#Not sure if he'd ACTUALLY drop him given that is a LONG drop

[silverskyeline]

ੈ♡˳ strangers - 18+ origins!logan x f!reader

summary: the stranger in the leather jacket at the bar wants you as much as you want him. (800 words) tags: sex in a back alley, sort of exhibitionism, filthy, doggy style, rough, reader and logan are strangers, quick fling, creampie, logan says 'atta girl & good girl', for the 'leather jacket' prompt for logan promptober, divider by @/rookthornesartistry

the stranger with the leather jacket had eye fucked you from across the bar practically all night, so it was no surprise to you or him when you found yourself bent over taking his cock like a good girl in the alley nestled behind it.

he's still wearing that fucking jacket, you can hear the creak of the leather with every thrust, his hand planted firmly on your shoulder as he pumps into your tight, hot cunt.

and you love it.

you love the rushed intensity of it all, the way your underwear sits pretty at your knees with your skirt hiked up around your hips, his large hands grabbing a fistful of the material to keep it there. his jeans are inched down just enough to take you, hard and fast. there's no time to remove layers, just a raw primal need for him to bury his cock deep inside you.

he'd check for passersby, if he cared. which he doesn't.

no, he'd actually kind of like it if someone saw, the thrill of being caught causing your own thighs to twitch. you steady yourself with your hands planted on the wet brick in front of you, glistening in the moonlight, mirroring the slick that's trailing down between your thighs as he thrusts in and out.

"that's it," logan growls, "fuckin' take it. . ."

you moan louder in response, that firm commanding voice of his paired with an almost animalistic snarl has you seeing stars. you're not sure you've ever been fucked like this, but it's like he knows what you want without asking.

"and you're gonna take my cum too, huh? like a good girl?" you can hear the grin in his voice as your head drops a little, gasping for air, "gonna take it nice and deep so you can think about me as it leaks out on your little walk home. . ."

fuck. you can hardly think, you're spasming around him and clenching and arching your back, your body on autopilot as it takes what it's given.

he's growling with each thrust, growing rougher, more intent on chasing his own need. you'll cum soon anyway, it's not like he has to worry about that when you were already close within seconds of his thick dick stretching your velvet heat. he made sure you were ready though, but his fingers are no match for how good his cock feels.

you're moaning incoherently about how you're going to cum soon, you don't even recognise yourself with the whines that escape your lips. you've never been this needy, this desperate, especially not for a stranger in the back alley behind a bar.

it's not long until you're tipping over that sweet edge, thighs shaking with the intensity of the orgasm he's so graciously giving you. you cover your mouth to at least half muffle the lewd sounds spilling from your lips, but it's pointless when the slap of his hips connecting with yours over and over is as deafening as it is, echoing out into the open space around you.

"tryin' to be quiet? that's cute," he huffs, his hand on your shoulder ripping your hand from your mouth and pinning it behind your back, driving into you harder, "let them hear you, let them hear how good you're bein' for me, how hard you're cumming on this cock. . ."

he's growing breathless, his imminent release causing his thrusts to falter. he's gonna cum, and he knows he should pull out, make a pretty little painting on your back - but that's not what he wants, it's not what you want either.

because as much as you would never admit it, you want to feel it. you want to feel his cum deep inside of you, a piece of him to take with you - it's not like you even have his name.

when he cums, the sensation causes you to gasp, feeling him fill you with ropes and ropes of it, white and hot. each thrust is now deep, calculated, slow and harsh. "take it all," he mumbles under his breath, "atta' girl. . ."

he gives you a few pats to your backside before he pulls out, stuffing himself in his jeans and grabbing your chin, turning you to face him in a dizzying spin. logan smirks against your lips at your dazed expression before capturing you in a languid, passionate kiss.

after what feels like forever, with your panties still around your knees and his release dripping down your inner thighs, he pulls back. "thanks for that, doll." he grins before taking a step back, "maybe i'll see you around."

and just as quickly as he came into your life, the stranger is gone, leaving you with the clinking sound of metal as he buckles his belt and disappears out of the alley.

you pant softly, left fucked out behind a bar that you know you'll return to every night with a growing hunger between your legs, praying you'll lock eyes with the man in the leather jacket even just once more.

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: loser!wonwoo, wonwoo's pov, some second hand embarrassment, afab reader, smut, phone sex, masturbation (m and f receiving), etc.

wc: 1638

part 1, part 2

a/n: loser!wonwoo is back 🫡

masterlist

wonwoo felt like he was in over his head.

it had been months that he had spent pining over you – watching you from afar and cringing at himself any time he'd finally meet your eyes and immediately look away in embarrassment at being caught. he was far too shy to ever even interact with you, often physically running away from you when he'd see you approaching.

despite being assigned as partners for the year book committee, he saw himself unable to even interact with you, maintaining a distance and keeping eye contact to a minimum.

even with all the precautions he took to reduce interactions with you as much as possible, he couldn't help but be insanely drawn to you. having to attend every school event with you proved to be a challenge, especially when it came to restraining his immense interest you. with a camera in hand and the prettiest subject in front of him, he couldn't help himself in sneaking a few pictures of you every now and then.

the pictures were entirely innocent in nature. just a few shots of you from afar, of your silhouette against the sunrise, of your natural state as you interacted with others. he was just enthralled by your beauty, needing to hold physical proof of it (especially since he knew he could never grow the balls to even attempt to actually make you his).

but now he was here, in this strange, yet enticing, situation.

in no universe had he ever expected you to show interest in him, much less in the way you did last night on his bed. you had been so sure of your want for him, starting with a few compliments (which inflated his ego immensely) and moving onto touches that he could still feel the traces of. your beauty had been even more breathtaking up close. he had seen every inch of you, quickly becoming addicted to your skin against his.

yet he had woken up alone this morning.

cuddling all night long, wonwoo received the best sleep of his life, having woken up at some point into the night with a reminder of last night's events when he felt your body pressed up against him. but now all that was left was an empty side of the bed with a surprise you had left behind.

his laptop laid where you had once been, closed but facing him. he knew he had not left it there last night, so it was clear to him you had left it there for him to see. opening it took his breath away, heart dropping all the way to his ass.

the first thing he saw was the open folder of his pictures of you – the candids he kept so close to his heart. next, he saw another tab open, displaying a few low quality pictures you had likely taken while he was asleep.

his lips instantly ran dry.

your hair was messy from your sleep, lips swollen from all the kisses he'd given you – kisses he could still taste ob his lips. the view displayed you from your chest up, bare breasts proudly making him lose his mind with their mere appearance. you had taken a few shots, cheeky smile on your face while you winked and stuck your tongue out in some of them, clearly teasing him. next to it all, you had left a brief message displayed on his notes app which made wonwoo's skin crawl in anticipation

some more pictures for your collection ;)

facetime me when you wake up? <3

(xxx) xxx-xxxx

wonwoo was surely in over his head, but he had no time to think about that as he scrambled for his phone, dialing your number as fast as he could.

you picked up within three rings.

"nonu?," your voice already had traces of lust in it, making wonwoo gulp in anticipation.

you were laying in bed, hair still quite messy and a sleepy look in your eyes. it appeared that you'd left early in the morning and caught some more sleep before wonwoo could even have the chance to realize you had left.

"h-hi."

unlike you, his phone was pointed upwards, showing his ceiling rather than himself. he felt far too vulnerable to show himself despite having been with you just last night.

"baby," you whined, "wanna see you. show me? i'll make it worth your while," you sing-sang at him, knowing he couldnt resist a single word from you.

grabbing his phone with shaky hands, he pointed it at himself, now able to show you the mess that he was with just the mere sight of your breasts that you had left behind for him to find.

you chuckled, "did you like my pictures, nonu?"

that's when he panicked. he had completely forgotten the embarrassment of having a secret folder of your photos as soon as he'd seen the new ones.

fuck. this was so mortifying.

his worry must've shown in his face, as you interrupted his thoughts almost immediately.

"it's okay, baby, i don't mind. just wanted to help you out a little," you giggled, "i'm touched, really."

"i'm so sorry, i-"

"what did i just say, nonu? it's fine. so adorable that you'd keep such pretty pictures of me," you smiled as you repositioned yourself, leaning on one elbow and lowering the camera enough to show the cleavage you were sporting, "now tell me – did you like my pictures?"

"y-yes", he breathed, "thank you for- for the pictures. you look so pretty, i- can i keep them? fuck, i'm sorry, just- you look so beautiful," he stammered pathetically.

your response was yet another giggle, "of course, cutie. they're for you to keep," you paused, "but on one condition ..."

"a-anything."

"show me how much you liked them?", you made eyes at him, batting your eyelashes in a way that made wonwoo want to melt into his bed.

"o-oh, i-"

"lemme see? please?", you pouted, repositioning yourself again to sit up a bit more.

"show you? i- i don't-"

"want me to start?", you went to play with the straps of your tank top, not truly removing them but simply rolling them a bit to tease him.

nodding dumbly, he stared right into the phone with wide eyes, lip finding its way between his teeth at the sight of you beginning to pull off your top.

moments later and you were shirtless, having set the phone down in front of you as you sat criss cross and began to softly play with your tits for him.

"y-you're so- fuck, you're so pretty, i- please, i want ... fuck," he had no idea what he was begging for, but he needed more of it. he needed some sort of friction to fix the boner he had been forming from the moment he saw those pictures.

"it's your turn, nonu," you sighed as you toyed with your nipples, "show me that pretty cock, baby."

he was too lustful to feel shy anymore, simply nodding as he set up his phone so you could see him take out his cock, hands immediately getting to work as groans filled his room.

"so pretty, nonu ... fuck, such a gorgeous cock," you sighed as one of your hands snuck under your shorts, disappearing into a land wonwoo wanted to explore oh-so badly.

"can't wait to have you again, baby. you were so good for me last night. so sweet and made me feel so so good," your eyes were closed in pleasure as you sighed praise about him.

"m-me? you made m-me lose my mind," his moans were getting breathier as his fist went crazy on his cock, eyes hooded yet still glued to you, "i'll never get over it. you're so p-perfect. need you again, fuck, please. tell me i can have you again, i need- need to have you," he practically whined.

"oh, nonu," you cried as your fingers fiddled on your cunt, "i'll give you anything you want. so fucking good for me. thought you didn't like me, shit. was so sad cause you kept avoiding me, and- and-"

"no!", he practically growled, knowing his end was coming by how desperately he kept humping into his hand, "like you so much. i was too shy, too- too much of a fucking loser to talk to you," he admitted, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he attempted to drive himself to his orgasm, "m g-gonna cum, fuck, i- i like you so much, i promise," he repeated once more, silently begging for you to goad him into cumming.

"like you too, nonu, i- i'll cum with you. okay, baby? just keep playing with your cock, 'm almost there," one of your hands went back up to your tits, pulling and pinching at your nipples in a way that had wonwoo envious those were not his lips wrapping around them.

a tiny, pitchy whine from you was what broke wonwoo's resolve, making him cum into his fist while the rest went flying onto his stomach and sheets, a deep groan accompanying his release. he was able to catch most of yours as you came at the sight of him, crying out 'nonu' and a few expletives in the midst of praising him.

you hummed once you recollected yourself, offering him a teasing smile once more before reaching your phone to wordlessly hang up, only offering him a wink before pressing the button.

wonwoo sat there in disbelief for a few seconds before receiving a new notification from his phone, immediately taking a hold of it to check it.

this is my address:

come over? ;)

bring your camera <3

wonwoo had never jumped up faster, doing a messy job of cleaning himself up and running to get some sweats before grabbing his instant camera and running out the door.

[lix1nyu]

how tartaglia reacts when you're drunk and don't recognize him

tartaglia x gn!reader

part 2 is now here

sfw, drunk reader, angst, some fluff, reader has been hurt in prev relationships

A/N: i don't usually post stuff like this hehe, idk what changed my mind to!! hope you enjoy🤭

You had told him if you didn't come home before 2, he should probably come pick you up.

"Hey, you're here!" Hu Tao beams at Tartaglia.

"Thanks for watching them," he grins and gestures to you sitting at the counter.

"Yeah, dude, of course."

Tartaglia stares at you for a little while. He still can't get over how pretty you are, the curve of your nose, the ways your eyes kiss in the corners. Your hair looks surprisingly neat for someone who's drunk. Your expression is distant, finger trailing along the edge of the glass. You seem to be drinking vodka? He thought you didn't like vodka.

Sliding an arm around your shoulders, he leans to whisper in your ear, "Hey, pretty, you ready to go?"

You leap back into the present.

Looking puzzled, you push his arm off of you, saying, "Please don't call me that."

He blinks, a ghost of a smile still on his face. "Haha... what?"

Their faces mirror each other in confusion.

"I'm not going home with you, I have a boyfriend," you say, turning back to the half filled glass.

It clicks in Tartgalia's head, and a teasing grin forms. "A boyfriend, huh? Can I fight him for you?"

"You'd lose," you reply flatly, deadpan.

Dropping himself into the seat next to you and propping up his cheek, he says, "Tell me about this boyfriend of yours."

He watches his lover's expression brighten, like you forgot the entire exchange that just happened.

"Oh, he's the sweetest," you gush immediately. "And he makes me laugh so much, and he's so lively and good with people, but he's so hardworking and stubborn and, ugh, he's so beautiful. How is it possible to be so beautiful?"

His heart is about to explode all over Hu Tao's kitchen counter. His mind can't believe it, he's the reason your face is a beautiful, dreamy, rambling mess.

And you're not done. "I don't deserve him," you say, "I wish I could do something for him, but he always says I don't have to."

Because you don't have to, my dove, Tartaglia thinks. You're doing more than enough already.

Your expression suddenly snaps. "Shit. I'm a terrible person. I need to go home."

Tartaglia snaps out of his own trance in alarm. "Why?"

"He's at home now, and I'm out here getting wasted." You rub your face and search for your bag and phone.

"Woah, hey, you're drunk," he holds you by the shoulders, "I'm taking you home."

"Just because you're literally gorgeous doesn't mean you get to touch and take home random people!" You smack his hands off of you, again. Tartaglia's not sure if he should cry or laugh.

You cover your mouth in surprise at your own words. "Holy fuck, I'm a terrible person," you whisper. "Am I allowed to call someone who isn't my boyfriend gorgeous?"

He's convinced alcohol makes your brain overthink twice as fast as it usually does.

He also thinks it's a dumb question. Have I given them the impression they can't speak their mind?

He thinks it's okay. "Of course you are," he tells you instead, frowning. "He's not a good boyfriend if you have to be allowed to do something."

"No, he's a great boyfriend!" you say instantly. "I just-" You cut yourself off with a sigh and chew on your fingernail. There's a loud thumping in his heart as he waits for you to continue.

"I never know about these things," you say finally. "I feel like he never really tells me how he truly feels. I don't know if there's something I do that actually bothers him. And I'm..." You rub your nose bridge. "I'm scared to ask."

Tartaglia is quiet for a long moment. What he has cleverly deduced from this is that his lover is scared of him. All pride he'd felt earlier from making you swoon is now replaced by a sick feeling of self hatred.

"Maybe there's just nothing you do that really bothers him," he suggests softly, trying to lighten the mood.

Your expression turns glum. Fuck, was that the wrong thing to say? He mentally kicks himself.

"That can't be right," you sigh. "When I have nightmares, he always wakes up to comfort me. I'm pretty sure that pisses him off. And he always says it's okay too, but-" you blink rapidly, like blinking away tears. Tag winces.

"But then he... he takes longer in the shower, adds more caffeine to his coffee. And- and he'll eat less of the breakfast I make him."

"Oh," he says smartly, running out of things to say. He should've paid more attention to the little things, knowing that of course you would.

You shake your head and squeeze your slightly glassy eyes shut. After mumbling to yourself, "stop oversharing to strangers" twice, you put the cork back in the vodka bottle and set your glass in Hu's sink after pouring it down the drain.

"Anyway," you turn to him when you're done, "goodnight, I guess. Thanks for listening?"

"I'll walk you home," he offers again, softly.

You hesitate. Of course you hesitate.

"You're drunk," he reminds you. "I'm sure your boyfriend won't mind as long as you get home safe."

You give in. You let him put his coat around your shoulders, but you don't put your hands through the sleeves.

Halfway home, you just stop walking.

"Love?" Tag tilts his head at you. "Darling, what's wrong?"

You blink a few times. "Tartaglia?"

He grins. "Yes, hi. You recognize me now?"

You blink again. Then a smile starts to spread, and you forget the reason for your daze. You put your arms into the sleeves of his coat. "Yes," you say sheepishly. "Hey, you."

A hand is held out for him to hold.

Their talk can wait for next morning.

sorry if tartaglia is a little ooc! thank you for reading 🫶 might post a part two where he comforts you about it?

[luveline]

Could I request stripper reader and post prison Spencer being all domestic? I just think Spencer deserved to have someone take care of him after that

thank you for requesting! ♡ fem

cw spencer makes a weight related joke about reader but he is one hundred percent kidding/is talking about carrying the reader and not her actual body weight, pls don't read if it will upset you

“How's it feel now?” you ask. 

Spencer glances down at you from the TV. If he had his way since being released from prison, you would spend the majority of time in his lap, and the TV would not be on, but you're trying not to smother him and he's content to let you do what you want, so long as you're in arm's reach. 

“How does what feel?” he asks, frowning. 

“Your leg? You know, the one you stabbed yourself in?” 

“Fine. Surface wound. Hey, are you almost done?” 

“No. I'm making you a mug cosy.” 

“Could you not come up here and make me cosy?” 

You put your little crochet hook and yarn ball on the floor near the paper pattern you're following. “That's way too cheesy a thing to say for a felon.” You grin at him. “Good for you, I'm awful at this,” —you climb onto your knees, arms out to him as he grabs you and pulls you onto the couch— “and I don't want to do it anymore.” 

“Then don't.” He smiles as you settle against him, half on top of him, your pyjamas soft against his bare arms and legs. “I'm not a felon.” 

“I'm kidding,” you say gently. 

He puts his hand against the top of your head and forces you backwards a touch to meet his eyes. “I know.” 

You glare at him. He decides he'd like to play too and glares back. 

“Crochet is very difficult.” 

Spencer lets you drop back into his chest. “You're good at enough things already,” he says. “Like not going to prison, and being heavy.” 

You bear down on him with more weight, a laugh slipping from you unbidden. He loves how startled you sound to have laughed, and how nice you smell as you push your arm under his back to hug him. “That's sick,” you mumble, your free hand toying with the soft neck of his shirt. You pull it down, kissing the skin between his collarbone. “You can't call me heavy. That's so mean.” 

“I love you,” he says. 

You smile into his chest. “I love you too, even though you said I'm heavy.” 

“Relatively, when you're making me carry you to bed at night–” 

“I don't do that,” you laugh guiltily. “No, you've got me mixed up with someone else.” 

“Well, let's just stay here tonight.” Your phone beeps. “Or not.” 

You press yourself into his neck and talk warmth into the curve. “I'm not going anywhere, Spencer. I'm staying right here, forever. And in ten years you'll have huge muscles from carrying me to bed.” 

“And your thigh muscles will have atrophied.” 

“Like those, do you?” 

“As much as I like every part of you. You're the most beautiful girl in the world.” 

You snore. Spencer laughs, jostling you on his chest, and you drop the facade to kiss his throat in slow, meandering presses of the lips, no one place in mind, just warm half moons turned a little wider as you go. He breathes out slowly. Kisses like this are the ones that plagued him late at night, when the mind ran out of worry and turned to missing you instead. He would've given anything two weeks ago to have you laying on him like this, and now he has it for nothing. Just ‘cos you love him. 

“Are you gonna go back?” he asks quietly. 

“To the club?” You draw a short line into his neck with your nose. “Sure, once you're feeling better.” 

“I'm alright. I am.” 

“Until I'm feeling better, then,” you say, putting your hand on his cheek. You have slightly longer nails than when he went away, and the tips of them tickle his freshly shaven cheek as you turn his face to yours. “I'll go back just as soon as I stop missing you when you're in the bathroom. Or I run out of money.” 

“Don't be childish,” he says.

“I'm not, I'm being realistic.” 

“Realistically, I'll take care of you.” 

You sigh happily and kiss him. That happiness passes between you in shivers, until Spencer's hot under the collar and you're giggling. “What's funny?” he asks. 

“Maybe I'll get a job at the grocery store.” 

Spencer doesn't know what you'll do, but he'll be there for you like you were there for him. “Good idea. You can be a checkout girl and I'll stay home, looking at pictures of you and crying while you're gone.” 

You nudge him. “Don't make fun of me for that! It was a long month and a half without you, Spencer.” 

He closes his eyes and rests his forehead on yours. “I'm not making fun of you. It was the same for me, you know? Just didn't have a picture of you.” 

[sp0o0kylights]

Wayne takes in a Beat to Shit Steve Harrington after Starcourt as n Owed Favor to Hopper Part 4

Part Three: link

First Chapter (parts 1-3 on tumblr) on A03: Link

The kid was madder than a wet hen.

Just as slippery as one too, when he got like this--music pulsing like a living thing to signal all his rage and upset. 

Not like Wayne hadn’t expected it. 

He just wished it wasn’t quite so damn loud. 

The music had started up almost immediately after Eddie had stormed to his room, startling Steve awake and nearly making Wayne curse for it.

Normally it was a good thing--music meant Eds was willing to listen instead of heading for the hills.  

Normally, they didn't have a house guest who looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a bear.

They had a routine for this, was the thing and the music was a key part of it. It worked all the edges off for Wayne, and he'd long figured out that about thirty minutes was a the perfect length of time for Eddie to stew before he could actually talk things through.

Given the hand Harrington put to his forehead, Wayne wasn't eager to give him that thirty minutes.

Not when Steve deserved little peace he could have.

Unfortunately, so did Eds. 

Still.

 Strutting through the door and demanding to talk right now was a bad move and so, with a sympathetic look given to Steve, Wayne did what he did best

Gave space.

Let Eddie rage, as Wayne got up and shuffled about the kitchen.

Pulled out the soft earplugs he pretended weren’t there for Eds to steal (playing that damn loud guitar all the time could not be good for his ears) and offered them to Steve, before making two cups of what Wayne privately thought was the Munson “chitchat” drink. 

One cup of hot water, one packet swiss miss, a small amount of maple syrup drizzled in, topped with little marshmallows they reserved for these types of situations. 

Wayne took his time with it, thinking through what he wanted to say. 

‘I understand that this is a screen door on a submarine kind of situation...’ 

Nope. 

‘Son I know you hate listening to anyone for anything but this is serious...’ 

Absolutely not--that would end up with the boy bolting for sure. 

‘Ed’s, I love you but could we please turn Ozzy off while we talk? That man wails louder than any damn cat I have ever met.’

That one was purely self indulgent, mostly because the wall was starting to shake. 

Wayne put the finishing touches on the cocoa before staring at both of them. 

Perhaps if he stared the Garfield mug in its eyes hard enough, the right words would come through. 

They did not.

He kept trying, standing there long enough for the cocoa to reasonably have cooled and for Eddie’s song to flip over to something with more screaming in it than singing. 

Wayne supposed that this was the hardest part of being a parent. You just didn’t get to have the magical one liner. The right thing to say at just the right time.  

The joke that would ease all the tension and let things progress forward nice and easy.

Instead, you got to fumble your way through the dark with a flashlight up your ass and hope you were going in the right-ish direction. Ideally without making things worse. 

Wayne was here though, and that had to count for something. 

(Knew it counted for something--because Eddie was still here. 

They had cleared hurdles far higher than this when it came to trust. They’d get through this too, come what may. 

Steve too.)

“Can I just ask,” Eddie started, aggressive as always when Wayne finally gave in and entered his room, feeling all sorts of awful for the migraine Steve had to have, “what the absolute fuck is happening?” 

Sure as fire he was sitting on his bed, leg bouncing a mile a minute.

An unlit cigarette hung between two fingers, looking a little chewed on, but otherwise undisturbed--as it should be, because one of Wayne’s few rules was that smoke stayed outside the house. 

“You could.” Wayne said loudly but agreeably, as he turned himself around and dropped down next to his kid.  

Held out the Garfield mug, and was happy when it was taken from him. 

“Figured you might have other things to say, though.” 

Likely a lot of things. 

It was as good an opening as any, and his kid didn’t disappoint, launching right to it. 

“Why is he here and not at a hospital?”

 ‘Here’ was punctuated by Ed’s hand winging towards the door, and while it wasn’t the righteous fury Wayne expected, it was at least, an easy answer to give. 

“Steve has some people looking for him. Bad people. Hospital makes him an easy target.” 

Wayne was still talking loud. Could only hear Eddie himself because he was looking at the kid’s lips more than he was actually hearing his voice. 

Eddie took that in, swallowing it about as well as he’d swallowed anything he hadn’t liked. 

And thank the stars above, he finally reached a hand out and turned the music down. Not a lot--Steve wouldn’t be able to hear them over all this--but enough that Wayne didn’t have to struggle. 

“We’re hiding him from the cops now?!” Ed’s spat. 

“Cops know he’s here. Hopper’s the one who asked me to take him.” Wayne reminded him, because it was the truth. 

Not the full truth, but given how Ed’s pissed off half the local PD on a good day, Wayne absolutely did not want to see his nephew take on Federal Agents.

(Particularly not the kind who were going ‘round killing kids.) 

“So--what?” Eddie yanked hard on his hair, a gesture that looked less intentional and more like he was trying to fight his own anger down. “Hopper just called you up and said ‘Hey, we had a whoopsie with the rich kid, the hospital’s not safe anymore. Can we stash him with you for a few days?” 

Wayne nodded once, slow-like. 

Always remembered how too fast movements had made Eddie flinch and jerk back when was littler, and given the way Steve was looking, figured it was a good time to be cautious again. 

“He did.”

“And you just--agreed? Just like that!?” 

“I did.” 

He pretended not to see Eddie boggle at him at the simple admission, so furious that he seemed to struggle for words when he normally had too many to say. 

Wayne took advantage. 

“We did talk a bit more than that, I’ll admit.”

Ed’s scoffed. “About the weather I’m sure.” 

“‘Bout trust.” 

Eddie blinked at that. 

“Trust.” He echoed flatly. 

“What have I always told you? People like to ask you to trust them, but you they don’t get to have it until--” 

“They provide proof or a reason.” Eddie finished with an eyeroll. “So which did Hopper provide then?”

Wayne took a noisy sip of his coca. Smacked his lips a little before saying: “Both.” 

Didn’t bother to say anything else, because he knew Eddie would finish the thought for him. 

“One of them was me, wasn’t it.” 

Eds didn’t say it like a question, but Wayne hummed in agreement anyway. 

He wasn’t gonna shame his boy, but he wasn’t gonna sugar coat Eddie’s involvement in this either. Not when he’d already admitted that was half the reason Hopper had gone to Wayne to begin with. 

“No one is expecting Steve to be here.” He said, seeing the chance to hammer home the most important part of this entire shitshow. “So long as no one finds out he’s here, he’ll be safe. Everyone will be safe.” 

Steve from the Feds who were hunting him for while he was busy being involved in shit he couldn’t control and Eddie because he had a mouth that most people didn’t like. 

Not small town people anyway, and absolutely not authority figures with guns. 

“Who’s even after him?” Eddie was theatrical as always, hands waving away as he talked. “Did he make a deal with the mob? Piss off some other rich guy? I know it’s not anything drug related, I’d have heard about it by now.” 

After years of experience, Wayne knew exactly how far to lean away to stay out of range, too used to his nephew talking with his entire body.

“That’s his story to tell ya, Ed’s. It ain’t mine. Same way it ain’t my place to tell him your story.” 

That at least got the boy to think for a minute. Put down that frustration he carried with him all the time, and use the brain they both knew he had. 

“How long is he staying here?”

Wayne shrugged. “Don’t know.” 

Eddie sighed and mockingly mimicked Wayne, taking an obnoxious slurp of his cocoa. “The neighbors are going to notice if he’s here more than a few days. The trailer park isn’t exactly big.” 

“They didn’t notice that time you decided to make fireballs with the cooking spray and about blew up half the driveway. Don’t think they’re gonna notice someone being quiet in the house.” 

Eddie snorted, and probably rolled his eyes again, not that Wayne could see it given the kid was looking into his own mug as he thought it all through. 

Wayne sat with him as he processed. 

Eds worked at his own pace with things, and while life at large might be against that, Wayne was happy to let him do it. Found it easier that way, then trying to poke and prod and force him like so many father figures did. 

Wayne’s patience was rewarded not even a full minute later, when Eddie turned to him and asked; 

“What if he finds out?”  

This in a quieter voice. An unsure one--words and body hunching in a way unlike the Eddie the world outside knew, but very much like the little boy Wayne had brought inside his home. 

It took Wayne  a moment to connect the dots--he’d been speaking out of the place parents and authority figures often do, and in doing so hadn’t thought much of the fact his nephew had a real secret. 

The kind small town minds didn’t like--and would kill him over. 

This all wasn’t about Wayne taking in Steve, he realized abruptly.  It was that Steve being here meant Eddie couldn’t be himself. 

Could not relax in a place he was accepted for who he was, because Wayne knew and made sure Eddie understood he was wanted here, had a place here, regardless of who he loved. 

Now, Wayne had gone and removed it.

‘Shit.’ 

“He won’t.” Wayne said. 

Knew that wasn’t enough, and so, promised: “But if he does, I’ll make sure he understands his safety here relies on your own.” 

Ed’s chin jerked in a nod, the two of them sitting in silence for a moment before the boy did as he often did when he wanted a hug but felt too awkward to ask for one, and tipped himself into Wayne’s side. 

“Thanks old man.” Eddie whispered into his shoulder and not for the first time, Wayne wished things were easier for the poor kid as he put his mug in one hand and hugged his kid with the other. 

Hoped that in the future, it would be.

Even if he had to force everyone and everything coming after him--and now Steve--to do it.

(Wondered vaguely, how bad it was that he was already getting as protective as Steve as he was of his own kid.

Probably very, given his kid clearly hated Harrington.)

xXx

Wayne took the first night of Steve’s stay off.

He wasn’t the type to use his PTO lightly. Was used to rationing it for any possible thing Eddie might need him for.

A night up sick when he was younger, to a night spent chasing him down during some of their bad spots--but the last year or so Wayne had slowly realized he hadn’t had to use it much.

He was still careful with it though, precious as it was, and was thankful for it now as it ensured his nephew didn’t murder their house guest. 

Or at the very least, didn't sit there pecking at him.

The kid might've failed English a few times, but he had a real gift with words and an even better one with insults.

(Wayne wasn't quite clear on what all the "King" jabs were about, and absolutely did not get why Steve looked far more hurt at the comment about his "sad ass floppy hair" but given the increasingly flat look Steve was throwing Eddie's way, Wayne figured it couldn't be anything good.)

Thankfully a pointed reminder about Steve's injuries had finally gotten them all some peace, enough for Harrington to drop back to sleep--and for Wayne to realize he looked a little too dead while he did it to be comfortable getting any sleep himself.

The kids chest barely moved, and that it ate at Wayne’s until he got up and shoved a hand under his nose. 

Felt his breath, and told himself the poor sod was fine. 

Hurt, absolutely, but alive. 

Over and over again, until the sun had made its rotation in the sky, bringing the morning with it.

‘Better than nightmares, I suppose.’ Wayne figured, as exhaustion scraped at his eyelids.

Those Wayne knew, would come later. When Steve’s brain caught up to the rest of him, and stopping dumping survival chemicals through his battered body. 

He'd given up on sleep entirely sometime around 1 am, and now he sat at his small kitchen table, writing out a medication schedule for Harrington so he and the kid both knew when he could have his next Tylenol. 

Wasn’t even halfway through it before Eddie made his typically late appearance and blew through his door. 

Had his back up from the moment he’d stepped a foot in the kitchen and it didn’t take a genius to see he’d worked himself into a snit again.

Unfortunately for him, whatever scenario that imaginative brain of his had cooked up fell flat to the reality that was the poor kid on the couch. 

Steve Harrington was one a hell of a sight.

Didn’t help that he was doing his level best to make himself as small as possible, curled deep into Wayne's ancient couch.

The blankets covered the ribs and hid away most of the damage, but there wasn’t much Steve could do to hide the shiners on his face--or the marks around his neck.  

Not when they’d grown worse overnight, practically inviting questions.

It was almost laughable how quickly Eddie ate whatever words he’d prepared, mouth awkwardly chewing around them as if they were tangible. 

The less-than-sneaky looks he threw at the younger teen were equally amusing, and if Wayne wasn’t trying to peace keep, he’d have given in and chuckled when Eds split attention caused him to pour half his coffee into the sink rather than a cup. 

Looked utterly lost when, after finishing putting his coffee together and grabbing some junk food thing that absolutely was not a breakfast item, he came to stand awkwardly at Wayne's shoulder, openly staring as Steve blatantly ignored him.

Eds didn’t know what to do, and Wayne couldn't blame him. 

Seemed to keep thinking he was going to encounter a boy that likely no longer existed, and whose blood tinged specter just made things sad.

Shit like this, Wayne knew, took a man’s ego and warped it, shaping it to something else entirely. 

At least for Steve, it seemed that getting wrapped up in whatever mess he had had shaped him for the better, instead of pretzeling him into something worse. That, Wayne thought, spoke to the boy's character more than anything he’d done prior. 

(It helped to know what Hopper tolerated and what he didn’t. That he’d vouched for Steve in the same way Wayne knew he’d vouched for Eddie, even if Eddie didn’t yet realize the cop he antagonized so much would do that for him.) 

That didn't erase the history his kid had with Harrington, though.

Wouldn't stop him from seeing the old Steve, first.

‘Don’t you got school?” Wayne asked when he decided Ed had stared enough. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie waved him off, trotting out the door. “Bye old man, house parasite!” 

It was clearly a jab, meant to nettle, but Steve barely acted like he heard it. 

Wayne rolled his eyes. 

“Goodbye, Eds.” He said firmly, much of a warning as he ever gave, and fondly watched his nephew scuttle out the door. 

Turned to see how Steve was taking things, and was once again given a reminder that Steve wasn’t doing a hell of a lot other than feeling his injuries. 

“I think I promised you a game, son.”  Wayne said gently, startling Steve out of the distant, dim look he had trained on the wall. 

It wasn’t a lot to offer in terms of a distraction, but it would have to do.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Perfect

Regulus Black did not like parties.

They were loud, and full of drunken idiots, and tended to get less and less fun as the night went on, especially if one was sober. As he was now.

But he went, on this specific evening, because Dorcas had insisted on a wingman.

So now he found himself on a couch on the corner, watching his friend bravely try to flirt with Marlene McKinnon, who she'd been nursing a horribly embarrassing crush on for over a year.

It seemed to be going well, however, so he allowed his attention to wander, gazing around the Gryffindor Common Room to the rest of the students there.

He immediately saw James Potter, who looked extremely drunk.

Regulus wondered where James's friends where. Sirius, he supposed, was probably off in a secluded broom cupboard, wrapped around Remus Lupin. But Pettigrew at least should be looking after his friend. The boy was nowhere to be found, though.

Potter chose this moment to catch a glimpse of Regulus, staggering towards him, a devilish grin on his face. "Reggie!" he called, almost-collapsing next to Regulus on the couch, his long limbs touching Regulus's own, causing heat to erupt there. "Z'it goin'?"

"You're drunk, Potter," Regulus replied, deciding not to entertain the scene in front of him.

"Mmm," Potter hummed, a blissful grin on his face, his eyes half-shut under his askew glasses. But a moment later, his head lolled so he could look at Regulus properly. "Reggie, you're pretty y'know."

Regulus felt himself turn bright red, embarrassment and surprise taking over his emotions. Fighting to control his face, he mumbled, "Sure, Potter. Why don't I leave you to sleep now?" And he made to stand, trying not to think too hard about Potter possibly finding him pretty. Because then he would get hopeful. But a hand grabbed his wrist, yanking him back into the cushions.

"No, Reggie," James said, eyes wide and serious, swaying a bit as he tried to sit up to convey his urgency. "You're very pretty."

Regulus didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The truth was, he probably would have given anything for James to say something like this at any other time. If Dorcas's crush on McKinnon was embarrassing, his feelings for James were mortifying. Ever since he'd joined Sirius at the Potters' last year, he couldn't stop thinking of the older boy. But James was clearly drunk, and not thinking straight. He didn't mean it.

"You don't mean it, Potter," Regulus whispered, trying not to sound heartbroken. You're drunk. You're not making sense."

"No," James shook his head like a dog trying to get water from it's ears. "No. Reg, you're always perfect. When m'drunk. When m'not."

He looked so earnest. His big hazel eyes and genuine expression made Regulus want to believe him. But he just couldn't. "Tomorrow, when you wake up," he said softly, pain cracking in his chest, "you won't remember this. You don't mean it."

But as he made to get up again, James grabbed for him, turning, both hands on his shoulders. "What if I don't?" he asked urgently, breath smelling strongly of Firewhiskey.

Regulus looked at him appraisingly, trying to figure out how drunk he was, exactly. He looked distinctly worse-for-the wear, his hair mussed and his eyes glassy. The chances of him remember this were slim-to-none, and even if he did, he would probably think it was a stupid, alcohol-induced dream. "I'll kiss you," he breathed, heart racing. "If you actually think that, when you're sober. I'll kiss you."

James's hands dropped from his shoulders as he grinned triumphantly, again swaying and falling back into the couch, eyes flitting to Regulus's face before fluttering shut. "T'morrow, Reggie. T'morrow, I'll kiss you. You'll see."

"Alright," he whispered, standing, wishing more than anything it was true.

-

The next day, when he awoke, it was to the memory of James. Of James's drunken compliments and promises. Of wishing more than anything they meant something.

But as he sat up in his bed, deciding to check on Dorcas, who was probably hungover, he pulled back his curtains to find a paper airplane flying around his bed. Grabbing at it, heart pounding in his chest, he read it hurriedly, biting at his lip.

I still think you're perfect. Meet me at the top of the Astronomy Tower at 11 for that kiss? -JP

[valley-of-headcanons]

(I think this is the right way to do this? We'll see)

I was hoping you could do Sebastian and/or Elliott with a pregnant farmer? Dealers choice between headcannons or oneshots!

Thank you! 😁

elliott and sebastian with their first child || headcanons

the boys are finally parents! how are they going to handle this new challenge?

warnings: anything pregnancy related, female bodied farmer with gender neutral pronouns, referred to as mother.

requested by: @merrymagpiesmess , hiya, thank you for requesting! sorry it took so long to get around to it, but i deeply appreciate it! this was fun to write, thank you so much!! :) [also, consider this a part 2 to the alex one :) ]

elliott

• Elliott pictured a very romantic, idealized life for himself. He wanted the cozy house, the loving spouse, and the two beautiful kids. Yes, to many it may seem unrealistic, but Elliott adored the thought. He understands that it may not be in the cards, but he's certainly manifesting! Right now, he has the life that he's dreamed of. He would love to have children with you!

• When he first found out you were pregnant, Elliott was ecstatic! He was so in love with you, and he was so excited to go through the beautiful progress of pregnancy. Bringing a human into this world was so beautiful to him, as most things in life were. He was so excited to be doing something so monumental with you.

• Elliott wrote a lot about you, your pregnancy, and your future child. Late night journaling sessions had many thoughts about you, you were all that flooded through his mind despite being married for so long. You were forever his muse, especially now. He wrote piles and piles of poetry about your pregnant glow and the child that you were carrying. He was so excited, and he couldn't believe how beautiful you were.

• Constantly showering you with affection, Elliott was very considerate of you during the pregnancy. Late night runs to Joja Mart were frequent, getting whatever you needed at the drop of a hat. You were so busy, even while pregnant! It was admirable in his eyes, and he wanted to shower you with as much affection as he could.

• As the time came to deliver the baby, Elliott was by your side the entire way to the hospital. He fulfilled your every request, showering you with words of encouragement and soft kisses on your forehead for comfort. He was worried, of course he was, a child was coming out of you. But, he knew in his heart, that everything would go perfectly.

• When everything was said and done, Elliott was incredibly excited. He was calm, making sure to hold you and let you have a moment to breathe. You meant everything to him, and you made sure to ask if you were okay. Yes, the baby had just been born, but he needed to take care of his spouse first and foremost. After knowing you were okay, he then started to discuss the baby. He was so excited to hold his newborn, he was already teary eyed.

• “Hello, my love ... goodness, you are so beautiful. You have the eyes of your mother, and the nose of your father. I ... for the first time in my life, I have been rendered speechless. You ... are going to be something special. You are the most special sum of atoms that have ever come to be. My dear, I hope that I shall give you the joy that your mere presence has given me.”

sebastian

• Sebastian never really thought about kids until you came into the picture. He didn't think he'd make a really good dad, as he really didn't have a good idea of what a father really is. His dad isn't around, and his stepdad is not the best to him. He never really thought that he could be a dad, but he wasn't against it. He just hadn't put too much thought into the subject.

• When he first found out that you were pregnant, Sebastian was shocked to say the least. He didn't really expect it, but he didn't show it. He gave you a smile and a kiss, happy despite the uncertainty. He didn't want you to worry, as you were the one actually carrying the child, and it would be much harder on you. So, he pushed his anxiety away until later. He showed his love and support for you right away.

• Late nights caught up to Sebastian. He sat in the realization that he really didn't know how to be a father. He didn't want to be like Demetrius: incredibly demeaning and awful toward him. But, on the other hand, he didn't want to be like his father: a deadbeat. So, he was stuck between worlds, freaking out over what may be the right thing. He spent many sleepless nights on parenting websites, or asking reddit what to do. He was stressed, to say the very least.

• During the pregnancy, Sebastian was very attentive to you. He would keep you company if you were ever suffering from pain, giving your belly soft kisses and holding your hand. He was stressed, and he didn't admit that to you until after the pregnancy was done. You did notice he was a bit more on edge than usual, so you tried to reassure him when you could. But, at nights, he was still trying to come up with a game plan.

• Soon, the baby was coming. Sebastian was freaking out inside, but managed to stay semi-calm on the outside. Not enough for you to notice, at least. However, you were going into labor, so you probably weren't paying much attention. He was by your side, holding your hand and saying a few reassuring phrases. They were for both of you, but it definitely calmed your nerves. He hoped everything would be okay in the end.

• After everything, Sebastian was drained but ... more than anything, he was happy. A smile landed on his face, holding your hand as you two waited for your baby to be brought to you. He kissed your knuckles, his nerves seeming to disappear. Being a father was going to be okay, because your child had the most wonderful mother. So, when Sebastian held his child for the first time, he was trying his hardest not to cry.

• ”Oh, wow ... you're a little human, in my hands, and real ... I ... didn't realize how real this moment would feel. I'm a father, and you're my little baby ... you're just a little guy, aren't you? Hehe ... you're such a cutie. I think we're gonna be okay, you think? I think so ... and I was so scared. Why was I so scared? You're really just a bundle of joy.”

[slasherx]

Thomas Hewitt relationship HC's

Content: Thomas Hewtt x gn!Reader

Warnings: Canon typical violence, manipulation from Hoyt, possessive and jealous behavior, brief mention of sex but no actual NSFW, so 17+

Notes: My first slasher fic! Pls be nice, it's my first time writing for our boy Tommy

Lets skip over meeting him for now. If anyone wants to know how I think Thomas would meet and fall in love with his S/O, just shoot me a request!

Thomas would be very cautious at first. Not because he doesn't trust you, nono, he'd HAVE to trust you before getting in a relationship first

He's cautious because he doesn't know how to control his strength around you, and doesn't want to cross a line. You're his first and likely his only partner in life, so he doesn't want to lose you

Thats another thing - he's super scared that you'll end up seeing how much better you can do and leave him. If not for how ugly he thinks he looks, then for the fact that his family are cannibals.

This leads him to be very jealous and possessive. If another man comes near you, he's behind you in an instant if he can be, glaring them down and practically tearing them apart with his eyes

If he finds you flirting with another man, he'll be angry with you beyond belief. Would probably give you the silent treatment for a week, and he's already mute, so that's saying something (I tease)

Probably wouldn't be super touchy, he's been hit his whole life, and I believe the Hewitt's would use physical disciplinary methods growing up, which means Tommy would've most likely been hit by his family too. Nowhere is safe for this poor man

He wouldn't mind if you were touchy though, it would just take him a while to get used to it

He doesn't mind if you don't get along with Monty or Charlie, that's kind of a given, especially if you're a woman or fem presenting, but he wants you to get along with his mother so BADLY

He definitely would not say "I love you" first, he would wait for you to say it, even though he'd most likely fall in love with you first

He'd do anything for you. He'd kill for you, beat someone for you, talk shit about someone for you, etc. He'd basically drop anything for you. Aside from his family, you are his first priority.

This can lead to fights between you and Hoyt. Hoyt doesn't think Tommy should be loyal to "a good for nothing slut like you" above certain members of his family, since you're technically still an outsider

Tommy will butt into these arguments and have your back, but the first time this happened, Hoyt had managed to get into his head and make him doubt you. Yeah, safe to say that never happened again

Tommy wouldn't feel comfortable sharing a room until you were farther into your relationship, and it would take even longer for him to take off his mask around you

When he does finally take his mask off around you, he expects you to yell and scream, to call him ugly. But when you don't, and you even call him handsome? Oh he is melting into the floor

That's when he starts to develop an unhealthy obsession with you. He was in love with you before, but now that he's shown his rawest form to you and you still loved him above all else? Oh he's in LOVE love

He refuses to leave you alone, and this is probably around the time you guys first have sex. He wanted to wait until you were married like his Mama asked, but he just couldn't help himself.

This is getting kinda long, so if you guys want a part two or something, be sure to request!

• ───────────────── •

Here's my masterlist, in case you like what you see and want to request more!

[ashtavula]

OMGOMGOMG COULD I ALSO REQUEST THE REST OF DIASOMNIA WITH THE ACCIDENTAL LOVE LETTERS?!?!!

I LOVE YOUR WORK AHDJBAJSNFF

aaaaa thank you!!!

Sebek, Silver, and Lilia accidentally receive your love letter

Sebek:

-The two of you had been studying together. Well, more like Sebek had been fussing at you while you struggled to understand the complex theorems in front of you. You end up having to leave in a rush, and your love letter ends up fluttering to the floor. Sebek tries to tell you that you dropped something, but you leave without paying attention to his words. He picks it up, and his eyes go wide when he realizes what's been written.

-Sebek sputters as he reads, and his cheeks turn pink. He'd been trying to ignore his feelings for you, but your letter makes his heart pound in his chest. Sebek is consumed by the desire to go to you, to tell you that he loves you more than anything. And before he can think to try and stop himself, he's already shoved his things into his bag and is tearing off after you, still holding your letter.

-When he finds you some time later, he immediately grabs your hands and pulls you close. Sebek, in all of his usual enthusiasm, loudly declares that he accepts your feelings. He goes on to vow that he will be a devoted husband to you, and that his adoration for you will never wane. As usual, he's going too far, but that's just one of the many things you love about him.

Silver:

-Silver was confused when he woke up to find a letter sitting on his chest, delivered by one of his avian friends. He rubs his eyes, yawning as he opens the folded paper. The lingering drowsiness quickly leaves him once the contents of your letter are revealed to him.

-You...you love him. Silver has a hard time coming to terms with that. He loves you too, but he's not sure if he'll be able to give you the sort of life you deserve. Silver isn't oblivious. He knows that his condition is difficult and frustrating. He also knows how most people see him. It takes a few long minutes, but Silver eventually decides that there's no harm in at least trying.

-A week later, a letter arrives for you, telling you to go to the botanical gardens after sunset. When you arrive, you find Silver. He appears almost ethereal in the moonlight, holding a bouquet of flowers for you. The two of you wander through the garden, and Silver points out all of the flowers that only bloom at night. He shows you just how beautiful things can be in the quiet of the dark. At the end of the path, surrounded by the sweet scent of the flowers, Silver gets down on one knee, and he confesses to you. He tells you that he can't promise much, but he can promise to love you, no matter what.

Lilia:

-He tilts his head to the side as one of his little bats comes flying towards him with some paper clutched in it's claws. Once Lilia receives it, he's quick to note that the page is covered with your handwriting. And it doesn't take more than a few words for him to realize exactly what kind of letter you've written for him.

-Lilia's lips spread into a sly smile as he reads, little giggles escaping him. He's happy, but also rather amused by the novelty of actually having a love letter addressed to him. It reminds him that even he can be surprised every now and then. And since you're being so sweet to him, he decides that it's only fair to return the favor.

-Since you sent him an old-fashioned love letter, he's going to show you some old-fashioned fae courtship. He surprises you by arriving at Ramshackle one evening, bearing a container of homemade food and his bass guitar. Once you've been given the food, Lilia clears his throat, and starts strumming on his guitar. He's written you a love song. The lyrics are lovely, even if he does take a few...liberties with the vocals. And once you accept his somewhat odd courting, he'll give you one more gift. A sweet kiss, right there on your front porch.

[xxlady-lunaxx]

Live for us | {SaneObaGiyuu}

Theme: Angst+fluff+angst!

Note: TW's!! self harm, suicide, self degradation, blah blah, ok you get it

they're already dating and tanji doesn't exist <3

×××

There was a thing about life that made it so unappealing. Several things, actually. But for one, you don't even make it out alive. What's the point? What do you live for if you're just going to die in a couple years? You don't even know if you'll make it past tomorrow. So what's the point?

The fact stood, however, that if Giyuu died, he would no longer see Sanemi and Obanai anymore. Which seemed to be the sole reason he was alive. He didn't even know if he should keep living for them. He was a nuisance anyway. He would only bother them and they were better off alone. He wondered, often, if they would notice if he died.

Though they did seem to notice other things. Like if he was quieter than usual—which was saying something, considering he was often quiet—or if he hadn't been eating. His eating problems weren't like Obanai's. They were selfish—Obanai's made sense.

Giyuu didn't eat because he hoped he would starve to death. He would waste Sanemi's carefully made food just because he wasn't happy. He was stupid.

He was so sure that Sanemi and Obanai were quite done with him. He figured that if they weren't so nice, they would've dropped his ass immediately. He had forced them into the relationship anyhow, right? He'd forced himself into theirs. Somehow, for some reason, they had let him. They acted as if they loved him—but did they really?

Sometimes, when he watched them, he could imagine that they would be perfectly fine without him. Smiling and laughing. They looked good together. They were better off without his presence. He was nothing but a river between to pieces of land, pushing them apart. He only ruined things. 

They insisted, for his sake, that he wasn't annoying. They said they loved him. They said they cared. But they couldn't truly, right? Shinobu had said it herself—nobody liked him. Nobody wanted to be his friend, much less his boyfriend. So how had he gotten two boyfriends? Simple. They were too kind to let him down. They probably figured he would cry like a fucking baby and follow them like a stupid child if they rejected him. He would. He probably would.

That was the worst of it. He knew why they hated him. But he couldn't let himself to accept it. Or, at least, leave them be. He stuck to them like glue, unwilling to leave their side. You see, they were the only people who could make him feel, even just for a split second, that he might possibly want to live. That he might be worth it. That life might be worth it. Just for a minute. And it was the most selfish thing he ever let himself keep. He refused to be selfish, typically, but he needed it. Wanted it. He longed for it. Yearned for it to last. A little longer. A minute more. 

×××

Sanemi knew what it looked like when someone hurt themself deliberately. He would know. He used to do it. But that was in the past. He hadn't given it much of a thought again after months—years—passed. He began to feel content again and mostly forgot that he'd ever had an episode like that. 

Obanai and Giyuu were his absolute pride and joy—and Genya, though he would never admit it to anyone. They made him feel as if he could lead a somewhat normal life, or at least die a content death. So he went along with his life just fine for a while. Until Giyuu stumbled into his house, face pale and arms slack.

For a moment, he got a sense of déjà vu. He didn't understand it at first and simply picked up Giyuu, asking if he was alright. Then it hit him.

The first time he had purposefully harmed himself, he hadn't been sure what was wrong with him. It was when Masachika was alive. Sanemi hadn't slept well that day and had awoken with a surge of guilt and pain. He didn't understand himself. He had grabbed his katana and numbly drew it down his own body, watching blood spill from the wounds. The blade had been sharp. And he had pressed much too hard. But the pain felt relieving, as if feeling some pain would make up for the loss of his family, his siblings he'd been unable to protect. It soothed his mind. But then Masachika had entered the room.

The katana had dropped and suddenly his wounds stung in a million other ways and he no longer felt the momentary comfort from them. He cried out, standing. He had wobbled towards Masachika, unsure what he was doing. He was sure, now, that he must've looked exactly as Giyuu did now. Collapsing into Masachika's arms, molded by the concern lacing his friend's gaze.

He must've looked the same. Pale and shaky. Wondering what the hell had he done.

Sanemi tugged Giyuu's sleeves up. When he had done it, it had been all over his body. His legs, his arms, his chest. But he had caught a glint of bandages from under Giyuu's haori sleeve. It hadn't been there earlier and he hadn't gone on any missions since they had last met.

The bandages were stained red. It was only one arm, but it was still one arm. It was still there.

He scooped Giyuu up, taking him to his room. He placed him down on the futon, ordering him to stay there before shouting at his crow to go find Obanai and scouring his bathroom for towels and bandages. 

When Obanai had arrived, they had mopped up Giyuu's arm, putting light pressure on the wounds as they dabbed the blood with the towel. The bandages were wrapped around his arm and then they pulled him under the covers of the bed, quiet. They stole worried glances, holding Giyuu in a tight embrace.

After Giyuu had fallen asleep, they had spoken to one another in hushed tones for hours. They hadn't known that Giyuu had been unhappy to the point he would do something like this. And Sanemi feared it wasn't a one-time thing. That it was worse. That it would spread. 

Obanai suggested they spoke to Giyuu about it. He said that they would have to help him, somehow. To make him have something to live for, maybe.

When they talked to Giyuu, the following day, over this matter, he had brushed it off.

"I'm alright," he had said. "I was just feeling bad yesterday."

Neither believed him. Giyuu had never been the best at lying. He hadn't suddenly gotten the talent to.

They ended up dragging him back to Sanemi's house for another cuddle session. This time, however, they involved Giyuu in the talking. The conversation went back and forth time after time, constantly revolving back to the fact that Sanemi and Obanai loved him dearly and then Giyuu denying it and assuming they didn't.

In the end, however, they were satisfied with the results. Giyuu ended up contently snuggling into their hugs and finally giving up with his argument. he seemed a bit happier after the talk and Sanemi and Obanai relaxed slightly.

Of course, they of all people should've known to never let their guard down. But it's only human to forget every now and then. Even when it comes at the worst times possible.

×××

It would've been a lie to say that Giyuu hadn't felt better after his boyfriends told him how much they loved him for an hour straight. But it would've also been a lie to say that it helped him on the long run. See, it made him feel better for about two hours after the talk. Roughly. And then his mind ran wild.

They must've been telling him that to make him stop being a burden to them. So they would stop having to help him. They probably felt pressured to do it. Yes, that was it. They didn't love him as much as they said they did. Words were empty, right? Promises didn't save Tsutako's life. Neither did they mean much when they told him "I love you." They didn't love him. They shouldn't. They wouldn't. Who would love him anyway? It was illogical. Unlikely. Stupid.

The thoughts molded his mind. They made up his thoughts. They made him want to curl up in a ball and cry. And maybe get dehydrated from that and die. Then in that moment he made a decision. It wasn't a sober one. He wasn't in the right mind. But it was far too late to stop him.

He was being ludicrous. Of course they didn't love him! Of course they wanted him out of their sight right away! Why would they care about him? There was nothing appealing about Giyuu; he was quiet and stubborn and annoying. He was nothing but another person to worry about because he was too childish and careless to take care of himself. So he was better off gone. Out of their lives.

His hand was on his katana, pulling it out of his sheathe. Then the blade was at his throat. He felt nothing more.

×××

It came, as would be expected from anyone but Giyuu, a shock. At first, the Hashira were confused. Was this a joke? It was the middle of the day. What had happened to Giyuu? How had he died? And then one word fell upon their ears and they were stiffened with shock. 

"Suicide."

The news reached Sanemi and Obanai first—who were on their way to Giyuu's house to hopefully spend some time together. They had been making their way idly to his house, talking lightheartedly. Then a crow swooped by. Was that Kanzaburou?

The word of Giyuu's death that he'd inflicted upon himself had barely left the bird's beak before the two had dropped their food—which they'd had to maybe convince Giyuu to eat lunch with them—and rushed to his house. The door was broken open—there was no use knocking.

The house was eerily silent for the middle of the day. Their footsteps, though loud, and their calls of his name didn't fill in the quiet that had befallen over the house. They stopped dead at his bedroom door, eyes wide but face otherwise slack with shock. Giyuu's body was slumped down, his head deattached from his body. His katana was held loosely in his hand, blood dotted vaguely on the blade. He was dead.

First came the shock. The processing. Then panic surged both Hashira forward and they stumbled towards his body, kneeling by his side. There was no hope on saving him. There couldn't be.

They searched the room. Had there been something to trigger him? No. What was it? Had they not done enough? Had they made it worse? What had happened? What the hell had fucking happened?

The news rippled through the Hashira. A death like this, though not uncommon for Demon Slayers, was the first amongst the Hashira in decades. Because of that, several Hashira were at Giyuu's house within minutes of getting the occurance. They found Sanemi and Obanai bent over Giyuu's body, clutching each other and shaking. Tears didn't seem to be coming out but silent screams rendered them useless as Tengen slowly pulled Giyuu from under them, wrapping him in a blanket to be buried.

Neither Sanemi nor Obanai knew what had happened. But both blamed themself. And the cycle began.

×××

« Word count: 1921 »

sun is shining, birds are singing, nice day to write angst!

[inbabylontheywept]

Hi there! I just read through a few of your long form posts -- the one about the boss and the glue traps and the lizards, the one about the friend and the radishes and the cop, and the one about the breakup and the car and the neighbor's car and your dad -- and I'm just really blown away by your writing. And I'm just curious, are they actual experiences or are they fiction? They read like actual experiences, and the writing is so naturalistic and...idk, low key sweet, stream of consciousness without the major sidetracking that often happens in stream of consciousness writing and also more...more poetical in a way, I guess. I don't know. Are you published or wanting to? I mean I couldn't help with that or anything but if you've got a book out I'd love to read it.

Patrick McManus was kind of THE legendary writer to my family. When my dad was a kid, he'd sit on the porch the door that the monthly copy of Outdoor Life was going to arrive, and as soon as he got it, he'd run in with it and take it to his dad, who would gather all his kids around and read the stories out loud.

My dad loved it because his dad would make a whole performance out of the readings: He'd do voices, pantomimes, dramatic sound effects, the works. The stories are amazing, but the out-of-character behavior from his dad was half the selling point. Grandpa Hank was, to his core, a good man. But he was gruff, and socially, pretty stiff, and he didn't often show emotion. I think my dad said he saw him tear up one time growing up, and it was when he got dropped off at the MTC. My mom was married to my dad for three years before Grandpa Hank was comfortable enough to sit down in their house, and he liked her. That's just how he was.

(You just praised me for not getting sidetracked, but I'm letting myself wander down those memories a bit. He died last year. I miss him terribly.)

Anyway: Those stories were how I first started learning how to spin a yarn. I got older and I got more influence than just cowboys and Westerns, but the soul of my style is still just The American Tall Tale.

Which is to say that they're not outright fabrications. When I say that I cut all the worms up in my backyard and had a panic attack and hid in a tree until my mom got me, that happened. But I only remember the vaguest outlines of the words that were said. When there's a line in that story about my mom telling me that she's sure the worms will forgive me because they got six hearts to love and no bones to pick, that's not how she talks. That's how I talk.

Other stories, they're far less fuzzy than that, but I can still point out things I don't know. Wrestling story was from middle school, and a lot of those "crisp details" are just me painting by vibe. I've had some people that did wrestling through highschool point out things like refs not actually counting to three, or how double-legs are not actually super effective for tall wrestlers. I don't actually know how much the woman I wrestled weighed, nor do I remember how much I weighed, except that I was more than two weight classes smaller than her. Car incident, I got broke up with, went to her parents door, waited on the lawn, and was given some olives to go with a wireless phone. But exact wording of a lot of the people involved fails me. As a rule, the weirder an event is, the more likely I am to be distinctly remembering it and not just filling in the background. Except for dialogue, which often turns out weird because when I have to make up things for other characters to say, it carries too much of my own speaking style in it, and that's always been weird.

There are even points where things do come right off the rails. In the stories about J post, J himself became a sort of mythic figure after he moved, and lot of the stories about him, I don't even know I'm remembering them first hand or second hand from a story someone else shared with me.

I know it would be easier to just go, yeah, they're true, or no, they're not, but I did a weird thing and mixed them up and now even I'm a little confused.

Regarding publishing: I'm not published, and the thought of trying to get published scares the shit out of me. I

I don't know. If anyone has advice, I'd be interested.

[moodymisty]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝕸𝖊

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Author's Note: Hi... I finally finish this part. The last two are actually fairly close to being done, I was just really held up on this one. It's not my favorite, but I just had to get it done.

Summary: A Night Lord becomes interested in you while you stand under the eyes of your Salamander guardian, and you find yourself stuck between two titans.

Relationships: Yandere Salamander/Fem!Reader/Yandere Night Lord

Warnings: Hints of nsfw at points, Yandere, Size differences, Very toxic suffocating relationship(s), Some knight/princess dynamics, Demeaning language, Both these guys have hero complexes, Violence blood and bruises and possibly death to say without spoilers

Word Count: 1376

Ever since the moment you met him, Lev has been your shadow whenever Ralkan isn’t around. 

Every time, not long after you leave your quarters, he seems to find you.

Whereas the Salamanders have rigid training regimens they must abide by every single day- though day is a bit of a loose term in the depths of space - it seems the Night Lords are largely left up to their own devices as you travel to their destination.

You suppose it makes sense, daily training wouldn’t do much for them other than entertainment; These Night Lords are clearly the best of the their genestock, brought aboard to show the Salamanders who they were working with.

Ralkan had been extremely displeased with you when you’d called this all a pissing contest. The much younger Salamander in your company at the time had snickered at your joke before getting quickly reprimanded and sulked his way back to the firing range.

But as much as he denied your comment and attempted to dissuade any ill will between the two legions as merely the occasion disagreement, you've heard from around the ship that attempts to keep things amicable however have largely failed. You’ve heard rumors of the Night Lords getting into fights with Salamanders, barking and goading confrontation like rowdy, feral street dogs.

Ever since Lev had an altercation with a Salamander- you don't even know if he was the first one to do so- it seems to have only gotten worse. And you still have at least another two weeks in travel before you reach your destination, with everyone trapped in here like fish in a barrel.

At least the Salamanders have weapons, the baseline humans aboard the ship have been forced to shuffle around and avoid eyesight of any Night Lords, and pray they don't stick out of the crowd.

Your conversations with the others aboard the ship might be brief, but you know that some have gone missing. As if the implications let out by Lev's cohorts at the time of your first meeting hadn't already queued you in on it.

Sitting at your desk in the midst of some monotonous work you glance to your left, leaning over to open a drawer and reveal the contents.

The centerpiece of them all is a Night Lord combat knife. The metal shines, but far less that you would expect it to. It's like it eats the very light that touches it. You kept it hidden, Emperor forbid Ralkan found it, but...

You didn't want to throw it away either.

You could hear the sound of the pipes thrumming as you looked up at Lev, and he looks down on you. A serf passed by behind him at a quick pace; Even quicker when Lev turned just slightly at the neck to watch them and make sure they moved along.

He'd found a moment in-between moments- the few seconds where Ralkan wasn't watching - to find you. Perhaps that should unsettle you. But he's given you the first real conversations you've had in awhile besides Ralkan, and you couldn't help but pause.

Ralkan is a safe embrace, Lev is a precarious drop; But you keep looking over the edge.

"You look tired," He said, looking down at you with lazy eyes. He always looks somewhat sleepy and unimpressed himself.

"I was going back to my quarters to sleep, until you stopped me." He grew a smirk that showed sharp, near overgrown canine teeth.

"Maybe you should tell that Salamander of yours to back off then."

You crossed your arms across your chest like a self-assuring hug and focused on the bat wings stretched across the chestplate of his armor.

"Do you know he always has eyes on you? Even when he isn't around? Even his brothers are watching you."

You assumed he's been having trouble getting a moment where it's just you; Many have, not just him. Ralkan has watched you so intently since Lev started sinking his talons into you, and despite finding comfort in him keeping the Night Lord with unknown intentions at bay, you also find yourself tugging away for just an inch of space.

Unfortunately, that space leads right into Lev.

"...His name is Ralkan."

You swallow a knot in your throat. As much as you knew you could talk to Ralkan, push back against some things he said, you had no idea where Lev's limits are; What words might make him decide you're more fun as toy he can break than one he's gentle with.

"Here."

Lev reached to his belt and pulled a knife from it, tossing it in the air gently to grab it by the blade tip and push it out towards you. You didn't touch it, leaning away and staring at it like it's diseased. It might as well be; You don't know what unsaid intentions you'd be accepting if you took it from him.

"I saw your Salamander gave you something," You assumed he was talking about a small trinket Ralkan had made at the forge for you, one of a few. The necklace that dangles around you neck at all times now was also from him.

A practice with things more delicate, he had said.

"Here's something of my own. Don't lose it."

You hadn't lost it, but it had taken some hiding to keep it out of Ralkan's sight. You knew that if he saw it, the rough and disgusting gift- much unlike Ralkan's delicate one - would be gone in an instant.

Perhaps you shouldn't care, it's from an astartes you barely know, but something about it just makes you want to keep it.

Your entire vision as been Ralkan over these past few months. Especially these recent weeks since Lev arrived. The sight of something, someone else is almost enthralling- no matter how dangerous. You've caught yourself looking at the knife multiple times now, remembering the way Lev's armoured fingers wrapped around sharp edge of the blade as he gave it to you, even once having to slam the drawer shut quickly just before Ralkan entered your room to take you somewhere.

He hasn't caught wind of the knife itself yet, but you have a feeling he knows you're hiding something. He's given you openings to say, but you've declined them all. You assume he knows Lev is somehow finding you and is hoping you'll tell him how, what rat holes he's using to get to you, and it frustrates him that you won't.

He probably thinks the astartes is threatening you to not tell him. Rather than that you don't want to.

You close the drawer, hearing the contents jingle around while sighing.

You'd curse even coming aboard the Flamewrought, but you can't deny the advantages of being here. Your work, the people you've met, though most of those people are gone; Ralkan is almost all that remains. You speak to some of his men at times, but the interaction is always brief and controlled.

“Where’s your Salamander now, little one?” 

You suddenly burst up from your chair, it sliding with a hideous squeal as you hit it with the back of your knees and nearly stumble over. Lev meanwhile stands in the doorway, watching before stepping inward. You take a step backward as his right hand reaches out to slam the door controls and shut it behind him.

“He left you all alone in here?” 

You hold your hands close to your chest as if trying to protect yourself, watching him stare at you with black eyes.

“These are my quarters, he doesn’t stay here.”

Lev scoffs and rolls his eyes. He steps closer, ignoring the way you step back to try and maintain the distance. Seeing him in the halls is one thing; There's a chance a Salamander could see you in distress and help you, or you could scream and try to run, but here you're far out of the way of everyone else by design, and with nowhere to even try fleeing to.

"I'm sure he would choose otherwise, had he the chance. He keeps a very close eye on you, you know. He'd be quite disappointed you left the door unlocked." You do know, quite well in fact, and reiterate as such.

"I'm... Well aware of how through his guardianship is."

He must find either you or the situation funny, and laughs.

"What then, does his Salamander duty and rigor prevent him from going any further? Or do you have someone else already, and he's forced to keep his hands to himself?" He laughs again, but it comes out like an indignant snort.

"A pity, I'm sure it makes him furious having to spend so much time protecting a little thing like you and not even get to enjoy it."

It's cold in this room, always is- the entire ship is chilled, recirculated air - and it makes you able to feel the noticeable heat radiating from his body and his armor as he approaches you.

He smiles, leaning in closer. You know you're out of space when your shoulderblades finally knock against the wall.

Closer again. You can feel his breath on your face, how his long hair tickles your skin. Even closer and his stubble rubs against your skin, burning it.

His lips press against yours and you whimper into his mouth, a noise that makes him moan. Your fear spurs him on and he presses his lips to yours harder, feeling when your hands grab the seams of his armour and either try to helplessly push him away, or at least hold on until he's finished with you. The scar across his upper lip scrapes against yours much like his stubble does- everything about him is rough and jagged. Only when your whimpers get louder and start turning into muffled cries does he finally pull away, his teeth raking over your bottom lip before he pulls them away with a soft ‘pop’.

His smile his bright, like he just found a brand new toy.

“You are soft,” 

He says, twisting his brother’s words from weeks earlier. He has this look in his eyes, bright with curiosity, like he’s enthralled by something so simple. You can feel your heart slamming against your chest as you stand in his shadow, tears wanting to prick at the corners of your eyes. You know you have something he wants, but while he's being gentle, the vast unknown behind his eyes his terrifying. But is that unknown better that suffocating?

Lev seems to think it is, one his his gauntlets gripping your clothing as gentle as the armour allows him.

"I can take you, I'll get you away from him and I can keep you safe, all to mys-"

"Get away from her."

Lev pulls back, turning to see Ralkan standing in the opening doorway. His hand rests on the handle of his chainsword ready to pull the trigger and rev it to life, and the look he's giving the Night Lord is nothing short of hellfire.

"It is one thing to be on our ship, but I thought I was quite firm in my orders to keep your disgusting hands off of her, and keep your distance."

The smile Lev had quickly fades into an unimpressed and angry sort of look, wrinkling his nose. He doesn't move away from you, instead just turning.

"You don't get to order me around. I'm no brother of yours."

That struck a nerve of Ralkan's, you can instantly tell. His shoulders squared and his hand flexes around the handle of his chainsword, just tight enough that you hear the engine start to kick on and the chain's teeth rattle as it threatens to spin to life.

“I am from Nocturne. I am well versed in slaying dragons, a rat like you should be nothing at all.”

Lev rolls his eyes, unimpressed by Ralkan's formality. He finally turns from trapping you against the wall to give the Salamander his full attention, allowing you to scurry off to the side.

But while Lev seems casual his hand rests close to his own blade, and despite the smirk on his face and casual lean he is just as prepared to fight as Ralkan is.

“Even if you do kill me Salamander, it doesn’t change that you’re just hoarding her all to yourself.”

The two and their energies make this room feel microscopic in size, as Ralkan shifts and evens his footing. Lev straightens up slightly, putting his hands closer to the weapons hanging from his hip.

You stand back trapped in here with them, with no chance of racing by without either one grabbing you for themselves.

You can only step back, and hope that it doesn’t escalate any further than this.

[captainsophiestark]

Rock Solid

Enzo St. John x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: TVD/TO

Summary: Enzo's SO roped him into joining a Mystic Falls scooby gang game of truth or dare, and the rest of the Mystic Falls group is having trouble believing just how healthy their relationship is.

Word Count: 1,193

Category: Fluff, Humor

A/N: I know not all of the characters mentioned in this were present/on speaking terms at the same time in TVD, but I don't care. We're ignoring the timeline and going for vibes.

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Okay, truth or dare?"

I could tell Tyler was up to something across the circle of our friends, but I wasn't sure what. I hummed, thinking for a moment before deciding to play it on the safer side. I'd known Tyler for most of our lives, and if he had a grin like that on his face, I didn't want to know what dare idea might be causing it.

"Truth."

Damon booed from across the circle, but Tyler and I ignored him. To my surprise, Tyler's grin actually grew as he asked his question.

"What's the biggest secret you're keeping from Enzo?"

I frowned, but not because I was upset at the question. My boyfriend, Enzo St. John, was sitting next to me, his arm around my shoulders. I'd dragged him to this party with my old Mystic Falls friends, and he'd given me some raised eyebrows and eyerolls at the idea of playing truth or dare. But, for me, he'd been a good sport about it. Because he loved me, and he knew it would make me happy while costing him relatively little. We had each other's backs like that.

Which is why I had absolutely no idea what Tyler was trying to do. Amongst the secrets, lies, and manipulations that had become the norm for my group since vampires got involved, Enzo and I always told each other everything. We didn't keep secrets from each other, unless maybe one of us was planning a surprise party, and frankly, I thought it was the main reason we were in a happy, committed relationship without the drama the rest of our group kept going through.

"Uh..." I said, stalling for time while I racked my mind. It seemed like Tyler was fishing for a specific answer, but I had no idea what it could be. After another few moments of thinking, I shook my head and dropped my gaze back down to meet Tyler's. "Honestly, I can't think of anything. I know that's not really the point of this game, but... I don't have any secrets from Enzo."

Right on cue, our entire friend group groaned and rolled their eyes. Also on cue, Enzo leaned down to kiss my temple with a smile. I turned to smile back at him, leaning closer into him and resting one hand on his thigh.

"Okay, there's no way you guys are actually this perfect," Caroline said, sitting up a little further from her seat beside Tyler. "There has to be some moment or lie or something that you haven't told him. What about that time at the bar...?"

"The one where we saw Kol and Klaus? He knows all about that."

Caroline narrowed her eyes at me.

"He knows all about that?"

"Yeah, Caroline," I replied, leaning forward and raising an eyebrow so she would hopefully get my meaning. "All about it."

My look must've worked, because Caroline promptly went bright red as her mouth dropped open. She glared at me, her voice raising in pitch as she spoke again.

"Are you serious? You told him about that?"

"Yes! Sorry, but... yeah, I did!"

Caroline huffed and flopped back into her seat, and I didn't need to look at my boyfriend to know he was grinning. I'd gone on a weekend trip to New Orleans with Caroline a few months ago, and we'd run into Klaus and Kol at a bar. Kol had spent some time hitting on me, but I'd shut him down, and we eventually ended up spending the night bonding and commisserating over the people we'd come to the bar with, who'd snuck off into the back to make out in a closet or something. I'd told Enzo everything, from the flirting to the shift to friendliness to Caroline ducking out with Klaus.

"Well what about some of the plans we've put together?" Elena chimed in, shifting in her seat next to Damon. "Like some of the things we all came up with before you started dating, when he was still working with the enemy?"

I shook my head. "...No, I told him about all of that after we started dating. And he told me about all of his pre-dating plots, too."

"Well what about-"

"I actually have a confession," Enzo broke in. Everyone stopped dead to look at him, and I turned to face him with a raised eyebrow. He continued, keeping his attention on my friends. "I know the question wasn't directed at me, but-"

"This works too," said Tyler, waving him off with a grin. "Whatta ya got?"

Enzo cleared his throat, then turned to meet my eyes. His expression was serious, and I could tell the rest of the room thought this was going to be a massive bombshell, but I honestly couldn't get myself to buy it. I just waited, letting Enzo build up to whatever it was he wanted to say.

"...I ate the last piece of cake last week."

I gasped, hand to my heart and a scowl instantly on my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw all our friends rolling their eyes and groaning, but I ignored them.

"Enzo! How could you?" I delivered the line like he'd just told me he'd slept with my best friend. "This is a betrayal! A stone-cold, unforgivable betrayal!"

"Alright, we get it!" Tyler broke in, giving us the tone equivalent of an eyeroll. I ignored him.

"Unless..." I said. Ezno raised his eyebrow, and I took a deep, dramatic breath. I barely managed to hold back a grin and stay in character. "I have a confession too. I was lying before, there is something I'm keeping from you."

"Boo!" called Caroline, as Damon hurled a pillow at the two of us. I ducked behind Enzo, letting it hit him, and the two of us quickly returned to dramatic form as it bounced off.

"I... told you the coffee I brought you last night was regular, but it was decaf. I know you're a vampire, but holy shit babe, it was two in the morning and you were drinking it for the taste, not to stay awake. You were trying to drink black coffee and go to bed. I couldn't just stand by."

"...I noticed. But it was adorable and thoughtful of you, so I didn't mention it."

I gasped again. "You bastard!"

That was the absolute limit of what Enzo and I could get through without dissolving into a fit of laughter. He moved his arm around my waist and pulled me closer to him, and I laid my head on his chest as I laughed my ass off. Half of our friends were glaring at us while the other half smiled fondly, but Enzo and I couldn't have cared less.

Leave the shitty drama and backstabbing to the rest of the supernatural world. Enzo and I were rock solid, and neither of us was ever going to let anything change that.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

TVD/TO Taglist: @elenavampire21

[paintpanic]

Res AU Joronia drawings. Character rambling and bonus doodles under cut.

This AU takes place a good while after the events of Triple Deluxe happened. Since then, Taranza's mostly recovered mentally from everything. He was able to move on from his grief and (somewhat) forgive himself. Now that Joronia's in his life again, seemingly back to her former self, some of those wounds he'd thought were fully healed have started to ache again. He still feels ultimately guilty for what happened to her.

He's thrilled that Joronia's been given a second chance at life, but is somewhat wary deep down. This feels to good to be true, that she's just back with seemingly no strings attached. The other shoe could drop any day now, and he could lose her all over again. Fearing this, he wants to make the most out of what could be a short time to be together again with his friend.

Joronia senses that there's a distance between the two of them now that wasn't there before. It shouldn't be surprising; he's probably still hurt from what she did. Other people definitely are. She's determined, though, to work hard to make it up to everyone she's hurt, and to prove to them (and herself) that she's not really like that, that she's capable of being better.

The Mirror's influence twisted her mind and her perception of reality. It made her feel like she was inadequate, and that everyone else were enemies to be subjugated. Now, she's supposed to be normal and better, but she still feels like there's something wrong with her head. She still doesn't feel good enough, and it still feels like everyone hates her. It's hard to trust herself. She's not sure if it's some lingering effect of the Mirror, or if there's just something inherently wrong with her now. She's scared.

She's afraid that something will happen, that she'll revert to how she was as Queen, and that she'll hurt Taranza again. Someone who'd always helped her, who'd stuck with her even when she was absolutely horrible to him, and who's kindness she's relying on again now, staying at his home as she worked on getting her life back together. She's a burden on him, and she always has been. She hates it.

Still, her deepest, most selfish wish is that they could be real friends again.

---

These two need to have a long, honest discussion about their feelings toward each other and themselves. Both of them are absolutely terrified about that prospect, though, because they each think that the other secretly resents them to some degree. If they actually talked through it, they'd quickly realize that they both want the same thing.

[mypoisonedvine]

more robert fischer please!!!!!! need to know if he's a freak or not bc I feel like he is 👀

oh we KNOW he a freak and since I've already written him as a subby freak it's time to see his dom side I think

warnings: free use, public sex, dom/sub, possessiveness, sir kink, oral m receiving and fingering, come eating, shoe licking (um i can't explain myself im sorry)

"Is this good, sir?" you asked as you peeked your head out from under the desk.

"It was, until you stopped without permission," he frowned without even looking down at you, still messing with the papers on his desk.

"I'm sorry, sir," you mumbled before getting back to it, focusing on his tip with your mouth as you stroked the rest-- already soaked with your spit from serving him for quite some time now while he worked. It probably hadn't been that long, but it felt like a while considering how sore your jaw was... but that was just a side effect of his size, even when you should've been used to it after being his 'pet' (as he called you) for this long.

He let you go on for a while longer, almost long enough that you worried you were doing something wrong that he hadn't come by now, until eventually leaning back in his chair and sighing as he looked down at you. "So obedient," he praised as he met your needy gaze up at him, petting your head for a moment. "Choke on it, pet."

You took your hand away and held his thigh instead, dipping your head down until your mouth had taken him as far as you could go and your lips were brushing against the patch of reddish-brownish hair at his base. You hummed proudly around him when he moaned quietly; as hot as it was to pleasure him while he was focused on something else, you preferred to get a reaction as a sign of a job well done.

"Fuck, that's good," he praised, "keep going-- I'm close."

You hadn't realized he was already on the edge, but you were more than happy to oblige; you did it again and again, still looking up at him even when he shut his eyes and tilted his head back with another deep moan.

"F-fuck, like that, god yes, gonna come--"

You would've begged with a please, sir, if your mouth wasn't full...

A moment later, as his grip on your hair tightened, he filled your mouth with come. You slowed down your movements but kept going, using your hand to stroke him again and ensure you'd milked every drop that you could. He took another heavy breath before looking down at you again, his face more flushed than before. "Show me," he ordered, but you knew the drill by now: you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, letting him see everything he'd given you.

He nodded in approval to let you know you could swallow, but you were a moment too late and a drop of come rolled off your tongue and landed on his shoe. You whimpered slightly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you swallowed the rest. "I'm sorry, sir--" you began.

"Jesus," he sighed, "you know how much these shoes cost?"

"No, sir," you shook your head, "how much?"

"I'm not actually trying to talk to you about the economy of Italian leather shoes," he frowned, rolling his eyes condescendingly. "I'm telling you to clean it up."

You nodded and knelt down, kitten-licking at the drop of come on his shoe, making sure to get it all before using your dress to wipe up the remnants of your spit from the polished leather.

"That's better," he sighed.

"I'm sorry for making a mess," you offered again as he stuffed himself back into his trousers and zipped up.

"It's alright, pet, you did very well," he assured, and you bit your lip as you smiled slightly. "I think you deserve a treat after that."

"O-oh, your come is enough," you promised, "you don't have to--"

"Get up on the desk, sweetheart," he ordered, and you quickly crawled out from under the mahogany to take a seat on it in front of him. He moved the papers out of the way for you, and rested his hand on your thigh as he smiled at you slightly. "What do you think you deserve as your reward?"

You weren't sure how to answer that, looking away nervously. "U-um..." you stalled. "A present, maybe?"

"A present," he repeated thoughtfully, "like what?"

"Maybe... a collar!" you suggested. "'Cause, you know, pet and all that..."

He smirked a little. "Cute," he said as he tilted his head, "but I like the necklace I got you more. A little more subtle, don't you think?"

You reached up and held onto the diamond-encrusted R around your neck-- you hadn't spent a moment without it since this arrangement first began, a constant reminder of being his. "I like it, too," you hummed, "I love it!"

"I know," he smiled, but in that sort of way that made you feel a little silly for being so eager-- but you like feeling silly, too. "Spread your legs, honey."

You did quickly, feeling his hand run up between them and tickle you through the lingerie he'd picked out.

"Do you think this is a good reward?" he offered, watching you with darker eyes. "Letting you come on my fingers?"

"Yes," you sighed, whimpering as you felt him pull the lace to the side. "Yes, sir-- thank you, sir--"

He teased your clit only for a moment before slipping two fingers into you-- you were plenty wet enough, he knew damn well what getting on your knees for him did to you. "God, you're dripping," he pointed out anyways, burying his fingers in you to the knuckle and curling them as he pressed his thumb to your bud.

"O-oh god," you gasped, tilting your head back.

He just watched you, and pumped his fingers in and out of you-- he was methodical about it, almost clinical if it weren't for the look in his eyes. "Good girl," he breathed, making you clench on his thick fingers.

A knock at the door startled you both-- but the way Robert instantly replied "Come in!" made your eyes widen most.

"S-sir," you whispered harshly, but he shot you a look that shut you up. You tried to cross your legs as you heard someone enter Robert's office, but he used his free hand to pull your legs open again.

"Don't mind him, pet," Robert told you quietly, "everyone here knows what you are."

And yes, they knew, it wasn't exactly a secret when you were showing up here in these slutty clothes he picked out, wearing his initial, hanging on his arm at corporate events and conferences. But no one had ever seen you in such an intimate moment before, and you nervously looked over your shoulder at the man on the other side of the desk-- who nervously met your gaze before darting his eyes away and adjusting his glasses shakily (though it did nothing to cover a red face).

"Uhm, we need your signature on these, Mr. Fischer," the man explained, voice cracking.

"Right," Robert agreed, "bring them here."

He stepped forward once, but stopped.

"Here," Robert repeated, and the man finally relented and finished approaching the desk as he set the papers down. Robert didn't even slow down his fingers movements inside you, and you tried not to moan aloud as he roughly rubbed your spot-- inside and out.

"I-it can wait," the man said nervously.

"No, no, now's as good a time as any," Robert shrugged, and you felt your face burning hotter than ever. "Sign these?" he confirmed.

When the other man nodded, Robert pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to your lips-- you dutifully sucked them clean of your arousal, even if you felt terribly ashamed and incredibly turned on like you never had before.

You caught the man looking at the way you sucked on Robert's fingers, even taking them all the way to the knuckle without gagging, but he glanced away a second later. "Good," Robert nodded as he took them away from your lips, wiping the last of the wetness off with his pocket square before grabbing his pen and signing in a few different places. "There you go," he offered the papers back to the man who snatched them up quickly and seemed to dart out of the room as fast as he could.

Robert's fingers were inside you again instantly, and his lip curled slightly as he fucked them into you faster.

"Good girl," he growled at you, "all fucking mine. Don't care who sees, you understand? If I wanna play with my girl, that's what I'm going to do. The fucking Pope could walk in here and I wouldn't stop-- you hear me, pet?"

You moaned loudly as you realized how close you were to coming on his fingers. "Yes, sir!"

[obsidianimagines]

Don't Mention It

The Doctor discovers that the two of you have a shared hobby

Twelve x gn!reader

Warnings: None

You realized it probably wasn't the best idea to touch The Doctor's guitar, but when you got ready for the day and entered the empty console room to find it sitting there unattended, you couldn't resist. After all, sometimes it was simply better to seek forgiveness than to ask for permission. Surely he wouldn't be too upset if he found out, and if he was, you could handle him.

After turning the amp down a bit, you sat on the steps, holding the guitar as you settled into place. Without having to think much about it, you began to play Purple Haze. You were a little out of practice, but it felt nice to strum out a tune.

Before you could move onto another song, you jumped at the sound of The Doctor's voice. "What are you doing?"

When you looked up, his piercing blue eyes and very serious brows were focused right on you. You hadn't even heard him get close.

"Playing guitar. Well, your guitar." You slipped the strap off of your body and handed the instrument to him. "Sorry."

"You never told me you could play." He'd actually been quite surprised at the fact that your playing sounded pleasant, as opposed to the nails on a chalkboard he'd heard when Clara once picked up his guitar.

"I'm sure I have. You probably weren't listening."

"I'm always listening," he said, sounding almost offended.

"You're joking, right?" You stood up from the stairs with a sigh. "Anyway...yes, I play. I just haven't had much time between travelling with you and working whenever I'm back at home. When I hear you playing, it really makes me miss it."

How The Doctor hadn't put the pieces together long ago, he didn't know. When you stopped everything and watched him play, he'd always assumed you were just impressed by his great skills. And maybe it was a little bit of that, but it seemed there had been some longing, too. You were enjoying the music and wishing you could be playing yourself.

The Doctor looked down at the guitar he still held in his hands, and you were caught off guard when he offered it back to you. "I'd better not find even a scratch on it. If I do, I'm dropping you off at home."

You knew he wouldn't do such a thing, but you still intended to respect his request, gingerly taking it from him and putting the strap back over your head.

As The Doctor turned to the console, you sat down once again and played the first thing that came to mind.

It had been a few days since your last trip with The Doctor when he finally showed up again. You weren't sure how long it had been for him—you never were—but he didn't seem any different.

He played his guitar as he pondered something you couldn't even begin to guess, filling the TARDIS with what you recognized as I Will Dare by The Replacements. An odd choice, you thought, yet that didn't stop you from listening intently.

The Doctor abruptly stopped the tune to put the instrument down, and he was gone from the console room before you could say anything. You sighed in disappointment. You quite liked that song after all.

You continued where he'd left off, humming and tapping your fingers against your thigh.

Moments later, The Doctor came back, holding a guitar case in his hand. You frowned at the sight, because even though he probably had several scattered around the TARDIS, he seemed to prefer the Yamaha that still sat in the console room.

It was even more puzzling when he gave you the case.

"Did you...buy me a guitar?"

"No, no. I didn't buy it. I don't buy things." The Doctor walked over to the console, pretending to look at something on the screen and at least attempting to be out of hugging distance. "A friend gave it to me in the 1960's, and it's been sitting around here ever since."

"1960's?" Very carefully, you placed the case on the floor, opening it to find a beautiful vintage Stratocaster. One very much like Jimi Hendrix used to play. Knowing the man who had given it to you, it was the genuine article.

Without noticing the way he'd been watching you, you closed the case back up and practically ran to The Doctor, throwing yourself at him in a hug. The impact and the way you pushed him into the console knocked some of the wind out of him. "Why does there always have to be hugging?!" He struggled to exclaim as you squeezed him tightly.

"I really can't help it right now." You kissed his cheek and gave him one more squeeze before mercifully letting him go. "Thank you, Doctor. Seriously."

"Don't mention it. Really. I only wanted to stop you playing mine so much."

"That won't be a problem. Believe me."

Returning to the case like a giddy little kid, you took the guitar out and hooked it up to the amp. You missed the small smile on his face as you began to play a song for him.

The Doctor didn't plan to tell you that he had only acquired the guitar after your previous trip.