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starlitangels · 2 years ago

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Smash Night (Shaw Pack Edition)

Hi. Here’s something silly. It’s been a long while since I wrote something just really silly and fun Titled as such because there might be a Smash Night (D.A.M.N. Fam Edition) coming later? 2.2k words

—

I laughed, making sure to keep my drink away from flailing limbs, sitting on the floor. David and Milo were on either end of David’s sofa, Sam was in the armchair directly behind me, and Asher was sprawled out on the loveseat—for the safety of everyone else involved, to use David’s usual phrase. Asher tended to get really physical when he played video games, and Super Smash Bros was the worst offender. Empty and half-empty pizza boxes were haphazardly stacked on the coffee table, along with paper plates and an assortment of disposable plastic cups filled with various sodas, names scrawled in everyone’s handwriting in permanent marker.

David, Asher, and Milo’s mates were all outside, having a night swim. They’d invited me to join but I’d been having too much fun watching—and I’d forgotten to bring a swim suit and hadn’t fancied the drive back to Sam’s house (our house, I reminded myself) in wet jeans.

They were also all having a discussion—that sounded more like an argument through the screen door—about whether or not a Stealth who was cloaked the whole time they were outside in the sun needed to wear sunscreen and whether it would affect a skin tan for skin tones that did significantly change from sunlight.

“Hey,” I piped up during a lull in the fight—and the trash-talking of my packmates—when David had smacked Asher and Milo clean off the stage and Sam tried to attack the wrong direction. “Whoever wins gets to hand me their controller and give me a turn.”

Asher groaned. “David, don’t let Tank play!” he complained.

Sam’s leg tensed against my shoulder. “Why not?” he asked.

Milo snorted and shot a quick glance at Sam. “Because, no matta what, or which character Tank plays,” he began sarcastically, “Tank will always kick all our asses. Items on or off.”

“That is not true,” David grumbled.

Milo scoffed. “Oh really? Do I need to pull up some of the replays we got on this system? Their name is very clearly over their head whoopin’ all of us into next week.”

“No,” David growled.

Sam chuckled.

Ash made another noise of complaint. “David, don’t let Tank play!” he repeated.

“Ash, if you keep talking like that I’m gonna shove your controller where the sun don’t shine,” I snapped. Which earned me a bark of laughter from Milo.

“Tank is allowed to have a turn,” David said. “Besides. I’m about to beat—” He fired off a combo that launched Asher straight off the screen and into death with no chance of recovery, quickly followed by a quick snap at Sam that threw him off too, terminating his last life. “—two of you, and I need a break to go check on my mate anyway. I promised those three I’d grab them anything they needed so they didn’t track water all over my house.”

David ended up winning the match. And by a lot. They tended to play with five lives, and David still had two by the time he got Milo’s last one. He handed me his controller and got up. I cackled, took his spot on the couch, and quickly deselected Bowser once we’d finished arguing over which map to play on while Sam listened politely to me, Ash, and Milo bicker.

“A’right,” Milo said reluctantly. “Who do you plan on beatin’ the hell outta us with this time?”

I spun my pin around the character selector menu, pursing my lips. On the one hand, it was always funny to hear my try-hard packmates complain when I kicked their trash with Kirby. On the other hand, it was more satisfying to beat them all with one of the emo anime pretty boys that for whatever reason the game was chocked full of.

I selected Cloud and picked the most emo skin before switching the name from David to Tank.

Asher groaned, flopping his head backward onto the loveseat. “Whyyy,” he complained.

I laughed. “For exactly that reaction,” I said, hitting the + button on my controller to get the fight started.

Everyone spawned in with their character animation, and immediately Milo and Asher ganged up on me. Sam was the least threatening opponent by far. Milo and Asher had been “trying” to help teach him (occasionally shouting advice at him without telling him how to actually do it) and button bashing could really only get him so far against me and my packmates. I wasn’t particularly concerned about him yet.

I needed to eliminate Milo and Asher first. It’d be a clean sweep afterward. If I wanted it to be.

Part of me wanted to fake losing to Sam to make him feel better by letting him beat me.

But at the same time my competitive spirit had revved to life and I wanted to win.

Asher jerked and thrashed on the loveseat, somehow always managing not to throw his controller halfway across the damn room. His mate had once mentioned to me that when they were still new to their relationship, they’d made a blanket fort on the couch in the apartment Ash and David used to share and played through every Halo game in a weekend. I’d snarked to Asher that I was surprised his mate didn’t still have bruises from getting elbowed by sitting that close to him while playing a game. To which I’d gotten some indignant reply from Asher and a laugh from Milo.

“Sam, ya gotta figure out how to play a character that has a counter,” Milo remarked casually, as if his character—he was trying out Marth tonight—wasn’t in an all-out war with mine.

“A what?” Sam asked.

“A counter,” I explained, “is a certain button combination that, when timed right, essentially negates your opponent’s attack while immediately delivering an attack of your own.”

“I know what the concept of a counter is in a fight, darlin’,” Sam grumbled. “I just didn’t realize they were in this game.”

“Yeah, not every character has one,” Asher added, “and they’re hard to time. If Milo wasn’t such a show-off we’d probably never—hey! That was me, idiot!” I laughed as Cloud jumped out of the way, causing Marth to smack Jigglypuff halfway across the map.

“Sorry,” Milo said, not sounding sorry at all.

“I don’t think ‘bein’ a show-off’ is entirely contained to just Milo,” Sam said softly.

“Oh, definitely not,” I agreed. “We all are.” I couldn’t help but smile and laugh as I realized my B-button attack had fully charged up. I got Cloud close to Marth and unleashed the full-powered attack. Marth launched off the stage with a pillar of light exploding where he’d disappeared, killing him.

Milo swore creatively while I laughed. Sam chuckled slightly, though the sound was strained behind his concentration.

“Tank, have you and Sam ever just played one-on-one?” Asher asked. Probably trying to distract me.

“Nope,” Sam replied instead.

“Why not?” Milo put in as Marth dropped off the respawn platform and rushed toward Cloud. “Scared he’s gonna get better than you?”

“Resigned to it, actually,” I said. “Vamp reflexes are nothing to knock. And I know a one-on-one, slow practice battle while someone teaches another the controls is the easiest way to learn the game but watching him play it by himself was more fun.”

Asher swore as I hit Jigglypuff with a charged attack. “Tank!” he shouted.

“Yes?” I asked placidly, following up when he floated back down to me and launching him off-screen.

“How are you still so good? I swear you don’t play anywhere near as often as we do.”

“I don’t. I just know you guys. Ash’s strategy is literally only optimized to piss off David and he really doesn’t care about anything other than that. David is really aggressive but Bowser is still slow as hell and isn’t the greatest at range. The only one of the three of you that poses a genuine threat to me is Milo since he switches up characters almost as often as I do.”

They didn’t need to know that I spent literal months recovering from the injuries Quinn dealt to me up in Washington playing Smash just to pass the time and get out some energy while I was more or less bed-bound and barely able to do much else. Devoting hours to each individual character until I considered myself proficient with them. It sounded pathetic and sad and I didn’t talk about my time with my family in Washington much anyway.

Sam swore as Captain Falcon got caught in the crossfire, but he didn’t fly too far. He recovered and made it back to the stage no problem. He hadn’t taken much damage anyway this round because Asher and Milo had been too focused on me.

General banter and trash-talking died off somewhat as we got more intense in the fight. I was floundering a little bit under a concentrated attack from Milo and Asher, but I could still beat them.

At some point, David showed up and leaned against the back of the couch, watching. “Are you aware that Sam is still on five lives?” he asked.

“Mmhmm,” Milo said.

“Yup,” Asher agreed.

A long string of expletives followed as I got the Smash Orb—Smash Ball?—and caught Asher in Cloud’s Final Smash. “Ha-haaa! Omnislash, suckers!” I exclaimed. Sam chuckled and I even caught David suppressing a grin.

After a bit longer—no more than two minutes—I’d whittled Asher and Milo down to their last lives and threw them off the stage, while still having two myself. Sam was on four after accidentally Falcon Kicking himself downward at the wrong angle and plunging into the abyss below.

Milo and Asher, of course, started rooting for Sam to beat me. “C’mon Collins!” Asher cheered, digging a slice of pizza out of one of the half-empty boxes. “You’ve got double the lives! Just take it slow!”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, but backed off my aggressive fight strategy from taking on the two of them at the same time. One of the things I liked about Cloud, in particular, was that he was primarily melee-based, but had a ranged option. It wasn’t a good option, really, but it was useful. Especially back when Amanda played Pit all the time and just spammed arrows from a distance like a wimp.

Sam and I fight one-on-one slowed down a lot. I talked him through things, guided him into combos, advised him on which buttons to push and what move to use when, gave him examples of how to time his attacks—

And still promptly kicked his ass and won the match anyway.

Milo and Asher both groaned in complaint as I hopped off the sofa and gave David back his controller. “Thanks for the turn,” I said. I returned to my spot on the floor in front of Sam and took a long drink of my soda before also finding another slice of pizza to munch on.

—

“Tank,” David said as we were leaving. Ash and Milo had already gone home with their mates. I paused, one foot halfway in my boot. “It was nice to see you smile and hear you laugh so much again. It’s been a long time.”

I cleared my throat, finding the toes of my boots to be the most interesting thing in the room to avoid meeting his eyes. “Thanks,” I said, finishing shoving my foot into the boot. “It, uh... it was nice to see you smiling a lot too. I don’t think I ever have seen you laugh like that.”

He held out a hand as though we were going to shake. I took it and pulled him into a hug, wrapping my other arm around his back. He did the same, resting his forehead against my shoulder.

“Here’s to being better and brighter for—and because of��our mates, yeah?” I whispered.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

I pulled back. “See you at the office tomorrow. Asher has finally bullied me into picking up a job with you guys.”

“I look forward to it. I’ll have a new hoodie out for you. Your old one is way too ratty to be professional now.”

I looked down at the old Shaw Security hoodie I’d had since David started being more serious about the business than Gabe had been. The logo printed on the left of the chest was cracked and peeling. Faded against the black fabric. I made a face. “Rude—but true. Thanks,” I said.

“See you tomorrow,” he said.

“See ya.” I finished tying off my boot and reached out for Sam. He took my hand and we walked to his truck. I waved at David—and his mate who’d appeared at his side in the doorway—as I climbed in. He raised a hand back.

Once the door to the truck was closed, I glanced at Sam.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Darlin’, I coulda heard that from halfway across town, remember?”

“Mm. Right. Have fun tonight?”

“Well... I expected to get my ass handed to me. Just didn’t realize it’d be by you.”

I snickered. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for bein’ good at somethin’ you enjoy.”

#Redacted ASMR #fic #Redacted Sam #Redacted Darlin'#Redacted David #Redacted Asher #Redacted Milo #Redacted Audio #Starlit Fic #Sam Collins #Darlin'#David Shaw #Asher #Milo Greer #Sam #David #Milo

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b-is-in-the-closet · 2 years ago

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Stars on their skin

It was something he had mentioned before. He talked about it the first time he had ever seen the captain’s skin exposed, they hadn’t even noticed it was on their hands until he pointed them out. He pulled them aside, gently holding their hands, as he would often do, but this time was different. This time instead of circling small patterns into their skin with his thumbs, he used a new pattern, which involved tracing their freckles.

“Mack, what are you..?”

“I never knew you had stars on your skin.”

The Captain only blushed in response. Even in the moments where them having freckles did cross their mind, it was never as stars on their skin.

—————————

This would happen a few more times. The Captain would take off a glove to do some task, and Mack would find some way to compliment them. One of the times they took them off was one of their and Mack’s dates. It wasn’t much, just a simple night in the Captain’s quarters, but it was private. And with the chaos of running a ship, sometimes simple was all you needed.

The two were cuddled up side to side, and Mack had pulled one of the Captain’s hands from their lap. “You know,” he started, tracing them in the same pattern he always would, “I think I want to connect them one day.”

The Captain was very confused. “Like… with a marker? You already connect them whenever you want.”

“No, I think… I think like this.” And without further warning, he gently brought his lips up to their hand, leaving a small trail of kisses between the freckles. Once he finished, he pulled his lips away. “Nothing permanent. Just something so you know they’re loved.”

“Right…” The Captain pulled their hand back to look at it, tracing over what he had just done. They couldn’t help but smile. “I think I’d like that.”

“Good.”

—————————

A while later, and the Captain and Mack had started to get a bit more intimate. Not sex, per se, but more heated making out, and cuddling with less and less clothes. It started simple, like always, with the captain wearing a tank top and shorts to sleep instead of their jumpsuit. It was much more comfortable, after all, and chances of getting disturbed late at night this far into the trip was low. Mack would wear his underclothes, which consisted of thin leggings and a sleeveless turtleneck.

Mack joined the captain in bed, noticing more of those lovely freckles across their arms. He moved the blanket away to get a better view of them. “Well would you look at that… I’ve got more to connect.”

He softly smiled as the Captain turned a slight pink color. They smiled back at him, as if proud, “there’s a few on my legs too.”

And that there were. Not nearly as many, of course, but they were there. Mack traced over the new spots with a hand, like how he had done the first time he discovered them. He almost seemed awestruck, and would have happily stayed like that if it wasn’t for the Captain pulling the sheets back over themself. Mack looked up at them with puppy dog eyes. “You can keep doing that if you want, but maybe next time don’t let me freeze.” They teased with a loving tone.

“Sorry… I guess I got kinda excited… it’s just… you’re like a galaxy. All those stars on you…” He was tracing the ones on their arms, now. The Captain simply smiled and nodded, giggling a bit at how he admired them. It felt nice to know he loved them so much. Not only did he love them, he loved everything about them. Even things they didn’t notice. Like freckles.

—————————

It was the day. Mack had asked the captain to visit his room in private, and they obliged. They had no idea what he was planning, but he said not to worry about it, and that it would hopefully make them very happy.

They did not expect to see a bed filled with flower petals. Furthermore, they didn’t expect him to insist it wasn’t sex. (Unless they wanted that, that is.) “I said I wanted to connect them one day. All those stars on your skin… May I?”

It.. wasn’t something they were expecting to be asked. Of course, he had mentioned it almost all the time, but it almost felt surreal to actually be happening.

“I’ll be gentle, I promise. And if not, that’s okay too.”

They stood still for a moment, and Mack started to worry at their hesitation. Was it too soon? Should he have asked differently? Set a different mood? His rhetorical questions stopped when the Captain started to take off their clothes. Well, most of their clothes. Mack warmly smiled, helping them and guiding them over to the bed to lay down.

“I love you so much…”

“I love you too, my Star. More than you could ever know.”

And with that, he started finally doing what he was meant to do. It was loving, it was kind, it was certainly gentle. He went from hand to arm to face then back down to arm and hand. Once finished there, he’d trail across their upper and lower body, down to their legs. He made sure to do it at least twice before planting one final kiss on their lips.

They pulled up once they realized he was done, smiling and pulling him into another kiss. “Thank you…”

“For what?”

“For all of…” the Captain gestured to the bed and themself. “This. Really… you’re a sweet guy, Mack.”

“Thank you for letting me.”

They shared yet another loving kiss.

#iswm mack #iswm fanfiction #iswm mack x reader #iswm x reader #in space with markiplier #iswm #fluff #freckles #ficlet

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ticklenight · 2 months ago

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Drawn on

The teasing had started early in the morning. Hawks, ever the playful one, had found a sketch Dabi had been working on the night before. It was a simple doodle—nothing elaborate, just some idle scribbles of their faces, side by side. Hawks had burst out laughing when he saw it.

“Aw, you do care!” Hawks teased, holding the drawing up high, fluttering around their shared apartment. “I didn’t know you had such a soft side!”

Dabi, of course, tried to play it off, grumbling and rolling his eyes. But Hawks wasn’t one to let things go so easily. All day, every time they crossed paths, Hawks would flash a grin and say something snarky.

“Maybe next time you can draw my wings, too. They’d look majestic, don’t you think?”

Or, “You should start selling these, you could call them ‘Dabi’s Doodles.’”

By late afternoon, Dabi had reached his limit. He was going to get back at him, and in a way Hawks would never expect. He bided his time until Hawks finally flopped down on the couch for a nap, completely unaware of what was coming.

A wicked smirk crossed Dabi’s face as he went to retrieve his supplies—paint, brushes, markers. Quietly, he returned to the living room, where Hawks lay sprawled out, his wings partially unfurled and twitching in his sleep. Dabi moved carefully, slipping soft ties around Hawks' wrists and ankles, binding him loosely but securely to the couch.

It wasn’t until Dabi tugged on the final knot that Hawks stirred, blinking in confusion as he realized his situation.

“Wha—? Dabi?” Hawks tried to move, but his arms and legs were securely fastened. He squirmed, and his feathers rustled as he tested his restraints, his eyes widening when he saw the mischievous glint in Dabi’s eyes. “Oh no, what are you up to?”

Dabi smirked, holding up a brush in one hand and a bottle of paint in the other. “You think you can tease me all day and get away with it, bird boy? Time for a little payback.”

Hawks' eyes widened, and he began to stammer. “Wait, wait, you don’t have to—!”

But Dabi wasn’t listening. With precise movements, he dipped the brush into the paint and began to draw, starting at Hawks’ exposed chest. The brush was soft, but its touch was enough to send tingles dancing across Hawks’ skin. He tried to suppress a giggle as Dabi carefully dragged the brush down, leaving a smooth line of paint trailing over his skin.

“Oh, I do have to,” Dabi said, his tone low and teasing. “And this is just the beginning.”

The brush slid along Hawks’ sides, tracing intricate patterns over his ribs. Hawks' breath hitched, his muscles twitching involuntarily as the ticklish sensation spread. He bit down on his lip, trying to contain the laughter bubbling in his chest, but it was no use. As Dabi continued, switching between the paintbrush and his fingers, Hawks let out a soft giggle, then another, until it turned into full-on laughter.

“D-Dabi, s-stop!” Hawks gasped, squirming under the relentless teasing. His wings fluttered helplessly, and he tugged at the restraints, but they held firm.

Dabi’s grin widened. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

He continued his slow, torturous exploration, using the brush to glide over every sensitive spot he could find. He trailed it along Hawks’ collarbone, down his arms, and over his stomach. Every stroke was deliberate, calculated to elicit the maximum amount of ticklish torment.

Hawks was a mess of laughter now, his body jerking and wriggling with each pass of the brush. His cheeks were flushed, his golden eyes watery from the non-stop giggling, and his voice was barely coherent between the bursts of laughter.

“Dabi! Dabi, please! You’re gonna make me—ha ha—make me pass out!” Hawks begged, his voice breathless and broken by uncontrollable laughter.

But Dabi wasn’t ready to stop yet. He picked up a different brush, this one finer, and dipped it in red paint. He leaned in close, his voice a low whisper in Hawks’ ear. “You teased me all day. Now, I’m going to draw all over you.”

The smaller brush was even worse. Its fine bristles tickled Hawks’ skin as Dabi began to doodle on his stomach, little flames and spirals that he knew would drive Hawks crazy. Hawks arched his back, his wings beating uselessly against the couch as he laughed uncontrollably.

“A-ah! Dabi! I c-can’t—ha ha—take it!”

Dabi chuckled darkly. “Oh, but you can. And you will.”

He worked his way down, drawing over Hawks’ thighs, swirling paint down his legs. Each stroke of the brush had Hawks squirming, his laughter turning breathless as he tried—and failed—to escape the tickling sensations.

When Dabi finally reached his feet, Hawks let out a strangled sound, his whole body tensing as he realized what was coming. “No, no, not there! Dabi, please!”

But Dabi, ever merciless, began to paint delicate patterns across Hawks’ soles, dragging the brush in slow, deliberate strokes. Hawks' laughter hitched into a high-pitched squeal, his toes curling as he thrashed against the ticklish assault. He could barely breathe now, tears of laughter streaming down his face as he begged for mercy.

“P-please, Dabi! I’m s-sorry! Ha ha! I’m sorry, I swear!”

Dabi paused, looking down at his handiwork—Hawks' body was a canvas of doodles and patterns, his skin flushed with paint and laughter. He smirked, leaning down to press a kiss to Hawks' cheek.

“Next time, think twice before teasing me, bird boy.”

Hawks, panting and still giggling softly, nodded frantically. “Y-yeah, yeah, message received.”

Dabi untied him, watching with amusement as Hawks lay limp on the couch, his body still twitching from the lingering ticklish sensations. He couldn’t help but laugh softly as Hawks glared up at him, his face flushed but his eyes sparkling with affection.

“You’re evil,” Hawks muttered, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

Dabi grinned, sitting beside him. “You love it.” He reached out, tracing a finger over one of the doodles on Hawks’ arm, and Hawks shivered.

“Maybe,” Hawks admitted with a blush, but then he shot Dabi a playful glare. “But don’t think I won’t get you back for this.”

Dabi raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

#ler!dabi #lee!hawks #tickle #dabihawks #tickletober #dabihawks tickle

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americanphysco · 4 months ago

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What I Took

An Essay by Heather Sellers

From my mother’s house, in 1982, when I left for college—for good: her prized crimson cashmere sweater, which she never wore (Orlando, average temperature in January: 70 degrees Fahrenheit), the most collegiate item in our house, which I washed in warm water, which turned my t-shirts, sheets, and underwear pink, all of which I put in the dryer. I pulled out pink everything and the now tiny sweater. I wore it proudly. I called it a “snug.” I wore it with ultra-tight black jeans, black boots. Hair in a ponytail, long earrings I hand-made out of fishing tackle, as though I intended it all to be just this way.

A bowl with a rooster on it, cream on the outside and inside the most interesting shade of ochre, a color I associated with my mom’s happiest days, the 1950s, when she was a reporter, then a teacher, making a weeknight dinner, laughing with my father about this or that.

A blue floral pillowcase. From a set she used so much the cotton had worn to shining, was smooth as silk. How much I wanted my head where her head had been, my cheek against hers.

Her one gown, a color with no name, palest cinnamon mixed with skin tones, tulle. It never fit me. I wanted to give the dusty dress a proper life at college dances and in ballrooms someday when I was tiny and slender as she was, which never happened, could never happen.

Her father’s wood rosary, carried in a pouch in my purse. Her father, Patrick “Buck” Keating, died on Christmas Eve when my mother was fourteen.

I was never the same again, my mother said.

When I came back from university to visit, the first thing she said was: “I know you’ve stolen some things from me and I want my belongings returned.”

I looked my mother in the eye. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

I didn’t take her jewelry or money or even the paperwork I needed from her to get financial aid. I wonder now at what she chose, this seventeen-year-old girl that I was: a pillowcase, a sweater, a dress, a bowl, and a rosary. Are these the archetypal elements of woman to a girl? Mostly, I didn’t take. I assembled. I assembled just enough to make a complete and good sentence, trying to create a story a girl could live in.

My mother always said to me: You could be so pretty if you tried.

What I took from my father’s house: nothing.

He, and every thing, every body, in that place smelled of smoke, gin, perfume, decay. Damp to the touch.

But wait. Wait. I did take something.

From his blue bedroom, from on his dresser. But it could have been from anywhere in the house, he strew porn magazines in the living room, bathroom, foyer, kitchen counter. I took the fall issue of the magazine Easyriders, containing the only such girl of his I ever came across, a girl who looked almost just like me. She was photographed, in her modest poses (am I airbrushing clothes onto her with faulty memory?) in mossy woods and dry fields, somewhere in the south—kudzu, pine trees—and paired with a gleaming motorcycle, of course.

The way the light fell through the trees, so familiar.

Her motorcycle was small. Similar to one I’d had, a Kawasaki 200. She looked like a junior high school student. She was so small, long wavy light brown hair. My hair. The only small-breasted girl I ever saw in those magazines.

Summer turning to fall, naked under her leather jacket.

I wanted to put my arms around her. Friend. It wasn’t her naked body that captivated my attention, but rather how she was doing life, her body along for the ride. I took her from my father’s house and with me to college.

Talisman. Marker. Back-up plan.

And I took from my father so much that was invisible to me, and I wouldn’t begin to see any of that until decades later.

#on writing #personal narrative #essay writing #heather sellers #levis greatest hits #this piece really resonated with me so now im sharing it with you

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meloncholy-words · 2 years ago

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Eyes That Burn, Please, Look Away

Madeleine Cookie had picked up a hobby. He decided he wanted to expand on his skills, and painting seemed to interest him enough. He has set a goal today, and he was doing great, until a certain obstacle decided to rear its head.

//disclaimer, I’m a digital and alcohol marker/just pencil artist, I don’t work with paints and am bullshitting my way through most of this. also this whole story is like, entirely inspired by his April Fool’s sprite haha. also this is set before Madeleine goes traveling and stuff. it wasn't initially but it ended up being that way lol.

~~~

Warnings: Descriptions of facial dysmorphia(probably? I'm not quite sure if that's what it is but I'm not sure what else to call it), talk of self-doubt, I think that's it?

AO3

~~~

Madeleine would say that his newest painting looked good so far. Great, even. He’d taken to painting as a way to expand his skill set, and maybe possibly also a way to cool down every now and then. And he was fairly good at it.

He’d been taught to paint when he was younger, having the most expensive and studious tutors brought to him, but had abandoned it to be a warrior. As missions became a little less frequent, he decided to brush the rust from his hands and pick it up once more.

He’d started off simple, refamiliarizing himself with the tools and techniques, before diving into some bigger pieces. Madeleine found himself to be great at landscapes, able to fill large canvases with delicate hues of pinks and greens and blues, shaping a world that existed only in the deep of his imagination. He could layer the colors on each other with ease, and seemed to barely make a mistake, and if he did, it would only ever help to bring the piece together.

And now, the harder part: people. Should he attempt to add someone he was familiar with into his scapes, they would become blotches of color amongst the trees, the colors blending in such a horribly crude way; should he attempt to make someone up from scratch, he would fall into an empty space.

So, obviously, the only thing he could do was a self portrait! If he could not cast the visions of others through the instruments in his hands, then he would simply do himself. Who else could he be more familiar with?

He started simple, laying a nice, deep blue to start, delicately crafting a soft gradient to a lighter blue in the center. So far, so good. With a white leaded pencil, he sketched out a rough base. A mirror sat just to his left, and he sketched as he saw, touching the pencil to the dried paint so gently you’d think if he pressed any harder it would shatter like glass.

The sketch was nothing extraordinary, just a silhouette with faint lines etched across to imply where everything inside existed. Ok, he could work with this!

He squeezed his paint out into his pallet, mixing them to create the tones of his being. He started with his hair, laying down the darkest parts first to create the soft shape of his golden locks. Once that paint was half-dried, he laid down lighter tones, using the wet of the paint to blend the colors together.

He gathered some more bottles into his arms, and began mixing once more, attempting to make a good enough skin tone. Making sure the first few colors were dry, he began laying down the deepest colors, followed by the lighter colors and some blending. He glanced over his features once more, before deciding to add reddish hues into the colors of his cheeks and the tip of his nose. A soft pink was used to shape the lips, and he felt somewhat satisfied… until he looked upwards.

A void of fleshy tones stared at him, as best it could without eyes. But that… that was okay! It was a small detail he could focus on later. The paint was still wet, and if he mixed the pale blues with the warm browns and pinks, surely, it wouldn’t look good! Yeah, yeah, that was it.

Once more, he repeated his process, with deep grays for his shirt and layering on softer grays and off whites, being sure to keep the outline of his muscles prominent, but not too much. He was humble, of course. With a final, sweeping stroke, his painting was finished. The brilliant blue of the background made the warm colors of his person really pop. His brilliant blonde locks were a beautiful tangle on his painted head, framing his face so perfectly, with his chiseled jaw and sculpted nose, lips so delicate and prime. And his eyes, oh, his eyes… were absent.

Yes, of course they were… he’d had reason to skip that part, but touching his soft fingertips to the void of flesh left no sticky residue, indicating it had dried already. There was truly no avoiding it. But surely this was no big obstacle! Everyone had praised his eyes, so vibrant and true, and he’d made paintings with such passion in them before. For one such as Madeleine Cookie, this was a simple feat!

But then again, he had never shared the sentiments others had about his eyes. Though he encouraged and basked in the praise, whenever he would meet his own gaze in a reflection, something was always… off. Just like now, as he stared into the mirror beside him. Beautiful, they called them. So charming, so entrancing. All he could think was that they were just wrong.

He couldn’t tell why, but they were. They pierced through his skin like a needle through fabric, setting his blood to a boil and digging a pit through his stomach. He felt sick, like who he was watching in the mirror wasn’t himself. Looking anywhere else, he was fine, but when his eyes met themselves, he was riddled with fear. It didn’t look like him, didn’t feel like him.

With possibly too much effort than was needed, he pried his gaze away, fixed to the empty space he needed to fill. Sweat had built up on his pale skin, his breathing becoming labored and heavy. And he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why.

It’s alright, Madeleine thought, I can fix it. I can fix this. I can fix me.

But truthfully, he couldn’t. The whites of his eyes had gone down easy, but the iris was never right. Too dark, then too bright, then just too harsh of a gaze. Then he began to notice that the shape was wrong, and the layer of paint began to build up in his attempt to fix it. Madeleine began to think that maybe it was the lack of eyelashes, not framing his eyes right. But nothing seemed to be perfect. Nothing seemed to be him.

By the time he had given up, his upper face had become nothing but smears of blue and streaks of white he tried to fix it with. With hands shaking, paint threatened to collapse from his grip. His eyes stung in frustration, but tears refused to spill. He refused to let them. His throat felt dry, caught and twisted in itself. His chest felt sore, and his fingers gripped the handle to the brush until his knuckles were a bright red and his palms were bleeding.

Madeleine ran the brush through the pallet, picking up mostly white, before spreading it over the top of his face. His body felt numb as he did this, not fully aware of anything. After a few strokes he let out a frustrated yell, throwing everything down and storming out. He made his way to his bedroom, unable to stop the tears which now flowed freely. He threw himself into his sheets, soft and warm, burying his face as deep as he could. He already felt like he couldn’t breathe, and this was certainly not helping, but he didn’t care in the moment.

Why couldn’t he seem to get anything right..?

===

“Oh, Madeleine dearest, why did you hide this? It’s beautiful!”

The residents of House Madeleine were enjoying dinner when Madeleine’s second aunt came into the dining hall, his abandoned painting held softly in her arms. There was a sense of pride as it rested there neatly, almost masking the shame of the dreadful painting. And yet, no matter how much he has despised it, his family felt quite different. A running theme, it seems.

The rest of his aunts leapt from their spots, flocking to the product of their beloved Madeleine. Praise flew from their lips the moment they saw it, melding a cloud of what seemed to be simply gibberish. Despite hardly understanding what they were saying, he felt his cheeks gain a warm glow. He was used to compliments, but it always felt different from his family.

“Oh, what is with this?” his first aunt began, running her hand along the white paint that blurred his embarrassment.

“I’m not sure, but I think it’s beautiful anyways,” replied his second.

“Perhaps he couldn’t quite capture his own beauty?” piped in his third, “It is quite much, after all.”

“Maddy?” There were eyes on him, he could feel, but he did not meet them. Gently, he pushed around his food, trying to think of something to say.

“I- I think it captures me quite well,” he began loudly, putting on a face of pride, “blindingly beautiful and so heavenly graceful!”

There was a moment of silence. A moment where Madeleine had thought his composure had cracked just enough they could tell he was lying to them. Enough they could see through him and straight to the problem. But instead the moment remained brief, with his aunties giggling to themselves, making little affirmative noises. They had believed him.

There was a grip in his grip, twisting in the rest of his organs. He felt bad lying to them, but knew he couldn’t really explain what was wrong without sounding crazy. But then again, he has always thought they were lying about the beauty his eyes held, so perhaps this made them even.

His second aunt made a comment about hanging it in the hall, and before he could think to make any noise of protest, they were off. That was probably the best outcome in all fairness. He didn’t know what he could possibly say to change their minds, and didn’t feel like explaining himself anyways.

Anxiety filled his stomach as he sat in the silence. He’d have to see it as he walked the halls now. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could just ignore it. Block it out. He certainly couldn’t remove it. With the fork in his hand, he returned to pushing around the meat and veggies sitting on the plate before him as an idea struck him.

Maybe he didn’t have to see it. Traveling Earthbread and spreading hope, joy, and justice had always been an idea in the family. He’d dropped painting before to be the valiant warrior he is today, maybe he could do it again.

The thought was now cemented in his brain, much like the gaze he couldn’t stand to look at. Swiftly, he moved from his chair and made his way back into his chambers. He would bring up the idea later. For now, he has lost his appetite.

#cookie run #cookie run fic #madeleine cookie #facial dysmorphia #<that's what i tried writing it as at least. mightve done it poorly lol #i dont think i need to tag anything else but please lmk if i should!

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gwndolnfrankln · 2 years ago

Text

your beauty never ever scared me - eddie munson x reader

part ii of i'm not in love

🎧.˳⁺⁎ summary: unfortunately, you and eddie haven't been talking for months since the incident, but lately fate has other plans when he went missing the morning after you saw him.

⋆ pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

⋆ warning: 18+ mdni, exes to lovers, fluff, mutual pining, angst, slight swearing, slow burn, a lot of yearning, make-up sex, p in v, grinding, half-assed dialogue, miss author loves to describe her surroundings a little too much

⋆ wc: 7005

⋆ a/n: thank you sm for reading my first eddie fic! i truly appreciate the support from the previous one, and as promised, here's part 2 ♡ my writing may got a little rusty since i got busy, but i hope you'll enjoy it as much as i had fun writing it :> (taglist still a work in progress)

“We’re in the Forest Hills trailer park in east Roane County. We don’t have a lot of details as of now, but we can confirm that the body of a Hawkins High student was discovered early this morning. Police have not released the name although we are told they’re currently in the process of notifying the family.”

With a mustard-yellow envelope in hand, your local school’s name blared from the compact tv, which surprises you from the latest. The flickering lights of the old printing shop made the place seem like a sullen hospital hallway, other than the presence of sunlight creeping in through the screen entrance doors. The news was always on from the small television set, stationed far high up against the gray striped walls. You've become a frequent visitor to the shop—befriending other photographers and travelers who needed physical prints from their out-of-the-country expeditions. It’s a welcoming shop despite other unpleasant aspects, but once the news is on, everyone gathers to listen in.

“We also don’t know yet if foul play was involved. But whatever has occurred here is sure to touch a nerve across Hawkins.”

“Must’ve been Munson's kid for sure." You snap your head back at the owner, who's busy stamping piles of business papers behind the counter. You plop your coin purse down on the wooden surface, separating silver coins from the bronzes. “How much?” The disgruntled tone in your voice receives a snark, which slows him down from important paperwork to check the number of coins you brought out so far.

“Hey, aren’t you a senior from that school? Then you might've seen Eddie from Forest Hills. Y’know, the one on the news.” Your ears flare up in heat at the careless assumption. Warmth boils into the hearth of your stomach when you slam your camera bag on the counter, making other customers perk up at the sudden aggression. “How much of your bickering do I have to take before you let me pay for my photos, Mr. Owens? If you need my opinion about Munson’s kid, then so be it. I’ll tell you one thing.”

Oh, where to start? At the top of your head, you could only remember the little things. The small intricate details of his chaotic, yet wildly interesting canvas; all splashed in his favorable paints of red and black. Eddie used to draw on you under oak trees. Instead of carving his initials onto the barks of a tree, he would rather write his name messily on your forearm.

The tingling sensation was vividly unforgettable from the marker’s tips, to his gentle fingers guiding your skin to mark you his special spot. You have the keys to his sacred collection of metal-rock records, which he doesn't mind; sometimes, he'd stick pink post-it notes onto your favorite Ozzy albums to play the tunes extensively before you bother to knock on his bedroom door.

The same Munson kid who'd read you lore books in his bed, all cuddled up beside you with his curls tangled up around your shoulders. His showcased dimples, his hoarse morning voice, and the soft kisses between your laughs. You applied for the first four shifts on Scoops to secretly buy him a camera for his new club poster, which you've quit after you saved up enough money to purchase a standard model at Starcourt. You kept the package stashed inside your closet, waiting for the day to witness the gleeness on Eddie’s face when it’s finally his.

From the ground up, the soles of your feet weigh heavier on your legs as the shop’s customers wait for an outburst, yet guilt turns down the anguish too quickly.

Before Mr. Owens opens his mouth, you set down a random assortment of coins then storm out past the door’s angelic chimes, getting lighter on your feet as you lead yourself far away from the shop. As you unclasp the parking chains of your bike, the photographs fall out of the half-open envelope, letting most of the photos scatter clumsily on the rough gravel. You curse under your breath when you tie the stack around an elastic band, but paused when Eddie’s photograph faced you on top of the others; the monochromes perfectly forming a certain clarity to his Hellfire shirt and the curls on top of his hair. As much as you want to study his face, you instinctively press the picture down the side pockets of your jeans, then carefully place the envelope inside the bike basket before you take off on the long winding road.

The pedals of your metallic bike screech on the rocky pavements, the pitch hurting your ears as you set your foot down on the road to halt the tires. The quietness of the streets doesn’t feel right to you. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you want to stop by the movie store to listen to Steve bicker for hours rather than the news at home. Before Starcourt mall was destroyed out-of-the-blue, you used to work shifts with them at Scoops, fondly reminiscing the times when you ate left-over ice cream with Erica between breaks, witnessing Steve’s flirtatious customer services with Robin, and the ridiculous navy blue sailor uniforms you have to wear for work. You stop in your tracks when you catch sight of the familiar colored bikes parked in front of the family video store. You perk your head up towards the glass-paneled windows to see your previous co-workers, alongside Dustin and Max busily typing on a computer.

“I never said that!”

“Seriously, you guys, maybe on a Monday you can play around, but it’s Saturday. It’s our busiest day. Oh hey, Y/N.” The bells of the entrance door jingle behind you as you lean on the counter, helping Robin arrange a variety of sci-fi VHS tapes. “Robin, I empathize but this cannot wait.” Max nods towards you while Dustin mindlessly scribbles on his cork board. “Aren't you supposed to be at school right now?” A teasing smirk forms at the corners of your lips as Steve frowns disappointedly at the intrusion.

From the counter's bottom shelves, Robin places a laminated sign on the registrar beside you, muttering a small thank you when you finish setting up the tapes. “Calling Eddie’s friends is an emergency?”

Unease seeps into the air you breathe, taking whatever little strength you have from the printing shop into nothing. Every fragment of the case reminds you of the life you used to know—the shot of his trailer park on the tv, the association of the Munson name, and now what seems like an Eddie investigation case instigated by Dustin. Was it all just a coincidence? A really, really bad one?

“Can you fill them in while I do this?” Now it was Dustin’s turn to peak frustration, facing Max as she shifted her gaze to the three of you, waiting for a thorough explanation. “Fill us in on what?” Out of instinct, the knuckles of your fist pop with your clenches; your heart palpitates aggressively inside your chest. “Please, Max.” You whisper worryingly, completely frozen in your spot.

Keyboards clackle through the overbearing silence as Max recounted yellow police tapes, Chrissy Cunningham, and Eddie Munson himself, who fled from the scene this morning. Dustin asks the four of you to look into his close contacts and call every name on the list. A few minutes later, you manage to write their names on the back of crumpled receipt scraps, then dial their numbers on one of their work telephones—most of them unavailable.

Hesitancy hinders you from saying his name on the first phone call. Hearing yourself say it for the first time curls the tiny hairs on your skin. But one phone call after another, your internal fears creep away from your genuine words; the callers asked in some instances if you’re a close friend of his rather than a sick prank call, which is a definite plus. “Hey, guys, I might have a lead.” Everyone turns back on their seats, lending their ears to hear what Max has to say. “Apparently, Eddie gets drugs from some guy named Reefer Rick, and sometimes Eddie crashes there.”

After an interesting argument between the two friendly gentlemen, Robin was able to find Reefer's account when she checked the computer systems to track down the infamous drug dealer. “That’s out by Lover’s Lake.” The satisfaction on everyone’s faces was a feat in itself; a drizzle of hope. The tightness inside your chest eases momentously, yet bits of dread pinch you still as a board. “It’s a perfect place to hide.” Robin stood from her seat and went to look for her keys, while Dustin and Max walked around the counter to grab their bags. When the last customer exited the store, Steve and Robin made some last-minute shelving checks before each and every one of you took off to Reefer Rick’s house accompanied in Steve’s car.

The mast of darkness enveloped your line of sight except for their flashlights, slashing the dusty particles in the air. Frayed leaves crunch under the soles of your sneakers, while you tower behind Robin, who was busy checking behind the foggy windows of the house. You left them to examine the rustling sounds behind the bushes, until your eyes caught sight of the shack near the lake, seemingly abandoned in its rusty state.

“Hey, guys?” Max’s light blinded your eyes as you turned around, the other three walking towards you. The shy winds cradled your skin, seeping through the thin fabrics of your flannel when your figures neared the shack.

Everything about this place felt like it was pulled out of a camp horror movie, or maybe you were just too scared of the dark. “Hello? Is anyone home?” Her voice permeated the large empty space as she walked in, mostly filled with boat equipment and carpentry tools. You observed with great caution, careful not to touch anything in the oily containers. “What are you doing?” Dustin reprimanded when Steve stabbed a random tarp with his oar, the sound of scratched plastic almost caught you off-guard. “He might be in here.” Steve kept on jostling the rowing stick onto the blue tarp, and you swear you could've taken that thing from his hands right now.

“Don’t worry. Steve will get him with his oar.”

“I know you think you’re being funny, Henderson. But considering almost everyone has nearly died a hundred times, personally, I don’t find it funny in the slightest–” In a flash, metal chains clanged the ceiling’s grasp as you stood back, accidentally tripping on a bucket of half-lidded paints, staining your clothes in the process. Quick, heavy footsteps thumped loudly on the wood while Robin wrapped her arms around you, helping you get up from the red puddle beneath you.

You sway unsteadily in her arms; utter shock loomed over your bare features as familiar patches caught your line of sight. A terrible sound reverberated through the steels of the shack when Steve's back was slammed hard against the wall, his chin cornered with a shard. “Woah, woah, woah, Eddie! Eddie! Stop!” Dustin’s shouts hindered the attack. Steve was squirming under his hold, ready to defend himself at any given moment. “It’s me. It’s Dustin. This is Steve. He’s not gonna hurt you, right, Steve?” Eddie casted Steve a murderous look while he nodded. “Steve, why don’t you drop the oar?” Steve groaned when Eddie clenched his fists on the shirt material, the oar clattering loudly to the ground.

“What are you doing here?” The tremble on his final word heightened your drawing sadness, the firmness in his voice faltering slowly. “We’re here to help.” Robin spoke up beside you, which made Eddie turn around. Despite the growing panic that crossed the room, his brown eyes managed to find yours in a magnetic instant, his gaze troubled and confused. “Eddie, these are my friends. You know Robin from band.” Robin awkwardly imitated her trumpet-playing just to get the picture of what she does on the bench. “This is my friend Max. The one who never wants to play D&D.” Max quickly waved with her flashlight in hand; worrying looks streaked her face as she watched Steve struggle under Eddie’s grasp. The short introductions seemed to fly past him, his unreadable stares lingered on your skin like a cord. “And Y/N, our school’s photographer. She was with us the other night."

"Eddie, we’re on your side. I swear on my mother! Right, guys?” All heads nodded in unison, including Steve’s, who was still held at a critical point. The suspenseful seconds washed away when Eddie finally let go of Steve, then slowly walked towards the other side of the room to lean against the wall, shaken and terrified. The messy tangles of his hair, the unkemptness of his clothes, and traces of his fear weakened you to the bone. Such grief binded you to him, an unspoken mutuality that you cannot explain for the simplest of causes. The same laid-out causes you’re afraid to face; the same old half-spoken truths that wreaked havoc on your miserable fates. Unfortunately, the deepest cuts are still there, distantly shared in all its glory, bleeding for all the times you’ve spent apart.

“We just want to know what happened.”

“You won’t believe me.” Eddie’s sniffles broke down while everyone gathered around him, careful not to get inside his personal bubble. Your shoes screeched on the pattern of paints you left behind as you stood closely, sharing this newfound silence.

“Try us.”

The winds howled at the heavy curtains flinging past the white edges of the shack’s small windows. Everything you knew about the town, the world, changed at a shocking note. The horrors of the recounted scene paralyzed him; Chrissy’s death now a daunting reminder of his cowardice. All you could do was nod and listen, clinging onto every word.

You both shared a look while he described the grotesque encounter, hoping that he’d get the comforting message through the lenses of your eyes. “I…I didn’t know what to do, so I…I ran away. I left her there.” You shifted your gaze, not knowing what to make of this. There was a certain willingness in you, a plea to switch places with him, take his pain as your own. The sight of his aching guilt unfurled your inner clenches, fist deep into the ugly remainders of the past. You kept to yourself for the whole evening while Dustin explained the ultimatum of their situation, which surprisingly wasn’t the first time it has ever happened to them. You and Eddie were the only ones who didn’t know much of it, unaware of the interdimensional beings that roamed somewhere in their world.

“Someone should stay with Eddie. Guard the place till morning.” Robin groaned at the suggestion, who abruptly stopped before the exit way. Arms crossed and a few meters away, Steve sent you a knowing look, a signal you've familiarized yourself with since you knew him.

You and Steve have very similar childhoods: neglected, half-spoilt, parents on business trips and a home mostly occupied for rowdy parties and formal gatherings. That’s a look of a guy who wanted you to stay; a friend who used to be so jealous of your precious freedom, now taking it as his perfect advantage. “I have plans for tonight, Henderson. And Robin has curfew, which leaves…” This was not the first time you wanted to punch him. Steve is an achiever with his wrong timings. But they didn’t know. Still, it’s a bad idea. You couldn’t imagine yourself staying the night with Eddie in Reefer Rick’s house, after everything he’s been through. He loathes you, and he definitely should. You want him to hate you, so you could stop—

“Fine, I’ll stay. You guys better be careful, okay?” All your personal deflections sinked down miraculously, reminding yourself that not everything revolves around your own thoughts, and maybe, just maybe, this could be a decent step forward. To what, you don’t know yet. After a few pats on the back and a couple of goodnights’, you walked back to the quiet shack with your head hung low, so low that someone could mistake you for a Christmas candy cane. The door creaked scarily as you pushed it open, your careful eyes darting to Eddie’s figure, who was tucked under the uncomfortable tarp, lying down sideways on the boat. His eyes were puffy red, his cheeks clearly dried up from the tears. You cautiously placed your duffel bag on the nearest makeshift table, putting aside the crumpled-up cans and sneaker bars on its tethering edges.

“Did you forget something?” You turned around to see Eddie sitting on the edge of the boat, slurping his new can of beer. His fixated stare had a clutch on you, your guarded front crumbling to cements. “No. I’m staying over.” You swear you could hear him gulp loudly, then to make matters worse, choked and coughed on his drink. The colors of his face turned beet-red when he placed his can on another indescribable pile. He clapped his knees when he stood up from the edge, and slowly made his way towards you, eyeing the red stains on your shirt. “It gets really cold past windy hours. We should head back to the house.”

You’ve never been inside Reefer Rick’s home before, but it seems like Eddie knew the place so well as much as his own. As soon as you walked inside, the constriction of your arms mellowed with the homely warmth, despite the history of the house. A loud thumping sound from the other room pulled you out of your thoughts, making you run towards the source. “Shit, shit, shit.” Eddie hopped on one foot while he placed the right amount of pressure on the other one to numb the pain, whispering more curses under his breath once he felt your presence kneeling close to him.

"This is a nightmare." Eddie winced at the searing pain from his foot, closing his eyes as you untangled his shoelaces to loosen the tightness of their rubber straps. He's terribly overwhelmed—intoxicated from the number of beers he had drank; adding to that Dustin's greatest revelation ever known to mankind. Your fingers slightly brushed his freezing knuckles once you took his shoe off, wiggling it easily off to the side.

"Why are you helping me?" His voice sighed through his curtain of dark curls, the air from his direct lips punctuating all your senses at once. You glanced up at him with your mouth slightly apart, taking in his daring brown eyes, the faded rashes from his cheeks and every delicate crease lining his rough features.

"Because you're hurt." You bit your tongue before you could say any more. Eddie slouched in his position; his shoulders stooped smaller than an inch as he reached for his toes. “I’m fine now. Thanks.” It took him a few seconds to stand, struggling to bend his heel. “Wait, let me just.” Your hand managed to wrap itself around his leather sleeves to firmly guide his balance. With no other choice, he accepted your offer and was finally able to hold his ground. In a fleeting moment, you noticed Eddie glancing at your fingers for a bit longer than usual, until he willfully pulled it back to his side.

“I…you should…there are clothes upstairs. You better change.” Before you could answer him, he swiftly maneuvered to the other side of the house, leaving with multiple questions running through your mind all at once. You don’t know how to feel. In some parts, you feel angry for deceiving him with your cut-off reasons. Other times, his closeness has washed you anew, despite how miniscule or scarce it's been shown.

The stairs creaked under your feet as you stomped on the steps, tiptoeing around unlaundered socks clinging on the corners of the stairwell. You made sure to close the windows and shut the drapes before you change in one of the unsettled rooms. The chilly air tickled your skin, the coolness rubbing onto you like smooth fragrant soap.

You took off your shirt and noticed that the paint solidified itself onto the fabric; the dampness no longer felt. As you rubbed off the flakes with your thumb, your bare arms tingle and flush at a certain presence in the room, making you look.

Your bra tightly wrapped itself around your plumper regions, flustering on his watchful gaze. You never thought it possible that the swelling heat would graze itself with the coldness of your shoulders; an arson of confliction and raging want. Your body screams for his length, his space, his missing piece; an incomplete puzzle you gracefully memorized by heart.

He couldn’t move in his place, paralyzed in a Medusa-like trance, carefully taking in the laces of your bra straps, the wisps of hair tickling the nape of your neck, and the slow heaving motions of your chest. Your numb fingers accidentally dropped the shirt on the floor, which made you pick it up; the denims of your waist tightened around the archness of your back. Unbeknownst to you, Eddie can’t stop looking at the pads of your bra, perfectly cupping your breasts like a housewarming basket. You coughed once you finally retrieved the fallen fabric from the floor, then hurriedly put on the blue button down from the bed as Eddie returned normally.

The silver rims of his watch glistened as he placed a stack of folded blankets on the edge of the mattress, whiffing the strands of hair out of his face. The doe outlines of his eyes waited for you to finish buttoning up, before he could start hearing himself. “I’ll be sleeping in the room next to yours. If you need anything, just…” You felt the creases of your cuffs bend as his gaze traveled down the plumpness of your lips to the shining flecks in your eyes. “Knock."

His adam's apple bobbed through the skin of his throat while he played with one of his rings, then glanced at you for a slither of a moment, before he turned his back on you to leave. The door was slightly ajar when he left, spiking your fallible tendency to take it as a secret hint; a hidden letter on a scrabble. You sighed as you pulled the blankets over your head, concealing whatever door your delusions barged into.

Even when you’re covered in the most comforting of quilts that any man in the cold could have asked for, it can’t shield you from the fact that you don’t want him to be alone. Your sides longed for its match, an exerting piece, willing to complete you like a sacred locket. It pains you to see him that way, to see him try to be so strong for everyone and seamlessly make sure that you feel comfortable around the house.

As his walls are crumbling down, all you could do was just sit there and watch like a knight who can’t do anything to fight off his dragons. Since the moment you saw him, defeated and ashamed, you want to take him in his arms and hold him until the entanglements of his suffering looped off its clots. It’s not enough that you’re just here. You have to do something, anything to be there for him.

The worthless feeling tossed and turned inside you, churning your organs like whipped dough. Before you know it, your legs brushed the sides of the bed, then you paced out of the room with your blanket in hand. Every step gets heavier and heavier as you near the room, but your insistence didn’t stop you from trying. Your knuckles knocked on the door’s timbres while you tiptoed, your feet getting sweaty from the nerves.

In less than a second, Eddie opens the door, and you rush inside without a word. The moonlight cascaded the lines of your shadows as you stood there, your shoulders raised and your breaths quickened. The feelings you tried to conceal broke from its cages when you turned around to face him, his beautiful brown eyes widening at the tears streaming down your cheeks.

His brows furrowed in contemplation as he watched you curiously, checking the door’s metal knobs then onto you in passive strides.

"I can't sleep."

"What are you doing?"

No one hears the other with the simultaneous blurt-outs, which later proceed through the tunnels of silence. Your voices echoed the room even without the possibility of its reach to do so, with the walls not being high as it is. "I can sleep in the other room if you want."

"That's not what I want." The lump on your throat hinders you from speaking in a normal manner. Mentally, you're holding onto a steady rail with the height of your emotions, but unfortunately it's too difficult for you to even look at him; to be near his presence; to be seen by him. "I'll sleep downstairs, then."

"No, stay." Eddie stops twisting the door knob in his hand, frozen in his spot. His stare was still avoidant, yet the sides of his body were awaiting more of an answer. "You can sleep here. Pretend I'm not even in this room, or any place at all in the house." The flash of hurt in Eddie's eyes made you want to roll your words back at the tip of your tongue and swallow it in the depths of your throat. You hate to admit it—and you swear you'd rather go back in time to change it—but you've implied another thing to what you said.

"Well I'm not sleepy either, so." After a quick glance from his watch, he locks the door and waits for you to go to bed, but you don't. All you can hear is the ticking of the clock, the brushing trees surrounding the lake house, and the tiny cracks beneath your toes. Whatever strength you mustered outside inflated in an instant, melting like the icicles under the summer sun. You don't know how to act around him anymore, or imagine yourself in the same room as him. Eddie knows you so well—too well in fact—that you won't come here uninvited without an important reason. The fate of this unfinished business is up to you now, and how he's going to handle it will be etched into your dreams forever.

“I’m not here to ask for forgiveness. I don’t deserve it.” The lids of his eyes flutter down to his feet when you speak; your voice raspy yet firm in truth. “But I want you to listen to me. I need you to listen, before…you try to run away from me again.” Memories from last summer rolled into the screens of your mind like an old camera reel; every scene heart-wrenching and scarred like a broken mirrorball.

“Please, don’t start.” Eddie tears his eyes away from the floor to look at you, his hurtful expression displayed massively.

"When can you let me? Everyday, I visit your trailer and you're not there. I go to school, I see you and you brush me off like a stranger. Is this really how it's going to be from now on between us? Merely strangers?"

You can feel your crumpled heart curl to see him so stoic; unreachable and tall with his spiky walls of avoidance.

"Okay, fine. Now's your chance. Look, my day hasn't been going well for me lately. And I appreciate your sincerest participation to stay with me today, but please, please, please do not bring that up."

"You barely let me finish five sentences."

"Well I don't want to hear it, okay! I don't need to hear any more, because I know." Eddie clenches his fists, then lets it go shakily to calm himself. What could he have known? He's no mind reader, yet you're finding it hard to shake away the fraying nerves engulfing your entire body. "You don't know. It's not all that simple. No matter how hard I try, it still sounds so stupid." Stupid is just an above-the-surface term to the careless path of thought candy you left behind. You'd rather throw yourself to some pack of hungry wolves than be in the dumbest situation you unknowingly put yourself in.

"No, no, you're right. It's stupid. But you know what's even crazier? I used to believe that there's…more to this. I don't know about your intentions about the whole thing, but I bet it's never similar to mine." His staggering words struck you like arrows in a battlefield, and you can barely dodge every single one of them without a breather. The realization of his hidden insecurities flowed out of his tiny box and into the clutch of your hand; not having an ounce of an idea on whether or not to keep it in your palms or stash it somewhere else.

"Then tell me." You take a step forward as your curious gaze pinned itself onto the brown streaks of his irises. Your footsteps wake his tired features and his shoulders straighten in a jagged line when you stand a few feet away from him. Your shadows mingle with his as the dotted lights of the moonlit sky brighten in all its celestial beauty, wishing that the night will end in much better terms.

"I see the way everyone looks at me, and I know all my precious nicknames to heart. The freak who repeated high school twice, the Kirk Hammett wannabe, that one scary dude who heavily worships the devil. My friends would tease me about you, and it has always been 'poor you dating ugly old me'. And deep inside, I know you're ashamed to be with a guy like me. To be smothered with my ugliness, to be with a loner who plays guitar in the middle of the woods, to be with a guy who couldn't tie his shoelaces properly.” You kept your mouth shut, not knowing what to say. Your quiet reaction kept him going.

“Deep in my bones, I hoped for more than just a summer thing. We agreed for an expiration date, but I didn't…I don't want summer to end for us. Never at all." Time seemed to stop with every pouring word, coated with the ultimate belief that only says one thing: he wants this as much as you do.

“All this time, you've been avoiding me because of what the town thinks of us? Well, to hell with them.” His eyes flickered into yours, carefully releasing his tightened fist to center his attention on you. Focused yet bewildered, he examines the shine of your hair, your slightly quivering lips, and the folds of the blue button-down loosely hugging your waist. Breath against breath, you inhaled through the compacts of your chest, letting your anger flow down into a peaceful stream.

"Look, I was also scared. I'm just…used to being treated invisibly by people I know. I barely see my family for the holidays, my friends don't care about me, and my past relationships weren't entirely the best on the scales of 'healthy'. But with you, everything just tipped over for me." You exhale through your lungs when you finish, but the discontinuity urges you to speak more. Let it all out.

"You see me like no other. You spoil me with your special post-it notes, the small private concerts in your room and your sheets of handwritten lyrics that reminded you of me. The little things..you just..you're perfect. There was never a time when I felt scared of you. You never ever scared me, Eddie. You're too beautiful to even fit the category.”

You’ve never called him beautiful before; never through a spoken word nor from a small written paragraph. The sound ringed and reverberated in the most natural of notions; not from the voices in your head, nor from any intrusive thought, rather from the farthest extent of your feelings. The quiet distance pulled you into him, a vacuum of bodies questioning the unreadable space you immersefully share.

A small tear trickled from the wetness of your lids when you blinked in his touch. His calloused palms cup the wetness of your cheeks, occupying your vision with his blurry thumb. Your fingertips travel the construction of his shirt, caressing the warmth of his linen folds.

In a flicker of a moment, you tilt your head slightly as he gently grazes his fingers to the nape of your neck, his features softened. “You think I'm beautiful?” He whispers thoughtfully, completely enamored with the crinkle of your eyes when you conjure up a pleasing smile. The shadows of his hair envelop your line of sight as you examine his collarbones closely, tugging the fabrics of his shirt bashfully towards you. Your daring eyes locks into his, almost like a secret confirmation, drawing him near you in a ready invitation.

Nothing in the world could ever prepare you beforehand when you feel his lips crash into yours, his plumpness blending your chapness. His dark curls tickle your face when he sinks deeper into your ravenous kiss, gently nibbling on your bottom lip. The momentum was extraordinary, and you missed every rhythm with so much longing. You grin against his toothy smile when he steadily pushes you to the bed, covering your whole waist with his large palms.

“God, I miss this.” He mutters in between kisses as your hands sneak under the hems of his Hellfire shirt, making him shudder blissfully under his breath. He bites onto the side of your neck as a subtle punishment, then licks on the same spot to lessen the ting. Eddie pulls back to marvel at his handiwork designating the base of your neck, showcasing his wonderful set of cheek dimples you love so much. You gently press your thumb around the lobes of his ear, brushing the tangles away from the sides of his face. Your knees graze the hardened fabric between his pant legs, carefully playing with your movements while he grunts against your ups and downs.

He stares at you disappointedly when you stop, but as soon as you straddle on top of him, he grins widely like a child in Charlie's chocolate factory. Your fingers grasp his shoulders as he unzips your jeans in a flourish, then slowly slides his light fingers between the hip of your panties. His hungry lips left your jaw, leaving a trail of kisses down to your gasping collarbones and the line of buttons covering your eagerness. Your nipples tingle as he unbuttons your top then pecks the warm skin underneath your breasts, softly caressing the other with his rough palms.

His teases throw you in a whirlwind of pleasure and havoc, completely ruining your well-moderate facade for the whole evening. Careful not to break his legs, you pull your denims down to your ankles, which he tossed in the corner of the room. With a starving look in his eyes, his hands squeezes your bare thighs, then slowly sneaks his ringed fingers under your panties to clench your ass cheeks. You groan against his ear, thrilling you to bounce on top of him, his length throbbing under your wetness. “Give it to me, Eddie.” Your breath fan warmly against his upper lip while you unbuckle his belt, the coldness of the metal channeling your inner impatient wants. He leans his forehead against yours as he lays you down on the sheets, kissing you passionately on the lips before he hurriedly takes off his garments, the sight intensifying the indescribable heat going through your body.

A flock of butterflies dances inside you when you catch sight of the tattoos stationed on his chest, the light hairs on his forearm and the feel of his rough happy trails against your flabs. The warmth of his cock strokes your half-open folds, his pinkish tip slithering under your sensitive clit. Faded stars cascaded your vision once he finally slid his hardness inside of you, your nails pinning his upper back.

Your legs wrap itself around his waist as he slowly shoves his cock in your tightened grasp, your mind going hazy from the largeness. The pain of the surprise all went away when his fingers intertwined yours, leaving sloven kisses on the crook of your neck down to your shoulder. His head of hair nuzzles the pillow close to your ear as his delicious pattern of slams continues to rise above its peak.

It’s incredible how every push tears you apart in a good way. A shameful gasp left your lips as his thumb flicks your clit in circular motions, while his cock monstrously devours your insides. Beads of sweat trickle down your forehead when your inner thighs stretch at his extensive motions, getting bigger than the next. He raises his head to look at you, grinning from ear to ear, happily taking in the pleasurable strokes on your face.

“Cum with me, okay?” In between breaths, he gently places his calloused palm on your cheek, his hips quickening against the crinkled sheets. You stare back at him and nod, feeling the pressure of his cock harden stickily around your walls. His tangled curls tumble down the space between your fingertips while you reach out for him, setting in the downcast flutter in his eyes. He deeply groans at how his cock effortlessly glides and withdraws from your pussy; a slippery slope that’s impossible to contain himself with.

Like a force of lightning, he leans his chest forward, pouring himself on your lower abdomen and splaying his cum on your stomach. Quickly, he bounces out of bed and retrieves some tissues from the bathroom to clean you up. You sat up limply from the bed to take the tissues, but instead he wipes the fresh cum off your chest with great concentration. You’ve never seen him behave so nervously before. He was patting you dry like he spilled coffee all over your most favorite shirt.

“I don’t know what went over me.” He chuckles softly as he crumples the last tissue in his hand, throwing it in a bin closer to the door. You let your hip rest on his bended knee, calming the nerves coursing through his trembling figure. “You don’t have to know.” A small, reassuring smile creep the corners of your lips, resting your palm on top of his knee.

A gust of wind sweeps the flailing orange curtains, silkily brushing your skin like smooth ribbon. “All I know is,” He whispers softly in the small space between the two of you, your bent wrist kept in close contact with his fingertips.

“You find me beautiful.” The teasing hint in his voice liquifies your insides, his restlessness fading with your inability to look at him straight. His coffee brown eyes follow the direction of your fingers on his curly ends, then the plumpness of your thighs. “The prettiest.” He lunges forward with his arms wrapped around you, crushing you in a passionate kiss. Carefully, he pulls his arms away from the pressure of your back, then rests his elbows on the disorganized sheets, caging your vision with his heavy fixture.

Every little thing he does transfixes you to a thrilling paralysis. Nature fades at the sight of him, surpassing your high observant tolerances for your surroundings. He’s like a blinding light, the afternoon sun, and a white flashlight in a darkened room.

Most of your days started to revolve around him the moment he shone on that stage with his band in middle school—battling his heart out to the music and the good impression of the judges. The admiration has always been about him, and he doesn’t know that you did for a very long time. The gods of fate swept at your feet when you encountered him on the second week of freshman year, pinning Hellfire recruitment posters on the school’s cork board.

It used to be a silly little crush, ridiculous with no strings attached, but through the passage of time, you realized that it was more than what you believed it to be. You cradled into his chest, taking in his familiar scent and the steady, heaving motions of his stomach. All night, you’ve been thinking about what would've happened if you never joined Dustin and the others at the video store, or raise your tone at Mr. Owens for ridiculing Eddie at the printing shop.

What would happen if you declined Nancy’s request for the photos, and never went to the campaign at all? What would happen if you never encountered Eddie in the middle of the forest that day, or chased him outside the night you decided to end things with him?

These kinds of thoughts sink in like quick sand—with no capability to heap it into a bag and throw it away into the ocean of other nightmares.

For the first time in a while, you observe his state of rest—the shadowed lashes of his eyes pointing down to his hollow cheeks; his brows fixed in a calmer line and his pink swollen lips, exhaling peacefully. You wished—somewhere in the deeper crevices of your mind—that you get to spend many of your quiet evenings with him someday. Your imaginations start as you invite him to your empty house, where you both cuddle up on the couch and count the stars from the ceilings of your bedroom, until you pass out after the forty-sixth star.

You swear you'll never let him out of your sight again, no matter the cost of that promise, even after everything the town says about him. Or what they'll do to him. You don't care if you have to hide him in that damn tarp and ship him to California alongside yourself. There won't be any more expiration dates, no more judgement, and no more hiding.

No matter the cost. No matter the price.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #joseph quinn #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things smut #eddie fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine

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faetaiity · 2 years ago

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Bad day cuddles (Turtle brothers x Reader)

Yeah, I’m having a shit day, so I decided to make this CW: This talks about intrusive thoughts, depression, antidepressant withdrawals (YEAH THOSE HAPPEN, AND THEY FUCKING SUCK) and chewing/picking on your skin (something I do a lot.)

You laid in your bed, you’ve been awake for a couple hours now, but simply feel like you don’t have the energy to do more than twist and turn in your bed

this was normal, though, you had bad days where you didn’t have the willpower to hype yourself up to make it through the day, of course, you COULD blame it on not having your antidepressants, it’s been a week now since you last had taken a pill

but you knew the real problem to blame was yourself, you’ve been hanging out with your friends so much that you just... forget...

you stared up at the ceiling for another... ten minutes? you have a horrible sense of time during these episodes, but luckily after that time has passed, you finally managed to get enough energy to look at your phone

1:23 PM

‘awh fuck’ you thought, seeing well over 40 messages on your lock screen, 35 of them are from the group chat you have with the brothers, but this part of the conversation startled you

Neon Leon: Hey! we still up for pizza night at [Y/N]'s place?

BootyShaker9000: Think so, ask [Y/N] though, we might need to reschedule or move the location to the lair.

Neon Leon: @[Y/N] @[Y/N] @[Y/N]

BootyShaker9000: Oh, my fucking god, STOP, they're probably busy

~~30 minutes later~~

Raph-A-Doodle-Do: You think they're okay? They never take this long to respond, even in School.

Magic Michael: Hope so! What if they're sick?!

a few minutes after Mikey sent that message, you got a DM from Raph

Raph-A-Doodle-Do: Hey honey, you okay? Mikey's throwing a little panic episode right now, please respond when you see this, love you.

you sighed, knowing damn well that they know you read this now, due to the 'Read at 1:30PM' snitch marker, you decided to message the groupchat instead of just Raph

[Y/N]: Hey guys, I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner, I'm just.... not feeling the greatest right now.

Magic Michael: Oh, No! Are you sick?!

[Y/N]: No, just down with a bad mood, don't worry, can we reschedule for next week?

you got no reply, but you knew they read it

15 minutes later, you got a knock on the window, you groaned, you knew who it was, but you just... can't get out of bed, you feel like if you do, you'll just die of exhaustion.

The knocking became more desperate before stopping for a moment, you sighed in relief, hoping they just went away

that thought was too hopeful, though, because a minute or two later, you heard your window break making you anxious and started biting the inner part of your cheek plus picking at various scabs on your body, before you also heard hurried footsteps come near your bedroom

They stopped right in front of your door, knocked softly for a few seconds, waited, then opened

You saw the four brothers; they all had worried looks, you relaxed before tiredly waving at them

Mikey instantly bounded towards you, hopping on the bed, hugging and peppering you with small forehead and cheek kisses

"Honey!!!! What's wrong?!" bless Mikey's heart, he was always the sweetest, hell, he even somehow melted Draxum's ice cold heart

Leo followed next, going to the opposite side of your bed and sat next to you, Leo wasn't nearly as concerned but he asked you in a soft tone "Did something happen?"

Raph and Donnie approached at the same time, sitting at the foot of your bed "Darling, you wanna talk about it?" Donnie nodded in agreement

You shook your head "Not now..." you mumbled, continuing to pick at the scabs on your arms, Leo gasped softly, he grabbed your hands and gently pulled them away

"Hey,,, Don't do that, love, please talk with us, we don't wanna see you like this" he mumbled, kissing your arms where you were picking softly

You started tearing up, venting about everything that's happened recently, and how you bottled it up until you just couldn't do anything anymore

They listened, nodding softly, letting you finish before you felt Leo and Mikey hug you, Donnie and Raph moved up and joined the three of you

you stayed like this for a while, basking in the touch of your lovers, Donnie got up, took your phone and started ordering pizza for the five of you, once he was done, he looked over towards you

"You wanna take a self-care day and watch your favorite movies?" he asked gently, you nodded softly, tears still pricking your eyes

He let out a ghost of a smile and picked you up, bringing you into the living room, he stopped at the couch and set you down softly, the others followed, each of them setting beside you

"Whatcha wanna watch?" Raph asked

"Can we watch [F/M]?"

"Of course" Leo purred, cuddling you and getting comfortable

The rest joined in

"I love you guys" you yawned out

"we love you too" they said in unison, softly nuzzling into you from four different angles

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

Augh, I needed something that would be self indulgent and somewhat of a comfort post.

#save rottmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #poly! turtles x reader #leo x reader #donnie x reader #mikey x reader #raph x reader #michelangelo #donatello #raphael #leonardo

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sacredsapling · 3 years ago

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Art Tips for Vibrant Lighting

Some tips and tricks for getting glowy, beautiful, vibrant lighting effects...especially in traditional art, with no ctrl+z! The example piece is a watercolor work in progress of mine and, if you’re familiar with watercolor, you know it’s super unforgiving. What you put down stays!

Tip 1: Create a thumbnail

Do a very loose, messy sketch of your illustration. This helps define the composition, but it can also help you pick where your light is coming from and what colors you’ll use for it. This way, you can reference the light source and colors while you’re painting!

Even if you’re working digitally, this creates a great color key you can turn back to. You can make a thumbnail digitally or traditionally.

This thumbnail only took about 20 minutes...and it’s saved so many headaches during the painting process.

When you have a thumbnail, the rest of your painting is just a translation of those colors with a better technique.

Tips:

Feel free to make many thumbnails! This is the easiest step to revise and repeat.

Use a photo for inspiration for your color scheme. I used clouds in the evening as color references.

Play around with layers and effects (like overlay, multiply). This can help you figure out new colors that you can then try to capture traditionally!

Tip 2: Don’t forget about your lines!

Line art is important for gradients! I did mine first, so I had to consider the glow effect too. It’s a bit blurry (as its a screenshot from a reel, lol), but you can see yellows to dark browns and blacks. This established the glow from the start!

Tips:

Consider using a media you can get gradients in. I used acryla gouache here, but ink, watercolor, and even markers can work well!

If it’s hard to visualize highlights in line art, do the lines after with pen or paint! Adding shadows and highlights that way can be easier.

Tip 3: Start with big gradients first

Once you have your sketch on paper finished, start with large gradients! This helps define your light source and keep your whole composition making sense.

Here, I started with the background sky, then added in the shadow coming off the wing before doing anything else. Take note of how helpful the thumbnail was in helping me lay this all out, too!

Tip 4: Think warm to cool

See how both the hair and wings move from warm (yellow/browns) to cool colors (blues, payne’s grey)? This is a surefire way to keep the strong light source and make it look like the light is glowing!

Tips:

This is all about keeping the colors close to your light source, so if your light source is cool (like the moon), your highlights are cool and your shadows are warm tones. The key is just to keep it consistent!

Lighting isn’t just light to dark gradients. It’s also warm to cool/cool to warm!

Think about all the spots the light catches (like that one front feather on the left top). It takes a lot of thinking through, but it’ll make a huge impact! (Remember, you can always revisit your thumbnail or add more details in there)

Don’t forget about reflected light, bouncing off another surface. It’ll be more subtle than the main light source, but still there!

Final Tips:

Love those gradients! Watercolor is meant for beautiful gradients, so use multiple colors for a glow. The feathers in the light go from yellow ochre to prussian blue to payne’s grey.

Start with the highlights first, then work into the shadows! Above, the skin isn’t even painted with shadows yet, because I wanted to get the lighting first.

This is just a WIP right now, but I hope these tips help! If you want to follow, I’ll be posting more progress pics (and the finished illustration soon too). :D

My: Instagram | Twitter

#art tutorial #watercolor #painting tutorial #color theory #artists on tumblr #art tips #painting tips #watercolor tips #watercolor tutorial #color tips #angel oc #angel art #oc art #art wip

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messers-moony · 3 years ago

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Annotated Books & Sleek Hardcovers | R.B

Paring: Regulus Black X Fem!Lupin!Reader

Summary: Everything told them to be apart, but they said fuck the world.

Inspiration: Click

People would describe the younger Lupin sibling as warm and bright. She shined like the sun and was warm like a sunny summer day. She was the breeze on a warm summer day and the sun on a chilly autumn morning. She was worn books with annotations in the margins, highlighting, and scribbles. She was dependable, sweet, kind, and loving.

Dependable like a best friend. Sweet like Honeydukes chocolate. Kind of like a puppy dog who had been just adopted and as lovable as soft blankets. Her brother was no different. He oozed shyness, charisma, and intelligence. His tousled sandy hair and gleaming green eyes made everyone bend to his will. He didn’t even know that he was doing it.

But by fifth year, Remus Lupin had come out as gay. A month later, Sirius Black was on top of the Gryffindor table with a blushing Remus announcing their relationship. Remus had given his sister a sheepish look as he sat back down. Y/n had just kissed his cheek and smiled.

Y/n and Regulus had been sitting beside each other when Sirius had taken the Great Hall by storm. Instinctively, Regulus tightened his grip on her hand, and Y/n allowed her thumb to run along his. She watched as his shoulders relaxed a prominent amount.

“Well,” Regulus whispered, “I wasn’t expecting that. Did you know?”

Y/n shook her head, “No, but I’m happy for them. Are you?”

“I ‘spose.” Regulus shrugged, “When do you think they’ll find out about us?”

“Remus is a bit oblivious.” Y/n replied, “Sirius doesn’t really turn his head in your direction.”

Regulus looked down at his lap, “So if anything, we’ll have to tell them.”

“Do you think,” His voice was lower than a whisper, “That he’ll ever be my brother again?”

“I do.” Y/n leaned her head on his shoulder, “Siblings have a special bond.”

“I hope you’re right.”

She snorted, “I’m always right.”

At that, he cracked a smile.

Maybe it was her warmth that melted the ice surrounding Regulus’ heart. The icy, cold, Regulus Black. It wasn’t like they were hiding their relationship, but people were terrified to talk about it. They didn’t want to face the wrath of the young Black brother.

Regulus was described as the dark, cold winter nights people despised. The winter nights that were so low in temperature that even staying inside with the heat on, blankets on, and layers of clothes couldn’t warm. He was sleek, hardcover books and soggy leaves in the fall that left you disappointed when the satisfying crunch didn’t echo through your ears.

Regulus Black was everything but warm. He was your least favorite color. Your least favorite food. He was everything you hated. Perhaps it was Y/n’s sweetness that brought some of the crunchiness back to his leaf, the pen to his book, and the folded pages.

They were star-crossed lovers. Everything in the universe was trying to keep them apart from the colors of their robes and the clashing of their personalities. Regulus was the dry autumn and brash winter. Y/n was the prospering spring and hopeful summer. Perhaps they were the best of both worlds, and that’s why they worked together so well.

It wasn’t until their sixth year when their relationship had become the talk of the school. Regulus had begun wearing long sleeves even in the hot months, and people grew suspicious. Only he and she knew what laid beneath that crisp white button-up. Beneath the cold ice he kept around his heart.

Y/n looked around Platform Nine and Three-Quarters for her raven-haired boyfriend as Remus joined his friends on the train. When she did find him, it wasn’t pleasant. Walburga had been fussing with his sleeve, making sure it stayed down, and she had slapped the back of his head for slouching over. Regulus had rolled his shoulders to stand up straight. Orion didn’t look impressed, and Walburga murmured something along the lines of, “Good enough.”

“Now, what do we say, Regulus?”

Regulus caught Y/n’s eyes for just a split second, and he looked away hastily, “Toujours Pur.”

“Good.” Walburga stated, “Now go.”

He nodded and began walking toward Y/n’s general direction. Regulus took her hand in his directing her on another path, “Meet at our usual compartment.”

Y/n gave him a smile in response as she walked away. It left Regulus with a pink hue coating his usually pale skin. His stomach fluttered, and his heart palpitated. They entered the train on opposite sides and met in the middle at their compartment. She was already sitting down when he plopped down beside her. His head was leaning on her shoulder.

“Missed you.” Regulus slurred, sleep evident in his tone, “Wish I could’ve escaped.”

“I missed you too, Reggie.” Y/n took his left hand in hers, “But I know that we have a lot to talk about.”

He tensed, “I suppose we do.”

“Things like what’s on your left forearm?”

“Y/n, please-“

“I’m not mad.”

“But you’re disappointed.”

Her light laugh confused him, “I’m not either, actually.”

Regulus lifted his head to look at her, “You aren’t?”

“I just want to know what you plan on doing with that mark.”

“I don’t have a choice.” Regulus stated, slumping down again, “I have to serve him.”

Y/n hesitated, “You have choices.”

“What are they?”

“Be a spy.”

“A spy?” Regulus queried incredulously, “Are you serious?”

A silly smile graced her features, “Actually. Forget I asked that. Are you daft?”

“No.” Y/n replied, “I’m actually top of our class, so.”

“If he finds out I’m a spy. Then I’d be killed, Y/n.” Regulus said softly, “It’d be different if I didn’t care about anyone. If I had nothing to lose, but I do, and I don’t want to lose a chance at a future with you because of it.”

Y/n took his face into her hands, “You can’t do this. You can’t work for him. You’ll kill yourself slowly anyway.”

“I don’t have a choice.” He wiped a tear from her cheek, “This was bound to happen. This was my fate.”

“Who gives a shit about fate.” Y/n chuckled tearfully, “Professor Trelawney always said that you could change fate.”

Regulus cracked a tiny smile, “You would pay attention in Divination, wouldn’t you.”

“Someone’s gotta give Sirius the notes.”

“Sirius… I didn’t even think about-“ Regulus stopped, “He’s- He’s gonna hate me.”

“Hey, Regulus, look at me.” His breathing sped up, and his hands began to tremble, “Sirius isn’t going to hate you.”

He shook his head, “No, he’s- he’s gonna- I’m gonna-“

Y/n wrapped her arms around him. Regulus nosed at the crook of her neck, breathing in the sweet perfume. The fragrance smelt of crisp apples mixed along with her scent of caramel, chocolate, and marshmallow. It gave him something to focus on, and with his muddled mind, Regulus fell asleep.

Regulus was still asleep three hours later when Sirius came barging into the compartment stopping in his tracks. Y/n brought her index finger to her lips, ordering him to be quiet. Sirius shut the door and sat in front of them. Regulus’ face was out of view from his older brother's. His nose was nuzzled in Y/n’s neck, and his hair hid his face.

“So,” Sirius began quietly, the atmosphere had never been so thick, “How long?”

“Fourth year.” Y/n thought Sirius’ eyes were going to bulge out of his head.

“But you- and him- you don’t-“

“Don’t belong together?”

Sirius nodded, “Who are you to say? Technically I could say the same about you and my brother.”

“Fair point.” Sirius muttered.

It was quiet again, and all that was heard was the slashing of rain on the window of the train, “How- How is he?” Sirius’ voice had never been so quiet before.

“He’ll be okay.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

Before Y/n could respond, Regulus began to tremble again. He was trying to dig his nose deeper into her neck and reaching desperately for something to hold onto. Y/n allowed his hand to grasp hers tightly. His trembling subsided, and Y/n gently kissed the crown of his head, allowing him to relax finally.

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“I never-“ Sirius looked shocked, “I could never calm his nightmares….”

Y/n gave him a soft smile, “Perhaps it’s a Lupin talent.”

“Perhaps.” Sirius replied, “But, is he okay?”

“He will be.”

“What does that mean?” Sirius questioned loudly, and Y/n hushed him, “They didn’t- did they?”

She nodded solemnly, “We’re gonna- We’re gonna work through it together.”

Sirius could see her swallowing the lump in her throat. Sirius could see the dullness in her eyes, the same dull that Remus’ eyes got after the full moon. Sirius could always read Remus through his eyes. They were a tell-tale of his emotions. It seemed that he could do the same with Y/n. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, untold trauma, and unspoken words.

“Take care of him, yeah?” Sirius requested quietly as he stood up to leave the compartment.

She nodded, “Yeah.”

He closed the sliding door quietly. It was a quiet walk back to his own compartment with the Marauders. The task of getting the summer homework to copy turned into an entirely new adventure. Sirius opened the door to his compartment to find James and Peter talking animately. Remus sat with his head against the glass and head in a book. He had some muggle markers beside him that Sirius liked to draw with.

Sirius slumped beside Remus putting space between them. That was the first tell. The second tell was that Sirius didn’t speak, and he stared out to the train's hallway. Remus closed his book, placing it back beside him, and wrapped his arm around his boyfriend's shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low and hot in Sirius’ ear.

“Nothing.” Sirius replied, still not looking into Remus’ eyes, “Your sister was no help. Said I needed to do the homework on my own. Said I was a tosser for not doing it.”

Remus snorted and nuzzled his nose into Sirius’ cheek, “Well, perhaps I ought to tell her that’s not how she should speak to my boyfriend.”

“No.” Sirius hated how distant he sounded, “She’s got other things to worry about.”

The lycanthrope furrowed his eyebrows, “Like what?”

“Like you.” Sirius lied like it was nothing, “Who do you think puts hot cocoa and Honeydukes chocolate at your bedside after the full?”

“Then I should give her a sister of the year award.” Remus corrected, and Sirius nodded, “Perhaps you should.”

If only I could get a best brother award, Sirius thought. It was selfish. He knew that. It was wrong to envy Y/n and Remus’ relationship. Unfit to be jealous of his brothers relationship, but he couldn’t help it. Sirius wanted to be the one to chase all of Regulus’ demons away. Sirius wanted to hold him during every thunderstorm as he used to as children. Sirius should be happy for Regulus even if it weren’t because of him.

It took a month before Remus was storming into the common room and yelled insanities at his sister. Remus wasn’t thinking, words fell from his mouth so carelessly, and the entire common room stared as Remus had his sister pushed against a wall, hands holding her up from the collar on her shirt, seething at her.

“You must be one of the stupidest people I’ve ever met.” Remus seethed, and Y/n flinched, “You must be fucking insane.”

Sirius could do nothing but stare, “Maybe I should’ve disowned you as my sister the minute I saw you hanging out with him.”

Tears ebbed at Y/n’s eyes, “But I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I trusted you, and you betrayed me.”

James couldn’t tell what was worse, the fact that Remus was so calm and his voice was so low or when Remus yelled, “You were my everything. My sister, my partner in crime, my other half, and you fucking destroyed it.”

“Mate, stop.” James tried to interject, but Remus just shoved her against the wall harder, and streaks of silver appeared on her cheeks.

“Wonder what dad would do if he found out.” Remus taunted, and Y/n shook her head, “You know how much dad despises them.”

Y/n choked, “Remus-“

“Don’t.” He snarled, “My name isn’t allowed to fall from your mouth. Fucking traitor.”

Sirius had enough, “Remus, stop. That’s enough.”

Remus whirled around, Y/n sliding to the floor, knees to her chest, “Who are you talk? You did the same thing back in fifth year.”

“I’m not your bloody sister.” Sirius snapped, “She’s been there with you through everything. Maybe if you let her explain, then you could understand.”

Remus pointed at her and looked at Sirius with fire in his eyes, “She isn’t my sister. She’ll never be my sister again.”

Sirius could remember the exact same words falling from his mouth only a year earlier, and it crushed him. Y/n was sobbing, and her knees were pulled tightly under her chin. James was trying to console her, but it wasn’t working as Remus and Sirius went toe to toe. Y/n didn’t deserve this for loving who she loved.

Remus scoffed when Sirius wouldn’t back down and stormed up to the boy's dormitory. Sirius knelt before her and lifted her head from her lap. His thumbs wiped away the tears, and he took her into his arms. So much built-up pain, built-up trauma, built-up lies. She was finally crumbling like a tower on an unsteady foundation. Y/n was a one-hundred-story tower that was collapsing from the bottom up.

Debris falling everywhere and soot clouding the atmosphere. He could see the smog slipping in her mind, clouding up her judgment and thoughts. Sirius could see the debris cluttering and scraping away at her heart. With every scrap and every tear, her heart began to give out. It felt like being crushed in an elevator, with no room to breathe and no room for moving. She was stuck, and that was it.

Y/n couldn’t remember much after feeling Sirius’ lips on the top of her head. But she woke up on the plush of the common room couch. The rough maroon fabric was felt beneath her fingertips. Beside her was a boy in an armchair. He was curled up, and a black fleece blanket covered his body from the coldness of the Gryffindor common room.

Beside her was a glass of water and a note. She picked up the water and allowed it to glide down her throat, soothing the ache from her earlier crying. Her nose still felt stuffy, and she willed herself to sniffle quietly, trying not to wake the boy beside her. The parchment was ripped at the edges and was written in beautiful calligraphy.

"Il y a toujours des ténèbres avant que la lumière brille."

She folded the note and placed it back on the side table with the empty glass. The fire had gone out fully in the common room, allowing the temperature in the room to fall. It was cold, dry, and dark. Y/n had never seen the common room so dark. Not a candle was lit, and no light was shining from the windows. Just the slightest bit of moonlight. Gently she stood up and reached for the boy's hand in the armchair.

“Reggie.” Her voice was smooth and soft, “Reg.”

He stirred and opened his eyes to meet his girlfriend's warm ones. Sirius had rushed to the Slytherin common room despite all prejudice. Some of the Slytherins spat at him when he asked for the password. It took ten people before Regulus finally answered to the incessant knocking. He was shocked to be met with his older brother.

There Sirius had told him what happened, how Remus had shoved his sister against the wall accusing her of betraying him for dating him. Regulus felt ashamed. He didn’t want to be the reason they didn’t get to be civil with each other. Sirius even uttered the exact words Remus had, “She isn’t my sister. She’ll never be my sister again.” Regulus had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying anything.

People stared at the younger Black brother as he walked into the Gryffindor common room. The Gryffindor’s glared, spat, and insulted, but he didn’t care. He found his girlfriend lying on the couch with a thick red blanket surrounding her. Sirius had claimed that Marlene had brought it for her, and Sirius had been the one to move her to the couch. Regulus saw the dried tear stains, the swollen eyes, and the bruised lip.

“It wasn’t pretty.” Sirius had muttered, “Remus isn��t one to hold back.”

Regulus smoothed her hair back, “This is because of me….”

“Reg, no.” Sirius had replied, “Remus will come around. He just doesn’t know how to digest this.”

The common room was silent, and Regulus just held her hand. His thumb stroked the back of her hand softly. Sirius watched as Regulus went through a wave of emotions. He was hurt, confused, concerned, and terrified. It was like watching the seasons go by. Watching everything welt, die, grow back and prosper just to repeat the cycle. It was like watching a new book turn into an old one as the ink was embedded onto the pages, the papers getting folded, tabs being placed, and the spine being cracked.

Regulus appeared to be a sleek hardcover book, but she was his person. She turned him into a used paperback. One with highlighting, tabs, folded pages, a cracked spine, and a loved cover. His heart beat for her. She was the reason he woke up every morning, the reason he ate, the reason he got good marks. She was his reason.

“I tried talking sense into him.” Sirius confessed quietly, “He just brought up the incident in fifth year.”

Regulus closed his eyes tightly and tried to withhold his tears, “Maybe I should talk to him.”

“No.” Sirius said sternly, “You’ll be asking for death.”

“What do I do, Sirius?”

His blue-grey eyes were glittering with desperation, “Nothing… Take care of her.”

With that, Sirius left a kiss on his younger brother's head and left the common room, retreating to the dormitory. Regulus sighed and placed his forehead on the back of her hand. Tears slipped from his eyes and onto the material of the couch. Everyone was gone at that point. The common room wholly cleared and the fire slowly decaying in the fireplace as Regulus Black finally allowed himself to break.

He woke up on an armchair with a soft thick black blanket covering his limbs. Red rimmed e/c eyes met his blue-grey ones, and he felt a wave of relief. Y/n reached her hand out, and Regulus took it, keeping the blanket around his shoulders as she brought him to her dormitory. The girls were sleeping, and Y/n sat down on her bed, Regulus doing the same. She drew the curtains and muttered a silencing spell.

Regulus laid with his head on her pillow, pulling her to lay on his chest. He wrapped the fuzzy black blanket around them. Y/n nuzzled into his side, and he placed a kiss on the top of her head. They didn’t need to exchange words for expressing how they felt. They knew how the other felt. There was no need on elaborating. She fell asleep not too long after, and Regulus laid awake trying of solutions.

Even when the sun broke the horizon, Regulus still had nothing.

They continued the year like this. Remus and Y/n didn’t speak at all anymore. Remus went as far as to change his schedule and ignore the sweets left on his bedside after the full moons. Sirius would pretend it came from him, but Remus still would budge. He would chuck the chocolate in the trash even though he knew that Y/n barely had money in the first place to buy it. He’d dump the hot chocolate in the waste bin and smash the mug to get out any frustration.

Sirius thought that the worst part was Remus never grieved for his sister. He never saw Remus cry or get upset about what he did. It was like Remus had no remorse for what he did. Sirius had grieved. He had sobbed in the midst of twilight with shit silencing charms. Sirius had wailed and clutched his blanket close to his chest, hoping it would soothe the aching of his heart.

When they graduated, Remus didn’t look for his sister in the crowd. He didn’t care if she was there or not, but she was. Y/n was there holding Regulus’ hand tightly, watching her brother shake Dumbledore’s hand. She watched as Sirius embraced Regulus in a tight hug in the shadows. Y/n smiled bittersweetly at their embrace as Regulus took her hand back in his.

Sirius began to open his mouth, “No need to lie. I know he doesn’t care if I was here or not.”

Y/n shuffled on her feet, and Sirius took her into his arms. Sirius was shorter than Regulus, and he didn’t smell the same, but his hugs were just as comforting in a brotherly way. His hand caressed her hair, and Sirius couldn’t help the way his heart ached. He shouldn’t be the one hugging her, Remus should, but he isn’t. Sirius kissed her forehead and released her from his hug.

“I’ll write to you guys.”

“Don’t get into too much trouble.” Y/n replied with tear-filled eyes, “I can’t imagine you gone.”

Sirius smirked, “Yes, ma’am. Don’t you know I always obey the rules?”

“She’s being real, Sirius.” Regulus didn’t crack a smile, “This war isn’t a joke, and I’d- I’d like to see you next year when I graduate.”

“I’ll be there.” Sirius said solemnly, “I won’t leave you guys. They won’t take me alive.”

Y/n cracked a smile, “Good.”

Regulus nudged his girlfriend, and she wiped the tears from her cheeks, “Protect him. He gets reckless and forgets about himself. Don’t let him do anything stupid.”

Sirius could still hear Remus’ voice in their first Order meeting, “I swear on all Merlin if they touch her, they’ll be sorry.”

“‘Course. Don’t forget he’s still my boyfriend.” Sirius replied, and Y/n smiled, “‘S why I’m asking you and not James. Keep- Keep my brother safe, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They joined the Order of the Phoenix without looking back. Remus, James, Sirius, and Peter quickly became some of the best Aurors of the Ministry of Magic. Sirius had made the Daily Prophet multiple for putting Death Eaters in Azkaban. Many citizens of the Wizarding community thought of him as the next Alastor Moody.

Seventh year was the worst one yet. Most of the Slytherin Death Eaters were attacking the younger kids. Most of the older Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs had to defend them from the unforgivable curses. It seemed normal to hear the crucio curse being thrown away and seeing green flashes. It made Y/n sick to her stomach.

It got so surreal that Y/n and Regulus had begun sleeping behind tapestries or hidden tunnels. Dormitories and common rooms were no longer safe. Their backs ached, and body’s sore from lying on concrete, but it was better than dying. Graduation was not a celebration, and no one from outside was allowed in, but Sirius waited for them at Kings Cross.

The next time Y/n saw Remus was when she was being sworn into the Order, and he barely spared her a glance. Not long after the speech was being spoken, another person entered the meeting point. He was shockingly familiar with wavy black hair and blue-grey eyes. Remus jumped out of his seat, and James had to hold him back. Regulus released a breath and stood beside his girlfriend.

“Now. I’m sure there’s a lot of confusion.” Dumbledore began calmly, “Regulus has sworn to be our spy.”

Remus growled, “He’s a Death Eater.”

“Exactly.” Remus glared at the old Professor, “Therefore, he can enter and participate in their meetings. Then he can come back here and report what he knows.”

“I don’t like it any more than you do.” Regulus said, “I don’t want to put anyone in danger, but someone needs to do it.”

Remus went to speak, but Regulus cut him off, “Someone needs to protect your sister.”

Everyone stared in shock at the bold statement that came from the young Black brother's mouth, and Remus leaped from his seat, “She is a traitor. Just like you.”

Instinctively Regulus moved her behind him as Remus was now face to face with him, “She’s everything but. Wasn’t she the one who stopped Fenrir Greyback from killing you?”

“Shut up.”

“Wasn’t she the one who cleaned your wounds after the full moons before the Marauders?”

“I’m warning you.”

“Wasn’t she the one who used to make you hot chocolate when the nightmares got too bad that you couldn’t sleep?”

Remus snapped, and Sirius pulled him away from Regulus. But they all saw how Y/n cowered when he lunged forward, how she flinched back, covering her face with her hands. Regulus kept a tight hold on her hand, and they watched as Sirius calmed Remus down, bringing him upstairs. When Remus was gone, Dumbledore spoke again.

“Well, the first Order meeting will be announced in just a couple of days. It allows Y/n and Regulus to get in their positions.” Dumbledore announced, “It allows Y/n to get some training and Regulus to get Voldemort’s trust.”

Everyone dispersed. Y/n and Regulus apparated to a flat they had bought in London. It was relatively modern for the time and had everything they needed. The place was clean and brand new. When they landed in the living room, she went straight to the bedroom. Regulus prepared her a hot drink and set it at her bedside table with a warming charm. He laid beside her, placing her head on his heart.

“Je Vous Aime.” His french accent was so smooth and gentle, like a baby blanket, “Je t'aime aussi.”

Everything just got more stressful as time passed. Regulus’ job got more and more dangerous, making Y/n worry profusely. It got to times where they had to pretend to throw curses back and forth so he could prove that he was loyal to them. It wasn’t until a rumor of a spy for the Death Eaters came out that Regulus’ job became crucial. It took three more meetings, and on October 15th Regulus knew who it was.

He could remember the day vividly how Voldemort welcomed Peter Pettigrew to the Death Eaters with open arms. Regulus had stared in mock happiness but, in reality, had been shocked. Someone so close to the Potters had gone and betrayed him. So when Peter was absent from one meeting, Regulus brought it up.

“They spy is Pettigrew.”

“No.” James chuckled, “You’re lying, right?”

Regulus shook his head, “He plans to kill you, Lily, and Harry on Halloween.”

Everyone stiffened. The air was tense, but Dumbledore smiled victoriously, “Beautiful work, Regulus. We’ll apprehend Pettigrew when he’s seen again.”

They had set up a false meeting where Peter got sent to Azkaban only two days later after Regulus announced he was the traitor. That sparked the war between them, and this time, Regulus was on the right side, the side he always wanted to be on. A week later, and on Halloween, Voldemort was dead. Many people's lives were lost, but many were saved.

After the war, Remus had proposed to Sirius, and yet Y/n was still not invited to the wedding. Sirius had begged Remus to make amends with her. The war was over. This nonsense was not needed anymore. But Remus was stubborn, and Y/n was too afraid to approach him, so James gave her the invisibility cloak to watch her brother marry. Not the ideal way she planned on watching her brother and his love get married.

A couple of months later, Regulus and Y/n did the same. Except they did it alone, with Sirius being their only witness and the person marrying them. Sirius couldn’t help but feel awful for Remus not being able to walk her down the aisle, not to see her in the pretty dress she had picked out. It wasn’t until fifteen years later when Y/n had two teenage boys, and a little girl did someone came knocking on her door during the winter holidays.

Both boys were running around the house, and their little sister was trying to keep up. Two twin boys who were fifteen - Romeo and Romulus. A little girl who was just about ten named Ascella. Romulus was a carbon copy of Sirius. Romeo had the Lupin sandy hair and the Black family eyes with the Black family defined face. He was the best of both worlds. Ascella looked like a female Regulus.

Romeo was the Keeper of the Slytherin house for Quidditch. Romulus played Beater for Gryffindor, and little Ascella would get her Hogwarts letter in just about a year. Regulus and Y/n both predicted she’d be in Gryffindor with her brave, mischievous nature. Y/n was the one to get the door with her two boys behind her. Ascella had been called into the living room by her father.

Y/n was shocked to meet familiar green eyes, “Um- hi.”

“Hey.” Remus said nervously, scratching the back of his head, “I hope I’m not intruding.”

Both boys behind her looked confused, “Mum, who is this?”

A pang of hurt hit Remus, “This- This is my brother.”

“Brother?” Romulus questioned, “Like he’s our uncle?”

“Yes.” Y/n retorted, “Now you boys grab your sister. Go do something upstairs while we talk, yeah?”

Romeo looked crestfallen, “Mum, we aren’t five.”

“I know, but we have a lot of talking to do.”

Romeo sighed, “Fine but be safe.”

She kissed the tops of their heads, “Of course.”

Ascella was running to her brothers within seconds after Romulus called for her. Remus saw her black hair flutter around as she followed her brothers up the steps. Y/n smiled and motioned for Remus to come inside. The house was lovely and decorated for the holidays. Y/n walked through the hallway to the living room, and Remus followed.

“I apologize for the mess.” She chuckled, “Having the boys home makes the house messy.”

Remus saw the pictures on the wall, “A Slytherin and a Gryffindor.”

Y/n smiled, “Yep. Romeos the Slytherin, and Romulus is the Gryffindor. We have a feeling Ascella will be in Gryffindor too.”

He placed the picture back down and sighed, “Merlin, what did I miss?”

Regulus was still stiff and stern, “A lot if you couldn’t tell already. That’s what happens when you call your sister a traitor and decide to disown her.”

All three children were listening secretly and grimaced at their father's words, “But don’t worry. I’ve done your job. I’ve been there for her, protected her, and made sure she was happy.” Regulus snapped, “And Sirius did your job of being the children’s uncle.”

“He didn’t even tell me you guys had kids.” Remus muttered, “‘Course he didn’t. In case you don’t remember, you didn’t want anything to do with us.” Regulus retorted.

The children had never heard their father speak this way with so much ice in his words. Regulus was blunt and unapologetic, “We wanted you to be a part of our family, Remus, we really did. But we didn’t know how you’d feel.” Y/n informed.

“Plus, the last time you saw us, you tried to kill Regulus.” Ascella covered her ears, and Romeo ushered them to his room to stop listening, “Yeah, so forgive us for not inviting you to be a part of our family.”

Regulus punctuated his statement by putting his arm around Y/n’s waist, “I’m sorry.” Remus murmured.

“I’m really sorry for how I acted. It was immature and stupid of me.” He continued, “I didn’t know how to feel when I heard my sister was with a Death Eater at the time, and I was just scared.”

Y/n stood up and hugged him, “Remus. What you did isn’t going to be forgiven. I’m sorry.”

He had tears glazing in his emerald green eyes that dulled with age, “I know we were young, but that doesn’t excuse the words you said or how you acted. Trying to kill my husband and saying god awful things about me.”

Y/n took her seat beside Regulus, and Remus sniffled, “You did this. Not us.” Regulus reminded, and Remus nodded.

“Okay, I just- I’ll go.” Remus stood up from his seat and walked down the hallway to the front door; he took in every family portrait.

When he got to the door, Y/n opened it for him, and he walked out, “Remus.”

He turned, and Y/n hugged him one last time. His chin rested on top of her head, breathing in her shampoo that still hadn’t changed since third year. The same perfume from fourth year. Her arms fit around him just the same way as they had when they were little children running around the lake. Y/n kissed his cheek and released herself from his embrace.

“I may not be your sister.” Y/n repeated with tear-filled eyes, and Remus allowed the tears to fall; her two boys were standing beside her, “But you’ll always be my brother.”

The door had closed, and Remus decided that that was the end of his chapter. He had underlined, circled, highlighted, and folded every significant page, but this was the end of the chapter. He was flipping to the next page, where the new chapter began. The new chapter where he had to live without his sister or his niece and nephews.

Remus always loved fragile, cracked paperbacks.

3K notes · View notes

jimblejamblewritings · 2 years ago

Text

the imprint or the blood singer | part 5.

Summary: Y/N Black. All about La Push. Shy girl unless you get to know her. Not one to make friends easily despite the fact that she very well could. Friends with her brother’s friends until one Bella Swan comes back to town.

Warnings for the Series: light violence, light smut

Pairing: Edward Cullen x reader, Embry Call x reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

You and Embry both ran back up the beach, grabbing your stuff before making your way back to your house. Jacob was in the garage when you two entered, working on an old Volkswagen Beetle.

The car was yours or was going to be yours. Jacob made money fixing up cars and bikes and one client who constantly went to him for different bike repairs gifted him the old car having no use for it. Jake was going to sell off the parts until he saw you eyeing the car. He decided the parts wouldn’t be too hard to acquire and made the car your next birthday present.

You and Jacob shared the garage. Billy’s house wasn’t big. In fact, before Rebecca and Rachel left you shared a room with Jake. Billy felt bad he didn’t have much space for his growing children.

After his accident moving into a bigger space was out of the question, he didn’t have a proper job anymore only doing desk work at the fishing docks. The money Jacob made was Jacob’s, Billy had to keep reminding his son everytime Jacob tried to sneak money into his wallet. Because of that you and Jacob didn’t complain but chose to share the garage. It was mainly Jake’s, parts and automobiles took up lots of space. But the back left corner was yours to be your art studio.

“Hey, Jake.”

You left the garage door up so natural light could come in, also to look at the rain coming down.

“Rain ruined your plans? I’ll order us all something to eat. Grandma’s?”

“You know it.”

You changed into a spare set of paint covered sweats and brought out a mini heater for Embry. You guided him to sit on the chair— the chair was really just a tire with blankets and a pillow. The initial sketching of Embry in your sketchpad didn’t take much time, you had already drawn him before in class the second time around was easier.

You paused for a dinner break. Jacob rolled his eyes as Embry took your phone to take pictures of you and you attempted to hide. If anyone was going to date his sister he was glad it was a boy he trusted like his friend. But if you were going to act like this he would only hang out with the two of you separately. Embry stopped when your phone lit up.

“It’s Bella Swan.”

“Hmm?” you took your phone. “Bella? Bella… okay stop yelling, what’s going on? Charlie? Phoenix, Bella where are you… okay. Call me later, please.”

“What was that?” Embry asked as you hung up.

“I’m not very sure. The only thing I got was to check on Uncle Charlie in a couple of days. I think she’s visiting her mother.”

Jacob laughed. “Doesn’t trust Charlie on his own. Don’t blame her, the only thing he can cook is fish.”

You chuckled in agreeance. You went back to your sketchpad, spending the rest of your time with Embry color matching the correct markers to his skin tone so you could color it in later.

“So do I get a picture too?” Jacob asked as he cleaned the garage a bit.

“Only cause you’re fixing me a car.”

“Aww she does love her brother.”

You tried to push Jacob away as he tried to hug you.

“She fell down two flights of stairs?” you asked in disbelief.

You were at Forks’ Hospital. Bella had been taken to the hospital in Phoenix and after her immediate stabilization transferred to Forks where Dr. Cullen could take of her better. You were sitting cross-legged on one end of a bench in the hallway eating cereal from the hospital cafeteria, Edward sat across from you on the other side. He nodded in answer to your question.

“And through the window? I knew she was clumsy but I didn’t know it was that bad. She’s okay though?”

“She’s fine. Carlisle said once the initial blood loss was stabilized the real danger was over. She has a broken arm, needs to wear a cast now.”

You nodded while taking another spoonful of cereal. You were glad your friend was going to be mostly okay. You looked out the window above the bench at the overcast day.

“I know you’re reading my mind.” You smiled as Edward quickly flitted his eyes in another direction. “You stare a little too hard when you do.”

“I’m sorry. I really try not to when it comes to you; but your thoughts are so nice. And very easily come to me.”

“Come to you?”

“Hold your hand up.”

You transferred the cereal bowl to your left hand and held out your right. Edward pressed his palm against yours. A smile threatened to pull at his lips as you tried not to shiver at how cold he was.

“It’s taken me many years to filter out people’s thoughts. I used to only hear one mind and then when I could hear multiple at once I couldn’t filter it out. Once I learned how it became easy. Most people’s minds are like this with me. But very few people, my family…”

Edward interlocked his fingers with yours.

“You… are like this. Your mind is connected with mine. I cannot stop your thoughts from entering my head if I wanted to.”

“Why me?”

Edward didn’t answer you. He slowly pulled his hand away. To explain to you why your mind was so connected to his would be to explain everything. Edward watched you eat another bite of cereal. He watched the bite you swallowed move down your throat. His thirst came back as he looked at your neck. He could hear your heartbeat. Edward had to control himself. He bit his tongue to ignore the instinct.

You are hers, the voice in the back of his head rang.

Edward forced himself to tear his gaze away from your throat and back to your face; but he still couldn’t look at your eyes. He was looking at your lips instead.

“What?” you asked.

“You have a little…”

Edward reached out with his thumb to swipe at the drop of milk that caught in the corner of your mouth. He couldn’t help himself. With his hand on your face he could feel the blood underneath your skin calling out to you. Edward leaned in close and carefully pressed his lips to yours, afraid if he pushed too much he’d bite you. You melted into it slightly before quickly pulling away.

“What are you doing?”

“I—”

You stood up from the bench and shoved the bowl of cereal in Edward’s hands.

“I— I’m with Embry now. You have Bella, you’re taking her to prom. You’re with her we can’t.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Edward lied. He wasn’t sorry at all.

“I should go. I’ll see you at lunch.”

You touched your fingers to your lips. Edward didn’t want to admit but he was proud as he read your thoughts. Everything in those few seconds was different than any kiss with Embry. You wanted more and he regretted nothing. Almost, nothing. The only problem with kissing you was he wanted more. He had a taste of his blood singer and he needed the whole thing.

Everyone looked confused as Jacob got up from the couch. It wasn’t UFC Night at Embry’s but anime at Quil’s, not by choice at first. Ms. Call was in a book club and as much as she loved you all over, it was finally her turn to host the ladies so you were kicked out.

The only place you were all allowed to go was Quil’s. Your dad and Seth’s were over at Charlie’s forto watch a basketball game. Quil’s was the only place where an adult would be. Everyone agreed once they realized the adult was his grandfather, his mom was in the book club. Embry removed a hand from your waist to pick up the remote and pause the show.

“Dude, where you going? You’re going to miss the best parts.”

“Dad asked me before he left to deliver a message to Bella.”

“Bella?” you asked confused. If your dad wanted you to get a message to Bella you wondered why he didn’t just ask you.

Jacob held up a twenty dollar bill.

“Something about breaking up with her boyfriend. Don’t really care, easiest twenty ever made.”

“You want us to pause the show?” Seth asked.

“Nah, you guys keep watching. I’ll be back in a minute anyway.”

(Part 6)...

#edward cullen x black!reader #edward cullen x reader #embry call x reader #embry call x black!reader #twilight fic

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apocalypticgargoyle · 4 years ago

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I read the edgy!karl, I’ve just finished reading the alt!dream, WHEN IS GEORGE GONNA BE NEXT 😩😩

*cracks knuckles* the hcs that everyone has provided me with has hella prepped me and I'm ready. this is dedicated to 🍭 anon, whose fanart always steals my entire heart. i love u babe

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐄. ᶤ 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐤!𝐠𝐧𝐟

± pairings: punk!Georgenotfound x fm!reader

± word count: ~3300

± warnings: smut (18+), language, tattoo work, sadism, pain kink (if you squint), domination, mentions of needles, asphyxiation

song recommendation: Cent Fois by Alice et Moi

George’s mind wandered to his curiosity of the shop across from his tattoo parlor; bright neon signs advertising the local psychic. It was a stark contrast to the dark, wet city housing the businesses. Each night he locked up, he found himself standing on the other edge of the street, staring at the signs and draperies peeking from behind the glass windows and considering shedding his skeptical nature just for one night.

While your business was alluring in and of itself, his true draw to the place came after he had spotted you moving into the apartments above. Your clean appearance completely juxtaposed the business you ran. In his opinion, all natural healers and psychics were born scam artists only focused on the quickest way to pinch a penny.

Yet day after day, he found himself having to tear his eyes from your business just to get home or he would actually venture inside. He was rather subtle about his fascination when it came to his co-workers and regular customers, but each day he prayed you would wander in, requesting some kind of tattoo in a place hidden from outside eyes.

A place he’d like to see again in a less professional setting.

You flipped the textbook page after finishing your paragraph, highlighting a date you were looking for before leaning towards your notebook and scribbling down the fact. You gnawed on the end of your pen absent-mindedly, positive you still didn’t know what your professor had been rattling off about in class a few hours prior. Your sights drifted up to the incense burning across the store from you, the stick on its last few centimeters of wood as the smoke went stale.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, debating if you should light another or wait until morning. You capped your marker and stretched your back, the bell over the door letting out a telling chime as a man peeked in.

You leaned over the counter, closing your books. “Good evening! Welcome to After Life. Can I help you find anything?” You rambled, your mind flashing to the sheet of paper tucked into the frame of your bathroom mirror so you didn’t forget the basics of customer service.

The man stepped further into your view, stuffing his fists in his jean pockets as he walked closer in a cautious motion. His dark t-shirt advertised a band you had vaguely heard of, but couldn’t think of a song even if your life depended on it. What really drew your attention were his tattooed arms; branches from a grand tree twisting every which direction to peek out from beneath his sleeves; bright floral designs and litters of birds decorating the dark wood limbs. You bit back a smile at the small mushroom tattoo near his wrist that seemed to be out of place.

The laces of his Chuck Taylors grazed the floor before he was standing in the middle of your store, looking around briefly. “I actually co-own the parlor across the street. I realized I never welcomed you officially,” he stated, hints of nervousness reflecting in his tone. His accent was calming and husky from the season change.

At the mention of the tattooist across the street, your memory flashed to the various walks of life that found themselves in your store after getting work done. You also thought of the fact that you had seen the man before you break up fights in the street stretching between your properties. The tall muscular people seemed to have no effect on him as he’d pull them apart like school children on the playground.

You pushed your books further to the side. “Oh yeah, that’s right! I should have come over and introduced myself, so don’t worry about it,” you eased, swatting the air of his comment.

He chuckled softly before reality seemed to snap into his head, making him step forward and extend a hand to you. “I’m George, by the way,” he introduced. You took his hand, muttering your own name and hoping your attention span would hold for long enough that he would be entered into your long-term memory.

His hand was calloused in yours, something that you wondered came with the job or if he was some kind of carpenter in a past life of his. You gently pulled his hand closer to you, slipping your hold out of his to look at his palm. He tittered nervously, peering at the flesh with you. Your finger traced along the mounts in his hand, finding Jupiter to be the most prominent. “That checks out,” you mumbled to yourself, nodding softly.

His eyebrows perked up. “What? Am… Am I gonna meet a tall dark stranger and take a trip across the sea?” He joked, making you smile as you looked at his Sun line.

“I didn’t peg you as an Outlander fan,” you chided.

His brows flattened for a moment, chewing the inside of his lip and playing with his snake bite piercings. You found it hard to look away from him. “Honestly, I wasn’t. A girl I was fooling around with really liked it. I don’t know…” he trailed off, making you giggle.

Your nail grazed along his heart line. “You guys were just fooling around?” You quirked, eyes meeting his. His expression narrowed smugly as if urging you to continue. “Your heart line begins below your index finger. You’re not the fooling around type.” He let out a snort. “You fall in love easily too.”

He sighed with a slight sparkle in his eyes as he looked at you. You couldn’t tell if he was amazed or mocking you again. “Well, yeah. That’s…” He paused with a swallow, biting back a grin as if he was uncomfortable, but didn’t retract his hand from you. “... That’s why we’re not anymore,” he admitted. He leaned his elbows on the counter as you sat in your chair. “What else does it say?”

Your lips curled into a soft smirk, his curious eyes trailing over your face as if to watch your brain work. “You have a fire element hand which indicates that you’re confident and passionate. Maybe a bit cocky sometimes,” you teased, making him chuckle with you. You could feel his eyes on you, sending heat to your cheeks as you tried not to focus on the mount of Venus under your touch.

You wanted to ask him about his sexual indulgences, mainly because of the prevalence of Venus in his palm. “You have a mount in Jupiter, which means you’re a natural leader, and rather dominant.” You looked up at him again, watching as he bit back a smirk, seemingly understanding the subtle innuendos behind your statements.

George seemed to have some kind of effect on you, your thoughts clouding with the idea of what his snake bites would feel like against your lips. He smelled like cigarette smoke, but there was no discoloration to his skin to suggest he was the one smoking. He watched you through the hair threatening to dangle over his eyes, his gaze hinting at an attraction he had for you below his collected form. “Go on,” he murmured, voice soft and wispy as the space between the two of you seemed to warm.

You made a conscious effort to keep your sultry thoughts at bay as your thumb brushed over the area you had been avoiding telling him about. “You’re driven by desire,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… very in touch with your sexuality and you thrive on your indulgences.”

You couldn’t help but meet his eyes, the dark irises swimming with some kind of cocky smugness at what you had just told him. He pulled away from you, gently standing up. Part of you wished the counter between the two of you would vanish just so you could be pressed up against George at the mercy of his driven mind. “I feel it's only fair I tattoo you now,” he quipped, making your eyebrows raise. Your confidence shriveled yet you swore you wouldn’t let him know that fact.

You chewed on your lip, looking up at him with a hint of suspicion. “Oh, I’ve never been tattooed,” you avowed, voice carrying the slightest bit of your coaxing nature.

He smirked. “I’ll take care of you, I promise,” he cajoled, teeth playing at his piercings again as you were sure he was already undressing you with his eyes. “You read me, I’d like to do the same.”

And how could you refuse such an appealing offer?

You leaned back on your elbows, your skin sticking to the leather chair beneath you as you watched him pull back his hair, elastic band dangling from his white teeth. Despite securing back his locks, bits of his bangs still hung over his forehead. You liked the interior of his parlor, maybe because it was only the two of you.

George began to fill small caps of dark ink. “I think you should get some crystals in here,” you teased, making him smirk. “I could hook you up.”

“What, like a salt lamp?” He joked, pulling on a pair of dark plastic gloves.

You snorted, lying back and looking up at the ceiling. “It might be good. Lighten the place up a bit.” George swiveled his chair closer to you muttering some kind of line about only getting them from you, but his words fell silent on your ears as his hand pushed up your shirt. You were silently thanking whatever divine force above for swaying you towards slinkier lingerie earlier that morning.

You knew he could see the lacy edges of your bra by the way his eyes nonchalantly flashed up to you before laying out his template on your ribs. You could feel hints of his warm breath against your skin as he studied it. “You can look at it if you want,” he stated.

You shook your head, wanting him close to you as long as he could be. “I trust you,” you muttered, your eyes meeting his again. His tongue pressed against his cheek as he struggled not to smile at your statement. He had promised to cover a small scar for you and by the way he explained it, you were ready to be in his hands. You wet your lips as he adjusted the speed on his tattoo gun. “Will this hurt?” You asked, tucking one of your arms behind your head.

The look of unadulterated lust that he gave you made your toes want to curl. “Probably a bit. It feels good sometimes, though,” he answered. He came closer to you, resting his forearm on your stomach to angle himself in the right position. At the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, you swore your body was on fire. It took everything in your power not to moan. It could have been the adrenaline pulsing through your veins, but his soft breath and the anticipation of the needle made you feel like a junky. “I’ll be gentle, darling,” he leered, his accent muddy and low. He let the needles drag against your skin and you bit your lip, trying not to hiss at the pain. His eyes met yours. “See, not bad.”

You let out a breathy wheeze. “Shut up, you sadist,” you quipped, his chuckle coming out rather roguish as he focused on the work in front of him. Your nerves were more focused on the way George’s hands were barely caressing your body as if teasing and hinting at what he could do to you.

You drew in a sharp breath as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Shhh shh. It’ll be over soon,” he cooed, his voice sending goosebumps spreading across your body as his lips tugged into a light smirk. By your palm reading, you knew he was enjoying having this much control over you.

Part of you found it almost torture when George would look at you with soft and lusty eyes for merely a second before his gaze jutted back down to his work, murmuring soft praises about how well you were taking the pain. You would go under the needle anytime he asked, just to receive the sultry treatment he gave.

He was so close, you could have driven your fingers into his dark hair if you wanted. “How did you get this scar?” He asked, cleaning off some of the ink before continuing.

“A knife fight,” you answered without missing a beat, making him scoff. “Actually, I fell into my grandma’s glass table one time. My cousin was teaching me the Electric Slide,” you corrected, making him laugh, shaking his head slightly as he filled in a spot.

He let his tongue dart across his lips. “That’s so cute. Did you ever get it figured out?” To this you shook your head, the both of you laughing. You let out a groan as the needle dug into another area on your ribs, the sound making his eyes dart up to you. He leaned off of you, slipping one of his gloves off. “Wanna hold my hand, sweetheart?” He joked, but you took his offer, squeezing his hand in yours when it got painful enough. You held it close to your chest, hoping he would feel your heartbeat quicken each time he looked at you.

As he finished up his work, his thumb brushed against your hand absent-mindedly. You could tell by the way he gripped your hand as well that he enjoyed that the tattoo hurt you. Most of your mind was excited by how easily he was stirred up by you, while the rest was completely unsurprised and even threatened to bite out that he was a cliché.

When he was finally satisfied, he cleaned you up and stuck on a SecondSkin, biting back a grin at his work as he pulled you up by the hand he was holding onto you with. You couldn’t help but smile at how excited you were to see, swinging your legs over the side of his hair and walking towards his mirror. You held your shirt up, chewing on your bottom lip as you grinned at the ink. George rested a hand beside the mirror, watching you beam at his work.

All of his lines were flawless, your scar completely disappearing within his shading. You’d pitched the idea of an ode to the Creation of Adam. While it was cliche, what better to fit in the space below your breast and give George the impression that you were cultured. Yet you told him he could do whatever he wanted to it, resulting in one of the hands resembling a skeleton and the other holding a sucker. As you praised him, he shrugged off your comments, murmuring about it being his pleasure. He reached out his free hand, letting his thumb smooth over one of the edges of this bandage, which brought you closer to him.

Your cheeks warmed at the close proximity to him as his eyes grazed over your body before meeting your own. His hand moved from the bandage to your back. You leaned on your toes, pressing your lips to his. The tension between the two of you dissipated as he hungrily reacted, pulling you against him and savoring your moans as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

George’s hands moved down your body, swiftly hooking around your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist to bring you back to his chair. Your hands moved into his hair, letting it loose and wrapping the band around your wrist. The leather was cold as your back pressed to it. George leaned back to pull his shirt over his head, revealing more of the tree painting the expanses of his skin.

If you weren’t so eager to be touched by him, you’d be studying the work of art.

As his lips met yours again, you ground your hips against his, eliciting a moan to vibrate through his chest. You raked your nails down his back, trying to further draw out reactions from him as his hands attentively played with the lace of your bra, fingers ghosting over the skin pressing against the cups.

His lips left yours only to travel the length of your jaw and inch his way toward your waistband. Your pants were discarded with a swift tug from him before he pulled your thighs flush against his, grinding his hips against yours, hands gripping onto your sides to keep you in place. You tilted your head back, relishing in the friction as your body screamed to finally feel him take advantage of you.

You reached between the two of you, tugging at his zipper as your hunger for him escalated. His tongue flattened against your collarbone before his teeth pressed into your skin. You could feel his arousal through his jeans at the sound of your whimpering.

He pumped himself in his hand before pressing into you, the feeling of him inside of you making your head spin as if you were on some kind of ecstasy. Your moan came out needy and desperate as he thrust into you, gripping the edge of the leather seat as his breath hummed against your skin. Your fingers threaded into his hair, raking your nails down his neck as he groaned in your ear at the feeling.

One of his hands grasped your wrists together, pinning them above your head while the other wrapped around your throat. His eyes burned into yours as he leaned back, leaning his weight on your wrists and squeezing your throat, the lack of oxygen making each of your senses more heightened as he pounded into you.

Your moans of George’s name were grated as they slipped through your mouth, his relentless pace and intense hold nearly making you drool from the stimulation. By the practice of his actions, you wondered how long he had been stewing on demolishing you in this way.

He loosened his grip on your neck, leaning down to press his lips against yours, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip just to hear you groan from the rough action. You rolled your hips against his, letting him slow his pace to reach deeper within you. A sadistic grin spread across his face as he rubbed a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the makeup smudging around your eyes from his antics and the heat between the two of you.

He pressed his lips to your neck, wrapping his hand around the edge of the chair again to drive himself into you, the new angle muddling your mind and vision as your body ached to come undone. You sank your nails into his back, earning his low, raspy whispers of your name.

At his praises, you came, tugging on his hair as he bit into your shoulder again, basking in the feeling of you clenching around him.

The next day, George stretched his shoulders, peering through the front window of his shop. His mind sparked with the feeling of your legs around his waist and the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. He could practically hear you whimpering his name in his ears as he went back to touching up a fading tattoo on his friend’s arm.

“OW, George,” Clay rumbled, thigh flinching at the jab from George.

George snorted, his mind still on the high he got from your pure trust in him as you laid out on his chair. “I’ll give you something to bitch about,” George grumbled, releasing just how gentle he was during your tattoo. The way your voice got soft and quiet when he rolled over a spot that was rather tender already would most definitely be a guilty pleasure of his.

Clay barked at him again as George jerked his hand, fulfilling his promise. “I’VE BEEN NICE TO YOU ALL MORNING.”

Tag List: (to be added, follow this link :))

@karlkitten @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake @little-gremlin-in-the-walls @tinyegg @mintmochiii @clubfairy @aroyaldarknessblr @camerondiaz48104 @madsbbg @rat-poisin @alm334 @cdizzlevalntyne @phsychopathetic @froggerrrr @robinslie @jemalovesmarvel @sbi-is-my-onlysanity

#punk!georgenotfound #punk!george #punk!gnf #georgenotfound x reader #georgenotfound imagine #georgenotfound au #georgenotfound smut #gnf x y/n #gnf smut #gnf x reader #gnf imagine #mcyt x you #mcyt au #mcyt x y/n #mcyt smut

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