has your thigh clenching at the tone.

"Technically," You start with a weak laugh, "I did this to myself. She told me what to write."

"It's not funny, gorgeous." He says with a frown that you manage to wipe away with a peck of your lips.

"It's fine, Freddie."

"No. It's not."

You can practically see the plans forming in his brain and the next day, a series of crazed birds are let loose in the Great Hall, all headed straight for the newly appointed Head Mistress, Fred's smirking face meeting her's with no hesitation.

His hand sports similar wounds to you by the end of the day and you patch him up in the same fashion that he did for you.

~∞~

You don't show up to your scheduled Prefect meetings for the rest of the year, and you avoid Theo in the corridors, much to your friends' delight.

His voice in your mind is the only point of contact that you have with your Italian friend, something you keep hidden from your friends, especially Fred.

You look sad, tesoro. He says from across the Great Hall, days after your first detention with Umbridge. You sit facing the Slytherin table beside Luna Lovegood, who looks between you, Fred and Theo imperceptibly.

I'm not sad. I'm bored.

Yes because I'm sure the Gryffindor table is just a delight to be seated at.

You scoff outwardly at his sarcasm.

"What're you scoffing about, gorgeous?" Fred's voice says from behind you. You sneak a look towards Theo, who seems to have engaged himself in a conversation with Riddle and Berkshire, not showing that he was just immersed in conversation with you mere seconds ago.

"Just thinking about all the ways I want to make Umbridge suffer." You say with an offhanded shrug. Luna giggles into the palm of her hand.

"I have plenty of ideas." He says with a smirk as he drags you from your seat and into the corridors beyond the Great Hall.

Professor Umbridge may have cast a cloud of sorrow over the magic of Hogwarts, but nothing could take away the fun you'd been having in the stolen moments with your best friend's brother.

Not even the fact that he was leaving prematurely. Certainly not after you convince yourself to share your growing feelings for him, to have that snuffed out by his secret declaration.

Your chance with him is taken from you as he and George sail away from Hogwarts with guffawing laughter at the sight of Umbridge's sour face. They're off to live their lifelong dream, taking your dreams with them.

The next time you see Fred is after you watch Sirius' body fall through the veil, mind and body too numb to process any and all of your feelings. You only reach out for Teddy in your mind, a comforting voice of reason for all you'd seen. Even the strangely beautiful sight of the thestrals, that were invisible only hours before, did not phase you.

You fell into Theo's comforting embrace the moment you were able to leave the Hospital Wing, Fred Weasley long forgotten at Ron's bedside.

taglist:

(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag)

@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover @thejadeazalea @undercover-smutlover @adhxmoony @dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf @devotedlycrookeddonut @purplegirls-posts @nofacenonamelikekira @foxboyapologist @lafrone @lovely-maryj @nromanovaswife @leeknows-wife @dracygf @wildlyobserving @ravenclawprincess33 @melllinaa @vellicora @lantsovheiress @emiliahoward @stunkbiggu @vcosette @prongsprincessworld @mattiesgirl @rachmmb @x-kermit-x @sun-fiower-seed @cas-planet @certaindreampost @weirdowithnobeardo @mikalovesicecream @benwadsworthsgf @rainy-darling @faeriepigeons @lovely-blackinnon @hiireadstuff @gimalo135 @elsafromcabinsix @moonlightreader649 @blueshome @nopedefe @spencerreidsthings @navs-bhat @agent-tempest @magimtz23 @y0urm0m12 @sbrn0905 @leona-hawthorne @whatsupb18

#serendipity series #fred weasley x reader #theo nott x reader #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley angst #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #theodore nott x reader

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ooshu · 1 year

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when mark was six, he told you he loved you.

you never really grasped what ‘love’ meant during those early, innocent times. your parents say they love you whenever you bid goodbyes going to school. your grandma used to tell you she loves you because you’ve been a good kid. so you told him “i love you, too!” with a grin plastered on your face, and mark felt his face go warm, a slightly pink flush on both of his cheeks.

when mark was eight, he said he wanted to be a writer.

he fully pledged it in his middle school yearbook a year before. an author, he wrote. you challenged him a bit. “write something for me then!”. young mark, full of determination, handed you a piece of paper at the end of the class. Roses are reds, Violets are Blue, …… I guess …… I love you ! - it was unfinished. cue the excessive punctuation marks and misplaced capitalization of letters, too. it was valentine’s day. and when the whole class knew mark loved you, he never got away with the teasing. you still had no idea what it meant, though.

when mark was twelve, “i’m gonna be famous!”, he shouted to the whole world.

you saw him pick up the guitar that he borrowed from his dad. he flicked a few strings. “congratulations, mark!”, you said. “thanks.”, replied. “what’s wrong?”, you saw how his smile slowly turned into a bit of a frown. “i’m going away,” he said. you patted him on the shoulder, “my mom said we’re all meant to, mark.”. oh, you thought, how early was it for you both to know the concept of separation. how unfortunate it is, sometimes, to be needing to grow up early.

when mark was sixteen, he took a good glance of a glimpse of his future.

flashing lights, cheering crowds, fans following him around—the fame he has worked for four years—the dog days, the sacrifices, the longing for familiarity in a city of uncertainties and foreign—are finally going to pay off. his cheeks hurt from smiling. he was more focused than ever, like a hungry animal preying for success. “i always knew you were made for somewhere else”, you thought while seeing the news around home that mark is on his way to making his name.

but as years passed by like a blink of an eye, mark finally had the chance to rest, to go somewhere. but he didn’t know where else to go. from living in toronto, to vancouver, to some few years somewhere in queens, and now, in unfamiliar cities he wake up to, he never had the chance to sit still and think of this: he never knew what home felt like.

when mark was nineteen, he made his way to his old house.

relatives greeted him. old smiles and familiar warmth overwhelmed mark. oh, how lovely it is to grasp a sense of familiarity. trains and 156 buses, his smile beamed when he reminisced middle school. “remember when…”, it was all his tongue could say. laughter filled the dining area where he and his siblings often had their silly whip cream-face-smearing fight, but his joy slightly faltered when he passed by an abandoned house, just five blocks away from his house. an abandoned, almost small-framed bicycle sits on the front porch. it was the bicycle you would ride whenever mark knocks at your very doorstep to go to the nearest town and buy potato chips.

he remembers when he was thirteen and packing for his flight the next day, he asked you: “do you think we’d forget each other?”

“i think you would.”, you replied.

“i would never.” mark reassured you, but you’ve heard stories of your mom and how her college best friend suddenly fell apart. nothing in particular, it’s just life and how we go separate ways—it’s inevitable. people say i love yous to their loved ones, reassuring them the warmth and proximity will stay, but as the sun rises, for mark, there will be great emptiness as he is forced to remove himself and start anew.

“why do you think so?”

“because i love you.”

and for you, love has changed its definition instantly. it was a time when a great consciousness arise. you understood how he truly meant all these years. you said it back as you also meant every single syllable. love, for mark, was meant to be fireworks and giggles. but by the time he boarded the plane, you kissed his cheek, his first love started and ended on the very same day.

now, mark, twenty-three, almost has it all.

he has been writing for years. he isn’t still an author, as he has told you, but sure what he writes comes along with the melodies he produces with his co-artists. he has been contented with his lifestyle, going to different countries, and working with unpredictable schedules. sure, he has established a name in the industry, working like a mad dog, but something still bothers him inside, something missing, lacking.

tonight, he writes in a local coffee shop as he waits for his manager to arrive, a practice that keeps his feet on the ground. scribbles, blurbs, drafts of lyrics, all embedded in his journal—and after a while of connecting the dots to construct who he really is and where he would position himself in the vast ocean of possibilities, he may have finally struck something that hits closer to his definition of home.

i just wanted you to know, mark writes to you, who have always been his muse through and through, to tell you that i have been happy during our years together, that i have never been so happy despite what i have gone through and achieved, and that i already know i will never be so happy again.

and as mark closes his messy, worn-out black journal, the bells rang as someone entered the door.

mark watches you walk in and towards the counter. he would have so many questions as to why you are here and when you have arrived. but reserve it for later because as you find a table you could sit in, you locked your eyes with his—so familiar, so distinct, so… inviting. almost home.

lost for words, mark stared at you. blinking like a fool. he must be dreaming.

but the doubts of the fantasy dissipated.

“hey, stranger.”, you said. “do you think we still know each other?”

a smile so warm, so loving, proximity that is so close—these are things he has lost over the years, now sitting in front of him, embodied by the epitome of his long lost love.

and mark always firmly believed in this, and today, he was never betrayed by his beloved: fate.

home, all along—he thought, is wherever i’m with you.

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miindfucked · 4 months

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benedict bridgerton fic rec

nsfw fics are marked with🔞. all work has been credited to their respective authors.

It Had To Be You by @fayes-fics

Summary: Modern AU romcom. A love story heavily inspired by When Harry Met Sally.

Chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, (ongoing)

Whatever the Poets Say by @pagesfromthevoid

Teaser: “What if I wanted to wait for you, Benedict?” She repeated, finally using his name. The way it felt on her tongue was almost sinful; but she loved it. “What if I am willing to walk to the ends of the earth and back, simply to see if you could love me?”

Chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen🔞, eighteen🔞, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two🔞, epilogue.

Foolish Endeavor by @murdockparker

Summary: Benedict Bridgerton was certainly no fool. Bad at cards, sure, a bit taller than most, that was a given, but he was seldom called a fool. Though, one could argue that falling for your best friend was a foolish endeavor, indeed.

Chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven🔞, (ongoing)

Somewhere Only We Know by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Five hours of snowfall, four miles from the nearest paved road, three weeks before Christmas, two old friends and one bed….

From A Father To A Son by @thebabblingbrookenook

Summary: Benedict has held his father’s words close to his heart for his entire life. The model of love that his parents provided set an uncompromising standard. All of the pieces to the puzzle didn’t fully align until he fell in love with you. Although his father is gone, Benedict gets to experience the love of his life through the lens of his father’s parting sage wisdom.

(Be)Longing by @fayes-fics

Summary: Mutual rescue, mutual jealousy, longing and belonging.

This Is My Idea by @theship-thewalrus

Summary: based on the song 'this is my idea' from The Swan Princess

This Book Is Dedicated To... by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Modern AU. Benedict helps cure some writer's block.

to be loved and to be in love by @desertno3

Summary: You had been best friends with Benedict for as long as you can remember, your relationship forged during the years your mothers were preoccupied with the youngest children and your fathers were busy instilling leadership qualities in the eldest children. It seemed to be a perfect match for a future marriage, or so everyone had thought. However, your first season had come and gone and Benedict had not been as active a participant as his mother had hoped he would be. You had left London betrothed to someone else and that was that. But news about your disastrous betrothal reaches Aubrey Hall in the spring. And it changes everything.

When The World Is Free by @fayes-fics

Sypnosis: It is late summer 1939, when you arrive in Paris from New York to begin a year of adventure. A deal struck with your parents to see a little of the world before settling down and marrying your ‘childhood sweetheart’ Stanley.

You soon find yourself with a spirited young English housemate Eloise, enjoying all that the cosmopolitan European city has to offer…. Until a few weeks later when war is declared. In this newly uncertain world, Eloise’s mother dispatches her brother to bring her home. Your plan is to board a ship back to America… but circumstances conspire to leave you possibly trapped in France with no way home. Eloise refuses to leave the country without you, even as you secretly grow attached to her beguiling brother, Benedict, who is everything Stanley is not.

There appears to be only one solution to your dilemma to ensure safe passage out of the country as invasion seems imminent… but it will mean your life is forever changed, even when the world is free again.

Chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, (ongoing)

Innuendo Bingo by @fayes-fics

Summary: Someone knows a LOT of stupid synonyms for orgasms…

Truth or Dare by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Modern AU. A drunken game of Truth or Dare leads to an interesting development.

Rhythm by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Modern AU. Filthy talking and dancing with Benedict.

All The Love (Under a Mistletoe) by @seasonsbloom

Summary: modern!au. you have been in love with your best friend's older brother for years. on Christmas eve, things finally come to a head.

Summer Nights by @murdockparker

Summary: Benedict was born to be a father, she was sure of it.

Waking Up by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Modern AU. What is the best way to be woken up…?

In the Oven by @murdockparker 🔞

Summary: She was never all that good at baking, so perhaps a bit of assistance from her husband would be a sufficient help?

Inspiration by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Benedict just needs a little inspiration to complete his artwork.

Happy Birthday, Mr Bridgerton by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Benedict's wife gives him the best possible birthday gift.

Transitions by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Modern AU, friends to lovers, it’s very distracting when a Bridgerton becomes a triathlete…

Breaking and Fixing by @fayes-fics

Summary: Benedict’s wife likes to fix things (and break them).

Mine by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Benedict's wife gets lots of male attention at a party and he gets very jealous.

A Treat by @fayes-fics 🔞

Prompt: “don’t be shy; come sit on my face, love.”

Acting Up by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Your husband Benedict gives you a treat during a Bridgerton family dinner.

Sonnet #29 by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Your husband Benedict and you have a late night tryst in the billiards room of Bridgerton House.

Lightening & Lilies by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Simply put, greenhouse sex during a thunderstorm.

Tell me (all the ways you missed me) by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Having been apart for 3 weeks, you share an eventful carriage ride.

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fic rec #farzana's recs

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jishyucks · 1 year

Text

only fools. ‣ hrj

‣ pairing: huang renjun x reader

‣ genre: FLUFF, sorta angsty? idk, co-leads to lovers? is tht even a thing?

‣ wc: 2.2k

‣ summary: Renjun's made one promise to himself ever since the play's production started: I promise not to fall in love with my fellow cast member. But after months of working alongside you, he finds that this promise was something he couldn't keep.

‣ warnings?: sorta sorta cheesyyy?, mentioned that reader's smaller than Renjun, Shrek (loml?jkjk) mention

‣ an: I finally wrote something after having writer's block for ten million years I s2g,,, tht being said I'm not sure if this is the best I can do but I do believe it's really cute ( •̯́ ^ •̯̀) so I hope you enjoy it!

‣ tags: @mosviqu @sleeping-sirens

Dress rehearsals start in a mere thirteen minutes yet Renjun is sitting at the top corner of the football field’s bleachers in hopes that none of his castmates could find him.

He’s disappointed in himself because he’s being unprofessional. He knows damn well that if he did the same thing in the real world, it wouldn’t be accepted. Sure, it’s not acceptable now… the production is set for next week, yet he’s here wondering if he should even show up for rehearsals because of his own damn feelings.

Fuck feelings, he thinks, They’re stupid anyway.

Renjun kicks the edge of the seat in front of him and watches as the football team finishes up with their warm-up. He’s not sure how long they’ve been running in circles, but judging from how the coach yells for them to finish strong, he could guess it’s been close to fifteen minutes.

Fuck feelings, Renjun repeats to himself.

He feels like beating himself up over the very fact that he broke a promise that he made to himself at the beginning of the show’s production.

I promise not to fall in love with my fellow cast-member.

It was a simple promise that he thought would be easy to fulfill. Renjun was never one to develop feelings easily, which was exactly why he easily forgot the fact that feelings are something you couldn’t plan. Ever.

The reason it even came to existence was because his other castmate and best friend, Jaemin, had pointed out that this production was ‘romantic-full’—whatever that meant in his books—and that he was in some dangerous position of developing feelings for his co-lead.

He clearly remembers waving off his ridiculous reminders, simply because Renjun’s already been in countless productions and not one of them did he develop feelings for another cast member that could be deemed greater than that of friends. The idea was stupid.

But he made the promise anyway.

Just in case, he told himself.

Then this brings Renjun to now. With a broken promise dangling right in front of his face and feelings sitting rather irritatingly at the centre of his heart like a bullseye.

Renjun blames you for it all. For the way his heart beats around your presence, for the way the butterflies erupt at even the slightest touch of your hand, and the way he loses all composure the millisecond you smile his way.

Renjun doesn’t even know how it even got to this point.

But then again, it’s absurdly clear. The roles you both play, the late nights rehearsing just to get cues right, the impromptu hangouts after rehearsals… his relationship with you has grown over the past few months and he can’t really blame his heart for giving way for you.

In fact, it would have been much more worrying if he didn’t develop feelings for you. Especially since it was you. He would be a total fool not to fall for someone like you.

Nonetheless, Renjun’s frustrated over breaking the one and only promise he made for himself because now, after accepting these newfound feelings, he’s practically deathly afraid to face you. If he sees you now, he knows he’s going to make a fool of himself.

“Okay, bring it in!” The coach’s voice was rather loud despite him being twenty steps below Renjun.

He sighs and grabs a glimpse of the time. Eight more minutes until rehearsals and it was a good walk across campus just to get to the theatre.

There’s a feeling in his leg that was itching for him to stand up and go, but he ignores it, instead laying down against the warm metal seat before throwing an arm over his eyes to block them from the sun.

Renjun bangs his heels against the seat causing the whole bench to shake. He has to shift in his position so he doesn’t fall off. Then he groans and whispers a ‘what am I going to do?’ under his breath.

Because that was the real question. What is he going to do? He’s unsure whether to wait it out and let the feelings disappear on their own or take his chances with you—if you even reciprocate these feelings. He can’t just avoid you until the entire production is over because he is one of the show’s main leads. Renjun worked hard for this role and he can’t just let the understudy do it all for him because of his feelings for you were getting in the way.

Renjun knows for a fact that actors and actresses have gone through the same thing he’s going through… but how the hell did they manage to get through it?

He wonders if there was a book or YouTube video of some sort that provided him helpful steps on how to solve the situation in under 10 minutes—but one can only dream.

Renjun lets white noise overrun his head as he lays in a still position for who knows how long, feeling the breeze move past him gently. It was a cool breeze, but it balances out the sun that was beating down directly onto his skin.

Peripherally, Renjun can hear the sound of steps against the bleachers, but he quickly dismisses it, immediately assuming it was another student on their way up to isolate themselves like he was.

But, boy, was he wrong.

“There you are.”

Renjun’s heart thumps against his rib cage at the sound of your voice and he quickly sits up. “Y/N! What are you doing here?” His vocal pitch is three levels higher than usual, almost giving away the nerves that now have taken over his system.

How should he even act around you? This shouldn’t even be hard. He’s been around you almost every day for the past few months, and he’s an actor for god’s sake. He can simply fake it ‘til he makes it.

“And you don’t expect me to ask you the same thing,” you give him a look and wheeze, “You were supposed to be there like half an hour ago, y’know. You should be glad I volunteered to find you because they were going to send Doyoung and you know how scary he gets when he’s mad.”

When you realize that Renjun wasn’t going to budge anytime soon, you sit next to him with almost no room left between your shoulder and his. You wait for a short moment for Renjun to reply, but you’re only returned with silence and the groaning of sweaty men down at the field, “Are you okay?”

“Of course, I am,” Renjun waves off your concern and stands up, “Let’s get to rehearsal.” He shuffles past you and makes his way down the stairs. Renjun’s quick to reach the bottom, but what he doesn’t know is that you’re close behind.

“You’re lying,” you say when you finally catch up. It was blunt, but it was because you don’t have a single fibre of doubt in your body.

Renjun shakes his head, “I’m not lying.” When he notices that you’re catching up, he speeds up just a tad bit to keep you from gaining any sort of eye contact. He’s not even sure why he’s doing this when he knows that he eventually has to make eye contact with you during rehearsal.

“Yes, you are,” you retort, “Huang Renjun of all people wouldn’t willingly show up to practice late. There’s something wrong and you already know I’m going to try and get it out of you.”

Renjun chooses not to say anything, afraid that he’s accidentally going to give you hints of his dilemma. He focuses on the way his feet taked steps as you both find your way to the theatre.

“So, what is it?” You start, “Is it homework? Roommate problems? Nerves?… No, it can’t be nerves…” You’re practically skipping to keep his pace. He can hear you rambling beneath your breath and he lets you be, refusing to give in too easily.

When you’re returned with silence for the nth time, you switch gears and let out a loud, rather deep, sigh. “Renjun, I’m being serious right now. I know something’s wrong. And it’s not because you’re showing up late to practice on purpose, but it’s because you can’t even look me in the eye.”

“We’re going to be late,” he mumbles. Renjun’s walking so fast that he’s almost jogging.

“Oh, c’mon, as if we’re not already late,” you roll your eyes and reach for Renjun’s wrist, forcing the both of you to stop in your tracks, “We’re not going until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“I told you,” Renjun repeats, “There’s nothing wrong. Now, let’s go.”

Renjun attempts to wiggle out of your grasp but you simply just tug on his arm to reinforce it, “And I told you that we’re not going until you answer my question. What’s wrong?” You sigh, “Renjun if you don’t tell me now, my head’s going to be preoccupied during rehearsal. Do this for you and for me.”

Renjun’s stuck. He’s not sure whether to tell you now, lie now and tell you later, or simply just not tell you (hard stop). All these options have one possible outcome in common and it was how he would possibly regret it all.

“If you’re trying to decide whether you should tell me or not, I vote for the first option,” you say. Renjun hates how you can read him like a book—well, except for his feelings for you. If you could, then this entire situation would have been easier to handle.

Renjun searches the empty hallway as if there would be an answer written bright and clear on the walls. He’s stuck and he needs to act quick. He doesn’t have all the time in the world anymore.

Then, his eyes land on your hand still holding onto his wrist.

Swiftly, Renjun slides his wrist down towards him. But instead of taking his arm back, he makes the impulsive action of intertwining his fingers with yours, holding your hand as if it were made of glass.

“What’s wrong is that I can only do this,” Renjun gulps nervously. He hasn’t made the effort to look at your reaction just yet, eyes trained on his hand holding yours. He’s slightly relieved that you haven’t pulled your hand back. But then again it could just be you in shock.

He gains the confidence to hold your smaller hand tighter before tugging you towards him. The two of you are practically chest to chest, so close that if Renjun simply leaned down, he could plant a kiss on your forehead. “This.”

Renjun’s heart is pounding right against his chest and he knows you can hear it. But he continues and brings his forehead down to graze your own, “And… this.”

Renjun pulls away and it’s like all of his confidence is sucked out of him, “…as stupid characters in that stupid play while I’m here wishing that it could be more!” A brief silence lingers between the two of you before he turns to leave, but you’re quick to yank him back by the elbow.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Your brows furrow. Although it may come off as you being completely lost, you truly weren’t. You just wanted clarification and words that will confirm what you think Renjun is meaning to say.

A huff leaves Renjun’s lips and he searches the walls once again. He can’t repeat the same things he’s already done, so now he needs to resort to words.

“Y/N, we’re co-leads in a romance story!” There’s a hint of frustration in Renjun’s voice and at that point you can tell that this has truly been bothering him, “We practiced our lines together, hung out after, hell, I’ve learned the weirdest facts about you—that you open chip bags from the bottom because that’s where all the flavour is, how you take pictures of green onions in soup that look like hearts, that you’ve watched the second Shrek movie a bajillion times just to watch the fight scene at the end… Y/N, everyday for the past few months I was practically handed the opportunity to fall for you… and I would be a fool to not fall for you.”

Renjun lets his head fall forward and his bangs flop over his eyes, “I was planning on waiting until after the final show to tell you because I didn’t want to ruin the hard work that everyone’s put into the production just cause of my feelings… but I guess my feelings won.”

He waits for you to reply, bracing himself for the worst ever possible reaction from you. Renjun’s already imagining a rejection—a gentle one, of course—but when he sees your hand reach out for his own, he feels a pang of hope sitting deep in his chest.

Renjun feels you hold his hand tight, squeezing it before using it to draw him towards you. He lets himself stumble forward before planting his feet right in front of yours. Your toes are almost touching, so you shuffle forward so that they are. With this gesture, Renjun finally allows himself to make eye contact with you.

There’s a sense of relief when he catches a proper sight of your face, a soft smile sitting upon your lips. And when you finally see that Renjun’s looking back at you, your smile grows ten times larger.

“Well, then I guess I’d also be a fool if I hadn’t fallen for you, either.”

211 notes · View notes

yarrystyleeza · 4 months

Note

Ok actually I didn't have to think long, lol.

What would your ideal first date with Mikey (aka our favorite Irish mob daddy) consist of??? 👀

I am really really REALLY sorry it took me (5) months to finish this piece, a lot of stuff was going on (my life was a complete mess, still tho). But since it's Valentine's day, I HAD to post something, and what's better than a date with Mikey for a Valentine's gift?

Something else I had to say, is that I had no idea how to write HCs—which is the vibe that I got from your ask (hehe), so, I improvised, and made up a whole story of what would your first date with Mikey would be (with a back story as well).

That being said, let's jump right into the act! And thank you, thank you, thank you, so much, for submitting this request and for your patience, please enjoy! 💖💖💖

It's Always Raining In Dublin (M.K)

Requested by @loveroftoomanyfandoms

Pairing and dynamic: Michael Kinsella x female!reader (reader is a bookshop owner), strangers to friends (?) to lovers

Prompt: fluff, first date goes wrong but then perfect, rain, rain, and more rain.

Word Count: 4.3k!

Writer's note: this was supposed to be finished back in September, which was five months ago, but I was struggling for a while with both a terrible writer's block and life and then BOOM I got the inspiration to finish it. Also, this is the very first time I ever write anything for Michael, so I'm a little nervous, I hope it's good enough though.

(I proofread this almost a thousand times WITH my bestie as well, so if there's anything wrong with the grammar and/or the lexical content, we were really exhausted and couldn't see shit—we're sorry T-T).

It was a rainy morning when you truly met him, it rained almost everyday in Dublin but that day was a core memory. You had just unlocked the door of your little bookshop and started to sort things out before your costumers arrive.

Usually, your first client doesn't show up before nine-thirty in the morning, which gives you spare time to dust off the shelves and pick up a big cup of coffee from the nearby coffeeshop down the street—in this never-ending autumn.

That morning was no different. It was pouring heavily but you're used to opening your shop on rainy days, it's always raining in Dublin anyway, and if you had to take each rainy day off—you'd end up with a couple of fingers on your hands as you count the days you worked on per year.

You were organizing the children's books section when you heard the sweet chime of the little bell hanging on your front door. It was barely eight and you happened to just finished your coffee and breakfast, getting ready to start your day. But it began earlier than you expected it to.

Your costumer was a man, you assumed he was in his early forties, maybe for the dark thick beard that covers most of his face. His face was strangely familiar to you, you just couldn't exactly remember when it was when you saw him.

But you're sure that this was the prettiest face of a man you've seen in a while. His greenish hazel brown eyes sparkled like a kaleidoscope with a hint of an exquisite permanent-sadness, and his flushed skin and dampened hair glistened due to the torrent outside.

You felt your breath stuck in your throat for a moment before you could clear it to speak.

"good morning, sir, how may I help ya today?" you faced him fully and your skirt swirled—following your motion with a swoosh in the air, you catch him glance down at it for a second before returning his eyes on you.

"I... The book ye suggested ta me the other day..." he starts gently and the memory comes back rushing immediately. You remember that warm tone, you had indeed met this gentleman before.

A week ago, he came over to your shop and you recall how lost he was in his search for the perfect book to read. And you, being a bookworm, and also the owner of this little corner bookshop— you had to help him. You gave him a suggestion for a book out of his box—out of his comfort readings.

And from the gentle look on his face, you suppose that he liked it.

"I'was grand," the man smiles softly and the corners of his eyes crinkle a little, you find yourself grinning back at him.

"Ye finished it quickly!" you commented in excitement and he looked a bit puzzled, a smile softly drawn on his lips with a little crease of confusion. It was adorable.

"I mean—I'm glad t'was grand that ya finished it quickly." He lipped a silent "oh" before his cheeks burn red as he smiled and his eyes almost disappeared.

"Are ya here for another book?" you asked when the silence fell on the place, raindrops kept knocking on the glass front nonstop, music to your ears with this handsome man smiling and radiating joy to your eyes.

"Ye can say that..." his voice was quiet but you can hear it in this downpour noise, he tilted his head to the side and shrugged, and it was impossible for you to not aw at it.

"How about we go with somethin' even newer for today?" you suggested, he nods to the side with a little smile, you walk and he follows you down the aisle.

"Romance or crime and mystery?" you stop at the novels sections, "pride and prejudice, I guess ya must've heard of it before," you pick the book off the shelf, he gently takes it from your hand and examines the cover thoroughly with his amber eyes, and he looked so interested.

"Or, we can go with Agatha Christie's illustrious murder on the orient express," you take the book and hand it to him, "or... Take a whole new genre and check Mary Shelley's horror Frankenstein? It's one of me favorites," you hand him the third book after strolling down the aisle a little more.

The man looked puzzled now, he seemed interested in each one of these books. But you patiently wait for him to speak.

"Have ya made up yer mind yet, sir?" you ask.

He shrugged with a sigh, raising his brows high, "they all look grand— can't lie t'ye," he answered.

"They are— but I can make ya an offer, I'll give ya the three books with the price of one and a half—and in return, ye're gonna write me a review of each book to add to me list of reviews and suggestions here on me wall," you tilt your head to the side, eyeing his beautiful features and almost forgetting you were waiting for his answer.

"Tha' seems grand ta me," he chuckled.

"I'm glad it is!" you walk him back to the cashier check, you get back behind your computer to scan the books and add in the discount.

"That'll be 18.46 after the discount," you lean against the wooden surface with your arms supporting you up.

He nods and hands you the money. "There ya go--" you're about to hand him the change. He shook his head, "no, keep tha change, miss..." he cuts you off gently, looking down at the little pin with your name on it.

You tell him your name to catch his eyes back up and he nods with a little smile, "Michael." he says, only taking the receipt and the paper bag of books.

He turns and makes his way to the front door, "Michael?" you loved the sound of his name rolling off your tongue. He stops and turns with a puzzled face, "thanks fer the tip," he smiles and you can see the blush on his face a mile away. He leaves and you watch him take a turn to the right before he disappeared under the northern downpour.

The next week, Michael shows up at your shop's door on a Saturday afternoon, a big smile drawn on his face. You were dealing with a little kid trying to choose a book, you turn to see him and he immediately waves at you, a little sweet grin splits the darkness of his thick beard. "Ya can take the book now, pet, momma's gonna send me the money later, 'kay?" The two of you watch the little kid waddle out of the shop.

"Sorry t' interrupt yer work," he says as he crossed the distance between you. You shake your head, "at all, Michael. How was yer read? Which book did ya read first?" you asked, leaning against the shelves.

He smiled wider when you said his name, almost startled to speak. "Um, the-- the mystery one, murder on the orient express," he answered.

"And did ya like it?" you ask him again with enthusiasm and butterflies crowding your lungs. He rubs the back of his neck with a sigh and an apologetic smile. "Ya don't seem like ya liked it, did ya?" you chuckled.

He scrunched his nose and tilts his head to the side, "the ending was unexpected at all ta be honest with ya," he shrugs.

You nodded and hummed to his answer, "Christie is never expected, that's why we love her," he nods back.

You notice the two paper cups of coffee he held in his hand when the smell of freshly baked-and-brewed coffee beans hits your nostrils. You were so confused why you never noticed it before, maybe you were distracted by Michael's presence as a whole, or his always-glistened ambers if you were specific. Michael notices the confused smile on your face. "I— thought I should bring ye coffee, as a thank ya."

Your smile grows with a blush as he hands you a cup, "thank ya, Michael, that's truly sweet of ya," you coo, his face blushes and shyly drops his eyes to the ground.

The sky thunders and you nearly jumped out of your place, both of you stare at the other and you burst out laughing. "Did that scare ya off, pet?" Michael asked with a worried smile, you kept giggling.

"Not really but... It was... Unexpected?" you answer after taking a deep breath.

"Like Christie?" he chuckled, you burst out laughing.

"Like Christie."

The weeks turned into months and Michael began to show up more and more often, and you eagerly waited every morning to see his shiny hazel eyes and his beautiful smile, one that you keep daydreaming about until he steps into your shop with two hot cups of coffee.

He turned from a regular client—to be a resident of this little bookshop. Michael started to stay in with you and help you organizing and monitoring the place—he would even help the little kids in choosing their books, too.

Once, you found him sitting on the oak floor, the little boys and girls gathered and sat around him, while he narrated a children's book. Your heart melted at the sight, and luckily that wouldn't be the last time.

The kids would come into your shop asking you if uncle Michael was there to read for them; Michael was now a part of your place, and you're happy to have someone like him to keep your company.

One evening —after three months of seeing each other daily— when the sky was cloudy and the sunset light was becoming less visible. The weather broadcast had warned about an upcoming rainstorm tonight—so you had to call it a night and leave.

You made sure everything was in the right place and order before you left. You put your autumn coat on and stuff your phone inside your purse. You take the keys out and you make your way towards the exit. Michael was waiting for you by the front door. Both of you get out of the shop and you turn to lock it up.

Michael calls your name gently in a tone barely louder than a whisper before you head on your way home and it makes your stomach churn in the most beautiful way.

You turn to look at him, he's shifting in his place, hands stuffed inside his leather jacket pockets and face all flustered and burning red. "Can I walk ye home tonight? It's a lil' darker than usual, I'd be worried 'bout ye, pet," he asks, voice so desperate. Your heart skips a beat—but it comes back pounding.

Your smile doesn't leave your face and it starts to hurt your cheeks. "Sure thing, Michael, I'd love to," you nodded, he grins and his eyes crinkle and his orbits shine.

The sky darkens but you could still see the perfect smile on Michael's face, little raindrops started sliding against your skins and it was a scene out of a painting, so magical and calm.

You make it to your place and you exchange goodbyes. You watched him walking down the concrete path and disappeared behind the brick wall.

You made your way to your doorstep, almost taking your keychain out when Michael calls out your name, you turn to face him, he's all soaked in water but his beautiful grin never left his face.

"Can I take ya out fer dinner tomorrow night?" your jaw dropped and your head screamed 'yes, yes, yes'.

"Yes! Yes, y'can, Michael!" you could barely make out his silhouette as your grin almost shut your eyes. He's almost jumping in his place, he sighs with a big smile.

"I'll pick ya up tomorrow at seven, is that grand fer ya, pet?" he shouts.

"Of course, Mikey!" you shouted back.

You walked into the warmth of your house soaked and giggly, you ran upstairs straight to your bedroom to plan an outfit, you didn't care about messing up the carpet, you'd deal with that later.

You quickly made up your mind about a floral day dress you had bought recently and you recall thinking of Michael while buying this dress.

You guess he's going to love it, he usually complimented you when you wore dresses and let your hair down and that's what you're going to do.

You took the next Sunday morning off as you started to prepare yourself for the date, pampering yourself with all the skin and hair care products you can find in your house.

You wanted to look perfect for him.

You felt overwhelmed with happiness, making up the scenarios of your evening. Where will he take you out? Is it a fancy restaurant or a local diner? What would he bring you? Flowers definitely, he's a flower-gifting man, as you realized, it was definitely his way of showing affection. He brought flowers every couple days for the shop.

Now it's nearing seven and you happened to just finished your look. You put on your dress and you fix your hair, adding a little floral accessory to the side of your braided bangs. You looked stunning, you hoped that you'd give the same impression to Michael.

The doorbell rings as you slipped into your heels, you look at your mirror for the very last time tonight before opening the door. He looked so fine though he wore his shirt and trousers casually with his leather jacket. You could kiss him already.

His eyes stayed fixed on yours for a brief moment before he exhaled with a stunned smile. "Y—ya look magical, pet," he breathed out and it made you turn completely red.

"I tried me best..." you shyly drive your eyes away and tuck a stray strand back behind your ear.

"Y'don' even have ta try, love, ye're always lookin' good," he shyly says and you could see his cheeks prickling red as he drove his eyes down to his shoes.

"I um... Brought ya these," he revealed a bouquet from behind his back, it was of red roses. It matched your dress perfectly. His head tilted to the side with a smile as he handed it to you.

"They're so wonderful, Mikey, loved them, thank ya," you take the bundle. "Ya look great too, Mikey, loved yer shirt," you had to compliment him, he deserved it.

His face reddened beneath his beard, "thanks, love."

"Ye're ready, aren't ya, love?" he asked with a smile.

"I am, let me get me purse and coat first—"

He shook his head, "take yer time, pet," he countered.

You turn behind the door and take your coat off the hanger. Sliding inside it, you take your purse, grab an umbrella and widen the little crevice of the door to pass outside.

Michael hesitantly held your hand but when he noticed how you instantly wrapped your palm around his—he intertwined his fingers with yours, with no plans on letting go.

You walked down to the main street where Michael tried to stop a taxi for the two of you. "We don't have to take it," you stopped him with a gentle hand on his back, he was a little confused, "I'd prefer walking with ya, Mikey," you explained yourself. A big smile breaks the darkness of his beard and you could swear he beams at you.

As you strolled down the concrete path, the sky thundered vigorously, the voice rumbled and echoed in the air, and it wasn't long before it started dropping tears upon the two of you.

You could see Michael's face turning dark, he cursed under his breath, you rubbed a pat onto his bicep, and pulled the umbrella over your heads, offering him a soft smile. He smiled back but you still felt how uneasy he was.

"It's okay, Mikey, I love walkin' in the rain," you comment, and that kinda eases the tension of his demeanor.

The walk is silent, and you could still feel him timid as you held his forearm, you know he can't control the weather, but you don't really mind if it's sunny or gloomy, as long as you are with Michael, it's all what matters to you.

The two of you made it to the restaurant, and Michael's face turned even darker. A sign on the glass door reads 'electricity outage, sorry for disturbing' was hung on the glass door. You turn to look at Michael, his eyes are glaring with fire.

The receptionist types something on his phone and sticks it to the glass, "it's coming back in a few minutes, we're working on the issue, we truly apologize for such occurrence... See, Mikey? We can wait a few more minutes," you smiled back at him, but Michael wasn't really buying it.

He gulped and closed his eyes, huffing out a stream of hot air. "It's okay, Mikey, we can go somewhere else if ya don' wanna wait..." you suggested.

He shook his head, "no, I booked us a table in there a week ago and I ain't takin' ya anywhere less than that!" he tried to remain calm but his tone was getting angrier, "I can't let this day go wrong like tha'!" he expressed, wiping his mouth and tugging onto his beard, something you noticed he does whenever he feels tensed.

You rubbed his bicep and squeezed it a little, your hand unconsciously walk up to his face and you scratch his thick beard. He smiles a little, but his eyes are glistened with tears like glass balls.

Things weren't going his way, for years and years, and today he wished he could finally do something he wanted. You didn't mind if you got the chance to dine at the restaurant or took your date home, what you only cared for was Michael's presence with you. But to him, it seemed like today too is going wrong and he has no clue how to fix it.

And you truly hated to see Michael angry or sad, he doesn't deserve to feel any of that. He's a sweetheart, he never put you down, so you have to keep him up.

"Have I told ya about the one time I almost died?" you ask him, and he clearly shifts demeanor to your question, you hide a smile waiting for his answer. Your ways might be effective after all.

He shook his head with knitted brows, you nodded and hummed. "Well, that day, I was picking up coffee from the shop I'm a regular for," you start, and you notice him directing all his being to you, "that day, me favorite waiter wasn't there to get me order, and another one got it," you leant onto the glass, after getting closer to him so the umbrella would cover the two of you better.

"But, when me order arrived, it was a wrong one, and I was really mad, I told the waiter to change it, but he couldn't, they can't give the drink to someone else and they're not allowed to throw it away," you got closer, and Michael was so integrated into the story.

"So I had to accept it, but I was still so angry at that, I wasn't seeing things clearly, and I was crossing the street and a car almost hit me!" you tell animatily, Michael was shocked.

"Ya didn't hurt yerself pet, did ya?" he was worried and you loved his face when he was.

You huffed a chuckle and shook your head, "I didn't hurt meself, and didn't spill me coffee either, and when I arrived to the bookshop and took a sip of it, I discovered that it was so much better than me regular order," you shrugged, Michael smiled but he wanted to know more, "and now it's me new regular."

Suddenly, the lights came back, as the night had already fallen. Michael's face lit up a little and you grinned to that. You walk into the place and the receptionist leads you to your table with plenty of apologies. Michael helps you into your seat and settles down his, released a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

You reach out for his hand across the table, pulling him out of the cloud forming over his head. "It's okay, Mikey... We're inside now," you offer him a smile, he smiles back, you rub his knuckles with your thumb.

A waitress approaches your table with a note in hand, Michael took a deep breath and looked up at her. She asks for your dinner of choice. You look at Michael, informing him that you want him to order for the two of you, that you want what he wants.

"Two Seared Scallops with Pomegranate and Meyer Lemon," Michael answered after taking a glance at the menu then you. You nodded with a smile.

The waitress nods and takes her way back to the kitchen. Michael smiles at you, but his face drains of all blood when he sees the waitress approaching your table with an apologetic smile. "We truly apologize, sir and ma'am, but we're out of scallops and they won't be arriving today. Ye're gonna have ta change yer order," she tries to break the news as gentle as possible.

Michael is frustrated, his thick brows are firmly knitted over his gentle eyes, you caught them lose their shine, and you had to do something about it.

"It's fine, we can have steak, mashed potatoes, and wine, right Michael?" you had to give him a choice too. He looks up at you, you tilt your head to the side with a soft smile. He nods.

"Alright, two steaks... How d'ya like yer steak, ma'am?" the waitress asks. "Medium well," she nods to your answer and turns to look at Michael.

"And how d'ya like yer steak, sir?" you sneak your hand and place it on his, sending a supportive smile his way. He respires, "same as hers." he answers.

The waitress nods and walks back to the kitchen once again. You turn to face Michael, "I wouldn't mind if we never ate here, I just enjoy sitting with ya, Mikey," you hold his hand, he almost sobs, you reach out for his other hand, now fondling both of them. "It's you Michael, I ain't here fer the fancy dinner or the expensive wine, I'm here fer ya Mikey baby."

He finally smiles. "Thank you, pet," he whispers. You shake your head, "t's notin', Mikey."

Another waiter arrives with a tray of wine and globular glasses. The waiter pours your glass first and turns to pour Michael's—when he accidentally smacks your glass and he spills it onto your dress.

You hiss at the sudden cold wetness, trying your best not to curse or cry—because you too feel the world isn't working its best way with you today.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to stop the tears from forming.

The waiter keeps apologizing, and you already know how Michael's reaction might be without even opening your eyes and looking at him.

But you can't let this day go bad, you still have a chance to fix it, you can make it 100% better with your reaction, you can stop the chain of bad occurrences.

You open your eyes and look up at the waiter, "it's alright I... I just need a towel..." he rushes back to the kitchen. You grabbed a napkin off the table and tried to absorb the wine spilled on your dress.

"Tha' fuckin' idiot..." Michael curses.

You chuckle, "it's okay, Mikey, me dress is red, it won't change notin', I'll be fine."

Once you made sure most of the dampness was gone, you readjusted yourself in front of Michael, wearing a beaming smile on your pretty face.

His eyes fondly meet yours and you're flustered, looking down at the silverware displayed on the table.

"How are ya like tha'?" Michael asked, resting his cheek in his palm. You looked up at him, and he's got the sweetest smile you've ever seen him doing. His eyes beautifully sparkled to the golden lights of the candles.

"Like what?" you answer with a question. He gestures at you with his chin.

"How're ya such a beam of light?" you turn red at his question, "how are ya, after all tha', still smilin' and tryin' ta make it work?"

"Well," you swallowed with a smile, "bad things won't stop happenin' t'ya, Mikey love, that's somethin' ya should keep in mind, but they can't stop ya from looking at the bright side of it all." Michael furrowed in participation.

"Y'know? I'll never get a chance ta make that day perfect more than it is now," you simply say, "and if I would get a chance ta fix anythin', I wouldn't, because it's already going perfect f'me."

The two of you spend the rest of the evening on nibbling and chattering. Your dress was now cold and sticking to your thighs but you didn't mind, the food turned stale and cold but you didn't care; as long as it was Michael with you, you didn't mind anything else in the world.

Michael pays for the dinner and accompanies you to the exit. The two of you look outside, the rain is heavily pouring over the city, and it's loud enough you could hear it from behind the glass door.

You turn to look at him, he smiles and nods, pushing the door and escorting you with an arm wrapping you to his side.

You step into the street under the rain and you're immediately showered. You snicker, holding Michael's hand and looking at him, your eyes asking him to join you. Michael giggles as he follows you, now holding the two of your hands softly as the skies decanted its whole heart on the two of you.

"Y'know ya can't wait for the rain ta stop. It's always raining in Dublin anyway, Mikey." you whisper, he smiles and cradles your cheeks and he pulls you into a kiss, warming your hearts under the cold downpour.

Likes and reblogs are appreciated, thank you for coming to my sleepover celebration! 💞💞💞

#yarrystyleeza #michael kinsella #charlie cox #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella fanfic #michael kinsella fluff #fic request #yuna's 2h sleepover celebration #yuna's sleepover #kin amc

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cynnied-art · 1 year

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"Why should this flower delay so long To show its tremulous plumes?"

Hi.

I'm back.

And I return with something I've never done before. A zine. A fanzine to be more specific. If you remember from a long while back, I came up with a silly long-form name for Kris in the form of Krisanthemum. It was supposed to be a one-off doodle but a year later ended up being a jumping-off point in an attempt to break my notoriously bad art block.

It's eight pages long and you can even print it out and fold it so you have a little physical version of it just because! I know fanzines are typically longer, have many different artists and writers involved, and are super polished with perfect bound copies and stuff. But I wanted to kick it old school a bit.

If y'all like it, I might end up doing more of these. I have a couple of ideas rattling around my brain, but we'll see!

Here's the link if you want to check it out!

#deltarune #kris dreemurr #kris deltarune #zine #fanzine #utdr #what's up y'all!!! how ya been??!!!

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star-studded-whales · 1 year

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Nomi J. - writeblr intro

Hello everyone! My name is Nomi J. (any pronouns) and I am an adult fiction and 18+ erotica writer. My narratives center around queer characters and experiences and are typically magical realism or high fantasy. I'm always happy to chat with people about writing, so don't be shy about messaging me or sending asks if the mood strikes you. I'm a Tumblr veteran of at least eight years (so I've seen it all, no really.) I've been writing for many years, but have only recently had the courage to put my work out into the world. Romance is my whole jam, and it will be the primary focus of my blog.

A note: Please steer clear if you are under the age of 18. My work is for adults only. I will block minors. You have been warned.

A bit about me...

I am in my mid twenties and definitively queer/genderqueer. I have ADHD and I will occasionally post ADHD content that relates to writing. I do not engage in discourse of any kind, as I prefer to respectfully listen to the experiences of others.

My favorite book (of all time): The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov

I'm currently enjoying: Mo Dao Zu Shi (The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation) by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

Other interests/skills of mine include art, guitar, harp, video games (particularly The Elder Scrolls and Dragon Age), and anything that involves mermaids.

Current WIPs (as posted on my blog)

Lunar Lagoon (I update when I have time for writing.)

Lunar Lagoon is a series of lesbian vignettes that started as erotica and has moved towards long form erotic romance. The main characters are Lyria and Amelia, who are drawn to each other through the sparks of both pleasure and genuine romance. This is a fast paced, supernatural romance with mermaids, lgbt themes, and an ambiguous modern setting in the Mediterranean. The narrative deals with trust, control and freedom, and autonomy in love and relationships.

Lunar Lagoon Masterpost

Crossroads (Stays in my google docs until I publish it.)

Hazel Abernathy, a witch with financial struggles, gets stood up on Valentine's Day at the swankiest club in her city. She meets two demons, Lillian and Aleksander, who give her a night to remember and a promise to continue the fun. Days later, Hazel strikes gold with an anonymous client who is willing to pay mountains of cash for a secretive issue. When she meets the client for the first time, she finds that she knows the client far more intimately than she could have anticipated. This is a spicy supernatural romance set in modern America. The relationship is a m/f/f throuple and the narrative deals with themes of grief, loss, and unconditional love.

Short Stories

Wear a Coat (link here)

A horror short story set in the Appalachian mountains, where I come from. What happens when you don’t follow your mama’s advice and go looking for berries without a coat? Maybe you’ll just get cold or maybe you’ll attract unwanted attention from something dwelling deep within the forest…

Additionally…

I write because I am passionate about it. At the end of the day, my writing is for myself, and any enjoyment that others derive from it is a lovely bonus. I do not take unsolicited constructive criticism, especially on matters of taste. All original posts on this blog are my intellectual property, and I do not give permission to repupload or cross post on any other sites.

#writeblr intro #writeblr #lgbt author #queer writers #writing #romance #adhd #actually adhd #genderqueer #lunar lagoon

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apenapaperandadoofus · 1 month

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Hey... Do you know the song sung by the voice actor from the pilot Hazbin Hotel? Called Thank you and goodnight. Weirdly this song reminds me of Mystic Messenger, despite being a new fan and having been into this game until this year 2024 I already felt a connection, seeing old posts about this game from an old fan somehow makes me tear up. Despite I'm a fan of 2024, I somehow feel nostalgic about this game despite never actually experience it before

Yes!!!! I remember I teared up so much from that song.

Honestly mystic messenger is such a beautiful game! It helped me (ironically???) when I was struggling so much. I remember when I wrote my first HC in here, honestly I’d never thought I’d end up meeting so many amazing people! It’s truly beautiful how a piece of media can unite everyone and have people create amazing works of art and writing and music and everything!

I’m so glad you found the game, even if it’s late! It’s a great story, with lovable characters that even though it’s been like…omg 8?! EIGHT YEARS?!?!? (Hold on time related crisis happening rn)

Since it’s release, people still have a spot for them in their hearts!

Mystic messenger and this blog, really helped me start writing! And while I got a huge writers block and am now on different fandoms, it’s still a wonderful game that I’m glad people are still enjoying and playing! I feel so lucky for those who get to experience that wild rollercoaster for the first time!

I remember the alarms, the laughter from Seven or Jumin’s messages, the tears from the heart wrenching parts of the story, the confusion as to why the MC didn’t have eyes and why they didn’t leave WHEN THERE WAS A BOMB IN THE APARTMENT!

The gasps at the reveals, the plot twists! The way you would hear the music and immediately be teleported to that game, how the strings and piano would make you feel so much happiness and as if you were flying, only to then have the super dramatic music come and and BAM you feel your heart race and you keep worrying if your favorite character is going to be ok, and WHAT IS HAPPENING I THOUGHT THIS WAS A DATING GAME?!?

Getting to feel what the characters feel, feeling part of the story. Ironically though the game already has pre made choices you do feel as if it’s you or your character talking to them.

It’s been a few years since I’ve actually had MM in my phone. I actually remember the first time I downloaded it- it had just come out, and my dumbass thought you could actually SPEAK to them?!? So I remember Zen calling and me going “hello..?” In a whisper since it was night and everyone else was sleeping lmao.

I remember how I’d take full advantage of spring break and all those vacations from school to just grind the fuck out of those hourglasses to get to that Saeran route because by god I was dating that man.

I was pretty lucky bc I remember I did the Zen route first, didn’t even finish it 💀 uninstalled the game, and like a year later got in when they were celebrating a TON of stuff, I don’t remember exactly what it was but I got a lot of hourglasses and immediately went to date Seven lol.

Doing his as your official first route is….💀💀💀💀

I was FLABBERGASTED.

And it’s funny to see how over the years my faves have changed. (I used to have Seven as my #1 until I went the Julian route and OMG THAT MAN I’m sorry Seven I love you so much but…JUMIN HAN)

Anyway sorry for the long ass rant. Mystic messenger has such a special place in my heart, truly. It makes me remember how I got started writing- how through it i met so many lovely people- and while later due to personal reasons I wasn’t able to continue on the scene- I’m glad I got to experience some of it.

And there’s still people that make beautiful content of it! So don’t worry about joining now, feel free to read and see as many things of the fake as you want. Cry and laugh and enjoy everything about this wonderful and silly chat game and the incredible beautiful community it left behind!

Sorry for getting emotional haha, mystic messenger sure is something huh?

I’m a bit busy nowadays but every once in a while I get the urge to play it again haha. I have the ost saved in my study playlist and was in the middle of studying for a test when I hears Jumin’s night theme and the way I TEARED UP? Like I had to low key take a breather because omg I was transported back to those sleepless nights of giggling in my bed while flirting with a 2d man obsessed with his cat pfttt.

What’s funny is that every once in a while I want to install the game again and play it. Sadly I don’t have any time right now, but, I eventually want to have two weeks where I get to see my beautiful and wonderful husbands and wives again 🫶

Keep enjoying the content! I’m so happy you were able to find this precious gem, even in 2024! Play the heck out of it (tho please take a break after each route and keep hydrated or you’ll end up like Saeran 💀😭) !

PS:

You talking about thank you and goodnight reminded me of a series RosMo made about MM.

It’s interactive, after each video I believe you get a google doc and you have to figure some the YouTube links and get a goodbye message from the characters. If you want to cry and have a crack at it (if it’s too hard the comments help a lot I believe) you can see it here! Just be careful of spoilers for all the routes mkay!

Have fun on your Mysme journey! ❤️💜🩷🩵🧡🤍💚💛🤎🚀✨🐱☕️👾🎭📷🍵🧹

#api talks #mystic messenger #I’m so sorry for the rant lmao #I’m sick so rn the meds are like wOAH #I did NOT mean to get this emotional #now I really do wanna play MM again haha #maybe?

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theferricfox · 8 months

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[[A/N: Hi, hello! I'm alive (figuratively speaking) and I wrote a thing for the first time in a long long while. Writer's block has been eating me alive for a spell, but then I woke up on morning and said, well, if it isn't Whumptober, my dear friend.

So have a Whumptober Trigun piece. Yes, Trigun! I've fallen back in love with it lately and I have no regrets. I grew up with the '98 series on late night Toonami, and it coming back to my life has been a big boost of juicy nostalgia (and psychological damage iykyk).

Content Warnings! Smoking, Drinking, Canon-typical violence, vomiting.]]

IN THE LIGHT OF THE MOONS

He wakes up to the taste of blood on his tongue and pain surging through his chest. He’s been shot; he knows he has, and he jumps up in bed to inspect his bare chest, even as he reaches into the small pouch on the bedside table, fumbling for the small glass vials within.

But he’s not bleeding, and there’s no metal lodged in his body. His skin is as smooth and flawless as it’s ever been, save for the odd small scar he got as a child. The ones from before don’t go away, even as the blue liquid wipes away any chance of a new one.

He sighs, frustrated and unsettled. From next to him on the bed – why doesn’t this hotel room at least have a couch? – comes a soft snore, frills of blonde hair peeking out from under the sheet. He knows he won’t sleep again for a while, so he reaches onto the table again, this time for his smokes. He’s surprised to find his hand is shaking somewhat as he lights up, and inhales deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs until they start to burn. The plume that he exhales curls and drifts towards the ceiling, vanishing to join the rest of the stuffy air of the room.

When did he even pick up smoking? He can’t remember anymore. He remembers stealing from the adults a few times when he just hit his double-digits, but he knows he didn’t truly start smoking until after. And the last six years since he left the orphanage are largely a blur. They’re filled with a constant need to move and to keep moving, pulled from one job to another. They’re filled with gunfire and blood and little glass ampules.

When he first started, he drank them like the honey-sweet drinks of his childhood, even for injuries that were far from fatal. Even if the fight was over and he could have just as easily rested in a hospital for a few days, he would choose instead to crack the neck of the little ampule and gulp down the mouthful of liquid. He was told not to – this was a path that led to something like an addiction; a reliance on the serum would cause his body to stop healing as well on its own. He was warned of the potential for an overdose; the serum throwing his body’s chemistry into overdrive until it practically burst at the seams. But for the first few months after they cut him loose, he ignored the warning.

There’s something innately satisfying about the feeling of the glass cracking under the enamel of his teeth, but that feeling is amplified when the liquid slides down his throat and the power surges through him. The feeling of invincibility that comes from watching the bullets that were once lodged into his skin, his bones, his organs, harmlessly falling to the ground as though they were nothing more than paper… that’s intoxicating.

He was an orphan once. Unwanted and worthless. And now, he’s survived a total of fifty-eight otherwise fatal gunshot wounds. Compared to the dirty child he was, growing up in the sand and dust, wondering if he’ll ever be good enough to get adopted, he’s a god. The kid he was should look up to him with awe and reverence. Should.

Now, he’s haunted by scars that only he can see. The bullet that pierced and collapsed his left lung. The place where his flesh was rendered to shredded meat by heavy machine gun fire. The 9mm slug that barely grazed his heart and sent his vision spiraling and blood into his mouth. He knows all those marks are there, hidden under his skin. He sees them every time he undresses, little phantoms skittering along his skin like insects; blink and you’d miss them. When Judgement comes, they’ll all light up on his broken body, like the feeble lights of the orphanage beating back the dark for the kids afraid of the noises of the night.

He traces one of these phantom scars, once a long gash from an eight-inch blade straight into his gut. He’d scrambled to keep his intestines inside of him, fear and adrenaline racing through him as shit and blood spilled onto the floor. He’d flopped onto his back, eyes wild and hazy, and cracked open the vial so haphazardly that he drank glass alongside the liquid. It burned down his throat, a macabre cascade of flesh rending and healing, but by the time his gut had healed, it didn’t matter. He could shit glass and it wouldn’t matter; not anymore.

He’d beaten that asshole’s skull in, slamming the arm of the Punisher into his face over and over again as he bellowed some animalistic sound from deep in his chest. It was too messy, in the end. He’d spent days cleaning blood and brain and skull out of the crevices of the Punisher, every new piece he found lodged in the weapon filling him with a sense of disgust.

Now, as he sits on the bed, his cigarette halfway burned through, he wonders what the man sleeping next to him would think if he knew of all these phantom scars, or the stories of how he got them. For all he knows, Spikey can see them, too. The man has an uncanny way of seeing through people, of knowing them with just a few glances and firm handshake. Still, all the scars on Vash’s body suggest that he can’t read people for shit. They speak of betrayal, countless deceptions for which he has paid the price. And still, he continues to trust. Or maybe, he always knows he’ll be betrayed and continues to trust them anyway, deciding that the alternative is worse.

Wolfwood can’t decide if that makes him incredible or stupid. What kind of heart is crushed and smashed and burned and stabbed and shot that many times and still finds a way to wake up with a smile? He knows most of those smiles are fake, and they’re painful to look at, so painful that he’s debated punching Spikey in his stupid face every time one of those false smiles creeps onto his lips.

But still, some of those smiles are real… especially when he’s around kids, and those are the times Wolfwood really can’t figure him out. It’s almost unsettling, really, seeing that genuine smile and hearing the tinny laughter from a man so used to faking it that it’s practically his middle name. There’s no doubt that Vash has a thing with kids; they love playing with him, trust him intrinsically, and they seem to know exactly how rough and tumble they can be with him, with not a care for his reputation. Wolfwood can’t help but feel a strange clenching in his chest, watching the so-called Humanoid Typhoon around children. He knows what Vash is or, he thinks he does, and there’s something simultaneously monstrous and beautiful seeing everything that makes him inhuman melt away as soon as some kid tugs on his coat or pelts him with a ball.

Wolfwood pulls deeply from his cigarette, flooding his lungs with nicotine and smoke and exhales again, his gaze aimed at the ceiling. He exhales, idly poking the cloud of smoke with a finger as it drifts upward, and he scoffs. Who is he to call Vash monstrous? He is a monster in his own right. If he were to visit the orphanage now, he’d have no right to hug the children there, or to play with them. He couldn’t call his old friends by name and rekindle the friendships that made life bearable back then, not with his hands so soaked with blood he’s practically marinating in it. Hell, if Miss Melanie even recognized him, she’d probably beat him to death with a broomstick before he stepped foot in the building.

She would see right through him, he knows it. She would see the blood coating his skin and the scars marking the last six years of his life and she… well, she would never forgive him. Not that he expects forgiveness; he knows exactly what he deserves, has come to terms with it. But to picture Melanie, the only person he’s known as a mother, terrified and appalled by what she would see in him… the thought is almost enough to make him put a bullet in his brain.

Wolfwood crushes the cigarette into the ashtray with a soft grunt and gets out of bed. He’s aware that Vash’s soft snores ceased minutes ago, meaning he’s probably awake and trying to hide it, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to see those sad blue-green eyes tracing over him with concern. He doesn’t want to answer questions or ‘talk about it.’ All he wants is for the silence of the night to smother his thoughts.

He walks to the bathroom, silent as he can through the creaking of old wooden floorboards, and shuts the door behind him, the latch softly clicking into place. The darkness of the bathroom, with just a small window opposite the shower, facing away from the light of the moons, is stifling and freeing all at once. In here, it’s so dark that he can’t see his phantom scars. If you can’t see them, they aren’t real and they can’t get you, just like he used to tell the kids who thought they heard monsters in the dark. Big brother Nico, always there for the little ones, until he wasn’t. Now, he’s the monster in the dark, reaching into the night to pluck the souls of the living from their bodies.

The thought makes him retch, and he barely manages to maneuver over to the toilet before he vomits, the taste in his mouth acrid and vile. He heaves, over and over again, his eyes watering, snot dribbling miserably out of his nose, until there’s nothing left but empty gasping and an aching stomach. He grabs toilet paper and wipes at his face, spits into the toilet, and flushes the mess away. He sits against the cold glass of the shower door, panting into his hand, trying to stay quiet.

It doesn’t work. There’s a small, tentative knock on the door.

“Wolfwood?”

Of course Spikey heard him. Damn him.

“What is it?” He tries to smooth over the acidity in his voice, play it cool, like he didn’t just puke his guts out.

“I um… I gotta go.” There’s that tiny laughter. The one that says, This is the best lie I could come up with.

“Yeah, yeah, hang on.” Wolfwood hauls himself up from the floor and turns on the sink. He washes his mouth out, washes his hands. He wonders distantly if he should have changed that order of actions.

He walks out, casual as he can, the door revealing Vash with his hair down, shirt off to reveal all those horrific scars. Vash laughs, his hand immediately at the back of his head, all shy and quiet cunning.

“Sorry to rush you, I just really gotta go.”

Wolfwood grunts and pushes past him, walking over to the table in the room. There’s still some of the cheap whiskey they brought up earlier in a bottle on the table, thanks be to whatever god might still exist in this godforsaken world. He pours himself a shot and takes it down fast, grimacing from the taste before pouring another, nursing this one a little more. He knows what’s left in this bottle isn’t enough to get him drunk, not with his metabolism. He doesn’t care. He just needs the burn to distract him.

Vash makes a show of taking the loudest piss on the whole planet, running the water for ages afterwards to wash his hands. When he comes out, he’s all nervous giggles and wiggling, unthreatening movements.

“Man, I was sure I was going to wet myself for a moment there!” Vash starts.

“Can it, Spikey.” Wolfwood gulps the rest of the shot and pours another. After a moment’s consideration, he pours one for Vash, too, moving the glass to the other side of the table. An invitation. “I know you’ve been awake for a while now.”

“Yeah?” Vash sits obligingly, taking down the shot with as much hope of it doing anything as Wolfwood has and holds out the glass for another. He sips the second one when it’s poured.

“You’re too damn obvious. That’s your problem.” Wolfwood sips again.

Silence stretches into the room, neither man moving. The stage has been set for a macabre sort of quick-draw, but it’s one neither of them want to win.

“Can’t go back to sleep?” Vash asks as casually as he can, as if he hasn’t already guessed what woke Wolfwood up in the first place.

“Nope. You?”

There’s another moment of silence, one that Wolfwood didn’t expect. Finally, he sees Vash raise his left arm in the dim light of the moons that pokes through the curtains.

“My arm hurts. It happens sometimes. Makes it hard to sleep.” Vash rubs the forearm of the prosthesis as though rubbing out a muscle cramp.

“But your arm isn’t there, Spikey. It’s fake. It’s not supposed to hurt.” It’s a question, one that Wolfwood think might have a very uncomfortable answer.

“Yeah.”

Silence seeps into the room again, broken only by the sound of glass on glass and glass on wood as the bottle is drained. They don’t talk about what wakes them up at night.

It’s just not what they do.

#i have been tossing this around for so long you don’t even know #i just have a thing for how tragic these two are #subtle vashwood if you squint really hard #whumptober 2023 #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #tw: smoking #tw: drinking #trigun #ferricfox writes

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onebizarrekai · 2 years

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some ibvs-related stuff

you probably noticed that it's been quite some time since ibvs updated (like. eight months) and while ibvs tends to have pretty large time gaps between updates, this one has been particularly long. it's been more of an unannounced and uncoordinated break, to be honest. I was hoping that I could at least update it before the end of the year. I still kind of want to do that—maybe it'll be easier after my next concert is over in the next few days—but yeah, it has been a long time.

I've been having a really hard time creating stuff lately. sure, I've cranked out a few dsmp pieces, I made a lot of danganronpa art and writing this year before I did that, but I mean like, in the last while. maybe the last 6 months or so. I don't even know how I posted anything in august. like, yes, my ao3 says I cranked some danganronpa stuff out in august, but I don't… really remember writing anything in august. I barely remember what I was doing in august. I guess they were like, partially completed wips already so all I had to do was get them done. I dunno.

I finished one fairly long-ish fic in the last month. I uh, had to post it anonymously for reasons, and I'm proud of what I wrote, but that's pretty much all I've been able to get done done. I guess this is part of the problem? not really ever feeling done with stuff. or maybe forgetting how much I've achieved and only being able to focus on the stuff I haven't been able to. and I have all these ideas for this same fandom and I'm struggling to get those done too. and like, my v3 fic series is just kinda collecting dust because I haven't been thinking about danganronpa in the last few months. that's just how it is, I suppose.

I've also just had like, the worst writer's block ever for ibvs and I'm just shoveling around in fandoms (and often misery) trying to stave off stress. I keep looking back at it and going "am I happy with this" and like, I am. I should be. I'm pretty happy with it, but the longer I go unable to write it the more I feel like I'm just adding things to the story that aren't gonna matter to anyone even though… it is that. it is the story. I'm writing it for fun. it doesn't have to be perfect. it has to start somewhere, but every time I try to write it it feels like I'm off in the deep end. I have to remember everything. I have to backtrack and make sure I know what I'm talking about. I have to make sure that I don't write anything that, well… is boring as hell.

I've been getting caught in a lot of negative thinking and I'm both trying to focus on mental health while also feeling like the things I'm doing on behalf of 'focusing on mental health' are actually either sustaining the problem or making it worse. like it's making me feel more lethargic and more trapped and less able to create things. I'm trying to get a therapist, but no insurance-covered psychologist who lives in near me is willing to do in-person sessions. one of my issues is feeling like I'm stuck at my computer and stuck online and stuck inside where everything is nonpermanent and I can't move; doing online counseling would make things worse. I don't really get it. I'm hoping I get a proper one soon.

anyway… we'll see if I feel better after the concert is over. maybe after I actually manage to get a therapist. thanks for the patience, everyone.

#random stuff #just like. mental health or the lack thereof stuff #I've been doing show stuff basically nonstop since like. june #got a break in november #but is it really a break if I still have a gig in december

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always-andromeda · 11 months

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Today marks eight years since the first time I came out as bisexual. And as part of my personal celebration of this occasion, I’d like to recount some memories and reflections I have from those moments.

If you don’t care to read about all of that, simply take this as an explanation as for why I’m going to be reblogging tons of gay shit today. Thank you for reading this PSA and have a wonderful day, folks. 💛

The first time it hit me that there was something a little bit out of the ordinary with me was when I started developing feelings for my best friend at twelve. At the time, I had no clue what to actually label those feelings. But I could make out the building blocks. For one, I thought she was the prettiest girl in the whole world. Whenever she’d sing to me, I could feel myself falling. And I knew that I would get immensely jealous every time she talked about her boyfriend. So much so that I came up with a fake boyfriend in an attempt to make her jealous too.

This endeavor was an utter failure. And the way I orchestrated the most dramatic DCOM-esque “breakup” with my “boyfriend” (whom I named Graham lmao) really should’ve been foreshadowing my future as a writer.

From there, I was ashamed and embarrassed of my queerness. The only reason why I knew gay people even existed was because I’d stumbled across gay porn. And I’m sure you can imagine how damaging it is when you’re twelve years old and your only concept of queerness comes from lesbian porn made for the enjoyment of straight cis men.

Needless to say…I was confused. And deeply scared. Being raised Christian, I was well aware of the fate that would befall me if I gave into this sin. Every single day for about two years, I woke up and went to sleep knowing that I was alone, unloved, and that I was most certainly going to burn in hell for all eternity. And there was nothing I could do about it.

I don’t remember when I first learned that bisexuality was a thing, but I do remember the day I first came out so vividly. I did it partially because I felt like a liar. I felt like I was deceiving the people that I supposedly loved. And I figured the only way to make that right was to tell the truth. So, I drafted out a long text message that I would eventually send to my three best friends. Over and over again I edited that note, trying to get my words right, hoping and praying that things would go well.

I will never forget the visceral anxiety that flooded my nerves when I finally sent those text messages. To this day, the only time I ever felt a fear that was comparable was a literal life or death experience I went through a few years ago.

My hands shook and all I wanted was to eject the contents of my stomach and sob. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more vulnerable (in the worst way possible) in my entire life.

All three of my friends gave three radically different responses. The first one who was already openly queer told me that they were proud of me, that they loved me, and they accepted me. Unfortunately, it started to go down from there.

My second friend told me that she loved me and cared for me, but that ultimately, she was a Catholic and could never approve of my “lifestyle.” I still find it silly how in the years of friendship that followed this exchange, she wouldn’t hesitate to utilize queer vernacular and turned every queer kid she met into her little pet gay.

Finally, my third friend’s reaction was what broke my heart the most. This girl was my best friend. But she was also a massive Christian and incredibly ignorant and unsympathetic. Her first reaction was that I better not start flirting with her. Right afterwards came the disapproval. I got the classic “love the sinner, hate the sin” lecture.

And as a girl who was still trying to be a Christian, I accepted that. I came away from the whole thing knowing that something in me was deeply, deeply broken. And that not even the fact that I was also attracted to men could “fix” that brokenness. I simply had to accept that for some reason, God just decided I was cursed.

Despite this, my friends thought it was very funny to make my queerness the punchline. I was “jokingly” called slurs, was sexualized by my straight male friends, and forced to come out to the homophobes at my school by my straight female friends. Because I guess putting a target on your best friend’s back is hilarious.

For years I put up with that bullshit because I truly believed I didn’t deserve any better than that. I thought the only way I could hope to gain acceptance was if I, in turn, accepted the abuse. At the time, it seemed like a fair trade.

Now, eight years later, I know better. I’ve concluded that if there is a God, they probably are well aware that I’m just trying my best. I like to think that this God would want me to embrace all the beauty they instilled in me. And I try not to hold too much bitterness for the people who hurt me back then. I try to focus on how grateful I am now that the majority of my friends are also queer and that the ones who aren’t are still staunch allies who are always willing to open their minds up to new ideas.

I’m immensely lucky to still be here. Because there are so many who came before me who aren’t here. And that’s why it feels vital for me to share my experiences. Without this openness, I think it becomes so much easier for us to believe that we are alone and hopeless when that is very much not the case. I am not the first person to feel this kind of pain, nor will I be the last. But the only way that we can have a shot at eradicating that fear is by talking about it; by never letting our voices go quiet. On top of this, I feel it is vital for me to remind all of my queer followers that we’re all just trying our best.

Let me restate it loud and clear: There is nothing wrong with you. You aren’t cursed. You aren’t a pet. You aren’t a punchline. You are a human fucking being who is just as deserving of love and respect and community as anyone else. And as much as this world may try to erase us from existence, we will survive. We will insist upon our existence because it is sacred. I promise you, friend. Your existence is sacred. Please, never forget that.

Love always, Andromeda 💛

#˚ʚ meda rants ɞ˚

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middleearthpixie · 2 years

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Miss Fortune ~ Chapter Thirty-One

Miss Fortune - Modern AU

A/N: I'm sorry for how long it's taken for an update to this fic (if anyone is still even reading it, tbh, 🤣) but I hit a snag with writer's block with this particular story, had my muse sneak up on me with After the Fire, and I started grad school two weeks ago, so I don't have quite the same amount of free time. But, this story isn't over just yet, so thank you for hanging in there and please be patient. There will be updates, I just don't know how sporadic they'll be.

Summary: Everyone in Cranford Falls knows the Prescott family. Not only do they run Miss Fortune’s Crystal occult shop in town, but they’re also known for their psychic abilities. On occasion, they’re even called into service to assist the police on particularly difficult cases. All except Alex Prescott, that is. Unlike her three sisters, she’s inherited none of her family’s gifts. At least that was what she thought until the day the dead guy showed up in her bedroom asking for her help in solving a murder. His own.

Six months after his brother Frerin’s death, Detective Thorin Durin is on a downward spiral of self-destruction until Frerin starts showing up in his apartment, claiming his death was not an unfortunate accident but was, in fact a murder. Trouble is, Frerin doesn’t know who did it, so he wants Thorin to reopen the case and solve it, with Alex’s help.

As they work together to find out just exactly what happened to Frerin, Alex and Thorin grow closer. Neither one knows it, but Frerin isn’t just looking to solve his own murder, he’s trying to help his brother cope with his loss as well, and to find happiness with the Prescott sister who’s known as the quiet one…

Summary: Alex confessed to Thorin how she tried to get his attention back in high school, only to have not go quite as planned…

Pairing: Modern!Thorin x ofc Alex Prescott

Characters: Thorin, Alex, Alanis Durin,

Warnings: Oral Sex (f receiving), unprotected sex

Rating: M

Word Count: 4,741

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

The sun streaming in through the windows along the far wall woke Alex. She lifted her head, blinking sleep from her eyes before turning toward the clock on the bookshelf. Quarter to eight.

Thorin was sound asleep beside her on his back, snoring softly. Some of the exhaustion had vanished from his face. A few days off were exactly what he needed. If only he didn't have to get stabbed and suffer a concussion to get them.

In the soft golden sunlight, the bandage on his chest stood out against his darker skin, stubble showing around the tape’s perimeter. The itch had to be driving him crazy by now. It might have been a relatively small patch shaved, but considering just how much hair that small patch probably held? He’d go nuts in no time flat.

She traced her index finger along the line of his beard. It was far thicker than it had been when they first started seeing each other, and she wondered if he ever shaved it completely off. She couldn't recall ever seeing him without a full beard. She was pretty sure it had been full in high school as well. Probably even junior high, but she wouldn’t know. They didn't share a school until her freshman year.

High school. She’d had such a crush on him back then. He had no idea she was alive, but she remembered seeing him on Fridays in his football uniform, and he always looked so much older than the other high school boys. She could still picture him in the tight white pants and the cranberry colored jersey that didn’t quite reach the waist of those pants. He’d lift an arm and his washboard stomach was on display, complete with the dark hair and the happy trail that all the girls loved so much. Gorgeous didn't do him justice. Not even close.

Teddy was a cheerleader back then and Alex remembered being so jealous of her sister. They were both so certain that any day, Thorin Durin would ask Teddy out and while Teddy dreamed of it, Alex dreaded it.

She’d tried to approach him once, when she was writing for the school newspaper. She’d had the brilliant idea of interviewing a few of the football players and he was at the top of her list. She’d even managed to work up the nerve to linger around the practice field one afternoon, waiting for the guys to finish up practice. Her heart had begun beating so fast when she caught sight of him that she’d thought she might actually faint from it.

But as the team came off the field, and she hurried toward them before her courage faltered. “Thorin? Can I talk to you—oh!”

She tripped over the edge of the track and went reeling forward, fighting—and failing—to keep her balance. Her knees hit the track, the vibration jolted her notebook and pen from her grasp to send them flying in opposite directions, and she took the skin from her hands as she threw them out to block her fall, letting out a totally undignified, “Oooof!” as she faceplanted.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Concern wove through Thorin’s words as his shadow fell over her.

“Hey, Durin, looks like another freshman’s falling for you. Too bad it’s the freaky Prescott.”

“Durin, watch out, man, she might put a hex on you!”

“Nah, she can’t do that, only her hot sisters can!”

“Take her behind the bleachers. No one will ever know!”

“Fuck off, Morris,” Thorin growled over all of them as he shoved by them and crouched to swipe up her notebook and pen.“Hey, Alex, right? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she managed to croak, wincing as the other guys burst into laughter again. Her cheeks had to be bright red by that point, and she wished the rubberized track would just swallow her whole. “Can I have them back?”

“Yeah, sure.” He handed both back and reached for her hand again. “Let me help you—”

“I’m fine, really.” She got back to her feet, wincing at the sting in her hands and her knees, and looked down to see she’d ripped her jeans as well. God damn it! She would never live this down.

He regarded her with confused, but friendly, blue eyes. “What did you want?”

“N-nothing. I’m just… nothing… I’ll see you.”

“Alex? Wait a sec—” He tried to grab her arm as she brushed by him, her head down, her eyes stinging with tears. The laughter and taunts from the other jocks rang in her ears as she practically ran back to the school. Her mother promised to pick her up at five. Hopefully, the main office would still be opened, since Alex didn't have a cell phone yet and couldn’t bear the thought of lingering around the school for another half an hour. She wanted to die. She wanted to never set foot in Cranford Falls High School ever again.

“You didn't know I was alive,” she whispered. “At least, not until I made a total jackass of myself in front of you.”

“What did you do?” he whispered back.

She started, but only just. “What?”

He offered up a sleepy smile and opened his eyes. “What are you talking about? When did you make a jackass of yourself in front of me?”

“Nothing.” She sank back into her pillow, tucking a hand beneath her head. “I’m not talking about anything. Just saying goodbye to some old ghosts.”

“Lexi, what’re you talking about?” The sheets rustled softly as he rolled onto his side, facing her, and also tucked a hand beneath his head.

“You don’t remember the first time we met, do you?”

“Last fall? The argument over Richter versus Hank? Sure I remember it.”

“No.” She shook her head. “See? You don’t.”

“Am I in trouble for not remembering?”

“No. I’m actually kind of glad you don’t, to be honest.”

“Then clue me in.”

“I was a freshman. You were a senior. I was on the school paper and had the genius idea of interviewing you for the school paper. I waited for you to finish up practice one afternoon and as I got up the guts to come talk to you, I tripped over my own two feet and went splat on the track.”

“You wanted to interview me?”

“Thorin, I wanted to get into your pants, like every other girl at Cranford Falls High. I stupidly thought all I had to do was show a little interest, like Teddy or Syd would have had to do. And that’s why I thought interviewing you would work.” She sighed softly. “But I made an ass out of myself instead and it didn’t quite go the way I wanted it to go.”

“Was I a total dick to you about it?”

Despite the way the memory stung, she managed a smile. “Actually, no. You weren’t. The others were, but you were a perfect sweetheart, actually. But I was embarrassed beyond all rational thought and ran away without another word.”

“You were cute in high school.”

“You didn’t even know who I was.”

“Sure I did. Everyone knew the Prescotts.” He winked then. “Even the weird one.”

“Ass.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He scrunched closer to her. “So, you were going to ask me a few questions as a way to get me to try to ask you out?”

“Well, I’d plotted it so much better in my head. And it was all supposed to be simple, you know? I ask you a few questions, you think I’m adorable, and you fall hopelessly in love with me.” She rolled her eyes at how stupid it all seemed now, looking back. Stupid and naive, considering at her best in high school, she still wasn’t the type of a girl a boy like Thorin Durin asked out. And she really was beyond glad he didn't seem to remember any of it. She remembered it enough for the both of them.

“Ah, the plot thickens. What questions were you going to ask me, because honestly? Back then, all you’d have to do is ask, want to get naked? and I’d have been all over you.” He grinned, adding, “Kind of like now, actually.”

“Ha ha. No, I had all these very intelligent questions I spent hours coming up with,” her cheeks grew warm, but she soldiered on, “and you were going to be so wowed because I wasn’t like all those cheerleader types you always asked out. I was going to be one of the guys and that was how I’d get you. I’d know football and you’d be blown away by how much I knew about it. So, I work up this whole list and get the nerve to finally go out to the practice field and waited for you guys to finish and my chance comes? I blew it.”

“You really are better off for it. Trust me.” He sighed, shifting onto his back. “I was eighteen years old, Alex. I was only interested in one thing where girls were concerned and you were the quiet Prescott. The one least likely to give it up. I knew who you were. And you were cute back then, but I didn’t care about cute.” He turned his head in her direction. “I cared about easy. And I had the feeling you’d be anything but that.”

She sighed softly. Why did she even bring it up? It wasn’t a pleasant memory and the last thing she wanted to hear was how the football team thought her a prude and mocked her for even thinking Thorin might be the slightest bit interested in her.

“God, I was a total loser, Thorin.” She couldn’t hold back her sigh. “I was the freak Prescott. The one nobody paid any attention to, and when I finally got up the nerve to approach you, I fell on my face. Literally and figuratively. Total loser and then some.”

“No, you weren’t.” He reached over to curve his hand against her cheek, his eyes soft but serious. “You were cute. Serious. The guys used to wonder about you, you know. Everyone wonders about the quiet girls. There is something about them… but, they aren’t the ones you usually ask out because they’re usually the ones who won’t give it up and if I’d asked you out back then, it would’ve been for one reason only and that would be to get you in the backseat of my car as soon as possible, and you wouldn’t have gone for that. Never mind that it’s probably a good thing, because getting laid was all I cared about, and I wasn’t so good with calling you the next day, you know?”

She held his gaze, smiling as she said, “I’d have been okay with that. Losing my virginity to Thorin Durin? I dreamed about that happening.”

He just stared at her as if not quite sure whether or not she was being serious. “Lex?”

“What? I’m dead serious, Thorin. I dreamed of being plowed in the back of whatever it was you drove in high school. What could’ve been better?”

He grinned then. “I drove a Pathfinder. You’d have loved the back seat.” He shifted to ease himself over her. “But, you’d wouldn’t have loved having sex with me in it. Not then, anyway. I’m pretty sure you’d have been more than a little disappointed in me back then, honey. All I cared about was getting mine.”

He settled against her carefully, brushing her lips before adding, “You could go down on me all you wanted, but I wasn't thinking about returning the favor. No way in hell was I doing that. Never mind my idea of foreplay was giving your boobs a quick squeeze, then going in for the kill.”

“Jesus, Thorin, you must’ve left a lot of disappointed girls in your wake.”

He grinned. “Yeah, probably. I was a selfish asshole, if I’m really being honest. As little foreplay as I needed. Forget about giving a girl oral. It took me a while to build up any stamina. I was the twenty second wonder until I finally grew up enough to think about the woman I was with as well. Probably halfway through college before one was patient enough and fed up enough with me to point out what I was doing wrong and showed me how not to do them wrong any more.”

“Lucky girl.” She reached up to trace her finger along the line of his jaw. “But, you’re telling me this why?”

He frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know. But, you benefit so… because we both know I’m really fucking good at oral now and I make your eyes cross on a regular basis, so…”

“Yeah, you’re not bad at it.”

“Not bad? I could make you scream if I wanted to, Lexi. You know that, right?”

“Do I? I mean, you sound pretty sure of yourself, Mr. Durin, but I’m not so sure…”

“You doubt me, Ms Prescott?”

“What if I did?”

A wicked glint came to his eyes, one that threatened to steal the breath from her lungs, as did the equally wicked smile curving his lips. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, brushing her lips with his, “come on up and sit on my face. I’ll make you come so fucking hard, you’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven…”

“Thorin!”

“What?” He caught her around the waist and rolled onto his back, tugging her atop him. “Oh, was that too coarse for you, Lex? You want me to be fluffier? More romantic?”

His low growl set her body tingling. “Now, hold on, I didn't say that. I told you, I like bad boy Thorin.”

“Oh, yeah?” He tugged her flush against him, trailing his lips long her neck, flicking his tongue along sensitive skin as he did. “What do you want me to say, honey? You want me to tell you how hot you are? How you turn me on without doing a damn thing?”

“It’s a start. But, that’s not really too bad boy, you know? That’s actually kind of tame.”

“A start? Tame? Okay, hang on…” He caught her earlobe in teasing teeth, then released it to whisper, “You want me to tell you I love the way you taste? The scent of you? How it feels to know you get so wet for me. How you make me so fucking hard without even trying?”

“Thorin…” Her eyes closed, his silky voice sending a shiver along her spine. “Oh, I like this…”

“Yeah? You make me ache for you, honey… I think about you all day, think about what I want to do to you, how I want to see you on your knees in front of me, taking my cock nice and slow in that beautiful mouth… or how much I love the feel of your legs over my shoulders and my tongue on you, making you slick and sweet, how much I love hearing you moan out my name when you come, knowing I’m the one making you feel what you’re feeling. How seeing me slip inside you is enough to make me want to come the moment it happens. Seeing how you take me, how deep I can go, Christ, Lex, there is nothing like making love to you… Sex with you is the best sex I’ve ever had, honey. And I love you. I love everything about you, my quiet little girl. Everything.”

“Damn…” she breathed, gazing down at him, “that was good.”

“Oh, just wait, baby, I’m not finished with you yet,” he purred, catching her camisole by its hem to push up. The cool breeze brought on by the slowly whirring ceiling fan skittered across her skin as he eased the camisole over her breasts, as he tugged it up and over her head.

He hooked his fingers in her pale green lacy bikinis. “Take these off and let me prove it to you.”

“Your mom and dad are right downstairs.”

His grin grew wolfish. “So be quiet. I mean, if you can.”

“Is that a challenge, Mr. Durin?”

“Damn straight it is.” As he talked, he slipped finger beneath that green lace and as it slid along her, she couldn’t hold back her sigh. Fire rumbled through her, her hips moving slowly to meet his rhythm. Her head did a slow spin, her eyes growing heavy lidded as her blood heated with desire that quickly swept through her entire body.

“You know what?” he murmured, his hands on her hips, tugging her up. “You don’t even need to take them off.”

“Thorin, what are you—oh!” Her fingers stretched out to grip the white wicker headboard, tightening involuntarily about it as he shifted her up and over him, nudged aside the lace, and flicked his tongue slowly against her. “Oh, Thorin…”

His fingers tightened on her hips, holding her above him as he teased her with those slow flicks and silken caresses. She shivered against him as the delicious sensations tingled their way through her. It felt so utterly wicked, as she had to fight to keep from crying out as he brought her to the very edge of madness, her body tingling and aching for release, in only a matter of minutes. Each caress made her ache a little more for him. And when she forced her heavy-lidded eyes open and looked down to find him watching her, she almost climaxed right then and there at the fire in his blue eyes.

She reached down between her knees, shoving her fingers into his hair, holding him as she slowly rocked against him. His fingers tightened on her, his strokes harder and faster now. His name bubbled to her lips and she bit down on her bottom lip to hold it back as white-hot pleasure flooded her and the knots came undone. He hadn’t lied. If they were alone in his apartment, she had no doubt she’d scream from the fiery bliss sweeping through her. She had to bite back her cry, her fingers going white where she laced them through the wicker. He brought her to the edge, held her over it, and then—

“Thorin!” She managed to hold back her cry, his name bubbling forth as a strangled whisper. He held her completely still as she came, teasing her, torturing her, until she shuddered against him and sank against the headboard, breathing, “Oh, god… Thorin…” as she fought for air.

His grin was was almost Cheshire Cat-like as she slid back down to seize his lips with hers. As she kissed him, she reached down, tugged down the waistband of his briefs just enough to reach for him, rocked back and—

“Alex…” His voice was no more than a hoarse whisper as she came down onto him and slid slowly down until she sheathed him entirely. His fingers tightened on her hips, his eyes heavy-lidded and sinful as he whispered, “Christ, you feel good…”

His hands swept up along her hips, her waist, up to cup her breasts and flicked his thumbs over her nipples. He arched to meet her, moaning softly in his throat as she moved faster against him, her hips rolling slowly as she savored each sensations he sent scorching through her. “Ride me, beautiful,” he growled, thrusting hard into her. A sinful smile played at his lips. “Squeeze me just like that… God, I want to make you come again…”

As he spoke, he released one breast to slip that hand between them and a moment later, spiky hot pleasure tore through her again as she tensed around him. Everything was so sensitive, his caress almost hurt, but she found the slight pain mingled with the pleasure to make her tighten around him once more. She shivered, her control slowly slipping away, her body tingling from head to toe as the strongest pleasure she’d ever known began its slow spiral through her.

“Thorin…” Her eyes closed, her hips moving of their own now. She shuddered against him, the tingles sharper and hotter and multiplying by the hundreds as he drove her to the edge once more.

“Baby… keep doing th-that—oh!” He slid his hand free, then arched with a fury, his thrust sending him deep inside her. She shivered. Erupted. Melted. Her fingernails dug into his chest, just below the bandage, as she threw her head back, arched her back, and surrendered to the moment.

He came then, shuddering under her, growling her name, a muscle bulging in his jaw, his fingers biting into her thighs. For a moment, she thought she’d pass out, her head spun so badly and as she sank against him, she squeeze her eyes shut, almost crying from the fiery pleasure still burning its way through her.

He wrapped his arms about her, his breath coming in short, hard bursts. He cradled her, whispering breathlessly, “Holy shit…Oh, sweetheart… Oh, shit, what you do to me…”

“What I do to you?” She lifted her head, shoving her hair out of her eyes. “I didn't do anything to you.”

“The hell you didn’t,” he offered with a grin. “My body is numb from how incredible that felt.” He traced his fingertips down along her back, wincing as she shifted and the fullness inside her disappeared. He tugged her down to meet his kiss, whispering, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She snuggled again him, tucking her head into the slope of his neck, brushing her lips lightly along the bristly scruff that was the beginning of his beard. He sighed softly. “I like how that feels.”

“Good to know,” she whispered back.

He went quiet, his fingers sweeping lightly along her back. He pressed a kiss into her temple. And as she lay there in his arms, Alex knew there was no where else she’d want to be, and no other man with whom she wanted to be.

But, the universe didn't necessarily care, as seen by the fact that his phone rang just as she was dozing back off against him. He shifted slightly to snag it, and frowned as he looked at the screen. “It’s Laini, Lex. I have to take this.”

“Laini?”

“One of my hookers.”

“Oh, right. Laini.” She grinned, easing off him. How many other women would be perfectly okay with her boyfriend having hookers who called him at all hours? Somehow, she didn't think there were many.

He toggled to accept and said, “Lieutenant Durin.”

She rolled away from him, only to have him snake an arm about her waist and dragged her back up against him. “Yeah, Laini, what’s up?”

Alex sighed softly, turning toward him to snuggle against him, tucking her head in the curve of his chest and shoulder, then whispered, “I smell coffee.”

“Hold on a second, Laini.” Thorin lowered the phone and whispered, “Go on down, I’ll come down as soon as I’m done here.”

She nodded, brushed his lips with a kiss, then slipped from the bed as he said, “Okay, I’m back.”

The room was chilly, so she drew on the hoodie she’d thrown into her bag as she left the room and pulled the door closed behind her, fluffing her hair over her shoulders as she made her way below. The rich scent of fresh coffee greeted her, and as she padded into the kitchen, Alanis looked up and smiled. “Good morning, Alex. Coffee is fresh and there’s half and half in the fridge.”

“Thank you,” she replied, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear as she moved to the coffee pot, where two clean mugs stood alongside it.

“Thorin keeps threatening to buy us a Keurig, but so far, it’s an empty threat,” Alanis said. “Is he still sleeping?”

“No. He’s on the phone, actually.” She poured coffee into one of the mugs, added half and half and sugar, stirred, then brought the cup over to the breakfast bar, where she pulled out a stool and sat. “An informant, which sounds so buddy-cop-movie-ish, but that’s what she is.”

Alanis set down her own cup. “He works too hard. I’m always telling him he needs to learn to relax a bit.”

Her gaze lingered on Alex and for a moment, Alex wondered if Thorin’s mother knew what they’d been doing just a few minutes earlier. They’d been quiet, but if she’d been right outside Thorin’s room for any reason…

Hopefully her face wouldn’t get much warmer. She certainly didn't want to give them away, but it was a little unnerving, so she nodded. “I know, but you know how it is.”

“All too well. Thorin’s father was with the department for almost thirty years. I know it all too well. And I never used to really worry about him or Thorin, or Frerin. And then… well… you know what happened to Frerin.”

Alex nodded slowly. “I do, yeah. Thorin’s told me, and I remember when it happened. My gram tried to help solve his death and I’m so sorry we couldn’t. It’s funny, everyone in my family has this weird gift that’s supposed to be handy for unsolved cases and missing persons and all that, but it wasn’t such a gift for this.”

“Thorin told me that—oh, this would sound crazy to anyone else, but somehow, I don’t think you’ll find it so crazy at all—but I saw him. Frerin. Last night. And I didn't want to believe it was him all those times before because I thought it would hurt too much, but you know? It was… nice… I mean, nice isn’t really the right word, but… oh, I sound crazy, don’t I?”

“No.” Alex told her softly. “It doesn’t sound crazy at all. Did it bring you any peace?”

“Yes and no. He said he’d come back and I’ll be able to talk to him a little longer next time and I’ve… I’ve missed that so much.” Alanis let out a soft laugh, then looked down at her coffee cup for a long moment, then drew in a deep breath and looked back up. “Can you see him?”

“I can, yes. He’s been showing up in my room for a while now. And it was weird at first, but I’ve gotten used to him, I guess.”

“Good. I’m glad you can. And I’ll bet Thorin is, too. He took Frerin’s death so hard. And I was really worried about him for the longest time. But now, seeing you with him, and seeing him happy with you? I don’t think I need to worry quite that much any more.” A sad smile came to Alanis’ lips and her eyes grew shiny. “I know your family knows a lot about this sort of thing, and Thorin told me that he—he might be able to solve who killed Frerin.”

Alex nodded. “Yeah. The woman he’s on the phone with has been helping him.”

“Let me guess,” Alanis’ expression brightened. “Laini?”

Alex couldn't hold back her laugh. “I guess he’s talked about her?”

“He’s mentioned her a few times. I’m probably the only woman who doesn’t mind her son hanging around prostitutes on a regular basis.”

“I’m not hanging around with them,” Thorin told her, coming around into the kitchen, scratching absently at the bandage on his chest as he padded to the coffeepot and filled the last cup. “At least not, often.”

He lifted the cup to his lips for a sip, still scratching when he lowered it. “Where’s Dad?”

“He went to the bakery and don’t scratch at that! You’ll rip a stitch open and end up with an infection.”

“It itches and it’s driving me crazy.”

“Even so, suck it up and let it be.” She moved to the refrigerator to take out a fresh carton of half and half and pressed it toward him. “That one’s got to be nearly empty. So, what did your informant have to say?”

“Looks like George is up to his old tricks.”

A shiver ran down Alex’s spine. “What?”

“Yeah.” His expression grew grim. “He must’ve still been pissed about Laini playing him the other day. Someone set fire to her house sometime last night and burned it to the ground, and I’ll bet a year’s salary we know who someone is.”

#Richard Armitage #The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Modern AU #Detective AU #Parapsychology #Thriller AU

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backtothestart02 · 1 year

Text

In the End, There Was Us - 3/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Updated! Some dialogue is straight from the movie. I do not take credit for that.

...

Chapter 3 -

Used to being a stay-at-home mom to her two seven-year-olds, Iris didn’t quite know what to do with herself when both were absent and Eddie to boot. Well, she had some idea. Meandering through the house, she seated herself in Eddie’s office and booted up her old laptop. It didn’t take long at all for the screen to shift into the last page she’d had up a week ago.

The blog she’d created when she was in school to be a journalist. Her true passion. A passion she’d had to give up when her husband at the time, Barry Allen, had announced he’d quit his job to become a full-time writer – him, the CSI, not her, the journalist.

She bristled, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, and gave up, shutting the laptop again and sinking back into the chair.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Two-year-old Bart and Nora sat playing with blocks on the floor, and Iris did her very best not to lose her temper.

“I quit my job!”

He said it so cheerfully, like he was proud of it.

“What about our income? How are we going to pay our bills?”

“I’m going to be a writer.” He beamed.

Her eyes bulged.

“A…a writer?”

“Yeah, but fiction, not non-fiction. That’s your thing. For my first book, I was thinking something apocalyptical-slash-science fiction. Haven’t thought of a title yet, but I have the outline all planned out. In my head.”

She started to smile and nod and bite down on her bottom lip, then she laughed. She laughed so she wouldn’t cry or yell, especially with their two children sitting nearby.

“And when were you going to tell me about this?” she asked.

“I just…did…tell you.” He frowned.

“We’re married,” she said.

“I know we’re married. I remember last night,” he teased, suggestively, but she was not amused. “Don’t you?”

She glared.

“At the moment, I’m drawing a blank and the couch is looking mighty comfy. For you.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair as she walked away from him to do the dishes.

“Oh, come on, Iris. I was gonna tell you, but-”

“But what? Afraid I was gonna say no? Don’t throw away your entire career to write some short stories?”

“Novels, Iris. Not short stories like in college. This is the real deal.”

“And what inspired this? I thought you were happy at the station. You love your CSI work, and you’re the best in the city. Are you having a…mid-life crisis? At 30?”

He pursed his lips.

“Look, I know this feels like it’s coming out of left field.”

Her eyes widened, and she nodded.

“Yeah. It does.”

“But, okay, two weeks ago, the new captain at the station recognized my name. Turns out my grandfather was a professor who also wrote novels, and he knew about him. He asked if I wrote anything, and I dug up my short stories, and he said I have a lot of potential, and what am I doing wasting it as a CSI?”

Iris’ lips thinned.

“Did you tell him you have a wife and two kids to support?”

“So, I’ll support you guys through this! Writing is very lucrative. You should know, you were a writer.”

“Yes.” Her eyes narrowed. “I was, and I loved it, and I quit so I could take care of our children. So, tell me, if we’re both home, who is going to be paying the bills while you wait to finish up your novel and become a billionaire?”

“Well, you can go back to work. Don’t you miss being a journalist?”

“Huh.”

“What?”

She set the dishes down she was working on and propped a hand on her hip.

“So, if I go back to work…and you’re working in your office with the door closed so you can concentrate…who’s watching the kids?”

He licked his lips.

“Don’t your parents live nearby?” He winced, knowing he was reaching.

“And what? They have to babysit eight hours a day, five days a week, so your stubborn ass can write?”

“Hey, now, Iris, this is my passio-”

“For two weeks, Barry! For two weeks it’s been your passion.” She dug her nails into her side. “And tell me, why couldn’t you just write after you get off work?”

He frowned.

“Well, that’s my time with you and the kids.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“And you’re wishing it wasn’t now, aren’t you?”

“Iris-” He reached for her, but she backed away, hands up.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Iri-” He tried again as she circled around him and reached for her coat and headed for the door. “Where are you going?”

“Watch the kids. If it’s not too much of a burden for you, of course.”

“Iris.”

She glared and then closed the door behind her.

“Iris!”

Her eyes opened, as she was brought back to the empty house she now lived in. Eddie’s house, not Barry’s, not the house she thought she’d grow old in.

That had been the first of many fights she’d had with Barry. And for two years she did as he asked and let him write while her parents watched their babies. They both missed so many of their firsts from being gone during the day. She’d never get that back.

She’d experienced a lot more by being a stay-at-home mom after moving out and eventually moving in with Eddie. The divorce had given her a great gift, but it had also torn her family apart. And whenever she saw Barry, she wondered if it had been the right choice.

But quitting his job to become a full-time writer hadn’t been the only thing Barry had done to drive her to divorce. It was the person he had become after publishing his novel.

Was he still the same person?

Bzz. Bzz.

Nearly jumping out of her seat, she pulled her phone out of her pocket.

Love you.

She winced, typing back ditto before shutting off her screen.

She’d always hated when Barry had used ‘ditto’ at the end of their relationship, and now here she was thinking of him and using it on Eddie, the guy she was supposed to be in love with and 100% dedicated to now.

But was she?

Setting her phone on the desk, she got up, grabbed some fresh clothes and a towel and headed for the bathroom. Maybe a shower would get Barry Allen out of her head.

…

“Daddy, where are we going?”

It had been 10 minutes since they’d started what was supposed to be a short hike into Yellowstone, but Barry supposed he could only expect the very least amount of patience and the most amount of curiosity from his son of only seven years.

“We’re going to this really special place that I know.” He licked his lips as past years’ rendezvous flashed before his eyes. “Actually, it’s a place where your mom and I used to hang out a lot.”

“I don’t want to know where you and Mom had sex,” Nora blurted a few paces behind them. “I’m not ready for that, Barry.”

Irritation sparked off him and a modicum of grief.

“Stop calling me that,” he told his daughter. “It’s creeping me out. What’s wrong with Dad?”

Nora gave no response to that. He supposed he couldn’t blame her, but he was really trying to make an effort here. Was it totally pointless because his effort the last three years had been minimal at best?

“Daddy, look at this!”

Barry frowned as he addressed his son again and they came to a border fence with NO TRESPASSING signs plastered to it.

“That wasn’t here before.” He glanced at it, then decided to summon the spirit of adventure that had swept Iris off her feet all those years before. “What do we do?” He flipped his son’s baseball cap up and over his head so it flew over the fence and landed on the ground on the trespassing side.

Bart’s eyes bulged.

“Go get your hat.”

Using the bar in the middle of the fence, Barry heaved himself up and over the fence. Little Bart followed suit, though his climb and jump was a little slower. Nora stood there and watched in disbelief.

“Don’t you see the signs?”

But a look from Barry and Bart on the other side soon had Nora climbing up and over too. Barry extended his hand to help her over the last little jump, but after a moment’s hesitation, she jumped down on her own, pushing his offer aside.

“I got it, Barry. I’m not a baby.”

Barry sighed.

“Stop calling me…Barry,” he said under his breath, but he squelched the deserved hurt to the side and got ahead of his two children, leading them to where he hoped would be a beautiful lake they could hang out by.

Maybe the two little munchkins could swim. Maybe they’d have a picnic. Neither of those things came to fruition though, because as soon as they cleared the trees and got into the opening, all they saw was what had once been a huge lake, now dried up, and several little flags and no-trespassing tape surrounding the perimeter.

“Used to be a lake here.”

“Doesn’t look like much of a lake to me,” Bart muttered, sharing a look with his sister, that Barry thankfully wasn’t any the wiser to.

“I know, the whole thing’s gone.” Barry frowned. “Come on, let’s check it out.”

The kids were reluctant, but they followed. Unfortunately for all three of them, within minutes, trucks came up over the hillside and soon surrounded them.

“What is that?” Bart asked.

“Uh…” Barry tried to remain calm. So much for his adventuring. “That’s the U.S. Army.”

Several army men sprinted onto the dried-up lake, approaching him. One specifically spoke to him, and Barry knew instantly he’d have to be submissive.

“You’re in a restricted area, sir. We need you and your family to come with us.”

“Right.” He glanced down at his kids, holding each of their hands in his grip. Surprisingly, Nora didn’t resist. “Okay, we’re going to go with these guys. That’ll be fun, huh?”

The ride was quick. In fact, it ended just over the hill and into a valley where a completely hidden government base was operating. Once the truck came to a stop, they were escorted out and told to wait.

“It’s a National Park. There’s not supposed to be posted fences, right? What’s going on here?” Barry asked one of the guards standing by. He wouldn’t answer him. In fact, none of them would.

Luckily, someone soon approached that would.

“We’re geologists,” the man said.

Barry smirked.

“You usually go digging with machine guns?”

The man dismissed the army men and gave Barry his full attention.

“What happened to the lake?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Right now all we can conclude is that the whole area there is very, very unstable. I think it’s best if you take yourself and your children and leave, Mr…Allen,” he finished, glancing down at the ID he’d been given on his way over. A light went on.

“What?” Barry asked, dumbfounded for a moment.

“You’re not by any chance the Barry Allen who wrote Goodbye, Central City, are you?”

A hesitant smirk crossed Barry’s face.

“The very same.”

The man burst into a smile and a laugh and started to gush, causing Nora to roll her eyes and Bart to butt in.

“It’s actually dedicated to my mom,” he beamed.

Barry nodded along, answering a few questions and smiling, obviously grateful for the support, though apparently this reader had not bought the book either but had been given it by his father. Another reminder of the failure that was his writing career.

But that wasn’t where his mind was at now. His mind was at…

“Iris…” he hedged, knowing she hadn’t been thrilled to be at his first book signing with him but wanting to show his gratitude anyway.

They were at home now. The kids were asleep. And she was doing her best to not lash out. It had been a big day for him, and she’d acted the supportive wife because he’d asked her to, but inside she was screaming for what their life had become, and he knew it. He knew he’d failed her.

“What is it, Barry?”

“I appreciate you coming today.”

“And acting the dutiful wife?” She sipped at her wine, holding the fragile stem carefully between her fingertips, wondering what would be so bad about her snapping it into pieces.

He sighed.

“I know you didn’t read my book…”

Her jaw clenched.

“And you don’t have to.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“But um, just read the front page. Please.”

He got up, set the book beside her on the couch, and retreated into his office.

“Tell me something,” the young man got his attention again. “Do you really believe those people would have acted so selflessly, knowing their own lives were at risk, if it were to really happen?”

Barry thought for a beat, thought how very selfish he’d been for a long time and the world wasn’t even ending.

“I hope so.” He paused. “Well, it was great to have met you, Mr.…?”

“Cisco. Ramon.” He shook his hand. “You as well. The major here will escort you back.”

“Thanks.”

“He was very nice, Daddy,” Bart said, jumping up onto his toes as he clutched his dad’s hand.

Barry smirked.

“You’re just saying that because he liked my book.”

Bart’s eyes sparkled, and Barry came to a stop. Nora kept walking and jumped into the truck, waiting for them.

“You look just like your mother when you look at me like that.” He tousled his hair. “Little slugger.”

“Guys! Come on!” Nora shouted, whining a little.

Barry smiled at her, then tugged down on his son’s hat.

“Let’s go. We’ll set up the tent.”

#westallen #westallen fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #in the end there was us #chapter 3

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