#something something moving on something something hearts so true
Text
yours (ymls check-in)
in which y/n just wants to be harry's — officially.
word count: 3.8k
content warnings: parenting/family stuff (y/n and harry are parents), smut (breeding kink, slight size kink, literal one "mommy" mention, dirty talk)
ymls masterlist | main masterlist
talk to me
. . .
Parenthood is difficult.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out, so it takes Harry and Y/N approximately two minutes of bringing Clementine into the world to come to the same realization. Her loud wails break their hearts every time, sleep becomes a luxury, and breastfeeding takes an incredible toll on Y/N’s physical and mental health.
But in the same way that parenting is hard and filled with tears and confusion, it’s just as — if not more — rewarding.
Clementine is the best thing that’s ever happened to each of them. Harry can’t remember a version of his life where he wasn’t head-over-heels in love with his sweet baby girl, and Y/N has softened up a considerable amount now that she spends most of her day cooing to her daughter.
It’s not perfect by any means — Clem is a tried-and-true daddy’s girl and sometimes it hurts Y/N’s feelings. Clementine also inherited her mom’s grumpy exterior and, in the middle of a visit from Harry’s parents or Y/N’s sister, will starfish her body, going completely rigid until one of her parents takes her. (Harry always thinks it’s funny while Y/N is embarrassed by it. It’s something they’re working on as a family.)
Beyond their little trio, though, lies a larger situation that’s been conveniently tucked away since Clementine was born: Harry and Y/N’s relationship.
They never decided what they were after confessing feelings for one another. One day, they lived separately and were going the route of platonic co-parenting. The next, Harry moved all his things into Y/N’s, ended the lease on his own apartment, and painted the guest room a pretty pastel pink.
At first, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. Y/N has never cared for labels on relationships, and their devotion to each other was blatant — they were parenting a child together, after all. He kissed her good morning, they held hands on family walks, and at the end of the day, they were crawling into bed together. She didn’t need a ring or a title to reiterate where she stood in Harry’s life.
Until… well, until the supermarket incident.
It was a rainy day, but Y/N wanted to pop into the store before they rounded the corner to head back home. Now that Clementine’s pediatrician gave them the okay to start trying out solid foods — or, as solid as baby food can be — Harry had gotten really into making it from scratch. Currently, their kitchen was a mess of sweet potato, apple, and green bean purees, but Y/N was trying to be supportive, even if the noise of the blender sometimes woke Clem up from her afternoon nap. She remembered him mentioning a new recipe he found for carrots, mangos, and bananas, so she figured they could grab the ingredients on their way home.
Clementine looked adorable in her cute little rain jacket and matching hat. Harry couldn’t stop taking pictures of her, and as they dipped into the produce aisle, stroller in tow, she remembered they needed another gallon of milk since they were trying to wean Clem off of Y/N’s breast milk.
“You guys can stay right here, it’s just in the next aisle,” Y/N said, arms stuffed with produce bags. Harry nodded, though his attention primarily laid on Clementine’s gummy smile. Y/N snorted to herself as she quickly shuffled off to the dairy section — the duo were two peas in a pod, but she didn't think she would want it any other way.
Glancing down at her watch, she put a pep in her step as she walked back to the produce aisle. They had about 15 minutes before Clem started getting antsy and whiney about her pre-dinner nap, and she didn’t want her to get upset on their walk home.
Only, when she turned the aisle, Harry and Clementine weren’t alone anymore — no, there were two women standing with them, cooing over their daughter.
“She’s so precious! How old is she?” one of them asked.
“Ah, almost eight months,” Harry replied bashfully, petting down the tuft of brown curls at the top of Clementine’s head. Y/N clenched her jaw. Why had he taken her hat off? It was supposed to protect her from the rain!
“So sweet,” the other woman grinned, reaching out to thumb over Clementine’s puffy cheek. The vision sent a pang of jealousy through Y/N’s chest — her baby wasn’t some kind of doll that anyone could just touch! Clutching the produce and container of milk in her hands, Y/N all but marched over to the stroller and threw them in the bottom compartment.
“Ready to go, honey?”
Harry blinked at Y/N, a world of confusion swirling in the green eyes he shared with his daughter. She stayed silent and still, knuckles white from gripping the stroller handle so tightly.
“Yeah,” he finally replied, leaning down to gently place Clementine back in her seat, “This is Y/N, Clementine’s mum.”
“Oh, your baby is so sweet! Harry was just raving about you!” one of the women nearly squealed. Y/N smiled tightly as she watched him buckle Clementine in.
“Okay, say bye bye, Clem,” Harry murmured. They’d been trying to teach her how to wave hello and goodbye, but Y/N would rather scoop her own eyeballs out than watch her do it for the first time with these women.
In fact, she was already pushing the stroller down the end of the aisle before they could even get the word “bye” out.
Since that day about two weeks ago, it’s been constantly replaying in the back of Y/N’s brain. Even though Harry didn’t think much of it (she knows this because he immediately started talking about nonsense on the walk home), for the first time, it plucked at a chord of insecurity that she didn’t even know she had. She’d always felt fairly secure in her relationship with Harry — he’d all but begged her for this life together, and he’d been incredibly involved from the moment she got pregnant — so how is that two random strangers at the supermarket tore this out of her?
It bothered her so deeply to the point where she did something she’d never done before: Ask Lea for relationship advice.
“In the years I’ve known you, you have never asked me for help with a man,” Lea had said, her eyebrows raised so high they nearly met her hairline. Y/N grumbled as she wrapped her hand around her matcha, avoiding eye contact with her friend. She’d been able to sneak out for an afternoon coffee date with her while Harry took Clementine to the park. “You’re always so… sure of yourself. And you have a literal child with Harry. What gives?”
Y/N shrugged as she rubbed her lips together nervously. “You should’ve seen the way those girls were all over him. It was… gross.”
“It’s normal to feel jealous, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
“I am not jealous,” she muttered, “I just… he introduced me as Clementine’s mom. Don’t you think I’m a bit… more than that to him?”
“Of course you are. But you’ve never had that conversation, have you?”
“Like you said, we have a baby together. What else could you need?”
Lea smirked, “That’s all that you need. But he probably needs a bit more confirmation than that.”
Y/N bristled as she stuck her straw between her lips, taking a long sip.
“He knows we’re in a relationship, doesn’t he?”
“I don’t know,” she replied honestly, “Dom and I used to hear all the gossip about you two before Clem was born, but since then, I think he’s just been focused on making sure you and her are both taken care of.”
“So what do I do?” Y/N asked through a sigh, leaning back against the worn leather of the booth.
“Talk to him,” Lea said easily, “But… maybe don’t do it in your rough-and-tough-Y/N way. Maybe… make it a little special. He likes that, y’know? Little romantic gestures?”
Y/N scrunched her face. Lea was right — Harry was all about the little things, like surprising her with flowers or waking her up with breakfast in bed on the weekends. And while Y/N was positive she didn’t have a romantic bone in her body, she’d certainly attempt to find one if it meant making Harry happy.
. . .
A few days later, Harry walks into his shared apartment with Y/N to the scent of something delicious.
“Y/N?” he calls as he toes his shoes off in the entryway. They weren’t due for company, were they? He doesn’t think so, but with eight months straight of four to five hours of sleep each night, he had trouble remembering anything that wasn’t Clementine-related.
He follows the fragrance into the kitchen, where Y/N is standing over the stove, stirring a bubbling pot of some sort of sauce. She jumps, hand over her heart, when he goes to greet her.
“Jesus fuck, you scared me!” she exclaims, the wooden spoon nearly clattering to the floor. He smirks and lets out an amused laugh as he walks towards her, observing the array of pans on the stovetop.
“What’s all this for?” he asks. Y/N presses a hand to his muscular chest and attempts to block him from seeing anything.
“I’m making you dinner,” she mumbles, nibbling on her bottom lip, “Clem’s with my sister for the night.”
“Oh?”
She nods.
“Did I forget a special occasion?”
She shakes her head.
“Then how come I’m getting spoiled tonight?”
Her cheeks warm at that, but they both pretend her blush is invisible. “I just wanted to do something… romantic for you.”
“Romantic?” he repeats the word like it’s a bizarre concept and it makes a pit form in Y/N’s stomach, “That’s… sweet of you. Thank you.”
She nods, albeit a bit robotically. “Um. Yeah. It’ll be ready in like 5 minutes.”
“Sounds good,” he replies, “Do you want me to set the table?”
She shakes her head bashfully and Harry raises an eyebrow. “I already did that.”
Her demure nature makes a smile form at the edges of his lips and he reaches out to press a hand to her hip, squeezing gently.
“Y’okay?” he asks softly, tilting his head to look at her. “You seem nervous.”
Y/N shrugs and it supplies him with a tepid answer. “I just wanna make this nice for you.”
His heart breaks a bit at that and he ducks lower to catch her lips in a short, sweet kiss. PDA isn’t irregular for them — not with touch being Harry’s primary love language — so it’s unsurprising to be on the receiving end of one of his dizzying kisses, even if it ends quicker than she’d like.
“This is already so special to me. I do miss Clem, though.”
She snorts at that as he brushes his nose against hers. “Of course you do. She’s your mini me.”
“Except when she’s making that grumpy little face. That’s all you.”
Y/N lightly bats at his chest before mumbling out to go sit down in the dining room.
Harry’s eyes widen when he sees the candlelit table — he can’t remember the last time they ate on actual plates, always opting for take-out containers or paper plates for the sake of convenience. He swallows as he sits down and listens to Y/N shuffle around the kitchen. He hears her curse, followed by what sounds like her emptying pasta into a colander — she always burns herself whenever she does that, and he can envision the slight grimace that appears on her face.
Just as he’s getting antsy and preparing himself to ask if she needs any help, Y/N appears from the kitchen with a big bowl of pasta. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she places it on the table, then stands up straight. She looks like a soldier waiting to be told to return to their duties.
“Um… I made us that roasted red pepper pasta you like.” she says, wringing her hands out in front of her. “I hope that’s fine.”
“That’s great,” Harry nods, gesturing to the seat across from him, “Sit down. You look like you’re gonna have an aneurysm. Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yes,” Y/N grumbles as she sits down, and the sound of her grouchy voice makes him chuckle as he grabs her bowl to serve her, “I know I’m not, like… the most romantic person, or even the easiest person to be around, so it’s important to me that I make this really good for you.”
“I hate when you say that,” he murmurs before placing her full bowl in front of her. He moves to serve himself, “You’re the easiest person I’ve ever been around. You’re a great mum and I love being a parent with you.”
Y/N swallows as she listens to him, leaving her food untouched. He watches her and takes a bite of his pasta, chewing slowly.
“Is that… all I am to you?” she asks softly with low eyes. Harry furrows his eyebrows.
“What do you mean?”
“Like… am I still just a co-parent to you?”
He sets his fork down and uses his napkin to wipe his mouth. “Well, we never really talked about it, I guess. But you know you’re more than that to me.”
“You’re more than just Clem’s dad to me,” she continues. “And it kinda hurt my feelings when you introduced me to those girls as ‘Clementine’s mom’ a few weeks back.”
Harry raises his eyebrows, “Oh. I didn’t think anything of it.”
“I know.”
His heart strains at the thought of hurting her feelings, but he also knows that what happened in the supermarket was weeks ago. Had she been sitting on it and thinking about it all this time?
“I never want to make you uncomfortable, Y/N. To be honest, I don’t know how to refer to you but… I’d say you’re my partner, yeah? You’re my teammate in raising our beautiful girl and I love getting to live life with you.”
Her heart thumps rapidly in her chest. “But what if… what if you called me your girlfriend, too?”
Harry’s silent for a moment. He reaches out to place his hand on her knee, squeezing softly.
“Would you want that?” he asks. “I’ll only do it if that’s what you want.”
She looks up at him and nods. Her eyes are glassy and it makes Harry’s chest tighten. Suddenly, he needs to be closer to her, so he stands up and scoops her into his arms. At first she rejects his touch, mumbling out sentiments about still having postpartum weight, but Harry shushes her and pulls her into his lap.
“Tell me what you’re feeling, Y/N.” he murmurs. He leans up and presses a chaste kiss to the side of her neck. She shivers and he keeps his hands as solid anchors on her hips.
“I want you to call me your girlfriend,” she says, lifting her gaze to look at him. “I don’t want you to entertain any other person or let them flirt with you or touch our baby. I just want it to be the three of us, always.”
If Harry’s being honest, he would have been content with living in this gray, in-between area with Y/N for the rest of their lives. He was happy — so incredibly happy to be in her life, to sleep next to her every night, to raise a gorgeous baby girl with her. He felt fortunate to be there for every moment, good and bad — but he would be a liar if he said he hadn’t been waiting for the day where she told him what was really going on in that pretty head of hers.
He presses a chaste kiss to her temple. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,” he says quietly, soft fingertips smoothing over the expanse of her hip, “You’re my girlfriend, okay? Not just Clemmie’s mum. You’re so much more than that.”
She nods her head and Harry smiles gently at how flustered she continues to be — it’s a side of her that he rarely sees, and the sight makes a low chuckle sound from deep in his chest.
“You’re silly,” he mumbles against the shell of her ear. “Isn’t that what you are? A silly baby desperate to be mine?”
Y/N bristles and swallows harshly, keeping her gaze low in his lap. His smirk only grows as he begins to press slow kisses along her jaw and down to her neck. Her eyes flutter closed.
“Everyone thinks you’re this pretty, grumpy girl, but I know better than that,” he continues, sliding his hands beneath her tee-shirt to feel her warm skin, “You’re loving and kind. The best mum I’ve ever seen. The best partner and the best girlfriend, too. Isn’t that right, mama?”
She gasps wetly and he feels her thighs threaten to clench, but his hips prevent her from getting any relief. He hums, satisfied with her response and, in a quick movement, pulls her shirt from her body and tosses it to the floor. Her swollen breasts sit prettily on her chest and he tries his best not to groan at the sight.
“Don’t tease,” she mewls. He chuckles as she grasps at the fabric of his own tee-shirt, the soft material in the tight clutch of her knuckles.
“Need me to fill you up?” he asks, though he knows the answer is an obvious and resounding yes. They haven’t had actual sex in at least a month, not with Clementine occupying 99% of their time. Even if he’s attempting to play it cool, his cock is hard and throbbing beneath layers of his clothing. He swears he can even feel the warmth of her pussy through her own clothes and it’s taking everything in him not to thrust up and grind against her.
“Yes,” Y/N pants, shaky fingers digging beneath the waistband of his trousers to pull his length out, “S-stop playing around. You know it’s been too long.”
Harry laughs lowly and lifts his hips up to grant her enough space so she can retrieve his cock. She doesn’t even bother pushing his pants or briefs down, swallowing tightly at the sight of the ruddy tip already leaking with pre-cum.
“Relax, baby,” he mumbles, grabbing one of her trembling hands and intertwining their fingers together, “Breathe, yeah? I’ll take care of my girl.”
Her pussy clenches at that — my girl — and she nibbles on her bottom lip eagerly when he pushes her soft shorts to the side to reveal her pussy. He wishes he had more willpower to look at what he’s been missing out on and his throat bobs when his eyes flicker down to the puffy clit tucked between her lips. He thinks they’ll both explode if he doesn’t get inside of her in the next two seconds, so he gives his cock a pump before he positions himself beneath her and slowly pushes in.
Immediately, she whimpers out and he stalls, his free hand pressing rigidly into the skin of her thigh.
“Y’alright?”
“Yeah,” she whispers, “Tight fit.”
“I know.” he mutters, glancing up at her to read her expression. “Do you need me to pull out?”
She instantly shakes her head, “No, no. Keep going.”
Harry leans up to seal their lips in a messy, wet kiss as he continues pushing in as slowly as he can. He supposes he should’ve spent more time stretching her out, but if there’s one thing he’s learned about Y/N over the past year, it’s that she’s always eager and ever determined to take him, even if it’s been weeks since their last time together.
When he’s finally all the way in, his balls snug against her bum, their kiss slows, though it doesn’t seem like Y/N has any plans to separate their mouths. He doesn’t move a muscle, even if he knows his cock is throbbing from the tightness of her pussy. And then, after what seems like an eternity, she nods.
Slowly, he begins to fuck up inside of her and breathy moans depart from her swollen lips. Harry’s mouth catches each one, punctuating every whimper with a gentle peck.
“There you go, mama, take my cock. You’re doing so good, aren’t you?”
She only responds with a lilting whimper and he moans, feeling the way her pussy clenches around his length. It’s not the dirtiest sex they’ve had — not by a long shot — but god, if it doesn’t feel incredible knowing that they’re completely devoted to one another.
“You make me feel so good,” she mewls, making his eyes nearly roll back, “I love your cock— ‘s so good, Harry, want— want you to give me another baby.”
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, squeezing her hips hard, “Can’t just fucking say that stuff, baby. I’ll bust before you even cum.”
“D-don’t care,” she shudders, but he can tell she’s reaching her peak by the way her thighs begin to tremble, each of her muscles tightening. “Cum inside me, m-make me a mommy again.”
His chest vibrates with a deep groan and he reaches between them to pinch at her pearly clit, rubbing it in quick, tight circles. He’s seconds away from bursting himself, but he refuses to finish before she has a chance to.
It barely takes a few loops around the bundle of nerves before she’s shaking in his lap, her pussy tensing around his length as she moans out his name over and over again. It’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard and he presses his forehead against her sweaty shoulder, shuddering as her orgasm triggers his own. As requested, he pumps his cock deep inside of her as he comes, pushing his seed as far as it’ll go. She whimpers from the sensation as pants fall from her lips, shivering every time he thrusts another rope of cum into her.
They’re both shaking by the time both of their orgasms taper off. Harry wraps his arms around her sweaty form, pulling her chest against his.
“You’re mine, yeah?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You and Clem. We’re a family.”
Y/N nods, echoing his words. “Yours.”
They settle into a comfortable silence; Harry’s softening cock still inside. He’s unsure of how how long they stay there, but he does know that they’ll have to move eventually so he can clean her up. It’s only then that she sits up to look at him, her eyes soft and tired.
“Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you get me Plan B tomorrow?” she asks, biting her lip. “I think Clem is… more than enough for me right now.”
He laughs and nods his head.
“Yeah, sweetheart. I’ll pick some up for you tomorrow.”
#writing#ymls concept#harry styles#harry styles writing#harry styles concept#harry styles imagine#harry styles fan fic#harry styles blurb#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fic#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles one shot#harry styles oneshot#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x reader#harry styles fluff#harry styles one direction#one direction#harry styles smut#harry styles angst#harry's house#fine line#dadrry
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TW for internalized homophobia and related bad decisions
Steve is 12 and he thinks about finding his soulmate all the time.
You're supposed to find them through touch; your life together will flash in front of your eyes. They're rare, though, soulmates. So rare that most people never find theirs. So rare that some people say they're made up.
Steve wants to be one of the lucky few. He wants it to be a true, unbreakable bond, a love he gets to have forever.
He wonders if he'll find his soulmate at school. He's popular, he thinks. Tommy would say they were popular. But Tommy's definition of popular mostly has to do with the number of kids he can get away with being mean to, and that's not really Steve's deal. Tommy is like a prey animal, the way he can find weaknesses.
There's a new boy at school. Steve doesn't know his name, but they have English together. He's too thin, with huge brown eyes, and all his clothes are too big. His head's been inexpertly shaved and he never looks anybody in the eye. It's only a matter of time before he catches Tommy's interest, and Steve wishes he could stop it somehow, but he's never been good at going against Tommy.
The day comes, of course. They're standing in the hall, the new boy walking towards them, head down, as always. Tommy nudges Steve says, "What a loser."
And Steve shrugs, starts to ask Tommy about football, if the Colts can make the Super Bowl, but the boy is nearing and Tommy is cackling.
"Watch this." Tommy sticks his foot out.
The boy doesn't react fast enough. He falls forward with a bitten off yelp, and Steve moves without really thinking, only knows he can't stand to see him fall. He catches the new kid beneath his armpits, Steve's thumbs brushing the soft skin his arms.
The world around him falls away at the touch.
---
He's sitting on the floor in the band room, Eddie--the boy's name is Eddie--next to him. Eddie's hair is a little longer and Steve's in a green polo he doesn't recognize, and he's never been in the band room in his life. They're leaning into each other and laughing and Eddie's so beautiful.
---
They're in the woods--Skull Rock, Steve thinks. Eddie's hair is curled and frizzed around his chin, and he's laughing, his cheeks pink, his dimples prominent. He tries to pull his hair in front of his face, but it's not long enough yet to reach. Steve is overwhelmed, wants to kiss him so bad. He's never had to wait to kiss someone, or been unsure, or--
He wants to kiss Eddie.
So, he does.
It's hard, desperate, not the first kiss Steve expected, but then they've been waiting for so long.
---
Steve stands in the hallway of Hawkins High. He's wearing a striped, beige short-sleeved polo, and flirting with Nancy Wheeler.
He likes Nancy, she's pretty and smart and fun. And it's easy. He can hold her hand. Can introduce her to his parents. Can take her on dates and kiss her in public.
She bats her big blue eyes at him, and he can't help but kiss her.
He pulls away gently, brushing his thumb against her cheek, and when he looks down the hall, Eddie is there, frozen. His mouth is wide, his eyes glassy.
Steve thinks the way his heart stutters must be what dying feels like.
---
He's sitting on his diving board, facing away from the pool. He smokes a cigarette and there's a bat studded with nails at his feet, what the fuck. Music thuds, shrieks and laughter seep into the cool night air.
He should be playing the gracious host. He should be having a good time. Instead, his eyes search the woods and he taps another smoke out of the pack.
"Harrington?" The voice makes him jump, hand flexing around the bat handle. "It's freezing out. What are you doing?"
He recognizes the voice now, doesn't turn, doesn't respond, can't stand to see another person he let down; another person who could call him bullshit and be 100% correct.
"Do you not have a jacket? C'mon, man."
Something warm settles over his shoulders, and he inadvertently breathes in weed and leather and cedar. He squeezes his eyes shut, like that will make the comforting, familiar scent go away. He'll have to move to shrug off the jacket, though, which would mean acknowledging Eddie's presence.
"Can you at least say something, Harrington? You're freaking me out."
"I'm fine, Ed--Eddie." The nickname falls from his lips too easily. He doesn't miss how Eddie flinches.
His hair is long now, down to his shoulders, brittle looking in the cold. He's wearing a t-shirt and worn flannel, arms wrapped around his chest for warmth now that his jacket is draped over Steve's shoulders.
Steve is an idiot. He's such an idiot. Chasing after Nancy when Eddie is--
"I'm sorry," he says. He turns to face his soulmate, then. "I'm sorry about Nancy, I--"
Eddie jerks back like he's been hit. "Fuck you, Harrington," he snarls.
---
He sits in the back of an ambulance, eyes swollen shut, face throbbing. He's wearing a sailor suit for inexplicable reasons, which is almost more upsetting than the ambulance. He smells like puke and something toxically sweet.
A girl is with him, one he doesn't recognize, but he feels deeply, instinctively protective of her. He holds her shaking shoulders tight, tries to whisper comfort to her through his busted and bleeding mouth.
He's pretty sure he has a concussion.
"Steve!" Someone screams over the sounds of the EMTs and firefighters, of the building burning and collapsing behind them.
Eddie bursts through the gathered onlookers and past the ring of police cars enclosing them. He's falling into the ambulance before Steve has a chance to react.
"Sweetheart," Eddie sobs. He tries to cup Steve's face, but his fingers flutter around the damage. "Sweetheart, oh my god. I came as soon as I heard. Are you--what can I--"
Steve stares at him--his hair falling from its messy bun, his cutoff Metallica tee, concern and love leaking from those brown, brown eyes--and bursts into tears.
---
They sit on the roof of his house, sharing a joint back and forth. It's chilly, bordering on cold, winter just on the horizon. They're laughing, leaning into each other, and Steve is--he's happy. Elated. Could float away with it.
Robin--Robin-- is in the bathroom, or maybe in the kitchen for snacks, and it's just them for now. They're looking at each other, smiles wide, eyes bright.
They're taking it slow. Steve knows it's important, after what he did. They talked about it, his abandoning of Eddie for Nancy, chasing what his dad told him was normal and expected.
He doesn't want to cross any boundaries, wants to do this right. How Eddie deserves. But they're leaning into each other and they're smiling, and he's so in love. Intoxicated with it, lost.
In the end, he doesn't know who makes the first move, just that they're kissing and it's like coming home.
---
He's in a building, a shed or something. It's musty and dirty, smells like oil and gasoline and a building left closed up too long. Eddie's in his arms and he's talking through hiccuping sobs.
"I didn't save her, Steve. I didn't help. I just left her there! She was broken in pieces and I--I--"
Steve holds him close, tight, squeezes his eyes closed to stop his own tears from falling. He never wanted this for Eddie, never wanted him involved. Thought he could protect him from all of Hawkins's terrible things.
They aren't alone. Robin is there, coming up to hold Eddie too, plus a redheaded girl and curly haired boy he doesn't recognize.
"We'll figure this out, Eddie." The boy promises.
"We won't let anyone hurt you. We know you didn't murder Chrissy," the girl says.
---
Steve is in a world he doesn't understand, and Eddie is his arms. Eddie is in his arms, and there's blood everywhere. He's not awake, he's not--his heart beat is soft and slow, too slow, and his breathing stutters, and Steve can't--
"Baby, stay with me." He begs as he runs across the dead and rotting landscape. "Eddie, please. Wake up, okay? Wake up for me. I need to--I need to know that you're alright."
Eddie stays limp in his arms.
"Please," he begs. "You can't leave me. We promised, remember? We promised we'd be together forever. The rest of our lives. Me and You. Our six little nuggets. You promised."
The portal back to Hawkins is less than a dozen feet away, he's so close. Eddie gasps to consciousness, but his eyes are still hazy.
"Hi, sweetheart," he mumbles.
"Hey, hi, you're doing so good. We're almost out, okay? We're almost out and we'll get you to the hospital."
Eddie reaches out a weak hand, touches the edge of Steve's jaw. "Love you, Stevie," he whispers. "Glad you were mine."
He goes still in Steve's hold.
---
The images come faster now--
A hospital room at Hawkins General, Eddie hooked to machines. Steve holds hands with an older man. They wait in terrified silence
Eddie propped in a bed, a bunch of kids around him, Steve and Robin at his side. His eyes keep sliding to Steve, like he's making sure Steve's real, that he's still there
Their bodies tangled together in a bedroom Steve doesn't recognize
Steve down on one knee in a marble room lit only by black and red candles, Eddie standing in front of him
Hand-in-hand on a cliffside overlooking the ocean. The Chief of Police, Jim Hopper, stands in front of them with tears in his eyes and a beaming smile on his face
In a big, green yard behind a cozy little house. A little boy with Eddie's eyes and curls riding on his shoulders. Eddie sprinting around with a tiny girl giggling after him, perfect imitation of the King Steve hair-do on her tiny head
In a park, surrounded by family and friends. Steve has a little bit of a paunch and wears glasses. Eddie's hair streams around his shoulders, going grey at the temples. There's a banner strung between trees proclaiming 'Happy 20th Steve and Eddie!' They're surrounded by everyone they love and it's perfect
---
The images flash too fast for Steve to catalog after that, seconds-long glimpses of a shared future, and then he's back in his body in the hallway of Hawkins Middle, still holding too tight onto Eddie's arms.
Eddie rears back, face pale and terrified, and Steve is too shocked to do anything but let him go.
Tommy's yelling, but Steve only has eyes for his soulmate, who scrambles to his feet and throws himself down the hall away from them.
"What the hell, Harrington? Why'd you catch him? That was about to be funny as hell! I bet he'd have broken his nose--you ruined it!"
Steve isn't listening. He's trying to hold on to the memories of their life together, the ones that are already fading.
The last thing he remembers is that, sometime in the not-too-distant future, he'll find his way to the band room, Eddie Munson, and the rest of their lives.
#steddie#steve x eddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#ficlet#soulmate au#fluff#angst#angst with a happy ending#childhood sweethearts#canon divergent au#everyone lives/nobody dies#glimpses of the future#getting together#break up#getting back together#first kiss#brief stancy#platonic stobin
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⟢Alastor x Cupid FemReader
Tasked with making a demon believe in true love or you can’t return to heaven, things immediately go off the rails when you hurt yourself and Alastor catches one of your most troubling arrows; Mania
˚₊ · »-♡→ Week 1 and Week 2
˚₊ · »-♡→Week 3 and Week 4 smut💦
˚₊ · »-♡→Week 5, Week 6, Week 7, and Epilogue smut💦
Alastor demands you tell him what you’d consider a nice date, which makes a surprisingly lovely time in the library. Dancing leads to… not dancing and a minor rearranging of your guts. And finally, you try to shame Alastor out of Mania and Alastor finds himself having to explain, well, Alastor.
「warnings/promises: Smut, guts➡️rearranged, kinda dub➡️con cuz Alastor still doesn’t listen, but funnily enough neither do you?, lots of interrupting each other, Luci’s hat, you’re down so fucking bad lmao」
🎶 minors DNI 🎵
Angel was live blogging everything you said when you recounted what happened to you after returning to the hotel.
“Wait there’s a character limit, I gotta make a new post.” He was wiping actual tears from his eyes, “Fuck this is funny.”
“Hmmph,” Alastor offered a small noise from his end of the sofa. Neither of you had mentioned or even referenced the sex. There was a strange feeling between you that it didn’t happen so it didn’t need a discussion. But also that it had absolutely happened, as Alastor’s hands found renewed vigor in their search for you when in public and private and your body seemed to respond in kind. You’d still occasionally move his hand off of you, but there was a pulse of electricity every time. When his hand would come to rest on your upper thigh while seated beside each other in the common areas, you let it linger. What harm was it? Heaven wasn’t fucking watching.
Everything aside, the sex had done nothing to dispel his interest. Perhaps you’d only made it worse, for both of you.
By midweek you found the sling useless, happily tossing it aside and beginning gentle stretches. That was more progress than you'd made in your main task.
Every morning you woke up beside Alastor, every day you had him in your orbit, every night you fell asleep feet from him.
Had Mania not taken him he would be a prime candidate for showing the virtue of true love. He was already fucking there, a captive audience. But that wasn’t how it worked. Cupid-induced manic love could never be true. Nothing you created was true, really. But atleast with Eros or Agape you could still have added the notion of true love to the mix. His heart would still be receptive and open to the idea. The way he was now, you could proselytize until you were blue in the face and he’d still think manic love was true love.
An unintended consequence of living with Alastor was discovering you both had quite a bit in common, as much as that information irked you. He enjoyed horror movies such as ‘Dracula’, you enjoyed horror movies as well, just newer ones. Ones in color. He could cook quite well, something you enjoyed to do. And his taste in music was actually lovely. You had assumed he listened to screams on a 7 hour loop.
Actually, upon closer inspection, Alastor was nothing like you had initially assumed. While he had shown you he was capable of terrifying feats of strength and power, he was also remarkably gentle. Every time you descended the stairs his hand was barely felt as it hovered at your elbow ready to save you.
Early in the week you fell asleep watching the group play a board game, somehow redemption related, and awoke with his coat laid over your body. When you thanked him, he just smiled and continued enjoying watching Niffty hide the play money.
You were finding yourself more and more wishing the arrow had never fallen. If you’d just met him as you fell, perhaps you would be staring into that portal home. There were definitely worse options around. Even his imposing height had begun to…not bother you, perhaps was the best way to say it.
Or his large hands. There was a safety in the way they rested on your back. Speaking of…
Your throat ran dry when he leaned into you, one of those hands sliding across your thigh, and asked against your ear, “Ready to go?”
He had to have seen you licking your lips to unstick your teeth. With a nod, he stood and offered a hand to you.
You both were already out of the elevator and walking to your room when he slowed, coming to stop just in front of you.
His room, fucking hell.
“You know, I was thinking,” he wasn’t looking as he spoke to you, which was odd given how often he stared at you. “If you’re going to be here with me from now on-“
You opened your mouth to argue but he put his hand up, “I’d like to know the things you enjoy doing with your romantic interests.” His smile was almost pure, you could tell he was genuinely asking.
“Well I don’t have any so, why would you care?”
“No things you enjoy?”
“No romantic interests.”
His head lolled to the side, “Sometimes I think you say things just to bother me.”
You did.
“I do.”
You thought if you kept being rude maybe you could keep him at an arm’s length. Not get too attached. You’d been kind to people you didn’t like before and eventually you started to like them. This was that. But opposite.
He stared down at you, taking a step closer. You took one back. That smile shifted from pure to sinister, his eyes half lidded. You could almost see the thoughts playing on his face.
“Alastor-,” your back hit the elevator doors. The pounding of your heart when he brought his face to yours drowned out the sounds of the button being pressed. When the doors opened you fell backward with a yelp, but a strong arm caught you by the waist.
“You have twelve floors.” His hand hit the first floor button, “You can share with me your idea of a quality date. Or I can show everyone,” that clawed hand came to your neck, sliding down the evidence of your pounding heart, “how pretty you scream.”
As soon as the doors closed you were pressed against the elevator wall, right leg pulled up and around his waist. “You wouldn’t dare.” You had meant it to sound strong but instead it was half whispered with a shaky voice.
He popped a button off your blouse, “Maybe!” Warm mouth now on your neck, his tongue ran over your pulse, “I wonder if everyone is still in the lobby.”
Over his shoulder you watched the numbers counting down. The hand that cut off the button slid down to your bottoms, slipping under the waistband.
On the 3rd floor the elevator stopped. When the doors opened a demon you didn’t recognize was standing there, eyes wide and mouth open. He didn’t make a move to enter, Alastor looking over his shoulder and sharing what you could only assume was a death glare. The flickering lights were a giveaway to his anger.
His fingers dipped down and cupped your sex, hot palm pressing into your folds.
The doors closed again and you watched the second floor light up. A finger bent and pressed into you.
A nibble at your ear, “You know I’ll win, regardless.”
He was right. Which was the smaller defeat? Humiliation or just telling the bastard your idea of a nice time?
“Books. Drinks.” You squeaked, the first floor lamp now aglow. His hand pulled away just as the doors opened.
Expecting him to gloat you were surprised he just hit the 10th floor button. The library.
He opened the door for you. The library’s main area had two reading chairs bookending a long antique sofa. You took the chair furthest from the door, hearing the door lock.
With a snap, the entire bar with Husk included seemed to fall three inches out of thin air.
“Oh for fucks sake.” Husk looked around, already annoyed, “You coulda just fucking asked for drinks to bring with you. You know cups are portable, right?”
It was nice, actually. Husk poured, you both read. There was an unnecessary fireplace crackling behind you. Cozy. And it got cozier and warmer the more you drank. Your shields softened as the glasses emptied.
Your book was good, but as you felt the alcohol hit you were reminded of the last time you’d gotten a little past tipsy. Sneakily, but not at all, your eyes wandered over to Alastor.
His legs were crossed, but you could remember looking down and seeing them spread open beneath you. Open. Did many people see him like you had? Had his talk about a disinterest in sex actually been a trick to intrigue you? It hadn’t worked, you genuinely didn’t care what his preferences were. If anything it made you less likely to make a pass.
Your eyes wandered down his slender neck to his wide shoulders. Less than a week ago your arms were resting there. Further down, you remembered that soft bit of fur at the base of his cock, a small trail from his belly button.
Husk watched your face turn pink, “You good?” Your head whipped around, looking confused. “You’re getting red.”
Oh. I was just thinking about my pussy drowning in Alastor’s cum.
No, obviously not!
Alastor’s eyes left his book and found yours. They were so red; his eyes, not your cheeks. No one in heaven had such wicked an appearance. When you didn’t reply, busy staring back at Alastor, Husk groaned, “Aah fuck.”
“What are you reading?” You asked, clearly able to see the book title from where you sat.
Alastor held it up, “Oliver Twist.”
“Never read it.”
You had read it.
Setting your book down, you tried to walk as straight as a line as you could to him. You took the book from his hands and sat down on his lap, back against his chest, before picking it up again. “What page are we on?”
“You can leave, Husker.” Alastor didn’t even look at Husk when he said it, eyes still on your face.
When the door closed and Alastor could lock it with a snap, he uncrossed his legs. “Would you like to start over dear? From the beginning.”
Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
“Can we?” You leaned your head onto his shoulder. When had he become so comfortable…?
“We can.” The book was set aside, his left hand pulling your chin up, “I think we skipped a few chapters before.”
You opened your mouth, “I don’t like kissing.”
“You will.”
The front part of your brain dissolved, you were sure of it. Your decision making abilities were entirely eradicated as his lips pressed into yours. Fuck, maybe even your basic motor skills had been fried, his tongue swiping across your mouth before you just—opened. Your hips ground down into his lap, and you felt his smile widen against your lips.
“Stop smiling. I just like warm bodies.” You reached for the book and opened it to the first page, “and you’re so fucking warm.”
He began to read, but between the rumble of his chest, his voice in your ear, and the heat of his body, you fell asleep.
No matter. Alastor just hummed. With a summoning of his shadow you both sank into your shared bed, where he continued reading with you against his chest.
You dreamt about home. About red eyes and warmth.
Was it so bad, being in hell? Sure you had a fucking deer demon as guard dog but it seemed his mania was … not so terrible. Honestly he seemed relatively normal now. He would wander off for significant lengths of time, even leaving in the mornings while you were still lazing about. A kiss to your hand was the indicator he would be popping off somewhere.
Alastor still wouldn’t let Lucifer alone with you, but otherwise everything was okay. You’d even come to enjoy certain aspects of his possessiveness. That ever present hand, for example. Even when it wasn’t on you, you could still almost feel it. It had become second nature now.
The week was actually peaceful. Your pain was entirely gone, you could move about freely. Despite that Alastor still would press up behind you and offer to help dress you. An offer you declined, but every time he asked you paused longer and longer before saying no.
Alastor was happy to find you in the library toward the end of the week, you having wandered off when he was called away. He summoned a confused but pissed off Husk again, who was midway through making someone else’s drink. He set it aside, pouring Alastor his whiskey. You decided against drinking, you knew you always made poor decisions. Like sleeping.
Delighted by the impressive collection you found a non-fiction and settled into the same large chair.
“Reading is a virtue.” He said to himself yet out-loud, taking a seat and setting the radio on from across the room. Etta James. ‘Somethings got a hold of me.’
“A little past your time, isn’t it?” You smiled, you liked songs about love. Not because of who you were, you just liked the idea of someone so enamored they have to make art.
He laughed, “Nosey little bird, have you been asking about me?”
Well shit. You had forgotten to play dumb. The past couple weeks you had casually inquired about Alastor from the other staff members. A modest collection of facts to help you better understand the man. A quick recovery. “Know your enemy!”
He cackled, “Sun Tzu! What does Cupid need ‘The Art of War’ for?!”
What, did he expect you to only read romance novels and Roman mythos? “You can’t make a shadow without light. In fact,” you put the book down, “The Greeks thought Cupid was a child of War and Beauty.”
Okay well, Greek mythos is a little different than their Roman counterpart’s. So. There.
Alastor watched you leaning over the arm of the chair, no sign of pain as you did so. Your injury must have mended well. “Do you have parents?” He asked, genuinely wondering how your kind were created.
“No, we're just… made. And then sent off on assignments.”
“You must be terribly busy, just one person for all of earth.” If Alastor could pull some limbs and find out more from anyone but you, he would, but unfortunately no one but Vaggie would know anything about you and he had a feeling her time in heaven was never spent thinking about love.
“Oh, actually not so much! When I’m with humans I can travel around without worrying about the concept of time at all. But it takes a toll.” Or so you were told. There were never two Cupids at one time so you couldn’t really ask your predecessors. Alastor’s brows rose, unsure how exactly a Cupid could be taxed if they didn’t feel pain and couldn’t be hurt. “Every trip to Earth weakens us. Until our bodies just, I guess, give out.” A smile crept across your face, unsure what expression you were supposed to be making.
“Is it just Earth? Or,” he lowered the radio volume with just a glance, “Every time you leave heaven?” It would take a great effort to not notice the weight suddenly blanketing the library. Silence was heavy with what he was really asking you. Would remaining here kill you?
It was a great question. Wow he’s really good at this. It almost seemed like he gave a shit. No one had ever asked you about your creation, about your work. It was nice. Even from him. Maybe especially from him.
You had never been to hell, so you couldn’t be sure, but, “I think it’s a human-world time-thing. But I guess we’ll find out!” Another misplaced smile before you awkwardly leaned back and picked up the book.
While you hadn’t noticed the slip up you had made, Alastor had. “I suppose we will.”
You would find out, because you wouldn’t be returning to heaven. He was glad you, even if unconsciously, understood that. And perhaps you could live forever if you never returned to earth.
When the song ended, you offered one of your own.
Alastor was pleasantly surprised to hear you request Nat King Cole’s ‘It’s almost like being in love’.
Standing, he offered you his hand for a dance. “Ugh I hate this cheesy shit.” You said it but stood anyway, putting your hands in his.
Alastor laughed, swaying side to side, “Not a fan of romance? Has Cupid never been in love?”
Those were two seperate things. How could you explain? “Drug dealers number one rule. Never get high off your own supply. That would be—.”
Lonely. Pathetic.
“A bad idea.” His cheek rested on your head. It was a shockingly tender act. “Can you understand? Why would I want something I made. What’s special about that?”
“And what of true love? It isn’t made by you, yes?” Asked into your hair.
“Yeah but when will I ever find the time to make a connection worthwhile. Winners and Angels are gluttons for choice, I am obviously built for a fun time not a long time.” Which you were…fine with. Yeah. I mean, what choice did you have? “And I don’t want to force it…so…” you trailed off. The rest didn’t matter.
He nodded, suppressing another laugh. “I see. Well, allow me to give you something you inspired, how about that? Not made. Would you say no, my muse?”
Inspired? Like a song? “Ha, what have I inspired in you, heathen.”
Alastor stopped dancing, his hand pulling your face up for a kiss which took you by surprise.
“Seriousl-,” Husk mercifully disappeared in a flash of neon green.
You couldn’t remember exactly how it happened, much like many of the moments you surrendered to Alastor. It was so fast and he was so strong, his hands large and confident in how they moved you. Before you knew it you were bent over the sofa’s arm getting fucked so hard your leg was shaking and your stomach nauseous.
This was much better than songs or art or whatever you inspired in others. You were gasping with every breath, the action somehow heightening the sensations. The little huffs and groans your body was pulling from him had your heart racing.
His cock was smashing your womb into your guts, the entire organ suddenly feeling like a new pleasure spot. Every jolt to your cervix made a novel kind of bliss pool in your stomach.
You cried, head empty as he completely left your heat before bottoming out again, “Stop, Alastor. Stop.” A strained moan, hands gripping the wooden sofa arm, “stop, stop, fuuuuck.”
He was pulling out too far and too fast, hitting back too hard and too deep. Your cunt felt swollen around him, your entrance so soft and wet he didn’t need precision to sink back in.
“Does it hurt?” He said quickly on the down beat of his thrust.
“Nngh no.”
“Theeen, no.”
Alastor pulled you up by your chin, back bending as he titled your mouth to his. Despite your mouth hanging open with your tongue out as salacious as you’d ever been, you told him, “I really don’t kiss during sex.”
The look in his downcast eyes sent a shiver along your spine, a power there you couldn’t push against, “You do now, my dear.”
When in hell, you supposed. You didn’t even try to argue, accepting his tongue wrapping around yours and exploring your mouth while his dick churned up your insides. Full from top to bottom. Full of Alastor. Safe. Wanted. Needed.
You pulled away when there was an overwhelming bone-deep sensation spilling through your hips and down your thighs. The muscles felt weak there, and you had an urge to runaway from it but Alastor held you still.
A scream of ecstasy as both legs shook violently, you finally got your hands free orgasm but to your shock it didn’t stop. As it appeared to wane, it just started mounting again. By the third roll, Alastor came with a push so deep your chest fell over the arm of the sofa. If not for the hands bruising your hips, you would have fallen off entirely.
The ache in your stomach began immediately, you’d have thought someone had been punching you in the gut. Well, more literally than they had been. When you groaned and complained to Alastor about what he had done, he pulled you up by your waist.
You were drawn into him, back to his chest again with your body between those long legs. His hands came to your stomach. Alastor massaged deep circles into your abdomen.
“Does that help?” His high voice lowered, husky and kind into your ear. You nodded, the pressure relieved the discomfort.
You wondered if he was used to taller demons than your shorter heavenly form, or perhaps he wasn’t used to anyone at all. Maybe sinners had more room than you did.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. Believe it or not,” probably not, “I’m never trying to hurt you.”
Was it terrible you actually did believe him? Yes he was a serial killer, and considered one of the most cruel overlords in recent memory. But he was always gentle when his hands were on you. Flits of memories of him washing your feet came back to you.
“I know perhaps,” his hands kept moving, your back already stuck to his with well earned sweat, “I have at times been easily incensed.”
You nodded quickly.
“But, It’s just,” you heard him swallow hard, “ah I absolutely hate this,” He whispered it to himself. “I’m just scared you’ll leave before I’ve managed to convince you how much happier I can make you here.”
It’s not that it was funny, necessarily, but the very idea hell could be happier than Heaven was laughable. It was Heaven. It was made to be happy. It existed purely to please.
The smile faded from your face. Well, for the winners. It was made to please the winners. It wasn’t made for you, but you still got much enjoyment. You had…sex. Great sex. Not held aloft in a radio tower great, but…You always came. Everyone did. Wasn’t that the point of it?
Wasn’t that the point?
What was the point?
A warm and lonely bed is better than an empty one alone. So.
Well, your bed was always warm and never lonely in hell now that you’d been “moved”.
You had… Hobbies. You liked swimming.
Okay well the hotel had a pool. And yes, if you weren’t running off to earth on command you’d have more energy for hobbies.
What were you thinking about this for again?
You gathered the scraps of your relevant thoughts, “Happiness isn’t being confined to a hotel, Alastor.”
“As soon as you show me you won’t leave me, I won’t care where you go. As long as you’re safe.” One of his hands left your stomach to stroke your cheek, “I’m just waiting for you to realize what I already know.”
If Alastor were to ease his grip on you, could you enjoy yourself? Well, more than you did. But it was more than that, you had to admit you hated the idea of losing, of just running away. “I don’t like giving up.”
His laugh was quiet but it rocked you as his chest moved. “Darling they threw you to hell and told you you’re not allowed to leave unless you do homework. Giving up what? Being a servant to heaven?”
If he had said it a couple weeks prior, you would have left the room indignant. But now, settled against his hot skin and being so softly touched, it sounded like tough love.
“I don’t belong here though.” You were talking to yourself. So many excuses.
His arms wrapped around your chest to hug you into him, “You belong wherever I am.” His cheek pressed against yours, “I won’t let you go.”
A threat. A threat you leaned into and warmed yourself with. A threat a quiet part of you hoped he kept his word on.
You were getting too comfortable. Every morning you woke up to Alastor curled into your body, holding you tightly to him and you found yourself smiling before your consciousness clicked on. At some point in the last week he grabbed your chin and kissed you good night and suddenly every time he left your side you allowed a kiss to your cheek before he parted. What was worse was how you’d talk in bed about your recent reads and what happened the few hours you weren’t with each other.
The thing that made you realize you were getting honestly too deep was when you went to go to bed early and actually took the elevator past your floor, walked all the way to his station and told him good night. You’d made it to his chair and were leaning down for your kiss when your face fell flat.
He asked what was wrong but you shook your head. A poorly faked smile offered to him.
You sat in your bed. His bed. Your bed?
You sat in bed and wondered how to press forward. Two months, nearly, you’d been in hell. At this rate surely heaven had made a replacement. If you could make it back quickly you could still keep your place.
A decision was made, you’d never confronted Alastor head on. You had misunderstood his illusion of you. But maybe if you just forced it into his thick skull he’d been controlled and puppeted by an arrow, not his free will, he would abandon it to save his pride.
Knees to your chest, why were you crying again? Did you want to go home?
No, you wanted to curl into his stupid fucking lap and listen to him hum his stupid old, forgotten songs. You wanted to dance while Husk groaned and rolled his eyes. You wanted to feel loved.
But you weren’t made to want things. And Alastor didn’t love you.
Okay, one more night to enjoy yourself before you pissed him off so much he kicked you out of his bed. Or took such a turn into obsession he never let you leave the room again, allowing you to shirk responsibility for not returning to heaven.
When you turned the handle there was resistance, the door pushing in.
“Alastor? Done already?” He’d seemed busy earlier.
He closed the door and locked it. Oh. A blush. The sound of a locking door had come to mean certain things to you.
“You seemed bothered.” His thumb wiped where your tears had already dried, “What ever is the problem? Did someone upset you? Some neck I should wring?” You shook your head no. His other hand came to join in holding your face, those goddamned red eyes melting you to nothing, “Some limbs I should snap?” He took a step toward you and you took two back, hands holding his wrists. Another no. “Or some cheeks I should kiss?”
Stop crying.
An eager nod. “Don’t cry, my love.” Soft lips catching your tears, thin fingers wiping them away. He kept walking forward and you kept walking back until your legs hit the bed.
One more night, just in case. In case he forfeits the mania.
You kissed his neck, startling him. “Rare form. Did you need some more intimate attention, darling?” You tried to avoid initiating, never knowing what he wanted or when, never wanting to enjoy his touch too much. “I could indulge you.”
What you wanted was to be reduced so thoroughly to just a physical creature by way of pleasure that your mind disconnected from your brain. Fucked dumb, as people said. Alastor wouldn’t know what that meant but you were confident he’d enjoy sussing out the finer details of the meaning if it meant your full surrender.
You bit down on his neck, getting you pushed onto the bed in return. “I need overindulgence. I don’t wanna feel anything tonight but you.” You should practice your manners, for heaven's sake. “Please.”
There it was again. That look that turned your bones to jelly and your brain to cotton; that downcast half lidded stare as he towered over you that promised to devour you whole. His hand pulled at his bow tie and loosened his collar, knees on the bed as his legs spread you open at the thighs.
“Good girl.”
No punishment or inspiration, just that mental numbness that turned off all your worries. We’re you making stupid faces? We’re your sounds embarrassing? Didn’t matter. You didn’t care. You clung to his body like you’d fall apart without his skin on yours. Because you would, in some fashion.
Every gap between your bodies felt like room for doubt. So you filled them with flesh and sighs and moans.
With his height difference you were smothered by him when in traditional heaven-approved missionary, but you liked lying on top. Your head only made it to his chest when your hips were positioned above his cock. You could go slack and let him move you on and off himself. You had been lying when you said you preferred to not move or make noise, but you’d learned he got harder and more feral when you let him manipulate your body any way he pleased.
He smelled like sweat and leather, probably from the chairs in the lobby. No one sweats in heaven, this seemed like a mistake now. You’d have to be sure to not wash your clothes after you left hell, or else you’d forget his scent.
After finishing, he was surprised to find you still clinging to his torso, arms under his armpits and hooked onto his shoulders. He offered to pull out and let you lie down but you just held on tighter in response. He glanced around the room, soft light and softer music on the radio. Your quiver and bow rested against the armoire, practically dusty. He asked if you were alright, a hand coming to your back with large claws gently scratching.
“Yeah I will be.” you lifted your head, waiting.
Both of his eyebrows rose, unsure what you were waiting on.
Complete surrender. “Good night kiss.” You had to stretch to meet his lips before settling back into his chest, “okay bore me to sleep with your day, sinner.” He gladly did, you falling asleep yet again to the sound of his slow heartbeat and the rumble of his words.
You awoke nauseous, already knowing your day was going to fucking suck and it’d be your own fault. The idea of approaching Alastor and initiating the conversation felt impossible, your feet became stone when you thought of it.
The coward’s option. Wait for time alone and then pace the library until he came to find you.
After an hour or so he did, smile brightening as he entered. “Should I summon the bar?”
You shook your head no, struggling to speak. He sat in his chair, book still on the small side table.
Heart pounding, you considered doing this another day or week or maybe year but knew you’d already lost so much time. “Alastor, I need to talk to you about my task.”
He snapped the book shut, eyes not leaving his hands. “Oh?”
“I need to leave the hotel or at least need serious time alone with someone. I need to change someone’s heart on true love. I can’t go home—,” you were cut off, Alastor standing quickly.
“Home?”
“Alastor.” You stood your ground even as his spine stretched and antlers widened.
“Your home is wherever I am.” A pained smile now, something akin to hurt in his eyes that did damage to you too. “Ah. So last night— and people say I’m cruel.”
“I’m not supposed to be here!”
A snap, his anger and desperation eclipsing his pain, “Why don’t you ever listen-,”
Your turn to cut him off, “Because you’re under a spell! You act so fucking tough like you’re in control all the time. But you’re not! It’s just the effect of the arrow.”
He laughed, but you kept going, “Don’t act like you’re sooo strong you can fight the effects of my shot. You don’t fucking love me. Not really, not naturally. It was an accident. You’re just— it’s been made by me. I don’t want it. I want something real and true.”
“My feelings are true, just let me speak. I can make you understand if you’d just listen to me.” Pupils like pins, teeth somehow sharper.
“Alastor you can’t have true love. Nothing triggered by my arrows can ever be true.”
Another ring of laughter, “Tell me then how your true love is different than mine, Oh Wise Cupid.”
You huffed, “Don’t talk down to me, radio demon. True love means caring deeply for someone else that occupies your heart and mind-,” he opened his mouth, looking around the room for where you found the audacity but you snapped twice to get his attention back, “not just that! You put them first without fear because if they truly love you they would never take advantage of that. It’s trusting them with the most fragile parts of yourself. It's a best friend. Someone who makes you feel like a better version of you, makes you want to always be improving yourself.”
Alastor was still smug, staring at you from his unnervingly demonic height, “Lovely! Last question, expert, is true love ever one sided?”
You thought for a beat, “It can be.”
He hummed, body swiftly resuming his smaller but, again, still too tall scale, antlers remaining fierce as his sinister smile dropped to just a small upward turn of his lips. “I see. You’ve truly enlightened me. I believe you.” The sarcasm wasn’t lost on you.
You rolled your eyes and licked your lips to go off when a portal opened beside you.
Heaven was just beyond the shining circle.
You looked from Alastor to the circular doorway, taking small steps towards it. Your hand pressed through, confusion wiping your own smugness off your face.
Alastor began a mocking slow clap. “I’ve been convinced. Happy now? Task complete.”
“But- the love Mania causes…It clouds the mind, you can’t even process the idea of true love properly.” You searched the floor for some clarity.
His hands stopped, eyebrows meeting his bangs as a laugh that started typically but quickly morphed into maniacal filled the room. You just kept pushing your hand in and out of the portal. Alastor finally quieted, antlers fully drawn back into little prongs. He stared at you. A shiver as his smile reached his ears. That look again. You took a deep breath, ready to be eaten.
“Your little arrow didn’t pierce me, you glorious fool. It literally fell into my pocket. I was never under the effects of your magic. I said that many times.” He straightened out his suit jacket, “Very plainly, might I add. You just never listened to me. So sure you knew better than I did.”
You sputtered, too many thoughts trying to express themselves, “Why did you act like that then?!”
“Because I wanted you. Something something first sight, as I recall the adage goes.” He crossed his arms and looked at his claws, “Perhaps my love happens to be manic by default. I am a murderous overlord, darling.”
All the energy left your body, shoulders relaxing. “Oh.”
“So, here I am,” he opened his arms, “trusting you to not hurt me any further today. Does that fall into your narrow view of true love?”
A good question. You shifted your weight onto your other foot, looking back at heaven. You could see the shining gates.
He sighed and brought his arms down, “I can’t promise how long I’ll let you stand there and look at anything other than me.”
A warning.
A deep breath, another shift onto your other foot again as you shook the anxiety out of your hands before finally making eye contact with him, “Well, eldritch horror, prove it.”
You heard the door lock from across the room.
You decided heaven could wait. It took about two days before they seemed to notice you hadn’t entered the portal, which closed on its own some time between Alastor pushing you onto the floor and you begging him for more. Luckily St. Peter wasn’t privy to your escapades.
It was a fact Sera was aware you had completed your task, because a knock came to the library door on that second day after you did so. Entering without waiting for a reply, which was brave, Lucifer and his hat popped into the room.
“Heeeey giiiirl. I got a message from heaven asking what’s the hold up, worried you were incapacitated.”
From your seat in Alastor’s lap you lowered your book, “How nice of them to suddenly care about my well-being.” You brought the book back up, “Little late.”
He nodded, “Uh huh, uh huh. Yeah I can understand that. Sooo,” his fingers tapped the door, “What should I reply with?”
Alastor turned the page and hummed a reply, “Finders Keepers.”
ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist
∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):
@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,
@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove @saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings , @looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @reath-solia ,
🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan
@faeoffaith , sailorsmouth , @jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling , @kaylopolis , @dickmastersworld , @leviskittywh0re
@asianfrustration13 @alittletiredcry @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorssimp
@sugurubabe , @zzzykiek , @phamtasic
#alastor smut#alastor#alastor x you#hazbin hotel#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel fanfiction#hazbin hotel smut#hazbin alastor#alastor x reader smut
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Could you write something where Danny is a teen dad to de aged Ellie? Bonus points if he lives in Crimr Alley and beats the Joker to a pulp for hurting his kid
Danny is trying his best.
It's not easy being a father at age sixteen. It's not easy having to leave his home in fear of what his parents will do to his clone-turned-daughter.
It's not easy watching her every day, wondering if her core will break down further, and instead of just de-aging this time, she'll end up dead. It's not easy worrying about her health in the most crime-infested city with a terrible job and relying on his pitiful check or the funds his sister can sneak to him.
But nothing good in this world is easy, and he wouldn't trade Dani for anything. Yes, she had lost her memories and acted like a real two-year-old, but he adored watching her eyes light up as she relearned the world.
Danny loved her to bits, and even buying her those cheap coloring books and crayons from the dollar store made Dani smile brighter than any star. They may struggle to pay rent and bills or buy food, but Danny can always scrape by, keeping her warm, fed, and house.
He worked at three different dinners, each part-time, since none of them were legally allowed to hire him full-time because of his age. Danny didn't have a single day off, but he had a few hours every day with Dani, which was enough.
While he worked, he asked his next-door neighbor to watch Dani. Now, it may not be the best thing to trust a stranger with his daughter but said neighbor is a ghost and one of the friendly kind.
Danny met her when he first moved in. Apparently, her haunting was one of the reasons the rent was so cheap. She never gave him her real name, but she stayed with Dani all day and had enough ectoplasm to physically touch things. Danny could sense her intentions with his core and knew her motherly adoration for Dani was authentic.
Privately, Danny called her Three since she haunted apartment three, and she sort of looked like she stepped out of the nineteen-thirties, complete with an attractive Transatlantic accent. She was an up-and-coming radio co-host, taking a segment to read stories to housewives before being murdered in her home.
Three never said why or how it happened, but she had been haunting the apparent complex for so long; her lore was well documented among the locals.
They say one of the Waynes had killed her after learning that his wife had fancied Three. But it was never proven and it became another theory that the rich would laugh at every once in a while.
(Three's face always twisted whenever she heard the name Wayne. Her hand would always reach up for a heart-shaped locket she refused to take off even in death.)
Since most people couldn't see ghosts unless exposed to ectoplasm for enough time, the stories of her attacks on anyone trying to get close to her apartment snowballed out of control. Danny thought it was unfair how evil they made her sound. Though it's true she had a strong distaste for men, she had a soft spot for children.
Danny had just been through the wringer; he had double shifts, one stacked right after the other. One of the dinners had let two people go after they had been arrested for moving illegal substances, and Danny had to cover until they found a replacement.
A woman had yelled at him for almost thirty minutes straight about a wait time for her surprise party of fifteen. A man threw up on their counter, and to top it all off, a kid had run into him while he was carrying a tray of food, causing him to spill everything.
Thankfully, the mother was horrified and apologized profoundly, but it had been almost too much for him. So when he was sweeping up broken plates and saw Three franticly flying at him screaming about some clown, well, Danny was doing his best.
And his best was fighting things far stronger than he.
____________________________________________________________
Jim Gordon's early afternoon gets interrupted by the Joker only three minutes after he is supposed to head home for the day. After escaping from Arkham a few months ago, the clown went to the ground, and everyone was nervous about what he was planning.
Jim's team hadn't heard any whispers or had any idea what the Joker was up to, which made everything worse. Usually, when something big and wrong was going to happen, they would catch at least one thing beforehand.
That's why the sudden broadcast of the lunatic had everyone jumping out of their skins.
"Good evening, Gotham. I want to welcome you to tonight's show. It's going to be killer." Joker cackles. He has somehow hacked into almost every screen in the city, his white devilish face appearing on TVs, phones, tablets, and even roadside advertising.
His voice echoes through the city as Jim barks at his employees to trace the signal.
"Recently, I felt it necessary to remind everyone that one is never too young to have a funny bone." The Joker continues, holding up a plush toy to the camera. He waves it a little, pressing the ginning bunny as close as possible so people can see its mouth has been sewed into a sickly wide smile. "I'm sure a few of you have noticed that certain school buses never arrived home."
The blood in his veins goes cold. How many buses? Which school? What kids were they? How old? Why had they not heard of the kids not arriving until now?
There are too many questions and nowhere near enough answers. Jim hates how useless he feels playing this sick man's game.
"But not to worry! You'll see your little ones again! After being guests on my very own game show! Every thirty minutes, one lucky child will get to compete for your amusement, and if they survive, they get an extraordinary prize-!"
His words are cut short by a dark figure flinging itself at the Joker and punching him to the ground. Thank every dark cloud in the sky that the Bat was on the case.
"Basty! Have you come to play- wait. You aren't Batsy." Joker's delighted tone melts into anger as the figure straightens to a young teenage boy.
"You have my daughter. Give her back." The teen tells the clown, voice flat and cold. "Three said your goons took her from her balcony."
"My boys take a lot of people." Joker laughs hoping up a flower. With a press of his finger, the teenager is covered in Joker Vemon. Jim's heart falls as the boy stumbles back, rubbing at his eyes. Joker laughs harder until the kid picks up a chair and slams it onto his head.
There wasn't even a chuckle from the boy. Huh.
"You have my daughter. Give. Her. Back."
"Or what?" The Joker taunts, snapping his fingers. There are sounds of people moving, likely the goons. "Kill him."
The boy doesn't seem to react to the men rushing at him. Someone knocks the camera stand over, and the view of the fight is taken away as it rolls on the ground. Thankfully, it ends up pointed at a wall, where they watch the shadows of the teenager and the Joker's goons fight.
It's hard to tell who's winning, with all the shadows blending together whenever they get close, but the fact that he hasn't heard the kid drop yet means he's holding his own. Jim's eyes narrow at the wallpaper, trying to figure out why it looks so familiar.
It hits him just as a little girl phases through the wall. Yes, phases, as if walking through it like a ghost. This would make sense since -
"That's Nightowl Apparemtents!" Ricky, the new cop from Crime Alley, cries, echoing Jim's thoughts.
"It's what?" Asks Sara
"Nightowl apparements. It's the oldest place in Crime Alley and one of the most haunted. They said a lover of a Wayne was killed there. She kills anyone who tries to rent the place. They do ghost tours occasionally, but no one dares to her hallway. That wallpaper is famous because it's the only one in Gotham with the original founding families' symbols." Ricky explains, watching the little girl tilt her head and then start to flout. Everyone shivers as a second figure bleeds out of the wall behind her.
This one is much more blurry, but the faith outline of a beautiful woman covered in blood hovers behind the girl staring at the fight. She's dressed in clothes that Jim is sure was decades ago, and unlike the little girl, she makes him feel very unsafe.
The ghost of Apparement three. Barbara had gone through a paranormal phase when she was fifteen and dragged Jim to all the haunted places in Gotham. Nowhere had made him feel as uneased as Gotham's cemetery- the most haunted place- but those apartments were a close second.
The ghost spots the camera, sneering at it and Jim actually jumps back.
"Oh, gods!" Ricky shouts, turning his head away. "I'm so sorry for looking into your eyes without permission!"
"It's not a telephone! It can't hear you, Ricky!"
"That's not the point, Sara!"
"Daddy!" the little girl cries, holding up her finger. "I got an ow-ow."
At once, the sounds of combat stopped, and then the screams began. It's nothing like Jim has ever heard. He's been on the force long enough to know what a human in pain sounds like, and those sounds—well, he prays that the Joker had decided to bring in animals.
If it makes him sick to his stomach he is worried about the regular people watching.
The little girl doesn't look away, tilting her head to the side like a curious child of two would and still holding her tiny up. After a moment, Jim realizes the screaming has stopped. There is silence before Joker falls beside the girl, beaten beyond recognition.
If it weren't for his purple sit, Jim would have thought him a goon.
The little girl doesn't blink an eye as the teenager rushes to her, kicking the Joker.
"Let me the ow-ow." The teenager demands, taking her hand in his. There is a moment of tense silence as the woman's ghost louts around him with a sneer. "A papercut! You gave my daughter a papercut!"
The ghost woman screeches, rage in every part of her cry. Jim feels his heart beating out of his chest, frozen in absolute terror as she reaches down for the Joker and drags him through the floor.
The man's screams are heard even through the muffled flooring.
"Holy shit," Sara breathes, voice trembling.
"This is why no one with a brain messes with Nightowl's ghost," Ricky hisses, rubbing at his cross. "How that kid go it to attack the Joker and not him and his daughter-"
The teenager gathers the toddler into his arms, his image fading with a hiss.
"-That was a ghost. The teenager that beat the Joker to near death was a ghost." Ricky swallows. "I am never stepping foot down that street again."
Somewhere in Gotham, a woman is sweating bullets after the feed is cut by Batman, who arrives with the rest of the Bats minutes afterward.
"Say, Mom, wasn't that the boy you were yelling at today in Teddy's Diner for Uncle Ron's birthday."
The woman's eyes swing back to the TV, where the waiter's face is frozen on the screen, his green glowing eyes almost staring into her soul. "Yes.....yes it was."
"Oh crud. I think we're cursed now, Mom. Way to go."
#dcxdpdabbles#dcxdp crossover#Teen parent Danny#De-age Dani#Nightowl Apartment#Three was a Wayne lover but it was a throuple#The Waynes enemies killed her#Danny chilled her murderous rage out with his powers#Gotham is scared of ghosts now#The random Karen thinks the paranormal is coming for her and her kin
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Ex-Husband John Price |
John Price headcanon
reader is she/her & works as a medic. John Price might be a little (insanely obsessed) love sick over his silly ex wife. He’s Joe Goldberg.
The two of you didn’t divorce because you fell out of love, or someone cheated, or any true “marital” problems many couples would divorce for. In fact, divorcing him killed you as it did him.
Being in the military is a job that is very demanding and although you knew of that when you married, you didn’t realize how much of an effect it had on the both of you. Though it was wrong, you felt like you could have more from a man that didn’t have a job that required more attention than your marriage did to him. John told you he understood your decision and respected you. He took weeks to sign the papers, though, with an excuse of being too busy.
The truth was that he let you divorce him because he knew you wouldn’t find a man that was better molded for you than he was. He was right. Of course he was.
“Mm, and how are you holding up, love?” he inquires while you fill up a pot of coffee in the break room. His eyes peered up at yours while you took a seat across from him on the couch. You two were making small talk and it had been only a few weeks after your divorce.
John let you keep the house, the dog, everything you would ask for. You felt guilty and pleaded with him to take something, anything he hadn’t already taken (which was only his clothes and documentations) but he refused. He wanted to prove he still respected and loved you after the divorce.
“Just fine. And you?” your delicate fingers rubbed your temples as you tried to free the stress from the first half of your shift. He stared at your badge which still had ‘DR. PRICE’ printed in bold black with a picture of your kind face above it.
“Good for you,” he smiles at you kindly, the same warm, handsome smile he’d given you a hundred times before and the first smile he’d given you when pronounced husband and wife. He didn’t answer the second part of your question.
Your attempts of finding a man that had enough time for you, or even any ounce of attraction towards you was rough. It seemed as if any man at work you would approach would dodge your attempts at flirting like the plague.
Men in the military were like starved lions; desperate, needy, and impulsive. You were a very attractive, young woman, which checked all of the boxes for the dogs working in the military. Hell, before you and the Captain became a thing, you had to bring pepper spray every day to make sure none of the men tried anything.
The absence of attention made you think. Then, you thought of your ex husband. The influence he has. His love that withstood signing the divorce papers and moving out of his home for your comfort and happiness.
You remembered the way he would make you promise you would never replace him. You remembered his vow to always look out for you and to never let anything become between you two. You remembered sleeping over at his apartment for the first time and finding a collection of your belongings that you thought went missing over the past few months. You remembered fiddling with the dusty mascara, the acrylic nail that had broken off during a date, the lipstick, the panties. You loved John because of how much he’d noticed of you and how much he loved you.
So, when your shifts were over and you were scrambling to find him, you felt mistaken for the divorce in the first place. Your feet stepped quickly as you called his name. His broad shoulders turned to face you and his facial expression immediately softened. Your heart slowed.
“Can you come home with me? There’s a- my air conditioning doesn’t really work anymore,” your face blushed up immediately as you came up with a dumb excuse on the spot. You wanted to slap yourself square in the face.
John chuckled. He was amused. He crossed his arms and cocked his head slightly to the side, staying quiet for a few seconds while contemplating his next move. He uncrossed his arms and grabbed his keys out of his pocket, using his free hand to pull your smaller hand into his. He saw right through you.
“Okay, love. It’ll cost you, though,” his thumb rubbed against yours as if it were always home for him. You hummed in response as he led you out of the base’s office to the car park where you would approach his car.
As you climbed into the car, you realized there truly wasn’t anyone out there who was meant for you the way John Price was.
His love wasn’t obsession, it was gratitude.
Right?
#john price#captain john price#john price x reader#task force 141#fanfic#captain price x reader#captain price x you#john price x you#call of duty#modern warefare ii#modern warfare 3
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Insomniac Dazai and heavy sleeper Chuuya my beloveds.
Dazai and Chuuya where they're at the stage of not quite being together, but not-not together either, they have feelings for each other yet they still won't admit it, so they just keep having 'moments' that they deny afterwards.
And them having to share a bed.
They grumble about it, argue that someone should sleep one the couch or the floor, anywhere except together, until they settle on sleeping with their backs facing each other.
Dazai remains there, at the edge of his side of the bed, but Chuuya, as soon as he's asleep, he rolls onto his back. Mouth open, little snores escaping him, his arm and leg spreads out over the space of the bed. A finger touches Dazai's ribs, Chuuya's foot kicks at his calf as slowly but surely, in true mutt fashion, Chuuya takes over the entire bed.
Now, Dazai's on his back too, lay pin straight, shoulder as close to the edge of the bed as he dares to be without falling off. Every now and again he keeps having to shove Chuuya's arm and leg back over to his side of the bed. It started gently, he didn't want to wake the other up and be accused of messing with him whilst he slept. As the night wears on and Dazai's eyes get heavier he becomes more irritable as he pushes Chuuya back. At one point he said his name and tried to shake him awake, only to receive a incoherent sleepy mumble.
Dazai accepts his fate, rolling away from Chuuya once more with a huff. He didn't need space, or comfort. It was fine. He wasn't going to get any sleep anyhow, not with the noises of Chuuya moving around so much. He closes his eyes to fight the irritation in them.
And he's not sure when, but he must have drifted at some point, not quiet asleep, but not really awake either. The warmth of the blanket must have relaxed him. As he hums and re-adjusts his position to get comfy again, he realises his back presses into something. Something warm and soft, something that nestles back against him in reaction to his movement. He feels Chuuya's arm squeeze him closer around his middle and his heart leaps into his throat.
With how heavy a sleeper Chuuya is, he should be fine trying to move away. He can just spend the rest of the night on the couch. Even as he thinks this, the disobedient muscles of his limbs relax. His breath without realising it had slowed to match Chuuya's, and he suddenly feels quite weightless. Dazai couldn't move if he wanted and deep down he doesn't.
For the first time in a long while Dazai fall asleep with ease.
#bungou stray dogs#bsd dazai#bsd chuuya#my writing#bsd#bsd skk#soukoku#and then they wake up in the morning and pretend to be disgusted#I blame Nawy and their post about love hotels and there's only one bed tropes for making me think of this nonstop since#this is also touch starved Dazai
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Messages from the GazettE to the fans (Google translations)
〈 RUKI 〉
At the end, he said, "I want the GazettE to be forever." I think what he meant by "forever" was that he hoped that the amazing scenes he saw from the stage in 2023 would continue forever.
The scenes he saw with his fans, the happy faces of his fans, and the scenes where we all sang together were treasures that could not be replaced by anything else, and I think he hoped that moment would continue forever.
I remember him saying that he wanted to perform live soon.
Even now that he's grown up, he was a kind and passionate man who can honestly say, "Even if something bad happens, it's the most fun when we get together like this and laugh with the band members."
I loved that honesty.
This year was no different, and every year on our birthdays we would jokingly tell each other to take care of our health.
The band will never be a four-man band.
No matter what anyone says.
Because you're the only bassist we have.
Because I believe that my soul is always beside me to the right.
I'm sure everyone can feel it, even if they can't see it.
The proof that Reita has built up in the GazettE so far will not disappear and will definitely live on.
I believe that, so I will continue to sing beside him so that his soul can be right beside me.
I will not become the GazettE that Reita hates.
I don't want to make him sad.
Although all humans live in a finite life, I believe that souls never disappear.
Reita's soul, the members, myself, and the fans.
I want to continue to perform live shows that make all the people who loved me want to come back to the stage forever, even after they have become souls.
So it is only with each and every one of our fans that we can create the scenery that we hoped he would be eternal.
That's why I want him to stay by my side and be there, unchanged from now on.
He should look at me and smile, and think, "He was the best guy!", rather than looking at me with a sad face.
We are more determined than ever to protect this band.
We will make Reita's wish for eternity come true.
So, Reita, rest assured that you can come to every live show from heaven.
Your seat will always be there.
You're going to be super busy from now on.
I'll contact you again when the schedule is decided.
-----------------
<Uruha>
To all the fans who have supported REITA up until now.
I think he was a huge support for everyone, and for me.
I myself have not been able to accept and realize the fact that he is no longer here and that we can no longer stand on stage together.
There may be many things that I will come to understand little by little from now on.
However, if I continue to be drowning in sadness, I will not be able to make his wish for eternity come true, and I strongly feel that now is the time for me to have the strength to look forward and move forward.
I also think that the path we walked together until now was irreplaceable for him, and I think it will continue to live in the hearts of everyone and myself.
He gave us so much, and we walked together for so long, and he is still and will always be our best friend.
Please treasure all the words, memories, and love he left behind in your heart.
REITA will continue to exist and live in everyone's hearts.
We would like to express our sincere gratitude to everyone who has supported and cheered on the GazettE REITA.
-----------------
〈 Aoi 〉
For a long time, the members and a small staff have been working on various projects, saying "this and that," but writing this letter was the last thing I wanted to do.
There have been moments when I felt like giving up on my dreams.
Every time, we talked about it again and again, sometimes pushing each other, and pulling the members' arms so that they wouldn't give up.
Because we were such a band, the GazettE has been able to keep moving forward without stopping.
REITA, you're not the one who wishes for eternity, you're the one who connects eternity.
I can't say something clever like "I'll take care of you."
I wanted to make more music with you, and see more scenery together.
Every scenery is wonderful because we see it with the five of us, surrounded by our fans.
I don't know why, but it's so painful that I can't make it happen even though I have so many things I want to say.
When I get there, I'm going to start with a big lecture. I know it's lonely because we're gone so suddenly, but please take a rest until then.
I have a few more things to do here.
Thank you for walking this long road with me. Rest in peace.
-----------------
〈 Kai 〉
For me, REITA is an immeasurably big presence, saved by his many words and sounds, the mood maker for the band, and all I remember are really fun things, and above all, the sight of him shining on stage.
He is the best partner and the only one in the rhythm section.
That has never changed, and will never change in the future.
I want to continue carrying his feelings and continue with the GazettE with even greater resolve.
Finally, to all the fans and people involved who have supported us for the past 22 years.
Thank you very much.
And from now on, our feelings will remain the same and we would like to continue running as a group of five, so please continue to support us.
REITA
Thank you for all your hard work.
With the same feelings, we will continue to protect the GazettE together with our many friends... I promise.
There are many friends out there who don't want your 22 years to go to waste, and they are waiting for you.
You must come to our shows too!
Let's have some good sake again.
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okay clearly i need to be detained and kept away from ur inbox 😭
But hsjsjjs i have an interview at the end of this week that I've been preparing for and i can imagine calling up fwb sukuna to get some jitters out bc u know he can fuck ur head empty and clear of anxiety but when u get there for some reason it's different???? Like instead of calling you a nasty bitch slut hes like "arent you such a good girl? Yeah? My good fucking girl" and kinda praising you, albeit mockingly, instead of his usual degrading and it has you cumming soooo hard. And then the next day he shows up and ur like fuck off kuna im busy and he's like duh? Get in. And he drops u to ur interview and ur like ??? Bc u dont even remember telling him but he's already had the address memorized for over a week now. Ahhhh and probably holds ur hand in his lap bc u keep fidgeting on the way and he complains that its distracting him and hes so sexy driving and mindlessly rubbing his thumb on ur hand AHHHHHHH IM IN SO DEEP DORI HELP 😭
choso bbg anon (my true identity)
[cws] fem reader.
[a/n] GOODLUCK AT YOUR INTERVIEW IM SURE YOULL DO GREAT!!!! i really hope you get it 🥹🥹🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾
-
It’s…different.
You had first noticed it when you opened the front door to your apartment and let the man in. Instead of his usual roughness, a push against the wall and the unforgiving pinch of his teeth against your neck, he was…different.
He had smiled -a ghost of one, but one nonetheless-, curled an arm around your lower back to tug you up against him, and had pressed his lips to your temple and murmured a ‘hey’ against your skin.
You had been nearly tempted to pull out a list of questions to make sure a clone hadn’t taken his place.
When Sukuna made a detour to your place, there was always minimal talking in the beginning. You usually made a beeline to the bedroom, or the living room if the urge was especially strong, but he had steered you to the kitchen first and plopped a takeout bag on the counter.
“You brought…food.”
“Oh, she does have a brain. Was starting to think all that was in that head was thoughts about my dick.”
“Go to hell.”
The both of you had eaten dinner together, something that you offhandedly thought about doing with him quite a few times, but you could never get him to stay past the post-sex shower. You had wondered if it would be awkward trying to hold a conversation with him past exchanging breathless compliments about each other’s genitals, but it had been so easy. The topics came easily, naturally, and the lulls in conversation weren’t uncomfortable, but rather you found yourself content in the silence.
The buildup to the sex was also different — great, but different. His usual groping and squeezing was traded in for softer touches (as soft as someone like Sukuna could be), his dirty talk which consisted of name calling and guttural groans and growls swapped out for…
Your cheeks burn as his eyes refuse to stray from your face, thumb moving in slow circles over your clit. His finger is rough, calloused from years of use, and the texture of it against your smooth, silken bud has you squirming underneath his touch and gasping for breath.
“Ryo,” you manage, heels of your feet digging into the mattress as shaky hands raise to weakly push at his wrist.
“Sensitive,” he mutters, lips stretching into that grin of his, and you keen when he presses down hard, his free hand moving to press down on your thigh when it moves to close. “Aht aht, be my good girl and keep these legs open.” You clench around nothing, heart stuttering and lashes fluttering as you finally meet his gaze. “You like that?” His voice is a raspy drawl, lips still wet from where they had been kissing at your cunt minutes prior.
“N-no.”
“Tch, ‘s not nice to lie.” His thumb slides lower, through puffy folds and down to your hole before pushing in. A squelch sounds, a mix of his cum and your slick dribbling out. “But your pussy always tells the truth.” You tighten around his finger with a moan. “She’s my good girl.” His head ducks down, and you keen as he places a loud, wet kiss against your clit, eyes never once leaving yours. “Isn’t she?” ‘She’ tightens in response, and your skin burns as he lets out a throaty laugh, thumb pulling out and replaced with his pointer and middle.
“Ryomen!”
~
You hop around on one foot as you fight to pull your shoe on. Your interview was in an hour minutes and the building was 30 minutes away and you had yet to locate your car keys, button your top, or even finish combing your hair.
“Where the fuck are you?” You dash here and there, flipping this and turning that while simultaneously putting your hair in a presentable style when suddenly there’s a hard knock at the door. “Fuck off.” You ignore it, not caring who’s on the other side, and start the process of turning your apartment inside out as you grow more and more stressed.
Where are those damn ke—
Another knock, harder, and your jaw clenches as you make a beeline for the door, unlock it, and wrench it open. “Who the—Ryomen?” You blink, eyebrows furrowing as you look at him stood on your doorstep. “I didn’t call you.”
“I know.”
“…you’re here.”
“I am.”
“Why?” He jingles his car keys, and you scoff and narrow your eyes. “I’m not fucking you in your car, especially not after you got pissy about me messing up the interior last time. So you might as well take your ass—”
“Get your shit and let’s go. Your interview is in forty.”
“I know, I’m—what? How do you know about my interview?” The last you checked, Sukuna didn’t follow you on any social media, and you can’t recall ever posting about it anyways.
“You told me, dumbass. Let’s go.” He nods his head to the side, and you’re left stumped as you go about collecting the rest of your stuff, Sukuna not so silently judging your torn apart apartment, and you’re seated in his passengers seat in no time as he weaves in and out of traffic.
“Something isn’t right.” You finally speak up after the fifth person has blared their horn at him.
“You left something.”
“No,” your hand lifts up to rub at your cheek. “I’m talking about this,” you gesture around his car and to him. “You. Why are you driving me to my interview? Why do you even know I have an interview?”
“You told me.” His fingers drum against the steering wheel, the other hand gripping the back of your headrest. It’s an undeniably sexy position on him, and you’d usually gladly take in the scenery, perhaps even convince him to pull over somewhere more secluded. “Last week when you were begging me to stay over after I put a finger in your—”
“I did not beg you to stay over. Do not lie, Sukuna.”
“Sukuna?” His eyes cut to you before moving back to the road.
“Yes, Sukuna. That’s your name, isn’t it?” He hums, foot tapping hard against the break, and you huff when you snap forward before your seatbelt locks into place.
“I thought it was Ryo.” He makes a poor mockery of your blissed out voice, and you just barely resist the urge to hit his arm. He makes a right turn, open palm turning the wheel to the side before letting it roll back into place. You breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.
You catch sight of the clock on the dash and let out another breath, this one shakier than the last. Your interview grows nearer and nearer, and while you’re not an especially nervous person, you feel a bit more anxious than usual. You had been preparing all week, brushing up on interview questions and trying to think of things they could potentially ask you. You were as ready as you’d ever be, and yet you still felt as if you weren’t ready at all.
Your hand subconsciously moves to pick at some poor spot on your body, but it’s snagged at the last second and held in a firm grip. You look to Sukuna and then down to where he’s got your hand on his thigh, that thumb of his tracing invisible lines on your skin.
He doesn’t speak and neither do you, and the silence is comfortable.
He gets you there on time with a bit left to spare, and he’s waiting for you when you get out, sitting on the hood of his car with his phone up to his ear. He hangs up when he catches sight of you, eyebrow quirking up as he watches you walk up to him. You stop in front of him, and he snags you by the belt loop and pulls you between his legs.
“Well?” He asks, and you slip your hands into the pockets of his jacket.
“Well?”
“Stop.” He pinches at your waist and you try and fail to bite back a laugh. “Did you get it or not?” A slow grin breaks out onto your face as you nod, and he matches it. “That’s my girl.”
Oh.
You turn your head as your ears burn, suddenly finding the pavement incredibly interesting. “Y-Yeah, they said they don’t usually hire on the spot, but they really liked me, so…” Your eyes flit to his, and you pull your lip into your mouth when you see he’s intently watching you.
“I’m not surprised.”
“That they hired me?”
“That they liked you.”
His gaze drops down to your mouth.
“…can we go back to your place now?”
#sukuna x reader#++ choso bbg anon#bless you and your brain 🥲 it has helped me out a millennium long drought
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Wicked Fantasies Part 11.1 (MBJ x OC)
A/N: Ummm so welcome backkk! This is 11.1 because there's a second part to this chapter (I know... my self control keeps getting worse lolol) But I hope you enjoy!
TW: grief
“I’m never fucking drinking again,” Raven moaned to herself as she stumbled out of the comforts of bed. She felt like hell, if hell had a truck run over its head a few dozen times.
Raven generally considered herself an early riser but nothing could pull her out of bed that morning after what was, objectively, the dumbest night of her life. Part of her wished she had had one or two more drinks so she could have officially transitioned into the ‘blackout drunk’ phase. So that she would, at least, be spared the embarrassing memories. But no, every horrible moment of the night from dancing wildly at the bar to Michael saving her was etched into the crevices of her brain with shocking clarity.
Now, it was after noon and Raven still found herself wanting to be curled under her blanket asleep so she could escape her embarrassment.
A knock at the door pulled her out of her wallowing self pity. She did not make an attempt to move, expecting Tiffany to answer. However, when the voice of their landlord rang out and her knocking persisted, she quickly slid on her robe to open the door. She decided Mrs. Winters would have to get over the fact that she looked like death reincarnated.
“Rough night, dear?”
Raven grimaced for a moment, she did indeed look as terrible as she felt.
“Something like that,” Raven offered a tight smile, her body slumping against the door. “W-what can I do for you, Mrs. Winters?”
“Oh I’m just letting everyone know that we had a pipe burst on the floor above. We’ll have folks in and out and you might hear some noise and stuff. But if you see any leaking into your unit, give me a ring?”
“Of course. Will do. Thanks, have a good one,” Raven tried her best to politely shoo the woman away. However, she lingered.
“Oh I meant to tell you, that boyfriend of yours is just such a good egg. So kind and polite. Admittedly I haven’t met many famous people,” she laughed. “But you just don’t expect them to have such good manners, you know?”
Raven stopped. “My boyfriend?? Sorry… When was he here?”
“He stopped by this morning. Gave me a check for your rent for the rest of your lease. Oh and asked where your mailbox was, said he wanted to drop something in it.”
Raven was worried her jaw might come completely unhinged as the woman spoke.
He did what??
“Are you alright, dear??”
“Y-Yea, yea. Just… a bit of a surprise. Thank you.”
And with that, Raven immediately closed the door, not listening to the elderly woman’s reply.
“This nigga… I hate him,” she muttered to herself as she slumped against her door.
Every cell in her body knew that was not true. But she also knew that everything she had told him last night was still accurate. She was too tired to forgive him and not just him… anyone ever again. The world has used up all of her second chances and she did not have it in her heart to be disappointed by him again. The narrative in her brain was so set in stone, she did not think anything he could say or do would make her believe anything else. She could not even make herself go retrieve the note that was apparently waiting for her in her mailbox.
“Such a coward,” she grumbled as she flopped back into bed.
She stared at her phone for several minutes, her text thread with Michael open. She wondered what she could even say? Thank you?
She knew any conversations demanding she pay him back or he rescind the money would be moot. Even if she had the mental fortitude to argue with him right now, she would still lose. But she could not just accept it without trying to push back.
She typed and erased and typed and erased before lamely landing on:
Raven: You can’t pay my entire rent. I can’t accept that.
Raven: I don’t want that.
Michael: Yea you can. Told you… gonna show up every day tryin’ to fix us. You just gotta let me.
Raven: Money isn’t gonna fix this, Michael.
Michael: I know. But it can fix the tangible things I fucked up for you
Michael: So let me fix that for you.
Raven paused, as a warm sensation filled her, a warmth she had not felt in over a month now. The warmth of being cared for. She had never had someone take care of her without wanting something in return, except Michael. Even when their relationship was built on transactions, he still took care of her without needing or asking for something from her. The book deal, her rent were just the tangible examples of how he had stepped up to right the wrongs he could and she could not deny that those actions meant something, softened something inside her.
He was doing exactly what he promised he would do the night before. He was fixing what could be, he was showing with his actions that she meant something to him. And yet, that blockade that stopped that belief from taking root was still there, still prohibiting her from believing these actions were anything more than a skilled manipulation.
He would draw her back in, he would not change, and when he got ready, he would hurt her again. That’s what everyone in her life did.
Raven: It doesn’t change anything
Michael: I know… didn’t expect it to.
She tossed her phone to the side and grabbed her pillow, screaming into it as her frustration got the better of her. The complex web of conflicting feelings with Michael B. Jordan trapped at its center only continued to grow. She wanted him to let her go, to stop caring and trying and going out of his way for her because that fit into the narrative nailed to the cross of her brain, it would confirm her beliefs and fears.
But instead he continued to do the things that made her fall in love with him the first time, things that only reignited the dimmed but still existent flame that was her love for him. And she knew she would never get over him if she kept letting that happen, kept letting him in.
So she did not even respond. Instead, she just closed the thread and tossed her phone to the side.
“Let him go, Rae,” she demanded to herself. “You don’t deserve him and he doesn’t love you.” She repeated that a few times before it felt real again, before all that had started to soften was once again as solid as a block of ice.
***
“You look like shit,” Alex moaned as she watched Michael’s makeup artist, Shanta, struggle to make him look less like a living zombie ahead of his Oprah interview.
They were tucked away in a suite in Oprah's sprawling LA estate. It was difficult to make Michael feel poor but Oprah was certainly one of the few people in the world who could do so.
“Thanks, appreciate that.”
“You know I don’t believe in lying to you. Make sure you get those bags under his eyes,” she instructed. “Alright, this is it. Final stretch. Movie’s out and every review is stellar so far. Do this interview, it’ll air this week, Oscars on Sunday and then you can sleep. Though I bet it’s not the schedule keeping you up? Talked to her since the premiere?”
Michael forced his body not to sag at the mention of Raven as to not disturb the hard work of the woman trying to make him look alive after days of no sleep.
“She texted me about the rent thing the next morning. But it’s been radio silence ever since.”
It had only been a few days since the fiasco after the premiere but Michael’s concern for Raven had not diminished one bit. He could not let her go as she requested but he tried his hardest to respect her desire for space. His heart was stuck in the quicksand that was Raven and he had no desire to pull himself out. He wanted to be right there. He knew eventually he would have to accept defeat, accept that she had moved on. But he could not do it while she still questioned her own deservedness. She could hate him for the rest of his life, it would be her right. But his soul could not allow her to live thinking so lowly of herself. So if he had to pay 30 years of rent or call in favors to make her life easier and make her see that she deserved care and someone to sacrifice for her, he would do it. It was high time someone in her life put her above themselves.
“Well, at least she talked to you. That’s something. You’re doing what she asked. Sis has lived a life, she needs time and space. Keep doing what you're doing. Except for the no sleep. For the love of God, by the Oscars, please get a good night’s rest. That’s your night.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Alex…”
She scoffed. “You’ve won the big four, Mike. It’s not just because I believe you deserve it… Statistically, Best Actor is yours. The Oscars is your night. Have a little faith in yourself.”
“I hear you. I just don’t wann-”
“Excuse me?” A young man poked his head in the door. “Apologies for interrupting. I’m a PA. Just wanted to let you know that we’re almost ready? I can take you out to the garden when you’re ready.”
“Be right out. Thank you,” Alex called.
Shanta did her last quick finishing touches before Alex gave him her customary once over.
“Shanta, my girl, you’re a miracle worker per usual.”
They both offered Shanta their thanks, Michael rolling his shoulders before heading out the door to walk out to the gardens.
He had met and interviewed with Oprah once before so he was not particularly nervous. But despite having done millions of interviews, there was always a kernel of nerves right beforehand that he could just never shake.
He was dressed in slacks and a light black sweater, thankful for a cooler day as he walked out into her expansive gardens where the Oprah Winfrey waited for him. The cameras were already rolling, capturing footage that may or may not make into the hour-long special.
“The man of the hour!” she called, her arms stretched wide to wrap Michael in a hug. “Actually I think man of the year is more appropriate. Welcome. I can’t tell you how excited I am to have you here.”
“Thank you, thank you. It’s so good to be here.”
“Have a seat,” she gestured at the very comfy chair across from hers. “And we can jump right in.”
***
Raven’s head was propped against her fist as she stared at her computer. A sentence. That was the grand total of her hard work for that Wednesday afternoon. But it was something, she supposed. Weeks of hard work had amounted to maybe two or three pages of her book. She had been offering Angelina vague answers on her progress, ducking and dodging her to avoid admitting that there was no way in hell she could have a draft by March 15 like they talked about.
“Rae? You busy?”
She turned in her chair toward the door to find Tiffany’s head poking in.
“Nope… I’ll never be busy again at this rate,” she grumbled. “What’s up?”
“I just turned on the interview… if you want to watch?”
Raven scratched her head, unsure if she could even watch him? See him happy and thriving without her? Despite everything happening between them though, she could not pretend there was not a part of her that still wanted to celebrate this moment in his career. Interviewing with Oprah the week he was poised to win his first Oscar? How could she ever forgive herself if she did not watch this? Even if it hurts?
“I’ll… be there in a sec. Thanks, Tiff.”
Raven let out a deep sigh before she grabbed the blanket off her bed and dragged herself to the living room. The interview had already started and he looked gorgeous. Tired, she could tell, in the way he constantly had to readjust his posture, in the bags under his eyes that the makeup artist could not quite fully cover. But even at his worst, he looked captivatingly good.
Raven found herself studying him so intently that she did not even comprehend the words he and Oprah were sharing. She just watched him and his mannerisms, she focused on the glimmer in his eyes that sparked every so often. She missed looking into his eyes, missed how expressive they were.
This moment only amplified how much she missed him, missed hearing the deep baritone in his voice and the spark in his eyes when he spoke about his passions. She missed his bright and uninhibited laughter, how his hands were always on her in some way. She just missed him. But she had pushed him away, had told him to let her go. And even if he had not fully let go of her yet, she felt too scared to open that door again, even if her soul ached for her to. Particularly when he continued to try to show up for her in small ways.
And despite how angry she still wanted to be at him, she had never had anyone show up for her quite like this… try for her like he did. And everyday, her brain took up far more mental space than it should have, debating whether she should follow her foolish heart and forgive him or listen to her logical brain and cast him aside. Days passed and she still did not know the answer.
“So I’ll admit,” Raven’s ears finally started to pick up the conversation between Oprah and Michael, “I watched Waves more times than appropriate. But Gayle and I saw it at Sundance and we both thought it was just the most heartbreaking and poignant look at loss and grief that we had ever seen. While still being engaging and funny and so relatable. The journey your character goes through is just… I mean I think grief is one of the few universal experiences that we all will have at some point. And you really brought that to life through this character and his struggles with addiction. And the fact that you filmed this while engaged in completely different projects with complex characters like Killmonger in Black Panther and Adonis in Creed 3… I’m curious what you pulled from to give that performance?”
Michael shifted in his seat as he chuckled, Raven had missed how passionate he got about this project, even though he had been talking about it and doing press for it since they first started dating. She knew he had not truly expected the role to blow up in the ways it did but she could tell he was grateful for it, nonetheless.
“Well first, thank you. Yea aside from Oscar Grant, Andre was the hardest character I’ve ever played and he stretched me as an actor in ways, you know, I didn’t really expect? And I learned so much from him in his sort of journey through grief. You know, when I read the first script, the line ‘grief is the final stage in love’s evolution,’ really stuck out to me. When you lose someone, grief, this enduring pain you feel, is that love shifting and changing because it has nowhere to go, there’s no outlet for it anymore. And so, Andre really reframed my own thoughts on grief and loss and how I process that and allowed me to pull from personal experiences with loss to pour into that character.”
“Yea I will say, that line was one of my favorites. I sat with that long after the credits rolled.”
“Yea same. I remember sitting a-and thinking about that one for a while after reading it. And I loved that even in the more comedic moments of this movie, we still had those lines that made you wanna stop and really sit with what the characters were going through.”
“Definitely, I was dissecting this movie for weeks after. It’s just amazing. So I do want to shift gears to talk about this moment you're experiencing because of this movie. This really is the biggest moment of your career. You’re nominated for your first Oscar and a favorite to win, so far in 2023, you’ve won a SAG Award, Golden Globe, and BAFTA. And you, as of two days ago, just had your directorial debut in Creed 3. First question, how are you still awake?” Both of them shared a laugh. “But serious question, how has this moment felt? How does it feel to be having this moment at this stage of your career?”
“Oh wow, when you list it like that, I don’t know how I’m awake either,” he chuckled. “But seriously, you know… it’s been a ride. I know you’ve felt this too but you know, you don’t often take a moment to just pause and soak it in. You finish one interview or award show and your mind automatically just jumps to the next one. And I think what I’ve been trying to force myself to do in the later weeks of this insane time is just to slow down and enjoy it. Not rush through it and really enjoy the fruits of… really years of hard work and sacrifice. But that also means sitting with… you know, the challenges of this time too, which isn’t as rewarding,” he admitted with a sad smile. “But I’m growing and learning alot so it’s worth it.”
Oprah nodded. “You know I always appreciate when people don’t let the 24 hour news cycle and gossip sort of steal their thunder and moment from them. And I applaud you for sort of moving through the more gossipy side of the last few months with grace and maturity. But you haven’t really talked much publicly about those stories and the effect they have had on you. And you don’t have to get into it if you don’t want but I am curious on how you navigated that and really came out on the other side, from what I can see, stronger for it?”
Michael bowed his head and chuckled. “Um… you know a good friend of mine told me that she thought this was the most vulnerable and most genuine I had ever been publicly on this press tour and I think it’s because I’ve had to navigate some really personal stuff during this great but hectic public moment? And that’s new territory for me.”
“And I think that friend is right. I don’t think we have seen or learned this much about you ever.”
“Yea and I wish I could take some credit for it but… it was all one person: Raven Turner. And the way we met, now as the world knows, was extremely unconventional and I can admit that our relationship started as a complete lie. A lie I thought would help me be seen as this serious, mature man my team was worried I wasn’t. And I wasn’t,” he admitted. “I was cold and guarded and not at all the best version of myself. And while I regret how we started and trying to fool the world into thinking I’m something I’m not, there isn’t a bone in my body that regrets falling in love with her.”
He leaned forward a bit as he spoke. “Because all those walls and barriers we build around ourselves to survive in this world of Hollywood? To endure the criticisms and insanity we deal with? She's the first woman to see me. Not the actor and the money and the fame but just me. And in that, she saved me… without trying or intending to. She just loved me and loving her, choosing her is the single greatest decision I ever made. And I hate how this moment has fallen on her, how my terrible decisions led to these pretty disgusting misogynistic attacks on her. And I think my biggest regret is putting someone as pure as her in the line of fire like that and not doing enough to protect her. And you know, I have to live with that, which is tough.”
“You know I’ve interviewed thousands of people in my career and while I believe you have to change for yourself and on your own, I also have found that the ones who love us, really love us, are often the most powerful catalysts for change in our lives. I’ve certainly seen and experienced that in my own life and it’s important to spotlight those who were that catalyst.”
“Oh 100%. Especially when, I think this version of me was always there? I was just too hurt to trust anyone with it, so no one saw it. I buried me under this facade I thought was better? But I fell in love with a woman who taught me that you can’t be guarded, you can’t shut down just because you’re hurt. Life is about getting up every day, being authentically you, and reaching out and loving and risking your heart every time. And sometimes you’ll get swatted away and sometimes you’ll get an embrace. But you just deny yourself love when you don’t show up at all. So I’ve been trying to live by that more lately. Because she showed me what real strength and courage looks like. And I want to have that, I want to lead with that.”
“Wow… you know people are going to watch this and I think, applaud that vulnerability. It’s refreshing to me because I don’t think our world incentivizes or encourages people to admit when they aren’t being their best selves. So I think for you to do that, at a moment when you’re at the top of your game, is commendable.”
“She deserves to know the positive effect she’s had on my life. To be celebrated for how she supported me. And you know it’s not just me? When we first started dating, I remember her one stipulation was that we couldn’t go out on Wednesday evenings because she hosted a book club for kids at the library she worked at. And that was the most important thing to her, being there for them. The day of our first date, she spent an hour delivering books and SAT prep books to those same kids she worked just because. There’s just a selflessness to her that is truly admirable. And I think while people are attacking her and calling her these vile names because she made a certain choice during a hard time, they should know who she really is. A woman that would drop everything to help you even when you don’t really deserve it. A woman who I’ve seen give others all she had because they needed it more even when she did not have a backup plan for herself. I could honestly talk about her for the rest of this interview because she deserves celebration far more than I ever could. Genuinely good people don’t always get the shine they deserve, they don’t always get the love and care they deserve because we can often take them for granted. But no one deserves to be celebrated more than her, to be celebrated loudly more than she does.”
“I love that… she seems like quite the woman.”
“She is… and I hope she knows that.”
“So tell me about…”
The words faded away as his words tumbled through Raven’s head. They clashed jarringly against every belief she had internalized about herself, like metal against metal. But she found herself wanting to believe him. Believe the words a section of the world just heard. She wanted to believe that what he saw in her, even over the course of six months, was who she truly was. Not this broken, damaged scapegoat life had fashioned her into.
There has to be more than this, right?
Tiffany nudged her with a box of tissues in her hand. Raven had not even realized she was crying but she accepted them gratefully.
“Don’t know how I still have tears over this man left,” she whispered as she wiped her eyes.
“I don’t think those tears are because of him, sis.”
Raven sniffled and grabbed another tissue. “You m-might be onto something. I can’t watch anymore. Night, Tiffany.”
However, before she reached her bedroom, she heard Tiffany call her name.
“I know what he did… sucks. And hurts. But that’s a man who loves you, Rae. More than anything. After that? The only person in the world who still won’t believe it is you.”
She turned around to face her, the back of her hand wiping away a few more stray tears. “You know he said the same thing?”
“Well, I generally don’t think actors are that smart,” Tiffany admitted with a laugh. “But he’s right about that. You deserve to believe good things about yourself, we all do.”
“Nothing good has ever lasted… I always ruin it somehow. I tried to believe I deserved him and life proved that I didn’t,” she answered, her voice small. “D-Don’t have it in me to try again.”
“Raven… I know we aren’t best friends or anything. But how many times have I watched you forgiven your dad and sister? Let them back in, try to make things right with them? Try to build the family you want?”
“Too many…”
“Right… So why does Michael only get one shot when you found the strength to give them 100? When he’s the one actually showing up for you? He’s the one who actually is trying to earn another chance?”
“It’s not that simple and you know it.”
“I know that the only person denying you happiness right now… is you. You push away the good people and things in your life because you feel like you don’t deserve it but no one would be here if you didn’t. Michael, the kids in your book club… me. I don’t keep signing leases with you because you’re a terrible person who ruins everything, no one has a gun to our heads, Rae. We’re here because you do deserve it.”
“Tiff…”
“Nope, shut up. This pity party is getting old and tired. It doesn’t matter what I think of you… or what Michael thinks or anyone out there.” She gestured toward the window. “All that matters is the narrative you’ve created and until you decide to believe something else, all you’re going to do is push people away and fuck up and self sabotage because it’s all you think you deserve. You gotta wake up and do some fucking work, girl. Cause until you figure out how to erase this narrative from your brain, you’ll never be happy. And you’ll never fall in love with anyone except for someone who treats you like crap. You’ll never build your own family. You’ll never finish your book or have another fulfilling career. You’ll just be stuck in this broken version of yourself alone… forever. And I’ve seen a few different versions of you over the last two years but this is by far the most pitiful.”
Raven had never heard Tiffany be so blunt. The words were biting but she could not deny that some of them rang true in her ears. And that was always the hardest information to hear.
“Damn… tell me how you really feel.”
“The soft gentle love wasn’t resonating clearly so had to go with a different tactic…. Just think about it. And once you fix all this shit and move to a mansion in the hills, don’t forget about me.” She winked at her, causing Raven’s jaw to drop slightly.
“How do you even know that’s gonna happen?”
She shrugged and grabbed the remote to press play, Raven not even noticing that she paused it.
“Just got a good feeling about the two of you. Now go so I can lust after him in peace while he's still single. Kidding! Kinda..."
Raven let out a small laugh as she shook her head. "I know you're not kidding. Night, Tiff.”
She slid into her bed, her only refuge of late, and stared at the ceiling. She was surprised she was not tired of looking at it by now. Michael and Tiffany’s words wrestled with her own thoughts for hours
What was her problem, really? It was not that what Michael did was unforgivable because it wasn’t. Some distant part of her, too quiet to break through the noise of her anger, always wondered if there was more to the story, believed that he had to have had some reason. But she was too angry to allow him to explain. It just became vicious ammunition that no one could ever love her or care about her… that she was the problem.
Well, that’s true… no one’s ever loved you. And everyone who does leaves.
She supposed her mother must have loved her, but she would never know. She would never feel it. And her grandmother’s love was so distant, so long ago, that it no longer felt tangible, was no longer a tether to anchor her self worth to something positive.
Instead, the only thing that tethered her sense of self worth to anything was her family’s disdain. Disdain that made her question what Michael could’ve seen in her, how he could ever love someone like her? That disdain which made it far easier to believe that what he did was proof that he did not love her than that he possibly did do it to protect her in some weird way. No other thought could live long enough in her brain to take hold.
And she did not know if doing what Tiffany suggested would fix that. There was not enough time in the world for her muster the courage to interrogate and confront the source of these feelings. She had hoped she would never have to see her family again. Some days, never felt like too soon.
But she knew she could not avoid it. They were the root cause, the narrative in her head was fueled and sustained by them. And screaming at them across the Thanksgiving table and never speaking to them again was not the closure she needed. She thought she had dropped the weight that was her family when she cut them off. But she was still dragging all the luggage they gave her around and it was time to give it back.
She knew her family did not want to see her either, knew it would be difficult to get them to even speak to her after everything. But she knew she had to try… because she knew there had to be more to life than this. That she had not been born to only suffer through life instead of live it. So she needed to confront her demons for herself, even if her relationship with them did not change one bit.
She grabbed her computer and her wallet. It was time to go home.
***
Raven’s eyes remained trained on her dad’s house across the street as she sat in her rental car. She was almost shocked that none of her family’s nosy neighbors had not called the police yet as she sat there for nearly an hour, summoning the courage to actually go inside.
She had felt so sure this was what she needed when she bought her plane ticket. And that confidence did not waver when she stepped onto the plane or during the long journey from LAX to Charlotte, NC. However, once she was in her rental car, she found herself waffling, aimlessly driving around for hours. Her brain seemed unable to direct her to the place she knew she needed to go. Home.
She just could not make herself do it… not yet anyway. So she did not. Instead, she finally went to her hotel to try to get some rest and her night’s rest turned into the entire Friday holed up in her hotel. She had not booked a return ticket, prayerful and hopeful that there would be a reason to stick around for a few days. But that also meant she did not have the incentive of time to make her move faster.
But she could not even make herself do this. Because she did not know how to be brave like this. Her life had been nothing but running from pain and confrontation. This was so contrary to that. She did not know how to do any of this. She tossed and turned all night, unable to get any sleep particularly when there was only one person who she wanted to talk to, wanted to seek courage and strength from. Because when she felt scared, when she did not feel strong, he was the only person she wanted to reach for. But she was not sure he would even answer. She had pushed him away, told him she needed space.
But she had not felt like she could do this alone. So last night, she called him.
“Rae! Everything ok?” he asked immediately, his question met with silence.
Raven did not know what to say and regret filled her like ice water in her veins. But she knew it was too late to hang up, she had to see it through. She paid for that moment of weakness when she hit the call button as her throat closed at the sound of her voice. She found it impossible to speak, even if she knew what words to say.
“I’ll wait until you’re ready, Rae. Got all night for you.”
And she knew he was not just talking about waiting for her to speak.
“Why?” she whispered, the simple word coming out in a strangled sound as she tried to push past the tightness in her throat.
“Why what?”
“Why even answer after everything I said to you? W-why do you keep trying?”
“Because I love you,” he answered simply. “And you’re worth it. I’ll keep reaching out, baby girl. Even when you swat me away.”
“You might be the only person who thinks that,” she whispered back as a tear fell.
“I don’t think that’s true. But even if it was, knowing one person is in your corner is all you need sometimes.”
She laughed lightly. “That press tour got you only speaking in motivational boxing terms or something?”
His deep laughter filled her ears and filled her soul with such joy that she had forgotten. She had forgotten what these moments felt like, the two of them on the phone or curled up together in bed, just talking. She missed it… she missed him. But she could not say it, could not bring herself to pull her body out of the water to make that long trek back up the cliff to where he waited for her. Everything in her brain screamed at her that she couldn’t do it, that she did not have it in her. And she hated herself for it. Hated how she clung to the ice barriers around her heart, even though they were utterly fractured and ready to fall. She just was not ready yet.
She let out a shuddering breath as she hastily wiped away her falling tears. “I… don’t know why I called. I s-shouldn’t have called.”
“Call me anytime, Rae. I’ll always answer. I’ll always show up for you. I hope you know that… at least.”
“Y-Yea… I think I do… or at least, it’s getting harder to deny it,” she revealed. “Your interview with Oprah… it was really good,” she offered lamely.
“You watched??” she could hear the surprise in his voice.
“Yea… I almost didn’t,” she admitted. “But I caught most of it. Did you mean it? Everything you said?”
“Every single word.” There was no arguing with the definitive tone in his voice. “I get that you don’t trust me anymore. I lied and kept secrets. But one thing I never lied about is how much I love you.”
Her eyes clenched shut for a moment. That was one thing he had always been consistent about, her ears had just been perpetually shut to it.
“I… um… I gotta go. Early day tomorrow,” she lied as she sniffled. “I’m sorry for bothering you. Bye, Michael.”
She was not sure what she had expected to get from that call and, at first, it felt as if she only got a firm kick in the heart for it. But for the first time since she landed, Raven had enough strength to finally drive to her family’s house. She had rolled her eyes at his boxing motivational quotes but hearing someone say they were in her corner, that had given her courage. To just feel like someone was behind her, even if she was alone, that meant something to her.
She took a deep breath and got out of her car, forcing her legs to carry her to the front door.
Her rounds of knocks went unanswered, Raven getting slightly frustrated but determined not to leave the porch. If she turned around and walked away, she’d never come back.
After an extremely brief internal debate, she decided to simply let herself in, deciding that since she contributed to the mortgage, she had a right to come in as she pleased. And her father still, foolishly, kept a spare key underneath the welcome mat.
Though she had not been to her family’s home in two years or so, it still looked the same. Her father’s favorite work boots were thrown haphazardly at the door, several pairs of her sister’s shoes lined up next to them. She was an utter mess but she was, at least, somewhat neat. And it still felt… cold. And it had nothing to do with the cold winter east coast weather. The house had always felt like that, void of warmth and love that made a home a home.
“Kiara?” she called out. “Dad?” However, she was met with utter silence.
Part of her supposed she was thankful they were not home and that they had not just ignored her or something. She stood in the living room, staring around the room at the pictures that lined the walls and shelves. So many of her mom, her dad, and Kiara but there were none of her. That was not a surprise, it had always been that way. But that did not make it sting any less. All they had ever wanted was to erase her from their lives and if a stranger walked into this house, it would be as if she never existed.
She started up the stairs, her eyes refusing to linger long on any of the photos there. They were all lies anyway, a picture perfect family that did not exist because she had been born. She decided to ascend to the attic once she made it upstairs. Because that was where all her grandmother’s and some of her own things now lived. She had never really gone through her grandmother’s things after she passed, no one aside from her dad to pack them up. But she knew there was so much of their lives, so many memories she had forgotten of the one person who loved her, forgotten in those boxes that she now desperately needed to remember.
She ignored how narrow the opening to the attic was, realizing that it had been easier to maneuver up here when she was a young teenager. Everything was still neatly packed away as if her grandmother would be back one day to pick it up.
She started to open each box, pulling out and examining her grandmother’s things, so many beautiful things forgotten in this attic no one went into. For the first time in nearly two decades, she felt close to the only maternal figure she had ever had, felt like her grandmother’s hand was on her shoulder as she reminisced on their short but well-lived time together.
She found the old costume jewelry her grandmother used to let her play with, laughing to herself as she thought back to dressing up in front of her vanity mirror pretending to be a model or whatever silly idea the pair had thought up. She almost cried as she found a very crumpled piece of paper with the last story she gave her grandmother to read before she died, a random short story that she had written for class. She had not realized, as she found a folder, just how many of her stories her grandmother had kept.
A gold glint caught her attention, Raven reaching into a giant box to find a shoe box. Raven had seen that box 100 times but her grandmother had never let her touch it, claiming that it held priceless family heirlooms that she did not want Raven or Kiara to mess up. Raven rolled her eyes that something her grandmother had valued so much had been discarded and forgotten haphazardly at the bottom of this box.
Finally giving into her childhood curiosity, she opened it. It was still filled with things, part of her thankful that Kiara had never found it. The jewelry and pieces in it were gorgeous and indeed priceless. She took her time as she examined each one, wondering if they had belonged to her mother or her grandmother or some other relative she never met. However, it was what existed underneath the jewelry that caught her eye: piles of tied up envelopes, one with her name on it and one with Kiara’s.
The handwriting was not her grandmother’s, which made Raven even more curious.
She pulled out the stack with her name on it and undid the thin ribbon that tied them together. There were ten letters there in total, each one with a different note scribbled on the envelope.
To Raven on your 18th birthday
To Raven on high school graduation
To Raven after your first love
To Raven after your first heartbreak
To Raven on college graduation
To Raven on your wedding day
She only had to flip through a few of them to realize who they were from. Her mom.
“You’re killing me,” she muttered to the sky, unsure if she was speaking to God, her grandmother, her mother or all three.
Her hands trembled slightly as she ripped open the one on top, addressed to her on her 18th birthday. These were some of the only words her mother would get to say to her, she did not care how long ago she should have read it. She would savor each one.
To my sweet darling girl,
If you are reading this, it means that I am not physically there with you on your birthday. It means that I’ve missed 18 birthdays and too many milestones to write a letter for and for that, I am sorry. You might be wondering why there is not a letter for all those milestones and birthdays that have taken place but this felt like the best place to start and the appropriate age for reading the musings of a dying woman. If there’s even such a thing.
We learned your gender today. Another sweet girl. If the doctor somehow got it wrong, these letters will be incredibly awkward. But I know they are right. Because you, my darling girl, are the manifestation of my wildest dreams. I dreamed of you almost a year ago, this beautiful girl with half my face but all of my spirit and personality. And every night since then, I prayed, begged God to make that dream a reality… no matter the cost. And he did.
I know my body is not strong enough to be your mother, to be around to be the mother someone as brilliant as you will deserve. But I hope you know that deciding to have you and keep you, regardless of the risks, is the single greatest decision I ever made. You were not an accident or a misfortune given to me. You are my dreams. And if my last moments on this earth are spent looking at you, it will have been worth it.
I waited until 18 to start these letters because I worried a child could never understand the choice I made. And you may still not. And if you resent me for leaving you before you could know me, I understand that too. But I hope that through these letters, you will get to know me. And you will feel some semblance of the immense love I have for you.
I don’t have much advice because you’ve likely heard it all at this point. But the two most important things I can tell you, that I wish someone had told 18 year old me, is to know that failure is part of the journey. Your grandmother used to always tell me to keep reaching out your hand even if it doesn’t work. I didn’t really understand it soon enough but I hope you do. Life is about risks and if you don’t reach out your hand out of fear, you’ll protect yourself from pain but you will also miss out on the gifts God is trying to hand you. As a daughter, I hated to admit it, but mama was right about that… and so many other things.
And finally, more importantly than anything else I could offer you in these letters, please remember every day that you are so, so loved.
Know that regardless of what happened to me, I loved you with every fiber of my being until my last breath. Know that you were a gift from God. And every day you venture out into this world, know that you are worthy of so much because you were so loved from the moment you were dreamed up. Do not let anyone or whatever will happen to you in what I pray is a long, rich, happy life diminish that light, diminish your worth. I know how special you are and I don’t even know your name yet. And while I hope that your father and grandmother will affirm you daily, you don’t need other people to tell you that you are special. You have to know it for yourself. That’s the most important advice I can give you. Know who you are and your worth and take up as much space in this world as you want. And as long as you never forget how special you are… how deserving you are, you’ll move through this world shining bright. And the world will be forced to know it too and move to give you what you deserve. It’s not much and a bit cliche perhaps but I’ve been torn down enough to know that sometimes we all need the reminder. But those are stories for another letter.
By the time I write my next letter, I promise I will have picked out a name for you. I read a book the other day where the main character was named Raven… I had not thought of it before but I like it.
Happy Birthday.
Love,
Mom
The river of tears streaming down Raven’s face splashed against the slanted handwriting on the page, Raven quickly whisking them away so the words would remain legible. Raven did not even know how long she sat there staring at the words on the page, her heart bursting with the knowledge that her mother’s hand had touched this very paper, that she had poured her heart and soul into every word etched into it.
It was like proof she had been real and not this entity Raven had conjured up in her head. Raven could not stop herself from ripping open all the ones that she should have gotten along the way. The one for her first love and the separate one on heartbreak were four pages each, and Raven did not pay attention to the clock as she absorbed each and every word.
Everything she had learned about her mother had been through her grandmother and she had always wondered if her grandmother told her things just to make her feel better. But she realized that her grandmother had been telling the truth, she and her mother were so much alike. She found herself nodding and laughing along to her mother’s stories and wisdom embedded in all those pages. She was a prolific storyteller too and an amazing writer, another trait Raven realized she must have inherited from her.
For the first time in 30 years, Raven did not feel weighed down by this unbearable guilt. She felt lighter than she had ever been in her entire life. Perhaps this was what God wanted her to find here, not a confrontation with her family, but these words. This tangible proof that her mother had chosen her, wanted her… loved her and that she had not ruined anything at all.
Her mother would not have wanted her to carry such guilt around for so long because there was nothing to be guilty about.
The letters were scattered across the attic floor when she heard the faint sound of their garage opening. She quickly folded up all of her letters and stuffed them back into the box, tucking it under her arm as she climbed out of the attic. She did not make much noise as she closed up the attic, just as she heard her father and sister close the garage door and enter the kitchen.
Their voices drifted up to her ears as she started to climb down the stairs, deciding that she might as well get the pure unpleasantness of this moment over with.
“Wait… you hear that? Is someone in the house??” she heard her sister ask, knowing that they both could hear her footsteps against the old floorboards.
“Don’t get your gun,” she called out as she started down the stairs. “It’s just me.”
She was greeted with less-than-welcoming expressions from her family, such disdain that it made her want to scurry away. But she did not. She had done enough of that in her life.
“Adding breaking and entering to your criminal activity, now?”
Raven scoffed as she placed the box on the kitchen counter that stood between her and her family.
“Don’t think you can break into a house you helped pay for?” she answered coolly. “And I’m not the one with a mug shot here if I remember correctly.”
“No you’re just the one who sold her cheap ass for a quick buck.”
Raven shook her head, opening and closing her mouth for a few moments as she tried to find the words.
“Yea I did… And I’m not proud of it,” Raven admitted. “But I won’t let you or anyone shame me for doing what I needed to do to survive. What helped the two of you survive too.” Raven scratched her head, realizing that trying to get closure from her family was unnecessary. Her mother’s words had given her all the closure she had ever needed. That’s what she had come home for.
“You know, I got a plane ready to rip you both a new one for 30 years of abuse and torture. To try to force you to admit that I’m not the villain you made me to be. But… I don’t need that anymore. Because the cross of guilt and shame you two forced onto my back for all these years isn’t one I should have to carry. But I did because I thought it was the only way to keep you two around. And even without you two in my life, I still drag that cross around because I thought I deserved it. But I realized today, way too late, that I don’t need a damn thing from either of you to put it down.”
“So you came here to what? To chastise us and steal?” her father asked, gesturing toward the box on the counter.
“You can’t steal things that belong to you. These are letters mom wrote to me,” she lifted the open letters out before sliding the unopened pile to her sister. “And to you.”
“Your mother wrote these?” he asked, his jaw tensing as he looked down at the stack.
“Yeah, she did. You’ll enjoy yours… she was a really good storyteller,” she glanced at Kiara. “These letters just told me something I should’ve realized long before Thanksgiving. That cross? That guilt? It isn’t mine. And I am done wasting my life trying to rectify the mistake of being born. Because it wasn’t a mistake. She chose me… prayed for a second daughter knowing the cost and she decided it was worth it. And hearing her say that? That’s all I need to know that I deserve so much more than this… so much more than you.” She took a deep breath. “Being a grieving husband isn’t an excuse to be a terrible father and I’ll just be grateful I found some way to survive you and this. And jealousy doesn’t give you the right to be a shitty sister.”
“What the fuck do I have to be jealous of??”
“I always wondered that. But reading those letters… I finally got it. Because even as a failed author and prostitute, I’m everything she was. Grandma used to always say I had her personality… her talent. I always thought she was lying to make me feel better. But you knew she wasn’t and you could never stand it. Couldn’t stand that I was more like her than you.” For the first time, her sister was speechless. A good look on her in Raven’s opinion. “Mom wanted so much better for me than this and I’m gonna go and find it. Because I’ve wasted too much energy trying to earn the love of people who don’t deserve it. So if you want to go to your graves hating me, making me the scapegoat for every problem in your miserable lives, have at it. But know that I don’t hate you even after all this. I won’t be weighed down anymore by any feelings toward either of you ever again. You aren’t worth it.”
Raven pulled herself to full height and rolled her shoulder back as she scooped up the box and folder she had taken from her grandmother’s stuff.
“Now I’m gonna go and have that long… rich and happy life mom wanted for me. And I hope you two do the same.”
She did not look behind her as she walked away, a soft smile on her face as she walked out of her family’s house for the last time.
She let out a long laugh as she sat in her car, so much of the weight she had been carrying around gone. It did not feel sad like when she cut off her family at Thanksgiving. She finally felt as if she had cut the anchor away and she could float away, she could move forward and heal all the broken pieces of herself that they had gleefully chipped away at.
When she got back to her hotel room, she just kept rereading her mom’s words. She would memorize each letter at this point. A part of her desperately wanted to open the other ones but she had not reached those milestones just yet so she left them where they were. For some reason, she worried her mother would disapprove of her breaking into them early.
One line of five letters she read and reread stuck to her bones above all else. And of course, as if her mother had known, it was embedded in the letter for her first love. Love… the thing that had cracked her wide open and brought her to this moment in the first place.
You’d be surprised to know that this was the hardest of the letters to write. Because everyone has some prolific idea of what love is and feels like. And I realized I don’t… because I don’t think I’ve ever experienced the love I pray you are as you read this. That’s not to say I don’t love your father, I do. But I want something different than convenience for you. I hope that the love you feel is safe, allows you to feel the full spectrum of what it means to be human - strong and vulnerable, insecure and confident, boisterous and timid. I hope it feels like stepping out of the cold air and into a warm embrace. I hope it is loud and unapologetic because you deserve nothing less. And I hope it makes you feel so enraptured that everything else in the world goes quiet. And lastly, I hope, more than anything, that it feels like home. That when you’re in this person’s embrace, you feel as if your soul finally landed right where it is supposed to be.
Her eyes scanned that passage over and over again, realizing that she had found the exact love her mother described. She had come back here thinking she was coming home. But this wasn’t home at all. Home was where he was. And he was back in LA, about to prepare for the biggest night of his life in 24 hours. And regardless of whatever trust needed to be rebuilt and conversations needed to be had, she could not allow herself to miss it. She could not allow herself to not show up for him.
Raven scrambled to find her phone as it was hidden beneath sheets of paper. She scrolled through, praying she had not deleted a long forgotten group thread that housed one number she had once thought she would never need but now was the most important phone number in the world.
She almost shouted praises to God when she found it, clicking the call button on the unsaved number. She paced up and down beside her bed as every agonizing ring dragged on.
“Didn’t think I’d see your name pop up on my phone ever again.”
Raven let out a sigh of relief as her voice filled her ears. “I know… me either. But I need a favor.”
“Does it involve a certain award show tomorrow night?”
“Yes. Is it too late?”
“Yea it is.” she knew Alex could hear the tiny sigh of sadness she let out. “For anyone but me. I’ve earned enough favors around here to create a miracle or two.”
“Really?? Cause I need like more than one or two miracles… a dress, hair, makeup… hell a flight from Charlotte to make it back in time. Without him knowing?”
“Consider all of it done. Hope you don’t mind getting up at the ass crack of dawn though.” Alex asked, Raven hearing the smile in her tone.
“For him… I’ll get up anytime.”
“Good. Then I'll take care of everything... I'll have to tell his mom but she'll love this. And probably be happy as hell that she doesn't have to go anymore. I'll text you details in an hour."
"An hour?? That's all you need??"
"You're new here so I'm gonna choose to not be offended by that."
"Noted." She was about to hang up when she stopped herself. “Hey… Alex? Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Seriously. Just make sure your ass is on that plane and in LAX tomorrow when Allen picks you up, got it?”
Raven chuckled. “Yea I got it. See you tomorrow.”
Tag List: @readinghere2023 @blackerthings @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @physicxal @purplehairgawdess @miyuhpapayuh @rueruesclues @geemamii @certifiedlesbianbaddie @pipsqueak-98 @nyifly22 @destinio1 @twocentaur @gopaperless @musicisme333 @roguekiki @majesticbrownjawn @taurusqueen83 @mysteryuz @miamormilan @itsknor-thedeep @naj-ay444 @mads-grace4 @nayaesworld @kholdkill @msniaimani @nccu-rnc @apenasumlug4r @dezzy154
***
A/N: So now will y'all stop yelling at me LOLOL our good sis is going back to her man! We love to see it! How surprised do we think Michael's going to be? Part 11.2 will be the Oscars! Drop a comment and let me know what you thought! And as always, thanks for reading!
#black writers#michael b jordan#michael b jordan x oc#mbjordanedit#black panther#michael b jordan fanfic#michael b jordan x reader#creed 3#adonis creed#creed iii
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birthday blues
pairing: sirius black x f!reader
summary: first time godfather sirius goes shopping to find the perfect first birthday gift (jily + baby harry ♥️)
wc: 5k
a/n: me tryna heal canon trauma ❤️ because in my world everyone lives happily ever after !!! my lil celebration piece for hitting 200 followers! thank u all <3
not proofread, english is not my first language so plz be nice heheh
“What’s the store called again, sweets?”
even as a young kid, one of your biggest pet peeves is repeating yourself for more than four times. three is pushing it. your parents told you its a bad habit to take to adulthood because you’re bound to meet people who just don’t get what you’re saying the first or second time around. But one Wednesday morning, when you asked from upstairs where your favorite periwinkle socks were and your parents downstairs said something that the loud dishwasher and vacuum covered up, you asked them to repeat it again (still can’t hear), and again when you moved closer to the staircase down (barely heard any), then you heard your father’s heavy footsteps up, personally shoving in your waiting hand the said pair of socks.. only damp. “Honey, I said three times already, that they were still in the dryer,” your dad had huffed before heading back downstairs. That’s when you knew it was genetic.
But, you love Sirius Black. It’s gotten to the point where in the honest, sensitive hours past midnight, while there was nothing much to do as you let sleep creep up from your tired limbs to your fluttering eyelids, but to watch peace settle on the raven-haired boy’s sharp features, ethereal and glowing like an angel even in the dark of the night; that you realize he may be the love of your life. It’s a scary thought, with fears of being too eager, too soon, too much—- so you tuck it in a little pocket and give it a nudge when you need a reminder of how big and true its growing with each second spent together.
You love him, so you breathe out the snarky irritation away in slow heavy puffs and inhale peace, choosing to exercise patience because you know Sirius is nervous.
“It’s Spintwitches Sporting Needs, love. ‘s right across Ollivanders if I’m not mistaken,” you say, taking his free hand in yours and rubbing small circles on his knuckles to calm some of his nerves down, while he drives through busy muggle London streets to park by the Leaky Cauldron. He throws you a soft smile and gives your hand a quick squeeze as thanks, grateful to the heavens that you’re here to keep him from going insane.
You know him enough that, while the day in question is not about him, or you, or your relationship, it meant a great deal to Sirius.
He had one chance (even if you’d argue otherwise) to make things right, do things the right way the first time around with Harry. James knew this fact by heart, which is why he and Lily agreed in a heartbeat that Sirius should be little Harry’s godfather, as it was meant to be. He would do anything, go beyond means, hell, even against Merlin himself just to ensure the safety and happiness of his godson.
No one, however, was expecting it to backfire and it caught you and Sirius off guard. Once the tears dried and elation diffused, the anxiety kicked in for Sirius, and in turn you. He knew what the opposite was, parents who robbed their own sons of happy childhoods and disowned him when he got brave enough to find happiness and protect it, he had lived it. And now that he has a chance to save an innocent soul from a similar fate, he was determined, but this fact scared him shitless.
He wanted everything to be perfect (who wouldn’t?) and gave everything he physically could to make James and Lily’s Harry’s life easy and happy. Seeing Sirius buy ‘How to Dad?’ books and pour over them at night or on his free time at work was undoubtedly an attractive and loving sight. In a span of a week, he knew which is the best formula to supplement with breastfeeding, toys to pick that stimulate early brain development, even clothes made with hypoallergenic materials that won’t irritate the sensitive newborn skin. It came to a point where James would ask him for advice when Lily’s at work, and Sirius would put on his trusty reading glasses and point at a specific passage of ‘How to Dad?’ that answers James’ question perfectly.
Eventually, you did have to put your foot down when you found Sirius writing a howler to a baby food company when rumors started going around that their baby snack puffs (which Harry was obsessed with) had harmful chemicals in it. In typical Sirius fashion, he wasn’t convinced that easily. You’d bet that what pushed him off the howler letter route (and in turn protect the statute of wizarding secrecy) was seeing you spend lots of time in the kitchen to perfect making banana and strawberry baby snack puffs from scratch until the recall was over and the food was deemed safe to be consumed again by experts and Sirius himself.
Hearing many iterations of how the newborn days and months go by so fast was difficult to believe at times, especially when you and Sirius were babysitting to let the exhausted parents get some sort of reprieve multiple times a month. It was almost always the same. Harry would sleep for four hours straight during the night, and almost hourly right after; and while you and sirius had gotten pretty good at dividing up the tasks like bottle feeding and nappy changes equally, the shrill cry of a hungry baby is difficult to ignore and sleep through.
So despite of Sirius’s best efforts to crawl out of bed and tip-toe to the bassinet quietly not to wake your sleeping form, he gets sad but unsurprised to see you pad towards him and the baby, yawning soundlessly as you squeeze yourself between the soft armrest and Sirius’s side, head resting on his shoulder. It was his idea to get a spacious, soft recliner in the bedroom and it came in handy for situations like these, where getting back to bed once Harry sleeps is too risky as the boy would just wake up with the slightest movement, so the next best option was to try getting rest wherever you ended up in. The cries that once overpowered Sirius’s hushed whispers and cooing finally quiets down. A sigh of relief leaves both your lips, basking in the comfortable silence and bodies finding solace in each other’s warmth.
You want to say so many things to your lovely boyfriend, things he just has to hear: that he’s doing such a great job, that you see him and all the extra steps he has to take to become and do better than what he was raised for, that you love him for every single bit of it— but the right words don’t come easy when sleep-deprived and exhausted at 4:25am in the morning. So you lift your lips up to meet his temple, the side of his mouth, then his lips; hoping it’d convey what words couldn’t at the moment.
But time is an experienced thief. It was a Saturday afternoon in the middle of May and it was warm enough for you to whip out the frilly spring dresses that had been pushed to the back of your closet by the thick woolen coats from colder months. The boys had gone on a day trip to help Peter move into his first solo apartment, assembling furniture and stocking up on necessities to ensure he could survive on his own. Without the booming voices and bumbling energy of his father and godfather, little Harry had no choice but to match the calm and peaceful ambiance that you and Lily curated inside the Potter house. While it’s certainly different from what his everyday looks like (living with the likes of James), he seems to enjoy it. Gentle breeze from the windows Lily left open while she baked carry the smell of lemons and vanilla throughout the entire house, making it smell heavenly. You’d been sat on the floor by the dining table, surrounded by toy trains and colorful blocks, watching the ten-month-old munch on a toy graphorn adoringly. Recently, he’s been on a phase where he has to run anything he could get his hands on with his mouth. Some secret test or screening must be up there or something because that’s how Harry decides which toys are deserving of his attention for the day.
You’d picked up a toy set of magical creatures after work yesterday, and it won the almost toddler’s attention for the whole day. James had to snatch the toy niffler away from Harry’s grasp so he could say goodbye to his son and ask for a kiss. Safe to say there were no kisses exchanged because the little boy was too busy wailing and screaming at his father’s face. Lily had to create physical distance between her two boys so the younger one can calm down while the older got mopey. Sirius had to whisk his best friend away from the scene of the crime so that they can get on with the day, but not without leaving you a kiss.
The said niffler had soon been replaced with the hippogriff, then now the graphorn, and it’s been sitting on your lap since. Harry suddenly pulls the toy graphorn out of his mouth with a resounding pop. You both share a second or two of shocked eye contact and silence, his bright green eyes wide with surprise, before triggering a belly flipping laughing fit. This child could shock himself with a sudden burp or an unexpected sound of hitting random things with a fork, and you’d laugh every single time like its the funniest cutest thing you’ve seen in your life. It’s likewise for the rest of the marauders. Being the first baby of the group had all the adults wrapped in his pudgy fingers and he has no idea.
Harry’s eyes drop from your smiling face to the Niffler on your lap, and makes grabby hands. You almost, almost give in, but you decide to encourage him to go get it himself. Maybe today’s the day he starts to walk. You move to him a bit closer, probably a good seven baby steps in between.
“You want the Niffler, bud? You have to go get it from me!” You make a show out of grabbing the toy from your lap multiple times, hoping it’d make sense to the little boy.
He whines something sounding like your name and does more impatient grabby hands. But you weren’t giving up without a fight. “C’mon, Haz! You can do it,” you say enthusiastically.
Harry did know how to stand and good thing you were both sat near the dining table chairs, so to alleviate some of your aunt guilt you tuck the niffler away and out of Harry’s reach, before helping him up to his feet and urging him to grab one of the chair legs for support.
He stays upright, eyes still on the toy that you place again on your lap as you return to your original spot, and you clap with glee. “Great job, buddy! Okay, only a few steps to me and you’ll get the toy!”
Lily, curious to see the commotion happening on her kitchen floor, leans against the counter for a better view. Harry sees this and does the same thing, he looks at her pleadingly while making grabby hands and pointing to the niffler on your lap. You can tell the redhead’s fighting the mom urge to make her child’s life easier, but thank the heavens when she gives your same answer. She even moves to kneel beside you, waving to get her son’s attention and pointing at the niffler on your lap.
“C’mon, my sweet boy,” Lily says. “Mama knows you can do it!”
Motivated by frustration as his aunt and own mother won’t just hand him his goddamn toy, Harry whines angrily but makes a sideways step closer, death grip still on one of the chair legs. You and Lily squeal and clap in delight, urging the boy to do it again.
He makes a move for another step, but realizes that there’s no more legs to grab onto. Reluctantly, his right hand lets go and in turn faces you and Lily. This results in another round of applause, which serves like a drug to these little babies.
An anxious expression fleetingly appears on his face as he looks to you both, but the encouragement and cooing seemed to scare those big feelings away. Determined, Harry makes an unsure step forward without support, which then makes both yours and Lily’s heartbeat jump. It all happened so quick, the fear of losing balance triggered Harry’s other leg catch him on impulse, then the same on the other leg, then the other. Harry’d made four successful steps on his own before his mom catches him in her embrace before he topples over to the floor.
You and Lily were a sobbing, exultant mess. Harry, clearly confused about the commotion, whines for the niffler while Lily kisses him all over his face. You hand it to his waiting palms like a trophy before ruffling his unruly hair. An attempt for words has been made, but all that came from your mouth are garbled phrases about the miracle that just happened. Lily nods in agreement and you hug them both back.
This ten-month old just walked. This is the same baby that kept you and Sirius up at night for his feedings. The same baby responsible for the drool and spit up marks on your shirts. The same baby that laughs and babbles with you like he understands when you tell him random stories. The same baby that squeals in delight when you blow raspberries on his belly.
It felt like he had just been born a few days ago, memories of changing hundreds of nappies and preparing bottles of milk still vivid in your mind. But it’s earth shattering to consider that he’s closer to being a one year old than to the little bundle handed to you by James in the hospital room.
Time is unrelenting, stealing mundane moments behind your back and when you realize the loss, poof! The newborn you held in your arms is now a walking toddler. Soon, he’ll be the one talking your ears off, going to Hogwarts, driving a car.. You shiver at the thought. He was growing up so fast that blinking felt like cheating, afraid that you’ll miss a precious moment that you’ll never get back.
His first birthday came in the same manner— too fast for both yours and Sirius’s liking, but the wistful feelings came with excitement as Harry being a toddler opened up lots more opportunities to play and discover the world around him. James and Lily had spent the whole month planning a big birthday bash to celebrate the kiddo’s life, inviting all their loved ones to share the special day with them. And with that, the pressure was on for Sirius, as the self-proclaimed best godfather to get the perfect first birthday gift.
It’s like the heavens knew it was a special day for you both that it made sure to put out the best shopping weather one could ever ask for—- not too warm or too cold. It was a Tuesday afternoon, which meant the adults were kept in workplaces and children sent to Hogwarts or in homeschooling, leaving Diagon Alley nearly deserted, minus the occasional stray shoppers entering and leaving shops here and there. Clad in color coordinated couples outfits (that was your thing recently, Sirius more than happy to oblige) and hand in hand, you begin the mission to locate Spintwitches Sporting Needs.
Nostalgia always finds a way to seep into your bones whenever you find yourself in Diagon Alley. One blink and suddenly you’re ten again, both hands tucked in each parent’s as your mom pours over the list of school supplies you’ll need again for your first year at Hogwarts. You and Sirius see Ollivanders at a short distance and hear the entrance bell chime, the very same sound you heard when entering the shop for the first time, the shopkeeper taking one good look at you before immediately rummaging around the store, grabbing a specific box located on a random shelf four stories up. The look of confidence when he says it’s made just for you, a magical glow enveloping your tiny frame while opening the magenta box. That same magic guided you to a world where you truly belonged in, a castle that felt so much like home, and friends that soon became found family and lifelong partners. The thought of Harry soon experiencing these moments leaves a giddy feeling in your chest.
The smoky sweet scent of freshly roasted chestnuts catches your attention and you discreetly look for the source of your favorite warm snack. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Sirius (hardly nothing ever does, even the things you wish he’d miss or forget), and he gives your hand a small tug. You try to be aloof as you return his waiting gaze, complete with a quirk of your eyebrow, to which he responds with an impish smirk towards your bad acting.
“You’re not fooling anyone with that look, sweets.” The amusement in his voice is palpable as he steers you away from the main walkway and towards the small chestnut stall tucked in an alleyway, almost hidden by the bigger shops surrounding it.
“But, the store’s right there, Siri,” you try to protest. He had been anxious and stressed out about this day in particular, you knew if you were in his shoes, you’d be beelining to the store as soon as you get off the car. But he just shakes his head like its the obvious choice and nods towards the cart. “Can’t have my girl hungry now.”
After a failed attempt of trying to pay for the warm brown bag (you were no match for Sirius’s lithe, agile fingers in basically everything), you accept it with a sigh, giving yourself a few seconds to sulk before starting on the chestnuts. You weren’t the best at accepting things from other people just because, it always felt like you had to do something in return for them just to deserve it. Maybe that’s why the universe conspired to have you meet and fall for Sirius, who is a very enthusiastic giver, teaching you hard lessons on the daily.
As you begin the journey back to the shop, you carefully crack open one and hold it up to Sirius’s mouth, to which he happily obliged. “Mm, somehow chestnuts taste better when you handfeed me, dove. Do it again.”
You roll your eyes in response, but you find your fingers starting to peel another. “You’re lucky you’re good looking, Black,” you mutter to save some face, that you weren’t head over heels for this man and he to you. That’s a conversation to be had in another, less stressful day.
The shop, painted electric blue and orange, wasn’t hard to miss. One step in and the welcoming aroma of broom polish, rubber, and smoky wood brings you right back to the Quidditch locker rooms; memories of frantically lacing up your boots a minute or two after James called you as backup for an injured beater, helping Marlene comb out the tail end to fix the broom alignment after practice, and getting pinned to the cool lockers during post-win celebratory makeout sessions with Sirius, replaying vividly in your head.
It looked deceivingly small on the outside; aside from the expansive selection of different broomstick models, they had books and magazines about Quidditch strategies and featured famous matches, repair and maintenance kits for maintaining broomstick qualities, complete Quidditch gear for all shapes and sizes, and tiny practice snitches flying around the room. Squint and it’ll just be like how each Hogwarts common room would be decorated when there’s a big Quidditch match between houses or international ones in the world cup: streamers and accessories like horns and banners representing each team, posters of Chudley Cannons and Holyhead Harpies (in opposing corners to prevent unsolicited fights) accompanied by autographs of famous players and collectibles littering almost every surface of the walls. It was Quidditch dreamland.
Still in awe admiring the displays as you both walk through aisles hand in hand, Sirius breaks the silence first. “What do you think Harry will play as in Quidditch?”
You hum in response and he continues, running his hands through the bat display they had for little kids. “I bet he’d be a beater like me. You remember how that punk hit me straight on the face last week?”
You nod in amusement. Sirius had played it cool as he gently laid Harry back in his playpen, still laughing and cooing, then as soon as little Harry turned his back on his uncle, Sirius ran to you for first aid and whined the whole time you were healing the already forming bruise. But not a few hours later, he’s bouncing the baby in his arms again as he gave him a tour of the backyard.
“Yeah, those little fists definitely pack a punch.”
“How about you, love?”
Sifting through a year’s worth of memories, it was surprisingly easy to find your answer. “I think he’ll follow James’s footsteps and be a seeker.”
Sirius’s pout becomes evident, making you giggle and tug on his arm in efforts to cheer him up. “Think about it. Ever since prongslet got those glasses, it’s harder to hide anything from him now because his eyes are so quick. Poor Crookshanks too, that cat can’t catch a break now when Haz wants to play because he tracks its movements.”
Sirius lets out a soft chuckle and slings his arm around your shoulders to hold you closer. “Good point, good point,” he repeats, seemingly deep in thought as his fingers run up and down the small of your arm. “We shall see, whatever he decides to play as, or if he even plays at all, I’ll be proud of him.”
You look up to him as he absentmindedly stares at the Quidditch gear sets for little kids, a light, wistful smile on his handsome features. He might not say it out loud, but the love he has for his godson reverberates through his being, and its a warming sight to see.
Before you confess your love for your boyfriend in the middle of a Quidditch store, you whisk him away and towards the toy broom display, the only thing you were both here for. Only the big bright signs directed you to the right place, which didn’t prepare you at all for the heart exploding sight.
You’re about to burst into tears seeing how cute and tiny the little toy brooms were, and how they came in complete with tiny versions of the headlights, seats, and bag compartments the usual adult broom comes with. Both you and Sirius stood with mouths agape for a solid minute as you took in the expansive display, before your lovely boyfriend proceeds to pick out the most expensive one with the most features on it from the batch.
Surprisingly, it was you who reminded him to grab a helmet before running off to purchase the toy broom, the giddiness and excitement spreading between the two of you. The cashier gives both of you a knowing look as you and Sirius both mellowed down from full giggles to bashful smiles, examines the broom to be purchased, and asks, “For your little one?”
Now, you were no stranger to conversations like these with former lovers in the past, and you could almost hear the typical response of denial that comes swiftly with the question. It used to hurt, even if you knew by heart that that person didn’t have the fifth date potential or that it just wouldn’t last. It’s that unexplainable feeling of shame and rejection when they’d realize that it won’t work with you before you would, or if they answer with a laugh, as if having a future with you is an appalling thought. You’ve gotten better with it throughout the years, but for some reason your skin crawls with the thought of Sirius saying the same things. Years of desensitization down the drain, you find yourself bearing your entire soul to the man beside you the entire relationship, and he can easily break you into two with his response. You cross your fingers that he won’t.
He was already looking when your gaze met his, a look of softness and tenderness from him so profound you wondered if you were deserving of it. The surge of butterflies in your belly was all consuming.
Sirius shifts uneasily and shakes his head, you prepare for the worst. “For our nephew, not for our own child..,” he pauses, glancing back at you for a quick second. “Yet. But if all goes according to my sneaky plan, we might be back sooner than she thinks.”
The cashier chuckles at your stunned reaction as you shift your focus between him and your boyfriend who was both furiously blushing and actively avoiding your stare. Did you just get a marriage proposal?
Taking advantage of your confusion, Sirius pays for everything including the gift wrapping, which you had previously argued about who was responsible paying (you won, not that that matters now). You let him tug your arm and guide you out of the store, saying a quick thank you to the amused cashier. The influx of butterflies were back, tickling your insides and spreading warmth in each crevice. Just seeing Sirius handle the rambunctious mini James with care and glee, makes it so easy for you to imagine a life with him, and eventually have a little bean that’s equal parts of you and him. You hope they’d get the best parts of both.
No one brings it up as you began your journey back to the car and you’re grateful. Gift bag swinging on your arm, you drag Sirius to go get ice cream to which he happily obliges.
A gentle quiet settles on accomplished shoulders like a warm blanket as you settle in the car. Strawberry and vanilla fudge ice cream sticky sweet on each other’s lips as you exchange cones every once in a while. It would be enough to lull you to sleep, if not for Sirius’s deep breaths and sighs, the thundering of his heart that he tries to quell by discreetly scratching a small part of the steering wheel where his thumb usually lay.
He breaks the silence first, an uneasy tone making his voice seem small. “Do you think he’ll like it, dove?”
“Yes, Siri. I know he’ll love it.” You try your best to enunciate the right words, but a conflicted expression marrs his handsome features, sending a twinge to your heart.
It comes to you before he speaks. This was something that had been plaguing Sirius’s mind for a while, occupying his dreams and thoughts, embedding itself to his mind and causing unwarranted amounts of stress. You resist the urge to fill in the blanks for him because it has to come from him and him only.
But after everything he’s been through, what seems easy for most sometimes is the hardest to muster. “Siri,” you pause, waiting until he looks up at you and you keep his gaze. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
His gray orbs still before the dam breaks. “I’m sorry, love.” He chokes. “If I’m being so difficult, irky, irritated, anxious, everything.”
Hot tears run down his cheeks and it’s a painful watch. wanting nothing but to wipe it off and tuck him in your embrace and promise him he won’t be hurt as long as you’re there, but you can’t. The best thing you could do for him is to let it all out and finally feel.
He stares ahead on the city road with fingers trembling on the wheel. “I’m just so scared. So scared. James and Lily have been amazing parents, I can’t say same thing for myself but I try my best. Sometimes I still feel like he deserves someone better to be his godfather,” he sobs. “I just love him so much. I want only the best for him. I just want him to be happy and healthy all the time.”
After a while, you say with a bittersweet tone. “You know we can’t promise that, Siri,” you sigh. “Storms will come and will do damage and hurt and things that we can’t undo,” you pause, sniffling as you take your right hand to guide him to face you again, vulnerable gray eyes meeting yours. “But you know what?”
You give him an assuring smile, speaking the truth. “He’s gonna be alright because little as he is right now, he is so loved and adored by so many people, so loved by his parents. And so loved by his godfather.”
It wasn’t said aloud, it doesn’t need to. Loud as it could be, Sirius knows what you’re about to say; that his ability to love despite of everything he’s been through, despite of his own family ruthlessly trying to rob him of the ability to do so. That’s the type of love that Sirius gives, a love that withstands rain and abandonment; a love that stays after a rough storm, offering a home always open to go to when times are rough and feelings are still hurt; a love that tells the truth even when its hardest to hear.
You know all this as an easy fact because you’re at the receiving end. Even if you hadn’t heard it from his lips yet.
“Have I told you I love you?”
A watery smile spreads on your face as you shake your head. “No, but i feel it everyday.”
“I love you, Y/N.” It leaves his lips like breaths, naturally and easily.
It’s the same thing for you, too. “I love you too, Siri.”
And it ends with sticky kisses that taste of vanilla fudge and berries.
#siriusblack#sirius black one shot#sirius black fanfiction#sirius black imagine#sirius black blurb#sirius black fluff#sirius black drabble#sirius black fic#sirius black x black!reader#sirius black x reader#sirius black x yn#sirius black x y/n#sirius black x you#sirius x reader#marauders era#marauders fluff#dad!marauders#marauders au#marauders fanfiction#harry potter fanfiction#hp fanfic#hp marauders#jily fic#sirius black
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Imagine some sweet banter with Sanji in the kitchen…
“You want to take this outside?” Patty frowned, slightly bothered by Sanji’s laid back attitude after slowing the line.
“Are you asking me to dance because I kind of had my eye on that blonde at Table 8?” Sanji smirked as he walked down the aisle, slipping the tweezers into his apron.
Thriving on the buzz of the kitchen rush, you manoeuvred around Patty with a tray of desserts in your hand with a spin and landed in stride with Sanji in the aisle.
“It’s adorable that you think you have a chance with her, Sanji.” You teased and glanced back at Patty speaking a little louder so he could hear. “I’m certain that Miss Table 8 prefers men with coloured hair.”
The cooks chuckled and nudged Patty with cheers of encouragement. He may have been a little gruff on the edges but you grew to break down his walls just enough to brighten up his day.
Returning to the task at hand, you moved aside a bowl of frosting and set the tray down as Sanji did the same.
As the two of you fell into the usual groove, he leaned in a little.
“Feeling a tad bit jealous there?” The cook smirked.
You quirked a brow and dipped your finger in the icing bowl that you had experimented with earlier that day (only for Zeff to throw a fit about it).
“Oh Sanji, if only there was something to be jealous of.” You pressed the decadent cream onto the tip of his nose and smiled at your artistic work.
Stepping back with a laugh, Sanji wiped your attack off and admit his defeat. He needed to be careful otherwise his heart would physically jump into his eyes.
Your eyes caught the beautifully constructed fish on the plate and pat his shoulder. “Zeff’s going to throw you into the East Blue if he sees that.” You warned.
Sanji pressed his hands over his heart, his brows knit together curiously. “Are you offering to resuscitate me?”
You held your gaze but as the weight of his words settled into your mind, your eyes briefly flickered to his lips. If you kissed him, you’d need resuscitation immediately after.
Shaking your head at his antics, you smiled and made your way back to your station. Perhaps you could calm your racing heart when there was a sea of people blocking the blonde from your view.
It was better not to reply and let him win this playful round.
Despite being in a kitchen, there was something different brewing between the two of you.
Proud of himself when you folded, Sanji began his return to his chopping boards when the kitchen doors opened and Zeff called him back almost immediately. Upon returning to the table, Sanji explained his pride and joy of the evening.
His True Bluefin Sauté.
“The day the Baratie serves something like that is the day hell freezes over.” Zeff snapped and the clatter of plates told you that he had binned the dish.
Oh boy… You took in a deep breath while trying not to be so distracted by the duo. Twenty seconds of background shouting later, your timer went off and you swapped pastry trays filling the kitchen with the sweet smell of sticky date pudding.
Zeff snapped his fingers at you as you were bringing the latest delicacy over. “Change aprons, you’re my ‘second’ from now on.”
You placed the tray down and called for a server to take the desserts to their respected tables before shaking your head at the owner of the Baratie.
“Zeff, I can’t. I mean, I could but I’m working on the fruit pies. They’re delicate and need-”
“I know, they need your undivided attention. Patty can keep an eye on them. I want you overseeing this kitchen now. No more dual sous-chefs. Seems like the list of people I can trust is growing thinner by the day.” Zeff instructed and looked at Sanji.
“You’re off the line. Now get out there and wait the tables. Go!”
Shoulders tense, Sanji tugged off his apron and threw it on the table. From the way you saw his jaw clench, you knew he was holding back some unsavoury comments. Once the furious cook had changed and left the kitchen, Zeff turned to where you had been watching Sanji and picked up on the sadness in your eyes.
“And you - don’t even think about letting that Little Eggplant pick up so much as a fork in here. Understood?”
You had almost not replied if the man hadn’t snapped his fingers. Focusing back, you realised he was staring at you with a hardened expression
“Yes, chef.” You nodded half-heartedly.
Zeff grunted and then disappeared to another part of the restaurant.
Patty walked by to set a new dish down on the table in front of you and handed you a fresh apron. He also noted the way your posture sank with Sanji’s absence.
“Come on, this kitchen isn’t going to run itself.” He said kindly. "You can see him later."
Masterlist here (for more One Piece)
#theladyofmanyfandoms#theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction#gif is not mine#vinsmoke sanji x y/n#sanji vinsmoke x you#sanji x y/n#vinsmoke sanji x reader#vinsmoke sanji imagine#sanji vinsmoke imagine#sanji x you#sanji vinsmoke x reader#sanji imagine#sanji x reader#sanji opla x reader#opla x y/n#opla!sanji x reader#opla imagine#sanji opla imagine#opla!sanji imagine#opla x reader
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listen to your heart! journaling ideas
emotional check-in: write about your current feelings. no judgment, no editing, no need to be aesthetically pleasing, just let your heart be free so you can understand what’s truly going on.
core values: list your core values and how they align with your decisions and choices you make. are you staying true to these values?
dreams and ambitions: be specific and detailed about what you desire, no matter how big or small. consider why you have these dreams, how important they are and how they make you feel.
barriers: journal about the barriers you find that are stopping you from following your heart. can they be owned or outlined? are they impossible to move? what can you do to achieve something similar?
heart healing: think about the time when your heart was broken (not only romantically). write about the experience and how you healed or about your ongoing healing. what lessons did you learn from that?
letters from the heart: write a letter to yourself or someone else about what you’ve been holding back. will you write about love, forgiveness, angriness or some truth?
heart vs head: explore a decision where your heart and head were in conflict. how did you solve the problem? were you satisfied?
gratitude: list things that you’re deeply grateful for. focus how each one touches your heart and the emotions you feel towards them.
#journaling#dear diary#self help#self improvement#self care#self love#wonyoungism#pink pilates princess#positivity#healing#girlblogging#just girly things#coquette#lana del rey#dolette#positive thoughts#be kind to yourself#do it for yourself#mental health#healing journey#that girl#it girl#dream girl#pinkcore#positive vibes#positive mental attitude#self awareness#self respect#self growth#positive thinking
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a small drabble for @sixteenth-day-event with the prompt "a silent grave"
tw for implied/referenced torture because, well, torture box, y'know? also potential slight suicide ideation
Sleep in Pandora’s Vault is fleeting, coming in flashes, quick increments that leave Dream more dazed and restless than before. It’s never an escape—even in his bursts of sleep, the incessant dripping of the crying obsidian plays the role of a backing symphony, and the ache of his body never leaves him for a moment. He’s never sure how long the sleep lasts—the last clock he burnt still hasn’t been replaced—but with how tired he feels, he can’t imagine it’s that long.
Before, he used to shift around between his moments of slumber. He’d walk up and wander around the cell, settling down in a different corner as if searching for a more comfortable spot. Now, though, his vision swims as rushes of vertigo overcome him whenever he tries to sit up, let alone walk around. He definitely got a head injury of some sorts a few visits ago, and not even healing potions provide an instant fix to those. But, even before he became afflicted with light-headedness, the prospect of moving lost all appeal, considering how his entire body flares with pain at any sort of motion. So, he stays still, even as the jagged obsidian digs into his back, aggravating the wounds there.
Sometimes, rarely, he’s granted true sleep, and he dreams. The dreams are never pleasant—it’s as though his mind only wishes to cycle through a few dreams, including recounts of sir’s visits, that day in the attachment vault, George and Sapnap, and more. Most of the time, he’s unaware that he’s dreaming, but this time he finds himself in the one dream he’s always lucid for.
He’s sitting beside a small, unremarkable grave, unable to move, as though he were tethered to it. It’s always silent. Not even the creatures of the world venture close, and it makes something perhaps akin to bitterness coil in his heart, that even the animals of his world that had been his steady companions don’t bother to visit him in death.
But, all things considered, it’s not the worst dream. Sure, the laughter of his friends the server members that echo from outside his vision grate on him, and their obvious joy in the world post-his demise is unsurprising but stings nonetheless, but it’s not painful. It’s not limbo nor Pandora, and sure he can’t feel the sun, and he’s not entirely sure his mind is conjuring the apparitions of the sky and trees correctly, but it’s still peaceful, in a way. He thinks if death were like this, maybe solving its mysteries wouldn’t be such a necessity.
And when he awakes to the sound of pistons, he thinks that maybe spending eternity in a silent grave wouldn’t be so bad.
#sixteenthdayevent#dreblr#I would've written more but I got distracted lol so just a short drabble this time#writing from the void
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From The Members to The Fans
〈 RUKI 〉
At the end he said, "I hope the GazettE will last forever," I think REITA meant he hopes the best view, that he saw from the stage in 2023, is what will continue forever.
The view he saw with the fans
Your happy faces
The place we could all scream together
It's a treasure that cannot be replaced.
I think he hoped it would be nice if that moment could last forever.
I remember you said you wanted to do a live show soon.
He was a kind and passionate man, someone who could openly say, "Even if something goes wrong, I have the most fun when the members get together and we can laugh like this."
I loved his honesty.
Every birthday, we jokingly tell each other that we should take care of each other's health, this year is no different.
The band will never be just the four of us.
No matter what anyone says.
You are our only bassist.
I believe you will always be next to me.
Everyone will feel your presence even if they cannot see you.
REITA's life he built with the GazettE will never disappear, it will always live on.
I will continue singing so it will be as if REITA is right next to me.
We won't become the kind of the GazettE REITA would hate.
I don't want to make you sad.
I believe we all have a limited time here but the human soul remains.
REITA's, the members and mine.
And the fans.
I want to continue to perform so everyone that has loved us, even when they become souls, can come to our lives forever.
It can only happen with each and every one of our fans, we can create this view that he wished to see forever.
That is why I want you to stay by my side and be there with us.
I know he would appreciate it if you remembered him with a smile, instead of sadness.
We will be determined to protect this band more than ever before.
We will make the forever that REITA wished for come true.
So, REITA, make sure to come to every live down from heaven.
There will always be a seat for you.
Things are going to be really busy now.
I will reach out again when there is a schedule made.
〈 麗 〉
To all the fans who supported REITA.
I think he was a tremendous source of support for everyone and myself.
I still cannot accept and face the fact that he is no longer with us and we will not be on stage together anymore.
Maybe this is one of many things I will gradually come to understand.
However, I strongly feel I need to have the strength in order to move forward, if I remain in sorrow, I will not be able to guarantee the forever he wished for.
I believe the path he had taken alongside everyone was invaluable and will live on in his heart, for everyone and himself for a long time to come.
He has given me so much and walked beside me for so long, he will remain as my best friend forever.
Please remember his words, memories and the love he shared in your hearts.
REITA will live on in everyone's heart.
I want to express how grateful I am for everyone supporting the GazettE and REITA.
〈 葵 〉
Of all things after working with the members and our staff, this is the one thing I did not want to do.
There were moments in the past where I almost gave up on my dream.
Every time, we would have a discussion about it, the members would push and pull me to not feel discouraged.
That is why the GazettE was able to keep moving forward.
REITA, you are not the one to wish for eternity, you are eternal.
I can't say something wise like "I'll carry your burden."
I wanted to play more music with you, I wanted to see more with you.
Even if it's the 5 of us surrounded by our fans, any kind of view would be amazing.
I wonder, it's difficult that I have so many things to say knowing none of it will come true.
Once I'm up there, I'm giving you a stern talk. You must be lonely because we're suddenly gone, so until we meet again, please rest up.
I have a little more work to do here.
Thank you for joining us on this long journey. Rest in peace.
〈 戒 〉
REITA had an big presence in my life, more than I can describe; all his words, saving me with his sound, the mood maker of the band, all I remember are the fun things, and above all, the way he shined on stage.
He was the best partner to have in the rhythm group.
That has not and will never change.
I want to carry his memory with me to continue the GazettE with a greater determination.
Lastly, to the fans and everyone involved in supporting us for the past 22 years.
Thank you so much.
I want to continue running forward with the five of us, I hope you will stay with us.
REITA
Thank you for your hard work.
With everyone by our sides, we will continue to protect the GazettE...I promise.
I don't want your 22 years go to waste, there are a lot of friends who don't want that either.
Don't forgot to come to the show!
Let's have another good drink together, yea?
#this was difficult#i apologize for any errors#the gazette#ruki#uruha#aoi#reita#kai#2024#translations
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Behavioral Tactics - Spencer Reid & Stiles Stilinski
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•Pairing - Spencer Reid x Reader x Stiles Stilinski
•Rating - 18+, Minors DNI - Smut - NSFW!!!
•Summary/Prompt - Someoneʼs fantasies about having Spencer Reid & Stiles Stilinski at the same time (Why choose, right?) are about to come true, after a little bit of wine and a lot of flirting.
•Warnings/Content - piv unprotected (DONT DO THIS KIDS - AND WITH 2 DIFF DUDES JUST LET IT BE FANTASY AND BE HORNY IN YOUR BRAIN HOLES OKAY) ; A-Z all bases covered bc Iʼm one horny bish ; Reader- focused 3-some if that wasnʼt evident ; Spencer and Stiles are HOT SO JUST BE WARNED OKAY ; Mentions of alcohol, some lil bits of bondage and such thingies, SO MUCH PRAISE, petnames and such IʼM SORRY IʼM CHEESY OKAY
•Word Count - 3.5k
•Authorʼs Note(s) - Yaʼll this is just PURE self indulgence at this point, so if anyoneʼs also into it, cool cool cool - I pretty much imagine reader to be Stiles' age and they're in their mid-to-late 20's with Spence around 16 years their senior but you can imagine it however you want! // ALSO TYSM FOR ALL THE NOTES ON MY FIRST FEW WRITING BLURBS OMF YAʼLL MAKE MY DAY I SWEARRRRR
•Additional Tags - Switch!Reader but mostly Sub!Reader, Switch!Spencer, Dom!Stiles, Slightly Tipsy Wine Night Turns Into PURE FILTH, Consent AS ALWAYS Is Important, Brat!Reader fr fr, Boys Whimpering I JUST 🤌🏻
Spencer wasnʼt usually one to drink, but this was a special occasion, he says - the three of us werenʼt able to see one another often, and so a second half-empty wine glass was currently in his hand, in danger of being spilled as Stiles finishes his story and makes the older man laugh so hard his face goes red.
“You told him you would what?ˮ He crows, eyebrows raised.
“I said it once, Iʼm not saying it again.ˮ Stiles shakes his head, reaching for the wine bottle Iʼve currently got clutched to my side. “Hey, refill me, why donʼt you?ˮ
I shake my head; Iʼm feeling fuzzy and light, and enjoying the game of keep-away far too much at the moment to let it go. The idea of them having to wrestle it away from me gives me a funny feeling in my stomach, but I ignore it.
Or so Iʼd thought. Because the moment the idea crosses my mind, their eyes catch it. Micro-expressions. I knew the term well from many late-night conversations with my two close friends, as they were both FBI agents, one specifically focused on analyzing behavior. How had I expected to hide this from them? It was only a matter of time until-
“Sheʼs doing it again.ˮ
“Huh? Iʼm doing…what? Iʼm not doing anything.ˮ
“Dilated pupils,ˮ Spencer notes, as if heʼs diagnosing something clinical. “Reddened skin. Iʼd stand to wager…elevated heart rate, as well?ˮ
Getting up from their shared couch, Stiles reaches for the wine, but instead, his hand brushes my neck with a careful look in his eye. Iʼm fixated, unable to move or speak, or really even breathe, to think of it.
“Youʼre right on the money, Reid.ˮ He nods, his fingers at my pulse point. My skin is burning at the sudden intimacy.
“Whatʼre you guys going on about?ˮ
“Still playing innocent?ˮ Stiles chuckles, backing up. I let out a heavy breath, half- caught in my throat over a newly forming lump.
“I have no idea what…ˮ
“Weʼre talking about?ˮ Spencer finishes, licking his lips and leaning forward. “Oh, but I think you do. Donʼt you agree, Stiles?ˮ
Stiles nods, not even looking at him. Theyʼre both hyper-focused on me, and the attention feels both fantastic and utterly unbearable at the same time.
“Every time weʼve gotten together, the three of us,ˮ Stiles continues, reaching out a hand and beckoning me forward. They shuffle apart, making a space between the two where Iʼd fit…if I wanted. “Itʼs undeniable. The looks you give.ˮ
My heart is in my throat, eyeing the space that Spencerʼs now patting. I set the bottle aside, the game utterly forgotten.
“I-ˮ
“Did we misread?ˮ He raises an eyebrow, setting down his glass. “Iʼd thought for sure you were thinking of us all…together.ˮ
The sip of wine Iʼd been taking that turned more into a chug comes back up into my glass. I cough, pushing it away. Stiles takes it, making sure Iʼm alright before continuing Spencerʼs thought.
“Sweetheart, if weʼre making you uncomfortable-ˮ
“No, not at all.ˮ I blurt, looking back and forth between them. Spencer, with his hair slicked back and slightly disheveled, who Iʼve thought of time and time again but never had the courage to do anything about besides call out his name in my late nights alone with myself; Stiles, my best friend, my confidante…one of the most attractive men Iʼve ever known. The whirlwind of explicit mind pictures involving him goes back a long, long time. Yes, Iʼve thought about it. Dreamt of it. But for it to actually happen, to no longer just be a fantasy, was never something Iʼd anticipated.
“I told you,ˮ Spencer smirks, not at all cocky - just knowing he was right.
I flush. “You guys talk about me alot, huh?ˮ
"About us, sometimes.ˮ Stiles nods, still eyeing me and beckoning me to sit. “Look, really, if you arenʼt into the idea, Iʼll back off. Weʼll back off,ˮ He amends, a short glance to his side. “But honestly, itʼs been a long time coming, hasnʼt it? You and us.ˮ
His words are divine, luring me in. Iʼm taking his hand before my mind can catch up, and sitting in the space between them. The heat from their bodies is only a further spur into this dangerous new game weʼre playing, now.
“I think…youʼre okay with it, arenʼt you?ˮ Spencer murmurs, gentle but teasing. He brushes my hair from my neck, leaning closer.
“Youʼre drunk,ˮ I let out a nervous laugh, shivering at his touch. Stiles is mirroring him on my left, although heʼs a bit more brazen, closer to me, his lips at my ear.
“Not even close,ˮ He chuckles, breath tickling my skin. “A glass or two isnʼt nearly enough to get me drunk. How about you, Spence?ˮ
“Nope.ˮ
“Well, I-ˮ My eyes flutter shut when Stilesʼ kiss hits my neck, brain going fuzzy. Oh, my god, what?
“Are you?ˮ Spencer goads, his hand resting on my thigh. “Iʼve certainly seen you drunk off of at least twice what youʼve had tonight, and from that point of reference, Iʼm going to say youʼre more in the buzzed-to-tipsy range.ˮ
“Just say no, I mean it,ˮ Stiles pulls back, his voice a husky whisper. “Consentʼs more important, Iʼll just take care of business myself, if I gotta.ˮ
“Iʼm fairly sober,ˮ I admit, looking at him. Gods, I want to kiss him. I want to kiss them both. “And Iʼm okay with it if you are. If…you both are?ˮ
“Okay with it?ˮ Spencer laughs. I catch the edge of his grin out of the corner of my eye, unsure who to focus on.
“I want it.ˮ I swallow, ready and willing to admit to every brazen thought Iʼd ever had. The temptation is much too strong, the lull of their voices and hands and lips and eyes and… Oh, good heavens, here we fucking go.
“Thatʼs evident in your behavior,ˮ Spence teases, hand slowly inching up my leg. “Do you want to lead, or be lead?ˮ
Not one to wait on me to respond, Stiles is back at my neck, and Iʼm finding it hard to speak. Rather than attempt words at this point, I tug at Spencerʼs collar, eyes on his lips.
His gaze, heavy-lidded and lust blown, drinks in my desperation for but a moment, then heʼs kissing me - and what a feeling it is, to have their attention centered on me. All at once, distracting and overwhelming, yet I canʼt get enough. Spencer kisses like he needs air and Iʼm oxygen, devouring me to the point Iʼm almost being pushed into Stilesʼ lap.
“Hey, there,ˮ Sti chuckles, gripping me tighter the moment Spencer backs off. “My turn?ˮ
I nod, more nervous about this than even Spencer had made me. Something about Stiles has always just…gotten to me, that way. And now is certainly no exception, with him pulling me into his lap and pulling my face down to his own.
Kissing Stiles is much different than kissing Spencer; Where Spence is hungry, Stiles is almost animalistic, despite being entirely and simply human - he makes up for it in the passion he brings, deep and hot and breathy kisses that make my head spin.
“We should- uh, my room?ˮ I mumble against him, reaching for a hand from either one of them. They both take me up on it, and let me lead them up the stairs. I can feel their bemusement coming off of them in waves, sprinkled into the desire that has them so warm Iʼm already sweating in my minimal clothes.
Once the doorʼs shut behind us, and Iʼm sat on my bed, their gazes have mefeeling so indescribably small.
“So eager, sweet girl.ˮ Stiles cooes.
“Look at you, weʼve barely touched you and youʼre already squirming.ˮ Spencer smirks, slowly undoing his belt without breaking eye contact. “Think you can be patient for us?ˮ
My eyes flick between them, one locking the door while the other, taller one is approaching me; I instinctively reach for him, but Spence tuts, pushing me back.
“Guess not,ˮ He chuckles, motioning for me to move back towards the headboard. I have a sinking feeling I know exactly where heʼs going with this, and I whine in protest as Iʼm proved right - wrists pinned above my head, secured with the very belt that had just been around his hips.
“Youʼre gonna be trouble, arenʼt you?ˮ
“Of course she is,ˮ Stiles laughs, coming to sit on the bed with us. They both gaze at me, helpless as I am, with the utmost mix of adoration and desire. I had expected to feel enjoyment from this, but safety? Oh, itʼs the cherry on top of a very delicious cake.
“No, Iʼll be good - I swear."
“Of course you will, sweetheart.ˮ Spencer tips my chin up to him as he climbs on top of me. It kills me that I canʼt reach up and touch him, and with that little smirk spreading across his face, he knows. Between him leaning down to kiss me again, and the gentle but firm hands of Stiles snaking up my thighs, Iʼm breathless and pleading.
“Please, please, just-ˮ
Spencerʼs lips cut me off, and I let myself get lost in the haze of him for a moment, just a moment. My attention snaps back into focus when I feel my shorts being tugged down my thighs.
“You two…ʼtryna kill me.ˮ I moan, and I can feel Spencer smile against me.
“Actually, the likelihood of dying due to any type of sexual arousal or intercourse is fairly minimal, so youʼre likely in the clear.ˮ He quips.
“If I could roll my eyes-ˮ
“Oh, weʼll give you something to roll your eyes back for.ˮ Stilesʼ voice comes from right above my heat, and I shudder, bucking up to try to grasp any sort of friction.
“Calm down, pretty girl.ˮ Spencer chides, his hand gripping my jaw and bringing me deeper into the kiss. I sigh, giving in, and simply allow his kisses on my lips, my neck, and Stilesʼ slow and agonizing undressing of my lower half.
He lets out a low noise, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, once my panties are discarded. “Youʼre a fuckinʼ mess, princess. Is that all for us?ˮ
Itʼs all I can do to let out an approving whine, a not so subtle begging for something, anything to break this coil built up in my belly. My arms are starting to hurt from the amount of tugging Iʼve been doing to try to get free, but I can barely even feel it. I just need them, both of them, so badly.
“Cʼmere, get a look at her.ˮ Stiles pulls Spencer back, and he pouts a moment before focusing on me - well, the lower half of me.
“Fuck.ˮ Spencer groans, rubbing his chin with a slack-open mouth. “You werenʼt kidding. Pretty girl, youʼre wet.ˮ
“Are you gonna do anything about it?ˮ My tone is desperate, but entirely bratty. The looks I get from the pair of them tells me Iʼm gonna pay for that.
“We could just leave you there and take care of ourselves.ˮ Spencer snaps back, but I can see in his eyes thatʼs the last thing he wants. I donʼt have to be a profiler to know how badly he wants to be inside me right now.
“Or we could do it together,ˮ Stiles adds, watching my reaction. “Oh, you would like that a little too much, though, wouldnʼt you? Does that get you off, sweet girl?ˮ
I nod. “Okay, Iʼll behave, just please, touch me or something?ˮ
“Sheʼs so pretty when sheʼs desperate for us, isnʼt she?ˮ Stiles smirks, leaning over me tauntingly. One hand traces lightly over my thigh, ever so gently. Spencer sits right on the other side of me, his grasp a bit more firm, a lot closer to where Iwant them to be.
“Aw, I think she deserves at least a little something.ˮ Spencer cooes, bringing his free hand to his mouth. I watch in awe as he sticks his fingers in and brings them out with a pop, so sure of himself as he brings them to my folds. Gentle but swift, he inserts one, then two fingers, once he hears the noise of relief I let out.
“S-Spence-ˮ
“There you go, beautiful. Just needed someone to touch you, huh?ˮ
The long, practiced fingers of Spencer Reid send my mind into a tailspin; Unable to think of anything other than the sheer pleasure and joy of knowing this is actually happening, I canʼt bring myself to feel any sort of self-consciousness - I only know the sweet nothings they whisper, and once Iʼve hit my limit and cried out for Spencer, how they trade off and now itʼs Stilesʼ turn to learn my body.
Somehow, though his touch is different, itʼs equally as pleasant, from the tugs he makes against my sweet spot to the thumb rubbing circles against my throbbing clit. Only when Iʼve came for him, as well, does Spencer gently push him aside, positioning himself between my folds with a hungry groan.
Stiles climbs up to kiss me, and Spencerʼs kiss…is somewhere else entirely. Iʼm mewling against the lips that suck on mine, bucking up despite myself into Spencerʼs face. He takes it well, only gripping my thighs harder and pressing his tongue deeper into my core. I can feel myself leaking onto his chin, and like a man starved, he eats with a deepseated hunger and noises that make my stomach twist. Mumbles and groans of ‘you taste so goodʼ push me over the edge once, twice, I lose count.
When itʼs time for the expected switching, Iʼm aching to feel something more, and it seems Spencer can sense this; while he climbs up to kiss me, he also sets to releasing my binds.
“Wanna know a little secret of mine?ˮ He whispers, voice low in my ear. “Iʼd like to see you take a little bit of your control back…just a bit.ˮ
The release I give into Stilesʼ mouth as I kiss Spencer, now that Iʼm free to do whatever I please with my hands, is monumental. Iʼm tearing at Spenceʼs clothes, and he responds with pulling my shirt over my head, his mouth latching onto my breasts. I cry out, more than ready for everything this will give me. It doesnʼt take long for the three of us to get undressed, heat of the moment as it is.
“Please-please-ˮ
“Thereʼs no need to whine, love.ˮ Spencer murmurs, tracing down a pattern from my lips to my chest. “What do you need? Use your words.ˮ
“Someone needs to be inside me, and now.ˮ
This earns a chuckle from the both of them.
“Are we flipping a coin?ˮ Stiles quips, sidling up behind me as Spence rolls off to my front.
“Statistically speaking, it is the most-mmm-ˮ His voice lilts as I reach for him, eyes fluttering when I stroke. “Now thatʼs not…fair.ˮ
Stiles reaches over across my hip, circling my clit. “Behave, princess.ˮ
I rut back against him, earning a low moan.
“Someone. Either. Both?ˮ
“Now that sounds difficult to…position-ˮ Spence grunts.
Stiles takes the opportunity of my distraction to shift me a bit, pressing his tip to my folds. One rut forward and heʼs swiftly entered, making my hand and voice stutter against Spence. “Good girl,ˮ Stiles cooes, brushing my hair off of my neck and kissing at it as he works to find a pace inside me. “Good girl.ˮ
I whine - really, thereʼs no other word for it - and do my best to continue pleasuring Spencer, but the overstimulation of it all makes my brain go numb. Heʼs helpful, though, fucking up into my hand and echoing Stilesʼ praises with gentle and passionate kisses to my lips, my chest, my jaw. When Sti rolls me over, pulling out and climbing onto me before getting back to it, Spencer backs up and eyes us with utterly delicious lust, his hand pumping slow and hard against himself.
The noises filling my room are lewd, downright nasty, but the feelings are just so good, I canʼt bring myself to feel anything but disgusting pleasure from it all. Have we been here for hours now? Days? It feels like itʼs been forever and yet no time at all. The scratches Iʼve left down Stilesʼ back wonʼt be going anywhere for likely just as long. When the beautiful man wants to use my mouth, Iʼm ready and willing, and take his load without blinking. I doubt Iʼll ever get over the sight of him letting go and howling my name, either.
“There you go…did sʼgood for me.ˮ He praises, wiping the stray trail from my lips as he backs up, a sweet kiss to my cheek as well. “Spence?ˮ
“Only if sheʼs up for it,ˮ Spencer approaches slowly, eyeing me carefully. “How about it, pretty girl?ˮ
I nod fervently, and he likely would have laughed if he wasnʼt so overtaken. I reach out to pull him onto me, but he lifts me up and mumbles something about it ‘being my turn to be on topʼ. Hesitantly, I adjust myself until Iʼm hovering over him. Something about those eyes on me has my heart thudding so hard Iʼd almost think heʼd hear it; The noise that rips from me when I sit down onto him is almost criminal.
“Youʼre in control,ˮ He tells me, hands on my hips as but a guide to rock me back and forth. “Do what you will with me.ˮ
I set to making a pace with him, and to my enjoyment, Spencer is a whimperer when I do it just right. “You feel… fuck, you feel so good on me, baby. Better than I ever imagined, my mind canʼt even do you justice, and thatʼs… saying something, oh my god-ˮ
“Sweet talker,ˮ I coo, grinding against him just to get more of those wonderful whimpers. “Youʼre gonna make me… Spence-ˮ
“Please, cum all over me, youʼve earned it, havenʼt you? Been so fucking good for me.ˮ
“I-I need-ˮ The words wonʼt escape, so I simply show him, bringing his hands to my breasts and motioning, pull.
Heʼs a diligent submissive for the moment, doing as I ask. And the waves crash over me and out of me and onto him with such intensity I almost lose vision. More, I want more, and Iʼm begging for it so much that he canʼt say no, rubbing a pattern on my pounding clit until Iʼm seeing stars.
“Doing okay, baby?ˮ
“I could take you two…all night.ˮ I moan. The energy to do so may put me in a coma, but…
“I wanna cum in you,ˮ He grips my chin, forcing me to look straight into his eyes. “Can I? Is that okay?ˮ
"Yes, so very okay.ˮ
As Spencer chases his high, heʼs sloppier and thrusting up into me with the loudest noises of the night from him, and again I lose count of the edges he sends me over; A sweet melody, him calling out to me as he topples over his edge and comes down, both of us running down the space where we meet. I collapse onto his chest, and he strokes my hair, soft and sweet praises and kisses a stark contrast to the dirty things weʼd all done together tonight.
A strange noise rips from the edge of the bed, and we turn to look and see Stiles, completely passed out and snoring.
“Is he…?ˮ
“He is.ˮ
We laugh, careful not to wake the poor boy as Spencer gets to work cleaning me up. Once heʼs done so, I tug Stiles up into bed with us, relishing in them holding me on either side.
“Mmmm…sleepy.ˮ He groans, snuggling into me. “That was fuckinʼ something.ˮ
“Very much something.ˮ Spencer agrees, smirking on the other side of me.
“Something we should do again sometime?ˮ
“Yes!ˮ Stiles whines. “Just…lemme sleep more first, and Iʼm ready…tʼgo…ˮ
Spencer and I laugh again, and itʼs clearly a unanimous decision - this will happen again. And thank the gods, because I certainly havenʼt gotten enough of them just yet.
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taylor swift lyrics, the tortured poets department edition, part one
fortnight
▸ i was supposed to be sent away but they forgot to come and get me.
▸ i was a functioning alcoholic till nobody noticed my new aesthetic.
▸ no one here's to blame but what about your quiet treason?
▸ for a fortnight there, we were forever.
▸ i took the miracle move-on drug, the effects were temporary.
▸ i love you, it's ruining my life.
▸ thought of calling you but you won't pick up.
the tortured poets department
▸ who uses typewriters anyway?
▸ you're in self-sabotage mode.
▸ we're modern idiots.
▸ you smoked then ate seven bars of chocolate.
▸ i chose this cyclone with you.
▸ sometimes i wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me.
▸ so tell me, who else is gonna know me?
▸ that's the closest i've come to my heart exploding.
my boy only breaks his favorite toys
▸ you should've seen them when they first got me.
▸ i only break my favourite toys.
▸ i should've known it was a matter of time.
▸ we could've played for keeps this time.
▸ i know i'm just repeating myself. put me back on my shelf.
▸ i'll tell you that [you/they] run because [you/they] love me.
▸ i knew too much.
▸ you saw forever so you smashed it up.
▸ once i fix me, you're gonna miss me.
▸ you took me out of my box, stole my tortured heart, left all these broken parts and told me i'm better off but i'm not.
down bad
▸ for a moment, i knew cosmic love.
▸ now i'm down bad, crying at the gym.
▸ everything comes out of teenage petulance.
▸ fuck it if i can't have [you/them].
▸ i might just die, it would make no difference.
▸ i might just not get up, i might just stay down bad.
▸ fuck it, i was in love.
so long, london
▸ my spine split from carrying us up the hill.
▸ i stopped trying to make you laugh.
▸ how much sad did you think i had in me?
▸ i didn't opt in to be your odd man out.
▸ i'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free.
▸ you say i abandoned the ship but i was going down with it.
▸ my friends said it isn't right to be scared every day of a love affair.
▸ just how low did you think i'd go before i'd self-implode?
▸ you swore that you loved me but where were the clues?
▸ i'm just mad as hell 'cause i loved this place.
but daddy i love him
▸ i just learned these people only raise you to cage you.
▸ i just learned these people try and save you 'cause they hate you.
▸ they slammed the door on my whole world. the one thing i wanted.
▸ you should see your face.
▸ no i'm not coming to my senses.
▸ i know [you/they]'re crazy but [you/they]'re the one i want.
▸ all my plans were laid.
▸ growing up precocious sometimes means not growing up at all.
▸ i'll tell you something right now, i'd rather burn my whole life down than listen to one more second of all this bitching and moaning.
▸ i'll tell you something about my good name, it's mine alone to disgrace.
▸ i don't cater to all these vipers dressed in empath's clothing.
▸ god save the most judgmental creeps who say they want what's best for me.
▸ you ain't gotta pray for me if all you want is gray for me. then it's just white noise and it's just my choice.
▸ scandal does funny things to pride but brings lovers closer.
▸ fuck 'em, it's over.
▸ time, doesn't it give some perspective?
fresh out the slammer
▸ fresh out the slammer, i know who my first call will be to.
▸ handcuffed to the spell i was under, for just one hour of sunshine.
▸ years of labor, locks and ceilings, in the shade of how [they were] feeling.
▸ it's gonna be alright, i did my time.
▸ as i said in my letters, now that i know better, i will never lose my baby again.
▸ my friends tried but i wouldn't hear it, watched me daily disappearing.
▸ ain't no way i'm gonna screw up, now that i know what's at stake here.
florida!!!
▸ you can beat the heat if you beat the charges too.
▸ they said i was a cheat, i guess it must be true.
▸ this city reeks of driving myself crazy.
▸ little did you know, your home's really only a town you're just a guest in.
▸ i'm barricaded in the bathroom with a bottle of wine.
▸ well, me and my ghosts, we had a hell of a time.
▸ yes, i'm haunted but i'm feeling just fine.
▸ all my girls got their lace and their crimes.
▸ i did my best to lay to rest all of the bodies that have ever been on my body.
▸ i've got some regrets, i'll bury them in florida.
▸ tell me i'm despicable, say it's unforgivable.
▸ love left me like this and i don't want to exist.
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