#[ raises my tear stained face to the skies; I Love This Girl ]

[strawberry-punch-protagonis-blog]

“Famous last words.” // FROM SAIX - lunarcracy

Until Dawn Sentence Starters@lunarcracy

For a moment, there was blissful silence while Rosa-Mei stared at Saix, an ugly but genuine smile wrinkling her face, but she tossed her shoulders back, shouted a barely discernible ‘challenge accepted!’ to the skies, and then spread her hands into a ‘what-can-you-do?’ gesture.

    “Well, it’s not like I can make it any worse for myself, right?” Another twisted grin that quickly melts into a genuine smile. “How bad can it be? It’s not like something will actually kill me, right? It’ll be fine!”

[raewritez]

promise

based on this request: hiiii can i request a zuko x earthbender!reader where they get along rlly well when he comes to the air temple and they slowly develop feelings and confess before the final battle? tyyyy ❤️

       Silent tears streamed down your face as Katara held Aang tightly in her arms. You all sat upon Appa, the cool night breeze whipping your hair around as you grasped the sides of the saddle. Katara worked her magic on the lighting wound Azula had marked Aang with minutes ago while you and Sokka took Appa’s reins. You were so scared. You all were. Through her sobs, Katara had managed to explain what had just gone down; the Dai Li, Zuko siding with his sister, and Azula shooting Aang with lightning. You had never hated the Fire Nation Prince more than you did now, his actions filling you to the brim with loathing and animosity. You looked back at Katara’s tear-streaked face, Aang’s head pressed snugly into her neck. He’ll be ok, you assured yourself. He always is. 

------------------------

“Hello, Zuko here.”

You stared in disbelief at the figure in front of you, his hair falling over his face and his arm raised in an awkward hello.

“I heard you guys flying around down there, so, I just thought I'd wait for you here.” 

If you weren't surprised before, you definitely were when Appa suddenly growled and opted to run his giant tongue along Zuko’s face. He explained why he was there, insisting he could teach Aang fire bending and that “he had changed”. You rolled your eyes at that, you’d heard that one before. 

After disclosing that he had sent a literal assassin after all of you, he was sent away, mainly by Katara who possessed no shortage of threats that you had no doubt she would carry through with. Really, who did he think he was?! He had spent months chasing you, there was no way you could trust him. Was there?

------------------------

A couple weeks had passed from the whole Combustion Man incident, and, much to you and Katara’s annoyance, Zuko had been accepted into the group. You spent the first couple days sending him piercing glares and cold shoulders, but as time passed you reluctantly found yourself warming up to him. He wasn’t at all like you had pegged him as, in fact he was probably the biggest dork you knew, and with Sokka as one of your best friends that was saying something. Zuko had embarked on a couple “life changing field trips”, as Toph put it, and in his most recent escapade he and Katara had confronted her mother’s killer. Now, you found yourself standing at the shores of Ember Island, and while you could tell that the place held some painful memories for Zuko, you couldn’t help but enjoy the scenery.

“Y/n” you heard.

You turned around to see Zuko wading out to your spot amongst the shallow waves.

“What are you doing?” He chuckled with a slight smile on his face, one that only you could seem to coax out of him.

“Just enjoying the sunset,” You shrugged. “It’s nice to take a break, Toph has been working me to the ground.” Zuko snickered at that, he had seen how Toph acted as your teacher: yelling and ordering and enjoying her authority much too much for it to be anything less than irritating for you. Although you were a skilled earth bender, Toph was attempting to teach you Metalbending, and all you had managed to do was flip a coin. You loved her dearly, but that girl was pulling at your last nerve.

Zuko placed himself next to you, gazing fondly at your profile before switching his attention to the sky streaked with oranges and reds. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s pretty.”

You nodded you head before turning slightly to look at him. He looked more relaxed than he had in days, reminding you of the whispered conversations you had shared by the firelight when everyone else was asleep, his face free of the worry lines and scowl that deepened over the course of the day. You silently admitted to yourself that he was beautiful, his raven locks sweeping across his forehead and the crimson skin of his scar blending in with the ochre gloaming. His expression suddenly changed, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Aang isn’t taking this seriously,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He wants to spend his time goofing off when there’s a war, when he has to fight my father in a few days!”

He sounded exasperated, and you couldn’t blame him. He had taken another load to his shoulders, the stress of the upcoming fight against the Fire Lord weighing heavily on him.

“Hey,” you said softly, nudging his side you your arm. “It’s going to be fine. Aang’s just a kid, but he has the biggest and bravest heart of anyone I know. He’s an amazing fire bender now! He’ll be ready.” Zuko didn’t look convinced, but he sighed and slumped his head. “You’re probably right.” He turned to you and nudged his head in the crook of your neck, a familiar position for the two of you for when he would wake up from night terrors under the light of the moon. He would silently crawl over to your sleeping bag and lay down near, a respectable amount of space between the two of you, only for you to find yourselves clinging to each other by morning.

You had told yourself he was just a friend, that he was the prince of the Fire Nation and you were only an Earth Kingdom peasant. But in moments like these, when he bared the most vulnerable side of himself to you, it was hard to believe that. You played with the hair at the nape of his neck, his arms tenderly wrapped around your waist.

“Come on,” you spoke, lifting his head with your hand. “Let’s go back to the others. I heard Katara is making soup again.”

He perked up at that.

------------------------

It had all happened so fast: Aang went missing, you got help from a cool lady with a shirshu, and you met up with the Order of the White Lotus. You and your friends sat around a campfire making small talk, when you noticed Zuko pacing frantically in front of the entrance to a tent. You stood up and walked over to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Are you ok?” you asked softly.

“No, I'm not okay” he replied. “My uncle hates me, I know it. He loved and supported me in every way he could, and I still turned against him. How can I even face him?”

“Zuko, he loves you. And you’re sorry for what you did, right?” “More sorry than I've been about anything in my entire life.”

“Then he’ll forgive you,” you assured him. “He will.”

He nodded softly, building up his confidence. He gazed into your eyes and opened his mouth as to say something, “Y/n, I...” he trailed off and you looked at him curiously as a blush rose to his face. “I...um...thank you.” He rose to his feet and pushed the curtains apart, sparing you once last glance. 

------------------------

You squirmed around in your sleeping bag, the confines of sleep seeming unbearable. Iroh had informed you all that you needed to split up, for each person to seek out their destiny. Your destiny lay with Sokka, Suki, and Toph; the four of you would depart to the skies at dawn to take down the Fire Nation airfleet. Zuko and Katara would fly to the palace, where Zuko would take down Azula to become Fire Lord. Fire Lord. Your Zuko.  

You shut your eyes tightly, seeking sanctuary from the thoughts raging in your head. You snuggled deeper into your sleeping bag, only for your eyes to snap open when you felt a hand softly shaking you. You glanced up to see Zuko’s face, his expression laced with urgency and something else you couldn’t place.

“I need to talk to you, Y/n” he breathed out.

You nodded and followed him as he lead you away from your sleeping friends. Once you had reached a small clearing, he turned to you and opened his mouth to speak.

“Y/n,” he breathed your name out like a prayer. “I-”

You furrowed your brows. “Zuko?” you questioned, confused about his behavior. He examined your face with such intensity that you were tempted to turn away but his eyes, warm and amber as ever, locked you in place.

His mouth opened and closed like a fish, gaping at you in a way you were unfamiliar with.

“Zuko, what’s-” you were cut off as a warm pair of lips pressed against your own. His hands tangled desperately into your hair, and after recovering from your initial shock you quickly snaked your arms around his neck. He kissed you like a starving man, clinging to you like you were the only thing keeping him from floating away. 

You reciprocated eagerly, his soft tresses gliding through your fingers as his lips molded with yours. You cupped his face so tenderly that it evoked a whimper from the back of his throat. Eventually you broke apart, thirsting for air, as he nuzzled his face farther into your palm. You glanced up at him, unsure for a moment before shy, soft smiles broke out across both your lips. He leaned forward once again and pressed a delicate kiss against you lips, conveying all the affection and adoration he held for you.

Katara found you the next morning, hand intertwined and relaxed expressions upon both your profiles. She hated to disturb the peace, but there were Fire Lords to make, destinies to actualize.

Later, between whispered goodbyes and tear-stained hugs, Zuko approached you again. He pressed his lips against your hair and leaned his forehead against yours. In his eyes gleamed a silent vow, a promise to return. As he and Katara rose up on Appa and you and your closest friends headed off to your futures, you knew it would be kept.

[the-slasher-files]

request: Michael 2018 daddy kink smut with fluff - @slashersmasherlover

old man mikey coming up... alrighty so my brain cannot comprehend Michael and fluff being together lol so this is like fluffy angst??? if that is a thing... my brain just wants him to suffer I guess, also I’m so obsessed with Michael’s human condition that it throws a wrench in my plans lol. Just a warning this includes mention of death, outdoor sex (not public), daddy kink of course, and some classic Michael roughness. Hope you enjoy 🔪💕

MASTERLIST

BEYOND THE PINES

Large arms incased your waist from behind and pushed you against the railing of the porch. The smell of copper and a soft musk filled your lungs with a soft tinge of pine and dirt that seemed to develop with age, perhaps the shape’s body was preparing to fall seamlessly into the grave he dug for all these years. You knew that day would come, but only when the demons got what they wanted from him first; ripping, tearing and brutally fucking him into the ground without mercy until Michael would be lifeless in a deep crimson pool, not returning to the towering figure. The thoughts haunted you as looked over the wandering forest surrounding your land. 

Michael and you had moved out of Haddonfield once the grey stared to appear within his dark brown locks and along his jaw. The quiet soothed your shape and he was free out here, perking up like a dog that was let off leash, Michael would often wander the trails and observe the nature. Being locked up so long he just enjoyed the sound of the breeze flowing in the trees, the peaceful sunsets and sunrises instead of the stark white hospital lighting, and his favorite spot, the creek a little walk down from the home. 

 A low growl was felt in the chest resting behind you and the hot breaths numbed your neck, Michael was stiff behind you, not just in his shoulders and arms but also below the belt. It blew your mind that he was still just as hungry for blood and sex as when you first met him, many years ago. Turning around in Michael’s strong arms, you sighed seeing that his mask was on. White and baron, with dark cracks in the paint, deep rust colored stains ran along the edges and the neck was ripped. It was the first week of October and he was growing restless, Michael couldn’t sleep, didn’t eat and the voices nipped at his neck, calling for blood.  

“Oh, Michael” you spoke calmly running your hands along the chipped rubber of the mask. Knowing each year this would come, you started to pray that it wouldn’t. Tilting his head at your sudden emotion his rich brown eye and dead blue one met yours, as you smiled up at his reaction. The head tilt always broke you, he was like a little puppy when he did that.

Smoothing your small hands over the rough navy coveralls, tracing the blood stains, rips and tears as he just watched you. Michael in his older age became more tolerant of you and your wandering hands, learning to love it. His love was different now; Michael didn’t toy with you as much, teeth turned into lips on your skin instead, and he grew extremely fond of your company during the day and into the night, not needing to leave you now. But there was always the claws beneath the skin, tugging and wanting to see you soaked in your own blood, struggling, and you knew that. Loving Michael was like dealing with a wild animal and a force of nature, it was dangerous and beautiful.

Just like that his tolerance snapped and there was a cold hand on your small neck, and the other tugged at your hair forcing you to look up at the grey skies above. Michael loved to see your neck on full display, like a dog showing their belly in submission, the vulnerability made his dominate side surge and the throbbing start in between Michael’s legs. He stepped a little closer, towering against your body and making you look Michael in the eyes, he squeezed your small throat harder and harder until you said the phrase he craved.

“Y-yes daddy, please.” you managed to choke out under his forceful grip. When you let that one word slip from your lips some years ago, -- it was when the grey had settled into stubble and wavy mane, when the age set into his body and no longer had the lean torso of his young adulthood -- it was over, that was the only word Michael wanted you to speak over and over again. 

The shape tightened his grip on your hair, surly ripping some locks out, and forced you the outdoor dining table. Bent over you shuttered at the contact of your warm skin against the frigid glass, nipples becoming hard and your hands braced themselves for whatever Michael would do. 

Large hands removed themselves from your throat and hair, ripping your pants and underwear down to your ankles making you tremble with anticipation and coolness from the Autumn breeze. There were no neighbors for at least a mile around and Michael used and abused that fact, not like he cared when you did have close neighbors, but the man would make you scream louder, and put more edge into his love out here. 

The familiar sound of a rough zipper and a grunt met your ears, and Michael mounted you like a predator pushing himself inside you making you cry out. Although Michael would tolerate you more and allow your touch more often than not, he became more inpatient, quickly taking you whenever and where ever with no time wasted, not like Michael hadn’t always done this but it was different; As a younger man he would make you last for days, edging you until you couldn’t see straight and didn’t know your name, but now Michael often took you quick and rough then laying with you for a minute before repeating. 

“Daddy, fuck yes” you moaned clawing at the glass table beneath you, as Michael jack hammered into you, filling you perfectly every time without fault. His large hands roamed where they wanted, using you, abusing you, watching you come undone as he loved. “Michael oh my god... daddy I’m close” 

Roughly grabbing the back of your small neck he forced you to look at him as the other hand reached around you slowly, torturously rubbing the swollen bud that raised in between your lips. “AH, daddy... p-please daddy” the cold blank mask moved to rest on your hot cheek. You could hear his ragged breathing bouncing back at him in the mask and a few grunts appeared signaling his end. Fully hilting inside you with one thrust you screamed as your walls clenched around Michael’s cock, milking it as his white seed coating your insides lusciously. 

“t-thank y-you daddy... thank you, my love” whispering praise as Michael nudged his forehead along your cheek and up to your temple, moving your soft hairs away from your flushed face. Like a dog this was his affection. 

Michael stayed inside you, feeling your mixed cum run down your thighs and onto the navy coveralls. Breathing slowed together and Michael spoke low in your ear “Good girl”              

[chiwhorei]

who prays for the headsman?

paring: k. kyoutani x fem!reader

genre: angst, smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: 3.2k

warnings: size kink, crying, oral (f. receiving), major character death, pseudo-incest, stepcest, violence (not a gorey depiction), stabbing, a mention of blood, medieval beheading, angst okay this is sad you have been warned

a/n: Hello! HQHQ monthly collab time, sinners! I’m super excited to share this with you all, it was truly a work of love. All of the other amazing fantasy collab pieces can be found here!

hymns: murder song (5, 4, 3, 2, 1) - AURORA, the judge - twenty one pilots

“The girl’s mother and I are to be wed with haste,” Kyoutani Kentarou’s father pats his small head, smoothing down the blond locks, “Be sure to make y/n feel comfortable. She isn’t your blood, but she’s your family now, son.”

From the moment his father brought you and your mother home, still wrapped in thick mourning veils and tears, his cross to bare was you.

You needed barely an introduction before melting into the comfort of Kentarou. Wrapping your small hands around his middle and burying your face against his neck. Your stiff black dress crinkles against him. The contact was a magnetic, instantaneous spell. Like moth meeting flame, and Kyoutani would burn for it until the next lifetime. The bubbling, itching hellfire marring his tanned skin for two decades.

It’s easier to see the resulting moments in pieces. Shiny, silver blade raised high and gleaming in the light, a sharp swipe of the weapon through the stale air, and finally a thump of weight against the ground below. Still, quiet, and absolute. There’s no escaping the headman’s blade.

The virgin light of dawn rouses Kyoutani from a fitful night of sleep, he stretches his arm out to find your form and only catches the empty shell of blankets you’ve left behind. You’re always awake to greet the cresting rays of light as if they need your permission before ascending to greet the rest of the townspeople. You are the end and beginning of each day.

He finds you sat by the stone fireplace, nightdress hanging off of your shoulders and shawl wrapped tightly to keep the winter’s air at bay. You’ve always preferred the springtime. Even so, the smile that turns at the ends of your lips warms his body like the pouring of melted honey. He basks in you for a moment from afar, as close as he ever feels worthy of being.

“How did you sleep?” Your hand reaches out as he moves farther into the cottage’s main room, touching the warmth of his bare chest. Kyoutani pulls you into him, pressing a kiss to your temple and folding your head against the crook of his neck. Your question goes unanswered, as you both already know: there’s never much rest gifted to the headsman.

A tall wisteria tree sits just outside of town. It’s branches are long and decaying. No flowers bloom on a tree the gods have forgotten. But that doesn't deter you from airy footsteps carrying you to it’s base.

“There’s nothing you can do, y/n,” Kyoutani presses, reaching his arms out to ensure you don’t fall, “there’s no fixing rotten roots.”

You scoff, bunching up your skirt at the ends and kneeling at the large trunk.

Where you bound forward without care, your Kentarou is always there to catch you. As you stoop down by the lifeless tree, his stern eyes narrow. You lay your hands against the rough bark, rubbing upwards and back down. All you need is the notion of life. Your eyes shut in concentration, fingers dancing along the coarse texture. It’s there, deep inside, waiting for you to tug at and rouse back to life. You can see it just behind your eyelids, purples and long flora hanging down, surrounding you in it’s beauty.

“H-how did you do that, y/n?” Kyoutani is cemented in shock behind you, where naked, ghoulish limbs once sat are now filled with swaying, violet life.

“I dunno, I get a tingling feeling in my hands. Here,” You pull him down to sit on the ground, pressing your palms to his cheeks. Your touch is like balm on a wound, he closes his eyes and leans in further. His forehead presses against your own. Your hands cradle the sides of his face, thumbs tracing over the soft skin in soothing patterns.

This is wrong, even as a boy no taller than prairie grass; he knows how wrong this feeling is.

“Do you feel it, Kenta?”

Kyoutani’s job isn’t to decide a person's fate, but the blood still soaks his hands all the same. His walk home is always to the beat of heavy, warning footsteps. His figure is looming, shrouded in thick leather and chain medal. The faulted axe hangs by his side, gripped tightly and weighed down with the heavy smell of iron. He counts his sins every night, prays for absolution but still scrubs the blood of strangers off of his arms and wraps you up in them.

“You fucking bastard,” a strangers voice sounds behind Kyoutani like a siren. He hears the rustling of critics followed by the feeling of a stone thrown against his back.

“You murdered my brother. He was a good man and you killed him.” Kyoutani sighs deeply, he knows the blame will fall on him with every swing his blade makes, so any retort is swallowed. There’s never much reason to quabble, as word travels in a small town like water through a sieve.

“I know who you are, Kyoutani Kentarou. Your father was a good man, and your sweet little sister grew up to be quite the-” All reason shatters under Kyoutani’s boot in an instant, feet carrying him in his hecklers’ direction. His clenched fist meeting the man’s eye socket with deadly force, vision blurring and reason fleeting. He shouldn’t be handing out home brewed justice, but there’s no rationale exercised when your name passes through a strangers mouth.

Kyoutani is a strong man, but fighting three against one would be a losing battle no matter what. No matter how noble his intent is, a sharp knife to the stomach is impossible to ignore. The stranger twists the dagger, bringing his face to Kyouatani’s ear.

“Say hi to your dear ole’ dad for me, eh?”

He hears the man’s snide voice against the pounding in his head. He feels cold and far away, falling down a tunnel with no bottom.

“They’ll be coming for you, y/n,” Your lover's voice lilts against your back, but you don’t turn to meet his eyes just yet. Your hands busy themselves against the familiar grooves of bark. The wisteria’s flowers create a sanctuary from the cruelty of the outside world. It’s a sanctuary, but this spot is one of original sin. The first brush of lips sealed fate years ago that will be actualized by daybreak.

“I know, Kenta-” Your soft voice usually calms the blonde man in front of you, but under the plague of circumstance, your words are sharp spikes against his heart.

“Why did you do it then? How could you be so careless? The mark of a witch means only one thing.” Kyoutani’s stern voice cuts you off, holding you in place, “You never think about the consequences of your reckless heart. Look at me, woman.” His body towers over you, broad chest against your back. His hand finds your jaw, pulling it harshly to force eye contact. Darkened brown eyes fall upon your watery ones and his angry facade shatters like pottery in the small space between your two bodies. You sniffle in his hold, fat tears run down your cheeks as you stutter a response.

“I couldn’t let you die, you’re the only family I have left. I- I love you, Kenta.” A sob rips through you, the declaration isn’t a new one, but it’s context is uniquely heartbreaking. Kyoutani pulls you into him immediately, wrapping strong, scarred arms around your shoulders. You cling to him, a piece of history repeating itself as it likes to do, wrapped in each other and the royal purples of wisteria.

Your lips quiver an inch away from his, stained with salty tears. Kyoutani feels the warmth of plush skin dangled in front of him, there’s an urgency rushing through him where he’s usually hesitant. There isn’t much more time. Without consulting the angel on his right shoulder, two large hands cup your face and pull your lips against his own.

Your cries are muffled by the sloppy pull of your own tongue into Kyoutani’s mouth. As his traces over yours with a chorus of nips and licks, his hands fall to your waist to bunch up the fabric against your hips. The action causes your body to press flush to his crotch.

“We have one more night together, Kenta. Please.” Your words don’t need much appraisal, you could ask Kyoutani to pull the skies down with his bare hands and he would tear the blankets off of any gods above without a second thought. One more night.

Kyoutani unwraps himself from around your form to sit down on the spongy grass below. The terrain is soft and forgiving despite its location in the dense forest. He watches you above him, angelically outlined in the soft moonlight. The personification of virtue and goodness glimmering off of you like an aura. The purest beauty to ever exist, and he’s at the helm of it’s destruction.

The sound of your dress pooling at your feet pulls him from mulling over his past transgressions. His eyes follow a line up from said garment to where your bare cunt is nestled between hip bones. His gaze climbs farther, lacerating the memory of every dip and curve so they scar against his heart. He needs to remember everything.

You join him on the soft grass, knees swung on either side of his large thighs. His hands find your hips again, pressing into the flesh as you begin to rock lightly against him. Your movement is disastrous to his resolve, the tension in his body delivers harsh oval bruises against the skin of your ass.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” Your confessions are accented by kisses against Kyoutani’s cheeks and lips. Your soul, your heart, your everything are each other’s; and tonight is the final assemblage.

Kyoutani’s touch is like scarlet fever against your body, burning in its journey to grope any flesh he could reach. His fingers have to cement this feeling into his fingerprints, after tonight only the phantom pains of you will remain.

“You feel so good Kenta. S-So right.” Your mewls rattle around against his skull, as one palm comes down to meet your heated pussy. The most morally abject sin he’s committed- even counting the heads that roll by his feat every day- is you. But still; he can’t argue the morality of your body writhing naked above him when his cock is already straining angrily against the leather of his pants. His fingers trace down from the hip bone to where your puffy lips sit. It’s amazing how sweet, how soft you are. Where Kyoutani is calloused and harsh, you are smooth and silken. Perfection. Depravity.

As one thick finger proads against your hole, your hips buck with new resolve. You crave more than just fleeting touches and stolen glances. You want him to let go completely, something he’s only done a handful of times. You need him to.

“I’m not made of ceramic Kyoutani. You treat me like a child, but I’m stronger than you seem to believe.” You use your family name for punctuation, but the sentence comes out melted on the edges when he sticks another digit in to join the first.

“Don’t you think I know that, y/n. Fuck. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known,” a resounding slap meets your ass, jolting you farther against his fingers, “but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t protect you. That’s my job, damnit.” His thumb finds your swollen clit with ease even within his flustered state and presses down, “I failed you.”

You don’t trust your own voice to answer, you know nothing you could say would ease his heart. All you can do is push forward in hopes that one night can make up for the life he’ll have to live without you. Your hands move down to loosen his suffocating pants, wobbly knees digging against the ground as he eases the leather down his legs.

Your hand grabs a hold of his hard cock, stroking from his thick base to reddened tip. The touch is familiar. Something that wracks him with guilt but fills his soul with warmth. It’s always been your touch. Similar to the sparks rendered from striking flint, your touch lights up his every nerve

Kentarou’s fingers move back to work you open for him, your head falls back, causing the fat of your tits to bounce against his chest. His other rough hand comes up to palm your breasts, pinching your hardened nipple and pulling down. You cry out in pleasure at the attention, senses overwhelmed by your lover’s ministrations.

“Please, please do something.” Your voice is desperate against the shell of his ear, pleading for more. More of Kentarou, and naively, for more time.

With a swift, practiced movement, the blonde moves you to lay against the grass. He removes the blood-stained shirt from his chest and kicks off his pants. His body eclipses yours, shielding you from view. You’re surrounded by him, the heady scent of sweat, the sound of the racing heart against his ribcage like a trapped songbird. It’s all Kyoutani, it always has been; your home, your confessional, the safest reprieve and your most vile secret.

Kyoutani’s cock is freed from its confines to slap deftly against his stomach. Your mouth tries to swallow as if filled with dried tea leaves, his size isn’t always the most accommodating. Even so, you lift up on one elbow to curl your fingers around his shaft and groan once again when your pointer finger and thumb don’t meet. Kyoutani opens his mouth to speak but you answer before the words fall.

“Don’t be gentle, Kentarou, ” your dwarfed hand tugs him towards you, creating a dizzying pressure, “I can take it.”

There’s no room for argument in your words, so he dips down to kiss your lips once again. “Let me taste you, y/n. Just one more time.” His eyes hold flames but regard you as softly as possible. You nod in agreement. His lips running down from your neck to your hips, you feel the chapped skin against your own. With each peck, a path of tears follow in tandem. His shaky cries are hidden behind the moans being pulled from your lungs. You don’t acknowledge it, for doing so would just make the wracking pain even worse.

There’s no use speaking of your combined suffering, it’s already dug it’s blade into Kyoutani’s vertebrae.

Once his mouth reaches your wet pussy, there’s nothing left of his conscious. Where guilt usually lies, madness replaces. The first swipe of his tongue is painfully slow, he has to savor this taste, your taste. Your soft, swollen lips are the gods’ manna and he’s been given one last chance to indulge. Kyoutani’s tongue finds your clit and flicks upward, just the way that’s always made you squeal. You’re coating his chin in slick, and nothing else will ever quench his thirst like this again. He could stay in between your legs for the next century, but rips himself away from your dripping cunt.

Your mouth is captured in his again, tongue and cheeks coated in your own arousal. The feeling distracting you from the reddened tip prodding at your tight hole. You suck in a sharp breath as you’re worked open. Every vein and ridge tugs against your snug walls. It hurts, it always does, but there’s nothing that’s ever felt better either. You bite his collarbone in a feeble attempt to keep quiet, nails cresting small shapes against his back as he slides farther and farther in.

“My pretty girl, so perfect for me.” Kyoutani’s hips meet your ass, giving you a moment to acclimate. You’re pulled taut around him, cock dragging against you as he pulls back. He remembers your previous words. I can take it.

His hips slam against you with ferocity. Every expanse of fat on you bounces. Thighs, tits, ass- all moving with the pace he sets. His cock is begging for release with every union of his tip to your cervix. A litany of cries and pleas fill the surrounding air, lilting around to bounce against the drooping flowers.

“Please Kenta, I’m- I’m going to.” Your sentence breaks off at the end but he puts them back together. He coos you, “I know, little one. Let go for me.” He presses two fingers against your clit once more to rub tight circles.

Your toes curl against the grass below you, body locking up as the blood running through your veins is replaced with gooey syrup. Years of tension and shame pull tightly against your body and snap in an instant.

Kyoutani can’t hold off his own orgasm any longer, not with the vice grip you have on him.

Not with the sound of the constable's horses drawing closer to the old wisteria tree.

It’s easier to see the resulting moments in pieces.

Kyoutani’s blade is sharpened meticulously. “A dull axe is worlds more painful.” Even as his heart is being torn from under his breast bone, webs of muscle and tendon snapping like sewing floss the closer he walks to your kneeling form, he remembers his father’s words.

The ringing in his ear drowns out the sound of your sentence being passed, it’s better he doesn't hear the official crimes you are posed with, lest he swings his weapon against the priest instead. He wants to reach out, to untie you and run away, to find a new world. A world where he hears the pattering of little footsteps and sees chubby hands clinging against your apron. A world where he wakes up to your wrinkled cheeks and graying hair.

Shiny, silver blade raised high and gleaming in the light, a sharp swipe of the weapon through the stale air, and finally a thump of weight against the ground below. Still, quiet, and absolute.

There’s no escaping the headman’s blade.

The wisteria tree is the beginning and end. Long, purple flowers sealing fate. Kyoutani pulls reluctant feet to the tree's base, his forehead pressing against the bark. He turns around and slides down to sit against the trunk. His hands roam against the texture of the grass beneath him. He remembers the spindly branches and decaying wood from years ago when he closes his eyes, he remembers your hands clawing back it’s life from the lowest level of hell.

When his eyes open again, they are met with yours. Soft, beautiful, and achingly familiar. You smile, lips turning upwards and teeth peaking out slightly. Your hand reaches out to cup his face, a dull crackle of warmth reaches his skin where forest fires use to smolder. It’s not the same, but it’s you. He knows it’s you somehow. Whether it be a cruel trick from the gods or his brain succumbing to madness. It’s still you. Your warmth is surrounding him again, and it feels almost right.

“Do you feel it, Kenta?” Your voice is warped and echoes like a hollow drum, he can’t help the tears falling in thick streams. It’s you. He reaches out to touch you, but his hands remain empty and cold. You disappear in a second, your face vanishing from where he swore he could almost feel your lips against his own.

You leave him once again and take the bright flowers of wisteria with you.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[myelocin]

the most beautiful thing | hanamaki t.

synopsis: beautiful, hanamaki takahiro thinks, sees, and feels. in this home, within four walls, with you as his forever and his two children as the sun that shines soft on the vanilla skies he’s loved all his life.

characters: hanamaki takahiro, you (HMMMMMM), your two kids

genre: fluff, domestic!au, parenting!au

wc: 1600+

a/n: hei yes i am ok. i did not just type this in 20 minutes flat because i dreamt of this. i am ok. i swear. plz help. i love him so much. by hanamaki takahiro x reader,, i rlly mean hanamaki takahiro x nicole thank u. 

beautiful, is the word that first flashes in hanamaki takahiro’s mind. 

bare foot against the dark stained wooden kitchen floors, your hair down and a little tangled against the white of his old shirt that fit you just comfortably. he thinks there’s hints of a vanilla sky outside. 

cotton candy pink, lilac, and just the right amounts of blue. he met you under a sky like today’s, he notes to himself with a smile. it’s a little past eight am, where on a normal day you’d be up two hours earlier; you, with a train to catch, and him with customers waiting in front of the shop. 

but the calendar says that today’s sunday. and sunday mornings, takahiro recalls you say, are days for family. 

and back then he remembers that he laughed at your little explanation, thinking that it was just a ploy to get him to stay in bed for a little while longer. back when it was just the two of you in the house above his flower shop. where sunday mornings meant the extra time in the mornings were reserved for morning sex and for talks about love and life alike as you settled in the afterglow. 

but sunday mornings now, he realizes, is this. 

it’s waking up with your side of the bed empty and coming into the kitchen with the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the air and the low sizzle of eggs frying in a pan. a little boy, with a head of strawberry brown hair peeking at him from his spot in the table, and his sweet, sweet ten month old baby girl sitting in her high chair with smeared baby food all over her mouth. 

takahiro’s heart swells, because he feels love—before he realizes that more than that, he feels a sense of home too. and even if the feeling had always settled in his chest years ago, it’s in the smallest most unexpected moments where he feels the world’s kindness remind him of its existence.

he knows he’s been in love and been at home when you said yes six years ago; a ring offered by his hands, trembling like the knee he’s leaned down on. then when you kissed him with tears in your eyes after telling him your “i do,” in a voice that assures him your love for him is as real and as raw as the kind he feels for you.

that same year too, when he held the keys to the flower shop he risked his—and frankly a little bit of your—life savings over. your hand, warm and steady against his that trembled with the same intensity from before as he pushed the key in the lock and opened the new chapter of your life together.

where a home, from that time, became the second floor of that same flower shop. photographs lined on the stairwell and a windowsill with the herbs he’s grown in memory of someone he knows you love dearly. where the polaroids you took with him over the years were first hung around the room with little pieces of string and handwritten notes beneath them, before later kept in glass frames and left by the fireplace for those who came to your little world and see.

then five years ago when he he saw the two little lines on a test you planned to keep a surprise for him but ultimately crying with him anyway, because if there was one thing your husband was never good at: it was knocking at the bathroom door before entering. but then again—if there was one thing you were also never good at, it was locking the door when you’re supposed to.

he laughs at the memory everytime because just like that he knows that you two just fit like that. he feels love and home again, as he thinks of your teary smile and the happy crack in your voice as you cried and told him you were going to be a family.

(he held you that night with tears in his own eyes, a few crumbs of fear settling in his heart, but anticipation for the universe’s blessings serving as the adrenaline rush he knew would last him for this lifetime and the next.)

and the rest, takahiro thinks to himself, comes to him in flashes.

the blessing of being able to feel love within home when he first held his son in his hands. the tell tale strawberry brown hair looking like a carbon copy of his own. the freckles across his cheeks that awfully look a lot like the ones he stares at in front of the mirror everyday. but the quirk of his lips looking like yours, because takahiro memorizes the contours of your smile like he knows his loved ones by name.

much like the smile he sees on your youngest daughter’s. where even at ten months old, he can already tell that she’s taking after you a lot more than him. it’s the smile, he recalls his mother tell him, when she first came into the world.

though really, takahiro thinks, it was the hue of her eyes when she first opened them. bright and sparkling as it told him the same sort of stories that you told him all those years ago.

stories about how in life, heartbreak is unavoidable.

how in life, there is as much pain that will be felt as there comes the happiness that lays either before or after it.

but also, as cruel as life is—it can also be so, so kind. the kind of kindness that has you forgetting all the bad that you’ve trudged through, because when you ride that sort of high that life gives you—it truly feels like you’ll soar for eternities that are here and the ones that have still yet to come.

takahiro feels that; every day.

“papa,” he hears. “breakfast!” his son calls.

and so he pushes himself off of the doorframe as he first walks towards you, a kiss pressed to your cheek as the smell of day old roses and rosemary lingers—making you smile.

and as the word beautiful, flashes in his mind for the second time that morning—he knows it isn’t meant for the vanilla skies that swirl slowly outside the kitchen windows. it’s the way you look when you take a seat across him and smile, sipping your cold tea and sighing as if all the world’s problems are rolling right off your shoulders.

the ring, on your left hand’s fourth finger catches the light when you raise the spoon by your daughter’s mouth; golden like the picture frame hanging above fireplace in the living room, with four smiling faces instead of just the two from the polaroids before.

beautiful, life really can be even without the vanilla skies because he knows he has the best that life could ever offer right here. in this little room, the world in his hands, and the promise of heaven’s grace clear as day right in front of his eyes.

“papa,” he hears his eldest call again. takahiro takes a slow sip of his coffee before he turns to his son and smiles. “yep?”

“how do you spell your name?”

your husband doesn’t catch it when you smile, already knowing what he’s about to ask. letting your husband bask in the moment, you turn to face your ten month old daughter who stares back at you with eyes and face identical to your own. she was a messy eater, you observe with a chuckle. she took after her father in the little ways, you suppose.

and she always, always looked the most beautiful around flowers too. the polaroid of her sitting in the counter, next to a handful of roses was the photo she smiled at the widest. under the vanilla skies in that morning you think about how takahiro looks like a different sort of radiant around the flowers too.

“what’s it for?” you hear your husband ask, voice still a little scratchy from sleep.

“it’s for this!” your five year old beams.

takahiro stares at the paper he could only guess is his homework. his last name written next to your son’s giving name, erased pencil marks over his mistake still a little evident on the paper. he smiles as he reads through the little questionnaire, but pauses as he gets to the last part.

“who do you want to be like when you grow up?” it reads, a blank line next to it.

a familiar, welcome feeling thrums in takahiro’s chest again, so he thinks of the word beautiful once more. because life, he thinks, has never been more beautiful than how it looks in this morning.

“papa your naaaaaame.”

he swears that ever since he met you, he falls in love with life more and more every day.  

(he cries to you later that night as he closes the flower shop downstairs for the day. red eyes, and a happy smile in place. you kiss his cheeks and tell him he deserves happiness every day.)

(your son’s homework and doodle of your family next to another one of flowers and rosemarys with a little cross above it is pinned on the fridge later that night.)

you fall asleep with his arms around yours, your kids asleep in the room next to yours.

this, you smile. this is the beautiful part of life.

a/n: rosemary is the herb my mom had on her windowsill. she died before she could plant her herb garden. i always think that makki likes to keep a herb garden so he could feel close to my mom in a way : - )  

[btxtreads]

the world ends with you | choi yeonjun (11)

How can someone fall in love at the most incovenient time?

➴ Pairing: Choi Yeonjun x Reader ➴ Rating: R-13 ➴ Word Count: 1.3k ➴ Genre: Multiverse!AU, Fluff, Angst, My usual taehyun is the smartest out of everybody trope ➴ Warnings for this chapter: implied death, angst

Sweat dripped down her forehead as she panted, feet pattering on the pavement as she ran next to Soobin.  Y/N yelped, hand clutching the tall boy’s arm as the ground shook beneath them.

“Shit,” she hissed, eyes darting around frantically. “where’s Jun?”

“I—I don’t know,” Soobin cursed. “He just up and left earlier, I didn’t—“

The earth stopped moving, and the two stabilized themselves enough to see a blonde head strolling amongst the debris.

“Yeonjun!” Y/N screamed, running forward.

The boy turned, eyes wide in shock as the girl reached him. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders as she tightly embraced his torso, body slamming against his. He sighed as he leaned his head down, lips attaching to the top of her head as all the tension in his body disappeared.

“Baby,” he sighed in relief. “Hi.”

Taehyun slowly approaches the couple, hand softly landing on Y/N’s shoulder.

“Y/N, we have to go help the others—and you have to go home.”

“How does she get home?” Yeonjun asked, hands still tight around her.

Taehyun sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I think, she has to sleep.” Taehyun said. “The closer she is to the flower fields, the better.”

“I’m not leaving.” Y/N said, making Yeonjun pull away slowly and smile at the girl.

His eyes scanned her face. There was a sad smile on his lips as he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“You have to.”

“Y/N, you know what he has to do.” Taehyun mumbled softly as Yeonjun only smiled, pushing her over to the boy.

“Not on my watch,” Y/N growled, pulling herself away from Taehyun and wrapping her arms around Yeonjun.

Hueningkai and Beomgyu arrived, screaming when the arena they came from crashed down. Soobin and Taehyun helped them over as an alert Yeonjun followed them with his eyes.

“Was there anyone else in the building?”

“Not anymore,” Hueningkai panted, hand on his chest.

“That was the scariest moment of my life,” Beomgyu mumbled, shooting Yeonjun two thumbs ups.

Soobin, watching how Yeonjun’s grip tightened on Y/N, finally sighed. With a nod of his head, he gave the other boys a tight-lipped smile.

“Come one, guys. We have to help the others.”

“But—“

“Now, Tae.” Soobin said, pushing the boy towards another direction.

As soon as they were alone, Yeonjun placed his lips on her forehead once more.

“You have to go, Y/N.” Yeonjun said softly, lips still on her forehead.

“I can’t. I can’t do that to you—I can’t run from you.” Y/N said, tears beggining to flow from her eyes as she cupped his face. “Don’t leave me.”

“You know I have to do it.” Yeonjun sighs. “I have to, you need to go.”

Y/N shook her head, a small sob escaping her lips. Yeonjun’s eyes softened as he leaned down, placing one last kiss on her lips. Tears threatened to build up in his eyes as his hands shook. Y/N’s hands gripped his face in desperation as he pulled away, bringing his lips back on hers once more.

“Don’t.” Y/N whispered softly against his lips. “Why are you doing this?”

“The Universe is deleting itself—starting over because I’m a mistake that shouldn’t be here.” Yeonjun replied, pulling away as he gazed into her eyes. “So, I’ll remove myself before the Universe does.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t risk hurting any more people,” Yeonjun explained, brushing her hair one last time. “I can’t risk hurting you. If I have the means to fix it, then I will—I’d rather die.”

“You don’t have to,” Y/N said, voice shaking as Yeonjun shook his head.

“I do.” Yeonjun sighed. “I’d rather end this universe myself, than have the universe end everything because of me. I want to give you a shot.”

“I don’t want a shot without you next to me.” Y/N said, voice getting frantic as Yeonjun’s grip loosened on her body. “I already lost you once, Jun. I can’t go back without having you next to me at all.”

Yeonjun didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled himself away from the girl—hands shoved into his pockets as he avoided her eyes.

“You need to go.”

“I can’t leave you.”

“Go.”

“Yeonjun—“

The boy looked up at her, eyes a mix of grief and pain.

“Out of all of us here, you’re the only one who has a chance of getting out of here alive. I’m doing this for you” Yeonjun snapped, voice slightly raised. “An opportunity to survive the end of the world never happens to anyone—not even once in a lifetime.”

“Maybe you only come once in a lifetime.”

Tears flow out of the girl’s eyes. Yeonjun bit his lip, trying to contain his tears as he gave her another kiss on the lips.

“Yeonjun, please.” Y/N sobbed. “I love you.”

“I know,” Yeonjun replied, eyes turned up to the red skies. “I love you too.”

He looked back down at her, slowly stepping back as he pursed his lips and nodded firmly. The both of them could feel the earth move angrily below their feet again.

“Now, run.”

With that, Yeonjun turned on his heels and left her alone.

Yeonjun sat in the middle of the field, eyes closed and hands clutching on the sides of the blood-stained chair where he was previously murdered. His mind ran a mile a minute, finally setting on the face of the girl of his dreams with a soft smile on his face.

“Yeonjun!”

If he closed his eyes and listened hard enough, he could still hear her voice.

“Yeonjun!”

But he won’t though, because she isn’t here. She left already, probably, when he told her to. Hopefully—that’s all he could do. Hope.

“Yeonjun!”

Too close. Too real.

Yeonjun’s eyes snapped open and he turned his head over to the road, eyes locking onto Y/N. The girl was running fast, feet giving up as she collapsed on top of him as she reached him. With a gasp, the girl reached up and crashed her lips on him—hands frantically grabbing his face as he moved his lips desperately with hers.

“Y/N?” He asked in confusion as he pulled away, hands slowly guiding her back up to stand. “Why are you still here? I thought I told you to leave?”

“No, I couldn’t. I won’t.” Y/N shook her head. “If your story is ending here, then fuck that. I’m ending mine, too.”

Yeonjun furrowed his eyebrows as he guided the girl to sit on his lap, forehead leaning on hers. He released a shuddering breath as he ran his hands through her hair.

“But what about everything you’ll leave back home?”

“It doesn’t matter if I don’t have you.” Y/N whispered, eyes closing. “My world ends with you.”

Yeonjun sighed, a tear falling down his cheek as they kissed again. There was a loud boom, shaking the ground making them pull away. The couple turned back, finding a huge fire starting just a few ways away. Yeonjun smiled softly, hands squeezing her waist for comfort as he buried his head in her neck.

“Are you ready?”

The girl looked back up at the sky—eyes locking on the moon as she felt Yeonjun place a soft, chaste kiss on her neck. She glanced back down at the love of her life, a satisfied smile on her lips.

“As long as I’m with you.”

Yeonjun smiled back, kissing her once more. The both of them closed their eyes as a bright flash of light shone down on them. It was quick, it was painless. The end of the world was silent as two lovers kissed under the red sky, in the middle of a field with purple pansies where they first met.

[dreamingabouttaron]

History Repeating - Part 1

Warning: Mentions of Teenage Unplanned Pregnancy

Shit, shit, shit, shit! I know that swearing isn't helping but, fuck, I've had enough, this waiting isn’t getting better.

A single tear slipped down your cheek; causing you to squeeze your eyes tightly shut. This couldn’t be happening. You were too young. It had been a mistake. This was going to turn your whole life upside down. You had been to a party with some friends, they had convinced you to have your first alcoholic drink, then another, and another, resulting in you waking up the next morning half dressed in some strangers bed. You hadn’t thought much of it, until you noticed how late your period was getting.

You were anxiously waiting for the three minutes to be up to tell whether or not your life was going to change forever. Tapping your fingernails against the counter top, as you looked down at the small white stick. You close your eyes and count to five in an attempt to remind yourself everything was going to be fine. Just relax, take a moment to inhale before your life ‘could’ start to derail. The future was still bright! You still had so much time! Why should you be so scared of those two little lines?

“Come on.” You hissed growing impatient as each second passed. “Please! Come on. Come on.” Relief washing over you as you finally heard your phone vibrate next to you. “Okay.” You said to yourself as you took a deep soothing breath attempting to compose yourself. As you flipped the stick over, your heart plummeted to the floor. Positive. At 16. “Oh god. No! No, no, no!” You gasped as tears filled your eyes. You brought your hand to your mouth to suppress your loud sobs. The bathroom walls felt like they were coming in and crushing you. You stood in shock. Eyes never leaving the test and its two little lines.

Taron had heard his daughters cries from his office, and quickly got up to go and investigate. Your sobs got louder as he approached the bathroom. He stood outside for a moment as he listened. His heart broke at the sound. You were his daughter, his world, and he hated hearing you like this. As a father, he wanted to protect you at every cost.

“Gracie? Is everything okay?” He asked quietly, testing the waters. You jumped at the sound of your fathers voice. You looked up at yourself in the mirror, your face was red and tear stained. “Grace? Sweetheart, can you open the door? Baby, please?” He asked as he gently knocked on the door.

You panicked and turned on the cold tap, throwing freezing water over your face trying to fix yourself. You picked up the pregnancy test and shoved it up your jumper sleeve before opening the door and coming face to face with your father, who had a concerned look on his face.

Throughout your childhood, Taron had always been strict with you, only wanting what was best for you and your future. When you were young, the two of you were best friends, inseparable! You were attached to his hip every moment that he was home. You’d spend Saturday afternoons together playing games, taking walks, and telling you stories of your mother and of his childhood. As you grew older you would always check up on one another, making plans between you two, as fathers and daughters should. However, over the past couple of months, you had become distant. You felt like he was always off with work leaving you alone with your mum. You had always been Taron’s little girl, which often caused arguments between yourself and your mother.

You looked up at Taron, trying to disguise your feelings. But Taron knew something was wrong. “Gracie? What’s the matter? Talk to me?” Your heart rate went flying at his words. You wanted nothing more for him to comfort you and tell you everything was going to be okay. But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to break his heart. Not yet.

Your parents, Taron and Lily, had had you when they were only young themselves. They had been together for only a few months before they found out that Lily was pregnant. It had been a shock for them both, especially considering Taron had just started his acting training at RADA and Lily had just started her Fine Art course at Goldsmiths University. Lily pulled out of university and got a part time job, whilst Taron continued on with his studied at RADA but also worked as often as he could. After the initial shock, he couldn’t wait to be a dad. He had always helped to raise his two younger sisters, and he now couldn’t wait to have his own. Especially with Lily.

As you grew older, Taron had always been open and honest with you about the rollercoaster journey of parenthood, especially at such a young age. Constantly discouraging you from boys and dating until you were a little older. But you’d always known how badly he wanted to have grandchildren. Being the only child, you knew that responsibility fell to you. But nobody would have ever expected it to happen so soon.

You had always been a rule follower. You loved school. You had a wonderful group of friends and a wonderful life at home. You had been spoilt rotten. You had travelled the world at such an early age watching your father work. He had taught you how to ski when he was filming Eddie the Eagle and he had also taught you how to use a bow and arrow when he was filming Robin Hood. You had met so many talented and inspiring people due to him and you couldn’t thank him enough. Which was why this news was going to be such a shock to him.

You broke yourself out of your thoughts and threw your arms around your fathers torso. This unexpected sign of affection had thrown Taron completely off, having been so distant with each other over the past few months. Taron hadn’t thought much of it, passing it off as being normal teenage hormones. As your grip tightened against him, you were content that he didn’t try to release himself from you, instead he’d returned the favour. For a moment, in his arms, you felt like a five year old girl again, with your father protecting you from the big wide world.

“I love you so much Gracie,” Taron silently whispered against your ear, his tone empathetic, as though trying to seek for forgiveness. Releasing your grip, you soon moved to finally face your father directly.

“and I love you too.” You said with a small smile on your face, as you gripped the pregnancy test tightly in your hand unbeknownst to Taron. You took a step back and wrapped your arms around your back. “You know you can talk to me right?” Taron said with a frown on his head as he examined your tear stricken face.

“I know dad.” You said with a slight nod as you looked down at the rug on the floor beneath your feet. You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye again. The air started to grow tense. You were so thankful when you heard your dads mobile ring back in his office. You watched Taron’s feet shuffle not knowing where to turn. “I’m okay, I promise.” you used all your strength to convince him, “Go and answer the phone. It could be important.” You could see the wheels turning in your father’s head. You could see him mulling over your words before nodding. You watched him turn on his heels and walk back into his office. You stood and listened in to his half of the conversation for a moment before escaping back into the safety of your room.

The second you closed your bedroom door you pulled the pregnancy test out of your sleeve and placed it on top of the set of drawers next to your bed. You sat on the edge of the bed and closed your eyes for a moment. Your heart was pounding painfully against your ribs and your nerves were going haywire. That’s when it hit you. The reality of your situation. You’re 16 and pregnant. You’re had no connection to the baby’s father. You could barely remember his name. If you decide to keep the baby, you’d be a single mother. Yes, you would have your parents support, but was this something you wanted? Did you have what it takes to raise a child on your own? Do you even want the child? At 16? You didn’t know. But you needed to give yourself time to figure it out. But you also knew keeping it a secret from everyone would be impossible. It was bound to slip eventually.

***

You didn’t know how much time passed, but you were shaken from your paralysed state when you heard a knock at your bedroom door. “Grace?” You heard your mothers voice call out, you looked up at the door as it started to open. “Are you okay? Your dad said you were…” You jumped off the bed and ran towards the door, but it was too late.

“Gracie,” She said as her eyes were instantly drawn to the familiar white and blue packaging of a Clear Blue pregnancy test. She let out a small gasp, walking closer to her daughter. “Is that what I think it is?” She whispered with a sharp tone. You nodded as you felt hot tears boil up in your eyes once again.

Your mum walked over to the bedside table and looked down at the two lines on the stick. Her face crumpled as she covered her mouth with her hand, glancing over at you. You continued to cry as your mum just wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. “I’m sorry.” You managed to mutter.

“Shh, it’s okay honey.” She soothed as she battled her own tears. It brought back so many memories for her. “It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”  Your mum guided you onto the bed, her sitting beside you. You found the strength to look up at her. You could see the hurt in her eyes. The pain. The memories.

“Mum, I’m so sorry, I…” But your mother was quick to interrupt, “…I know you are.”

You shook your head, swallowing the heavy lump in your throat. “I-I only took the test because my period was a few days late, I only had sex once, I promise! A few weeks ago and-and-and I-I started getting sick and-and…” You started to cry even harder. “I-I-I’m so s-scared.”

Your mother held you in her arms for the first time in years, you had always gone to Taron if you were upset. It felt comforting to have her by your side. You felt yourself relax under your mothers touch. The way she stroked your hair lulled you into a peaceful sleep. As Lily absentmindedly stroked your hair; she thought back to when she had found out she was pregnant with you.

“You think you’re what?” Taron asked, his face as white as a sheet. Lily held her head up high and grit her teeth trying to stay strong. “I think I might be pregnant.” She repeated. They had only been together officially for four months, they had mutual friends back in Aberystwyth and had finally been introduced when they both moved to London. They had clicked straight away. Taron fell instantly in love. He knew she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. But he had never expected things to move this quickly.

“I have a test in my bag.” Lily announced as she walked closer to Taron, who was currently sat frozen on his bed. “I wanted to take it with you. I couldn’t do it on my own. I couldn’t bring myself to do it and find out I’m pregnant and then I’d have to find the strength to tell you and…”

Taron shook his head and brought himself back into reality. He reached out and guided Lily to sit on his thigh. “Whatever happens, just know I love you and I want this to work. Yes it’s quick, but that doesn’t change my love for you. If it is positive then I will be there every step of the way.” His words, filled Lily with love and joy.

Moments after taking the test, she walked back into the bedroom, stick on hand. “And?” Taron asked standing when he saw Lily enter.

“We have to wait a couple of minutes. Can you set a timer?” Lily placed the test down on the bed next to her and tried to steady to shaky breath. She watched as Taron paced the floor impatiently, chewing on his fingernail in distress. Watching him pace made Lily feel dizzy and stressed. She looked at her hands, rubbing them together as a distraction. This wasn’t what she had planned. She never imagined she would ever get herself in this situation. Taron and Lily were still getting to know each other. They had planned to introduce each other to their families when they went home for Christmas break. Perhaps, now it would hold more meaning.

Taron looked over at Lily and tears simmered up in his eyes. She looked so small. Helpless. It made him feel guilty. He walked over and sat at her feet. He picked up her hands and kissed them over and over causing her to release a small giggle, it brought music to his ears. Just as he looked up at her and smiled, his timer went off. Dread filled them both. “I love you. Very much.” Taron whispered before leaning up and placing a simple kiss on Lily’s lips.

Snapping out of her thoughts, Lily slipped away from your grip and went downstairs only to bump into her husband. “Hey.” Taron said as his wife walked into the living room. “How’s Grace? Is she okay now?” “No.” She answered coldly, before realising it wasn’t her place to tell her husband. “I need to pop out.” Lily said quickly as she slid her shoes on, picked up her bag and left leaving Taron just as confused and stunned as he had been earlier.

Lily made her way to the local supermarket and walked directly down to the pharmacy section. She picked up as many pregnancy tests as she could before making her way back home. The second Lily arrived home, Taron hurried towards her. “Where did you go? What’s going on?” He questioned and looked down at the plastic bag in her hand.

“I had to go and get some stuff for Gracie.” This comment made Taron frown in questioning. Lily placed her hand on Taron’s chest and placed a delicate kiss on his lips before running back upstairs to her daughter.

Lily quietly opened her daughters bedroom door and walked over to you. She shook you gently trying to wake you. It didn’t take long for your eyes to spring open. “Gracie. I need you to take these.” Your mum said as she emptied contents of the plastic bag onto your bed. Your eyes were met with a number of different pregnancy tests staring back at you, you picked one up to examine it closer.

“Please don’t make me do this…” You said, throwing the box back as if it had burnt you. You sighed deeply, thinking about your dad, how disappointed he was going to be. What would you say to him? “hey dad, I had a one-night stand with some guy I don’t know and now I’m knocked up!” Yeah, because that’ll go over really well.

Your mum looked at you with a stone cold look on her face, “Grace, you have no choice! Go and take them. Now.” You gulped and nodded, reluctantly picking up the tests and walking straight into the bathroom.

Your heart was hammered behind your ribcage, even though your previous test had been positive, you still couldn’t stop your hands from shaking. What if it was a false positive? This would decide the rest of your life. These little, plastic sticks. You had made your choice, now you had to face the consequences.

You left the bathroom, tests in hand. You walked back into your bedroom and closed the door. You placed them next to your mum and held your arms close to you body, hugging yourself.

Three minutes seemed like an eternity when you’re waiting for your future to be determined. As the results came in; Lily’s knees buckled. A plus sign. Six pregnancy tests. Six positive results. You watched her shoulders and head drop as she released her tears. Your mothers’ hands shook. Tears streamed down her face as she came to terms with the fact a baby was growing inside of her baby.

If this was your mothers reaction, you couldn’t bare to see your fathers. You were his sweet little girl with a baby on the way.

--------------------

Hello! Thank you for taking the time to read this! I am very excited about this! Please leave comments and feedback, if anyone would like to be added to a taglist please let me know! 

All the best x

[judediangelo75]

Day Three: Birthday

Fun fact: October 17th is my actual birthday, I don’t know if anyone else gave their MC the same birthday as them 😅 but I did. I didn’t realize that it was also Professor Flitwick’s birthday until last year. 

Which I found pretty cool. If my character was a Ravenclaw (I was gonna choose between Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, that was her Hat Stall), she would’ve spent time in his office, eating cupcakes with him.

---------------

~1990~

Talbott bit his lip as he stared at the calendar in his dorm room.

Today was October 17th.

In previous years when he became a student at Hogwarts, he wouldn’t really bat an eye at this. 

He would normally would tell his Head of House happy birthday and spend some time in his office.

So what makes this day suddenly different?

It was Judith’s birthday as well.

His girlfriend’s birthday.

For all the years that he known her, never once did he know when was her birthday. Until their night at the greenhouse on Valentine’s Day.

He just missed her 16th birthday.

When she saw the look of sadness in his eyes, she immediately tried to console him, telling him not to worry about it.

“It’s been many years since I last cared about my birthday, Talbott. Don’t worry about it. It’s just another day to me.”

She never elaborated further, so he went to the next best source. Her dead father. 

With Penny’s help, he managed to sneak into the Hufflepuff Common Room and dormitories. Once in her room, he found the safe she showed him under her bed. Whispering the password, he was happy to find the signature shark tooth necklace the deceased man wore inside.

Touching the tooth, he stood face to face with the elder Harris.

After explaining why he was there, Kendrick looked down at the Ravenclaw youth with sad eyes.

“The year of Judith’s 9th birthday was a hard one on her, Talbott. Jamal ran away exactly two weeks afterwards. Not too long after that I contracted my heart virus and died with her in my arms. Her mother doesn’t really care for her, often forgetting her birthday entirely. That’s when she virtually stopped caring. If I could come back just one year to put a smile on my little girl’s face, I would...”

It made sense as to why his little bird didn’t celebrate it or even make it known to anyone.

Two of the people she expected to be there, to see her grow, were gone. With her brother’s disappearance, yet again, he wouldn’t be surprised if she truly didn’t give a damn about the day.

Especially this year.

He was more determined to make this year different.

He thought long and hard for the past few weeks for what he can do for her. What he could give her.

Judith wasn’t a person who expects anything. Let alone asks for anything.

He’s come to know his girlfriend well enough. 

The girl was both practical and sentimental. 

She prefers things that she knows she can use or something that has a hidden value.

He had a few ideas leading up to the day...

He just hoped that she’ll like them.

--------

Talbott was on a manhunt for his girlfriend. 

He barely saw her at breakfast and hasn’t seen her since he finished Herbology class for the day. He asked her Head of House if she seen her.

“Why, yes I have actually. She usually spends time with Professor Flitwick today. Since the two share the same birthday. And that she usually hides out from Miss Brown. I believe you can find them in the Charms classroom.” 

Thanking the older witch, he heard off to the Charms classroom. 

Standing in front of the door, Talbott took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Professor Flitwick,” he called. The short man in question was standing on top of his stack of books.

“Mr. Winger! What a lovely surprise,” his Head of House greeted with a smile.

“Happy birthday, Professor,” Talbott said with a small smile. The older wizard let out a laugh.

“Why thank you, my dear boy. To what do I owe to this visit?” Talbott blushed as he rubbed the back of his neck. It looks like Judith wasn’t here...

“I was wondering have you seen your birthday twin,” he shyly asked. Professor Flitwick paused and let out another laugh.

“Ah, so Miss Harris has told you? Well, it shouldn’t surprise me, you two are dating after all,” Flitwick smirked. Talbott felt a blush rising to his cheeks.

“Yes... but have you seen her?” Before the man could answer, something landed on Talbott’s shoulder, nuzzling against his cheek. 

A Black Sparrowhawk. 

Talbott smiled.

“Hello, little bird,” he said softly, scratching under his girlfriend chin. The bird preened and cooed before flying on ground and transforming back into the Hufflepuff witch he came to adore.

“Happy birthday, Judith,” Talbott smiled shyly at his little girlfriend. The girl’s lips spread into a smile.

“Thank you, love,” she said. Talbott glanced at his Head of House.

“Professor, do you think I can be alone with Judith for moment?” The former Dueling Champion smiled at the young couple before him. Just a few years old, Judith was confessing her feelings towards his student. And now the two were happily together.

“Of course, Mr. Winger. Good day, Miss Harris. And happy birthday.” The young witch and wizard thanked the man as he made his way out of the room.

‘Ah, young love...’ he mused quietly to himself.

Once Professor Flitwick was gone, Judith turned to her boyfriend with an arched brow.

“Something wrong, love,” she asked. Talbott shook his head, a blush staining his cheeks.

“You know how I am with people around...” Judith took note of his hand reaching into his pocket, pulling out a neatly folded sheet of paper.

“What’s that?” Talbott swallowed, hoping to calm his nerves.

“I wrote you a poem... for your birthday...” Judith’s brows shot up to her hairline. She remembered Talbott telling her that he wrote poetry back in their third year, when they were trying to find his necklace.

He wrote something for her?

“Would you like to hear it,” Talbott asked slowly as he unfolded the piece of paper. He never read any of his poems to anyone before. 

To say that he was nervous would the biggest understatement of century.

“Yes...” Judith didn’t understand why she felt breathless, but something felt different about this. This moment felt rather intimate...

Talbott cleared his throat and began to read.

“Your name is like the sweetest honey on my lips,

You radiate with confidence with each sway of your hips...

With a single look with those mystical gold eyes, I am lost,

With the warmth of your smile, my heart slowly defrosts...

I constantly long to be by your side,

Be the one who you would confide...

Your secrets, your troubles, your beautiful heart,

Allow me to learn your mind, heart, and body like a unique piece of art...

I want to be the one who kisses away your tears,

The one who protects you from your darkest fears...

I want to be the one who holds you close,

For the all the times you desire it the most...”

Talbott can feel her eyes burning into him as he read his poem, doing his best not to blush. 

Which failed tremendously as he went on to read the next part.

"Mystical gold eyes, you have charmed my heart to its knees,

Can't you see what you do to me?

Your beautiful dark curls resemble an ancient waterfall,

The way how you look flawlessly breathtaking, no matter where the strands fall...

You possess sunshine within your beautiful smile,

Its loving warmth and brilliance make me want to bask in it for a while...

Your dark skin resembles milk chocolate: smooth, delicate and sweet,

With my undeniable sweet tooth, you might be my new favorite treat...

I desire to hear your lovely voice next to me every morning,

Feel your kisses along the planes of my face, lazily exploring...

I yearn to turn over in the early hours to listen to the melody that is your heartbeat,

Knowing I can find peace in that gentle melody and fall back fall asleep...

I wish to learn every dip and curve your body,

Whether it's to simply hold you or to worship you like you were someone godly...

I always look forward to receiving your sweet kiss,

For I believe you have the lips of an angel and can bring my soul eternal bliss...

Judith faintly wondered if her face looked as red as Talbott’s as he read this part. She raised a hand to one of her enflamed cheeks.

Never had she ever heard someone bare their feelings to her like this. She knows that Talbott is a rather private person.

She knew how he felt about her, but he shows it through more quiet gestures.

This was... wow...

“Sweet little bird,

What is this sad song I heard?

So heartfelt but heartbroken,

You feel pain that never seems to stop growing...

Heartbreak resides in your mystical gold eyes,

The same eyes of your father who now resides somewhere in the skies.

Beloved, turn those eyes to the sky,

Listen to the voices of your wise grandmother and dear father and fly high...

When you begin to feel alone,

Feel my arms around you and take comfort in my cologne.

When tears fall down your cheeks,

I’ll be there with the comfort your wounded heart seeks.

When you feel like all love is gone,

Then let my love be your new dawn.

My dear Judith, I wish to forever call you mine,

Let us create a love more addicting than the sweetest wine...

Queen of my Heart,

I await for the day where we’ll come together in matrimony and never part...

Happy birthday, my dearest beloved,

Know that while I don’t say much, that you are forever loved...”

Talbott finally finished his poem with a beet red face and slightly shaky hands. He wasn’t prepared for the full body tackle of his girlfriend, causing both of them to fall to the floor.

“Jud-MHM?!” Burgundy painted lips silenced the confused Ravenclaw. Her hands cupped his face as she straddled his hips. 

Despite the intimate position and her sudden kiss, Talbott melted into her. The embrace was slow and passionate, the two unhurried as they explored each other’s secret spots.

A hand massaging her lower back.

Another caressing the delicate skin of her neck.

One hand toying with the hair on the nape of his neck.

It’s dancing along his abdomen. 

The demand of oxygen finally made itself known and the two separated.

“I love it, thank you for sharing this with me,” she whispered, looking into those red eyes she’s come to love.

“Of course, darling. Anything for you,” he said softly, pecking her sweet lips. The girl let out a small giggle as she got off him. 

The two stood at full height, readjusting their clothes so they looked presentable. Talbott picked up the paper that fell out of his hand and handed it to her. The girl took it with a blush on her cheeks.

“I still have more planned for today,” he told her with a kiss to her temple. 

Judith narrowed her eyes at him.

“What did I tell you about my birthday,” she asked. Talbott chuckled.

“I remember what you said. But you’re not gonna stop me from trying to make it special for you,” he said. He can the locket that he intends on giving her later on in evening.

She sighed.

“Fine,” she huffed. Talbott chuckled.

“Happy birthday, little bird. I love you.” A small smile tugged on the Hufflepuff’s lips defiantly.

“I love you too, bird boy. And thank you...”

[leggeteconme]

Along the coast of Limir, battering against the marble walls of Mirlin and sweeping away the unfortunate villages outside the great city, a typhoon was raging. The storm was the strongest of the season, the ocean having waited for the end of summer to unleash her greatest terror, and the season had not been a kind one at its mildest. Mirlin quivered under the assault like a willow, her pale defenses barely keeping dry the inhabitants retreating inside the raised knots of her twisting streets. Swirling clouds dropped frothing waves upon the flooded city, sparing not even the fountained gardens of Qimlia, whose open outer corridors the Athrilai court had fled for the solid walls at the palace center. Nestled within twelve of these walls spread a glittering ballroom, where the handsome Athrilai heir sat carelessly atop a golden cushion, accompanying his sweet voice on an oud as the elite members of the court listened on.

The southern courts worshipped beauty, cultivating its fleeting blossoms into the empty bouquets of high culture. True art was as disdainful to them as an unlandscaped field of rogue wildflowers, and young Miqail Athrilai was the crown jewel of the highest court in Limir.

He played and sang in perfect serenity, the eye to the storm he seemed unaware was raging around him, reciting words and fingering chords that meant nothing to him and so left the surrounding ladies in a swoon. He relayed sentiments of love, perhaps, or of spring, or patriotism; it didn’t matter, nor did the name of the fashionable poet he quoted. The songs of Qimlia were each a rearranging of a humble collection of appealing sounds the court had deemed acceptable, and the details of the music were paid no attention. The domed room was gilded white hung with expensive tapestries, the nobles inside draped in fine silks and jewels, and the youth at the center of it all a golden-haired beauty with silver eyes and ruby lips; nothing else mattered.

Miqail was alone on the ballroom floor. Above him, in alcoves and balconies and twisting staircases, the walls were flooded with nobles. They answered his music with a soft hum of their own, wrought in rustling silk and steadily flowing wine. Lady Athrilai stood at the head of the central balcony, watching her son as she drank deeply from a jewel-encrusted chalice, a smile that failed to reach her eyes imprinted faintly on her wine-stained lips. Hardly thirty and beautiful as a marble statue, she was the fourth wife of a gnarled creature with a mind bordering senility, a man cruel from ambition who had stubbornly refused to die for sixteen years after the nearly seventy it had taken him to produce an heir. His Lordship was snoring peacefully in his bed after his wife had slipped a fine powder into his drink, and the court was much pleasanter without him.

Adrienne—or Athrienne, as the southerners called her in their hissing tongue—looked as serene as her son. She stood silently, periodically turning her head from Miqail to offer nods and smiles to those around her, moving her white hands gracefully and allowing her hazel eyes—the one feature she had not given her son—to wander the crowd before shifting her attention back to the concert; but this was a delicately choreographed dance that participating in was, for every resident at Qimlia who wished to live in the Athrilais’ good graces, as necessary to survival as breathing. Adrienne arranged meetings with her lovers, promised ambitious mothers dances with Miqail for their children, and handled her husband’s finances, all without making a sound. Lord Tomlin, her favorite paramour and nephew by marriage, offered to murder her husband and make her Lady Tomlin; she smiled sweetly and met his pale eyes as a beautiful young man, another lover and one who had made her the same offer two days prior, collapsed lifeless into the arms of his sisters. Adrienne lifted her chalice and shrugged. Poor dear, he must have had too much wine. Tomlin threw down his cup and fled the hall.

The body was removed, the wine continued to flow, and Miqail sang on in pretended oblivion. His voice filled the hall for the better part of an hour, but he stopped before he began to tire. He bowed low to the approval of his court, and tossed his ribbon-strewn instrument onto a cushion to free his hands to gather the waves of flowers washing up at his feet. The court rushed forward to meet him, young men and women scuttling forth in jeweled gowns and orbiting the laughing boy. The scene was as it ever was, and Miqail’s presence soothed the court so fearful of the thundering skies. His fingers snapped; the orchestra that nestled in a curtained corner swiftly struck a gigue, and Miqail pulled those nearest him into a twisting, spinning circle over which he sovereign reigned.

The walls, the floor, the very air, were shaking from the forceful storm, but in its midst Qimlia’s youths were dancing, laughing, glittering darkly in the marble hall. Adrienne watched with bright eyes set inside an empty face, her mind awhirl with thoughts no man or maid could read.

The gigue was short, and when it ended Miqail, bored, waved a dismissive hand to silence the musicians and fell carelessly onto the cushion where he’d flung his oud, long fingers weaving through the colorful ribbons as the breathless dancers pooled around his feet. He smiled a smile that would have been a smirk on a face that understood the expression, his lithe figure not the least bit tired. The ballroom was still once more, and Miqail and Adrienne held graceful court as servants brought in baskets of vibrant fruits at the peak of their sweetness. Adrienne inhaled the scent and wondered why we find fruit sweetest just before it spoils; Miqail fed pomegranate seeds to a dark-haired girl who gazed at him with desperate eyes, his fair head empty of any thoughts but pleasure.

At length the noise from the storm abated, and Miqail yawned. He stood, twirling a stray flower between his fingers, and called to his mother that he would retire for the night. She nodded in approval, and he turned to go, but as he did, the dark-haired girl let out a piercing shriek and flung herself at the ground before him, clutching at his silken robes.

Miqail looked at her in astonishment, and Adrienne leaned over the balcony’s edge, clutching the rail with white-knuckled hands.

The girl plucked a red flower from her hair, a camellia with perfectly spiraled petals like the arms of a storm, and pressed it into his hand.

“You have ruined me,” she cried – Miqail had ruined many, but it was his right and none dared to complain. “I gave you my love, Miqa, darling! Save me from disgrace, I beg you!”

The hall was deathly quiet, and Adrienne looked close to fainting.

Miqail laughed. “Dear girl! Such a poetic speech. Here, kiss me, and take back your love.”

He bent and stole a kiss from her pale mouth, then straightened, laughing as her dark eyes, violet in the fading light, welled up with tears.

“You will fall in love one day, Miqail,” she whispered, too softly for anyone but him to hear, “and it will destroy you.”

He didn’t see her tears, or didn’t care to, and the court of youths joined in his laughing response to her words. Miqail tossed his golden head and swept from the ballroom, crushing the camellia under his heel and leaving the girl wilted in the midst of grinning, drunken faces, the cadences of their laughter echoed in her wracking sobs.

Adrienne sagged against the rail and exhaled softly, her eyelids falling closed as the ghost of a tortured smile flashed across her face.

[a-ghost-duet]

words that make me feel things - part 1, Love Run.

• Into darkness and howling I’ll keep him from drowning / As our boat is untethered from the dock

• And the waves of our bodies and the smell of our follies / Rips into the bark of my bones

• I’ll smile as I climb the stairs (to the light) / To the light that you keep burning there (all hell)

• Sing / come rip up the flesh of my fears

• I know your fingernails are the colour of rust (come back) / And your veins are empty of dust (but our voices) / But our voices collide with each howl of the tide / Singing all hell and its fire waits for us

• you see this girl, she / Looks like she crawled out the lost and found / She pulls right up to my ear and says / Whatever you do don’t turn round

• Unfurl my wings / My fall makes no sound here

• We do each other's laundry in our hearts

[ ] Would have stayed if you'd had asked / But instead you just walk past

• You're the one who told me my hair looked better black / You're the one who told me to never look back / You're the one who asked me if I'm feeling ok

• I said I'm fine / It's just a sitting down in the shower day

• Know you should love him but it's such a pain

• And I can smell the smoke of hell / In every stitch and seam

• I cannot hear them scream / ‘Forget me not.’

• You will scream ‘I won’t forget you’ / But I’ll cover my cold ears / It cannot be a lie / If no-one hears

• And although you hold my hand and say / ‘I love you’, you are wrong /Because love does not exist here / In this garden there’s no feeling / And you say the words so often / That I barely know the meaning

• And then you’ll cry to our painted sky / ‘I loved him then, I love him still’

• And you’ll strew some sage and lilies / And roses where I rot / Of all the flowers you picked / I knew you would forget / Forget-me-nots

• My eyes are made of winter and these hands I hold are skin and bone

• Pray for me, I’ll run until I begin to understand / What holy men really mean when they speak of sin

• Sweet nothings are screamed not spoken

• God made all man in his image / Honey I’m I’m I’m no man / I’m what’s left when children go to war

• I cannot sleep when all you do is cry

• And why you cannot sleep for sighing /Why womanhood is more than crying

• The cracks you made I fill with mortar /A broken pot can still hold water

• Why so sad he says / And his eyes say don’t you know that its not all about you anyway

• Its daylight again and you look like I’ve failed you / Did you tell them about the time we met little miss / You’ll love the way I tell it / And I’ll yell it from the rooftops for you

• You’re going too fast / You’ll burn up soon

• Just stop staring at the moon / That’s why I put up fairy lights. Just to distract you.

• I don’t know how to reach you when you get like this / I’ve been waiting for you to come home

• Why won’t you let me follow in your footsteps as you trek into that underground world / What’s that hold that the big dark king of nothing has got on you my girl

• Why do you go down / Those stairs to that green dark cave / Where there’s only faces of the unfamous dead / Full of people just pretending to be brave

• You don’t see daylight anymore /Something’s sucking out your core and it’s so boring

• To see you tired all the time / Why won’t you just tell them all to fuck off love and be mine

• Why so sad / I’m here and I’m alive / Stop making up death wishes just take my life line / He says / Or at least that’s a cliche to represent what he meant / [swhat I meant]

• Why won’t you believe I love you if I’m not hurting you he says / Can’t you see that I’m enough for you but you don’t want me to be / Cos that means you’ll actually have to be content

• Why so why so sad / Stop asking why I’m sad just know its enough to know I’m sad

• But your blood does not bleed red no more / It’s whiter than the sun burns, its bright with every hum

• Oh watch the fire surprise surprise burn up and up into those skies

• Tear me up and burn me up and rip me up and leave your / Hand on the wall as you go

• Are you god or devil, ghost dishevelled / Childhood friend or drunken revel / I cannot stop I’m bleeding out for you / You angel heart you monster oh / Some godforsaken prosper / Your feathers and your paws / Your hell for leather applause / You dance on tables, endless labels / Are you cain cos i’m not abel / Your bastard lasting nightbus asking / What’s the everlasting fable

• It’s like all the wallpaper inside my heart / Is slowly slowly peeling off / And I’m showing / All the stains and things / They wrote on the wall before

• and I’ll stare at you / As you stare as you stare right back at the sky

• These hands are growing cold / They’re running out of things to hold

• But today we ripped it off, we ripped it off, we showed the world that we exist / Never really liked the pattern that much on the wallpaper so anyway

• I can hear the children calling as though across the bar

• If I’m good will you come back / If I’m good will you come back / If I’m good will you come back

• One fist holds a lighter the other your hand / The oh’s of your screams still echo in your dreams

• But I held your hand / As you shook in the middle of the night / Without waking you said / not yet not yet

• Sing me awake with a song about pirates / And I will try to harmonise / And sip the sunlight from your eyes

• I cannot find the words to keep you / It cannot be a lie if no one hears / Let the seabirds / Don’t turn 'round / He says

• Love, run! The song you know's begun

• Keep running. It’s up to you now / Up to you now love to

• Love run, love Run / For all the things we wished we’d done / Run from all you know that’s coming / Run to show that love’s worth running to

• Though some would harm you, none - not one - no none / Would raise to you a hand nor thumb / Not while by you I stand and hum

• All that matters / Is that you're here

• O let the land come at you, love / With all it's sand and sin, a-singing / A song you once knew well's begun / Run until your lungs are numb

• Now let the earth a-tumble, love / And humble you withal, keep running / It's not from what we run that drums / But what's to come, what’s to come

[pressedinthepages]

Peace

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n: @sometimesiwrite​ requested Geralt and Eskel having a conversation post-mountain!

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: mild language, hurt/comfort, geralt go fix it you dumbass

Geralt borrows Eskel’s braincell in an effort to apologize to Jaskier.

    Geralt was in Velen, in a tavern in the middle of nowhere. The wind howled outside of the dingy window stained with gods-know-what. He watched as rain began to pour, thankful that he was able to afford an ale that granted him a spot under a roof. Ever since Jaskier left him on that mountain, coin had been few and far between, and Geralt hadn’t really felt the same motivation to take on new jobs. Geralt nursed the same sad, watered-down ale that he had been working on for the better part of an hour, mulling the aching silence that ate at the marrow in his bones. 

    The door to the tavern suddenly slammed open, startling Geralt away from his thoughts. A familiar face peered out from beneath a dark hood before it fell. Another Witcher, strikingly similar to Geralt, save for the mahogany hair and scars down his cheek. His golden eyes tracked around the room before they caught Geralt’s, a smile pulling his lips into an odd sort of grimace as he strode to the White Wolf’s table.

    “Eskel,” Geralt smirked, “Well met, wolf.”

    Eskel shucked off his wet cloak before he sat across from Geralt, motioning to the barmaid to bring him an ale of his own. She set it down gently as Eskel passed her a bright coin, leaving the two Witchers to their own devices. 

    “It’s quiet,” Eskel peered over his shoulder to examine the rest of the room, finding a scant handful of other travelers tucked away in the shadows. 

    “Has been all afternoon,” Geralt replied, running his thumb over the rough handle of the tankard before him. 

    “Not usually,” Eskel hummed, “Where’s your bard?”

    Geralt’s mind ground to a halt for a split second, panic seeping under his skin. He shook it off quickly and hid it with a long draw from his cup. “He-he’s not my bard.”

    Eskel scoffed with a shake of his head, his eyes, so like Geralt’s, narrowing in clear disbelief. “Horseshit. That bard follows you all over the Continent for more than twenty years, writes songs about your contracts and how much of a hero you are, you’ve saved his life how many times? He’s your bard.”

    Geralt shifted uncomfortably in his seat before leaning back against the wall with a thunk of his head. “I fucked it up Eskel, royally fucked it up.”

    Eskel hummed with a crook of his brow, raising his cup to his lips.

    “I-I took out my anger on him, said some things I didn’t mean. I blamed him for every shit thing that’s gone on, but tha-that’s not fair.”

    Eskel swallowed with a nod of his head and a tired look in his eyes. “How long has it been since you’ve been together?”

    “Few months.”

    “Geralt. I mean this with the utmost sincerity,” Eskel reached across the table and grabs his brother by the shoulder, “you dumbass. Go find him. You won’t find many rays of sunshine like that in a life like ours, don’t you dare let one go.”

    Eskel’s eyes bored relentlessly into Geralt’s, brokering no room for argument. And Geralt knew that he was right. Geralt stood, reaching for his swords. May as well, Oxenfurt is a long ways away...

    Eskel reached out again, but in a motion to stop Geralt. “No, wait. It’s pouring. Have a drink with me, let the skies calm. Then, go get him.”

    Geralt hummed as he sets his swords back down, another ale joining his now-empty cup on the table. Eskel winked at the pretty barmaid as she takes her leave once more, giggling under her breath. Geralt rolled his eyes as Eskel smirked into his ale.

***

    Gods, Geralt hated Oxenfurt. Not nearly as much as Novigrad, but still. There’s just so much, everywhere, all of the time. At least here, though, Jaskier’s kind influence has reached. People recognized him, and not as a threat. They actually smiled as he passed atop Roach, weaving through bustling city streets. 

    The university loomed through the fog, dense and chilly with the approaching frost. Roach plodded confidently through the gates and Geralt steered her towards the stables, hoping to just easily leave her under a shelter with some hay.

    There was no such luck though, a young stablegirl coming to meet him as he dismounts. She smiled, a cute little thing with a gap between her two front teeth. She had straw in her hair and tears along the bottom of her skirt where it was a bit too long for her, and Geralt can’t help but smile back. 

    “I can take care of your horse, Master Witcher. I’ll brush her down and give her lots of pets, if she likes them.” Her words even had a little lisp whenever her tongue caught in that notch between her teeth. Geralt melted a bit at just how innocent this little human is. 

    “Alright, sure.” Geralt nodded, handing Roach’s reins to the girl. “Be careful with her, though. She’s pretty big, don’t let her push you around. Come find me if you need to.”

    Geralt knew that she wouldn’t need to. This Roach was wonderful, and she loved children. She was already putty in the little girl’s hands, letting her scratch behind her ears and down the velvet of her nose. 

    Geralt walked quickly towards the dormitories that house the professors. The sun has set, leaving the world drenched in an ethereal twilight. Geralt visited Jaskier here once before, fetching him in the spring so they may begin their travels. He just hoped it’s the same damned room. 

    As he approached, Geralt knows that he was at the right spot. He could hear Jaskier humming behind the door, and he can smell the bard in the air. But something was off about the scent, tinged with a damp, earthy scent that could only be described as sad. 

    Geralt took a deep breath and knocked gently, his knuckles just barely rapping on the cured wood. He heard the humming stop, replaced by quiet muttering. “Do they know what hour it is? By the Gods, this is why I can’t stand scholars…”

    The door opened, revealing Jaskier just on the other side. It was just as soon slammed into Geralt’s face, and he heard how Jaskier gasped before he wrenched the door back open. The two of them stared at each other in stunned silence, and Geralt could almost make a quip about how often that must happen for the bard.

    But then he saw Jaskier’s eyes, so bright and blue with clear skies and rays of moonlight, start to well up, and before he knew it he had an armful of bard sobbing into his shoulder.

    “Oh Geralt, you actually came for me!” Jaskier cried, touching and feeling Geralt under his hand as if worried he may disappear. “Geralt, I’m so s-”

    “Don’t,” Geralt said as he turned his face into Jaskier’s hair. “Don’t you dare apologize. I should be on my knees, begging you to forgive me.”

    Jaskier pulled back, his cheeks flushed and eyes reddened. Geralt was yanked into the dorm and the door shut decisively behind him. Geralt shuffled, looking around the room, bare of anything personal, save for Jaskier’s precious lute tucked into the corner. 

    “Jaskier, I-the things that I said. You were right, they weren’t fair. I was hurt and lashing out, and I know that’s no excuse, and you deserve so much better than what I have to give you, and-”

    “Geralt,” Jaskier said, pushing himself flush up against Geralt and taking his face into his hands. “You silly Witcher, you are forgiven. Yes, it hurt. But it hurt more to know that you were in pain, and there wasn’t anything I could do that would help.”

    Geralt sighed as Jaskier ran his fingers through his hair, breathing in deeply as Jaskier’s scent finds its resonance in his soul. “Jaskier, I-I care very deeply for you. And I can’t push it down anymore.”

    Jaskier paused his minstrations, looking deep into Geralt’s eyes. They stayed like this, suspended in their own creation before Jaskier breathed in, pressing even closer.

    “May I do something that I have wanted to do for a very long time, dear Witcher?”

    Geralt swallowed thickly and nodded, rubbing his fingers nervously where they sit at his side. Jaskier tilted his head up and just barely brushes his lips over Geralts, only the fluttering of fairy wings left in the movement. 

    But then Geralt grew bold, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist and holding him tight, slotting their lips together in a move that feels so perfect it is as if Destiny planned it herself. Jaskier positively melted, his hands tangling in Geralt’s silver hair and tugging him impossibly closer.

    Jaskier broke the kiss first, keeping his arms wound around Geralt’s neck. “So, does this mean I can come back on the Path with you?” He smirked, already damn well knowing the answer.

    Geralt hummed, resting his forehead on Jaskier’s. “If you would be by my side, I would be forever grateful.”

    “There is nowhere I would rather be than at your side, my White Wolf.”

[cockasinthebird]

Stuck? Stuck.

This year for the senior weekend trip, Hawkins High students gets to enjoy a lovely stay at a hotel so cheap it's a risky gamble to even set foot there, and a Saturday trip to the Indianapolis Museum of Art, to which absolutely everyone is equally excited about.

Which is not at all.

Steve groans and sits up in the hard bed he has to sleep in for two whole nights, sharing his room with three other guys from his year that he swears he has never ever seen before, despite them all knowing his name and history quite well.

The drive here hadn't been that long, although it felt like hours, nerve ridden and anxious to not sleep in the safety of his own haunted mansion. Sure it's nice to be surrounded by people on all sides if he were to tell the truth, but...

Billy fucking Hargrove had been staring at him all day, sat two rows behind on the bus, and whenever Steve turned to look, he was met with an icy stare and suspicious grin. Billy had even actively gone out of his way to bump into Steve, push him around and kick his bags away, to which Tommy had laughed and patted Billy on the back, that fucking traitor. Sure they hadn't talked since after the fight with Jonathan, but Steve didn't know their friendship had been so fragile.

With an exhausted sigh and jittery hands, Steve carefully closes the door to his room, then heads down the hallway to find the elevator. He can never sleep when he's away from home, yet Dustin had convinced him that this is a great idea! Get out and have some fun! People always hook up on those senior trips! And then he did that Chewbacca wanna purr of a sound, prompting Steve to push his cap down his face.

The elevator climbs slowly up to his floor as he thumbs his lighter, on and off, on and off. Who here would he even hook up with that he hasn't already before he got together with Nancy? And now that they're over and Billy is running the school instead, Steve's odds had fallen even farther into the pits of hell.

He just needs to get out for a smoke, and maybe flirt his way to a drink or two at the sleazy bar; this place doesn't look like it cares about serving minors alcohol, what with the water stained ceiling and floor, the peeling tape, and the creaky as shit elevator, as it barely can manage a ding once it reaches the 4th level.

It whines just the same as he steps inside and feels it bounce dangerously underneath his weight. It requires several attempts and hard jabs from Steve before the ground floor button registers his attempts, and starts closing.

When just in the last second, strong fingers curl around the rusty metal and pries open the doors again.

That grin, those curls, the sun-kissed skin.

Billy fucking Hargrove.

“Where you off to, Harrington?” he asks with a flash of predatory teeth and steps into the limited space.

Suddenly Steve is feeling hot and claustrophobic, heart racing both from the presence of his enemy, and from the fear that the elevator might not be able to support both their weights.

“Why the fuck should I tell you?” he snaps and does his best not to meet those blue skies that just won't give him the same courtesy of pretending the other doesn't exist.

“Could be you wanted some company,” Billy says with a low tone that hints at something secret and suggestive.

“And why are you up?” Steve doesn't really care to know, but thoughts of why Billy might be up and about this late flows freely. There would only be one reason, and maybe it's the second floor where all the girls are located.

But he doesn't press the 2nd floor button. Simply puts his hands in his denim jacket and leans with his back against the wall.

“Oh you know exactly why I'm awake this late, princess,” Billy drawls out and licks his lips.

Which Steve doesn't notice, if anyone were to ask. He pulls up a cigarette from the back he has stashed in his back pocket, and slips it between his lips to save time once they're able to get away from each other again.

Yet it's gone just as quick, as Billy reaches out and snags it away, just to place it beneath his mustache. And Steve stares daggers at him, all too quickly he's angry, but really it takes no time with Hargrove around, as his mere presence in Steve's life in a constant source of pain and fury.

“What the fuck you asshole, give it back!” Steve frowns and clenches his fist with a strong urge to punch. It's been too long since he's felt the bliss of nicotine, and he can feel it in his blood. “Get your own shitty cigarettes.”

“Why don't you come over here and take it, then?” Billy muses with a cocky grin that goes from ear to ear.

“Yeah yeah, very mature, give me my fucking cigarette back, Hargrove. I'm almost out of smokes and patience with you.” Steve turns to stare at him now, a few feet apart filled with air so tense you could cut it with a fucking butter knife.

“Well that was quick,” comes the response as a mean spirited chuckle.

“Oh don't be like that; you've been harassing me all fucking day you shit!” And Steve steps closer, up to where he can feel Hargrove's breathing. “What is your deal with me?”

Billy lifts up his chin, looking all brash and smug. “Do I have to one?”

“Why else would you be making my life a living hell?” Steve's fists clench tighter. “Isn't it bad enough you stole my best friend and 'knocked me off my throne'?” he says with possibly the most infuriated air-quotes anyone could ever manage.

“Nope.” Short and crude, the p popping loudly despite the cigarette caught between teeth.

“Then what the fuck do you want?!”

And as Billy's grin somehow grows more sinister, he doesn't get to answer before there's an abrupt jump of the elevator and a nerve wrecking screech.

The loud whir of cogs and mechanics silent. The elevator has stopped.

“Are... are we...” Steve dares not say, as if that would make it real and not just his imagination.

Billy shoves Steve away and steps over to press a button, any button, and when there's no response, tries a second button, then a third, then every other option there. Punches the keys over and over and over-

“Fucking stop that! You're just making it all worse!” Steve shouts and grabs on to Billy's sleeve to tear him away.

“Oh like you know how a fucking elevator works!” Billy snarls back and pushes Steve hard for having even dared to touch him. “I know your grades, I've heard the questions you ask in class, I bet even Max could answer half the shit you can't!”

Steve doesn't even have time to think before he flings his fist after Billy, who catches it perfectly on the nose. Cigarette flies from his mouth, blood drips onto the sticky floor, onto Billy's dirty boots and his clean, white tee. And he continues being unable to think, as Billy fucking laughs.

“God damn Harrington, I can't believe you had the guts to do that,” he sounds near insane as he talks, swipes his tongue up to lick his upper lip clean of dark red. “You know you're gonna regret that now, right?”

“According to you I don't know shit.” Steve stands with his feet too far apart, shoulders raised and fists aching for more. As much as he would prefer not to fight, since he always gets his ass kicked, the rush of seeing blood flow from Billy's nose is invigorating.

No matter how prepared he thinks he is, Billy's fist still feels like a goddamn boulder against his eye, and barely has Steve staggered backwards at the brute force, before Billy grabs him by the collar of his striped polo and shoves him into a corner; caging him there with his own broad, muscular shape.

“You punch like a girl, Stevie,” his voice low and... oddly sensuous?

He reeks of cologne, teeth sharp and perfect like a wolf, body sturdy and thick, pressed into Steve with such intent that he can feel every inch of power.

“What are you gonna do now, Harrington?” Billy's chuckles like thunder in his chest as they stay flush together.

Steve feels his heart beat in his swelling eye, lumping in his throat, beating against his ribs like xylophones, and somewhere between his legs. Red really is a great color on Billy's lips.

“What are my options?” he groans out and wants to move away from the insufferable heat that's gathering too far down.

Eyes jump around every one of Billy's strong features, looking like a damn model from afar and up close like this. Jaw square and stubbly, an ocean's view in his eyes, a thousand eyelashes that he doesn't deserve to have, freckles like a starry night that he didn't even know existed on Billy's perfect skin, lips so hopelessly inviting despite the wicked grin.

And maybe Billy catches how he's being admired right now, because his smile falters to a slightly slack jaw. “Doesn't seem like you have any,” he mumbles out, tone uncertain of something.

“I fucking hate you, Billy.” Steve can't move his head away, can't tear his gaze from where that tongue peeks out to lick his lips clean once more.

With a timid whisper, barely more than a breath, Billy utters out, “I hate me, too.”

Lips meet with obscene force, Billy pushing against Steve's mouth as if it's his only source of life, and immediately Steve opens up; tastes the metallic blood that still drips slowly down from Billy's wounded nose, and feels that captivating tongue intrude deep as it urgently memorizes every inch of wet heat.

It's as if they've both been starving for years, and now they're all too worried it'll end in the blink of an eye.

Billy bites and pulls at Steve's lower lip with a guttural groan.

“Fuck, Billy-” Steve nearly moans out and tries to buck out his hips.

“Shut the fuck up, Harrington, or I'll punch you again,” Billy growls and dives back in to lick where his teeth had just tortured sensitive skin.

“Mmh- ah-” and Steve pulls away to say, “Do it.”

“What?” Billy has never looked more dumbfounded.

“Fucking hit me again.” Steve licks his lips clean of Billy's blood and stares intensely down at him. “Slap me in the face.”

And Billy grins like the devil, bites down on his tongue, breathing staggered as he contemplates on whether or not Steve is serious. Then brings a flat hand across a pale cheek.

It stings and burns throughout his entire body, anger and lust confusingly mixing and making his blood pump faster, his cock growing harder. He pokes at the inside of that cheek where he can practically feel the red hand print form.

“God you're a freak, pretty boy.” Billy wags his tongue and stares with a confident brow. “This why Nancy Wheeler left you, huh? She couldn't keep up with your perverted desires.”

Steve doesn't speak, simply digs a hand in between them, and oh what an exciting bulge he finds there, one that forces out an “Arrh,” from stained lips and feels the hips below urge closer.

“Like you're one to talk.” Now Steve is the one to smirk, crooked and looking like the cat that got the cream.

Which Billy fucking hates. All he can do is press their lips together again and grind his full dick against Steve's hand caught between them. His movement irrepressible as he rolls his hips and swallows every single moan that spills from Steve's puffy lips, pleased and turned on by every syllable, irritated that Harrington can't just shut the fuck up.

It would be all too easy to get caught like this. But isn't that just exciting?

That thought strikes both of them at the same time it seems, because just as Steve moves his hand out of the way, Billy's flies down tear away at their belts, all the while maintaining the rhythmic dance of their ever so insatiable tongues.

Neither dares to utter a single word, because the wrong one could stop it all too soon, so they settle on hushed grunts and groans, barely a cursed word till Billy's hand shoves into Steve's trunks once his fly is down.

“A-ah- shit, Billy-” Steve moans out and closes both his hands in the denim jacket.

“Be fucking quiet, Harrington, I swear to God,” Billy hisses out with his gaze low.

Attention caught on how fucking long and hairy Steve is, the head of his flushed cock wet with pre. He doesn't waste any time with getting himself out as well, his own leaking erection girthy with clear veins snaking around. Not as long as King Steve's magnificent dick, but definitely wider.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes out hard at the sight of them both out in the open like that, shiny and standing at full size.

A moan cuts through him as Billy brings his free hand up to muffle every sound, with such force that it knocks Steve's head into the wall. The pure display of dominance that that move is, makes Steve leak even worse and struggles to keep his eyes open.

“I said shut the fuck up,” Billy's voice deep and threatening.

Steve feels as if he's staring death in the eyes, and all he can do is whine and thrust his hips into the iron grip around both their throbbing cocks. It's dry and uncomfortable, but fuck if it doesn't get him to where he needs to go.

And once again their minds must be in perfect sync, because Billy brings up his hand, and Steve watches intently as Billy spits into his palm, clear blue eyes never looking up to catch how burning amber stares.

Finally he gives in, when that slick hand twists around the two of them, and Steve's eyes roll back between fluttering lids as his mind goes blank with searing pleasure. A calloused hand, thick veins, hoarse groans, all of it the only things to matter in his world now, as every practiced jerk of his all too hard prick tears away at his self control and shoves him into the deep end of urges he never realized he had.

Urges he doesn't care to ignore.

Never before has he heard Billy go this long without insulting him, and he kinda misses it. He fights to open his eyes again, and catches how Billy's brows are raised high up and pinched together, his mouth wide as he barely manages to choke his own moans before they grow too loud, stare locked down where he's fisting them together with such fervor he could light a fire with it.

Steve is aching to hear Billy call him names, throw around abuse like it's nothing and shame him for something, anything. Perhaps tonight will give him new material finally, call him a queer or gay, just to then overpower him as he always does when they fight, now maybe followed by... a handjob? A blowjob? As long as his hands are on him, Steve won't complain anymore.

Can't complain when he's so close. He hadn't realized how badly he needed release at all till Billy had started pushing into him just minutes ago. Had their constant struggle just been pent up sexual tensions? Was this what it was all leading up to? An inevitability? Billy pumping his closed hand around them in a gross as all hell elevator, feeling every single inch of Steve's painfully intense erection?

“Fuck, ah shit, lift up your shirt,” Billy's quick to groan out with labored breathing that stutters as he speeds up his hand as fast as he can go.

And Steve doesn't hesitate to do as told, brings both hands from Billy's jean jacket to his own striped polo and lifts it up as high as he can, what with the way they're crammed together in a corner.

Feels the heat gather, the coil in his gut tightening till it's seconds away from springing, the vice grip around him doing wonders in pulling him to the edge, then shoves him off as he cums, hips shoving into Billy's rough hand with short bursts as he moans against the one stealing away his air, feels how he ejects wet heat all over his abs in a toe-curling feat.

Shortly followed by Billy as he empties all he's worth onto Steve's stomach, forehead pressed on top of the hand covering Steve's mouth, eyes still unblinking as he watches what a gorgeous mess they're making. He squeezes their spent dicks till the last drop drips down his broad fingers, and then lifts up his hand.

Ensures that Steve is watching, as Billy sticks out his whole tongue and licks his hand clean, sucking on the digits till there's not a trace left.

Steve moans into his hand at that, and despite the fact that he's been depleted of all his energy, still feels it jolt through him and burn into his memory for forever.

Finally Billy pulls his hand from Steve's mouth, and wipes the spit off in his jeans as he steps away.

And Steve nearly collapses without the support of thick muscles to keep him up, boneless in the afterglow of the best orgasm he's had in months. But... what's he going to do with the way they've painted his abdomen? There's no fucking towels or paper here, and he can't just take off his expensive polo shit and use that! He stares down in slight panic and gestures with his hands as if he's just going to, what, wipe it off?

When his sight gets blinded by something soft that reeks of musky sweat, and he catches Billy's shirt before it would fall to the floor. He looks up to see Billy put his jacket on again.

“Use that to uh...” He points to the cum that slowly runs down Steve's exposed skin.

Although hesitant for very good reasons, Steve does eventually wipe himself dry with Billy's tee, and awkwardly hands it back, as if he can really use it for anything now.

And a prolonged silence fills the air between them, as Steve remains in the corner and Billy struggles a bit with the doors; no clue what floor they're on anymore, and the counter above probably hasn't worked in years.

“What happens now?” Steve asks cautiously from where he's sitting in the same corner, a spot that he dares not leave.

Billy groans out a complaint and shakes his head at the immovable steel doors. Then goes to sit next to Steve with only slight space between their bodies.

“You mean if we make it out of here alive?” he laughs, and hears Steve give a tired chuckle as well. “That depends...” his tone grows wary and serious. “Harrington... if you tell anyone about this, I will fucking kill you, you understand?”

Their eyes meet, and in Billy's there's a storm of mixed feelings. Fear of getting hurt, premature anger of being found out about, and maybe hope? But that could just be Steve projecting his own thoughts and feelings onto the other.

“And what if I don't?” Steve swallows hard around the anxiety that clumps together in his throat. “What if I don't tell anyone about... us?”

One corner of Billy's rather stern grimace quirks up. “Then I'll see you tomorrow night.”

[extremelyblackandwhite]

timeless - 06

PAIRING: medieval!james “bucky” barnes x reader

WARNINGS: mentions of wounds (bleeding), scars, trauma

A/N: today the only highlight of my day was spin class and whenever i get upset i just write, as hamilton would say, like i’m running out of time. enjoy xx

NEXT CHAPTER

If looks could burn, Y/N would be ablaze.

The whole of court had their eyes on her almost creating a wall between her and the outside world. Whispers like “who is she” could be heard all over the tournament courts yet all Y/N could look at was the crown of blue flowers in her lap, almost as blue as the eyes that watched her like a hawk. Mindlessly, she smiled, cheeks rising up and eyes locking with his, a kind of understanding that she clearly didn’t understand. 

    - Come on. - Odette helped her up noticing the increasing madness settling on the Princess of Genoa’s eyes. Without much space for questions, Eliza and Odette were guiding her out the box and into the castle grounds, avoiding the crowd as much as possible. Y/N merely looked at the crown of flowers she was now holding, almost like a memory she didn’t remember. 

The three girls kept on walking deeper and deeper into the castle until they reached Y/N’s chambers, where she was pretty much thrown into before the door was locked behind them. 

   - You are gonna stay here while I try and ... make everyone peaceful. 

   - But I wanna thank Lord Barnes. 

   - I don’t know why you’re upset, Odette. It was pretty enthused to see Rosaline first get denied something in her whole life. - Eliza laid down on Y/N’s bed, a little smirk on her lips.- It’s not like they have copulated, Odette. There’s nothing you need to solve.

   - It is such an insult for someone not to offer the honours to the guest. The King is gonna be mad, the Queen is gonna be mad, everyone is gonna be mad and they are not gonna let it out on the Duke of Addia, they’re gonna let it out on the person with no noble status. - Odette pulled some flowers off her hair, trying to prep herself to try and beg the King to be kind to her lady in waiting. Eliza, on the other hand, had a small smile, almost pouty, looking at Y/N whose eyes were but much worried with the crown of flowers on her fingers, fingers playing at the browning that was already starting to appear at the edges of the pretty blue buds. - Eliza, you two stay here. 

   - Sure thing, your Royal Highness. - the other lady in waiting nodded as Odette left the bedroom. Once it was just the two of them, Eliza sat against the various cushions on Y/N’s bed. - You are so smitten. 

    - What? No!

    - Odette’s not here, you can tell me. You spent the whole tournament staring at him and when you weren’t staring at him he was staring at you. I hate to be the Odette of the situation but you need to be safe, Y/N. He is a deranged, dangerous man. 

    - Eliza, I know. - Y/N laid down next to her friend, crown still in her hands, as a tiny mindless smile made itself onto her lips. - It’s just, and this might sound silly, looking at him feels right. It’s as if I’m supposed to be looking at him. 

    - He’s a Duke, you’re supposed to look at him.

    - It’s not that. He could be a stable boy and he still has this ... magnetic nature about him, it just pulls you in. It’s like you’ve never knew you knew him until you looked into his eyes. - she raised the crown above her head, staring at the beautiful way the flowers intertwined with the metal base of the piece.

    - I think you need to rest, you’re spewing too much non sense. - Eliza got up from her bed, looking down at the woman who seemed frozen in her own mind. She ended up deciding to let Y/N remain in her bedroom alone, thinking that Odette would need more than her princess charm and empathy to take Y/N out of the mess Lord Barnes had so kindly laid upon her. 

The lady in waiting, on the other hand, merely turned around, laying on her side with her eyes still locked in the little flowers which seemed to mean as much to nature as they meant to her. Her gaze shifted from the hyacinths to the white rose she had gotten on top of her pillow the night before which now laid in a clear jar with some water. The scent. That intoxicating scent. 

She raised her torso from the bed, placing the hyacinths a bit away from her before reaching for the rose. She still didn’t know why it had been left on top of her bed or who had done it, yet she couldn’t help but feel a strange calm nostalgia about it. She remained like this for what seemed like hours, enough for the sun to set and allow her to wonder why Odette and Eliza hadn’t returned yet. After the sun set and the moon graced the skies up and high, she made up her mind to go and find the girls and so, with determination on her step, she walked off her bedroom and into the cold, dark halls of the palace. 

Truthfully, she wasn’t sure where they could be or if they even were within palace grounds as the King took pleasure in having guests visit the palace’s gardens during the night. Nevertheless, she continued to walk through the walls until a grunt made her stop. She held her hand up to her chest as she noticed a door slightly open, a flickering light, possibly coming from candlelight, lighting the hall very faintly.

The young woman was about to ignore it when another grunt came through which grabbed hold of her curiosity and almost by magic, she padded to the door, hand holding the side of it as she peaked inside. There he was, Duke Barnes, laying down in bed with a gloved hand, as always, over his shirt. She noticed the red tint staining the white linen of his shirt which had her wonder if he was in pain from the wound gained from the tournament. Surely the servants should’ve patched him up yet by the thickening of the stain on his shirt, she guessed that wasn’t the case. 

     - Are you alright? - Y/N put her hand in front of her mouth as those words came out of her mouth without her brain instructing them to do so. Along with that, she stepped inside his bedroom, standing slightly further away from the door, but still close enough to hold the handle. On the other hand, the Duke seemed surprised to see her, his expression changing as if the pain faded the moment her voice soared through the room.

    - Milady, my apologies if I woke you up. 

    - Didn’t they tend to your wound? - she pushed her hair up with the ribbon that was normally tied in a bow around her neck and rolled up her sleeves to her elbows before walking over to a small basin of water laying on top of his dresser and kneeling in front of him

    - The staff is scared of me, milady. 

    - You should call me Y/N. - she gave him a caring smile. - Take your shirt off, milord. If we leave a wound unattended, it’ll get even worse.

    - I can’t. - he responded with a monotone voice, barely above a whisper. His gaze was directed to her but it was as if it passed right through her body, almost as if he was, in fact, staring at the air, as if she were nothing but a spirit to him or a disembodied voice. Furrowing her brows at the man, Y/N placed a hand gently on his shoulder, to which he grimaced and winced before mumbling under his breathe. - Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me!

He repeated numerous times and then quieter, making her heart wrench as she watched him sit down, his body move back and forth to soothe his troubled thoughts which she wished she could see through but sadly couldn’t. The red stain on his shirt got deeper and more red, spreading almost way all the way to his hip. 

    - I know, milord, but I need to examine you and clean your wound. Trust me, it’ll be much worse if we let it sit. - she reassured him, petting his messy brown hair. How would she ask that train-wreck of a man to remove his shirt or, at least, let her remove it? He was shivering and trembling and his eyes seemed more like blue beads reflecting the tiles, nothing more. Lifeless and soul-less just like when she first met him. - Please. 

   - I can open my shirt but not past my shoulder. 

   - I’ve seen some pretty bad wounds, Lord Barnes. You don’t need to protect me from gore. 

   - I don’t think you’ve seen something like me before, milady. I don’t want you to see it. 

   - I want to help you, milord. I would love to help you but you have to remove your shirt, I can’t treat your wound over a shirt. - she added, making his head raise to look into her kind and soft eyes, windows to all the emotions she showed. His eyes seemed to find some sort of safe harbour in hers and before she could try and persuade him to do anything else, his face was buried in her chest like a small child would. - Please. 

He nodded without a word, before bowing his head back again. She pursed her lips tightly against each other and in a thin line as she stared at the nobleman in front of her. Looking at him like that, that vulnerability, made it hard to believe he was the dangerous man Eliza and Odette warned her about. She started to unbutton the shirt he was wearing, as gently as she possibly could, since every small movement seemed to make him wince and make his eyes water, although no tear was spilled as if he was used to pain. Her throat felt lumpy and sore, heart beating frantically and almost out of her chest as she pulled the shirt from his body and slid it from his arms, before throwing it to the ground out of shock. It wasn’t the wound near his ribcage that surprised her, it was something else. 

    - What happened to you? - she furrowed her brows, raising her hand to her mouth as she watched how cut and wounded his shoulder was. The cuts must have been so deep, skin must’ve been lost as there was no way regular wounds would scar the way they did. However, the most surprising thing and she guessed the reason why he wore the leather black gloves, was the lack of a regular left arm, instead a metal one replacing it.

The sudden scraping of the wooden stood across the floor woke her from her thoughts, as well as the basin full of warm water hitting the ground and spilling it everywhere as she had hit it as she stepped back. 

He sat on the bed, lips tightened, hunched over and with a pale hand running through his brown hair while he waited for her to return to reality. Yet, she couldn’t move, her mind didn’t let her as she was still in shock how someone could hurt a man in such as way. It  wasn’t until he spoke to her that she truly woke to her senses.

   - It’s my fault, really. My wife told me not to go and I still did ... Serves me well. 

   - What happened? 

   - War isn’t as poetic as poets made them be. 

tag list: @lookiamtrying @kmuir1 @anxiousdreamersworld @tinymalscoffee @navegandoaciegas @cinnabanuxoxo @sideeffectsofyou​ 

[wherethehoesat]

paint me perfect; ft. akaashi keiji

"in which he paints her bare figure across the canvas and falls in love with the person he'd created-"

painterxmuse au

thick swirls of paint on an empty canvas, eyes flickering back and forth towards his muse, face passive, focused on his art. slashes of rosy red lips curved downwards, e/c colored eyes glistening with colorless tears, shadowed perfectly as if it were real.

he bit his lip in deep thought, glancing at the lady, his stare burning your naked skin. you only had a piece of glittering sky blue cloth draped over your exposed abdomen as you tilted her head, looking up to fluorescent lights and white ceilings, looking very much like the teary eyed woman he'd portrayed.

another glance, another flicker of emotion passing through his eyes that you wouldn't see as you posed, poised to perfection. "we're done here." he claps his hands, snapping you out of your statue-still form, an easy smile forming on your lips as you clutched the lacy fabric onto your chest.

"let me see how i look on your paintings ‘Kaashi." a playfulness in those e/c orbs that made him roll his eyes, still, he pushes the painting towards you, making it face your direction. a soft sigh escapes your lips, in awe of what he’s made.

he had painted you against dark blue skies, stars winking to life behind your naked figure looking up to a moon cupped in your palms as a tear trickled down your skin, flawless, utterly mesmerizing.

"i owe you a drink for this truly amazing piece." you chuckle at him, back turned as you walked towards your belongings, clothes hung over a wooden bench seemingly misplaced amongst the vast sea of white. you slips on your bra first, head turning towards him in a somewhat pleading look. slightly annoyed, he waltzes over to you, clipping on your bra for you, "you really need to practice doing these things on your own l/n." he mutters under his breathe. in the quiet studio, you hears his words all the same and let out a small laugh as you turns towards him, dressed only in your bra, having discarded the lacy blue fabric you'd used to cover herself.

"don't act like a virgin ‘Kaashi. it's not like you haven't slipped off that same bra from my body." you wrap your hands on his neck, bare figure pressing against him, noses touching as you kept that same teasing smirk on your pretty little face. he draws a ragged breath, recovering after a few oh so very slow seconds, he licks his lips, placing an identical smile on his face. he wraps his hand around your waist, pulling you closer, he dips his head and your lips collide into a fiery kiss that burned brighter every second they spend deep in each other's hot kiss, limbs tangled.

he breaks your kiss, a grin on his lips still swollen from your kiss, "you better dress up y/n, you wouldn't want them to catch us fucking in the studio." he still had a hand wrapped around your body, the other tucking a strand of hair that obscured a full view of your features.

you roll your eyes and smacked his arms away playfully, getting back to being dressed. "if they caught us fucking, they'd make damn good money out of it." you snicker as you buttoned on your white blouse. his gaze never wavered from you the entire time and when you finish, he grabs your hand and spins you around like one would in a ballroom dance. your laughter rang in his ears like a melody.

"if you ask me for a drink on each 'wonderful' painting i create, you'd be buried in debts." he warns you. the warning he'd delivered thrown away in the wind after your statement, you looked at him, eyes shifting, darkening as he held you in his embrace. "well, i'd also be under your sheets. think of it as the pros and cons. and in this case--" you draw near, faces a centimeter away, "the cons outweigh the pros. but," you trail a finger across his jawline, "we don't care much about being reasonable, do we?"

something inside him snaps as a smile makes way onto his face, "no," another kiss, another action laced with lust and soft undertones of sweetness, "we don't care about it at all."

__________________

you flips him over so that you’re sitting on top of him. again, you’re only covered by far too thin cloth of the hotel blankets. he stared at you through it all, a habit, he was a painter after all. and you were an art he'd gladly look at for all hours of the day.

a lazy smirk, hands pressed lightly on his chest, tracing familiar lines of muscles with your fingers, "you went fancy tonight." you eye the floor to ceiling windows that seeped light into the dim room, the glass offering a breathtaking view of the glimmering city lights, blending with the cloudless dark sky scattered with stars.

"i sold two paintings yesterday to some wealthy perverted men." his voice was the equivalent of a shrug, "they gave me more than the price i was asking for." amusement curls his lips and she smiles, knowing that the words that would follow would set you to a bout of chuckles.

"for one condition; don't tell our wives that we're buying nude paintings of a younger woman." he says this in a deep, mocking voice that could belong to a bearded businessman in his forties. you throw your head back in laughter, "boys are idiots." you tell him after sobering up from his joke. he raises an eyebrow, looking at you.

"Keiji." you call him, voice soft and his painting comes to life before his very eyes as you becomes the teary eyed woman left on a canvas inside the studio. your eyes glittered with tears and he had the urge to wipe your tears away and remove the traces of sadness in those lovely orbs.

"f/n." you two never called each other by your first names, too casual, so easy to slip into each other's arms and pour your sorrows into each other. you smile again and it looked so bittersweet, you tried blinking back the tears but every time you opens her eyes it seems that more and more tears try and escape. "why are we here Keiji?"

"why are we doing this?" and the first tear fell from your eyes, trickling down your cheek and you shake your head as you see him lift his arms to wipe it away, "no. don't do that. it's getting harder Keiji. i can't keep doing this with you." you shake your head as you cried, tears cascading down your skin.

"i'm falling for you." your fist lands weakly against his chest, and he doesn't stop you, doesn't say anything. he moves, wraps his arms around you so that you both sit, limbs tangled in the darkness as your tears touch his skin as you lay your head on his shoulder.

"and what's wrong with that?" he pulled you closer like he always did, soothed you with gentle touches, "what's so wrong in loving you?" he had said the words so slowly, so sweetly intoxicating.

another sob escaped your lips, "no, don't say love." your tone seems like a plea and your voice cracked in the edges like a glass beginning to shatter.

don't say love because it feels so final, a declaration, words written in stone never to be taken back. you could still remember the time when you first met, back to a simpler past where this feeling had yet to bloom that scorching summer when you had found a job as a muse for his paintings. back to the first kiss you shared with each other, the same delicate kiss that sparked the affection. if you could turn back time, would you take back your offer, the invitation for a drink that started everything. that's how this started. is that how it ends too?

you look up, facing him, making his heart ache at the melancholy in your eyes, another beautiful smile twisted into sorrow "i'm not the person you fell in love with, Akaashi," you whispered, and you were right. you could see it in his canvas, see those identical features, the same and yet so different. the woman painted on paper had the innocence you had lost, the beauty fading day by day as the portrait stayed the same, portraying what you were once, who you'll never be again. Akaashi Keiji fell for the timeless art he'd made.

his hand trails the skin touched by tears he'd caused. steady breaths and gentle words as his fingers memorize your features, "i thought the same once," he never looks up, never sees your eyes filled with questions and brimming with tears, instead he traces your skin as if he was painting you, "i thought i only loved the art, the lines, the curves and the colors i've poured onto the page." a genuine laugh, untouched by the sadness that filled his eyes.

"i thought wrong."

his lips land softly on your forehead, sweeter, gentler than the other kisses you'd shared. filled with love, an emotion that felt so foreign, an emotion that broke the walls that you'd built around your heart in a fraction of a second.

"no, you're not as perfect as the girl i'd drawn." another fact, you lost your perfection the moment you ran away from home, searching for adventure in the bright world ahead, only finding darkness in the road you took, the path you willingly chose. he sends kisses down to your head, to your tear-stained cheeks, moving towards your nose, so gentle, like butterfly wings fluttering against your skin.

"you're not perfect." he tilts your head so that your eyes meet each other's, gazes locking into place, "you're flawed to the very core,”  “, and i love you for that."

[1985keery]

broken - steve harrington.

steve harrington x female!reader

prompt: after 3 years of fighting for her life, steve finally sees how broken she truly is.

words: 2,091

warnings: angst, cussing, mentions of puke, mentions of suicide :( 

The ceiling. It was so pretty, wasn’t it. Maybe it was her drugged mind, but she had never seen a better sight then the starcourt ceiling. The bright lights turned the beige top into a beautiful kaleidoscope. She was memorized. “Woah” she mumbles, her voice strained from the use. “Yeah” he agreed. 

Him. How was it always him? How are they always risking their lives together? It seemed to be something out of a fairytale. Thinking of it made her head hurt. Couldn’t they catch a break? They deserved it. He deserved it.

She subconsciously began to back up into him. He was a comfort for her, always protecting her and things. His tall frame stood above her as she laid the back of her head on his blood stained chest. If she had turned her head slightly, she could’ve felt the way his heartbeat was out of control.

Whatever was in that drug, it was surely doing it’s worst.

“Steve” she whispered. Her stomach was starting to feel rotten. She felt dizzy and unsure if she was gonna make it. It felt as if there was a curse on her or something, like she was due to melt. Her stomach gurgled again, and she started running. 

Working at the mall had it’s advantages, one being the two were able to locate the nearest bathrooms. Her blood stained white chucks squeaked as she turned every corner, She was sure the writing on them had been ruined. Shame, Robin drew such a pretty flower. 

As she heard Steve’s blue sneakers behind her, she felt such a heavy pang of guilt. Why did these things always happen to them? Why did they always have to save the world?

As they finally reached the men’s bathroom, they immediately started puking their lunches into the white toilets. He gripped on to the side of the toilets as she held on to her hair. The small bathroom was filled with the sound of gags and cries.

After a minuet he had finally stopped, grabbing toilet paper and wiping his mouth off, blood and vomit leaving his plump lips. She had finished too, but she just wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand. She was too weak to think logically.

She laid down on the black and yellow checkered floor and put her bruised legs on the red stall. The cold linoleum felt good against her damaged hands.  “The ceiling stopped spinning for me” she said, finally catching her breath. “Is it still spinning for you?”

Even though he could barley see through his swollen eye, he looked up. “Holy shit. No. You think we puked it all up?” She closed her bruised eyes and smiled, relieved at the thought. “Maybe”

Her heart rate was going down to normal, and reality was finally coming down on her. Her brain was on autopilot, almost. Her motives were controlled by wherever her legs were running to.

But now here she was, laying in a bathroom with King Steve after fighting Russians. Shit.

“How do we always end up like this?” she asked, a sad expression on her face. “Puking in a bathroom?’ 

She laughed even though it burned her cut lip. He always had the ability to make her laugh even under the greyist skies. “No, I mean, running for our lives. Fighting evil. I feel like a comic book character.” 

He gave a soft laugh at her comparison. “Nerd”. She smiled, hearing him tease her was a breath of fresh air. “Virgin” she teased.

“You must still be on the drugs” he laughed. She couldn’t see him, but she knew he had a smirk on his face, considering they had slept together. “Maybe. Ask me something. Interrogate me.” she said, mocking the Russian man. “I’ll interrogate you, sure.” he agreed, stopping to think of his question.

The air was light and it finally felt like they could let down their guard. They never did though, they knew better. “When was the last time you peed your pants?”

It was a stupid question, but she still laughed. “Today” she smiled, and she could hear his laugh  “What?” The smile in his voice was evident. “When the Russian doctor took out the bone saw”

“Oh my god” he laughed. There was his silly girl, the one he thought would be gone an hour ago. The one who got her pretty face beaten in by evil Russians. He was so glad she was back to him. “It was just a little bit though” He heard her giggle, and he smiled. 

“Okay, my turn” she said. She got up from the floor and laid her aching back on the stall. She was about to ask a silly question, like if he thought mermaids were real, but she started focusing on her hands. 

There was an equal amount of blood and dirt under her fingernails, and her knuckles were red from trying to defend herself. They would be bruised by the morning. There was blood and vomit on her shirt, she had a black eye and a bleeding nose, a gash on her forehead and every muscle in her body was aching. She looked like a walking pity party.

However, she was nothing compared to Steve. The poor guy couldn’t even see out of his right eye and there were cuts on all his face. She felt her stomach drop and got a quarter sized lump in her throat. 

“Do you think it’s even worth it?”

It was barley a whisper, but he heard it. “What?” He asked softly, noticing the mood change. She put her head in her lap, wanting to shrink as much as she can. She was tired of being seen, of being the one always saving the day. She wanted to curl up in a hole, where the villains could never hurt her again.

Every night there was a new nightmare. 

She couldn’t escape, everywhere she turned there was a new battle waiting to be fought. She felt angry. It wasn’t fair, she was only 19. Hell, she was just 17 when she fought the demogorgan with Jonathan and Nancy.

Even the cool flooring felt like fire to her, As she dug her fingernails into her palms, she shrunk deeper. “Y/N” Steve called, knocking on the wall. His heart started to race at the silence. “Did you OD over there?”

She lifted her head from her lap and wiped her tears, though there were more forming. “Nope. Still alive, somehow”. Her voice sounded so broken, and so scared. She dropped her head back into her lap

Steve slid under the stall, now sitting opposite of her. “Y/N” he said softly, taking her small hands into his rough ones. “Come on baby, talk to me”

Raising her head, Steve frowned at the tears on her cheeks. “Do you think it’s worth it, Steve? Risking our lives, being heros?”

He had never really thought about it. I mean sure, he had nightmares too, but life went on. It never occurred to him that it didn’t for her, that she was struggling. I mean, she would flinch at a lot of things and refused to walk in the dark, but now he realizes it was deeper then that.

“Well, yeah. The world needs heros” he spoke carefully. There was a fire in her chest, and that was the gasoline. “It’s not fair, Steve!” she yelled. Her usually small voice boomed through the bathroom. 

“Why is it always us? It’s not fair! I just wanted to be a normal teenager! But now I can’t sleep, can’t go to parties, and I can’t even put up Christmas lights!” her hands had began to shake from anger, but she was far from done,

“I’m fucked Steve! And I can’t even go to therapy, because they’d think I’m crazy! And Lord knows I can’t talk to my parents. Jesus, everyone gets to have this normal life, but we’re fighting demons once a year. They have no clue about demogorgans, or demo dogs, and- and- a-and they’re happy! I don’t even know what true happiness is anymore because I’m always fucking paranoid!

Angry tears had slipped down her cheeks. She was sobbing at this point. Quiet whines came out of her mouth. A shaky breathe, And her head was back in her lap. 

Steve laid his bleeding head back. She was right. Absolutely right. The air was thick, and it felt like it could suffocate them.  He felt so sorry for her. He grabbed her hand and put his chin on her knee. The yellow lights of the bathroom gleamed down on them. The hopelessly damaged kids.

“I had a plan, y’know” she said, as the silence broke. She licked her lips and sniffed. “At 17, I had a plan. I was gonna graduate, hopefully valedictorian. I was gonna go to Indiana State, get a job and an apartment, and I was gonna get the hell away from here, Have a family, a normal family, and a life for myself”

Jim Hopper and Joyce Byers came to her mind. It wasn’t fair to them either, how they ended stuck in Hawkins again. Nobody deserved to be stuck here.

He took a moment to process her words. He had a plan for himself at 17, too. One that involved Nancy Wheeler and a white picket fence. Now, thinking of it made him shiver. Looking at the girl who was in his plan now, he sighed.

“And at 18?” he asked. She clenched her first and rose up, unshed tears in her eyes. He watched her throat move as she swallowed. ‘I didn’t think I’d be here at 18″

He squinted, and it was clear to her that he didn’t understand. She squeezed her eyes shut, fearful of his reaction. Surely he would think less of her, he might even treat her with pity. 

“But, we survived the demogorgan” the innocent man said.

“Steve”

It was so painful. Having to tell her lover her darkest secrets. She was afraid the bright shades of red and pink around their love would now be black and grey. Steve didn’t deserve her, she thought. He deserved a girl like Nancy Wheeler, or like Tammy Thompson. Someone who wasn’t completely and utterly broken. 

“Yeah?” God, it still wasn’t clicking. She couldn’t say it, she had tried, but the worlds simply could not leave her mouth. So she said it with her eyes.

And then he understood. 

Something in his eyes had changed, and he finally saw how broken she really was. He always thought she was beautiful, but now he saw every detail of her face. He saw the frown lines and the eyebags, and the hurt in her eyes. “Oh” he mumbled.

This was it, she thought. He was gonna call her a freak, or an idiot. The two never made them selves official, but they knew, Everyone knew. “Holy shit”

Her heart was beating again, for the millionth time that day. “Yeah. Holy shit”

She didn’t look at him, too afraid of seeing his expression, but he couldn’t look away from her. His sweet, sweet girl. How stupid he was, to not see how she was feeling. It was his job to make sure she was okay. He felt as if he had failed her. “You OD over there?” she asked, trying to break the tension.

“No” he answered. “Just thinking”. She nodded and felt another lump in her throat. Her fingernails had left inprints in her palms, and she was desperately trying to not cry again.

“I had a plan at 18 too” he said. She finally pulled her eyes to him, “I was gonna join the circus.” 

She certainly was not expecting that. “What?” 

“I was gonna join the circus” he said, smiling, “I’d be one of the clowns, or maybe even the ring leader” She finally laughed again. “Why.... why was that in your plan?”

“I thought it’d be cool, and I’d look hot in a rainbow wig.”  He was rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand, and was relived to see the soothing action was working. She laughed as she said. “You wouldn’t dare mess up your precious hair, Harrington. I on the other hand would make a excellent acrobat”

“Please, you did gymnastics for what, 6 months? And then what happened” They were both smiling now. “My ankle healed!” she defended, as they both laughed. 

The doors burst open and suddenly Robin, Dustin and Erica were in front of them. “Seriously, what the hell” Dustin yelled, clearly pissed. The two only looked at each other and laughed again. Steve stood and reached out his hand. “One more battle?”

Her smile dropped a little, but she took his hand anyway. “One more battle”

[kl4us4]

YOU AREN’T REAL (Bellamy Blake x Reader)

Request: Reader suppose to be on the Ring but she was with Clarke and they both didn't make it to ship but they both survived. And Reader and Bellamy were couple so she's the one talking to him on the radio everyday. And he was absolutely broken. So when they got back he's shocked (like Clarke tells him that Reader is alive but she's somewhere else) and they share very emotional (maybe very intimate/personal) reunion (like maybe she "saw" him at nights so now she thinks that he's not real). Thanks!

the 100 masterlist

bellamy blake masterlist

Unbeknownst to you, but very known to his friends, Bellamy sits at a window on the Ring, staring down at the world he left behind. The world he will soon return to. He began these 6 years heartbroken. That utter sadness turned into anger at himself, regret, hatred. And now, the idea of seeing you again after 6 years has him right back where he started. With a broken heart.

You close your eyes, praying that this figment of your imagination would go away, stop tormenting you. 

He’s gone. You tell yourself, he’s far away. 

You know he’s not here. Yet every time you rest your head to fall asleep, it’s Bellamy’s arms that you can feel around you. It’s his quiet breath that wakes you up in the middle of the night.  And it’s his face that your mind keeps conjuring up.  And there is nothing you can do to stop it. 

“It happens so often,” you speak into the radio but all it speaks back is silence, “Sometimes I swear it’s so real... like I made it onto the Ring somehow and I’m up there with you.” You let out a sigh, looking at the orange sun rising in the pink sky. “Bell, you would love the view from down here. The skies cleared up so much in the past three years like you wouldn't believe!” You used to wait for a response but at this point, you know it’s hopeless, “I hope I can sleep better tonight. See you soon, Bellamy. I love you.” 

And with that final thought, you put the radio down, packing it away and heading into your house by the sea. The waves come and go gently, bringing with it the morning breeze that helps to wake you up from your restless dreaming.

On what feels like the other side of the world, a spaceship lands. It roars through the atmosphere, breaking the ozone layer, and landing in a field of dust and smoke and sand. A blonde girl runs to meet it, heart filled with something close to fear and hope. A man steps out, the man you love. And his eyes are filled with absolute fear. 

“Is she here?” Is all he asks, his chest sinking at the sight of only one girl here. 

“No...” Clarke replies, shaking her head, “She’s far from here,” still in shock, Clarke places a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder, “I’ll lead you to her. Just let me say hello to my friends.”

Nodding his head, Bellamy closes his eyes for a second. And he hugs Clarke, trying to let himself feel accomplished for returning back down. But he doesn’t. He can’t. Not until he finds you. 

Sweat beads over your forehead and suddenly you’re back on the burning earth, watching the Ring soar away and the wave of fire come closer to you and Clarke. 

“Y/N!” Clarke shouts to you, urging you to run with her. As if there’s any out-running that. You want to tell her there’s no hope but when you shout to her, she can’t hear you over the wind. You’re filled with a sense of dread.

Turning back to the ocean of fire, you’re suddenly safe. Frowning, you turn back to Clarke. But it isn’t Clarke. You’re in your house, by the sea, staring at a man you haven’t seen in six years. 

“You’re back.” You mumble to him, closing your eyes again and letting out a sigh. Bellamy’s crying, tears staining his face red. But you don’t notice. He stares at you closely as you rub your face, sitting up and barely looking at him. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“What?” He mutters back, “Y/N?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, “I just want to sleep, is that so hard?” Bellamy hears your voice raise in pitch as you begin to tear up. He’s silent for a few seconds, not fully understanding what’s going on. “You’re not real.”

“Baby?” Bellamy whimpers, his eyebrows furrowed. He’s wary to approach you as you rub your eyes, sitting up straighter, “Y/N, look at me... I’m here.”

Lifting your head, you blink at the tall man. And all of a sudden, you’re on him. Your hands are around his neck, you’re kissing his cheek, you’re pulling back at staring into his eyes sceptically. “Bell? Bellamy... I can’t... I can’t believe you’re here.”

“You’re not dreaming.”

“Are you sure?” 

Bell nods, “I’m sure, baby.” The corners of his mouth lift up in a smile but the tears stay around his brown eyes. “I’m here.”

TAGLIST: relentlessgame captainlini @mesmericbell @cctaviasblake paul-steroline-lover @imaginexmeintheuniverse @bellamyblakemorley twisted-tasty14 mika-xxx