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nouearth · 5 months

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my favorite scent is you.

bruce wayne x male reader.

summary: bruce needs to be taken care of too (in which reader believes it's through the form of sex).

wc: 3.5k. genre: smut, angst (kinda?). warnings: top!bruce, consensual!somnophilia, blowjobs, slow mouth-fucking, fondling, reader is asleep, bruce and reader are the same age, reader also grew up with bruce, mentions of parental death, trauma-bonding.

notes: it's been a while since i've done a brucey smut (and also fulfilled a request), so here ya go! actually my first time writing about somnophilia, so be easy on me, lmao. it was harder than i thought! also i'm trying a new layout,,, kinda, don't mind me.

“Do you remember that night? When my parents… you know.”

It had been a little less than a decade, but the uneasiness you felt when mentioning your parents’ death was akin to hovering your palm above an open flame. The flicker of the heat frightened you. Though, you couldn’t help but feel magnetic towards it—closer and closer—until you felt a strike to your calloused hand.

Just a little more, and you’ll break free.

It was striking how your wounds maintained their novelty. Years of skin hardening, scabbing and layering over the memory of Bruce breaking the news to you on that night, and the slightest mention of your parents tore it open with little defiance.

“Yeah…” Bruce whispered, and a sudden impulse to hold you prevailed over him. He turned over on his side, slipping his arms over and under your frame, and pulled your back flushed to his chest. You eased with a melting squirm, a physical gratitude, and then another when you pressed a kiss to his forearm. “It was supposed to be Alfred telling you, but I insisted.”

“Really?” Your curiosity was piqued and you felt Bruce nod into the crown of your head, breathing you in deep like his favourite cologne. A scent he’d never wear himself because it matched you perfectly. “How come?”

“Well, I had no one other than Alfred when my parents died. He tried his best, but we barely had time to grieve. A bunch of responsibilities were bestowed upon him overnight; my parents’ estate, numerous paperworks, the press and media, not to mention the funeral service. It was… a lot for him.”

Bruce sighed, squeezing you tighter for support as he continued. “I remember reading—signing off things that I knew nothing about the very next day.” He then laughed, a bitterness surfing for air in the bass of his voice. “I didn’t even have a signature yet.”

“I’m sorry…” A heaviness sank you and Bruce deeper into the mattress. You latched onto Bruce’s arm for support, held him gently, and found levity through the brush of his lips, as if he was saying—consoling you through the black void: I’m here, I’m here.

“Is that why you guys hired my parents?”

“Mm-hm, we needed help around the manor while Alfred had bigger duties to tend to. And I’m glad he suggested the idea as much as I was apprehensive about it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have met such an incredible family. A year became two, then another two, then another, and…” Bruce recalled the sounds, the visions of red and blue flashing—blaring into the sky. “Which was why I thought it would be best if it came from me. So I could be that someone that I desperately needed during my grieving.”

“You shouldn’t have been thinking about that though… I mean, what—we were only fifteen? Coming from your background, you should’ve been… cocky, annoying, emo, selfish, like every other teenager.

“I guess your personality kind of compensated for that—” He amused himself with some levity.

“Hey!” You choked out a laugh, then lightly elbowed his stomach behind you. “Ass.”

“Ow,” Bruce pressed a smile to the back of your head, inhaling your scent again. “I did have that emo phase though.”

“Oh yeah—” Within his hold, you turned your body to meet Bruce face-to-face as a flood of memories came rushing in. You greeted him with a smile that he was able to single out from within the dark. Then, he made sure your presence was acknowledged with a chaste kiss.

“Your hair came down to your nose and stuff—oh! And you kept wearing the same hoodie too.”

“Yeah, okay—we get it. Not my best look.” He groaned, tearing himself away from you as your descriptions of Bruce suddenly developed into powerfully cringe-inducing memories. As embarrassing as the past was, he was glad it brought you some kind of merriment. He’d been scolded multiple times by numerous people, though namely Alfred, to treat you better.

You and Bruce weren’t always close. In all honesty, it took your parents’ death that empowered you two to stick together more than ever. Where darkness used to storm over the roof of the manor, you and Bruce managed to conjure a light that illuminated a path to find sanctuary within each other.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” The moonlight reflecting through the bedroom window casted shadows across Bruce’s profile. Wrinkles you’ve never noticed before were accentuated; eye-bags that you’ve been nagging at him to take care of deepened; glimpses of a boy who was forced to grow up.

He turned when you reached over to trace over the spotlighted features. A single digit caressed the bumpy bridge of his nose; the stubble that tickled you whenever you kissed; the cut over his broad chin that was your favorite spot to kiss,; the scar over his left cheek that had been healing for months, only to restart the process again after Bruce’s late night endeavors.

“Let me take care of you now.”

You weren’t sure how Bruce took your proposal. Recalling the moment had you adding unnecessary details that all-the-more exploded the situation into a narrative you couldn’t exactly trust.

Wait… he made a weird face when I told him. I remember a face! No, idiot—he just had an itch on his cheek. Oh.

I don’t remember his phone ringing… You think he was trying to get out of the conversation? Maybe? He usually has his phone set on the loudest volume possible…

Oh god, he probably thinks I’m some kind of sex-crazed addict. Well, aren’t you— No?! I just—wanted to take care of him… We rarely see each other these days and I doubt the lunches I’d make for him add much to that narrative. I needed something more. Wow, I’ve been talking to myself for this long?

You probably look crazed, especially if someone were to walk in the bedroom at this moment, but you’d be too deep into your thoughts to hardly notice. If you did notice, you’d probably go on a tangent about how Bruce was probably disgusted by how you could even suggest a thing like that.

Your toes and fingers curled at the recollection you were certain happened.

“So… I know you’ve been out late at night—” “(M/N), it’s not what you—” “Shh, I’m too good of a catch for you to cheat on me.” “I mean, keep that cockiness up and maybe—” “Excuse me?!” “I’m joking.” “Uh-huh, well, keep joking and I might have to rescind my offer.” “Your offer?” “Look, I haven’t seen you much lately. It’s not your fault. You’re busy.” “I know—I just need to deal with this…” “Bruce, you look—you are tired. You’re overworked and whenever we do spend time together, you’re asleep!” “I’m trying my b—” “You’re trying your best, I know! And I don’t know what you do at night, not sure if I do want to know, but… two-three hours of sleep is not enough. You’re killing your body.” “Hm…” “And one day, you’re going to crack and I just…” “Just..?” “I’m not sure how to… put it.” “What is it?” “If you want to… and it’s entirely up to you, but…” “Jesus, spit it out—” “I— if I’m still asleep, and you want to somehow… relieve your stress..?” “Oh—” “I’m all yours.”

The second hand on the clock cycled slower, almost as if it was mocking you for being so desperate, impatient, and doubting. Yet, at the same time—if clocks could have a personality—there was a dormant kindness in the rhythm of the minute hand striking every corner of the wheel. Gentle and soothing, the lids of your eyes grew heavier with every passing second as the sound of the clock counted sheeps for you.

Forty, forty-one… fourty-two… Forty… three…

The floor creaked despite Bruce’s best efforts to remain light on his feet. You’ve always been a light sleeper, even at the sound of wind whistling you’d jolt up to, but surprisingly—nothing.

As he approached his side of the bed, his eyes settled on you like always. To Bruce, it was a sweet sigh of relief to come back home to you again. Sometimes, a miracle depending on the crimes of that night. Nightly patrols have taken a toll on him; on his body, on his mentality; but being in your presence always—no matter what—brought him back to the solitude his life was at before being laboured by vengeance.

Coldly, he sat on the edge, careful to not wake you, as he dried off the damp strands of his washed hair with a towel. Then, he chased after the tremors off his bare body with several rubs of the coarse towel, gathering water molecules into the material until he was somewhat dry. It was the typical nightly routine of Bruce Wayne, in which he was guilty of vacating you of.

Bruce witnessed—took part in—how you ended your night. A late night snack, a book, a tv show—and he’d stroke your hair to the sound of his heartbeat until you were out like a light. He’d never forget to kiss your forehead as if it was an enchantment that would guard him for the rest of the night. Naively, Bruce was apprehensive of the subtle chance of reducing his survival rate if he were to miss a night of seeing you—touching you. Even if you had the biggest argument with him, even if you were in the wrong, he’d make sure to see you one last time before escaping into the shadows, saving the city—saving you.

After dressing himself in a fresh set of briefs, the soft cushions of his bed and pillows enticed him back into sanctuary. He crawled back into bed and instinctively found his arms around your body, warm and full against the recovering bruises against his own flesh. Skipping dinner was a norm, but he felt satiated when he could hear you breathe, feel your pulse, and watch you writhe within his doting affection.

“Goodnight.” Bruce muttered as he nestled his nose into your hair, another deep inhale of your scent to ground him that you were still present in his life. And then another as his head turned towards your neck, a familiar smell that taunted him to lean closer until his nose pressed softly into the crook of your skin.

White musk.

The top note of his favourite cologne on you. It lingered delightfully in Bruce’s nostrils, and there was a reason why he always urged you to spray it on date nights. It was intoxicating.

Come to think of it, Bruce’s night routine hadn’t completely checked off all of his tasks for the night. After he would come home, it was a no-brainer to shower off the sweat, dirt, and sometimes blood, from his patrols. He would scrape his hair clean with the shampoo suds, mint and cooling on his scalp. Then he’d move onto his body. The suds would trickle down his torso, gather in his muscles, and he’d add onto the bubbles with his body wash, lathering himself from head to toe. And almost always, the slightest brush of his length would break the restraints the night had locked his sanity behind. It was always you that managed to free him. As he would squeeze himself, fondle his sack while the suds dribbled down his leg and feet, he’d think of you—miss you in ways he wouldn’t dare to ignore, ways in which he was ashamed to desert you of.

“I’m all yours.” Your proclamation echoed, ran marathons in Bruce’s mind as the white musk led him astray. The simple thought of him taking advantage of you guilted him, churned his stomach until it was bundled into thick knots, but it made his heart race.

“(M/N)?” He whispered. The bed creaked when Bruce peered over you, and he was met by silence. A few soft snores joined the ticking of the clock, but for the most part, silence.

I shouldn’t… Bruce convinced himself. It was… shameful to even think of taking advantage of you like that—in your unconscious state, in your vulnerability. You looked peaceful in your slumber and knowing how hard you worked, he wouldn’t dare to ruin it because of his own selfish desires.

He sighed, rolling flat onto his back again, hoping the uncomfortable ache in his briefs would settle down in a minute or so. When it didn’t, Bruce tended to it with a brief re-adjustment of the way his length stood. Then again as he twitched in defiance.

Again, as he throbbed.

And again, when his briefs couldn’t support his throbbing erection anymore.

Bruce turned his head to the side, scanning your unconscious state. His eyes traced the languid form of your body as it sank deep into the mattress, hugging the air to your body while he slowly pulled the blanket off of you.

The bed creaked as inch by inch, Bruce scooted closer to you, turning back to lie on his side and nearly spooning you again. His movements were sluggish, apprehensive to wake you, but at the same time, there was an adrenaline rush surging through him knowing he could be caught any second (despite your permission).

His hand felt it as it caressed your arm in singular, docile strokes. Then his breath, as he leaned closer, pressing himself against you again, and slipped a hand under your shirt. Your bare stomach rested warmly against his calloused palm, and he felt your breath hitch, your stomach tensed, every evidence of your presence, as Bruce ran a palm upwards to touch your chest once, then back down to bravely slither under the waistband of your boxers.

“Fuck…” Bruce’s breath unevened, struggling to keep a steady rhythm, when his palm gently groped a handful of your flaccid cock, a complete opposite of the shameful erection he was prodding near your bottom. You writhed once, and he quickly paused with a shudder as you suddenly turned to lie on your back, smacking the dryness in your throat away as you drove yourself into deeper slumber.

He found it unusual how you haven’t awakened by now, but the cynical part of him pleaded for you to remain asleep—until he had his way with you.

Gently, Bruce lifted your hips to pull down the remainder of your boxers off until you were bare in all of your glory before him. Your balls lay briefly in between your legs before they were back to being fondled in his warm palms. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous like this…”

Droplets of sweat formed over Bruce’s hairline as he sluggishly maneuvered himself to kneel over your unconscious state. His thighs hardened, flexed as he maintained his balance over you. He stroked his cock with his free-hand; to the gentle snores you poured out, to your slightly parted lips that he could easily spread open with his girth, and to his surprise, to the stiffness of your cock as it stirred awake from his constant fondling.

What are you dreaming about? Are you dreaming of me? Are you dreaming of being fucked by me? Bruce groaned as he witnessed the once softened features of your face stiffened into diffident lust. Your breath unknowingly quickened when Bruce began stroking your cock together with his in one grasp. Your body writhed with uncomfortable pleasure as if you wanted whatever was happening to you to stop, yet the throbbing veins of your cock begged Bruce for more—to hold you for longer, to keep doing as he pleased.

Bruce forgot what it was like to have you like this; to have you squirming beautifully beneath him, dripping in heavy pre-cum while simultaneously having your cock lathered in his own fluid. He was enticed by your every movement, squirming and writhing confined by the state of slumber as you couldn’t stop him. You couldn’t stop the uncomfortable pleasure that was happening to you because you were dreaming a dream that refrained you from resisting your boyfriend.

I know you want it. Fuck… I know you want my cum, (M/N). He paused briefly to press his forehead into yours, sweat dripping off his face and onto your body in his maneuver, and breathed languidly against your lips to find the parting in order to breathe his lewd thoughts into you. Bruce was careless, dangerously brave as he slipped a tongue inside of you to spread your mouth open further. You made a sound, but he muted it with a swallow as he ravished you like honey on a spoon. Remnants of mint lingered on his tongue, and as much as he wanted to continue tasting you, he needed to relieve himself.

He was close.

Carefully, he dragged himself over your chest and kneeled over your chest. Bruce’s cock hung heavy above your slumber, dripping in thick strings of pre-cum from the plump tip—a shameful exhibit of how much this had turned him on, how much he had been deprived of this act for so long.

Open wide. It was morbid. Bruce never thought himself of ever once doing this obscene act, but the guilt that had been the cause of his apprehension was only fleeting the moment he pushed his cock into your sleeping mouth.

“Oh, fuck…” He was careful with you. Careful enough to not stir you awake, but courageous enough to fulfill his sense of greed. Bruce pushed deeper, and deeper until he couldn’t anymore. His thick cock steadied your breathing and in favor, your saliva warmed him with complete gratitude.

Come on, I know you can take it… His eyes darkened at your inability to take his girth. As much as it sounded like a threat, it drove him delirious knowing you couldn’t. Even in your waking moments, it fueled a sense of pride when you gagged on his cock, covered him in bubbly thick spittle, and looked like an absolute mess while attempting to swallow him again.

Fuck, (M/N)... You’d pull him out when you had enough of gagging on his cock and jerk him off instead, catching your breath in the midst of it all. He never told you, but it was Bruce’s favourite part whenever you two did this together. The pure lust in your eyes, craving for a fill that you and him both know that he would deliver upon greatly. And somehow, as lewd as the act was, you both knew it was more than sex. You and Bruce were making love, fucking with a craving that you only have for each other because it was only you two that could bring this type of pleasure to one another.

“Fuck—” Bruce paced himself, biting back an adamant moan, thrusting slow yet filling into your mouth as he held onto the headboard. The scrape of your teeth made him hiss, but the pleasure of your warm mouth was so fulfilling that it overwhelmed any painful feeling you’ve prescribed him to.

I’m close, (M/N)... Fuck, let me cum on you… On your body, on your face, I want it everywhere on you.

He released his cock from your mouth and took the heavy girth into his own palm, pumping the muscle with a sudden vigor that had been motivated to see you covered in his fluids. Bruce’s eyes rolled back into his lids, panting heavy and harder because he was so close—so fucking close. He could see you sticking your tongue out for him, on your knees, playing with your cum-covered cock as you would wait patiently for his reward. You would begin begging for it—his cum, his cock, him. You’d worship his body, mouthing at his toned thighs, then his abdominal muscles, licking the sweat off the gutters to briefly satiate your appetite for Bruce.

Until you were gifted with his indulgent desire for you and only you in the form of thick and creamy white ropes. “I’m comin—” Bruce’s stomach sucked in hard, his abs contracting while his thighs vibrated with tremors, then with a guttural push, he released himself with a strong grunt. His grasp directed his thick and heavy loads towards your chest and stomach, stroking his throbbing cock through the glorious sprays. He sucked in his teeth to control the sounds that were threatening to burst out of his throat and whimpered with a shudder when it was unmanageable, continuing to empty his balls until he could smell the heavy sex and musk off your body.

Scanning you from head to toe, Bruce was breathless. Despite his delirious stint, it was impressive to see you drifting off to sleep like nothing had happened. Or rather, it was impressive that he had a certain amount of control to not completely make love to you like a wild mammal, rousing you from sleep.

Nonetheless, he powered through the overwhelming need to sleep to clean you up, even if you hadn’t mind the mess. And like always, he never forgot to end his night with a kiss, pressing a chaste yet breathless pant to your lips.

“Think your way of ‘taking care of me’ needs more time in the workshop , but we’ll talk about it later.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

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aethon-recs · 1 month

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Themed Rec List | Tomarrymort Recs by Horcrux ⚡👑🏆🔒💍

I wanted to put together a rec list of Harry/Tom fics with a core focus on horcruxes outside of Diary Tom (the most popular horcrux) and Voldemort himself. Please enjoy these 22 fics that feature one of Tom's horcruxes and their special relationship with Harry.

There’s a ton of interesting variation that can be explored within a Harry and horcrux Tom ship — from where the horcruxes are located and when Harry can conceivably meet them in canon (for example, the Cup horcrux is harder to access than the others); to what age they were made by Voldemort and how that would shape their personalities and interactions with Harry; to the different magical properties that they might embody, depending on the vessel that was chosen.

Finally, it looks like Scarcrux and Locket are the most popular choices (after Diary Tom), and we absolutely need more Cup horcrux fics!

⚡ Scarcrux

Amensalism by @cindle-writes (E, 6k, complete)

Scarcrux becomes sentient after the encounter in the Ministry in Harry's 5th year and takes Harry for an adventure.

Bolide by @vdoshu (T, 3k, complete)

On October 31, 1981, a tiny piece of soul attaches himself to Harry Potter in order to survive. This is his story.

Creatures of the Dark we are by @hikarimeroperiddle (M, 28k, complete)

Banished to his cupboard at age 4, Harry learns to listen only to the Voice in his head. Its teachings warp all Harry could have become until no more than dark magic and devotion remains. Visions of a wraith with red eyes complicate matters, especially when Harry and the Voice follow it to Hogwarts so Master can get his hands on the Philosopher’s stone.

Eulogy by @meles-merrivale (E, 6k, complete)

You run through the things you have to do for the day. It is, admittedly, a very short list. Wake up. Be clean. Be ready. An empty life, some might call it. You don’t. It is the life He has given you, and so it is what you deserve.

last rites by @cindle-writes (E, 5k, complete)

Harry has an hour before he walks to his death in the Forbidden Forest. The horcrux in Harry’s scar decides to take matters into its own hands.

Look at me. by @crowcrowcrowthing (M, 1k, complete)

A dark night of the soul.

Pitch Black by @kagariasuha (E, 2k, complete)

The proximity of Horcruxes can influence anyone - especially Harry.

sandpaper kisses, paper cut bliss by @xodahafez (E, 27k, WIP)

Harry Potter survives the Killing Curse, but so does the horcrux within him. And this horcrux has been dangerously infatuated with Harry for seventeen years.

saw you in a dream by @duplicitywrites (E, 2k, complete)

Harry has had this dream before.

👑 Diadem

A peculiar way of fitting together by @being-luminous (T, 2k, complete)

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m wearing a diadem?”

Dance Me On and On by @duplicitywrites (E, 19k, complete)

In his first year at Hogwarts, Harry overhears Quirrell interrogating Binns about an artifact from over a thousand years ago. Five years later, Harry uncovers Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem in the Room of Requirement and finds himself pulled into a kingdom in the throes of a mysterious masquerade ball.

In Just a Moment, You’ll Be Mine by @dividawrites (E, 34k, WIP)

Tom has been stuck inside the Ravenclaw's Diadem for decades, alone, with nothing but his slowly fading memories. One day he feels a pull towards someone and gets interested. And then he gets obsessed.

Death is not an Escape by @whitepinkdandelions (T, 2k, complete)

The Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw is full of endless wisdom, so it only makes sense that it gets its hooks into Harry much faster than the rest of them.

🏆 Cup

Thirst by @obsidianpen (E, 27k, complete)

Things go awry when the trio beaks into Gringotts. Harry finds himself trapped, locked in the Lestrange vault, wandless and alone... With a horcrux.

🔒 Locket

Arson by @rudehellion (M, 8k, complete)

The hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes is going poorly. In need of some space to think, Harry offers to take the first watch over camp and slips out into the snowy night. Unable to shake his dark thoughts, Harry finds himself drifting and he begins to dream. What he sees changes everything.

knock it off (part 1) / crave gets slaked (part 2) by @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts (E, 6k, complete)

At some point during Harry's time with the Dursleys, pain got crossed with affection. A kick from Dudley or having his arm yanked by Uncle Vernon at least means they’re acknowledging his existence. It’s not love, but it’s something. Too bad for Harry he carries that through to his less dysfunctional relationships.

The Cost by Blood_Stained_Fingers (M, 8k, complete)

The cost of making a horcrux was steep and when Voldemort manages to kill Harry, destroying the horcrux within, Harry finds out the exact price of losing a piece of your soul. It made a cruel joke that if Voldemort loved his horcruxes, Harry should love them too.

The Dead of Night by @cybrid (E, 6k, complete)

An empty house. A glint of gold. A dream. Or: running away from Privet Drive goes terribly for Harry.

The Ties That Bind by @mosiva (E, 8k, complete)

Harry finds the locket at Grimmauld Place, but it has a curse laid on it. When Harry triggers it, he finds himself trapped with the locket version of Tom Riddle, both of them stuck within the enchantment until they can find the way out. Or so Harry thinks.

Whole by Emriel (E, 20k, complete)

The horcrux hunt goes wrong and Harry fails to destroy the locket horcrux. Tom Riddle hands him over to the Dark Lord as a present for they know he holds part of their soul. In their care, Harry learns that feelings, no matter how toxic, are hard to get rid off.

💍 Ring

Personal Assistant by @phantomato (E, 10k, complete)

“And that’s it? I call ‘Tom’ and you show up?” “Yes,” Tom answers.

shelter from the storm by @cindle-writes, @duplicitywrites (E, 7k, complete)

After being left behind by the Dursleys, Harry stumbles upon an empty shack in the middle of nowhere, where he finds a mysterious ring underneath the loose floorboards.

#tomarrymort #tomarry #aethon recs #tomarry recs #tomarrymort recs #hp fic recs #ao3 recs #fanfic recs #harry/horcrux #horcrux tom #scarcrux #diadem horcrux #cup horcrux #locket horcrux #ring horcrux

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keqism · 2 months

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november

⊹ feat. wriothesley

⊹ premise. ' nothing worth fighting for was ever won without sacrifice ' — final fantasy┊for @seraphiism's 2024 writing event

⊹ cw. story quest spoilers, mentions of blood, wriothesley + reader have a daughter

When Wriothesley was ten years old, he believed he was cursed.

Cursed to a lifetime of misery spent huddled on the cold, bare floor of the orphanage he grew up with, the soft cries of the children around him depriving him of the quiet gift of sleep. He doesn't remember any of their faces anymore, but faint memories linger in his mind.

There was a time when Mother and Father, as they insisted on being called, let him and another boy outside the orphanage. It had been a cold day, the water of Fontaine's fountains slightly freezing over. He had dipped his fingers through the water, marveling at the icy surface before the other boy called his name, pointing to a nearby shop.

The two of them had huddled together before the window of a bakery, little legs straining to support their weight as they stood on tiptoes to peer at the displayed goods. Wriothesley remembers there was a cake, decorated with red icing that matched his flushed cheeks and the threadbare scarf tucked around his shoulders.

Happy Birthday!, the cake read. He didn't have a birthday—Mother had never given him one—and it hadn't bothered him before. But at that moment, Wriothesley wished for that cake to be his, so desperately wished that he could swallow the entire thing and understand what it feels like to be cherished for a day.

But the cursed don't deserve such luxuries, and Wriothesley could only reluctantly tear himself away from that bakery, feet dragging against the ground on his way home.

He's embarrassed to admit it now, but that ordinary cake became the reason he scrubbed his hair a little harder and straightened his collar whenever the orphanage had visitors. Because some small part of him still believed that he deserved a real Mother and Father who would allow him to have that birthday cake all to himself.

But a few years passed and instead of a bright red cake, there was blood staining his hands, crimson trickling onto the floorboards before pooling around the limp bodies of his foster parents. Maybe this is what I deserve, he thought to himself as the Gardes cuffed and dragged him out of the orphanage. Because there was no guilt—only a sense of hollowness that echoed in his chest at the sight of his parents' lifeless eyes.

It wasn't until he was alone in his prison cell that the tears fell, dripping onto the vision clutched in his trembling hands. A cryo vision—cold, like the water of the fountains had been on that memorable day.

Even after a few decades, Fontaine's winter winds are still as unforgiving as ever, but there's a warmth that fills Wriothesley's chest now. He has a title to his name, a place to call home, and a few friends he can trust.

And a family, he reminds himself as a small hand tugs on his coat sleeve.

"Papa!" His daughter beams at him, the wind rustling her black and gray curls against her rosy cheeks. He gently tucks them behind her ear before hoisting her up in his arms.

"Look," her excited chattering fills the silence, forming small puffs of white in the air, "we got you a present!" Following her frantic pointing brings his attention to you, leaving the very bakery that he once stood before all those years ago.

Eyes widening, he gasps in mock surprise, lightly bouncing her in his arms. "Did you get me a cake?" he asks, a laugh dancing on his lips at his daughter's growing enthusiasm.

"Happy birthday, Wriothesley." You're at his side now, pressing your lips to his cheek before lifting the white box in your hand up to him. "For you," you smile, and Wriothesley thinks it's the prettiest sight he's ever seen.

And as he heads home, with his daughter in his arms and you tucked into his side, Wriothesley finally lets himself forgive the little boy who spent his childhood hating the life given to him.

౨ৎ thank you for reading, reblogs & comments are always welcome !

#wriothesley x reader #wriothesley fluff #genshin x reader #genshin drabbles #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact wriothesley #seraphiism'24

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pinguwrites · 6 months

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Ooooh, what about this? Future!reader accidentally time traveled to 1940s when she met William Killick, and he had to take care of her due to injuries she had. She ended up staying with him while rejecting his advances because she was trying to find a way to go back to future, and it wouldn’t be fair to him if she were to accept his advances, but she didn’t know William was sabotaging the solutions to ensure she would stay with him forever.

THIS IS ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL LIKE HOLY SHIT. I was about to write something like this with Tommy in Black Heart, but I opted out, and I hadn't even considered this with William, so I'm so glad you requested it!!

this was supposed to be a short-length fic lol, it's like the longest thing I've ever written on here

Home Is Where the Heart Is ⸻ William Killick

pairing | william killick x future!reader

summary | You don't think much of the box when it arrives at your front door. That is, until you open it and are transported decades into the past. There, you fall into the arms of a handsome soldier, who is intent on making you stay.

word count | 9k

Warnings: DUB-CON, possessive!william, future!reader, period typical sexism it's okay when it's william, reader has a software job, weird time travel plot (who knows how the box got there? it's totally not going to be revealed in part two ;) ), mentions of war, reader simps so hard, p in v sex, breeding kink

Disclaimer: The Edge of Love characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

A/N: I'm honestly not too proud with how rushed it was, but I'm glad it's out there. I'm definitely doing a part two. Be warned for errors.

You were lying in a field of grass, tall, bushy trees lining the area around you. You seemed to be in some type of countryside because in the distance you could faintly see quaint little houses and farmland (at least, you assumed it was; your vision was awfully blurry), but other than that, you had no clue as to where you were.

“Ah,” you hissed, noticing the cut on your body. When you arrived — however that happened — you had scrapped your arm on a sharp rock embedded in the dirt, and now it was bleeding, red blood trickling down your arm.

You sighed miserably, trying to make sense of the situation.

Yesterday, a packaged box arrived on your front doorstep. No address, no company, just a note in pen, To [Y/n] [L/n]. You were a little wary of its contents but brought it inside anyway. You opened it and uncovered a machine, steel and simple in its construction, yet difficult to understand. There was no instruction manual or labels for the buttons, and it took you a while to know if you were even looking at it right, the only hint being the Roman numerals inside the dials.

After tinkering around with it, you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, you were in a completely other place. All you had on were your clothes, some money, and your phone, which, surprise surprise, had no signal, so all you could do was look at your downloads — completely useless — and take a photo.

I must’ve been drugged, you thought, still feeling hazy. I should have called the cops the moment I realized something was off.

You got up and took off your socks, trying to stop the bleeding with it. It wasn’t the most hygienic, but it was all you had at the moment, and you weren’t about to tear off pieces of the shirt you had on, especially not when you were already shivering.

The contraption had traveled with you, and though you were aware it was the reason you were here in the first place, you thought it better to bring it along, as evidence. You could show it to the government, and they could use their little science ways to find the culprit. All would be fine.

All will be fine.

You started walking. You didn’t have any shoes on for protection, so it was difficult to step across the dirt, with all its rocks and insects swarming about, but you managed to get to grass quick enough, and it felt much better, almost healing to walk barefoot on the softness of mother nature.

But you didn’t get very far. Eventually, your stomach started grumbling, and you felt like your intestines were twisting inside with desperation. Your sock was now red, and your hand was trembling, so with a defeated sigh, you let go, of both the sock and the heavy machine, allowing the blood to flow freely. You bent over to pick the sock back up first, but the sudden movement made your head reel, and before you knew it, you were out again.

+++

“You’re awake,” a voice said, a male’s voice, a British accent that sounded like butter. Oh, butter, if you could get your hands on that alone you would be satisfied.

You opened your eyes, blinking. A figure, with pale skin and dark hair made it’s way over to you, and in a panic, you crawled away, eyes darting across the room. You were on a bed, bandages on your arm, but before you could calm down or even begin to think properly, panic took over, your heart rate elevated, and you sighed, before passing out again.

+++

For about the third time today, or however long you were out, you woke up. This time your vision was much clearer, but you still had this nasty migraine in your head. You were sick inside, the kind of sick that happens when you haven’t eaten in a while but can’t eat because you feel like you’ll throw up.

You wondered if you were in the same place again. You remembered a man, with a soothing voice, but he wasn’t here right now. Though the possibility that you had been kidnapped entered your mind, you noticed the lack of bonds and chains on your body. He was probably just helping you, you reasoned.

You slowly got out of bed, wincing at the shooting pain in your arm. You observed your surroundings. The bedroom was very minimalist, and . . . quirky. You loved the design and the materials used, as it reminded you of a cottage, but there was nothing helpful in sight. All the technology you could see, like the kitchen, needed to be updated and was worn out. There was some type of record player, or CD tape, or whatever that was called, on one of the counters and a radio beside it.

You didn’t bother with any of that. You were thirsty, throat dry and gnawing at you, so you went to look for water, hoping that whoever lived here didn’t go out and get it from a fucking well. He probably does. Look at this place!

“Shit!” you swore, your knees buckling from underneath you. You felt so weak and miserable and vulnerable. It hit you at this moment that you were probably a hundred miles away from home, in a strange place in a strange home you’d never seen before. How were you going to get back? What were you going to do?

Tears started welling in your eyes. You hated that you were being so emotional. Why couldn’t you toughen up and deal with the situation like a proper adult?

You leaned onto the counter, trying to balance yourself, when the front door opened up, and the man you saw before walked in, carrying a bag full of vegetables and other foods. He quickly placed the bag down and held you in his arms, his warmth comforting and relaxing.

He had short, dark hair, and a sharp jawline, and from this distance, you could see light freckles scattered across his cheeks. He had the most beautiful blue eyes you’d ever seen, like glaciers, like the ocean. Fuck, he was so handsome.

“Here,” he said, guiding you back to the bedroom. He set you down on the bed, gazing at you with such intensity, like adoration or devotion.

“W-who are you?” you asked, voice cracking. “Where am I? Hngh.” You rubbed your temples. Didn’t he have any pain medications?

“My name is William. William Killick,” the man introduced softly. “Don’t be scared, I’m not going to hurt you.” He went off into the kitchen and brought back a glass of water. You drank it slowly, the cool liquid flowing through your body, wetting your mouth. “I didn’t know if you had family nearby, so I took you to my place.”

William paused, as if thinking of what to say next. “Get more rest, it’s night.”

You hadn’t even noticed the time, but one look out the window told you he was right. It was pitch black outside.

“You’ll wake up tomorrow, and have some breakfast.”

You shook your head, and handed the glass back to him, only for him to set it down on the nightstand table. “Where’s my phone? Where’s my . . . box?”

He stared at you blankly, before clearing his throat. “Your stuff is in the back. I didn't know what it was — hey, don’t move.” William’s strong hands kept you in place, pushing you back down to the bed as gently as he could whilst still keeping a firm grip. “Rest,” he ordered. “Don’t need you fainting on me again.”

You wanted to argue, but you couldn’t. You laid your head on the pillow, without a choice but to trust William, and fell asleep, wrapping yourself in the blanket with a content sigh. All the questions you had, all the thoughts, faded away and were replaced by darkness.

+++

You dreamt of yourself and yourself. You, the spectator, were standing outside a window, but it wasn’t just any window. It was your window, the one that led to the inside of your bedroom, where you could see you and William — the strange man — entangled in the sheets. Lovers. You two were lovers. You two were making love.

Anyone would have felt creepy watching someone else, and anyone would have noticed someone watching them, but none of that happened. The sun should have cast a shadow on you, but it didn't. The passerby should have called you out, but they didn’t.

You had just enough awareness to realize that this was a dream. How were you back at home already? Why were you and William kissing?

While originally you felt nothing, like a simple observer without thoughts, you were suddenly flooded with heavy emotions. Confusion, shame, lust, confusion.

But in just a few moments, the world around you crumbled, like an earthquake, and the sun and moon passed by, stars moving across the heavens, and you were warped by time, back in the same place you were before.

+++

You woke up with a gasp, cold sweat running down your body, and immediately William was by your side. You rested your head on his chest, grasping onto his shirt desperately, not wanting him to leave.

“Shh, shh,” he cooed, running his fingers through your hair.

“Sorry,” you muttered, making no effort to leave his side. “I don’t know . . .”

“Shh.”

You both were like this for a while. Faint images of your dream passed through your mind, and from what little you remembered, you assumed it had been a wet dream.

I can’t believe it, you thought. Having a wet dream — about a guy I barely met. Control yourself!

You pulled away, already missing his warmth. William frowned a little but didn’t say anything. “What’s your name, darling?” he asked.

You hesitated.

“I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“[Y/n],” you finally told him. “Where are we?”

William narrowed his eyes. You had a feeling he knew more than he was letting on, but you didn’t want to press.

“Wales,” William answered.

You froze. How the fuck did you get to Wales? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

“Um, that’s nice,” you said awkwardly. “How long has it been since you found me?”

“A few days.”

You tried not to panic, but all you could think about was your job and your friends and your family. Have you been reported missing yet?

“You must be hungry,” William said. “I’ll cook something for you. I’m not the best, but I don’t want you to wear yourself out.”

“It’s alright.” You waved his concern off, though it did tug at your heartstrings that he was worried. “I'll get some fast food.”

You dug through your pockets, hoping your wallet was still in there. Thankfully it was. You pulled it out and grabbed two crisp twenty-dollar bills, but William hissed and pushed it back in, his hand not leaving yours.

“What are you doing carrying around that much money?” he asked, giving you an incredulous look. “How are you meant to protect yourself? Where’d you get that? Do you have a husband?”

You pushed his hand away. “I work. And what’s the problem?”

You knew that the American dollar wasn’t equivalent to a British pound, but was the difference that bad? Sure, forty dollars was a lot of money if you were just going to a gas station or something, but nothing to get excited over.

William huffed. “You can’t just show me that much money like that. What if I was a thief, hmm? What would you do then?”

“Are you?” you asked, not understanding why he was making such a big deal out of it.

“No. I’m a gentleman.”

You scoffed, amused, but there was a little smile on your face. “A gentleman?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “A proper man.”

There was a moment of silence between you both. You wanted him to hold you again, but you thought it would be best if you just went on your way.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said, getting up from the bed. “And bandaging me and all.” You gave him one of the bills. “I know it’s in dollars, but I’m sure you can convert it.”

William didn’t take the money. “You’re not leaving — you’re still hurt. I’d be remiss if I let a lass half as pretty as you alone on the streets.”

You chalked up his way of talking to the region. You honestly found it quite attractive. That, coupled with his British accent, made you feel like you were in one of those romance movies. You had to remind yourself that he wasn’t in love with you and that you were just acting irrational and horny.

“I’ll be fine. We’ll exchange numbers, do you have a charger?”

“What?”

“A phone charger. My phone’s probably dead.”

“The box?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No, the rectangle. The phone.”

“Ah, the one that glows?”

You briefly wondered if he simply didn’t know what a phone was. You knew some people preferred not to have modern technology in their life.

“Yes. I need to call someone — ”

“ — It stopped glowing.”

Great. William obviously didn’t have a charger. And if he didn’t know what it was, no one nearby would. All that was next to do would be to walk to a big city and hope someone there could help you get back home.

“Look, darling.” You ignored the way your heart fluttered when he called you that. “I don’t know what a phone is, or why you’re here, but I know that you still need to recover.”

“I appreciate it,” you said. “But I really have to go. I have work and — ”

“ — Surely you can take a day off. What is it you do?” William asked.

“I’m a software developer. I code.”

William had a blank face. A pink blush dusted his cheeks. He cleared his throat, “I, er, I’ve never heard of that. You mean computers? The big ones that take up a room?”

“No, it’s not the fifties.”

“Well, 1946 is close.”

You didn’t know what to make of that. “What does 1946 have to do with this?”

William observed you intently. “The year. The year is 1946.”

You blinked. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be the 20th century — that was impossible. So many things were wrong with that. How come it was you who traveled in time? Why didn’t the government know about this? Even if you were ignoring the question of how, there were still so many whys.

“No,” you said slowly, inching away from William. What kind of sick prank was this? He was supposed to be helping you, not confusing you. “You’re messing with me.”

William sensed that you were uncomfortable, because he backed away, his hands in the air. You could tell he was waiting for the perfect moment to get closer.

“I’m not a liar . . . Are you from the future?”

Fuck. You weren’t sure. How could that even be possible?

“No,” you said hesitantly. “I dunno, I must be . . .”

Your eyes subtly peered past William and at the door. If only you could get past him . . .

You looked straight at the window, making sure to grab his attention. “Oh,” you whispered, putting on your best shocked expression. The moment he was distracted you sprinted past him and bolted out of the room and out the house, running across the field to the next house you could see. Your arm still hurt, but you were willing to shove down the pain.

“No, no, please!” William shouted, running after you.

In just a minute, he had caught up to you and tackled you to the ground. He pinned your hands above your head and sat on your lower stomach, rendering you useless. His lips were so close to yours, and the look on his face was pissed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice forceful, gripping onto your wrists tighter.

“P-please,” you pathetically sputtered out. “Don’t hurt me.”

He didn’t budge. “I’m trying to help you — I’m not lying to you, and I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now,” you cried, squirming.

William’s eyes softened as he realized what he was doing. “You promise not to run again?”

You nodded, your lower lip wobbling.

“Alright.”

He still didn’t let go of you, but he did pull you up from the ground, wiping the dirt off of your back. Tears flowed down your cheek like rainwater, and you couldn’t help but curl in on yourself.

William held onto your arm as he walked you back to the house, not allowing you another chance of escape, but he did wipe your tears gently and soothe you. You felt embarrassed. Why did you run? You had acted purely on instinct there. This man was clearly only trying to help.

“Look,” he said softly, sitting you back down on the bed like a child. “I’ll take you into town, hmm? Show you around and all — maybe that’ll convince you. You must be quite far into the future to be dressing like that and to have a . . . phone with you, so things will be different, right? What year are you from?”

“. . . 2023.”

“I knew it. On your phone, there was a date. I wasn’t sure then, but . . .” William suddenly reached his hands up and rubbed his thumb across your chapped lips, catching you off guard. “They’re dry,” he said. “I’ll draw up a bath for you so you can bathe while I cook. I’ll get you some lotion afterward.”

You nodded. What else could you do?

+++

William had cooked some simple fish and chips while you cleaned yourself. You had to use a tin tub, which was insane to you, but you didn’t complain about it. He supplied you with clothing, an old-fashioned dress his mother had accidentally left here. You were grateful it was not from some ex-girlfriend or wife, even though you had no right to feel that way. You put aside your other clothes to wash later.

After finishing with that, you sat down at the dining table, and like the hungry girl you were, you gobbled the food down eagerly. It was so fresh and delicious, not at all like the food you had in the future, pumped with chemicals and artificially bred. You tried to be as neat as you could, but it was difficult when you were starving. William had watched on with amusement, telling you to slow down and straighten your back every once in a while.

He took the plates away when you both were done, and then did as he promised and gave you some lotion, but instead of letting you apply it, he took a bit of cream on his fingers and rubbed it on your lips. “Stay still,” he murmured.

“I-I can do it—”

“No, you can’t. You’re still injured.”

You understood his reasoning. And you didn’t mind him touching you like that.

“The rest of my body is dry, too,” you blurted out.

What were you thinking? You didn’t even know this man. Trying to get him to touch the rest of your body — stupid girl.

William’s breathing hitched. “As in . . . your knees as well?”

“. . .”

He cleared his throat. “Well, then. Put them out, over my lap.”

You bit your lower lip, watching on as he rubbed his hands over your legs. His touch was so warm and it felt more like a massage. You felt bad about doing this, leading him on. If he was right about the time travel, then you couldn’t entertain any sort of relationship with him. It wouldn’t be fair.

But it was just an act of service. It didn’t mean much, right?

“Oh, that’s nice,” you said, resting your head on the bed. You felt a bit off allowing a random man to do this to you, but he wasn’t random now, was he? He had saved you. And besides, he was he who insisted he rub the lotion in the first place.

“What is the future like?” William asked. “Is there another war?”

“Sort of. Not really,” you answered, which panicked William. “Don’t worry. If you’re talking about America and Russia, no one dies.”

William chuckled. “I should hope not. I don’t fancy serving in another world war.”

“You served?” you asked curiously.

“Yes. As a captain in the British Army.”

You supposed it was normal. Most men in this time either signed up for the military or were drafted. You couldn’t imagine the horrors William must have gone through. You would never be able to understand the trauma he carried with him. You were curious, but you knew better than to ask. He didn’t need your pity, and you certainly didn’t want to offend him.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“For what?”

“That it had to happen. War and all that.”

“Does war not happen in the future?”

Now you felt a little stupid.

“Well — yes. It does. I’m just sorry. We learned about the world wars in history — and I just — I’m not claiming to know anything. Yeah, sorry.” You looked down.

William didn’t say anything to that. He just kept rubbing your dry skin. Afterward, he put the lotion away and sat next to you, running his fingers through your hair.

“I expect stories from you. I want to hear everything about the future.”

You still didn’t believe you were in the past, at least, not completely.

“You can tell me as we pass through town,” he added.

“I need to wash my clothes first.”

Willian narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to wear that anymore.”

“Why not?”

He pursed his lips. “It’s too revealing. A woman should never go out wearing those types of clothing.” He sighed. “Perhaps it’s different in the future, but here, you’ll get hurt if you dress like that.” He continued playing with your hair. “I want you to be safe. So, you have to promise me that you’ll stay by my side at all times, yes?”

You nodded. You always thought that if you caught men talking to you like this, you would slap them, but here you were, turned on by William’s sexism. It was different, you reasoned. He was more focused on protecting you than restricting you. Was it bad that you found that hot?

“Good girl,” he said proudly. “Good girl.”

+++

Walking through town had been more of a frightening experience than you expected. You realized, without a shadow of a doubt, that you were indeed in the past. Producing a prank with this level of investment and money was pointless, and you never had any mental issues in the past, so why would one suddenly show up now? And even if it did, you couldn’t possibly be imagining this all in your head.

All the cars were shiny and new, yet old models, ones that wouldn’t be produced in the future. All the women and men wore traditional clothing, like the dress William picked out for you. The hairstyles were medium-length and curled, or slicked back, with lots of gel and products used to keep them in place. You were grateful William didn’t ask you to do any of that. Not that you would have let him. At a certain point, you would have drawn a line.

“I have to get back,” you told William as you walked on a trail. “The machine has something to do with it. I just have to figure out how it works.”

“That’s an engineering job,” he pointed out.

“I’m good at math and science. I work in advanced technology, so I should be able to figure something out. All it needs is a bit of testing . . . I was wondering if I could stay with you for a while until I figure out a place to stay. I’ll give you all the money I have and I promise I’ll find a job — ”

“ — No need. Stay as long as you like. I don’t want your money. I won’t stop you from finding a job, but it’s not necessary. I can handle any expenses.”

You didn’t argue with him. He didn’t seem averse to the idea of letting a stranger stay at his place. It made sense. People in this time were more hospitable and open (at least, when they felt like it), and William, being a man from the forties, would never allow you to carry any of the financial burden.

You still felt a little bad.

“Thank you. It means a lot to me. Now, what is it you want to hear about the future?”

William’s eyes lit up excitedly. “Do flying cars exist?”

You chuckled. “No. But we have self-driving ones.”

“Self-driving? How do they work?”

You paused. You had no idea. “I’m not sure. They probably have sensors to detect other cars. And, well, there’s a map. So it’s connected to a satellite . . .”

“Satellite?”

“It’s this thing in space. It does . . . stuff. It’s manmade.”

“Space? Have we discovered alien life?”

“No. But we have sent rovers to Mars and we’ve landed a person on the moon.”

William stopped walking. “The moon?” he repeated, bewildered. “Have you gone?”

I wish. “It’s only for astronauts. You have to be trained for that sort of stuff.”

“And when did this all happen?”

“Around the 1960s. There was a space race between America and Russia, and America won.”

Once you got the ball rolling, William would not stop asking questions. You answered them as best as you could and avoided topics like the current political climate and weaponry and all that. After he was done with all the serious stuff, like advancements in science and whether robots had taken over the world yet, he moved on to more social and cultural topics. You were relieved to find out that he wasn’t racist or homophobic or incredibly misogynistic. If anything he was rather tame about it all, and was glad that women had earned more rights, though he seemed upset that the dynamic of a gentlemanly husband and lady-like housewife wasn’t pushed upon society.

“There’s nothing wrong with things going the opposite way around,” he had said. “Two people of the same gender marrying. It’s only that women need to be looked after, and if she doesn’t want to work, then it is her man’s obligation to do it for her. And in return, she must be obedient and serve him whenever he pleases — whether it’s by cleaning the house or . . . other things.”

“And what if she doesn’t want it?” you questioned, referring to the other things.

“A man should always make sure she likes it.”

You could practically feel all the feminism leaving your body at that.

The conversation ended when you reached back home (home? It’s not your home, you reminded yourself). William replaced your bandages with care. You were already starting to feel better, since the cut wasn’t too big, and you offered to help with cooking dinner this time.

After that, you decided to tinker with the box.

It was made out of some type of metal, with two different dials on the top and a button on the side. But it wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen before. The first dial went from zero to nine (zero being nulla) in Roman numerals, and had four hands, each of them colored in order: red, green, blue, and yellow. Respectively, there were four tiny colored knobs on the side, like the ones by a watch, where you could move each hand. The other dial was the same case.

“It must be the date,” you said aloud to yourself. “But which is which?”

Taking a gamble, you pressed the button, but it didn’t do anything. All it did was signal a small lens to start blinking red.

“Are you sure you should do that now?” William asked, coming up from behind you. “Look at this.” He crouched to your level on the floor. “Your eyes have bags underneath them. You’re still tired.”

You rubbed the area beneath your eyes. Did they really have bags? You hadn’t realized.

“I should probably go to sleep then,” you said, putting the box down and getting up.

William walked you over to the bedroom, and was about to leave when you asked, “Where are you sleeping?”

“The couch.”

You frowned. “It’s your house and I’m your guest. You’ve already done so much for me – ”

“— If you’re going to suggest you sleep on the couch, then it’s a no. That’s final.”

“But — ”

“ — Final.”

You sighed. “Then come sleep with me. I’ll stay on the floor—”

“ — No—”

“ — Then we can share the bed. We’ll put a wall of pillows between us, like this.” You grabbed a pillow and placed it in the middle of the bed, separating the two sides. “Not so bad, see?”

William relented. “Alright.”

He crawled into bed with you. His hair fell over his face as he adjusted, and the last rays of sunlight coated his body in colors of orange and yellow. If your phone wasn’t dead, you would have asked him to sit still for a picture, because at this moment, he truly looked breathtaking. He was a beautiful man. You wondered if he knew it.

“What?” William asked when he noticed you staring.

Flustered, you turned your head to look up at the ceiling. “Nothing. I was just making sure you were comfy.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see William lick his lower lip.

“You’re a sweet lass,” he commented. “You always think about others first.”

He reached over, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you (which, admittedly, despite having had a wet dream about him, scared you), but he only brushed a small speck of dust off your shoulders and murmured “Goodnight”, before burying his chin into the blanket and drifting off into sleep.

You followed in suit soon after. A part of you was hoping that you could start a life here. You’d buy a nice house and live out a simple and peaceful life. You and William didn’t even have to be romantically involved. You could just be friends, and you would be happy with that.

But a part of you also hoped that when you woke up the next morning you would be back in your own bed, in your small one-story house that you remember being so excited about buying. You knew you would never like living here in the long term. There were too many things wrong with this time and you didn’t want to be the brunt of its issues. Not only that but being aware of all the tragedies that would soon occur . . . Did you want to be faced with the moral dilemma of whether or not you should stop them? How would your presence affect things in the future? After living your whole life in 2023, you could never adjust to life in 1946.

You had to find a way back. There was simply no other choice.

+++

William showed you many things. Just as he was interested in the future, you were interested in the past. The things that excited you most of all were old-school versions of what you had in the future. Washing machines, refrigerators — they were all so different, yet the same, and it was fascinating.

You even met a few people in town. They were nice enough to hold a conversation with, though they found it weird that you lacked decorum and the social understanding of the time. The women were chatty and mildly passive-aggressive, and the men — well, the men flirted with you quite openly.

William had told people that you were family, someone related but not close enough to be bothered with technical terms like cousin or niece. No one asked questions when you two explained it like that. All the men must have thought that if you were his family and that if you had no ring on your finger you must be looking for a partner.

You were charmed by their advances, but never serious about them. Besides, William hardly let them get a word in before he shooed them away.

By the time weeks and weeks had passed you became acquainted with everyone, seen every sight to see — including the swan lake William took you to — and become close enough to William that he opened up to you. You learned that while he wasn’t an orphan, his parents never held much interest in him other than the occasional birthday letter, and the reason he came out here so far away from the city was to find peace of mind.

You grew to admire him, and you were sure he grew to admire you, too. And soon, you started to feel a certain type of way. A way that made you daydream about all the things that could be, only for reality to stomp across it and remind you of the harsh truth.

+++

William was driving a car, a modern car, your car. He was humming a little tune on the radio, singing some lyrics, hands loosely holding the wheel as he passed by a gas station. It was some Taylor Swift song, and you remember faintly thinking: Of course, he likes Taylor Swift.

He looked over to you. You were sitting by his side, a passenger princess, looking out the window. All of a sudden it was night and you two were driving down a lonely road, parking by the side of some lake. In the distance, you could hear crickets and ribbits, but you paid them no mind.

You were curled up in William’s arms, looking out the sunroof of the car, the light of the moon gently descending through the glass. You offered him a piece of chocolate, and you two just sat there, in the dark, nibbling on snacks and observing the sky, until you woke up.

+++

William had to leave for work, like usual. He again told you not to leave his property line or stray out too far, which, again, was fine by you because most days were cold and bitter.

You spent your time messing around with the box, careful not to touch the wires in the back. Once you put your mind to it, you figured out how it worked. You paid attention to where the hands were currently located and found something promising. The first dial’s hands had the numbers I, IX, IV, and VI, and the second dial was nulla, IX, nulla, and V. Alone, you wouldn’t have been able to tell what the numbers meant, but with context, you understood. The first dial was the year, and the second one was the month and date.

You didn’t quite understand how the box brought you from the future, but that didn’t matter, as it was broken. There was a little loose piece on the backside that had been damaged — a little dent, probably when you were first transported here. All you had to do was plug it back in, but the only problem was, you didn’t have a screwdriver, and you certainly weren’t going to wrench your fingers near a bunch of wires.

When William came back you told him your solution. He agreed and said that tomorrow he would take you to a local store to buy a screwdriver, and he even apologized for not having one in his house. But for now, he said he wanted to take you out to lunch.

“Lunch?” you questioned nervously. Was he asking you out on a date?

You thought about it for a moment. You did want to go, but your mind was too preoccupied with getting back to your time. Besides, it wasn’t fair to him. You did like him, but you two could never actually be together. It was all in your head.

It’s all in your head.

“You know I’ll have to go back someday,” you said, watching William’s expression become more neutral as if he was hiding his emotions. “I dunno . . . I’m getting a little attached to you,” you said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

William seemed to understand where you were going with this. “It won’t be like that. I wouldn’t blame you,” he said earnestly, taking a step forward. “We ought to enjoy our time together, while it’s still here.”

He made a valid point, enough to convince you. He had been doing that an awful lot. Convincing you.

William took you out to a nice restaurant. The food was a bit plain, but it was good and wholesome. It reminded you a lot of William’s cooking, only fancier and more well-presented. Not only that, but the atmosphere felt calming and almost romantic. You noticed that most of the people here were couples, holding hands and giggling with each other, however young or old.

Was this William’s intention? Did he like like you? Or was this just him being courteous? You couldn’t imagine that many people here were used to dating or one-night stands. But you wouldn’t know unless you asked him, and you were too nervous to do that. Besides, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself. William was a very traditional man, would he even want a woman like you? A 21st-century girl?

After you two were finished eating you engaged in another walk.

“Come closer,” William said, holding out his arm for you to take. If you didn’t have any self-control, you would have jumped his bones right then and there. He was right. He was a gentleman. No man in the future would have done this for you unless they were trying to make a joke out of it.

You placed your hand on William’s arm hesitantly, trying to figure out the exact placement, walking side by side with him. It was a little cold, however, and you shivered, catching William’s attention almost instantly.

“Oh, you poor thing,” William cooed, talking of his coat and wrapping it around you. It smelled of him, a little musky, smoky like a cigarette, but in a very subtle way. “You’re so nervous. Have you never had a man do this for you?” he asked. “Hold out his arm for you to take, give you his coat?”

“No,” you admitted. “Men don’t do that in the future.”

“I do,” he said, stopping both of you in your tracks. The area was secluded, mostly covered in trees and bushes, far away from any passerby. “I would do that for my woman.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“Well,” you said, wistfully, “whoever she is she’ll be a lucky woman.”

+++

William took you to a local shop to buy a screwdriver next. It all felt very domestic, something that you could get used to. You imagined running errands like this with William in the future. He would be absolutely fascinated by a grocery store, by the internet, by everything. If you thought hard, you could see it — a wondrous smile on his face, a giggle escaping his lips.

You tried not to think of it that much. After your fantasy passed your thoughts turned sad and cold, because you knew that would never happen. It will never happen. As much as you liked William, you missed your family, you missed your house, you missed everything.

When you both got back home, you plugged the broken piece in and screwed the nail. William watched on beside you, a frown on his face, drinking some tea.

“Here,” he said, inching closer, “I don’t want you exerting pressure on your arm. Let me do it.”

He grabbed a hold of the screwdriver, but he bumped into you in the process. With a gasp, he dropped his cup of tea. It shattered across the floor, glass pieces flying every, hot liquid (thankfully not boiling) splashing all over. You shrieked and backed away, watching as one of the glass shards cut right through one of the wires.

“William!” you snapped, but then your eyes turned watery, because of the cut on your hand.

He immediately went over to you, careful not to step on any glass, and picked you up bridal style, moving you away from the mess and towards the couch.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, looking panicked. “It was an honest mistake — I’m so so sorry, I can’t believe I just did that — are you hurt?”

You laughed at the absurdity of it all, even though you were clutching your finger in pain. It was a very small cut, something that would be healed within a day. “Calm down, William. I’m fine. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, looking worried, or perhaps, scared was the right word. Yet, you couldn’t figure out why.

“William,” you said slowly. “It’s fine. You do realize we can just fix the wire? I just need a heat-shrinking tube and a soldering iron, nothing I haven’t done before.”

“. . . Oh.”

His tone made you wonder about his intentions. You’d been so caught up on how good of a person he was, helping you and giving you room and food, but really, what was his motive? Because it almost felt like he was trying to get you to stay . . . It sent a sinister feeling down your spine, albeit a tug on your heartstrings as well.

What do you want from me, William? What do you want?

+++

More time had passed. It was difficult to acquire things in this small town, and it occurred to you that such resources were not readily available at this time. You didn’t want to bother William by pestering him to go into the city for materials, so while you would bring up the topic every once in a while, you mostly kept quiet.

You took the chance to relish your break. After all, you weren’t working. It was like a fully paid vacation, so you might as well take advantage of it.

William still had a job, but when he came back, you two would just talk and talk and talk, conversations so smoothly flowing that it felt like you’d known him for years. When you weren’t talking, you were still in each other’s presence, doing your own thing. Occasionally, William would make sneaky moves like wrap his arm around your shoulder, or do the la bise. He claimed he was part French, and it was part of his custom, but even if that were true, you knew the la bise didn’t involve full-on smooches on the cheek.

You never stopped him from doing things like that, but you also never reciprocated, despite how badly you wanted to. All this stalling wouldn’t change the fact that you still had to leave. Not only that, but you were starting to feel homesick.

You missed calling your friends late at night, you missed watching colored TV, and you missed hot showers. You missed easy-access painkillers for your periods, and searching all your queries on the internet. You missed the future. Badly. And you could just feel that the day of return was near.

+++

“You dance, yes?”

Snapped out of your thoughts, you turned to William. You were both lounging on his couch, relaxing, talking, as the time passed by. He had given you a magazine to read, but you weren’t reading it, just dozing off.

You shrugged. “Yeah. I’ve gone to clubs. But — no, I can’t dance like that — William,” you whined, half-heartedly struggling as he pulled you up to you feet. “I’m going to ruin it, I don’t know where to place my feet or — ”

“ — You could never ruin anything, darling. Your presence alone is enough to satisfy me.”

You looked away. “You can’t say things like that, William.”

“Why not?”

You took his hands off you before he could even start the music.

“I don’t like it,” you lied.

William frowned. “That’s alright. Let me hold you. I know you enjoy that.” He chuckled. “When we first met you wouldn’t let go of me.”

The memory, still fresh in your mind, made you flustered.

“. . . William, what do you want from me?” you decided to ask.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean — what do you want from me?”

William licked his lower lip. “Nothing. I just want to take care of you.”

“But why?”

You could practically feel William’s nervousness. It was like when he dropped that glass. He radiated an almost jumbled energy, a desperate energy.

“Haven’t I made it more obvious?” he finally said, his hands on your waist. He brought his fingers up to brush the hair out of your face. “Am I not clear?”

You knew what he was going to say. But you wanted to hear it from him. “Clear about what?”

“I want you.” Your heart started beating. “I don’t care if you’re not from this time. I don’t care if you have a life in the future — I can be better. I can be your life.”

“. . . William.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” he said, tilting your chin up so you could look him in the eyes. “I know you want me too. I can see it.”

“But we can’t,” you weakly protested.

“So is this what you do?” His tone grew more sharp. “Imagine things in your head and never act on them?”

You stayed silent. He was putting you in such a difficult position, couldn’t he see that?

“What’s wrong?” he continued. “Am I not good enough?”

“William,” you tried to pull away. “I have to go — ”

He locked you in his arms. Your body was so close your noses were brushing up against each other, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Maybe you’re worried I can’t please you right.”

You could have shouted. Why was he being so forceful? You ignored the way your body grew warm — you couldn’t do this. You couldn’t and so you wouldn’t.

“I don’t want it,” you lied again.

“Well, I told you, a wife should always submit to her husband’s desires.”

“We’re not married!”

“We will be.”

You froze.

William took your silence as an opportunity. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, turning his head slightly as his hand rested on the back of your head. You were caught off guard but didn’t try to push away. It felt so nice, and warm and inviting. Why you were denying yourself this? Why were you denying yourself love?

When your lips parted, a string of saliva connecting you both, you placed your hands on his chest. You had an idea. A brilliant idea. Why hadn’t you thought of this before? “William. I still have to go, but — ”

He growled and lifted you up, carrying you over to his bedroom, tossing you onto the bed, and pinning you down on the mattress. “No. I won’t let you. I won’t let you! Don’t you understand? I’m perfect for you — I can — I can.” He looked miserable. In fact, he looked like he was about to cry. “Let me show you,” he said, determined. He started unbuckling his belt with one hand. “Let me show you what I can do.”

You hadn’t realized how hard William was, but when he finally took out his cock — fat and pale, with pre-cum leaking at the tip, his balls a little hairy, you gulped, the area between your legs getting wetter.

“Take off your panties,” he ordered. “And lift up that damn dress.”

You didn’t. To be honest, you were a little frightened by his behavior.

William sighed and did it for you, spreading your legs apart, only for you to shut them close. “You don’t even have a condom!”

“I’ll put out,” he said impatiently, forcing your legs apart again. You gasped, not expecting contact to be made so soon.

He rubbed his cock against your wet cunt, soaking himself. He had this satisfied smile on his face, eyes closed for just a moment, before he looked down at you.

“I thought I’d have to warm you up a little,” he said. “You’re beau — stop it! Don’t struggle.”

He held your arms down as you writhed. “Please, William — I believe you,” you said. “You can fuck me good. Just listen — ”

William shook his head. “You’re the one who's supposed to listen. Listen and take it.”

With that, he pushed his cock in and started thrusting, hard and fast, your hands still pinned, his face contorted in pleasure. His moans were loud and shameless. He had his head right above yours, peppering small kisses on your lips. You tried to ignore how good it felt — him inside of you, but it was becoming increasingly difficult by the moment.

“Ah, I knew you weren’t a virgin,” he said, noticing the lack of blood or discomfort. “That’s okay — I still love you.”

“Love?” you repeated, trying to focus, but your abilities were lost when he used his thumb to rub your clit. “Wa-a-it!”

“Don’t say that,” William said, his tone surprisingly soft given how rough his movements were. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought you didn’t want it. Just enjoy. Enjoy me.”

The bed was starting to creak, moving back and forth, rubbing up against the wood floor. Your breasts were bouncing, catching William’s eyes every once in a while. His cock slid in and out of you with precision, hitting that swollen part inside of you every time. His thumb on your clit only added to the intense sensation.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you stopped struggling. You let your head hit the pillow, mouth parted, breathing heavy and hot. At the same time, you were overcome with a feeling of hurt. You couldn’t deny that you wanted it, but for him to take you so forcibly . . . and for you to actually like it . . .

“Are you alright?” he asked, slowing down his pace a little. He looked you in the eyes. “Do you feel good?”

You thought about lying, about crying out No, please stop!, but that wasn’t the truth, and in the end, your desires overcame you. “Y-yes. I want more.”

William relaxed, and his grip on you loosened. He placed one hand on your hip, the other by the side of your head.

“You’re beautiful,” he praised. “Every day I look at you and think of how grateful I am that I found you. Laying there in that field, little flowers around you. An angel. My angel.”

You wanted to tell him how grateful you were, too. That it was him who took you in and not someone else, but the words never came out, only sighs and moans, but he seemed to understand what you were trying to say.

Another kiss.

“You’re soaking me. You’re soaking the sheets.”

A little embarrassed, you turned your head. “M’sorry.”

William forced you to look back at him. “Don’t be sorry. I like knowing how eager you are for me.”

Another kiss, but this time he slipped his tongue in, sweeping against yours before he pulled away, a string of saliva breaking as he did.

“We’ll live here,” he continued, his thrusts becoming more erratic, “in this house. Together. I’ll take you to the movies, we’ll have picnics in the garden, and I’ll write you love songs on the piano. We’ll have children — a girl, I hope — and she’ll look just like you. It’ll be wonderful,” he promised. “I’ll make you so happy, and you’ll make me happy, too.”

You couldn’t help but ruin the moment. “If I did that I would never see my parents again.”

He frowned and didn’t say anything. Then, “I think you’re getting agitated. You need to come, that’s it. You need to come and then you’ll finally understand what it is you’ll be missing out on if you leave.”

“T-that’s not the point — ”

“ — I’m so close,” he murmured. “Fill you up, so damn tight. Ah, you’re perfect.”

When you realized what he meant your eyes widened and you shook your head adamantly. “You said you’d pull out!”

“That was before. I’ve changed my mind.”

You felt familiar pressure build up inside of you. You could imagine yourself, breasts big with milk, belly round and smooth, William reading children’s books to your unborn baby as if he could be heard. The thought alone made you sickly sweet, the idea that life between you and him could be so domestic.

But couldn’t he just wait for a moment?

“I’ll — ah — be with you — every step of the way,” he grunted. “I won’t leave you. So, don’t be scared.”

“William,” you said shakily. “Just listen — ”

But it was too late. Collapsing on top of you, William poured his hot seed inside your cunt, his whimper addicting, like it was something you could hear a thousand times over. A few seconds later, you fell victim to the same fate, and there you two lay, with each other, chests heaving, bodies sweaty and sticky, coming down from the heights of ecstasy.

You could feel his heart pound against yours. Thump, thump, thump. And you could feel yours as well. To think that this man had just gotten you pregnant. It all happened so quickly. It happened so quickly and you were completely fine with it.

“William,” you said after finally catching your breath, turning to face him. “You know I still have to go.”

It was his turn to cry. His tears watered up, glassy, his lower lip trembling, but you could tell he was doing his best to keep it in. “But I love you,” he whispered. “Am I not enough?”

It broke your heart to see him like this. So vulnerable in front of you. It was then you knew you were making the right choice, a hundred percent. You had finally found your match. And to think that you almost let him go . . .

“But I want you to come with me,” you said, hopeful. “Come with me, William. Come with me to the future.”

Taglist: @henrywintersdearestgirl @shroombloom-rry @meetmeatyourworst @mrkdvidal1989 @madnessandobsession @slut4thebroken @qqquartz7 @madeinuk

#william killick #william killick x reader #william killick x you #william killick x y/n #cillian murphy #fanfiction #the edge of love #pinguwrites

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gabrielsbubblegumbitch · 22 days

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✨Staticmoth wedding headcanons✨

Because I have a lot of thoughts but can't come up with the plot to turn it into fic

✨ Vox absolutely loses his shit. You would think that Valentino would be a groomzilla material but oh no no, Val just wants sexy dress and enough coke to last three days of partying. Vox needs everything perfect. He has his grand vision and is ready to tear with bare hands everyone who does not deliver. During the preparation time, he murders as many people as Val usually does. Velvette bails on being the wedding planner after just two weeks because it was seriously straining their friendship. But after a month, she's back in the game. Why? Because Vox strangled three other wedding planners in frustration, and things weren't moving forward, so Val was starting to freak out.

✨ The event is held at the Vees' Tower. I reckon they've got a venue suitable for hosting conferences and porn award shows.

✨ It's a grand event. I'm talking Grand™, like the Kim K and Kanye West of Hell kind of grand. But it's also elite, so the guest list isn't that long, around 200 invited people plus 50 ticketed spots for anyone willing to drop 100k hellish bucks to attend. Everything is dripping with gold and diamonds because "quiet luxury" isn't in the Vees' vocabulary. The whole affair reflects Val's aesthetic more, as it's Vox's love letter to him. Vox already had his wedding, and now it's time to fulfill his husband's dreams. So Val makes about 90% of the decisions without shouldering any real responsibilities. Which is fine by everyone because he's annoying as hell when it comes to picking roses, flamingo feathers, and starters. Nobody wants to put him in high-stress situations. Expect lots of red, pink, and gold, with heavy, decadent fabrics and neon lights; it's like an exclusive brothel meets the Las Vegas strip.

✨ When it comes to flowers, they settled on roses because they're Vox's favorites, which naturally made them Val's favorite too, given the sheer number of bouquets he's received. Vox, being the freak he is, counts every single bouquet he's ever given to Val. So, for their wedding, he ensures there are twice as many roses. Yes, he's a pathological overachiever.

✨ As for attractions, there’s a plethora of erotic dancers in cages and mesmerizing drone light shows. Karaoke, slot machines, live cooking stations, and all the drugs you can imagine. And let's not forget a fountain flowing with tequila. It's a true adult wonderland.

✨ Valentino skips the whole white dress thing and rocks a fierce red latex gown that's very Mugler but with a fetishcore twist. Vox keeps it sleek in a sharp black three-piece suit. His shirt's a bold blue, and his tie matches Val's dress. His shoulder pads are pointy, his waist is slutty, his ass looks divine. Oh yeah, about slutty waist - underneath the shirt he is hiding a leather corset, as a treat for the wedding night.

✨ Also none of them really have friends other than Velvette, just associates so there are no groomsmen/maids.

✨ Since there aren't any traditional churches or government officials in Hell (if there's even a government at all), Velvette takes on the role of officiating the wedding. Vox isn't entirely thrilled with this choice because there's always the risk she might crack a joke or publicly rib him, but hey, there's really no one else who could pull it off. I imagine that a wedding in Hell is also some form of magical contract but more about partnership than ownership. They do not exchange rings but blood sksksk also I don’t think that Vox can really wear rings with his claws? And they couldn't quite agree on a design that satisfied both of them. In the end, Val ends up wearing his illegally imported engagement ring from Earth, featuring four pink diamonds shaped like a moth's wings.

✨ Val's vow is, well, atrocious. It's the kind of thing that would definitely land him in one of those TikTok compilations of terrible grooms ruining their weddings. He mentions cream pieing Vox at least once. Vox at first freaks out but seconds later realizes Wow that's the man I'm marrying. I wouldn't want him any other way On the flip side, Vox's vow is immaculate. Crafted with the assistance of Voxtek's CMO and practiced to perfection, it leaves everyone in awe. He has out-of-body experience playing this role of prince charming.

✨ For their first dance, they opt for a steamy tango. Picture this: swirling red smoke on the floor, making it seem like they're dancing on the sky of the pride ring when the sun is setting down. Little do the guests know, the smoke is laced with drugs, sending most of them on a wild trip. The party quickly goes off the rails, but in the best way possible (according to the Vees’ standards).

✨ The cake is a five-tier monstrosity with five different flavors: tres leches and chocolate-cherry chosen by Val, confetti cake and strawberry cheesecake chosen by Vox and Red Velvet for Velvette because she couldn't shut up about it To top it all off, there's a big chocolate figure of Vox and Valentino dancing. Val is later caught drunk, eating it with his bare hands like the filthy animal he is.

✨ Velvette’s wedding gift is a pair of customized matching guns with small engravings that read "Partners in Crime."

✨ Valentino pulls off a surprise special pole dance performance as a wedding gift for his husband. Let's just say it's scorching hot and leaves at least 50 guests with, uh, visible excitement. Later on, things almost escalate to a full-on table bang, but...

✨ Velvette spends the entire evening reminding them that they can't just vanish to consummate their marriage because this whole party took months of preparations, and they need to be present. After all, people paid good money to be around them. The threat of cock cages hangs over their heads, but they promise to behave. However, Val being the horny beast he is, ends up taking Vox to the bathroom for a quickie anyway. Velvette decides to let it slide this time.

✨ At least 20 casualties mark the night. Vox ends up zapping one of the guests who gets a bit too clingy with Val during the dance. Meanwhile, Val gets into a brawl and, well, let's just say it doesn't end well for the other guy. Surprisingly, everyone seems to be having a great time, but hey, these are the Vees' colleagues we're talking about—they thrive on violence and sex.

✨ Yeah, there's no shortage of sex at this party. With a guest list mainly consisting of businesspeople, adult performers, and mobsters, tensions escalate rapidly. By around 3 A.M., half of the party is busy getting down and dirty in every corner imaginable.

✨ When Vox reaches the perfect level of drunkenness, he seizes control of the DJ station. Surprisingly, he's a natural, dropping beats like a pro and having an absolute blast. Val, meanwhile, goes absolutely wild watching him, thrilled to see Vox letting loose and embracing his creative side.

✨ Derek, Vox's assistant, is the odd one out, the only low-status person to snag an invite because Vox felt kinda generous. But truth be told, Derek hates the idea and wasn't keen on attending. However, when Melissa caught wind of his invitation, she practically dragged him there to be his plus one, desperate to get closer to Velvette. Derek's terrified of most of the guests, but Melissa's over the moon. She later fucks him as a reward for being a very brave boy. Angel is not invited because he would ruin mood of both grooms.

✨ Valentino had prepared the filthiest, kinkiest, most elaborate wedding night, but it doesn't go as planned. Surprisingly, things turn out very vanilla for their standards, with a lot of missionary, eye contact, and hand-holding. After 16 hours of non-stop action, they're both too exhausted to even think about getting creative.

Thank you @purrpleowl @watcherofeternalflame @canadianlucifer @aroromantic @malu897 @staticmothed @chaggieslovechild @gumm1defloor @mayflowersfly for your thoughts!

#hazbin hotel #vox #valentino #vox hazbin hotel #valentino hazbin hotel #velvette #velvette hazbin hotel #the vees #staticmoth #voxval #fluff #headcanon #self indulgence at its finest #melissa hazbin hotel #vox's assistant

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swordsmans · 3 months

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excellent news from usps--i can now talk about this beauty!! i had the pleasure of typesetting and binding @the-furthest-city-light's wonderful zolu fic spill your wine and it was a ride from start to finish (repurposed prototypes and injuries included). overall, i'm extremely pleased with how it turned out!!

this was a full fabric, square-backed case binding with a peek through cover showcasing a heat transfer foiled title on the (red, burgundy, gold) endsheet (and a hidden katana design to match the charm). things got a bit weird near the spine because i didnt anticipate my glue acting funky under the heat, but live and learn! the outside covers turned out plenty clean.

the edges are painted with matte black acrylic and sealed with beeswax, and the bookmark is a little 4mm burgundy silk number tipped with a gold clasp and katana charm (of course). the silk is very thin/fragile, so in the future i think ill double the length i use.

i also had a great time typesetting this! when i first read this i knew i wanted to do something that was both angular/modern and ornately victorian (with a red, black, gold scheme). this had to be decadent and beautifully clash-y, because nothing less would suffice for the kind of author who'd use a verse from the canticle of canticles as the summary for a fic series like this. truly iconic. nerds will notice that this is a little visually reversed from the way books are traditionally typeset, which is also intentional. i think it fits the vibe of the bind and the fic. i hope the vision came through.

this was actually the second case i built; i wasnt happy with the first one so i ripped it up and made a notebook (with the front and back covers) and bookmark (from the spine) for dani, which was a fun little experiment. i just... didnt take any pictures, apparently?

overall this was a really fun and challenging project, and i cant believe its done!!!! wow!!!

#zolu #bookbinding #fanbinding #bad blade bindery #binderary 2024 #yes jojo those are your one piece volumes i think i accidentally stole them

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glow-worms-are-believers · 11 months

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Identity Theft (dp x dc)

Dan was furious.

Probably angrier than he’d been since his fight with his wimpy younger self, though that wasn’t hard since he’d spent most of the time since then in one of the Fenton Thermos. He had forgotten how tiny and cramped it was in there. He had hated it but Dan had figured he’d bide his time until an opportunity to escape arose when he could then exact his revenge upon his younger self along with his puny friends and Jasmine.

And the opportunity had indeed come, and much faster than he would have thought. Someone had actually released him voluntarily. Mentally celebrating, Dan had prepared to kill the poor fool in return when he’d felt something settle around him and suddenly he couldn’t move.

“I’ve got you!” said the man holding a glowing scepter. “Did you think I wouldn’t find you again, Phantom?”

Dan would have groaned if he could, because of course this was about the brat.

“I only had to follow your ecto-signature my dearest Lydia procured for me,” the stupid man continued on. “Did you think the Fenton thermos would protect you from me?”

There, the man laughed and Dan promised himself that he would kill the other man slowly and painfully as soon as he got out of this.

“Nevermind your cowardice, you’re mine now.” The man smiled and snapped his fingers, a red haze fell over his vision and Dan couldn’t think anymore.

He wasn’t quite sure how long he was lost to the haze and all his memories were half-formed things that made no sense. There was a circus tent, some people screaming and the never ending spiraling colors within the ringmaster’s scepter it could’ve been a few hours or a decade, Dan couldn’t have told you.

Next thing he remembered was blinking away the red as a shattering sound registered to his ears. Coming back to consciousness was like trying to get out of a ball pit, slow and tortuous.

“Are you alright?” Someone was saying.

Dan turned to look at a man who was all green and was wearing a cape for some reason.

“My name is Martian Manhunter, I am part of the Justice league. May I offer you some assistance?”

“I’m alright,” Dan said as his just-recovering brain took in all the other masked and costumed heroes talking to some of what Dan assumed were the ringmaster’s victims. As his eyes went over the superheroes, a wicked idea bloomed in his mind.

“My name is Phantom,” Dan started as he tried to make himself appear smaller. “I’m a vigilante, I guess you could say? I protect the living from ghosts trying to cause havoc.”

“Ghosts?” asked a man wearing a dark costume with two ear-like things on his head

“Most the ringmaster’s prisoners are ghosts,” Dan explained.

“So you’ve fought him before?” asked the dark-cowled man.

“Yeah but he would never have gotten me if it hadn’t been for Danny,” Dan started as he let his shoulders slump, time to sell this. “He - he’s a clone created to destroy me and take my place and he did just that.”

“That’s awful,” said one of the heroes, a young man in black and blue.

“He stole my appearance and transformed me into this,” Dan said as he gestured to himself in mock-disgust. “My sister and friends have all been manipulated by him and believe him over me. I don’t know how to fix it, I just know he’ll stop at nothing to keep Amity Park under his thumb.”

The heroes looked at each other before the eared one spoke up. “The Justice League would be glad to offer assistance to a fellow hero, Phantom. How can we be of assistance?”

Dan had to stop a smirk from stretching on his face.

#Dan gets to the Justice League first and when Danny tries to warn them they assume he’s trying to manipulate them #Only the younger heroes seem to hear him out a little bit #dc x dp #dp x dc #roxpox #roxpoxwrote #dan phantom

883 notes · View notes

alonetimelover · 8 months

Note

hiii i love your work so much, you're an amazing writer.

can i request a (LONG) instagram au where both the reader and harry are mega popstars and have been together for almost a decade, and now they're married & have a fam together. js overall domestic fluff lol.

thanks

pairing: Harry x popstar!reader

fc: Taylor Swift

a/n: i thank the internet for all the edits of those two together, it definitely helped me finding perfect photos for the story!

masterlist taglist

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2013

onedirectionupdates

liked by harrysgirly and 23 393 others

onedirectionupdates You guys remember those rumours that Harry and YN had a thing back in 2012? Well, I think those rumours weren't so farfetched... What do you think?

view all 901 comments

harrysgirly no way! i thought all of you were lying back then!

user93 her? really?

user34 woah, i mean, woah

user56 i need to give her that... she looks stunning

ynupdates Well I don't blame Harry!

user102 i can see that, i can see the vision here

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2014

harryupdates

liked by ynupdates and 34 493 others

harryupdates Harry and YN were seen enjoying a walk in New York!

view all 1 022 comments

ynupdates right after 1989 dropped????? they're insane

harrysgirly WHAT? i thought it was like a one party thing?

user45 what's going on?

user50 what the hell?

user46 James Dean is that you?

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2015

ynupdates

liked by harryupdates, hArrysbtch and 56 402 others

ynupdates YN and Harry were seen walking hand in hand to YN's party, celebrating the success of Style's Music Video!

view all 2 302 comments

hArrysbtch YOU'VE GOT THAT JAMES DEAN DAYDREAM LOOK IN YOUR EYES

⤷ ynsmybestie AND I'VE GOT THAT RED LIP CLASSIC THING THAT YOU LIKE

harryupdates woah, that's certainly the way to show that the rumours were true

harrysmylife HAND IN HAND? WTF

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harrysleaks

liked by hArrysbtch, ynsmymama and 76 403 others

harrysleaks Harry and YN back in February!

view all 3 101 comments

hArrysbtch YOU TOOK A POLAROID OF US

⤷ ynsmybestie it's shame that the polaroid is in black and white... iykwim

ynsmymama i can't take it... they look too good together

harrysmylife couples where both people are this beautiful shouldn't be allowed! im protesting! leave some good genes for us!

user45 they're really dating, aren't they?

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2017

harryupdates

liked by ynupdates, hArrysbtch and 87 594 others

harryupdates Harry and YN were seen attending the after party for Dunkirk premiere in London!

view all 2 839 comments

ynupdates THE MOTHER IS BACK AND BETTER THAN EVER

ynupdates that's not what i call a soft launching but I LOVE IT

ynsmymama SHE IS BACK !!!! I REPEAT: SHE. IS. BACK. HALLELUJAH. I LOVE MY LIVE NOW

hArrysbtch who is this guy? where is my mysterious man?

harrysmylife seeing that he shows up in public only few times a year, i can say he's still mysterious

ynsmybestie she looks good, like good good, super good

user45 i love all those photos, one every year, showing up and making people loose their shit (mine included)

user23 she looks somehow different, but i can't pinpoint what is it

⤷ user45 she's glowing, that's for sure

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2018

ynupdates

liked by harryupdates, hArrysbtch and 98 392 others

ynupdates someone's getting fired... YN and Harry after Harry's latest interview with BBC Radio 1, where he was asked about YN and denied WITH A SMIRK ON HIS FACE about dating her! they enjoy messing with us!

view all 3 327 comments

harryupdates 'well, i was two times at the hospital. when i was born and after an accident' YEAH, AND HOW MANY STITCHES DID YOU GET? 'i had like 20 stitches on me!'

harrysbtch they're matching outfits! they cute! they parents! they they they...

⤷ harrysmylife guys, she's broken

ynsmybestie she's so georgous

ynsmymama i need music from them both

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harryupdates

liked by ynupdates, hArrysbtch and 103 482 others

harryupdates Harry and YN for The Times!!! harry gave an interview that is going to be available in a few days!

view all 6 403 comments

ynupdates yeah

ynupdates im not breathing

ynsmymama shit's got real

hArrysbtch DID YOU GUYS SEE THAT THE INTERVIEW IS TITLED TWO GHOSTS????? like, we were speculating about it and i think we were fucking right!

user45 the way that he's all sexy and intimidating and she's a cinnamon roll is hilarious!

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2019

yourbestfriend

liked by yourinstagram, harrystyles and 358 493 others

yourbestfriend LOVER

view all 76 392 comments

yourinstagram shhhh, it was a secret

harrystyles Who's that fine fella behind that exquisite woman?

⤷ yourbestfriend it's been years and you're still like a lovesick puppy teenager! how?

⤷ harrystyles Well, I am still young.

harryupdates woah, that, that second photo is definitely something

hArrybtch harry, i'll do anything when you're looking at me like that

ynsmybestie what does lover mean?

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harryupdates

liked by ynupdates, hArrysbtch and 65 493 others

harryupdates HARRY and YN in the photo added to the Fine Line vinyl! Apparently this photo was only in a few of the editions together with Harry's autograph.

view all 2 403 comments

ynupdates YN's rocking the shorter hair with Harry rocking the longer curls

ynsmybestie they both look stunning

ynsmymama i still can't comprehend him releasing the album on her birthday and dedicating it to her... AHHHHHHHH

hArrysbtch screaming, crying throwing up

harrysmoustache the rings, the floral shirt, long curls, the necklace

harrysmylife is it odd to say that i am a slut for this man? man, i am down bad, like real bad

stylesmybabie crying, i love them so much

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2020

ynandharry

liked by harryupdates, ynupdates and 54 492 others

ynandharry GUYS !!!!!!! my make a wish came true! i was on a zoom call with harry and yn today!

view all 2 103 comments

harryupdates that's amazing! i know you waited so long for them to actually accept you for the program!

ynupdates they look so good

hArrysbtch the thing is, they're both in the same house and probably the same room even

harrysmoustache i love my parents

user45 did you guys heard about all the rumours that they both actually have a son who's already 3 years old?

⤷ harrysmylife stop believing in everything you read on the internet

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2021

harryupdates

liked by yourinstagram, ynupdates and 103 291 others

harryupdates Harry listens to Folklore, do you?

view all 4 302 comments

yourinstagram How did you make it look so realistic????

⤷ hArrysbtch hey queen!

⤷ yourinstagram well hello there

harrysmoustache i love this edit

ynsmymama harry knows a good music when he hears one

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ynupdates

liked by harryupdates, hArrysbtch and 87 430 others

ynupdates YN and HARRY at the 63rd Grammy Awards!

view all 3 302 comments

harryupdates they are hilarious! they're not even sitting at the same table

harrysmoustache catching up with my bestie after not seeing her for years (it's been twenty minutes)

hArrysbtch AND THEY BOTH WENT HOME WITH A GRAMMY

ynsmybestie that floral dress is doing wonders! she looks like a princess

ynsmymama PARENTS

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2022

harrystyles

liked by yourinstagram, harryupdates, annetwist and 10 399 484 others

harrystyles Harry's House is out now. It wouldn't have been done without you, though. Thank you, my love.

view all 302 494 comments

yourinstagram I'm gonna go and scream from the rooftops

annetwist ♥️

harryupdates I CANNOT TAKE IT, HARRY. COME ON.

hArrysbtch you little btch. you make me cry with Matilda and then you post this? not cool, man. not cool.

ynsmybestie she's inspiration, she's supportive, she's loving.

ynsmymama wearing his shirt, drinking wine and playing guitar... man that's some happy living there

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ynupdates

liked by harryupdates and 34 430 others

ynupdates YN and Harry in Tokyo!

view all 1 302 comments

ynupdates YN's wearing a hoodie gifted by a fan!

hArrysbtch that thumb of his is not going down in the near future, is it?

harryupdates lovely couple

user23 they really don't care about all those rumours, do they?

⤷ harrysmylife what rumours again?

⤷ user23 apparently they have a child together since 2017!

⤷ harrysmoustache you want to tell me that they manage to hide their baby for five years? that's highly unlikely

⤷ ynsmybestie well, yn disappeared for a year and nobody saw her. i don't think it could be that unlikely for them.

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ynsmybestie

liked by harryupdates, ynupdates and 25 392 others

ynsmybestie PARENTS MIMICKING EACH OTHER

view all 930 comments

harryupdates oh, i've totally missed it!

ynupdates they have the same mind, that's it

hArrysbtch i love them so much, i can die now

stylesmybabie that's some iconic shit

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2023

ynupdates

liked by harryupdates, ynsmybestie and 78 229 others

ynupdates YN and HARRY at the 65th Grammy Awards! Once again they went home NOT empty handed! Harry with 3 and YN with 1 award!

view all 3 320 comments

harryupdates i am so proud of them!

hArrysbtch those bitches still weren't sitting at the same table

harrysmoustache they both look so stylish, i love it

ynsmybestie i love how she stood up and started clapping louder when people from the back were yelling that Beyonce should've won

⤷ ynupdates she knows what it feels like to be told those words all to well

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harryupdates

liked by ynupdates, hArrysbtch and 103 229 others

harryupdates YN JOINED HARRY ON STAGE TONIGHT IN PALM SPRINGS, CA!

view all 5 320 comments

harryupdates WHAT IS HAPPENING?????

harryupdates THEY ARE SINGING STYLE AND MEDICINE TOGETHER

hArrysbtch what the fucck... are the people at the stadium alive?

ynupdates 'I left Judie back stage, I hope he's gonna be okay.' WERE THE RUMOURS REALLY TRUE?????

user45 i told you guys years ago and you didn't believe me...

hArrysbtch 'love, your mic is on' 'oh shit' i don't think they were ready to announce anything

harrysmoustache there's no way. this is one of my dreams

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yourinstagram

liked by harrystyles, annetwist and 12 391 394 others

yourinstagram Judie and Teddy say hi to the World and they hope that you can be kind to them.

comments to this post have been limited

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ynupdates

liked by harrystyles, harryupdates and 56 492 others

ynupdates YN during Vigilante Shit tonight in Los Angeles! Not gonna lie, she's on another level tonight!

view all 3 301 comments

harryupdates HARRY is in the audience, maybe that's why!

hArrybtch harry, you lucky, lucky son of a lady dog

harrysmoustache she's so sexy

ynsmybestie after two pregnancies??? couldn't be me. she looks so fucking good

harrysmylife what if she's announcing something????

⤷ ynupdates do you think it's gonna be 1989?

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harryupdates

liked by ynupdates, hArrysbtch and 56 492 others

harryupdates HARRY at YN's show tonight in Los Angeles!

view all 4 302 comments

hArrysbtch SHE JUST ANNOUNCED THE 1989 YN'S VERSION

ynsmybestie i love how he attended the concert where she's announcing that she's reclaiming the first album that she wrote about him

harrysmoustache he looks good

harrysmylife i need his reaction to yn's vigilante dane

user67 i was at the concert and let me tell you those cheeks were as red as a tomato, he enjoyed it!

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yourinstagram

liked by harrystyles, ynupdates and 13 392 484 others

yourinstagram 1989 MY VERSION is out on 23rd of October. Thank you to whoever made that edit, it should've been the album cover from the start.

comments to this post have been limited

harrystyles I prefer the one that has you on the front and back. It gives it more value, I'd say.

⤷ yourinstagram Either way, I'm gonna frame it and hang it above our bed.

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voguemagazine

liked by yourinstagram, harrystyles and 2 942 293 others

voguemagazine For the first time we tagged team and let our sweet little friends, Judie and Teddy interview their mom, YN YSN. "Firstly, you read that perfectly, Judie, I am so proud of you, baby. And to answer the question: together with dad, sorry, together with Harry we decided that your privacy and safety are ours priority. And then mummy forgot to turn off the mic! But we're happy that all of the fans and people are kind enough to respect your space and the boundaries we appointed." To read the article go to our link in bio!

view all 56 392 comments

harryupdates "Mummy, you look beautiful today!" Not Judie hyping up his mom! you little baby I love you so much!

ynupdates "please don't fall in the water, mummy. Daddy, daddy will you suffer mummy?" "Yes, I will safe mummy, baby." I LOVE BABIES

harrysmoustache and the painting was done by the whole family...

ynsmybestie i usually hate kids, but those two are so adorable

ynsmymama i m gonna put you all in my pocket and protect you with my life

hArrysbtch "when you are in the limelight as much as dad and mum, you want something to be just yours. that's you and Teddy for us. our little rays of sunshine." I AM CRYING

⤷ ynupdates i love how she talked with Judie as if he was grown. she seems to be a great mother

⤷ hArrysbtch i wouldn't expect anything else from her

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a/n: well, that definitely was a long one! let me know if you want any more from this pair!

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles instagram #harry styles one shot #harry styles fake ig #harry styles fluff #popstar!reader

878 notes · View notes

carolmunson · 1 year

Text

alive with the glory of love

(older!rockstar!eddie x older!actress!wife!)

a valentine's slice of life with our favorite rockstar almost thirty years into our marriage. the year is 2023 and we're still stella rink and we're still famous as hell. aged like fine wine. a decades long career and a decades long marriage with two twins in their late twenties. this is semi from the twins perspective. we know what our life was looking like before, let's see what it looks like now. :) eddie manip by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple cw: 18+ minors dni, allusions to smut/wearing lingerie, but overall this is a short little something. reader and eddie are both 57, so, sorry if you don't want to be fifty seven. but if i have to be in my 'early twenties' every time i read a fic, you can be older for like, seven and a half minutes.

The phone eases into focus, Violet’s giggle sounds as she presses record, leaning on her elbows at the kitchen island. The room is a sun drenched, black and white tiled vision — still partially stuck in the 90s, remnants of your old life, despite the ongoing renovations. Despite the teasing from your adult children. Some stuff just never lost its charm – plus, the kids were calling it ‘a 90s vibe’ and you were both pretty sure that was cool.

“Morning, happy Valentine’s Day,” Violet says sleepily, Van trudging in behind her. They both take lazy seats on the bar stools across from the chef stove that their father is delicately working over.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, honey,” Eddie calls over his shoulder, daintily pouring pink batter into a cookie cutter mold on a hot pan. The kitchen and dining room are filled to the brim with flowers and balloons. Eddie’s been up for hours getting everything set up for you, some things never change. Some things never get old.

“What’re you doing?” Van asks.

“What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m making mommy—” He turns around with a furrowed brow, deepening his forehead creases before he realizes they’re recording him. He sighs before turning back to his task, “Guys, again with the phone?”

“C’mon dad, they love you!” Violet begs, putting her phone down and shoving it in her sweatshirt pocket, “Van show him the comments on the last one.”

“They think you’re hilarious, they want you to have your own account,” Van encourages, he opens his own phone to bring over to his dad. He grew up to be a spitting image of the two of you, as if they pasted Eddie’s face on his and gave him all your other features. The color of your eyes, the texture of your hair. Your bright, enrapturing smile. A perfect fifty-fifty.

Van scrolls slowly through the endless comments, Eddie squinting down at them, “Van, I don’t have my glasses.”

Eddie peers down lower, “What does that mean? ‘I know it’s big’? What’s big?” “New…choker…just…dropped? I didn’t make chokers for merch,” he shrugs, waving him away to pay attention to the stove. “Ew,” Violet laughs, “Stop making him read these out loud, that’s so gross.”

“You should still make your own,” Van says, sitting back down, “It’d do way better than the one for Corroded.”

“Have your mom do it,” Ed shrugs off, “She knows how to do all that internet shit.”

“That Howard Stern clip is going viral again,” Violet says devilishly, “The girlies are obsessed with you.”

“I don’t care about the girlies, Vi,” Eddie blushes, flipping one of the pancakes on the pan, “I care about your mom.”

“I just wanna show them what you guys do for your favorite holiday,” Violet whines, “They’ll love it.”

“They’re gonna call him a simp,” Van teases, a look of realization washing over his face, “Wait, you’re such a simp for mom, actually.”

They both laugh, Eddie doesn’t know what ‘a simp’ is so he laughs too.

“That’s a good word for like, a DND character type — you should see about that in your campaigns,” Ed continues while he plates a pancake on an ever growing stack of pink and red.

“Ohmygod Dad, no, that’s not—“ Van laughs silently into his hands.

“Stop making fun of him, he’s old,” Violet pleads between giggles, taking her phone out again, “Dad, seriously can you just tell us what you’re doing? Why do you love Valentine’s Day?”

“Is this for your TikTok thing?” he asks, pulling his dark curls up in a ponytail with a black silk scrunchie, bangs he can’t quite part with falling in waves over his brow. ‘My Pilates teacher was telling me they’ll be safer on your hair,’ you’d said — and he’s never been one to say no to you. Every time the kids came home they’d take their phones out and make Tiktok’s of the two of you, sometimes you’d make a solo one for Violet or Van’s page if you felt like it. But with Twitter and Instagram, you didn’t want to overload your assistant with some other form of social media – but it looked like the two of you were really popular. Especially Eddie.

Violet educated you about ‘fancams’ which were just clips to music. There were a lot of the two of you together, or you solo from your movies and shows in the 90s. Progressions of you then and now and how you’re still ‘so hot’ and ‘unproblematic’. Eddie’s almost always started with the clip of him at Howard Stern, jaw ticking while he tried to keep his composure: ‘Excuse the fuck out of me, what did you just say about my wife? Do you wanna lose your fuckin’ teeth?’ The comments were always flooded with a mess of young people losing their shit: ‘god i’ve seen what you’ve done for others’ ‘stopppp he’s obsessed with her’ ‘@vidawn i hope your mom can fight’ ‘@vannywayne @vidawn i’m five years younger than u but i would be a great step dad’ ‘when is someone gonna fight howard stern FOR ME?’ ‘@vannywayne @vidawn they’re thirsting over your dad again’ ‘i’m banging on the walls of my enclosure’ 'ewwww we hate cheaters' ‘i NEED to fuck him’ ‘@vannywayne you look EXACTLY the same’ ‘are they looking for a third?’ 'idgi he looks dirty' ‘they are notttttt making them like him anymore’ ‘not him being old enough to be my father i’m sick’

“Obviously,” she snaps back, rolling his eyes when he starts touching himself up for the camera.

“Should I do a couple of push ups so I look buff or…?” he teases. Violet and Van make a face that puts any face you’ve given him to shame. It’s the only regret he has about having kids with you – all that attitude had to go somewhere.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs, “I’m ready for my close up, Vi.”

“You’re so cheesy, dad. Just be normal for like, five seconds,” Violet huffs, taking out her phone again, “You’re ready?”

“M’ready,” he smiles. “Okay, so, what’re you doing?” Violet asks again.

“I am making pancakes,” he starts, pouring red better into the cookie cutter mold on the pan this time, “In a heart shape, for your mom.”

“How long have you been doing this?” she asks, a smile spreading across her face. It matches her dads. There was no mistaking that Violet was Eddie Munson’s daughter.

“Since we got together, so – the first one was in 1990,” he muttered, flipping the pancake, “I do it every year ‘cause she loves it. They’re strawberry, but they’re pink and red ‘cause I put food coloring in them.”

“Is Valentine’s Day her favorite holiday?”

Eddie grins, “No, her favorite holiday is the fourth of July. Not ‘cause she’s got a boner for America or anything. She just likes fireworks and when I use the grill.” “Is it your favorite holiday?” Van asks this time. Eddie nods, a bright blush pushing up on his face.

“How come?” Violet and Van ask at the same time. Eddie turns the burner off, placing the heaping plate of heart shaped pancakes on the center of the island. He opens the wine cooler on the opposite wall, pulling out a bottle of champagne and two flutes from the top cabinet.

“‘Cause I get to spoil your mom all day,” he smiles, “She deserves it.”

“You spoil her every day,” Van teases, “I can’t think of a more doted on woman on earth than mom.”

“She’s very special,” he shrugs.

“And you do this every year?” Violet asks, zooming in on the pancakes.

“Every year for the past thirty four years, well, minus ninety-two,” he frowns a little, “We had some time apart that year.”

“Still had my chef make them for me though.”

Your voice cuts in from the large arch way connecting to the dining room and Violet pans quickly over to get you in frame.

“Hi mom,” Vi says, “Is this your favorite holiday?”

“No,” you shake your head and laugh, the same laugh he fell in love with, “It’s the fourth of July. C’mon Vi, how long have I been your mom? Do you even know me?” “You’re supposed to be in bed, honey,” Eddie frowns, “You’re ruining the surprise.”

“The surprise that’s older than my kids? How could I forget,” you grin, rounding the island and greeting your husband with a gentle kiss, “Happy Valentine’s day.”

“Happy Valentine’s day, baby,” he murmurs into a second chaste peck, “You’re supposed to let me bring them up to you.”

“My kids are home, I don’t wanna spend all day in bed,” you pout. He pouts back dramatically, tugging on your arm to pull you flush against his chest.

“I thought you loved spending all day in bed with me,” he pushes some of your hair back before resting a palm on your cheek, moving in to kiss you deeply. The scruff on his chin scratches around your mouth but you never care because he still kisses you, he kisses you every day. He’d kiss you all day if you let him. You had too many girlfriends whose ex-husbands were on their third wife and every year they’re more surprised that Eddie is still on his first.

“Okay, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Van says, Violet stops recording. Their faces sour.

“Yeah we don’t want a January ‘94 repeat or anything,” Vi jokes. The twins high five at their own mean reference to your horrific sex tape debacle, but you and Eddie toss them a playful glare.

“Hey, she might be your mother, but she’s my wife,” Eddie warns, hand sneaking down to rest on the small of your back to pull you close to him, “Don’t mess with her.”

“Yeah,” you tease, crossing your arms, “You saw what he did to Howie’s studio. I just gotta say the word.”

“So scary,” Violet rolls her eyes, leaving the kitchen with her twin in tow, “We’re taking the Jeep to get Jamba Juice, do you want anything?”

“My usual,” you answer while Eddie goes to the fridge to get grapefruit juice out of the fridge, “And get daddy’s usual too. Do you want his card? Where’s your card, hun?”

“Wherever you last left it,” he responds, gracefully pouring grapefruit mimosas for the both of you.

“It’s in my purse,” you call out.

“Which one?!” Violet calls back, both of them waiting by the door.

“The pink Kelly!”

“Got it! Do you want anything else?” Van calls out.

“Just uh,” Eddie giggles to himself, tossing you a once over, “Take your time!”

“Gross!” they yell back in unison. Eddie waits for the door to close to pull you back into him, he watches you at first. Brown eyes cascading over the slope of your nose, your cheeks, the crinkles at the edge of your eyes, your smile lines. He looks at you like he’s looking at you for the first time, every time. He looks different, but the same. Dark curls smattered and entwined in silver, a nose ring, a never ending scratch of overgrown stubble. Deep lines on his forehead that exaggerate his already animated features. Lips still full and warm, hands still big and covered in rings. He’s kept his body real tight for fifty-seven, still throwing himself in the gym daily. ‘If I’m gonna be addicted to something now it might as well be like, my cardiovascular health, babe.’ His crows feet make him somehow more attractive, his smile got better with age. He still makes your heart race when he catches your eye from across the room. “You wearing that little red thing I like?” he purrs in your ear. The tie to your robe sliding between his inked fingers.

“Maybe,” your finger trails over a tattoo on his bicep, “Maybe, I got something new for you to see. Maybe it’s black, maybe it’s strappy. Maybe it’s that thing you saw when we went shopping last week.”

“Christ,” he huffs, pressing a kiss to your cheek before stepping back over to the counter, “Do you ever stop getting hotter? Eat your breakfast before I bend you over this bar stool.”

“Let’s bring it upstairs like you wanted,” you smile, following him closely to press your hips up against him, “We can get a little messy.”

“Yeah?” he growls, pushing part of your robe away to see a peek of black lace and strappy leather, “Fucking god, Stell.”

“C’mon,” you whisper breathily, pushing up on your tiptoes to kiss him again, “They’ll be home soon.”

Some things have changed, some things remain the same. He still fucks you like a rockstar.

#eddie munson rockstar au #rockstar!eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie smut #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie #eddie munson fluff #rockstar!eddie fluff #older!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n

1K notes · View notes

foolishlovers · 3 months

Text

TRANS HUMAN AUs: Below you can find a list of Good Omens human AUs featuring trans characters.

[Requested by anon. You can request more fic recs here.] it’s okay, maybe not forever but we got today by astheworldcomestoanend (G, 1k) Aziraphale’s parents are fighting again, so he goes over to Crowley’s house to spend the night with him. Crowley is more than happy to bring his angel in and make sure he’s okay.

Win Condition by ineffablefool (G, 1k) Human AU. Aziraphale and Crowley's junior high school sets up a really weird school-wide Valentine's Day game that they're both kind of side-eying for different reasons. Talking about it over lunch gives them both the chance to confess something, though!

Belonging by LittleQueerdo (T, 2k) Crowley is woken by a librarian on a mission.

style, flair, and a head of red hair – she’s the nanny?! by lineslines (G, 5k) She takes a step into the light, a vision of red and black, of scant fabric and edges, seizes him in her gaze, which he realizes is almost as fiery as her hair, and drags it up and down his form, once, before she grins. “Oh angel, let me guess, you probably think tartan is stylish?” “Tartan is stylish,” Aziraphale automatically protests, before his brain slowly catches up with his mouth. And his eyes. “Oh, how impolite of me! Please do come in. You must be drenched.” (Crowley just lost her job selling cosmetics to bored rich housewives. Aziraphale is a bored rich bastard in want of a nanny for the neighbor kid he has to babysit. It's a right place, right time situation. Right people, too.)

The Art of Human Nature by IneffableDoll (T, 6k) Crowley is a painter who has only ever had an eye for nature. That is, until a client named Aziraphale commissions her for a painting to boost her self-confidence, and Crowley discovers that her client is as beautiful as the Earth itself. Then she goes and catches feelings, because she’s a disaster. The Colour of Hope and Sin by TawnyOwl95 (E, 7k) Crowley has never felt so pretty. Tonight he can do anything. Having Aziraphale Eastgate, the best defender that St. Beryl's School football team had ever seen, cross Crowley's path again is a chance to test that theory. And maybe they can both work out some latent teenage angst at the same time? A Stable Relationship by MirjamOmens (E, 9k) Crowley used to be one of the best eventing riders of the UK. After one unfortunate fall that crushed his leg, he ends his career and starts coaching other promising athletes. Aziraphale is a riding instructor, handling the school ponies and teaching the beginners. For the past six months they have found themselves in a sort of arrangement. It’s just friendship… and sex, whenever their schedules happen to align. It's nothing more than that, right?

Every Part of Me by foolishlovers (T, 10k) Heartthrob rockstar Antonia Harmonia, better known as Anthony J. Crowley offstage, has safeguarded his singing career from his best friend and long-term crush, Aziraphale, for nearly two decades. But when Aziraphale stumbles upon Crowley’s secret at one of his concerts, Crowley is suddenly confronted with unexpected consequences. Could the best of both worlds be within his reach? A Hannah Montana AU. I'm Beginning to See the Light by ineffabildaddy (E, 15k) There was Crowley - the paragon of cool, the overlord of apathy, breezing easily through each and every one of their exchanges and giving no fucks while doing so; then there was the anachronistic, cloying Aziraphale, trying and failing not to live life like a Thomas Hardy protagonist, and giving many fucks indeed. Or: Aziraphale has quite the pash on his colleague Crowley, who seems resolutely disinterested in him. As their annual Christmas party progresses, it appears that Crowley may not be as disinterested as Aziraphale first thought.

Fifteen Years of Heartache by mondlichtmaus (T, 20k) Crowley was roused from his nap by the sound of somebody opening the door. He didn't move. Maybe they would go away. "Excuse me?" someone called. They weren't going away. Crowley rose, lifting his head to squint at the intruder. A broad figure, silhouetted by the light of the hallway. He couldn't make out his face, eyes still bleary from sleep. Just a halo of light framing his head. "What?" Crowley grumbled. There was a moment of silence, then the intruder spoke again. "Anthony?" They're teachers. They're in love. They're oblivious.

Just Up the Stairs by foolishlovers, ineffabildaddy, omens_for_ophelia (E, 39k) On Valentine's Day, amidst the chaos of handling work and university deadlines as a mature student, Crowley seeks solace with his neighbour Aziraphale. As they share a meal, their long-standing friendship begins to unravel, revealing hidden feelings they've harboured for six months. It's a night that could change everything. Black and White Sunshine by Azira_Amane (E, 58k) "The cotton capital. The Second Summer of Love, the Haçienda. Irwell, Medlock, Irk and Mersey. Elizabeth Gaskell wrote her novels in a lovely little house. Oh. There’s so much to know…" Aziraphale East is, by his own account, a bit of an odd duck - and he's okay with that. He's always been happy in his own skin, in having been a confirmed bachelor his whole life. Everything changes on a work trip from London to Manchester, where he meets the vivacious and stunningly attractive Anthony Crowley. Like the splitting of the atom, Aziraphale is divided - and begins to wonder if it's not too late for love after all. Age, as they say, is but a number.

Tales of Turning Pages by foolishlovers (E, 73k) Every Tuesday, aspiring romance novelist Anthony J. Crowley pays a visit to his local library and the charming angel working there. Every Tuesday, Aziraphale Fell finds himself more and more intrigued by the curious stranger who turns his orderly life as a small-town librarian upside down.

[you can find more fic rec masterposts here]

#hope you'll enjoy these #nothing makes me happier 💜#(shamelessly included my own fics but.. i think that's fair? 😳)#good omens #good omens fics #good omens fanfic #good omens human au #trans crowley #trans aziraphale #genderfluid crowley #agender aziraphale #good omens fic rec #aziracrow #aziracrow fic #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable partners #foolish recs #go fic masterpost

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canonkiller · 1 year

Photo

[image ids: a set of different colored bust illustrations of dragons, all referencing or inspired by the colors available in the dungeons and dragons ttrpg. in order, they are: red, bronze, copper, black, red, copper, sapphire, white, and brass. end id]

various busts from the past few years (2020-2022) of either my dragon characters or just generic ones. you can use these as visual reference for characters in ttrpgs with your friends, but please credit me (and if you create or commission art, please change the designs when doing so to make them your own!) ^w^

i’m hoping that soon my vision will recover enough to formally reopen smaller comms, but in the meantime i’ve been chipping away at organizing my ttrpg-related art files to share to subscribers on ko-fi (currently active) and patreon (will be active in the future) !

bonus time capsule art below the break!

from way back in 2013 - a decade ago now! - my first ever ttrpg art; a black dragon for a friend’s campaign. unfortunately, iirc, we only played one session before things fell apart, but such is life. maybe i’ll redraw this one sometime, for a 10-year comparison of being a nerd

#my art #dragons #dungeons and dragons #ttrpg #dnd #and the bulk of specific tags please bear with me:#red dragon #bronze dragon #copper dragon #black dragon #sapphire dragon #white dragon #brass dragon

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mikareo · 6 months

Text

“ ࣭⸰ ★ WHEN SPRING COMES . . . ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀呪術廻戦 ; megumi fushiguro x fem reader

⊹ ⠀⠀ your love for megumi can be compared to a snowflake; delicate and beautiful, stunning and unique. however, spring is coming— and eventually, all snowflakes have to melt. (1.2k)

contains; hanahaki au, rejection, angst, implied death author's note; this is 2 years old pls forgive me,, n hanahaki used to be my favorite trope IM SORRY I POST IT SM ajskl

it’s been over a decade, fifteen years really, of the never-ending winter that you’ve grown so accustomed to. the settled snow has been your comfort zone, a weighted blanket tying you down to his presence since primary school, freezing the ribbon that tied your heart to his for eternity— though only now, you realize that ribbon is a chain, shackling you to a hopeless series of unrequited feelings that could never be returned. you’ve imprisoned yourself to an idea of love that never was. love that you viewed as your personal one-of-a kind snowflake between the two of you; something special and passionate with no barriers or boundaries, which softly flurried around you for your entire lives...

...but snowflakes melt when they touch the ground.

the soft powder is nothing but water now; dirtied water on the blood-ridden pavement, speckled with pink petals of a flower that you used to love. the snowflake is dying. it’s dead. and spring has come.

“tilt your head up,” megumi murmurs with the softest, most lovely voice you’ve ever heard. “you’ve still got some on your chin.”

he’s being generous with his words. you know your skin is stained red, dripping with blood and broken leaves that refuse to be wiped away. luckily for you, he tells you that red is his favorite color— that the scarlet shade compliments your complexion and makes you look beautiful— but you know he’s lying.

the deep clots and black chunks would send anyone into a nauseous fit, he’s too kind to you.

you wish he would be horrible. that he’d hurdle insulting comments, awful remarks, and unforgivable curses— but he’d never.

— and you love him for that.

it’s too bad that he doesn’t feel the same.

he never has.

he never will.

“does that feel alright?” his washcloth is cold and damp. it’s a muddied mahogany after previously being a gorgeous forrest green. “it’s still warm, right?”

you nod, believing that one more lie won’t hurt your already dreadful situation. “i think you’ve got it all,” the reflection before you is one you recognize, a person of the past that you can’t seem to let go of no matter how many hours you spend wishing them away. “thank you, really.”

despite the normal appearance you now display, with rose-tinted cheeks and swollen eyes, there’s a garden growing in the sink. vines slithering their way down the drain as the water stream attempts to rid them from view. torn tulip petals are strewn across the bathroom floor, and in another life perhaps it would have been romantic to see a flower petal pathway leading towards the bedroom— that’s not your life though. you’ve been left with emptiness and a void of feelings with no return.

“i’m always here to hold your hair back, i hope you know that.” he smiles with kindness, a genuine goodness that can only be portrayed by him. he’s the best person you know. there’s no mystery as to why you fell for him all those years ago, and why that love has followed you through adulthood. “it’s almost pretty…y’know, in a morbid way.”

hm, funny. morbidly beautiful.

“yeah,” you reply in a snap. “maybe they can be my funeral flowers.”

you've made him angry.

“don’t even joke about that, what the hell?” megumi always gets upset when you say those type of things. his vision turns red and he’s blinded by his own sadness that he forgets that he’s the cause— he’s the calamity that uprooted your formally blissful life. he’s the one who fell in love with someone new.

winter could’ve lasted forever had he not gone to class that day.

it could raged onwards had he not met her.

you could’ve been hand-in-hand dancing beneath the moonlight on a snowy eve if she hadn’t asked for directions to the library. his kisses could’ve been peppering your face rather than hers if only you’d been more fun, more outgoing, more persuasive, more everything, then maybe he would’ve stayed.

but megumi didn’t stay...

...he left.

he left as the leaves grew on the barren trees and pollen drifted through the breeze. he said his brief goodbyes to your heart while his chased her’s in yearning. he didn’t so much as glance your way as the hanahaki roots planted themselves in your heart— only choosing to show concern after they’d already grown terminal. he disappeared from your point of view before you could even acknowledge his absence— which was and continues to be unfair.

megumi was yours and now he isn’t. it’s as simple as that. as awful and simple as that.

“we both know i’m dying.” you murmur, hands folded together as if they're the only things you have left to hang onto. you wish one of those hands could find their place in his warm palm, but the black marker ink etched onto his skin in the shapes of mini hearts and smiley faces are more than enough to drive you away. “there’s no point in denying it anymore. i can barely breathe.”

he shakes his head, backing away from you despite your obvious need for physical comfort.

you thought he knew you better than that. you thought he’d know exactly how to ease your pain, but he doesn’t. he’s very clearly not your soulmate, but for some reason your heart tells you otherwise.

“you’d be able to if you’d just get the surgery,” he says. “please.”

he's begging for something he could solve.

megumi's eyes look dark under the overhead light. “please don’t make me have to see you in a casket.”

the surgery in which the roots are removed from your heart is a tricky one. a procedure that many endure and survive, where they get to continue living their lives healthy and happy— though, are they truly living if they’re void of the love that once consumed them?

“i wouldn’t be able to live with myself, you know that.” your voice is firm, after having had this conversation many times before, “i’d know a part of me was missing. you’re too important for me to just…erase.”

if you’re being completely honest with yourself, you’d rather remain in your eternal winter for the rest of your soul’s existence. yes, it’s cold and dreary, with little to no sunlight and hope of a new love or progression in your relationship with him— but it’s familiar. you find it comfortable and there’s no fear in the feelings that you’re already so accustomed to living with everyday. the thought of spring is terrifying. the season following your beloved winter that represents rebirth and new blossoming love is one that you’ll never come to know— which is completely by choice. there’s no point in limping yourself towards spring when there’s no one you’d rather love than megumi.

these hanahaki tulips won’t see the sunshine they yearn for when the grass regains its color. they’ll simply wither away with you and the lock that refuses to fall, holding your feelings for him in an eternal slumber that will never be woken.

“i love you.” you say, whilst knowing that that’s the last thing he wants to hear. “i love you so much.”

your confessions of love are a reminder of your little time left, and he hates it.

he wishes it would all stop; but it can’t and it won’t.

perhaps he should’ve given you a chance when the opportunity arose. then you may have been happy. however, he knows that there’s no forcing love.

you’ve been doomed since the moment you’d laid eyes on him.

love isn't your happiness.

“i’ve only ever loved you.”

it's your demise.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

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theconstantsidekick · 4 months

Note

heyyyy...how are you doing.????

I was just wondering that if you have the idea of writing one shots for static verse , could you.. maybe write something where static takes Bucky as her date to her Harvard reunion...

may be when she was studying , everyone used to be so jealous of her cuz she is basically a sassy smartass...but now in the reunion they are acting so nice because she is a lawyer/avenger.. Definitely faking niceness...

and Jamie boy being too proud of his girl...

The Class of '92 | b.b

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader, Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings)

Genre: Fluffy with a chance of angst.

Summary: Y/n goes to the Harvard Reunion to reap the benefits of the alumni fees she's been giving out for the last three and a half decades.

(This takes place after the events of Static: Get, Set, Glitch. However, it can be read as a stand-alone piece. But it’s fun. I promise.)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Recreational Drug Use, Mentions of Sex, Minors DNI, 18+ Only.

a/n: I think I strayed a little away from the original premise? I'm sorry?

Bucky Barnes, The Boyfriend (other one-shots) | The Falcon, The Winter Soldier and Static | Static: Get, Set, Glitch | Static Verse Masterlist

If she were being completely honest, she never entertained the idea of going to her class reunions. The whole ‘being-half-alien-aging-like-a-nebula-and-looking-the-same-for-years-on-end’ thing kinda took the wind out of her sails whenever she even thought about accepting the invite.

But that was then.

Now people know who she is, what she is. No more reasons to hide, no Ross on her ass trying to hunt her down for the Accords, no giant purple grape looking alien knocking at the door threatening to burn the world down, no younger brother constantly being confused as her older brother.

Fuck. She’ll never get used to that.

The moment the invitation popped up on her laptop screen, her first reaction was to call Tony.

“You’ve got Tony Stark. I’m probably busy saving the world or curing a hangover. You can leave a message at the beep but I only get back to people if they’re hot. F.R.I.D.A.Y. will delete your message if you’re not. You’ve been warned.” The pre-recorded voice-message cut off with a beep.

Exhaling harshly, she spoke softly, “I was calling to ask you if you wanted to go to my reunion with me. Free booze, snobby assholes, jealous losers who hate me for being smarter, and did I mention the free booze? Totally your scene.” She fidgeted with the folder on her desk, nervous about a voicemail. “But you’re busy… being a dead dick so… So I guess I’ll just skip it this year as well.”

Life had other plans, though.

Well, her beloved boyfriend James Bucky Barnes did.

“I can go with you?” He offered.

“What?” she asked him, confused.

“To the reunion,” he answered easily, his eyes still fixed on the omelet he was making for her. “I can go with you. Can’t guarantee I’ll be as fun company as your brother, but I can show you a good time. Pull out all the stops, be the trophy husband of a lifetime.” He smiled at her then. “Only if you want to, though.”

And now here they were.

“This was a bad idea,” she comments, sipping on her drink.

“Why?” Bucky asks her, more confident than her—which don’t get her wrong was hot as fuck, but very unlike them.

“They’re all… they’re all—”

“Old?” Bucky finished with an amused smile.

She couldn’t help the smile that slipped out.

He looks good, comfortable and sen-fucking-sational. He’s wearing a black tux with a white shirt and black bowtie. She’d been a little too busy trying to decide what to wear to have noticed him changing into the outfit. Eventually, having finalized on a white twill suit and a blood red silk shirt with a matching tie, she stepped out of her room. And he was a fucking vision.

Looking at him might just be her favourite hobby. She could pursue that shit as a vocation.

“That happens sometimes.” Bucky tells her. “People do get old, you know?”

She looks around at the crowd. They’re at the prime location for people watching, standing at the bar, far in the corner of the vast room. The lights are dim, only sprinkles of yellow scattered around the venue, the rest is overshadowed by a sea of ocean blue. So, she takes the moment, the isolation and takes a while to soak in his words.

‘People do get old.’

“Yeah… yeah. I know,” she responds solemnly.

He takes a moment too, not to look at the crowd. Bucky seldom looks at anything with interest apart from her. He does the same now, he looks at her, studying the expression on her face. With his assessment done, he says, “I’ve never seen you nervous before.”

“I’m not nervous,” Y/n bites back, scolding him with absolutely no heat whatsoever.

“I’ve never seen you anxious before,” he amends.

Rolling her eyes, “I’m not anxious.”

“Scared?”

She has to look at him then. Brows furrowed, she frowns.

Bucky throws up his hands instantly, admitting his mistake with an adorable smile.

“I used to steal Bruce’s homemade tacos before he learned to control the Hulk,” she smiles too. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

He takes a step closer to her, his words are softer when he speaks but bold enough for her to hear with ease. Gently placing his hand on the small of her back, he asks, “Then what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I wasn’t exactly… well, let’s just say there’s a reason I avoided going to class when I was in college,” she answers. Bucky’s face scrunches up at the insinuation.

But before he can enquire about it any further, before she can warn him, a voice cuts in.

“That was because you used to be a facetious little know-it-all,” the man comments. “You didn’t need the classes anyway.” He smiles, and there is no warmth in it.

Bucky must notice because his arm tightens just a little around her.

This was bound to happen sooner or later. She decides to roll with the punches. She knew what she was getting into when she came here.

“Charles Walton,” she greets him with a smile, just as dead as his. “Been a long time.”

“I’d say the same, but you look exactly the same as you did back then—not a hair out of place. I’m not sure time even passed,” he jokes, or well he tries.

“What can I say? It’s the price of being an Avenger,” she bites back.

He laughs, a hollow thing. “Hey, Milkovich!” He yells out over her head. “Guess who showed up!”

Well, fuck.

That one shout is enough to draw the attention of the entire class of 92. Cause almost instantly there’s a crowd gathered around Bucky and her. There’s chuckles and whispers among them—some are bewildered at her presence while others seem itching to make this a battlefield.

“Ah, the famous Avenger,” a female voice chimes in. “You're famous around these parts, you know?” She takes a couple steps closer to them. Assessing her from head to toe, “Not just for being an Avenger, but being so elusive that you didn’t show up for a single reunion… But at least now we know why.”

“Nice to see you too, Seline,” Y/n tells her, calm and centered.

“Shit, Stark!” Mickey Milkovitch balks. “You look the fucking same!”

And fine, she can take it from Milkovich. The guy was always crass but never rude. He just lacked a fucking filter.

So the smile that she smiles is open and kind. “Thanks, Mick. I could say the same about you.” She’s not lying. The guy looks pretty good for his age… and for the copious amount of alcohol she remembers him consuming during every party and every lecture.

“Not as good as you, holy shit! You really don’t age, do you?” He asks and it’s genuine so again, he gets a pass.

Nodding, “Not enough. My telomeres don’t work right, I think. Rest of me is human… mostly.”

And Mickey seems to take a lot of pleasure in her answer—smiling, he holds up his glass to cheers. She meets him with her own glass.

“Can’t lie, it’s a surprise to see you here,” another woman speaks up. “We thought we’d seen the last of you at the graduation.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Candace. I saw the invite and I just couldn’t help myself,” Y/n bites back.

“Didn’t have time for us before?” Candace Huston asks.

“Ah.” Y/n never really liked these snobby prep school kids. Even after all these years, they’ve somehow managed to not change at all. She doesn’t know why she expected them to. “I was a little caught up.”

“Saving the world?” Archer Bass suggests, mocking.

“Yes,” Bucky cuts in before she can form some modest version of that answer. She can always count on him to stump the opposition while she reloads. “That’s the day job. Doesn’t pay as well as whatever it is you guys have been doing. And oh! Odd hours, really odd. But it’s good work, wouldn’t you say, sweetheart?”

She smiles, finding comfort in the warmth of his gaze. “Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been a Personal Injury Lawyer.” Bucky smiles at that and fuck if that doesn’t just rile her up. “Oh! I almost forgot, this is my boyfriend—”

She’s cut off by Charles ‘Chickenshit’ Walton, “The Winter Soldier. We know who he is.”

“At least he’s a looker,” Seline snickers. “I’ll give you that.”

“The two of you make a great couple—The Winter Soldier and Static, ex assassin and ex assassin,” Candace adds with a snide smile. There’s more catty bullshit like that from the rest of the crowd but she kinda zones out.

And fuck it all to hell.

Her entire college life was avoiding these fools.

All her life she’d watched shows about the shitshow that is high school. She hadn’t attended it, of course but Harvard was supposed to be her first try. It was supposed to be her playing her hand at being utterly and completely normal, one with the crowd. College wasn’t supposed to be as brutal as highschool but not as uncaring as a desk job. It was supposed to be an easy middle between the two. Part of her was excited even. But the reality wasn’t all that movies made it out to be.

They were snobs, the fucking lot of them. Always looking at every tiny little detail, studying it a microscope, planning and scheming to find a chink in her armour just to break her down. She didn’t understand why then. Why they didn’t like her, why she was the outsider. Because despite everything she wasn’t exactly that different from them, not to their knowledge at least. Howie was fucking loaded, ipso facto she was too. None of them knew her past but everytime they looked at her their eyes were always hungry, always searching for some weakness.

She gets it now.

It wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t some twisted version of distrust.

It was straight up jealousy.

They were jealous of her.

They were jealous of her back then and if possible they are even more jealous of her now.

Y/n just laughs. She can’t help it, okay? It’s hilarious.

She really, genuinely believed at one point in her life that these fucking dipshits would figure out her secret, when all they were looking for was a way to top the class. These are some of the smartest individuals she’s come across—graduates of Harvard Law. Fuck! They were just kids fighting for brownie points when she was fighting for her freedom. God fucking damn it, she’s been so damn dumb.

So she laughs.

Bucky looks at her for a second, raises his brow in concern. She waves her hand at him, letting him know she’s fine. It’s just funny.

“Something funny, Stark?” Archer asks, wearing a smile on his face that contradicts his tone which is just a little too shrill to be considered calm.

She shakes her head but continues chuckling.

“Don’t wanna share it with the rest of the class?” Charles bites. “Guess some things just don’t change.”

Y/n laughs a little harder. “My god, Charlie. You sure I’m the only one not aging here? Cause you sound like a sullen teenager.” She waves off his response before he can even form one. “Anyway, as I was saying, this is my boyfriend, Sergeant James Buchanon Barnes.” She drops a kiss on his cheek. “You can call him Sergeant Barnes… Well, except Milkovich. He’s just Barnes to you, Mick.”

Mickey seems pleased with her words, “Nice to meet you, Barnes.” He extends his hand to Bucky who takes it without hesitation. “Always thought your arm was really cool.”

That one throws Bucky a little. He looks back at her, eyes big and a sneaky curve of his lip. It screams, ‘Where the fuck did you find this guy?’ But like she said, no filter on that one.

“Why does Milkovitch get special treatment?” Seline rebukes her.

Y/n just shrugs. “Cause he wasn’t a dick to me in college?” Isn’t it obvious?

“Excuse me?” Candace exclaims like the hit was personal. “We were never anything but generous, which was more than what you deserved considering the shit you pulled.”

“One, that is wildly inaccurate. You were all dicks, all of you. But I don’t think I blame you for it, pompous kids do what pompous kids see. And two, what shit did I pull?” She waves at the bartender asking for a refill.

“You are seriously going to pretend you don’t know?” Archer throws back.

Taking the last sip from her drink she sets the now empty glass down on the nearest table. “Yes, enlighten me.”

“You were sleeping with Professor Keating to get the answers to all the tests,” Charles answers, disdain clear on his face.

“I—” She looks from his face to Bucky's, who feigns shock before breaking into a smile.

Charles cuts her off. “You hid it well enough but everyone knew you spent most of the free time between classes in his office. You scored well in every single one of his tests, which were impossible to crack and he was always so very eager to call on you in class.” He scoffs. “We were never able to find any concrete evidence to pin you down, we’ll give you that. But that doesn’t mean we were naive enough not to see it.”

“I—” She begins laughing again. “Professor Keating.” Fuck.

“What’s so fucking funny, Stark?” Archer pushes her. Well, he tries but before he can grab the collar he was reaching for, Bucky’s metal arm is already pulling him off.

“Easy there, cowboy,” Bucky warns.

“Get your hands off me!” Archer tries to brush Bucky off, pushing him back, trying desperately to get out of his grip, but come on. It’s Bucky. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Saving you the ass beating of a lifetime, buddy boy. Be glad it’s me and not her,” Bucky comments causally as he twists Archer’s arm behind his back.

“It’s fine, Sunshine. Let him go,” she coos at him sweetly.

And because he’s Bucky, he urges Archer to take a few steps away from her and then simply lets him go.

“Are you still mentally unstable?! How dare you touch me? I’m gonna sue your Nazi ass for that!” Archer warns.

“I mean, you can try. But he’s got a great lawyer,” Y/n tells him, grabbing her new drink from the waiter. She takes a sip. “Got him pardoned for countless assassinations. You think assault is where I lose that battle?” The blood drains from Archer’s face, all the color is gone. “And as for the Professor Keating matter,” she giggles again, before forcing herself to compose. “He was ex-KGB. I used to hang out with him after class to find out if he knew the updated location of HYDRA bases.”

“Ex-KGB?” Seline asks, just as pale as Archer.

“You expect us to buy that bullshit story? His name was Arthur Keating for Christ’s Sake!” Candace shouts.

“Which he changed when he asked for political asylum here. His real name was Boris Levitsky. His family was murdered by HYDRA when he couldn’t free some official high in their ranks. After that he was fairly willing to spill all about them,” Y/n explains.

“To a college student?” Charles question, clearly not buying it.

“To an undercover S.H.I.E.L.D. operative,” she corrects.

“You were an undercover S.H.I.E.L.D. operative back then?” Bucky asks her, reclaiming his position next to her with a steady arm around her waist.

“No,” she tells him. “But he didn’t know that.”

Bucky’s face breaks into a proud smile. The sprinkles of yellow around the venue seem to be attracted to her sun. They fall softly on his face, lighting up the curve of his cheekbones, the smile lines around his lips. He seems so much more comfortable in his skin than he used to before. And he shines brighter, if that was even possible. She thinks maybe she’ll have to carry sunglasses around from now on.

“How the fuck did you score so well then?” Seline question, furious at the revelation.

“Did you guys ever think maybe she’s just that fucking smart?” Bucky throws out, kissing her forehead. “My sweetheart’s a fucking genius!” He leans in closer. “A lesser man would be very intimidated by that, you know?”

He’s so close, she can taste his scent on the tip of her tongue. The smell of summer in the woods, and remnants of leather. It drives her insane.

“A lesser man, huh?” She teases. “You’re not intimidated by it then?”

“Oh I am,” he tells her. “Just not very intimidated.”

God, he’s so fucking beautiful.

“Hey! Lovebirds! We’re not done here,” Charles jumps in.

Rolling her eyes and reluctantly turning back to face the asshat, she asks, “What do you want?”

“Winter Soldier here might think you’re all that, but I know better.” He looks like he’s about to spontaneously combust into flames purely out of anger. “You’re not that smart. Unlike you, some of us worked hard to get where we are. We didn’t rely on fake daddy’s money to make something of ourselves.”

Now that’s just stupid. “Charlie… Come on, man. Howard Stark was not my father, he was my best friend, I just needed a cover. And his money got me nowhere. And, and! The fucker went and got killed before I even graduated.” Bucky’s head falls at the mention, but her time at college was too closely knit to his passing for her to not mention it. “But even after all that if you think I got in because he bribed the board—I didn’t fucking graduate Summa Cum Laude by kicking my feet and batting my eyelashes. I barely came to college to even do that with perfect follow through. That was my dropping-acid-and-doing-fireball-shots phase. I’m surprised to be alive, honestly.” She takes a step towards him. “Maybe in retrospect it seems like everything was handed to me on a silver platter now that my life seems so glorious on the outside, but that wasn’t the case, dude. Part of me wanted to be a lawyer so I could fight for my freedom if the time ever came.”

“Freedom from what, Stark?!” He yells out. “Your life is fucking perfect! You’re an Avengers, governments step aside to make way for you. You’ve got a super hot boyfriend who can clearly throw a punch, what more could you possibly want?”

Tony.

I want my brother back.

The answer is right there, on the tip of her tongue. But they don’t need to know it. They don’t really deserve it. Not their fault—most people don’t.

So, instead she steps back, clasps her hands into Bucky’s. “Nothing, actually. You’re right. I couldn’t ask for more.” Someone in the back catches her eye then. “Lighten up, Charlie.” She looks around at the rest of them. “You’re supposed to be the brightest minds of the nation, not petty fucking 6th graders. Lighten the fuck up, kids. I assure you there are worse things to be than fucking Harvard graduates.” She pulls Bucky by the hand and this hunk of a man follows along without an ounce of hesitation, as always. She yells out without turning “I’d say it was nice to see you guys, but it really fucking wasn’t.” But then her steps halt. She turns, “All except you, Milkovitch. It really was nice to see you again. Call me sometime, we should catch up.”

“I don’t have your number,” Mickey replies innocently.

She smiles. “Fine then, I’ll call you.”

“You don’t have my number.”

Her smile just turns mischievous.

Mickey picks up instantly. “Of course,” he says, a little embarrassed. “World class spy—I forgot.”

Hugging the man quickly, she turns and grabs Bucky by the hand again and begins walking off.

“This was amazing! Let’s do this again next year,” Bucky yells out, waving at the gaping faces they’ve left behind.

“Shut up, James.” She hushes him without heat.

“Where you taking me, sweetheart?” He asks, but there is no real curiosity in his question.

So she says as much. “You don’t really seem that curious about it.”

“I’m asking for the fuck of it—to hear you talk. I love hearing you talk.”

“Sap.” She’s smiling.

“I’ll follow you anywhere, don’t care where you take me,” he promises.

They’ve stopped walking, her target is in her eyesight so she’s all too worried. So she takes the moment to drink him in.

“FUCKING SAP,” she chides, pushing him a little.

Bucky (pretends to) stumble. “Only for you. Always for you,” he tells her, honest and true. He covers the distance between them with a few short steps. His hand comes to caress her jaw, gently—always so gently. He leans in. His lips brush against her as he speaks, “Till the end of my days, sweetheart.”

“Till the end of mine,” she corrects him and then closes the gap.

The best thing about kissing Bucky is that it always feels like the first time. No matter however many times she kisses this boy, every time it feels overwhelmingly new. It feels like her mind is melting, like she’s turning to mush under his hands—one flesh, the other metal. He always knows how to give her exactly what he craves, maybe because she mostly just craves him.

With one hand on her cheek, the other on the small of her back, Bucky pulls her in closer. His tongue tastes of whiskey, but his lips are all him. They are delectable enough to eat. It takes everything in her not to bite down too hard. But she can’t resist the urge to pull his lip between her teeth, biting just hard enough to leave them red. He kindly obliges by slipping his tongue into the mix. He’s so hungry for her, he’s always so fucking hungry for her.

Absent-mindedly she thinks maybe he feels it too. The inexplicable newness in the repeated action of kissing each other. Because hunger like that—hunger like his, seems insatiable. She would give away all of herself to it. Let him consume her whole. She will do just that… Just not here, not now.

Reluctantly, with great strength and determination, she pulls herself away.

Bucky, this fucker, whimpers. “What?” He whines.

She can’t help but chuckle. “I need to one thing then we can just get the fuck out of here and do more of that—a lot more of that.”

He pretends to think for a second but she already knows she’s won him over. “Fine,” he says after a beat. “What do you need?”

“An answer,” she tells him, before fixing herself a bit and walking over to the woman who’d caught her eye before.

She’s a tall woman, short black hair—a pixie cut that she pulls off flawlessly. She’s standing alone, smoking in the open area of the venue, looking out at the scene ahead of them.

Y/n approaches her cautiously. “Jeri Hogarth,” she calls out, making the woman turn. “You’re a hard woman to reach.”

“Y/f/n Stark.” Jeri doesn’t even turn to look at her. She keeps on staring straight ahead, smoking. “Did you ever consider, maybe I didn’t want to be reached?”

Y/n lets go of Bucky’s hand, but not before giving it a gentle press as a promise to come back soon. She walks up next to Jeri. “I did consider that possibility, but couldn’t bring myself to care about it, unfortunately.”

And then, finally Jeri turns to look at her, “What do you need for me? I mean it must be something big if you decided to show up here.”

Y/n shrugs. “It’s not big, I wouldn't say. I think it’s more that it’s… urgent?” That seems to intrigue Jeri, she cocks her brow in question. And Y/n answers, “I need to speak with Danny Rand.”

That seems to throw Jeri off. “I—I don’t know where he is. Besides, if you want his business—”

“It’s not about Rand Enterprises, Hogarth.” She clicks her tongue in disappointment. Nothing that fucking arbitrary would bring her here. “I want to talk to Danny’s friend. I want to talk to the Iron Fist.”

“I don’t—” Jeri looks like she’s at a loss for words which, yeah, a fairly new look on her. Y/n had very rarely seen Jeryn Hogarth lose her calm in class. They shared a lot of them, and while she wasn’t exactly kind to Y/n, she wasn’t unkind either.

“I know that you know, Jeri. I also know about Jessica Jones and… Kilgrave.” Y/n doesn’t want to be unkind to her either. “I am sorry about what happened…” Jeri just looks away. “I wouldn’t ask you if it was important, and I wouldn't be looking for Danny if it wasn’t urgent. But I need to talk to him.”

“And you think I can help?” Jeri challenges, finally finding her ground.

But Y/n isn’t here for a fight. “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t know you could.”

“Why should I?”

“I don’t have a very good reason for that. I don’t think I have anything of value to you that I could even barter with? But I’ll owe you one,” Y/n offers.

“You’ll owe me one?” She asks, unconvinced.

Y/n shrugs. “Yes.”

“And that’s supposed to be good enough?”

For the second time tonight, Y/n just wears a mischievous smile with furrowed brows.

Jeri seems to understand her without any words being spoken. “Yeah. That’s good enough.” She nods. “Okay, I can try to get a message to him, but there is no guarantee that he’ll respond.”

“He’ll respond,” Y/n answers easily.

Jeri eyes her suspiciously. “So, what’s the message?”

“Just tell him we need to talk,” Y/n answers.

“That’s all?”

“What else am I supposed to fucking say? The peacock rests peacefully in the moonlight?! This isn’t Mission Impossible. I’m not Tom Cruise. I just wanna talk to the dude,” Y/n rebukes.

“Fine,” Jeri tries to calm her down half-heartedly, turning back to the view ahead of her.

“Thanks, Hogarth,” Y/n says one last time before heading out.

Jeri takes out a fresh cigarette and lights it. “Just remember you owe me one.”

With that out of the way, Bucky and Y/n leave the reunion of the class of '92, hand in hand. It’s much later when they’re out for ice cream does Bucky ask the question she had been anticipating the entire night.

“Something was off tonight—before the whole sleeping with the teacher thing.”

She chuckles at his words. “Was there?” She asks.

“Yeah,” he doesn’t let her dodge it. “You wanna talk about it?” He does give her the option to opt out. He’s so considerate, how can she deny him anything?

They are sitting on the curb outside the 24 hour ice cream shop. They are bathed in the harsh light from the streetlight. Bucky, she thinks, somehow manages to still look pretty in that. He has a chocolate ice-cream cone in his hand that’s melting away at a matching speed to the vanilla cone in hers. They’d spent a little too long lost in each other’s mouths to focus on the ice-cream in a timely fashion. Both of them are now trying to furiously make up for that.

It takes her a moment to find the words. “I… It’s hard looking around at the room and seeing so many people who are… who are…”

“Old?” Bucky supplies again.

She shakes her head, laughing and trying to lick the ice cream off the cone—save it from falling. “No, Jamie. Not that.”

“Then?” He prompts, leaning to lick the leftover ice cream off her fingers.

Taking in a long breath, she musters up her courage and begins. “Tony’s the same age as Milkovitch. Or well, Tony would have been.” Bucky’s eyes turn softer in an instant. “It’s weird to see it—people who used to be young, who used to look like me, a crowd that I could have blended into seamlessly become old and gray. I mean, I lived it with Tony but I was there to see it day in and day out. He aged in front of my eyes, so it felt—it felt…”

“Natural?” Bucky offers.

And yeah. Yeah, it did. So, she nods. “Natural,” she agrees. “I remember when I noticed his first gray hair,” she laughs. “I freaked the fuck out but I didn’t want to tell him, cause that seemed fucking shallow, you know? I tried to hide it but man, I don’t think I was doing a good job ‘cause two days later the poor kid had dyed it black—that one single strand.” Bucky laughs too. “I think he figured out why it was freaking me out and that was his way of—I don’t know—calm me down, maybe?” She clicks her tongue at the thought. “The wrinkles were an easy adjustment. It began with smile lines, crinkles around his eyes every time he’d laugh at a joke, so it was…”

“Comforting?” Bucky suggests, once again giving her the words she can’t seem to find.

She rests her head on his shoulder then, “Yes. It was okay after that—especially after Pepper. Watching him age began feeling like a privilege. It felt like he was growing old instead of, you know, dying?”

Bucky nods. “Are you worried about that now? With me?” She punches him in the side. “FUCK! What was that for?”

She pulls back to face him, “I am not thinking about that shit yet!”

“Oh I’m sorry!” Bucky yells out annoyed and animated. “I was just drawing the LOGICAL conclusion to the conversation, but of course, that was stupid.”

“You’re such a little shit, James,” she rebukes him, shoving him and getting back on her feet.

“I’m a shit?! What did I do?!” He gets up as well. “We keep making grand promises about how we’ll love each other to the end of your days because you’ll obviously live longer.”

“BUCKY, DON’T SAY THAT!” She begins walking towards their motorbike parked in the parking lot.

He follows behind, “It’s not breaking news, Y/n! It’s inevitable.”

“Bucky!”

“But I have a plan!”

That makes her halt. She turns to face him, he almost runs into her. “What’s the plan?”

He smiles all cheeky and insolent. “Freeze me for a decade once in a while.” She can’t believe her ears.”Put me in the fridge every ten years or so for a decade and then pull me out. I’m also open to being in the freezer for a year with a two year gap in the middle as well.” She wants to punch him again. “I haven’t done the math on which will make me live longer but both will definitely extend my lifespan significantly.” She is going to punch him again. “I age a little slower anyway, this was I think we could extend this relationship into the next millennium at leas—” She punches him again. “FUCK! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT ONE FOR NOW?”

Turning around, she begins walking off again. “You’re not ice-cream, Jamie. I’m not fucking freezing you!” She cans the ice-cream in her hand, having lost her appetite.

He follows her again. “I have another plan!”

“Shut up, Barnes!”

“What if we ask Banner to make me body like you guys did for Vision?! Put my consciousness in there?” Bucky asks as they reach their motorbike.

She pulls out the keys, handing them off to Bucky. “What made him capable of emotions was the Mind Stone, you got any spare of those lying around?”

Bucky hops on the bike and then thinks for a second, “Steve told me you guys put Zola in a big computer kinda thing.” She gets on behind him. “What if we did that? I know our sex life might suffer but—”

She punches him right under his ribs..

“STOP FUCKING PUNCHING ME! These ideas are golden.”

She punches him again.

Find other one-shots here. Find other Static Verse works here. tag list : @aryksworld @freeflyingphoenix @arikarapli @just-anotherstan @justab-eautifulmess @ceo-of-daichi @liketearsintherainn @paintballkid711 @starkleila @heyitsmereading @fairlygothparents @euphoria-svt @sidepartskinnyjeans @mini-kunoichi @third-broparcelicito @siwiecola @haleybutnotthecomet @mvaldez7821 @rockybutmakeitlame @romanoffswoman @ashpeace888 @hopeofwinter @percabethfangirl987 @lilfuturescars @hailqueenconquer

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impala-dreamer · 3 months

Text

Cherry Wine

A Tale from the 'My Bloody Valentine' Universe

~Tom left town in a hurry, escaping capture by faking his death. On the run and distraught, he finds comfort in the arms of a stranger.~

Tom Hanniger x Rose (OFC)

2,453 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Sexual Scenes. Torture. Bondage. Psychosis. Movie Level Blood and Gore.

A/N: Written for @jacklesversebingo "Be good for me and I'll untie you."

This takes place immediately after the film and shows Tom still dealing with his issues, namely murder. If you're unfamiliar with the movie, I doubt it will matter. Just know that he is insane and dangerous. Hope you enjoy!

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he couldn't go home.

He didn't even know where home was anymore. Was it back in Harmony surrounded by memories and the corpses of his childhood? Or back in the hospital with all of his twisted pain and overly medicated thoughts?

He didn't know.

So he drove.

He drove until the sun rose and hung high in the sky, blossoming over the Pennsylvania landscape like the face of God. Bright and warm, it beat down on the maroon truck as trees blurred in his peripheral.

When the gas tank was as empty as his stomach, he pulled off of the interstate and parked, taking only his wallet and jacket with him.

The late afternoon was warm. February had been uncharacteristically mild, and he tugged at the collar of his sweatshirt, readjusting the hood behind his head.

Bill’s Diner was open and crowded. Tables lined the big front window, each red vinyl booth filled with locals who chatted over never-ending cups of coffee and plates of over-done french fries.

A little bell rang overhead as he walked in, and a pretty brunette with long hair pulled back into a tight bun smiled.

“Sit anywhere, hun,” she called to him while navigating the sea of tables with her hands full.

Tom nodded and looked around for an empty spot before deciding on a stool at the counter. He sat and slumped forward, clasped his hands on the sticky linoleum. He stared at his hands, willing the trembling to cease, but it never really went away. He was always just a little bit anxious, some part of him always shaking even if no one else saw.

Trauma had slashed at his soul and the scars ran deep.

A deep breath steadied him and Tom looked up as the waitress came into view.

“Hey there. Welcome to Bill’s. Can I getcha something to drink?”

Her smile was captivating. Her two front teeth were adorably bigger than the rest and her plump bow lips were tinted gently with a red gloss that made them look forever wet.

He couldn’t help but stare.

She blinked and looked away, pale skin blushing a soft pink under his gaze. Bright blue eyes gleamed when she turned back and Tom’s chest ached.

She reminded him of Sarah but a little plainer, a little softer all over.

“Hello?”

She waved a hand in front of his face and Tom startled, sitting up straight and shaking his head to clear his vision.

“Sorry,” he said with a sigh. “Long drive.”

The waitress nodded and grabbed a mug from below the counter. “I bet.” She filled it with coffee and slid it to Tom who smiled and closed his hands around the cup. “You coming or going?”

He bit his lip, wondering how to answer. Where was he coming from? Where was he going? To hell, probably.

Tired green eyes swept over her. The plastic buttons on her white shirt were tiny and struggling to keep the thin fabric from pulling open across her breasts. Her dark jeans were tight and dusted with flour and a few drops of marinara that had slipped past her black apron. Her curves were decadent and she smelled like vanilla.

He cleared his throat. “Just passing through.”

She smiled kindly and laid a plastic covered menu next to his coffee.

“Well, alright then, stranger. My name’s Rose. When you’re ready, just holler.” She winked and turned away, leaving him to scan the day’s specials alone.

The giant clock in the corner ticked the hours away. Customers came and went. Coins were dropped; tips were thin. Empty plates smeared with ketchup stacked up in the kitchen; spilled salt was wiped from table tops with a dingy rag.

Rose was busy most of the evening, but never too busy to stop back at the counter and talk with Tom. She lingered near him, pretending to clean while they chatted about how it hadn’t snowed in a few weeks and how the price of gas was going down a bit. She was sweet and Tom liked being near her. She was beautiful and her voice was like a calm breeze that lulled and comforted him.

When the windows were dark and the fuchsia neon glowed bright, Rose set her hands on the counter and looked down at him.

“Closing time, buddy. You don’t have to go home, butcha can’t stay here.”

He looked up through thick lashes and smiled flirtatiously. “Already?”

Rose licked her lips. “Sadly, yes. All good things must come to an end. Or so I’m told.”

“That’s a shame.” Without looking away, he drained the sweet swill from the bottom of his mug. “There any place to get a drink around here?” He paused, calculating her interest, and then went for it. He had nothing to lose. “Or maybe I could walk you home…”

Rose’s cheeks burned and her smile was impossible to hide. “Maybe both.”

Tom rolled onto his back and stretched, rolling his head on his shoulders and taking a deep breath. He hadn’t slept so well in a long time; hadn’t felt so good in forever.

Rose had been just what he needed.

They sat on her cinnamon couch and drank sparkling pink wine. Tom hated it, but the bubbles felt nice and each sip seemed to loosen her up a bit more.

When the bottle was empty and the glasses drained, Rose scooted closer and set her hand on Tom’s knee. He bit his lip as her fingers climbed higher, held his breath as she palmed his dick through his jeans, let his eyes close as she climbed into his lap.

She was heavy and warm. He ran his hands down her sides, slid his fingers around the curve of her waist. She pressed her ass down over him and rolled her hips.

He hissed at the friction and pushed a hand through her long hair, dragging her down for a kiss.

Her lips were plump and delicious. The gloss on her mouth tasted so familiar to him but he couldn’t place it.

“I never do this,” she whispered, half laughing as she ran her hands down his chest.

Tom grinned and traced the soft flesh above her jeans. “I don’t know, you’re pretty good at it.”

She chewed her lip and blushed. “I mean, take customers home. I haven’t done this in forever.”

He stared deep into her eyes and popped the bottom button of her shirt. “Well, I’m glad you decided to.” He scraped his nails down her sides and Rose’s head tipped back, her eyes fluttered shut, she hummed lustfully.

“Me too…”

He smiled and tossed the sheet off of himself; sat up and scrubbed a hand down his face. He’d have to shave soon, but it wasn’t a priority. He scratched at his scalp and yawned.

“Mornin’.”

Tom sucked a strawberry nipple between his lips and melted at the sound she made. Rose arched her back, pushing her tits against his face and grinding down on his cock.

They were mostly naked, shirts and jeans tugged away and tossed into random corners of the small living room. Only thin fabric separated them now, and Tom rubbed his middle finger against her covered slit. Her raspberry panties were soaked.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.”

Rose nibbled on his ear. “Wanna see the bedroom?”

He jerked his hips, bounced her in his lap. “Absolutely…”

The bedroom was flooded with mid-day sun that filtered through the thin curtains, and he stood up in a sun puddle, feeling the warmth instantly. He sighed and walked to the adjoining bathroom.

The tile floor was freezing and he tiptoed in, pulled back the shower curtain and turned on the tap.

“You don’t mind if I take a quick shower, do you?”

She was total perfection.

Stretched out over the bed, her pale skin looked like fresh cream against the burgundy sheets. She moaned as he tied the silken sash tight around her left wrist, squirmed as he leaned over her to secure the right.

“Another thing I never do,” she teased, reaching with her mouth to catch a kiss.

“What’s that? Let a stranger tie you up?” His smile was devilish yet sweet and he gave in to a deep kiss.

“Not exactly a safe thing to do…”

He licked into her mouth; savored the taste of her. “No,” he laughed, pulling back to look down at her. “It’s really not.”

Blue eyes fluttered as Tom drew his hands down her nakedness. He cupped each breast, pinched her nipples, scraped his teeth against the stiff buds.

“Fuck, you’re driving me nuts,” she whimpered, tugging at the restraints, needing to touch him.

He settled between her thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them open wide. “That’s kinda the point.”

His tongue burned like fire against her clit. He nuzzled into her, lapped at her slick heat, teased her to the edge of ecstacy.

Rose bucked her hips into his handsome face, held her breath as he slipped two thick fingers inside. Her body tensed. Her mind blanked. Her pulse quickened.

“Fuck. Please…”

Again, she tugged at the sashes holding her tight and Tom lifted his eyes. He grinned at her struggle.

“Be good for me,” he breathed, “and I’ll untie you.”

Heavy, warm steam filled the room as Tom lingered by the sink. He toyed with her toothbrush, sifted through her medicine cabinet. There wasn’t much inside and everything was expected. Floss, antibiotic ointment, a few hairpins. Half a bottle of aspirin, tweezers, lotion.

He smiled. Her skin was so soft.

He slipped in like a knife through warm butter, filling her up with his thick cock.

Tom thrust against her; dug his fingertips into the soft flesh above her hip bones. “Fuck, you’re amazing,” he moaned, his eyes closed, head thrown back as her body tightened around him.

Rose held her breath, wriggling harder beneath him with each jerk of his hips.

“Please!”

He looked down at her wet, ruby lips and smiled. Leaning down, he folded her nearly in half and scratched hard down her sides. She squirmed and garnet lines erupted in his wake.

“So gorgeous…”

His pace quickened. She moaned loudly over the sound of his thighs slapping against her ass.

“Please!”

Each scream egged him on. Every twist of her body beneath him made his heart race.

Rose was panting, choking on her pleasure as he fucked deep into her.

“Tom-”

He closed a hand around her delicate throat, massaged the sacred arteries on either side.

She thrashed against the bindings; eyes wide and lips growing pale.

He squeezed harder and he felt her cunt pulse as she came. Blue eyes were fading in a sea of wine, blood vessels bursting as his grip tightened.

“That’s it,” he grit, riding her through the pleasure. “Just like that. Fuck!”

Tom closed the cabinet door. He swept away the fog with his palm and looked into his own eyes. He was happy, sated and beaming.

His lips were ruddy and swollen a deep red. He pressed his fingertips to them and sighed. He could still feel her kiss, taste her on his tongue.

She tasted like cherry wine.

He kissed her gently yet deeply, memorizing the feel of her plush lips against his and the way she melted into him. His cum ran down her leg, warm and messy.

He pulled away and rolled onto his side, yanked the thin sheet up around his shoulders.

She slept soundly; he mumbled in his sleep.

Tom stepped into the hot water and moaned happily. The pressure was sublime. Water pounded his aching muscles, burned his skin blissfully.

He ran his hands through his hair and turned around to face the spray. It washed down his cheeks, flowed into his mouth. He looked down at the drain and gasped as a whirlpool of crimson swirled around the chrome and disappeared.

“The fuck?”

His mind raced.

His hands were stained with dried blood; his forearms scored with claw marks.

He panicked, panting as the water washed the night away and his memory returned.

He ripped through her skin like a knife through warm butter.

Tom jabbed the blade into her; dug the tip into the soft flesh above her hip bones.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled, green eyes wide as he watched the blood flow from her sides.

Rose gasped for a breath and wrenched her arms free of the silk sashes. She slapped at his chest, shoved his face away.

“Please!”

He looked down at her gaping ruby lips and smiled. With a murderous gleam in his eyes, he scratched hard down her side with the knife and watched the garnet stream erupt in his wake.

“So gorgeous…”

She kicked at him, summoning all of her strength to push him off even as her energy seeped away and soaked into the sheets. “Please!”

Each scream egged him on. Every twist of her body beneath him made his heart race and his cock twitch.

Barely able to breathe, Tom burst from the shower and steadied himself on the sink, knuckles blanching as he held on tight. He forced himself to look at his reflection and nearly broke as he saw the lingering blood on his cheeks. The splatter had been fast and furious- an arterial spray that painted his face from temple to chin.

“Fuck…”

He closed his left hand around her delicate throat, harshly pinching the sacred arteries on either side.

Rose clawed at his arms, drawing blood as she fought for her life.

He squeezed harder and felt her pulse slow. Blue eyes were fading in a sea of wine, blood vessels bursting as his grip tightened.

“That’s it,” he grit, lifting the knife to her jaw. “Just like that.” He sliced through her vocal chords, silencing her cries forever. A sanguine tide covered her milky breasts, stained his steady hands.

Through a cloud of steam, Tom stumbled back into the bedroom and bit back a scream.

Rose was laid out on the right side of the bed, her naked body posed as if sleeping. Her throat was torn, her sides split, chest carved open exposing the pale bones caging her heart.

He swallowed down a wave of bile and fell to his knees.

“Not again…”

Above the bed, drawn in Rose’s blood, was a simple heart.

Tom laughed as the last bit of life drained from her beautiful face. He bent to kiss her cold lips, savoring the last taste of her, memorizing the soft push of her lips.

He licked the blood from his fingertips as he rolled over, tired and sated.

She tasted like cherry wine.

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