#Fic [Second Person POV]

[naffeclipse]

Talk about your monster husband ocs coward (affectionate❤️)

Everyone, the tumblr user themeeplord is bullying me (affectionate <3)!!

You have no idea how normal I am about my monster OCs. They're so lovely just let me—ahhh!

Hawthorn is a Mothman monster. His wings are based on the garden tiger moth and he is so fluffy! He has a thick fuzz on his neck and chest and is a warm, cuddlebug. He also possesses bright orange eyes that pierce the darkness and startle the unfortunate late-night hikers or anyone piercing into the woods after midnight.

He has a thing for hanging out in the thick woods near where the MC lives. Wherever he goes, bad omens follow. He really shouldn't be near MC—he knows he'll be the death of his precious little human, but he can't help it. He's drawn to the MC like a moth to a flame (heheh). He's delightful and gentlemanly, but don't let that fool you. He's got a possessive stretch a mile wide and does not take kindly to anyone giving the MC looks or reaching out for a too-familiar touch. He will bristle and buzz, and fly swift and silent through the darkness to chase after anyone to ensure the MC stays all to himself. He is a bad omen, after all.

Grease is an oil demon! He feeds off of fear, literally, and delights in terrifying people in the night. His body is slick and iridescent, and he is constantly dripping black goo from his person. He is capable of shifting his form to hide in a puddle, slink underneath doors, or bubble through a crack in a broken window. He's got wicked sharp teeth, and eyes like a tiger but with a pale, unsettling blue color. He possesses tendrils on his head that constantly drip and a long, slick tail that he can use to grab MC by the ankle. He's terribly seductive and charming, terrifying but mischievous. He likes to say 'boo' just to watch MC jump. Of course, he's not all tang and salt. He's got a sweet side that rouses in a protectiveness over MC. He's possessive, sure, and he's marked his claim with the oil stains on MC's work apron, but he's got an ooey-gooey center of sweetness that MC occasionally finds when he blushes at a stray touch or a nice comment about him.

Calmo 91, otherwise just called Calmo, is a robot. Constructed in the 90s with a box TV screen head to match, he has bright yellow optics in the screen face along with thick wires falling behind his head in a ponytail-like fashion. He is cool and difficult to read but wickedly intelligent and learning much about humans and affections. His body is a thin endoskeleton with plastic matt gray coverings that give peeks of blue, red, and yellow wires at his metallic joints. He's got a mysterious past the MC is attempting to unravel that he truly wishes the MC would leave be. He's got much to learn about technology but he quickly figures out how to connect to the MC's phone for texting, phone calls, and other useful things of course, like keeping tags on where MC is and monitoring MC's heart rate. Useful tools. Modern technology. Living in the MC's house, he gets to spend more domestic time with the human he decided is kind and generous, but the MC occasionally finds him at the foot of the bed in the darkness, his yellow optics strangely switched to red until the MC says his name and his optics revert back to yellow again.

[sirjaketkiszka]

Silver Springs Masterpost

Early20s!Jake Kiszka x Fem!Reader

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

I know I could have loved you but you would not let me…

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Being best friends with Josh, you figured you’d get along well with his twin… You were wrong. Jake Kiszka is arrogant, cocky, and all things irritating.

With the semester being over, you spend your summer with the band before they leave town to chase their dreams. If only you knew what that would entail;

Jealousy, secrecy, and heartbreak…

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Word count: 22,502

Warnings: 18+!!, jealousy, lying, cursing, arguing, eventual smut, underage drinking, and mediocre writing.

(each chapter will have its own list of warnings as well.)

Disclaimer: in no way does this storyline follow real life events pertaining to personal lives, tour schedules, release dates, etc.

Playlist inspired by Silver Springs.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Chapter List:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five (coming soon…)

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Tags:

[strawwritesfic]

Kelvin!Spock x Female!Human!Reader: Mr. Right

Summary: When one door closes, another opens—perhaps the door you were meant to enter all along.

Warnings/Tags: Starship Enterprise; post-Star Trek Beyond; friends to lovers; breakup; almost kiss; counselor!reader; Star Trek: The Original Series references; Star Trek: The Next Generation references

Relationships: Spock/Reader; Spock & Nyota Uhura; past!Spock/Nyota Uhura; past!Kevin Riley/Reader

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Requester: @lovemesomeescapism

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Notes: For once, this is not a repost for this challenge…technically. I did write a response to the prompt "Mr. Right" ages ago, but when I was reposting, I decided that the Now You See Me one shot I wrote really wasn't worth keeping. Someone on Tumblr asked me for a Spock one shot, so I slipped him in as a replacement.

It's been a really long time since I finished something new. I realize that I am rusty. This is actually several drafts into attempts to write this one shot. For the first time ever, I actually cannibalized previous drafts while trying to get the meandering dialogue and point back on track. It still doesn't feel quite "right" to me, but it's probably going to take some time before I get back in the swing of things, and I'm ready to let this one go.

Mr. Right

Throughout Terra's history, human beings had sought the comfort of white noise. Quiet droning sounds proved beneficial for many aspects of mental health in the species. As a counselor on board the U.S.S. Enterprise, you'd recommended listening to white noise to dozens of fellow crewmates and patients alike. The best way to do this in the deep space you'd all been exploring for nearly five years was to turn everything in one's quarters down until the low hum of the ship's warp drive became audible. Many of those crewmates and patients reported back to you with decreased stress levels, improved mood, and a distinct uptick in ability to concentrate. Almost all of them said they got better sleep.

Now you learned that every single one of them had lied to you.

You'd spent the better part of the evening-adjacent hours lying face-down on your sofa, trying and failing to take a nap. The scratchy, standard-issue pillow beneath your face was soaked with tears. Your chest ached. Worst of all, any attempt on your part to get your mind off what upset you just ended with you crying harder. All the while, that awful rumble went on and on and on and on relentlessly, allowing you no respite long enough to drift off and forget your current predicament.

A chime cut through your misery. You paused without so much as lifting your head. As of three hours prior, you were officially off duty for the day. Nothing required you to answer the door unless an order came down from a superior officer, and they would call first. Probably it was only Uhura coming by to check on you. Having been through her own breakup during this voyage, surely she would understand when you didn't let her inside.

The chime sounded again, and with it came a surge of possibilities flooding your mind. What if your visitor was dealing with a crisis? Cases of PTSD had been on the rise since the events on Altamid. You could hardly ignore that in favor of your own small, personal crisis. Off duty or not, your role as a ship's counselor would not allow you to wallow in self-pity when someone might need your help.

As your boots hit the floor, you pressed one sleeve of your rumpled blue uniform to the corner of each eye. The gesture wouldn't do much to disguise what you'd been doing over the course of your time off, but you felt a little steadier afterward. Breathing deeply in and out helped too—until you hiccuped. But you could prepare yourself no more. Squaring your shoulders, you stood, walked over to the door leading to the corridor, and opened it.

Just outside stood the familiar, lanky figure of the ship's science officer. The second you spotted him, you wiped your sleeve across your face with greater urgency.

"You're not one of my patients," you said, "or Uhura."

"A very astute observation, Lieutenant [L Name]," Spock replied.

A long moment elapsed during which the two of you stared at one another. Several fellow crewmates in various uniform colors threw curious looks at his back as they passed by on their ways to wherever they were headed. Your friend, meanwhile, allowed a single dark eyebrow to drift toward his hairline. He clearly had no intention of moving on.

"What are you doing here?" you sighed at last.

The wayward eyebrow rejoined its brother. "Lieutenant Commander Uhura informed me that you left your office this afternoon in distress. I note that her assessment was an accurate one. If anything, you appear to be in more distress now than she described to me then."

You couldn't lie to Spock, not when you looked the way you looked after a crying jag like the one you'd just had. So you didn't bother to try. "Fine. I'm in distress. But really, Spock, it's not the kind of distress you can help with. I'm sure Captain Kirk will need you on a landing party any minute now, so if you'll excuse me—"

"Lieutenant Commander Uhura also informed me of the cause of your distress."

"Of course she did." Sometimes you wished your two friends were a little lighter on the "amicable" part of "amicable exes." "Let me guess: You came by to tell me that you told me so."

"As a Vulcan, I have no reason to rub my correct prediction in your face, if you will forgive the Terra colloquial."

You let out a wet laugh despite yourself. "You're pardoned."

"What I have done is stopped by the mess hall. If I am not much mistaken, ice cream is a traditional consolation food in these types of situations."

He produced from behind his back a number of different colored tapes. So startled were you that you found yourself unable to say anything. Never in a million years would you have imagined Spock of all people standing in front of you and offering you junk food of all things. Your silence went on for so long that he had to prompt you to speak:

"Was I incorrect in my understanding of how to handle Terran breakups?"

"No," you said, then, "I just didn't want you to find out about the breakup until I could pull myself together."

"I surmised as much, given that Lieutenant Commander Uhura found out about your circumstances before I did, although you and I are closer friends. It would have been more logical for you to contact me for assistance than her."

Vulcans as a whole were difficult to read. Even factoring in your education and training, as well as your friendship with Spock that had gone on for several years now, you could only guess his feelings the majority of the time. Not so then. Something about his tone made him sound hurt. Maybe you could chalk that up to projecting your own feelings onto him, but you couldn't risk that assumption.

"It's just that you warned me against dating Kevin," you explained. "As ship's counselor, I should have seen the end coming a kiloparsec away."

"Perhaps. But one might also say that your extensive proximity to the crew's emotions might cause some loss in objectivity on your part."

"So you're not here to make me feel worse?"

"I came for consolation purposes. That is all."

"Well, all right, then."

You stepped away from the doorway. Spock followed you in. He paused only long enough to press the button to close the door before he came to join you in your sitting room. A crate sat on the floor along his path, and he looked at you questioningly as he walked by it.

"Those are Kevin's things," you said.

"Expedient," he observed.

Normally, you might have tried to go for a little more decorum around him, but that day you didn't have the energy to do more than flop back onto your couch. At least you were upright. Spock, on the other hand, claimed a dignified perch at the end of your chair. The two of you certainly made an odd pair.

"He had so many hair products!" you burst out when the awkward silence turned unbearable. "I should have known we wouldn't work out. Who brings that much hair spray into deep space?"

"Humanity can hardly be expected to iron out all its flaws when you all cling so hard to your baser emotions."

"Do you mean Kevin's desire to look nice, or my need to be in a relationship?"

Spock blinked, then smoothly said, "In this case, I refer to your former beau's preoccupation with personal grooming."

"Right. Either way, I'm about ready to get rid of all my own baser emotions. Not feeling them would be a blessing." You got back to your feet and thrust one hand in Spock's direction. "Ice cream tape, please."

He offered one to you.

"Spock," you said warningly.

"I do not believe that heartbreak is an excuse to overeat. I only brought so many because I was unsure which flavor you would select."

The glare you leveled at him seemed to make him think better of lecturing you on the dangers of gluttony—as well it should have. This was the same glare that you gave Dr. McCoy when you were tired of listening to him. Unlike with Dr. McCoy, you smiled once Spock dropped the rest of the tapes into your outstretched hand.

"Thank you." You headed for your in-quarters food producer, then turned your head to ask over your shoulder, "What flavor do you want?"

"I do not require ice cream."

"Come on, Spock. If you're going to spend the evening commiserating with me, you have to have some ice cream, too. That's a critical part of the Terran breakup process."

One corner of his mouth twitched. "I'll have pistachio, then."

You fed the yellow-green tape into the slot. A quiet beeping noise covered the hum of the warp drive as the computer worked. While you waited, you flipped through the remainder of the flavors until you found the one you wanted.

"I don't think it would be a good idea for you to give up emotions," Spock said.

"Huh?" Frowning at him, you replaced his tape with yours. "Aren't you the guy that's been talking about doing the Kolinahr when we get back to Earth?"

"That's different. I am a Vulcan."

"Half Vulcan."

"Vulcan enough."

A shriller beep put an end to this potentially sticky subject. The ice creams were ready. You dumped the rest of the tapes in a basket next to the food producer, picked up the bowls, and brought them back to the living room. Spock took his with a grateful nod, though he waited until you sat down again before taking a bite.

"Maybe I'd be a better counselor if I didn't have emotions," you mused. "If I wasn't blinded by my own feelings, I could help the crew more with theirs. I shouldn't have the same problems as they do after all the studying I've done."

"While that may indeed make sense, it is hardly realistic. Besides, if you did not have your human emotions, you would no longer be the [Name] that I know, and I believe that I would miss her."

You couldn't help but smile around the spoon in your mouth. Popping that out, you said, "I bet you say that to all the Terrans you like."

"Hardly. In fact, that captain may benefit from an hour or two without his usual emotions."

"I appreciate you saying that, Spock."

"I am only speaking the truth. I have no intention of bolstering your ego artificially, even if doing so is a part of the Terran breakup process."

"I know." You slowly lowered your spoon back to the bowl, staring off into space. Something was dawning on you—something that might have dawned on you sooner had you not been so enthralled with your own feelings. "You know what else I appreciate? You coming here to help me today. Not every first officer would go out of their way for a ship's counselor like that."

Spock fixed you with an unblinking gaze as he said, "You mean a great deal more to me than most ship's counselors mean to their first officers."

"I don't care what Captain Kirk says. You sure know how to make a woman blush."

"I have had some practice with the activity."

"Remind me to thank Uhura later."

"Thank her for what?" Spock asked.

Maybe you were reading the signs wrong. Maybe you were just desperate. If he had to ask, you had to be wrong. But you took a deep breath anyway, and said, "Helping me realize that maybe the guy I've been looking for this whole time has been my best friend all along."

How could it have taken you this long to work it out? No one else spent as much time with you as Spock did, not outside of your office hours. It didn't matter if you were in the mess hall asking for a round of Fizzbin after dinner or you wanted a quiet night in your quarters. He always seemed to be there. You felt comfortable around him. Maybe you didn't always understand Spock; maybe Spock didn't always understand. But you didn't enjoy anyone's company the way you did his. And you had to wonder when your eyes met just then if he felt the same way, and if this coming-to-see-you-with-ice-cream thing was his way of showing you that.

"Well," he moistened his lips before going on, "I certainly feel that our relationship is founded more steadily upon mutual interests and desires than it is upon a passion for hair products."

You leaned forward. "You know, that sort of relationship sounds really appealing right about now."

"It does?" Spock shifted closer to you.

"I think it's about time that I dated someone whose first thought in the morning isn't beating me to the sonic shower, don't you?"

By that time, you both had come so close that it wouldn't have taken much more movement on either of your parts to touch lips. Your heart gave a painful leap inside your chest. Was this too much too fast? Even if you had just realized you'd had a thing for Spock for a while now, you had only just broken up with your last boyfriend that morning. Treating Spock as a rebound was the last thing you wanted to do. He didn't seem to mind, though. His mouth drew closer and closer to yours until you could feel his breath on your face.

The communicator in your room chirped. You jumped. Spock paused before sitting back up in his chair. Then you rose wordlessly, stepped over to the panel, cleared your throat, and pushed the button.

"[L Name]," you said.

"[Name]?" Uhura did not remark on how breathless you sounded, thankfully. "I need to talk to Spock."

"It's for you," you said unnecessarily. Spock had already reset his face into its typical blank mask and made his way to the communicator himself.

"Spock here. What is it, Lieutenant Commander?"

"Captain Kirk needs you on the bridge. We have a situation up here."

"What kind of a situation?"

"There's a former United States President floating outside the ship. He says he needs our help."

"I will be there right away."

A second chirp signaled that communications between your room and the bridge had ceased. Spock turned back to you.

"My presence is needed on the bridge," he said.

"So I heard."

"I apologize. I believe we were in the middle of something."

"It's all right."

He didn't move.

"Spock, go. Don't you want to know why a deceased historical figure has asked for the Enterprise's help?"

"I'd prefer to stay here," Spock said. "But you are correct. I must leave. Will you still be here later tonight?"

"Yeah." You surprised yourself with the eagerness of your answer. "Yeah, I will. I promise I won't run off with any other lieutenants while you're away. I'll save the rest of the ice cream. We can share it when you get back."

There it was: The slight curl to Spock's mouth that told you that you weren't making up the mutual attraction between you both after all. "To use another Terran phrase, it's a date."

He hesitated another moment longer before he quickly exited your quarter. You grinned as the door slid shut behind him and the white noise returned full force. As you sunk into your couch and pillow this time, you found you didn't mind the hum as much. In fact, the sound did exactly what it was supposed to do: Relax you. Kevin and his excuses from that morning felt farther away than your own home planet. Maybe you owed him a thank you, too, because if you were still with him, you wouldn't have slept as well as you did that night knowing that Spock would be back soon.

[doctorwhommm]

Jack and Ianto being a power couple? Either at work or at a meeting with UNIT or wherever

someone gimme fic recs like this immediately please 🫴

[an-eldritch-peredhel]

You are the daughter of an angelic faerie and an elven king. You have grown up inside the only magical safe-haven of an increasingly apocalyptic land outside. You have wanted for nothing, essentially leading the perfect life, suffering and death playing little role beyond the abstract. Your father will never die, and your mother will never leave, but for tradition you are still crown princess and are educated as such. You love to dance and to sing.

You meet some kind of monster inside your mother's borders, a monster not of her or your making. It stumbled across you, dancing in the forest, bloody and travel-worn and weary and wide-eyed as it stares. You are stronger than it, but you run rather than lunge for the kill. You feel pity, more than fear. And something about him makes the part of you that you inherited from your mother sing.

He tries to follow you, for a year and a day. You are stronger, and faster, and stealthier, and you let him see you sometimes anyways. You are not convinced that he is not a monster, but nor are you convinced that he is.

Spring blooms again to the tune of your song, and you let him get closer than before until you run.

But you hear him speak for the first time. He is a speaker, and perhaps to him you are the monster. You do not run, and you do not kill.

He calls you "Tinuviel"

He calls you nightingale- a little songbird, plain and brown, with a lovely voice. They are your mother's creation, but he does not know this.

He calls you daughter of twilight- perhaps for your skin and eyes and hair, but perhaps because that is when he has seen you most.

He calls you singer- creator of the very fabric of the universe, skilled enough to deserve the title.

You are the most beautiful creature the world will ever see, the daughter of an angel and a king. He does not call you beautiful, or angelic, or princess. He calls you a singer, plain and brown, dark and distant as the approaching night.

He is bloody and travel-worn and weary and wide-eyed as you dare to step closer.

He called you nightingale.

You don't know what to call him, but you hope to find out.

[moralcandy]

fifteen things that don't come back, by charlie slimecicle:

number one. the paper airplane you and your daughter throw at your husband while his back is turned in the kitchen, the two of you hiding behind the counter as you snicker quietly when he stops humming and yelps a curse as he turns around with a faux angry expression and a poorly-hidden smile.

number two. the glass your daughter broke trying to grab it from the cabinet on her tippy-toes. you didn't look over until you heard the glass shatter against the kitchen floor, too preoccupied with grabbing the jug of cold orange juice from the fridge to notice until it was too late. golden, afternoon sunlight shone warmly on the both of you from the open window as you swept it up while she stood to the side with a sheepish expression.

number three. your husband's soft shirt he let you borrow when you said you couldn't find your own but really you just quickly shoved yours under the bed when he wasn't looking. you absently noted that it smelled like him. your lips curved into a slight smile without input. your foot shoved your shirt under the bed a little bit farther.

number four. the pictures you took of your daughter and niece, hugging eachother as they posed for the camera, the photo incinerated into ash when you blew up your house. you frantically dug through your daughter's chest afterwards, soot covering your hands as you searched for the photograph. you did not find it.

number five. your niece.

number six. the feeling of a cold glass of wine held tipsily in your hand, the waterdrop of condensation slipping down the glass at the same pace your tears did down your cheeks. you downed the alcohol until there was nothing left except a burning feeling and a lump in your throat. the bartender did not give you another drink.

number seven. your friend, the one who used to laugh hysterically with you as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders before he began to scream at you while he wrapped his hands around your neck. he pushed you into the dirt, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth and the feeling of wet dirt on your skin as you absently question whether the water dripping on your face was the rain or the tears slipping down your friend's face. you know that was the funeral of your children, but you think both of the real 'you's died that day, too.

number eight. the warm, rumbling feeling of laughter in your chest as a smile hurts your cheeks, the sensation long gone. your mouth, for a moment, twitches into a small smile at the memory of the feeling.

number nine. the feeling of hands on your own, your husband's warm hands intertwined with yours as your cold, golden rings clink against eachother. your daughter's tiny hand clasped around yours as she leads you to a butterfly she found, grass brushing your ankles as you walk.

ten. the sound of your daughter's amused laughter, snorts interrupting occasionally. her head leans back as she giggles, her eyes scrunched up in happiness.

eleven. the sound of your husband's soothing voice, lilting with fondness as he looks at you. a smile absently crosses his face as he speaks, audible in his voice. you always remember smiling back.

twelve. your golden wedding band your husband lovingly slipped onto your ring finger so long ago, the one you furiously tossed into a dusty corner with particularily bad aim. you blame the poor aim on the tears blurring your vision, but it could've been the alcohol, really.

thirteen. your husband. you try to go to sleep in the center of your bed now, knowing that he won't be there. when you wake up, you always find yourself on the left side of the bed, as if you've moved in your sleep to accommodate someone. you scowl and think that your asleep self should stop being so stupid. ..you make the bed just in case he really does decide to come back.

fourteen. your daughter. whenever you make yourself breakfast now, you keep accidentally making two bowls, the muscle memory automatic, familiar, and no longer needed. you sit down at the table and set the bowls and begin to eat, but you always end up just stirring the cereal with your spoon as you stare at the untouched bowl across from you. you always end up throwing them both away. without your input, a frown tugs slightly at your lips as your pour out the second bowl but you know that nobody else was even here to eat it anyway. your eyes burn.

fifteen. your daughter, the one you know isn't the real one. sometimes you walk down those train tracks where you found her, hoping she'll be here this time. she never is. ..you still keep checking, just in case.

[waterdeepweave]

his velvet nightshirt (18+) - gale x reader

Turns out Gale just doesn't really like to get naked. He's very here for sex. Just... not naked. (prompt)

Tags: gale x gender neutral tav (no explicit genital description), second person pov, clothed sex, dry humping, hand jobs (male receiving), communicative sex, constant checking ins, fluff and smut

read here on ao3, or under the cut:

As much as the two of you vowed to find more time alone, the adventuring road left little room for more things than short, quiet moments. Even the nights crept up on the two of you in equal measure, desire washed away by the heaviness of sleep, spent in each other’s arms. 

It wasn’t until the road led to Balder’s Gate that you found yourself in the presence of a reprieve – and, mercifully, a private room at the Elfsong Tavern. 

You spend the first part of the night in polite company with each other, an unspoken agreement to let the anticipation build. Or perhaps to warm yourselves up, acclimate to the mood of indulgence – something neither of you had entertained since long before the nautiloid. Gale sits on a padded sofa by the fireplace, nose-deep in a book, and you curl up beside him, feet on his lap, reading from the same book once in a while. But for the most part, you admire him – his features lit in the glow of the fire, a flickering orange fleck in the endlessness of his brown eyes, deep pools of warm chocolate. The way his fingers glide over the page before he turns it – a flick so gentle you can almost feel it on your own skin. 

His chuckle rumbles against your face, and you sit a little straighter, reading from over his shoulder. You frown, confused as to what could possibly be so amusing about the ethics of necromancy. The words swim before you, melting into the glow of the fire, and you find another warmth growing in the core of your belly. You crane your head and press a kiss into the crook of Gale’s neck. 

“Hmm? Mmm.” Gale lets out something between a query and a sigh of contentment, his right arm leaving the book to wrap around your waist, nudging you closer to him. His left hand – and his attention – remain on the book.

Not for long, though. Not if you had your way. 

You nuzzle his neck, your face rubbing between the soft velvet of his tunic and the warmth of his skin. Your cheek grazes against his beard and you nudge deeper, alternating between kisses and nuzzles. Your hand travels across the expanse of his shirt, plush fabric beneath your touch, his heartbeat pulsing strong underneath. Your hand rests on a pec and you give it a gentle squeeze. 

That catches his attention – his heartbeat quickens underneath you, and shadows flutter in the periphery of your vision as he sets down the book, clearing his throat.

“Well. What do we have here?” His voice is sticky with growing lust as he shuffles you so that you are straddling his lap, kneeling on the seat. “There we go. Hello, my love.” Gale leans forward to greet you with a kiss, but you keep your face aloof, ever so slightly out of reach. You feel his grip on your waist tighten with frustration, and you grin, diving into his neck to lavish it with more kisses. You run your tongue along his jawline, fascinated by the texture of his beard. A soft moan escapes his lips, even as he turns his head instinctively, inviting you to taste him, to mark him all over. His hands begin to slide up and down your back, nails ghosting down your skin through the fabric, and your thighs bear down on his as you arch your back against his touch. 

“Mm - ah, fuck,” Gale manages as you grab a fistful of his hair, greasy with the lack of wash and whatever product he slicks into it to keep it back. It feels luscious in your hands, as does the rest of him when you tug gently, sending him rising into you. “Please,” he groans, a hand rising to catch your cheek, bringing your face to his. His eyes were dark, oozing pools of desire, pleading, adoring, all at once. “Kiss me.” 

He would make fun of you, after the fact, for how easily you folded at once, melted into his touch, letting him pull your lips to his, letting him capture you, taste you, have you. With a grunt, and a hand on each side of your ass, he pulls you toward him as your lips stay interlocked. You gasp a little in his mouth as you feel his growing bulge pressed right against you, so close to where you want it, and your hip jerks, desperate for the friction, desperate for his warmth. He chuckles at your wanton display and presses his hips upward into you, even as he holds you down with either hand.

It’s growing too much for you to bear.

Your hand slips under his shirt and you gather the hem in a fist, preparing to hoist the whole thing over him. Gale stops in his tracks, and a hand flies to catch yours. Your gaze flickers to his, and you unclasp his shirt. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know how to say this,” he begins. From the way he trips over his words, you can tell he is nervous. You slip off his lap and sit next to him, a tentative hand resting on his thigh. He reaches for it immediately, interlacing it in his own.

“You do recall the last time we shared a night. It was… well, it transcended the body. So to speak.” You nod, remembering the feeling of sailing across stars, of being caught in his arms, and then another pair of arms, and then another. Weightless. Glowing, but not warm. A breath of cold air, so refreshing, but almost… clean. 

“Such was the way I’d laid with another for many years in my life. Mystra, as you know. Then you. I realise now I had led you to it without asking for your preference, and for that I apologise. I was… eager to perform, and the familiarity gave me my best chance.

“My point is, it’s been quite a while since I’ve slept with someone on the… well, mortal plane, shall we say. Body to body. And that’s not saying I don’t want to – you, my love, are exquisite. However –” He clears his throat, somewhat in shame. “For the first time in a long time, of sorts, I’m suddenly finding myself rather… well, shy.” 

“Gale, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You know I am equally satisfied to simply share space with you,” you say quickly, searching his gaze. 

“Oh, no, it’s not quite that. I do want to have sex. Rather badly, if… well, if this is to be believed.” He gestures to his erection straining against his trousers, moisture weeping through the outline of his head. Your lips part at the sight, your breath catching in your throat, and it takes all of your concentration to focus on him, and what he has to say. 

“What I’m saying is… for tonight, at least, I would prefer to leave my clothes on. If that’s alright with you. And before you take it personally, I would have you know I make Tara leave the room before I undress, back in Waterdeep.” 

“Of course.” You reach up to kiss him on the cheek as you squeeze his hand. 

“And for whatever it’s worth, you are more than welcome to take your clothes off. I think I would rather enjoy the sight, actually.” 

“Is that so?” You flutter your eyelids at him, a look you know he cannot resist. “I may need some help with that.” 

“Come here,” he growls, a dark glint of mischief in his eye as he pulls you onto his lap once more. His fingers tangle eagerly into your shirt and he slides it off hungrily, your undergarments joining it on the floor with due haste. His thumb flicks over your nipple, hard and sensitive, and as you arch into his touch you find his thumb quickly replaced with his tongue. You moan, your hands curling around his face as his hand moves to pinch your other nipple. The sensation shoots from your chest across your body like sparks of lightning, and your hands glide down his neck. 

But then you find yourself faltering, pausing at his collarbones, half-obscured by his shirt. Gale notices you hesitate and resurfaces, his eyes meeting yours. “What’s wrong, love?”

“I’m… I’m not sure how to proceed,” you admit, a finger tracing the embroidery along the collar of his tunic. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“I see.” Gale takes your hand. 

“First of all, thank you. For this. For being so endlessly patient. I cannot overstate how much that means to me.” He presses a long kiss into your hand. “Shall I?” You nod.

“Guide me, Gale.” 

With a soft moan, he guides your hand to his waist and slides it under his shirt, leading your palm up his torso, over the soft fold of his belly, and onto his chest. His shirt rides up as he does, exposing his skin to the air, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He drags your hand across his chest, gasping softly as your skin grazes against his pert nipples, and back again, the friction so delicious. 

Understanding, you match his rhythm on your own, your fingers awakening to massage his pec, your thumb ghosting over his sensitive nipple. He rises against you, so responsive to your touch. Sandwiched between his tunic and his warm body, you press your forehead against his, letting your other hand slide under his shirt, toying with both his nipples at once. He groans at the sensation, throwing his head back.

“Fuck, I may come from this alone,” he rasps, his hand moving to cup the back of your neck. “You drive me insane, love.” 

You dip your head with a smirk, deciding to nibble his chest through the fabric of his shirt. As your velvet-lined lips graze a particularly sensitive area he groans again, his hips thrusting up into you, his desire meeting yours. His heartbeat pulses through the fabric, and down where you are wet and wanting, swollen and sensitive, you feel it all the more. 

“Fuck.” You grind down against him, holding onto his chest, the canvas of your trousers offering some form of friction – new to you, but somehow equally enjoyable, if not more. You rock your hips harder, chasing the feeling. “Fuck, Gale.” 

“Fuck, say that again.” Gale slips a hand between your legs and begins to palm his bulge through his trousers. His body – and yours on his – sink even deeper into the sofa. “Say my name. Show me how much you want me.” 

“Gale.” You gasp as you rock against his hand, feeling yourself grow closer with every motion.

“Gods above. Come here.” Gale grasps your hand and shakily brings you into his breeches, past his undergarments. “Please,” he whispers, and it is all you need to hear. Your fingers curl around his shaft, and as soon as it does he moans, his grip on you tightening. You stroke down his length and back up, your thumb swirling around his throbbing head, smearing precum all over. His hand reaches for your chest again, and you welcome his touch with a sigh. 

“Gods, you are magnificent,” he groans as you continue to stroke his cock, slowing your pace and squeezing just a little tighter every time you reach the tip, and releasing it with a languid motion down his shaft once more. “And incredibly frustrating,” he adds with a half-mustered frown, even as the rest of him quivers at your touch. 

You move your hand faster, and with a groan he thrusts up into your grip, shifting his trousers lower. He repeats the motion again, and again, until he finally nudges his cock free of his breeches, leaving it at the mercy of your touch alone. Encouraged, you quicken your pace, panting into the crook of his neck as your hand worked, feeling his chest rise and fall in quick succession as he thrust unevenly under you, too lost in ecstasy to keep time or tempo. 

“I’m close,” he gasps, catching your hand over his cock. “Fuck, come here, grind against me.” He guides you over his bare cock, and you drag yourself against him, experimentally at first. 

“Gods, your breeches… they feel wonderful. And damp.” He rubs two fingers down between your legs, and you flush at the knowing gaze he gives you, smug and heavy with lust. “Is that how I make you feel, my love?” 

“Yes,” you breathe, rocking into his beckoning fingers. Gale removes his hand, relishing your whine, and replaces you over his cock. “Show me,” he growls into your neck as you wrap your arms around his’. 

With a strangled moan, you bear down upon him, thrusting with abandon, chasing the friction of fabric sandwiched between throbbing, sensitive flesh. He groans at the sensation, drawing you closer, his hips twitching wildly underneath yours. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, fuck, I’m going to -”

Your own pleasure builds as you move even faster, clenching fistfuls of his shirt for leverage, your forehead pressed against his. 

“Do it,” you gasp, a finger tracing down his jawline. 

“Come for me, Gale.” 

With a cry and a final thrust, he spills all over his shirt, crying your name as he does. Pearlescent streaks litter his purple shirt as he rides out the waves of his pleasure, his hips jerking wildly. 

His desperate rocking against you is too much to bear, and you find yourself unravelling not long after, his name spilling from your lips as you come, wrapped firmly in his embrace, muffling your moans in his chest as you sink into him, gasping for breath, utterly spent.

“Oh, gods. Gods.” He chuckles softly, one hand holding onto you, the other tugging at his shirt, examining the sticky streaks on top of it. “I suppose I’ll have to give it a wash.” You laugh softly, nuzzling deeper into his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat. He nudges you off gently. 

“One moment, love. Don’t want to get your face all sticky.” He pulls the shirt over his chest and lets it flutter to the floor before dragging you back on top of him. “There we go. Much better.” You hum in agreement – his chest made for an excellent pillow, and you weren’t one to complain for the warmth of his bare skin. Your hand curls into a fist in the centre of his orb tattoo, and he places a hand over yours. 

“Did you enjoy yourself, love?” His free hand strokes your hair, and you nod, sleepy and sated, growing more so by the minute. 

“I wanted to thank you again,” he murmurs. “For your understanding. And your patience. I felt utterly safe with you. Something I haven’t felt in a long time.”

“Funny you should say that,” you mumble against his skin. “I feel utterly safe, wrapped up in your arms right now.” 

“An equal exchange, then.” 

Gale wraps both arms around you, holding you closer to him. You have a feeling he would never let go. 

He doesn’t, until the dawn comes.

[catsdrinkmocha]

Oh to be an author trapped in your own story as an infant who's later going to be canon fodder, spending your whole second life growing in this fantasy world of your own making only to meet another person in a similar situation as yourself and then arguing about who has the worse fate out of the people you both are now, while knowing its not going to change your situations and unfortunate forseen fates (all this while their husbands are confused in the background but nodding encouragingly)

[lavenderstarsx]

The Drawing (Bill Denbrough)

Pairing: Bill Denbrough x Reader

Summary: One day when you were in the library a drawing falls out of a book you were reading- and the drawing eerily looks exactly like you.

Word Count: 1.5k

——————-

You made your way slowly to The Derry Library. The fall weather was now in full effect and you couldn’t help the feeling of the slight chill you felt while you walked. You were looking for more interesting books at the library- currently you were reading ‘The Great Gatsby’ which you knew was a classic- but it was required reading so by that criteria it made it fairly boring. You opened up the door to the brick building and stepped inside. Almost no one was there. It was in fact a weekend so not a lot of people liked to spend their two free days in a dusty old building that probably had a rat infestation. You did see someone you recognized there. The boy you saw was Ben Hanscom. He had his head in a book. You barely knew Ben- the only reason why you even recognized him was because he sat with Bill Denbrough at lunch. Ben had just joined the little friend group that called themselves ‘The Losers Club.’ Bill was in many of your classes. You pretended not to notice him but- man was it hard to. Bill took up most of your thoughts. You memorized the way he laughed- even though it was rare and almost only came out when the Tozier boy whispered an inappropriate joke into his ear during a lesson. Your friends didn’t approve of Bill. They usually called him a ‘freak’ or ‘weirdo.’ You mostly ignored them because in your eyes, Bill was perfect. He was kind, caring, and respectful. Something that half the school wasn’t. Then you snapped back out of your thoughts. You headed towards the fantasy section. You read a lot of fantasy books now ever since you rewatched The Princess Bride a couple weeks ago. You looked through a ton of books but none of them seemed good enough for you. Then you saw one- it looked rather basic. The book had a huge red dragon on the front with a knight giving a cheesy smile next to it. You quickly read the blurb on the back before slightly opening it. A medium sized piece of paper comes gracefully falling from the book. You quickly look around before picking the paper up. You froze. The drawing looked exactly like you. It had your signature y/h/c colored hair. It was like looking into a mirror. The drawing wasn’t signed but it did look weirdly familiar.

“Do you need any help, dear?” An older librarian woman asks you. You practically jump out of your skin when she says this.

“No ma’m i’m fine.” You say gingerly. You try to hide your blush as you find a table to start reading on. You picked the table behind Ben. You thought it would have been too awkward or weird to sit right next to the boy. You could barely focus on your book, you kept finding yourself staring at the drawing of you. You were terrified but also mesmerized at the same time. You decided to leave the library not long after. You held the drawing and your book close to your chest. On your way out of the library you gave Ben a small smile before opening the door back into the chilly air. You walked back home, and when you got to your room you quickly put your new book down and flopped onto your mattress. You stared at the drawing for a while. The detail was so intricate that it got your exact eye color down too.

Finally it was the end of the day, you were now in your pajamas and you were now ~finally~ reading the book you had gotten from the library. You found yourself enjoying the book a lot more. You slowly drifted off to sleep.

The next morning you had to get ready for school. You chose a pair of jeans and a navy blue long sleeved shirt. You quickly brush your hair before rushing out the door. You made sure to grab the new book that you had just gotten and stuff it into your backpack. The bike ride to school was nice. You thankfully didn’t run into anyone from The Bowers Gang and you made it easily to school. The drawing was still in the back of your mind.

“Hey y/n!” You hear your friend, f/n shout to you. You quickly lock up your bike and rush towards them. You smile at them. They start talking about their weekend- which was not truly THAT interesting but you still smile and nod your head. You were more of a listener type. You and your friend walked to class together. But that’s when you saw him. Bill was walking to the same class as you. He was walking with Stanley Uris. Bill then had decided to hold open the door for you and f/n. You tried to hide your blush as you say,

“Thanks Bill”

“No pro-b-le-m y/n.” Bill then gave you a smile which made your heart melt to the core. You and f/n quickly went to your seats. You sat exactly behind Bill. The teacher started teaching the class but it was terribly hard to focus. Bill Denbrough, had given YOU a smile. You couldn’t help but to smile yourself. Bill also didn’t seem to be focusing. He seemed to be writing something in his notebook instead, you narrow your eyes to see if you could read anything of it. You didn’t want to seem stalker-ish so you pretended to be looking at the chalk board. But that’s when you see what Bill was doing- he wasn’t writing he was drawing. Bill wasn’t doing much to hide what he was doing. He seemed to be drawing a girl. Suddenly you feel Bill’s eyes shift. You and him caught eachother’s eyes. Shit. Bill then turns a bright shade of red and hides the notebook away from you.

That was odd.

The class went by quickly. In your head you tried to connect the dots. And that’s when you realize- what if Bill was the one to draw that picture of you? He had to- the style of drawing looked exactly like the picture of you did. Why would Bill draw you?

Throughout the day, you found yourself distracted. The thought of Bill and his drawings lingered as you walked to your next class. You kept replaying the events of the morning in your mind. Bill’s drawing, and the drawing from the library looked all too familiar. It was too much of a coincidence. Right?

Finally it came time for lunch. You spotted Bill with his friends. They were all gathered together. You feel a pang of jealousy as you sit with at your own lunch table. You glanced at Bill. He seemed distracted in thought. You decided to gather your courage and decided to walk towards The Losers’ table. When you reached the table everyone went silent. They all gave you a weird look. Everyone’s eyes were on you.

“Hey uh- Bill can I talk to you- for just a quick second?” You say.

Bill gave you a surprised look before nodding a yes. You and Bill find a quiet place on the stairwell that led to the cafeteria. You tried to ignore the curious stares of all of Bill's friends.

“Wh-at is i-t y/n?” Bill asked.

You take a deep breathe before pulling the drawing from your backpack.

“I- i found this in a book at the library yesterday,” You held out the drawing to Bill. “Did you uh- well draw it? I saw you drawing in class today and it looks alike to this one.” Bill’s eyes widened as he studied the drawing.

“Ye-a-h I did.” Bill admitted- he did look very embarrassed. You felt weird. You felt every emotion possible and something else that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“But why did you draw me?” You said the sentence quickly. Bill blushed.

"Be-because I… I like you," Bill replied, looking down. He was clearly embarrassed.

You froze as blood rushed to your cheeks. "You do?" you asked.

"Y-yes. And I, uh, have for a wh-while," Bill stuttered.

"I like you too, Bill," you revealed. You felt as though you were going to pass out, you were so happy.

Bills eyes widened again. He looked down meeting your gaze.

“Re-ally?” Bill questioned. A very small, shy smile formed on his lips.

You smiled, unable to control the large grin on your face.“Yeah, really.”

For a moment both of you stood there like time itself had stopped. Bill took a tiny step forward.

“So- u-h wh-at now?” Bill asked sheepishly.

You let out a small laugh trying to ease the tension,

“Do you want to go to the movies with me this weekend?” You replied.

Bill’s smile grew,

“I w-ould li-ke that.”

[winged-mammal]

please reblog and talk in the tags, because if this stays within my little orbit I know exactly what the results will be but I NEED TO KNOW

[sirjaketkiszka]

Silver Springs: Chapter Two

Early20s!Jake Kiszka x Fem!Reader

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

I know I could have loved you but you would not let me…

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

You bring a date to the end-of-the-school-year bonfire at the Kiszka house.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Word Count: 5,092

Warnings: 18+!!, underage drinking, cursing, slight jealousy, kissing, and extremely poor writing.

Disclaimer: apologies for any potential spelling errors or grammar mistakes.

Silver Springs Masterpost

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The highly irritating blare of your alarm jolts you awake from your deep sleep, your eyes blinking rapidly as you shut it off. The warm spring sun melts on your features through the gaps of your closed blinds, causing your eyes to squeeze shut at the intrusion.

Despite him dropping out of the next year, Josh did extremely well on his finals, and you– well, you passed with flying colors, of course. However, the incessant nagging at the back of your mind acted as a dreadful reminder that Josh would no longer be attending the same school as you. You’d be navigating the remainder of college life without him, and it was a thought that weighed heavily on you.

Begrudgingly getting out of bed, you figure staying in it will only make matters worse. Sitting up, you groan when the stiff ache of your bones disappears with a thorough stretch, your legs and arms shooting outright to undo your previous curled sleeping position.

With Summer Break in full swing, Josh has asked you to help set up for the end-of-the-school-year bonfire at the Kiszka house. You’re not entirely sure what needs to be set up since it’s usually just a small group of people, but you agreed anyway. In no time, your morning routine was a distant memory and you were parked in front of Josh’s house under your favorite tree.

Walking up to the front door, the split and worn porch boards creak beneath you, and your closed fist knocks your whitened knuckles against the sturdy wood. There’s a moment of silence, and the consuming sound of leaves brushing against each other and birds calling out to each other is all you can hear. That is until you hear stumbling behind the door and what sounds like a few trips and tumbles on the way to it. The front door swings open, and you’re met with a huffing Josh.

“Oh, hey!” He acts surprised in between heavy breaths, “You’re here early!”

“Am I here early, or am I here on time?” You tease, earning an eye roll from him, knowing that he’s never been on time a day in his life. Punctuality is none of the Kiszkas’ strong suit. Eventually, you get used to it. “Why are you out of breath?” You ask, noticing the way his chest is heaving with his hands firmly planted on his hips.

“Turns out,” He huffs out a laugh, “putting decorations up by yourself is not easy.”

“Decorations?” Your brows furrow, mirroring your confusion, “Decorations for what?” Never once have you guys decorated for a bonfire. The get-together is extremely casual; a variety of drinks, snacks, and a small group of people huddled around a burning fire enjoying each other’s company.

“As you know, Sam and Danny graduated from high school this week,” He explains, and you nod along, “Sam asked if he could invite a few friends over for the bonfire– turns out, Sam knows almost his entire class and now we’re throwing a party.” He smiles nervously, knowing you don’t enjoy events with large groups of people.

“That’s… great,” You lie, your jaw clenching as you attempt to smile, “So, again, why the decorations?” You doubt the decorations are Sam’s idea; he’ll probably think they’re childish in all honesty.

“It’s just a ‘Congratulations’ banner… For now,” He waves his hand in a “no big deal” kind of way, “Come in and take a look.” He urges, stepping to the side and allowing you to come into the house. Sure enough, above the fireplace, is a mounted and extremely crooked “Congratulations!” banner. Your steps come to a halt to fully examine it, and your head tilts trying to imagine how it’d look upright.

“He’s going to hate it,” You simply state.

“What? No, he’s not,” Josh sounds defensive as he shuts the door and stands beside you, examining his work. His head tilts as well, and his hands are back on his hips, his breathing steady now.

“You know how Sam is,” You gently argue back, “He’s going to want the party to be as laid back as possible.”

“You’re right, I do know how Sam is,” Josh lifts his chin in pride, “He’ll love it.”

“He really won’t.” You shoot back.

After going back and forth about whether to keep the banner up, the sound of heavy footsteps descends down the stairs. You and Josh pause your bickering, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand, knowing whose presence is about to appear. In your peripheral, his dark figure stops at the bottom of the steps, assessing the situation. You keep your eyes on the banner while Josh warmly welcomes his twin.

“Jake, you’ll decide!” Josh declares, turning away from you and facing his twin.

“Decide what?” Jake’s voice is husky, like he’d just woken up, and it begs your attention. Finally looking at him, his hair is slightly tussled, eyes blinking slowly and hooded, and he’s wearing what you assume is his sleeping attire; a fitted plain black tee shirt and grey sweats you’ve never seen him in. Your face heats at the observation.

“She doesn’t think the banner is a good idea,” Josh glances over at you and back to Jake, “But I don’t think Sam will care.”

Jake looks at you, back to Josh, and to the crooked banner. His lips purse while he puts some thought into the problem like he’s actually considering an answer. His eyes linger on the banner, his head tilting like yours did moments before, and he looks back at Josh. “It’s not a good idea.” He states, shrugging and finally stepping off the final step of the staircase.

“See! Thank you!” You absentmindedly express your gratitude, and Jake’s eyes meet yours for a fleeting moment as he walks past you and Josh, disappearing into the kitchen.

“Traitor!” Josh yells after him, a faux angry expression pulling at his features, “Fine, let’s take it down.” He grumbles reluctantly, stepping forward to grab one end of the banner.

“I told you-”

“Don’t!” Josh cuts you off, making you clamp your mouth shut as you grab the other end, holding back a laugh, “I guess I shouldn’t put those up then?” He nods his head in the direction of the couch, where a pile of more decorations resides, the colors representing Sam and Danny’s high school.

“My God, no,” You can’t help but laugh this time, making Josh burst out laughing as well. The both of you rip the banner off of the wall through choked laughter, stumbling back when the large decoration falls at your feet.

Sighing from his residual laugh, Josh bunches the banner up in sloppy folds and tosses it onto the rest of the decorations, “Well,” He begins, straightening his back and putting his hands on his hips again, “I guess you didn’t need to be here so early.” He chuckles, shaking his head.

“What about the food and drink situation?” You ask, peeling your eyes away from the crumpled-up banner on the couch, and looking at Josh, whose eyebrows are furrowed in thought.

“We do need more alcohol,” He considers, and you give him a questioning look, “He’s going to drink either way– might as well do it here, with us.” He answers as if he read your mind.

“Alright,” You nod slowly, “and your parents?”

“Hanging out with friends, but they know.”

“Fine by me,” You shrug, “Let’s go,” Turning around, you head for the front door with Josh following closely behind. The moment you open the door, the climbing temperature encompasses your face, causing a sheen layer of sweat to rise on your now-damp skin. You rush to your car, wanting to be the one to drive due to Josh’s lack of air conditioning in his.

“I’ll drive!” Josh calls out as he closes and locks the door behind you.

“Too late!” You yell back, already rounding your car and stopping at the driver’s side. Opening the door, you fold into the driver’s seat, the soft cushion deflating beneath your weight. Josh opens the passenger door as you buckle yourself in and he playfully glares at you before plopping into the passenger seat.

“What do you have against my car?” He asks defensively, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Nothing,” You lie, putting your key in the ignition and turning it, making the engine rumble out of its short slumber, “Put your seatbelt on.” You instruct him while releasing the emergency brake and putting the car in drive. He uncrosses his arms and puts his seatbelt on, but returns to his defensive position. “You’re dramatic, you know that?” You laugh, pulling away from the curb and driving in the direction of the nearest liquor store.

“I may have been told that once, or twice,” He unfolds his arms, resting an elbow on the center console and the other propped against the door. You keep your focus on the road, muscle memory guiding you to turn on the car’s air conditioning. Warm air flows for a few seconds before being replaced by a crisp breeze, making the hairs framing your face gently curl back. “Any plans for the summer?” Josh asks after a brief moment of silence.

“This,” You say, glancing over at him for a second, “Being with you.”

“Good,” You can see him smile in your peripheral, “I have big plans.”

“That sounds terrifying,” You chuckle, side-eyeing him as you pass by clusters of small businesses, “Like what?”

“Lake days, camping, the fair,” He lists the usual summer activities, “you know, stuff like that.”

“Sounds good to me,” You say, pulling into the parking lot of the small liquor store, where only a few other cars are parked. Parking into the nearest parking spot, you put the car in park, pull the parking brake, and unlock the doors. You and Josh exit at the same time, allowing you to lock the doors as soon as he’s out of the car, “ So, are we getting anything specific?” You ask as you both walk toward the entrance.

“Nothing in particular,” He admits, opening the door for you and allowing you to step in first. You both nod a “hello” to the owner, “Maybe a keg?” He suggests, patting a large keg set next to the entrance.

“Can we even carry that to the car?” You question, inspecting the stainless steel object.

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” Josh shrugs, “But let’s grab everything else first.”

Nodding, you grab bottles of different alcohols; vodka, tequila, and hard cider. You place the bottles in a nearby basket, giving Josh a questioning look when he adds a bottle of rum.

“For Jake,” He clarifies, and you nod. Rum guy, huh?

We bring our impressive and concerning collection of alcohol to the register. The owner smirks and chuckles, “Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“And the keg,” Josh says simultaneously with your answer, nudging his head in the direction of the beer keg. You look at him, your mouth open to object, but you can’t find a reason why it’s a bad idea.

“And the keg,” You agree, and the owner nods, scanning the bottles and manually typing in the total of the keg. The price is hefty, but Josh offers to put it on his card. “Big shot,” You mumble, making him huff out a quiet laugh.

With the help of the owner, he and Josh carry the heavy keg to your car, lugging it into the backseat, making the car bounce slightly from its weight. Carrying the bags of alcohol bottles, you set them in the backseat behind the driver’s side, and climb into your seat when everything is secured.

“Ready?” You ask Josh, who sits back in the passenger seat after thanking the owner and waving him off.

“Yep,” He huffs out in a breath, the heavy lifting taking a toll on him, “I have no idea how we’re getting that in the house.” He admits, leaning his head back against the headrest.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” You sigh, shaking your head lightheartedly, and turning the car back on. Pulling out of the small parking lot, you begin your short journey back to Josh’s house, passing by various family-owned businesses, tall trees along the side of the road, and the occasional pedestrian.

Shortly, you park in front of the Kiszka house, reclaiming your previous spot before the street fills with eager, party-hungry teens and their cars. As soon as you’re both out of the car, Josh rushes to your side, grabbing the bags of alcohol, “I’ll be right back, stay here,” He instructs you and walks toward the house.

“Okay…” You mumble to yourself, going around to the passenger side and opening the door to the backseat, “fuck.” You curse at the sight of the massive keg, glance at the uphill driveway, and back at the damn keg. “How the fuck–”

“Josh said you needed help,” Jake’s voice comes from behind you, startling you and causing you to whip yourself around. His expression is blank and unreadable, like it always is, and like always, it unsettles you. His clothes have changed as well, his once pajamas are now a pair of black jeans and a striped shirt unbuttoned halfway. Your eyes linger on his exposed chest before blinking out of the unwelcome trance.

“Um, yeah,” You step aside, revealing the beer keg sitting snugly in the backseat, “If you can get it out, I’ll help carry it up the driveway,” You explain, though you’re not entirely sure if you’d even be able to help him carry it.

Without even a single nod or acknowledgment, he steps forward and grabs hold of the keg’s handles. Pulling on it, a low grunt catches in his throat as he drags it out of the backseat, his breath held as he lifts it and sets it down carefully on the sidewalk. His breathing resumes when he steps back from it, “So, whose idea?” His attempt at small talk surprises you.

“Who do you think?” You respond, looking at him as he looks down at the keg.

“Shouldn’t have asked,” He mumbles, bending over to grab hold of one of the handles, “Grab the other one.”

Rolling your eyes at his lack of asking nicely, you bend over as well, gripping the handle opposite to his. He quietly counts down from three, and the both of you lift the keg. Immediately, the weight takes you by surprise and nearly makes you heel over. The two of you quietly shuffle up the driveway, the early afternoon sun blistering on your bare shoulders, causing beads of sweat to form on your temples.

Making it halfway up the driveway, Josh reappears from the house, lightly jogging to you and Jake, “I’ll take it from here,” He offers, standing beside you and replacing your hands with his own, making the keg lighter for Jake, you’re sure. It’s not that you couldn’t hold your own, but you thought it was entertaining to watch Jake do most of the work.

You follow the twins up the rest of the driveway and listen intently to their quiet conversation.

“You think this is enough?” Josh asks, looking down at the keg and back to Jake.

“More than enough,” Jake huffs, climbing up the few steps onto the porch. The front door is already propped open, and the twins wobble inside carefully, being cautious when crossing the threshold.

Making it into the kitchen, they set the keg down with a thump on the tile floor next to the refrigerator. Stepping back from the keg, the twins set their hands on their hips, and their chests heave from exerting themselves. You stifle back a laugh from their unintentional mirrored pose.

“Thanks, Jake,” Josh says, bringing a hand up and patting Jake on the shoulder, “Really appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” Jake vaguely states, silently excusing himself when he realizes his efforts are no longer needed. Your eyes involuntarily watch Jake exit, your gaze fixed on his broad back and the way the ends of his hair sway with each coordinated step.

“So,” Josh’s words pull you back to him, “we should probably order the pizza.”

“It’s still a little early,” You check the clock on the microwave hanging above the stove, it reads 12:23 pm, “What time are people supposed to show up?” You ask, knowing that these types of gatherings don’t start until later.

“Around four, but we need a lot of pizza,” He explains while grabbing the home phone, “So, it’ll probably take them a few hours to cook and deliver them anyway.”

“Good thinking,” You declare, taking a seat at the kitchen table while Josh makes the call. From what you hear, he orders eight large cheese pizzas, probably to keep it as simple as possible, and multiple liters of different sodas. When he ends the call, he joins you at the table, sitting across from you and propping his chin onto a closed fist.

“So, you have a date tonight,” He raises his eyebrows and smiles, making you jokingly and dramatically roll your eyes.

“It’s not really a date,” You reason, “Just a casual hangout since I was too busy with assignments before.”

“Uh-huh, right.”

“I’m serious,” You chuckle despite your statement, “I don’t even know how I feel about him.” And you didn’t. After yet another week of talking to this man, the more distance you felt was growing between you two. The constant back and forth bored you, yet you still promised a date– no, a hangout– by the end of the week. Who knows, maybe seeing him in person, outside of school, and in a more relaxed environment would change your mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The house rumbled from the sound of classic rock and the shuffling of feet from an entire graduating class. Sam really did know everyone in his class. The overlapping voices and overstimulating hum of their harmonization jumbled your thoughts, pulling you away from the person in front of you. Your eyes took in the large group of teenagers; some stayed glued to the wall observing much like yourself, while others danced and yelled over the pounding speakers.

“So, how’d you do?” Your “date,” Chris, yells over the noise, causing your attention to focus back on him.

“I’m sorry?” Your voice is raised as well.

“How’d you do on your finals?” He repeats his earlier question; one that you assumably tuned out from your previous zoning out.

“Oh! Really well, I think,” You knew, but you were humble, “and yourself?” You ask back out of politeness.

“Aced every single one!” He says confidently, his chest puffing out unintentionally, you hope.

“That’s awesome,” Your voice grows quiet, and silence, if you could call it that, falls in the space between you. It’s awkward. It’s not the comfortable silence you’re so fond of with Josh, or any other person you tolerate. You’re silently beating yourself up from your disinterest, frustrated that this is yet another failed talking stage.

“Do you want to step outside?” He asks, looking around at the partygoers and noticing your discomfort.

“Please,” You sigh, pushing yourself off of the wall you were just leaning on, leading him to the backdoor in the kitchen. Opening the glass sliding door, you’re immediately met with that comforting silence you love so much. The evening air is beginning to cool, signaling a chilly night by the bonfire tonight. As the sun sets, brush strokes of gentle pink and burning orange cross the clear skies, with freckles of faint stars emerging from their daily slumber.

Chris follows you down the back porch steps, closing the sliding door behind the two of you. The muffled noises of the party grow distant as you approach the unlit bonfire pit where Josh and Jake are sitting. Josh smiles when he notices you, his eyes glancing at Chris, who he’d already met.

“Hey, guys,” You address the twins; Josh is still smiling, happy that you brought a “date,” and Jake is blankly staring, his eyes jumping between you and the man behind you. Turning to him, you address Chris, “You already met Josh, but that’s his twin, Jake.” You offer a closed-mouth smile, looking between the two men, who could not be any more different.

“Nice to meet you,” Chris waves to Jake, who holds a hand up for a millisecond as a half-assed wave. You refrain from rolling your eyes, a motion you find yourself doing a lot in the presence of Jake.

You take a seat in the wooden chair directly across from Jake, and Chris scoots the nearest chair right next to yours, making the arm rests nudge against each other. You allow the slight intrusion of your personal space, not wanting to make apparent your growing dislike for him.

“How’d you two meet?” Josh asks, knowing the story, but asking anyway.

“We are,” Chris starts, and you’re silently grateful for it because it is not a story you find interesting enough to tell yourself, “Well, we were, in the same Photography class and we just got to talking.” Yep, that’s the whole story.

“Fantastic,” Josh’s voice is much too optimistic for your liking.

“Isn’t it?” Chris asks while his hand closest to yours on the armrest inches closer, making you pull yours away slowly. Oh god.

Clearing your throat, you keep your hand on the edge of the armrest, “Yeah, we’ve been talking for a little bit now,” You add, although you’re not sure why.

For whatever reason, Jake is actively listening to you talk, his gaze fixed on you rather than Chris. Again, his eyes are unreadable, and the soft purple skin below them is accentuated by the setting sun. His eyes bore into yours, his deep brown irises being overtaken by the crashing waves of his pupils, which double in size like a drop of rain splattered on concrete.

Once again, you feel small under his piercing stare, making you shift uncomfortably in your seat. The voices of Chris and Josh become muffled as the two men carry a conversation about whatever it is they’re talking about. You don’t seem to care.

Your eyes shoot to different places, feeling adamant about avoiding eye contact with Jake. Still, his eyes study you; your body language, the way your hand keeps dodging Chris’s every attempt at holding it, and how you become restless under his observance.

Having noticed this silent battle between you and Jake, Chris puts his hand over yours, enveloping your hand in his large one. Looking over at Chris, his eyes are now fixed on Jake, who is finally looking back at him. However, Jake’s eyes shoot down to Chris’s hand engulfing yours, and his chest visibly rises with a deep breath.

“Take the hint,” Jake mumbles under his breath, leaning back in his chair, and taking a swig from a red solo cup that was previously sat on the ground next to him.

“I’m sorry?” Chris asks, but the three of you all know what he heard. Josh stops his persistent rambling, now sensing the sudden building tension in the group. His eyes bounce between Jake and Chris.

“She doesn’t want to hold your hand, man,” Jake explains with a bitter chuckle, his tone reflective of ignorance and annoyance. Chris frowns, removing his hand from yours, and the cool air makes a point to emphasize its much-appreciated absence.

“Jake–” Both you and Josh say his name. Is he drunk? You ask yourself, confused as to why he’s acting this way. Never once has Jake stood up for you, except for this morning with the banner, so his sudden change in demeanor disorients you.

“I think…” Chris peels his eyes away from Jake, now looking at you with an overtly angry expression, “I’m going to go.” He states, standing from his seat too aggressively, making the chair scoot back a couple of feet.

“Chris, wait–” You stand from your seat as well, following him as he walks around the outside of the house to the front. Glancing back, Josh is giving you a sympathetic look, which turns into a frown when he looks at his twin. Eventually, you catch up to Chris when he gets to his car, “Please, wait.”

“Is there something going on between you and that guy?” Chris asks with sharpness on his tongue.

“What?” You stumble back slightly at his accusation and anger erupts in your chest, “God, no, Jake’s just an asshole.”

“Right,” His chuckle is just as sharp as his tone, “Whatever this is,” He motions between the two of you, “Isn’t going to work with him around.” Bummer.

“I mean, was it ever going to?” You ask, laughing. That pisses him off.

“Fuck you,” His words are laced with hatred and venom, and a part of you is glad he showed his true character before going further. Not that it would’ve gone further, but now you didn’t feel so bad.

Without exchanging any other words, you watch with a blank expression as he gets in his car and peels out of the neighborhood with a loud screech. While you were planning to cut things off, you would’ve done it in a much cleaner manner, which only fueled your anger for Jake even more.

Stomping around the house and returning to the firepit, Jake is nowhere to be found, but Josh stays seated, waiting for you. When he sees you, he stands, “What happened?” He asks, concerned.

“He broke it off,” You admit, although you don’t sound sad about it.

“Are you okay?” He reaches out and rests his hands on your shoulders.

“More than okay,” You chuckle, watching the concern dissipate from his face, “But thank you for checking on me.” You express your gratitude sincerely.

“Of course,” His smile is still sympathetic, knowing how frustrating this is for you.

“Where’d Jake go?” You wave off his pitiful look, “I have some words for him.”

“He stormed off when I asked what his problem was,” He says, looking in the direction of the house, “He went inside to get another drink, I believe.”

“Got it,” You step away from Josh, already barging up the stairs of the back porch, creating loud thuds with every forceful step. As soon as you open the sliding door, the humid air of the house hits you, blanketing your tense features and adding to your frustration. The stagnant air is thick, and it reeks of alcohol and room-temperature pizza.

You see Danny fixing himself a drink at the kitchen counter, and you approach him with false calmness, “Hey, did you see where Jake went?” You ask, taking notice that he’s not in the kitchen fixing himself another drink.

“Oh, hey,” His words are slightly slurred, “Um, he went to the garage, I think.”

“Okay, thank you,” You rush out the words while storming toward the garage door, “And congratulations!” You make a mental note to properly congratulate him for graduating when he’s sober.

Without hesitation, you swing the garage door open and slam it shut behind you, being met with the warm garage and dim lighting. Jake is rummaging through the garage refrigerator, but his head lifts when he notices your presence, “What the fuck was that about?” You get straight to the point.

“I don’t know what you mean,” He mutters into the open fridge, his eyes fixed on the shelves.

“Right, play stupid,” You snicker, “I had that handled, dipshit.”

“You didn’t,” He finally closes the fridge, no drink in his hand.

“I didn’t need your help,” You scoff.

“You were going to cut him off anyway,” He shrugs nonchalantly, “I just sped up the process.”

“That is not a decision for you to make, Jake.” You step closer, your voice growing louder.

“You should be thanking me,” He turns to you fully, the two of you only two feet apart.

“Thanking you?” You laugh in disbelief with your hand coming up to squeeze your temples from your growing headache. “God, Jake, you really are unbelievable. Just when I think ‘he can’t possibly get worse,’ you prove me wrong! You sure can get worse! And to think I’m going to thank you for creating yet another problem in my life? You are so full of yourself!”

Jake stands still, consuming your resentful words with a stoic expression on his features.

“For once, I am truly speechless,” Your laugh is humorless.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Jake speaks again, and your laugh disappears.

“Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you?” You step back, the building anger in your chest close to erupting once more. His silence speaks volumes and you stare at him for a second longer before having enough, “You know, I can’t take this anymore, Jake, I hate–”

Interrupting your stepping back, and your hateful words, Jake takes two large strides in your direction, grabbing a hold of your right bicep. Before you can speak your final word, his lips crash onto yours in a swift motion, shutting you up.

The initial shock doesn’t last when the tension in your body melts, and your wide eyes flutter close, welcoming him. His shaky hands snake around your waist, pulling you deeper into him from your lower back, prompting your arms to wrap around his neck.

Your lips move fluidly against his, and a relieving groan rises from deep within his throat. One of his hands slowly traces up your spine, leaving chills in its wake as it grips the back of your neck. Heavy breaths are exchanged through your noses, your lips never breaking apart as the kiss grows lust-filled and hungry.

Parting your lips, Jake swipes his tongue along yours, and your quiet moan is swallowed whole by his eagerness. While tasting the faintness of rum, your hands search for the roots of his hair, gripping tightly, but not enough to cause him discomfort.

Finally, you pull away, in need of air. You rest your forehead against his, the both of you panting soft breaths, “Jake–” You whisper, leaning back in.

“No,” He quickly backs away, realizing what he’s done.

“What?” Your chest still heaves from the lack of air.

“That was–” He brings his fingers to his lips, tracing the plump flesh, “This was a mistake, I’m sorry.” His words are rushed, and so are his movements as he exits the garage, slamming the door shut and leaving you there. Dumbfounded, you remain still, lips still parted in shock and eyes zoning out as you feel the ghost of him on your lips.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

I’m really sorry for how rushed this is, and I appreciate your patience! I am incredibly sleep deprived right now, so chances are I’ll be coming back and doing small edits. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed chapter two of Silver Springs.

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Tag list:

@aflame4goinghome @peaceloveunitygvf @dilflover-4ever @hollyco @dayumclarizzel @jakesbeloved @fleetingjake

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Tags:

[strawwritesfic]

(Don't) Hold Your Breath Master List

Summary: You've made a lot of monumental mistakes in your life. Cutting your arm off isn't even at the top of the list. Now you're about to learn a lot of life lessons at the hands of your savior and her brute of a guardian--and they're not about to let you learn them the easy way either.

Challenge: "#32 in His Rulebook" by Edible Heart Monster on Lunaescence Archives

Ratings/Warnings/Tags: M (post-The Last of Us; excessive swearing; sexual references; violence against children; infected children; references to abortion; references to cannibalism; references to starvation; references to riots; implied domestic abuse; implied grooming; implied sexual relationship between an adult and a minor; death of a parent; violence; gore; blood; gun use; ableism; amputee!Reader; enemies to lovers; not canon compliant)

Pairings/Relationships: Joel/Reader; Tommy/Maria; Reader/Male!OC; Reader & Ellie; Ellie & Joel; Ellie & Maria & Tommy

Notes: I've received a few asks regarding this fic. I'd deleted it a few years ago for various reasons, but I got into my old laptop recently and decided that, well, if people have cared enough to track me down and ask about it, maybe I should put it back online.

My feelings about this story are…complicated, which is why I'm hoping people read this before they jump in. The Last of Us is a dark story, and so this story has a lot of dark themes. They're not always executed very well. That might lessen the impact. Maybe it makes it worse. I don't know. But this is a very different sort of work for me. I feel, in retrospect, that I went a little overboard in some aspects. And I don't know how to really even begin putting in warning tags for some of the stuff that's just brushed off like nothing because, to the point of view character, it isn't worth dwelling on. If there's something you see that you feel needs a warning, tell me. I'll add it.

I think the most important thing for me to get out there is that the reader character is an amputee. I had people claiming to be amputees telling me I did a lovely job, but more crucially, I had someone claiming to be an amputee that told me that they didn't like that even 18 chapters in, I was having the reader character struggle with using only one arm in various ways and keep complaining about her situation. I respect that. My thought process during writing was that, in a world without physical therapy or prosthetic limbs, it would be much more difficult to adjust to suddenly having only one arm (and the nondominant arm, at that). And the character whining was because she's got a lot of self-pity that she has to work to get over. That being said, I really took that criticism to heart. I had every intention of drawing back on both aspects…I just never actually wrote another chapter. But, you know, if this gets enough attention for me to justify finishing the story, that's 100% on the to-do list.

I'm not changing anything. It's going up as-is. I'm going to do a quick proofread, of course, and catch a few more typos (I hope), but the excessive swearing and the weird coffee and the thing with Ellie using bang snaps inappropriately are staying in. I'm not doing a line-by-line rewrite like I have with my KHR stuff.

This is not intended to be canon to the television show. I've never seen it, and I don't plan to watch it. This is not intended to be canon to The Last of Us Part II. I've never played it or watched anyone else play it, and I never will. The only thing that this work might have in common with those is that Ellie is a lesbian, because I always intended to give her a girlfriend in this even way before the second game came out.

Anyway, I hope the handful of people that were (mysteriously, miraculously) searching for this story don't find themselves too disappointed now that they can read it again. Thanks for reaching out. It means a lot to me.

Posting Status: Incomplete

Story Status: Discontinued post-Chapter 17

Rule #1: Shut up. The enemy might hear you.

Rule #2: Try not to get yourself hurt.

Rule #3: Try not to get yourself killed. God, are you that stupid?

Rule #4: Quit stealing shit.

Rule #5: Don't touch anything.

Rule #6: Don't piss off the locals.

Rule #7: First impressions are important, so don't be yourself.

Rule #8: The villagers are always a little stupid. Try not to contract that.

Rule #9: If you fall off a roof, don't let go. Nothing will catch you.

Rule #10: Again, the enemy can hear you, so shut up.

Rule #11: If you get badly burned, let me put some ice on it for God’s sake.

Rule #12: If you can’t swim, tell me beforehand. Otherwise I won’t notice if you start drowning.

Rule #13: Don't wander; things around here will kill you.

Rule #14: If it’s your birthday, just remember it’s your fault if we get ambushed at the party.

[lilacxquartz]

Those Late Summer Nights | Chapter 14

satoru gojo x f!reader × suguru geto

plot: you moved to tokyo over the summer to take a teaching job. as you get settled in, you find yourself entangled in a toxic dynamic.

chapter summary: suguru begins his first training session with you. shoko in the meantime begins to piece things together while satoru settles on a troubling decision.

< Previous Chapter • Next Chapter >

14. Fight, No Flight

You woke up on the sofa the next day alone.

The smell of fresh brewed coffee and eggs filled your senses, pulling you awake. Your eyes then fluttered open, jolted awake from the sound of dishes being placed on the coffee table right next to you.

Slowly stretching yourself awake, you continued to try and wrap the last month or so around your head.

What exactly did you get yourself into…?

Suguru crouched down to meet with your line of sight, his dark eyes studying yours before pulling back and glancing at the contents that lay spread out on the table.

“Training begins today, but it can’t happen on an empty stomach,” he said, breaking the silence at long last.

You blinked as you stifled a yawn, “D-do I still have to go through with that?”

“Yes,” he firmly replied, silencing any shred of doubt that still lingered in your mind.

“But-“

“—you’re doing this,” he interrupted, “besides, this isn’t just about self defence, this isn’t even about me teaching you how to hurt people. It’s about me teaching you how to not let anyone touch you ever again.”

You couldn’t help but feel a wave of unease wash over your body as he told you this. sounding so serious and almost cold. His words carried spite and almost resentment in them.

You wanted to reply but you couldn’t form proper words just yet.

“You’re going to be responsible for the first year kids this year anyway, aren’t you?” he asked, thinking of a way to get you motivated.

You finally got something out at last; a questioning hum as you made eye contact.

“You can’t look weak in front of your students,” he clarified.

“I-I guess not,” you replied, letting out a resigned sight. He was correct about that much.

Suguru pulled you upright into a sitting position to further wake you up, “The cursed spirits that reside in the cities are probably nothing like the ones you know back home,” he paused as his expression turned slightly bitter before continuing, “this city is so full… of hatred and it shows.”

Gulping, you understood what he was trying to get across. Your eyes focused once again on the food right in front of you; coffee and a rolled omelette, looking surprisingly good to your exhausted mind.

“Eat up,” he said, attempting to be strict yet comforting at the same time, “muscle needs protein and I’m going to make you strong.”

You nodded as you ate the meal in silence while he left for the bedroom. You could hear shuffling and the creaking swing of doors before he emerged with a duffle bag, chucking it right next to the front door.

You warily looked at it, hearing some sort of wooden clattering as the bag settled.

“Don’t worry about that just yet,” Suguru reassured, “it’s equipment, but you won’t need it today.”

He wanted to get you into using swords to fight with, but that much was for deep into the late stage of training. For now he wanted for you to learn the basics.

You settled into the coffee and sipped it, his eyes trained on you as you finished every last drop.

You couldn’t help but look less and less forward to this session.

Once you were ready, he unfolded his arms and took the dirty dishes away from you without making a fuss, “Go get dressed; something ideally comfortable, loose fitting maybe.”

“A-all of my clothes are at-“

“—oh right,” he replied before you could finish your sentence, forgetting that you didn’t actually live with him full time just yet and you were just existing in a series of t-shirts he kept giving you to wear, “…One moment.”

You nodded as you observed him slip away off to the bedroom again, watching as he came back with a change of clothes that he then threw over to where you sat.

“These should be fine,” he said, “they’re my old workout clothes, used to wear them when I was a bit younger so it might be closer to your size.”

You hesitantly picked up the change of clothes, intending to go and change in the bathroom but Suguru stopped you in your tracks before you could go anywhere else.

“You can get changed right here, can’t you?” he asked.

You stiffly nodded in response, reminding yourself that he had already both seen and touched every part of you already so technically it was fine. The problem was everything else that had happened before that threw you into an uncomfortable loop.

Also, just the fact alone that he was already fully dressed and behaving a certain way while you slowly took your clothes off and the way his eyes settled on your exposed skin left you feeling deeply uncomfortable. It was as though there was some sort of power imbalance going on, especially with how a subtle smile tugged at his lips.

Once you were fully dressed however, he pulled you away from your troubled thoughts and towards him instead; taking the strings at the waist of the sweatpants you wore, tying them tight against your hips.

“There we go,” he said, his gaze softening before turning around, swinging the duffle bag over his shoulder, sticking out his other hand out for you to take, “now come along.”

You took hold of his hand as he pulled you closer to him, gradually walking you out of his apartment building and into his car. He threw the bag into the back seat while opening up the front passenger side for you to get into.

Driving this time with Suguru felt less heated, perhaps more settled even. He didn’t attempt to feel you up even if you did remain tense the entire ride. Your eyes drifted off to the side of the window either way, paying attention to where you were going—the city becoming less and less busy as he parked into a sleepy neighbourhood.

By the time you were outside, he led you into a private studio of some kind with tinted windows while you reluctantly stepped inside the second that he left you in.

Throwing the bag onto the floor and kicking it underneath a table, he locked the door to the studio once again, ensuring zero interruption. As he led you into the main area just beyond the door, you were met with an airy interior that boasted cedar panelling along the sides of the room, high bordering windows and dusty mats that concealed what seemed to be a hardwood floor.

“Nobody else uses this place or knows about it,” Suguru broke the silence as he watched you take it in, “I haven’t been in here for a while either.”

As he took a few steps away from you to stretch and crack his neck, you warily anticipated at what he had in mind for you. Your unease only continued to grow as he positioned himself into a defensive stance, his eyes intently focused on yours.

“Try hitting me,” Suguru instructed, his tone deadly serious.

You blinked, “What?”

Suguru smiled in response, amused by your hesitance, “Try it. Hit me.”

For some reason, this whole situation felt strangely humiliating. You already knew that he wasn’t going to let you do so and you didn’t want to lose whatever shred of dignity you had left in life.

“…Do I have to?” you asked.

“I’m not letting you leave until you land a hit on me,” he said as his smile grew wider.

Resigning into a sigh, you entertained his request as you tried to land a punch in what you determined was a vulnerable spot. However, he caught onto your attempt right away and stopped you before you could even get close.

Not only did he block it with ease, but the retaliation hurt.

“The problem with fighting is that people tend to fight back,” he said, giving you a window to listen.

“What if I simply just don’t pick fights?” you asked with some hope, fully well understanding that you would need to train at some point regardless if you were to protect your students on field trips.

He titled his head off to the side playfully, “That’s not always up to you though, is it?”

“So why am I not learning self defence instead?”

“Because that’s just prevention,” he replied, his smile slowly fading away as his expression darkened, “I want you to learn how to kill.”

“And this isn’t extreme in any way?” you asked, feeling that all too familiar feeling of wariness flood your body.

“I don’t think so. This world is cruel, so you need to be cruel back,” he said, repositioning himself to a defensive posture once more. “Now, try again.”

With a heavy sigh, you tried to do so again and again. The experience as a whole was starting to exhaust you, both physically and mentally as his reflexes were driving you almost to the brink of insanity with his resistance.

If this was simple, as he called it, then you could only begin to imagine what he had in store for something intermediate.

This wasn’t even fighting either, this was just prolonged humiliation; this was that same sort of power imbalance you felt from him earlier being practised in the most brutal form.

But then to your surprise and also his, you finally got a hit on him.

His eyes widened with excitement as you finally breached his defensive barrier and to an extent, you felt accomplished as you did so too.

He relaxed after that, seeming to be done with you for the day.

“Good job,” he praised, “although, next time you’re gonna block a hit from me.”

“I-I am?” you asked as you could feel the blood drain from your face.

“When you hit me again, I’m gonna hit you back.”

You stood still and simply blinked.

“I’ll be gentle though,” he assured you, “just for you. I’ll only go as rough as you can take it.”

His tone was almost flirty as he spoke to you, some genuine playfulness cracking through what you perceived as a cold exterior. The warmth that he shared with you felt nice on the inside, but left your heart feeling all the more confused.

“Anyway,” he settled a little, redirecting your attention to more important matters, “we should get something to eat.”

“R-right,” you nodded, feeling the hunger boil within you again. You worked up such a sweat that it felt like you hadn’t eaten all day even though you knew that much wasn’t true.

You continued to feel confused as he led you elsewhere now, the kindness in his personality finally showing itself to you, the playfulness that he kept from you.

It was so confusing, it all hurt so much.

He hurt you so much.

But you couldn’t help but feel a certain way.

Was there something wrong with you for being like that?

~~~

The following night, he decided that it was fine to take you back home to Shoko’s apartment. The food that you both shared after that session was absorbed almost instantly into your body as it was a type of hunger you had never felt before.

You were so hungry, so sore.

He hovered right outside of the door before he let you go on without him.

“I’ll give you a couple of days to recover,” he said as he thought about what else to say, “if you need to go out, text me and let me know where. If you’re still feeling sore on the day we have to train next, don’t be scared to tell me so I don’t talk you into something that could potentially be harmful to your body.”

You nodded as he spoke, finding his requests surprisingly reasonable.

“Promise me?” he asked.

“Yeah, I-I will,” you confirmed.

Suguru smiled as he now left you to enter your apartment at your own will without saying another word. Earlier on in your friendship, back when you were still trying to properly get a read on him, you would have seen this action as quite rude.

Slowly but surely however, he was becoming the easiest one to understand out of the three of them though. He never once hid his intentions from you, even when he hurt you.

Actions always spoke louder than words, for better or for worse.

“Aah, you’re back,” Shoko greeted you as she ate something at the table, her eyes squinting as she recognised the old Jujutsu High gym clothes, recognising a particular tear on the collar of the t-shirt that sparked a memory in her mind, “…and wearing Suguru’s clothes?”

“Uh,” you faltered, feeling embarrassed as she could recognise them.

“Hey, I mean, it’s not my business to judge what you get up to,” she replied in a neutral voice, even if her face did seem a little curious, “you look kinda rough. Was that him too?”

“N-not in that way,” you stammered as you scrambled your words, hoping that she didn’t register the muffled talking outside and the weary look as being dropped off after a hookup.

“Hey, I mean, I’m not judging~” she smiled as she teased you just a little. She seemed to not poke as much fun at you as she did when you admitted to kissing Satoru.

“H-he um, was teaching me to fight and-“

“—how to wrestle~?”

“No, like, actually.”

“Oh… you’re being serious,” she understood as she finally recollected herself and toned down the teasing. She then poured herself some red wine, pointing the bottle at you since she figured you might want to relax.

You nodded as you took a stemmed glass out of the cabinet, grabbing a seat with her as you poured some for yourself too.

“Tell me all about it?” she asked.

You stared at the drink and considered the thought; you were definitely in some dire need of relaxation because you were surely burnt out from everything that had happened up to this point. At the same time though, you couldn’t tell her completely everything so you settled on a controlled amount just so that the surface of her curiosity could be answered.

“Y-yeah… yeah, alright, why not?” you said at last.

She leaned over the table as she gulped down a sip. The red wine left a hint of redness on her cheeks as she got started earlier on without you, appearing to be properly relaxed and without under eye bags for once. You wanted more of that for her since she seemed to be in a much better state than usual.

“So,” she continued, “fighting?”

“Yeah, um, he said that I needed to know how to fight back against certain situations so that what happened before doesn’t happen to me again,” you explained, thinking it made enough sense.

“That’s nice of him,” she considered, “I suppose you might as well though, can’t look weak in front of those kids you’re gonna be overseeing.”

You let out a gentle snort, finding yourself experiencing indirect deja vu, “He said the same thing actually.”

“Would you look at that, my wisdom is finally rubbing off on him,” she beamed as she leaned back, her wrist swirling around the glass as the wine sloshed around, although she started to notice some details.

From the way you looked tired to the way your eyes looked blank. There was something off about you in a way that didn’t point to something healthy going on at all.

A moment of tense silence brewed between the two of you.

Shoko suddenly seemed serious, leaning forward and setting her drink aside on the table, “[name]?”

“Yes?” you asked, shaking your troubling thoughts away.

“Did something happen?” she asked, taking hold of your wrist and rubbing it with her thumb, her gaze softening as she read more and more into the way you presented yourself.

“N-no, it didn’t,” you tried to retaliate, desperately hoping to not talk about it.

Shoko didn’t want to push you, but she could read between the lines and tell that something was amiss. You weren’t really acting like yourself anymore and it seemed to always get worse after you spent time with Suguru, therefore, he was clearly doing something you didn’t like.

Still, she dropped the topic for now. Deciding to take matters into her own hands the next time she saw him, because if he was doing something genuinely wrong, then regardless of how close they both were, she couldn’t let something potentially abusive continue.

“Ah, it’s alright,” she sighed, forcing a smile as she reunited with her drink, “think I just missed a spot on ya, let me know the next morning and I’ll fix your face up properly.”

You nodded along, thankful for her attempt at normalcy even though you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that you were so terribly easy to read. In a way, you wanted for her to find out, just so that you didn’t have to carry the weight of this whole thing alone.

The conversation otherwise continued like this for a while; you explained as much as you could while leaving out the problematic details while she listened, choosing to bite her tongue when she heard something that didn’t sit quite right.

You both drank on into the night. Even if you did leave a lot out, it was still nice to talk to someone who didn’t pressure you on other sorts of topics.

For the most part, she was curious about his feelings towards you and whether or not he was being stupid. She wasn’t going to pressure you for the details if you didn’t want to give them though.

It was mostly just that Suguru was seldom interested in long term relationships and if he was helping you learn how to defend yourself, that meant he was acting out of care. At the same time though, if you felt bad after spending time with him, then he must have been doing something wrong.

As his friend, she always wanted for him to actually find that special someone and you weren’t a bad person in her eyes—although she did have a slight concern with how much you’re tolerating. You still had a problem with standing your own ground and she hoped that he was being decent to you, but who really knew what went on behind closed doors?

Eventually however, the two of you did start to feel rather drowsy as the night grew late and the warmth from the booze began to hit.

You both quietly stumbled off to your rooms, ready to end the day at last.

You closed your eyes to surrender to sleep while Shoko gave into a deep thought, convinced that there was something you weren’t telling her.

~~~

Satoru meanwhile simmered away in his penthouse, overlooking the night skyline with flickering golden lights moving along busy roads.

Having spent the day earlier on with Suguru, had still been left with more questions than answers, not quite buying what his good friend had been telling him. It felt almost a little like a lie…? To think that Suguru had made a move on you and you just accepted over the course of time seemed a little unrealistic to him, especially how you reacted to that little kiss.

Especially to how you reacted when he let slip of his composure and did something he almost regretted back in the alley. He was confused, mostly. He didn’t understand why it all seemed to go wrong from the moment you left the town with him, as if being in that place all alone with him had been the binding glue.

He knew that deep down, Suguru might have talked you into something that he shouldn’t have done. Satoru knew you pretty well by now and how you wouldn’t have dared to even spend a night away from Shoko’s if you could help it.

While Satoru himself did coax you into spending the night with him in that guest house—spending a night in a place like Suguru’s literal apartment, seemed not like you at all.

In the midst of his overthinking, his pocked buzzed. Shoko’s name lit up with a little text, asking if he knew anything about the relationship between you and Suguru, that she’s thinking it seems a little too off.

Another text came. Something about him teaching you to fight, although the words were scrambled. Shoko was likely drinking again so that was the cause, but he didn’t want to deal with that just yet. Maybe tomorrow when he had more time to put his personality back together.

Not while he was going through something.

He didn’t reply, pretending to be asleep instead. He felt conflicted, mostly. Knowing properly well that there must have been more behind this whole thing than what he was seeing and in a way, succumbing to jealousy the more he thought about the whole situation and just how messed up it truly was.

No, he was livid. His supposed friend, his best friend who had gotten to you in a much more sinister way, all the while he had been trying to be good. The thought in his mind had settled—Suguru must have done something to you, but rather than fight for you, he chose to give into something he usually didn’t bother with for once.

Satoru hummed as he considered it, slinking off back to bed, eyes drifting off to the dark ceiling. He could absolutely talk you into something too, probably could be just as convincing if not more.

Suguru didn’t want to share, but no matter what—he’d get his way, he’d sample just a little more to call it even.

Even if it hurts you.

[nighttimepatrons]

Not Without Maedhros

Thinking about a Fingon fic set in Mandos where Fingon is ready for reembodiment but won't leave the halls without Maedhros. Never mind the fact that he hasn't actually seen Maedhros's spirit yet...

The only way he can tell the passage of time is the influx of spirits into the Halls, the halls get larger to accommodate them all. Surely Maedhros is around here somewhere.

It's about Fingon being asked if he's consider Life again and he says he has, but he'd like to wait for Maedhros first. He does not want to leave without Maedhros.

More spirits enter and he waits.

When asked again he is indeed ready for Life but it is disturbing to him that it as taken this long for Maedhros to find him. So he reaffirms that he is waiting, he will not leave without Maedhros.

Spirits come and some start to leave.

The asking stops, and in its place he is told: "it is to leave these halls", "you have lingered long enough", "you can feel the yearning for Life in you, go on, it's time to go". He always says the same: Not without Maedhros, not withouth Maedhros, not without Maedhros.

It seems impossible, but the population of the Halls actually seems to decrease.

And yet he waits. He waits until all of his family has walked out of those great, beckoning doors. He waits as his fellow spirits dwindle around him.

He waits, until he is alone in the vast, silent halls.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐫𝐝

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Trying to encourage myself. So here, a song fic that I have never done before. This is a continuation of ““𝐈 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮.””

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: You suffer the effects of your lost Astartes. Yet, your life isn’t up yet.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

TW // Angst, Violence, Blood, War, Wounds.

“Meet You By The Graveyard” by Cleffy

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| • {“𝐈 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮.”} • {𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬}

“I will meet you at the graveyard” A cold wind blows as you sit near your lost, lovers grave. Your eyes looking over the setting horizon with an emotionless expression. Your body still and heavy, simply watching as the tall grass moves with the hills of the planet. The smell of the grass reaching your nose, evading you. Yet, you do not move from your place. Too loyal to leave your lovers side. Too adamant.

“Where you lay down” Your eyes briefly look over to your lovers grave. Slowly tracing your eyes up from the big, mounded dirt and up to the helmet. The helmet on top of the wooden cross unmoving, too heavy for the wind to move as you stare into the unpowered, black visor. “Where you stay now”

“Faced up, cold heart, no longer by my side now” Your heart aches just looking at it, squeezing inside of your chest. Warm tears starting to build up in your eyes as you try and swallow them down. Reminded of the times you had together. Reminded that it won’t happen again. “Wish we were together now”

“I don't know when I will see you” You wish you can just see your beloved physically one more time. That you were able to comfort him in his last moments with your loving embrace rather than the horrors of war. Your throat straining at the thought, trying not to cry.

“I, I will meet you at the graveyard” Your eyes quickly gaze back out to the horizon. The colors of the grey, golden sky turning more of that familiar, comforting, dark blue you have seen again and again. Standing idly by his rotting grave. Unable to look at his grave anymore than a few moments without completely breaking down.

“Where you lay down” You swallow your tears down again, straining your throat at the effort. Overthinking if your lover had been abandoned by his brethren or by his god; left to die where he stood before retrieving him. Your eyebrows furrowing up angry and worried at that thought. “Where you stay now”

“Faced up, cold heart, no longer by my side now” Glancing back at his grave. You wonder if this was the proper burial for him and his kind. Wondering if you should have just set him on fire or let the apothecary’s take him, but you remember them saying they didn’t need to. They planted him on your planet, knowing that you would grieve over their fallen brother.

“Wish we were together now” You blink, your cheek suddenly feeling wet. Your hand quickly coming up to stop the rouge tear from falling any further, wiping it with your fingers. A sniffle coming for you as you tried your hardest not to cry in front of his grave once more. Only wanting to see him physically at least one last time. “I don't know when I will see you”

“You were undecided” You remember his battle however, how his brothers had told you. Being nice enough for their status to inform you of such tragedy and despicable truth. Your eyebrows furrowing up in slight, petty anger now. “Between life and past tense”

“You lost your battle, life was hell” Their words echo through your mind while you wipe another rouge tear from the other side of your cheek. Their whispering voices telling you of his fall. Sacrificing himself for his brothers to continue their mission, and clearly not wanting to come back to you.

“But I was always here, how can't you tell?” ‘Why couldn’t he just come back to you?’ You think bitterly, illogically, driving by your emotions as you know that you were lying to yourself. That you were thinking sickly of the situation, being selfish.

“Oh, I thought we'd be together 'til life was over” You sigh angrily, looking back up to his helmet. Your fingers unable to stop any more of your warm, rouge tears that turned cold on the skin of your cheeks; dropping off of your jawline and on the terra. Your selfish thoughts consuming you, purging you while your fingers gave a twitch. “But you left too soon, now I'm no longer sober”

“My rock, my friend, we always said, we'd live this life, until we made it to the end” You scowl, suddenly stepping forward towards the helmet on the cross, glaring at it, huffing at it. Wanting to just rip the helmet right off the cross like it was at fault with you; to throw it across the plains. Yet, you can’t seem to do such… dishonor. Your hands simply just coming to hold the sides of the helmet, threating to tightly grip at it before you lean in. Touching the helmet with your forehead.

“So why aren't you right here, right next to me? You took your life, like fuck, you left me bleeding” You quietly cry and curse at the helmet, finally letting your tears loose. Your body hiccuping while your nose runs. Angry, frustrated, sad; grieving. Your mind indecisive on what it wants to do. Wether to throw the helmet or to cradle it in your arms. The logical, illogical parts, and even the love for him battling inside of you, making you feel confused; conflicted of what to do. You feel as if you had lost your way; your guidance, yourself to this simple helmet that sticks on top of the engraved cross. Never to be worn again. Never to look at you with life again.

“I will meet you at the graveyard” Your heart hammers in your chest as you see the littering, unmoving dead painting the hills red and a glow of orange below you. Your eyes watching as the enemies ransack your home planet, tearing into your comrades. Your hand twisting your sword once. Waiting for the enemies to cross over into your line of order. A certain dread washing over you. Yet… you can’t help but feel excited for it.

“Where you lay down” Dragging your gaze across the war filled landscape, waiting for the enemies. You ready yourself; preparing to slice and shoot at your enemies. To protect your home planet; to protect his grave. A flash of remembrance going through you. “Where you stay now”

“Faced up, cold heart, no longer by my side now” You remember how they lowered his body into the ground. His wounds patched up by the apothecary’s care. Some limbs missing, unretrievable and unneeded to find and plant with his body. “Wish we were together now”

“I don't know when I will see you” Oh, but you didn’t think so. You wanted all of him to be together. You wanted him to be by your side again, to be alive with you again. Not to be simply put in the ground, but you knew better than to ask for such things from the brethren. It’s would be senseless.

“I, I will meet you at the graveyard” You shake your head, trying to forget about your lover for just a moment, to focus on the battle that ever slowly rises to your position. Bullets whizzing past you and thumping in the ground as the screams of the wounded and enraged call out to the smoke filled sky. You question if that’s how your lover died… listening to the calls of pain and suffering…

“Where you lay down” You didn’t want to think that he had heard such things. Wanting to be more… kind with his death, but you knew such things wasn’t possible. This was a galaxy filled with unimaginable horrors. It was rare to encounter humanity itself, and that was a cold hard reality to realize for some. “Where you stay now”

“Faced up, cold heart, no longer by my side now” You brace as the first wave washes over your line. The sounds of war ringing in yours ears, breath getting heavy as your chest tightens along with your muscles. Your sword thrusting forward as one enemy had gotten stupid close enough to test your skill that your lover has tought you. Their warm blood spewing at you, coating your face as you scowl. Your mind scrabbling to try and focus on one thing. ‘Was this how he felt? When he had fallen?’

“Wish we were together now” Pulling out your sword. You huff, tasting your enemies blood on your lips, unbothered by it. Your eyes searching for your next opponent to show themselves before landing on a figure that seems to cut down through the lines of your comrades with ease. The figure giving you a battle cry as he notices your blank stare towards it.

“I don't know when I will see you” The both of you dash for each other, eager to get each other’s heads, to be stained in the warmth of blood. Either from your own veins or theirs. Their mouth opening up to give out a frustrated huff at you. Annoyed as you were more skilled than what the figure had thought you would be. Both of your armor and skin ripping with cuts and bruises.

“It doesn't make sense to me” Unexpectedly, you find yourself stumbling, grunting out in pain as you grasp at your side. A stay bullet hitting you as you block the figures attack, stepping back into a defensive position. Your thoughts of your lover building up in your mind. Wondering if this is what your lover had felt. To be wounded and still fighting with all his might.

“You're gone, no, I can't believe” You give out your own huff as your own blood seeps through your fingers. Your eyes glaring at your opponent as they back off for a second, looking for a weakness in you. Their gaze flickering to the bleeding wound on your side. A grin rising on their face, but you can’t focus on their psychotic glee. You’re too heartbroken to. You yearn for your lover.

“They say you live inside me, but to me, you're still gone you see” You feel a rush to continue with the battle, growling out as you slash up at the figure first, surprising it. You blade upper cutting them in the face as they cry out, stumbling back. Their hand coming up to grasp at their hanging eyeball. Their optic nerve hanging from their socket as their cornea bleeds by your slash and through their grasp, hissing angrily at you, and you don’t feel any remorse for it. “This can't be real life, you were only like twenty-three”

“I'm asking questions to my God like, "Will we ever meet again?"” Another stray bullet suddenly hits you. Your form stumbling to right yourself as the burning pain digs into your shoulder this time as the figure takes this change to charge you, swiping up at you this time. Dragging its blade across your torso twice.

“Left me in pain” You hiss and cry out in pain at that, stumbling back yourself. Your hands moving from the wound on your bloody side to grasp at your shoulder. You eyes looking down at yourself, observing of how battered you must off looked before looking back up to the figure with a vengeful glare. “Was all our plans in vain?”

“Our memories to make” Feeling another surge of adrenaline rush through you. You push forward again, feeling like someone was pushing you to encourage you into battle. Their hands resting heavily on your shoulders like they were guiding you as you ensue another dueling session with your opponent. “I can see them slowly fading”

“You basically erased me” You begin to feel more heavy, uninterestedly bloodthirsty the more you strike down the figure. Their blade barely being able to block your attacks as they rub on each other and sparking up; burning at your cheek. The figure surprised at such stoicism and boldness to use such heavy attacks that stuns their own. Not expecting such from a human like you. “So how do you expect me to ever be happy?”

“My rock, my friend, we always said, we'd live this life, until we made it to the end” You glower the more this figure blocks your attacks with just barely enough attack time. Pushing them more and more back. Your tongue roughly licking at your teeth inside of your mouth as you can sense this sort of cold sensation press into your back. Pushing you to continue.

“So why aren't you right here, right next to me? You took your life, like fuck you left me bleeding” Finally having the figure pinned to an edge of a cliff. You glare at him and huff, finalizing your attack on this enemy. Your sword thrusting forward at an opening. Puncturing through the figures stomach as they gurgle. Their mouth opening and closing as they spit blood on you while you twisted your sword. Ensuring this would affect them greatly, making them feel the pain before you jerk the sword upwards, gutting them, and letting them fall off the cliff with a sicking crack and splat that shouldn’t have been audible through the sounds of warfare.

“I will meet you at the graveyard” Your back suddenly arches. Your eyes going wide as you choke out your own blood. Your body trying to turn around on the balls of your boots as another string of fire shoots through your nerves.

“Where you lay down” You blink once, your eyes filling with black dots, and the next thing you know you’re stumbling down to the ground at the edge of the cliff, blearily looking out the fires of the horizon, just like you did with your lover. Your sword disregarded at your side. A thump and rustle of grass flatting at your fallen figure. “Where you stay now”

“Faced up, cold heart, no longer by my side now” You wheeze painfully as you just lay there in the grass. Your eyes slowly blinking while the sounds of war just becomes background noise to you. A brush of heavy hands trail gently up your back. A familiar scent surrounding you.

“Wish we were together now” You close your eyes then. Enjoying the familiar scent as he coos in your ear, whispering praises in your ear. Caressing you were you lay, but he also encourages you. Telling you that you are not quite done yet. That you still have some life to give before joining him, and you can’t help but whine woundly at that. More pressure of hands wrapping gently around you. His voice echoing through your mind, encouraging you once again. “I don't know when I will see you”

[0blobthefish0]

Last Night

natasha romanoff masterlist | main masterlist

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

!WARNING! EXPLICIT CONTENT AHEAD

1,533 words:

You closed your book and tossed it, lightly, to the side with a quiet sigh; Natasha sat by her desk hunched over paperwork and typing on her computer and you frowned, she had been there for hours. You rolled off of your shared bed and placed your book in the read pile before making your way over to your girlfriend. Her hair was done up in a loose bun, red hair poking out in all directions and a small smile made its way onto your lips. Your arms wrapped around her waist as your head rested on her shoulder, eyes looking at what she was doing, and you hear her hum lowly.

"Are you nearly done?" You questioned her softly, voice tickling the shell of her ear and you felt her head turn to you slightly accompanied with another hum.

"Nearly," she mumbled with her eyes fixated on the screen, voice raspy from not using it for so long, and you felt your stomach flutter. You bit your bottom lip and squeezed your eyes shut, you needed her. Your lips lightly kissed the soft skin of her cheek, before planting another and another. You felt her let out a deep sigh, shoulders relaxing, her head tilting to the side and your kisses trailed down to her neck. "Not now, dorogaya," Natasha whispered as you gently nipped her skin and she pulled away. You frowned slightly and nodded your head on her shoulder and you felt her spin on her chair before pressing a kiss to your lips, "Later, I promise."

That had been around two hours ago, and you were getting impatient. You peeked at her from your laying position on the bed, still as concentrated as she was hours ago, and you closed your eyes in defeat.

Natasha closed the lid to her computer and turned to look out the window, shocked to see that it was now dark, and she quickly checked the time on her phone. Her head whipped around to see you splayed across the bed, sheets pushed to the bottom with pillows surrounding every limb. She felt her heart constrict, where had all the time gone? 

Slowly, Natasha pushed the pillows at your feet to the side and climbed up the bed. She pressed a kiss to your wrist and you shifted in your sleep, her kisses ran up your arm until she pressed one final kiss to your cheek, by then you were only slightly aware of your surrounding and let out quiet grumble.

"Are you awake, Y/n?" You opened up an eye to see Natasha looking down at you, pupils wider and better adapted to seeing in the dark, and you nodded your head.

"Is it later?" You questioned as you shut your eye again and Natasha smiled down at you.

"Only if you want it to be," she replied and stroked the tips of her fingers very lightly over the soft skin of your upper arm. You let out a shaky breath and opened up both eyes, this time, to see Natasha pulling off her tank top. You swallowed dryly and felt your cheeks warm with a blush as you stared at her.

"You're so pretty," you whispered and sat up to move a piece of hair from her face, your hand resting on her jaw as she pulled you in for a kiss. Her arms wrapped around your waist and she brought you to her lap, kissing you deeper with a smile. Her finger played with the back of your bra and you playfully bit down on her bottom lip which earned you a surprised hiss and Natasha wasted no more time in pulling your top and bra off you. Hungry eyes stared at you now, pupils blown with lust, and her hands rubbed at your sides as she smirked up at you before tipping you down to lay back on the bed. Natasha moved over you and pressed hungry kisses over you neck and your collar bone and then down between your breasts before nipping at the soft skin. 

"You enjoying this?" Natasha mumbled as she moved to the next to litter you with more love bites.

"Yeah," you breathed out and bit your lip as she looked up at you from her position. You could feel her smirk on your skin before she moved further down, kissing all the way down your stomach before she reached your underwear. Her hands slid up both sides of your legs and her fingers hooked under the thin fabric before lightly tugging.

"And this?" She mumbled again as she pulled them further down your legs and exposing yourself to her.

"Yes," you nodded your head and closed your eyes when you felt her kiss up your thigh to your hip and across your stomach to your other thigh, nipping and biting and soothing the sting with her hot tongue. You found yourself raising your hips every time she got close and each time she pushed you back down.

"How about this?" She questioned yet again, still teasing you.

"No-" Your huff of annoyance was violently pushed away by the sudden wave of satisfaction that overcame you, that being Natasha's tongue finally being where you wanted it to be and you whined out for her as she pushed further into you. Her tongue dragging up before she sucked on your clit, her arms over your hips and hands on your waist to prevent you from pressing your thighs together. You bit down on your lip, muffling your whines, and threw your head back onto the pillows.

"Don't get all shy on me now, kotenok, I want to hear you," Natasha told you before thrusting her tongue in and out of you. You let out a sinful moan and pushed your fingers through her soft hair, nails scratching her scalp as she continued her pleasant assault. God, she knew how to work your body so well and you welcomed her with your pleads and your moans. Her tongue was soon replaced by equally as skilled fingers as she paid attention to your clit. You gasped as she repeatedly hit your sweet spot, pushing you further and further to your release, until you gushed around her fingers with a scream. Natasha's pace didn't falter until you were pulling away from her shakily and wet kisses trailed up your stomach before they met your lips.

"Sorry I made you wait so long," she mumbled with a pout and you let out an amused huff and pressed a kiss to her jaw.

"Let me taste you and I'll think about forgiving you," you shrugged and twirled the end of her falling out hair between your finger whilst looking up at her with eyes heavy with lust.

"Really?" She hummed. "You'll think about it." You shrugged again.

"Depends how well you treat me," you smirked and brushed your fingers lightly down the small of her back.

"I'm a treat am I?" She questioned, her voice husky, as she shifted to kneel beside you and you leaned up on your elbows.

"Taste like one," you grinned cheekily as she shook her head with a blush and rolled her eyes as she straddled your stomach.

"You want a taste?" She teased as she lightly grinded and ran her fingers up her sides and toward her breasts. 

"Yes," you replied breathily and bit your lip as you watched her, your hands resting on her thighs as she put on a show. Natasha pushed herself up on her knees and began to make her way up to your face, her hands wrapped around the railing as she loitered over you.

"Tell me," she began, "tell me how much you want it." You felt yourself inhale sharply at her words and paused for a moment to collect your thoughts.

"Please, Natasha, please I want it so bad, I want to taste you, I want to make you feel good. Let me make you feel good, please," you whined out pathetically and still she was kneeled over you. "Let me touch you, Nat, please, I'm begging you." Wordlessly, Natasha wrapped her hands around your and brought them up to her hips, while she pressed her own to her clit.

"Tell me again," she whispered, her green eyes boring into yours, and so you did. Your heart raced as she pleasured herself above you, her moans and pitiful whines like music to your ears and you yearned to make her feel good. She gasped and shuddered as she brought herself nearer and you squirmed underneath her, and then she stopped; allowing her climax to dissolve and she heaved over you. Chest rising and falling deeply. 

She brought a hand from the rail and ran her fingers through your hair before she finally lowered herself onto your tongue. You eagerly lapped at her folds, quickly bringing her back to where she had left off, and she was grinding down on your mouth. You moaned at her taste sending satisfying vibrations to her clit and you heard her moan loudly above you. Natasha's head was tilted back as she rubbed at her clit in tight circles and you eating her out as if you were a man starved. And soon her moans came out choked and broken as she gushed over you in a sweet release. She breathed heavily over you before slumping to the side next to you.

"Do you forgive me now?" She questioned with a deep sigh.

"Yes, gods yes," you replied, breathing just as heavy.