#V writes

[heylittleriotact]

𝐢 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟕

𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐱 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐀𝐔

𝐀 𝐜𝐨𝐳𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐯𝐞: 𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐡𝐞 𝐰��𝐥𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐬 - 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡.

Read below or on ao3

The holiday season wasn't relaxing when you worked at a funeral home, as it turned out. In fact, it was statistically the busiest time of the year: the frail and elderly were more likely to succumb to death's call when the conditions were cold and bleak; inclement weather made for icy roads and parking lots, resulting in more fatal car accidents and falls; and most tragically of all was the notable uptick in suicides and overdoses around this time of year: the holidays were plainly a breaking point for some people, and during the week leading up to Wintersend when a new call came in where the decedent was resting at the medical examiner, Rook felt sad - sad for the person who had left. Sad for their family who would forever have to navigate this time of year while being reminded of the tragedy associated with it.

Taking vacation time during the busiest time of the year was basically unheard of at McDermott & Rafferty: in order to keep up with the higher than normal call volume, only a certain number of staff were permitted time off over the entire month, and those available dates were snatched up within hours of the calendar rolling over in the new year.

Rook was fortunate that due to the rotation of her schedule and sheer luck, she'd manage to swing an extra day off after Wintersend, which then rolled into her normal weekend off, resulting in four glorious days off in a row.

McDermott & Rafferty was open three-hundred and sixty-four days of the year. They were fully staffed for all other statutory holidays, with the only exception being the singular day of Wintersend. Even then, it operated on a skeleton crew of staff: one person in the call center, two transfer drivers to be available to remove any decedents from where they passed away, and two funeral directors on call, splitting the hours equally, should anyone urgently need to speak with a funeral director.

Emmrich had graciously offered to cover the first half of Wintersend until noon. After that, Leigh Ernesto would take over.

Rook wasn't crazy about the fact that their first Wintersend morning together would be spent within arm's reach of Emmrich's cellphone, rather than wrapped around each other and indulging in mimosas and sweet-rolls while thick fluffy snowflakes fell outside the window, but such was the nature of their calling, and she was grateful to be spending it with him at all. Besides, once he was no longer on call, he had the same days off as Rook, and she intended to take full advantage of that fact.

“Joan asked me yesterday if you’d met my parents,” she mentioned from her place at the end of the couch where she was scrolling her phone, half reading through key studying points for her upcoming final exam, half-watching the TV where black and white reruns of Alfred Hitchcock Presents enigmatized upon the screen.

“Did she?” He mused, flipping the page of his book and returning to massaging her feet in his lap.

“Yeah. I told her you got in a huge fight with them and kicked my Dad’s ass.”

Emmrich tutted, “I really wish you wouldn’t tell our colleagues such outlandish things, darling - wasn’t it awkward enough to have to sit down with Perry and sign that Consensual Relationship Agreement?”

By the time they both arrived at work on Monday after the party - separately - it became rapidly apparent that everyone at McDermott & Rafferty had somehow learned of their relationship over the course of the weekend.

‘Spotted leaving the party together and looking very cozy while doing so’ was the rumour that had circulated the ranks of all hundred-odd staff members in less time than it took for an Amazon delivery.

The source of the rumour was unclear - it had travelled so quickly through so many channels that getting to the root of it proved nearly impossible - not like it mattered: they had left the party together and they were very cozy. Denying it would only open the door to further embellishments and outright fabrications: the last thing Rook wanted to be doing was damage control on some bullshit nonsense about she and Emmrich fucking in a hearse or something.

“I mean if people want to keep asking me questions about my personal, off-the-clock life, they’re welcome to,” Rook snorted, “That doesn’t mean I have to tell them the truth - it’s none of their fucking business. I’ll keep making up increasingly insane shit until they get the point.”

She brushed the ball of her free foot over the front of Emmrich’s pants, pleased when his relaxed frame stiffened at the feeling of her toes on his flaccid cock: she knew exactly what she was doing with the flippant little movement.

“Besides,” she continued, “Joan knows you well enough to know that a bare-knuckle brawl with your girlfriend’s dad is the last thing you’d throw yourself into: it was just my special, polite little way of telling her to fuck off.”

"I admit I do feel better not having to be quite so secretive about things." He drank from his cup of tea, and Rook reached for her glass of wine on the coffee table next to her: red, intense, and pricier than anything she could ever justify buying. "I just worry that some see it as..." he hesitated.

"Inappropriate?" Rook suggested before taking a sip and setting her glass back down. "Mmmm, yes - surely everyone thinks that the cradle-robbing creeper used his position of power and authority over the young doe-eyed nymph, seducing her while with his fortune and dark sensuality while continuing to exercise said position of power in a way that puts her at a blatant disadvantage."

Emmrich's cheeks reddened, "I wouldn't put it quite so bluntly, but–"

"But what? You're hardly in a powerful position: you're not my boss or my supervisor - as far as hierarchy flowcharts go at McDermott & Rafferty go, we're basically on the same level: the only difference is you get paid more and get to deal with more bullshit. The only real power imbalance that anyone could point out would be the fact that you teach one of my embalming classes–"

"Exactly, dear, and–"

"– and I won't even have the prerequisite course completed so I can sign up for that one until later next year," Rook forged on. "We've already chatted about it: you'll go on leave for that semester, and someone else will fill in for you while I'm taking the course so there's no conflict of interest. You've already talked to the Program Director about it, and been forthcoming about our situation, so there's literally no reason for anyone to act fucking weird about it."

He got tangled up like this some times, she had learned: left to sit with his own thoughts for too long, he'd get lost in hypotheticals and 'what ifs' and outcomes that were well beyond his control: they had talked about this - at least three times - each time leading to the same outcome: it was going to be alright and no one was going to put him on a registry that precluded him from being within five-hundred yards of a school. He hadn't done anything wrong: Rook was a consenting adult who was interested in bouncing on his cock because she enjoyed it - not because he had somehow tricked or manipulated her into it.

"Rook..." he began solemnly, closing the book and setting it down.

"Emmrich," she retorted.

Something was bothering him - she could tell by the slight knit of his brow, and the way his mouth turned down at the corners; his eyes introspective... almost searching for something unseen.

"What's actually on your mind?" She prodded. "We've been over this so many times, I'm beginning to think you're using it as a front for something else."

His eyes drifted to his lap: her feet across it and his book. His palm whispered over the cover as if trying to soothe the inanimate object made of wood-pulp and ink.

"It's a personal question for many of us, so I don't ask it lightly: what inspired you to pursue the funeral profession, darling?"

Why is he making such a big deal of it? I've been asked this question by co-workers no less than thirty times since I started - it's not exactly taboo...

"My Dad died suddenly when I was 17. I was the one who found him when he didn't get out of bed in the morning: pulmonary embolism in his sleep. Struggled with it - we were real close. He pretty much raised me on his own." She put her phone down on the table. "The funeral director that helped us was an uptight dickhead - came off as really patronizing like I was some stupid little kid instead of a teenager. I remember thinking that if I was in his shoes, I'd never make a young person feel that way after they'd been through what I had. I just remember feeling isolated and misunderstood.

"Like..." she heaved a sigh. "–if one more 'adult' in my life at that time tried to make me feel better by telling me that my Dad dying in the middle of the night was 'the Maker's plan', or that at least he died quickly and he didn't suffer - I was going to fucking lose it. Who the fuck says that to anyone, let alone a girl who's just lost her only parental figure that actually gave a shit about her?"

Emmrich’s head tilted sideways, conceding the validity of her words. “Many people are disquieted when forced to confront grief: they mean well, but articulate themselves clumsily when they attempt to console or comfort the bereaved."

“Yeah, you know that. I know that now too - but I didn’t then, and I sat with that resentment for a long time until last year when my friend, Varric, died. It was a hit and run: someone mowed him down in a crosswalk when he was walking home from the pub one night. No one ever came forward. No arrests were ever made. And then it was more of the same: ‘ohhhh at least he didn’t suffer,’ and ‘destiny can be so cruel!’ So I said to myself: fuck it - I can do better. I can actually help people going through shit like this in a meaningful way instead of leaving them to shoulder an entire fucking nightmare on their own. Because—”

“—you know what it’s like,” Emmrich finished for her, absently tracing the shape of the bones in her feet.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sure you’ve come to realize that a significant portion of us are drawn to the profession for similar reasons - you are already aware that my own motivations were similar.” He turned his head to look at her. “Have you found that it’s helped? With those feelings of unresolved grief and resentment?”

"Maybe. I guess it's helped me understand them better: grief isn't linear, right? That's what all of the psychologists and textbooks say: The Kübler-Ross Model of the classic 'five stages' isn't meant to be taken literally, and there are days all I can feel is cold, aching fury that the coward who killed Varric is still out there, living their life without consequence. Other days, I feel grateful that the loss doesn't hurt quite as viciously as it did in those first months. Some days I don't even think about Varric at all, and then, like... the next day I hear a random song or unexpectedly encounter the smell a stale deck of cards or cheap whiskey or something, and it all comes tumbling back like it was yesterday. But... that's grief, right? You grow around it– and it lingers like scar-tissue: it never actually goes away. That's the burden of loss."

"You are wise beyond your years, my love..." he squeezed her foot gently, the fleshy curve of his thumb sinking into her arch.

"Don't you start patronizing me now too..."

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "I wasn't."

Rook stared at him, not sure how to move past the undeniably heavy subject, but Emmrich spoke before she could pounce on an attempt at levity.

"Have you ever been frightened by the thought of dying, Rook?"

Not exactly what she'd imagined discussing on the eve of Wintersend, but...

"I mean... yeah. When I kicked Tommy out and was living alone for the first time ever, I was having a shower one day and realized that if I slipped and cracked my head and died in there, someone was going to eventually stumble upon my water-bloated corpse when they came to investigate after not hearing from me for days. Or what if I choked on my breakfast? I’d be fucked. But like... what was I gonna do? Call Leon and make him stay with me on speakerphone every time I bathed or ate in case the worst happened? I mean... he would, because he's cool like that - but all I'm saying is, don't we all fear the unavoidable possibility of death from time to time?"

His expression was unreadable, the flickering light of the television emphasizing the lines etched upon his handsome face and the silver of his hair that appeared almost luminescent in the stark white light of an old horror story dreamt up by an enterprising and charismatic monster.

“… This concludes our little preachment on the evils of drink. Tune in next time, when we shall again present a charming little horrific fairy tale…”

Alfred Hitchcock bid them a good night.

“Emmrich?”

“When I was younger, it happened more often than that,” he murmured.

“Huh?”

“That was when I discovered I possess a great terror of dying.”

“Ohhh…”

A pragmatic little voice in the back of her mind politely suggested it was time to use those active listening skills she’d been working so hard on.

She picked up the remote and turned the TV off, setting it down and sliding her feet from Emmrich’s lap, tucking her legs underneath her and sidling up alongside him.

“That’s pretty heavy, babe… I’m sorry. You can tell me more about it if you want.” She found his hand with both of hers and maneuvered it flat, uncurling his fingers and tracing the lines of his palm with a feather-light touch.

“It goes beyond dread,” he explained, gazing pensively at her glass of wine, not shrinking - not wilting. “It can’t be reasoned with, or soothed over.”

Yeah, like a phobia. I’m keeping up. But why bring it up now...?

Always with the damn why–

Shut up and listen, Rook...

“It comes without warning, in the dead of night - in sunlit streets: a raw, strangling fear struck somewhere deep past the heart.”

Rook exhaled heavily, the weight of the admission settling upon her: the trauma of losing his parents so young, and being able to hear and see the dead seemed like enough reason for the cocktail of psychiatric meds in his bathroom upstairs - but a crippling fear of death on top of it all… no wonder he needed the chemical assistance...

“A decidedly problematic phobia for any mortician."

“Indeed,” Emmrich concurred, closing his fingers around hers and burying his nose in her hair. She hoped he was smelling her - she liked when he smelled her. “‘Thanatophobia’ as it’s known in psychiatric circles - though I’m sure you’ve observed that this anxiety is far from uncommon in our profession: I myself was surprised to discover that I wasn’t alone. I debated this fear with friends, I argued with teachers…” he shook his head slightly, as if amused by his own naivety. “And yet… it lingered.”

“I mean… you put a bunch of traumatized people with varying degrees of death-anxiety in one place and they’re bound to reinforce that fear, even while they’re trying to control it. Our line of work isn’t exactly detached from death as a concept.”

“Precisely, but shouldn't it—?”

Manfred dropped down onto their laps from the back of the couch, having snuck up on them.

“Mraaaaaaow!” He trilled emphatically, gazing up at the two of them with his lamp-like eyes, tail flicking from side to side. He was wearing the blue sequined Wintersend themed collar that Rook had spent the better part of an hour wrestling him into earlier that evening.

Emmrich’s features melted and he stroked Manfred’s soft white head.

“Manfred’s right: that’s maudlin enough. It’s Wintersend after all, and a mortician should find peace in his own mortality.”

Deep purrs rumbled up through the small creature’s chest and Rook scratched under his chin.

“That can’t have been easy to tell me,” Rook said, cozy and content with her man and his cat. “I’m glad you did - and for what it’s worth, I don’t think any less of you. Actually, I think you’re really brave.”

“You do?” The surprise in his voice was palpable.

“Mhmmm.” She nodded, tilting her head up so she could see his face. “You get out of bed every morning and keep going anyway. Keep living. Keep choosing to help people at the cost of surrounding yourself with the thing you fear most every fucking day. It’d be like me being a pest exterminator for a living.”

“A pest exterminator?” He wrapped his arm around Rook and pulled her tight to him. “You’re—?”

“Irrationally frightened of bed bugs.” Rook picked Manfred's front paws up and made him dance a little.

“Really?”

"Oh yeah. Bad experience when I first moved out. Ever wondered why I cringe and shiver when I'm going through clothing from families? I dunno if they've got fucking bed bugs or something. Makes me itch just thinking about it.”

It did. It really fucking did. She could feel it - the telltale prickle at the backs of her thighs... the nape of her neck...

“Funny how that happens,” he mused.

“Funny indeed,” she agreed, craning her neck to look at the clock in the breakfast nook. “It blows that you're on call, but it's Wintersend: you wanna hang out for a while longer and have a drink with me before bed? Just one won’t hurt, will it?”

His thumb trailed down her jaw and he brushed his lips over hers. “Darling, I would be content to stare at a blank wall for the next twelve hours, so long as I was in your company while doing it: a drink sounds lovely.”

"I love you..." she smiled. "I'll keep you safe from death if you keep me safe from bed bugs, okay?"

She wasn't stupid.

She knew he was humouring her about the bed bugs and death part when he said, "Of course, darling - I love you too.”

[v-thinks-on]

“I say, Jeeves, I guess this is it, what?”

It was the New York crash in ‘29 that did it. It sunk many a greater fortune than Bertram Wooster, and even a brainy fellow like Jeeves could not, as it turned out, foresee all things.

“I’m afraid there’s hardly enough left in the Wooster coffers for a gentleman, let alone a gentleman’s gentleman,” I soldiered on, dashed awkward though it was, “and you know I’m lacking in all practical skills of the sort that might earn it back.”

However, Jeeves remained steady. “Even so, we need not necessarily part ways.”

[biblio-smia]

“warming their hands by slipping them up the other’s shirt and onto their back/stomach” with tasm peter would be soo cute bc hed be like 😑😐must u do this to me jokingly but then would wrap his around around reader and squeeze them to warm them up

there's only dim light left by the time you and peter tuck yourselves into bed - you're not sure the city is capable of ever going completely dark.

you're cold. someone, you or peter, hadn't quite shut the window all the way earlier and the post-sundown chill had crept into your room.

peter's like a radiator with the way he constantly emits heat. he'll tease you sometimes, pressing his warm hands against your already too-warm skin.

but it's you who seeks him out now, hands maneuvering under the cooled duvet and past peter's old midtown shirt until you've reached your target.

peter whines but doesn't recoil, hands quick to come up over yours. he doesn't stop your movement and can't do much to fight the goosebumps you give him, his fingers falling off yours. your touch is icy as you move from his stomach to his sides, chasing the warmth you seem to be driving away.

"c'mere," peter whispers, placing your hands on his back and pulling you in close. his arms wrap around your body, thumbs rubbing your exposed arms. "you're freezing," peter mumbles, pulling the covers up to your chin.

you grumble into his chest, eyelids already getting heavy in peter's hold.

"i've got you," peter might've whispered - but in your hazy state, you couldn't be positive. you're definitely warm now - from the inside out as peter's hands rubbing up and down your arms lull you to sleep.

peter is your own personal heater but he doesn't seem to mind much.

part of v's 1000 follower celebration | main masterlist

[butch-buckley]

“So, you told him you were gay.”

Jake nods.

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being gay, Javy,” comes Nat’s voice from in front of the dartboard. Bob hands her another dart, and she tosses it at the wall.

“I never said there was!” says Javy defensively. 

They’re drinking at the Hard Deck, something of a send-off before their collective two-week leave. A leave that, unfortunately, falls directly on Jake’s high school reunion. Apparently, being a hero means everything begins to fall into unfortunate place.

Javy takes another sip of his beer. “What’s the wrong part, then?” asks Fanboy, sitting next to him. 

“He assumed I had a boyfriend,” Jake sighs.

“And you had to awkwardly correct him, and he thinks it’s going to be weird that you’re the only one there without a partner,” says Javy.

Jake purses his lips.

“You did correct him, didn’t you?” the other man asks, slowly looking up from his beer.

Jake is silent. 

“Seresin. Tell me you corrected him.”

Jake covers his face with his hands, his confident demeanour all but destroyed by that fateful conversation. “I didn’t know what else to say! He was talking so fast, and he was so excited, and I’m—”

“—painfully single and embarrassed by it,” finishes Fanboy.

“I wouldn’t say painful. Or single,” adds Javy. “Embarrassed, yes.”

Jake glares at the both of them. “I’m not embarrassed. I’m… waiting.”

“Yeah, waiting with your legs wide open,” calls Nat. Bob sputters next to her.

“Don’t slut-shame me, Trace,” Jake says, pointing a finger at her.

“Stating a fact isn’t slut-shaming. You’re not exactly closed for business,” Nat points out. 

Bob shrugs. “He’s right, Nat. It’s not very feminist to talk about how the guys Jake chooses to bring home. Or how many of them there are.”

“Wise choice, mansplaining feminism to the female pilot holding a dart,” says Nat, pointing the projectile at Bob’s chest. He raises his arms in surrender, and she flicks it at the target.

“What’s this about mansplaining? I thought that was Hangman’s department,” comes a voice from the doorway.

And there’s Rooster, sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, a shining grin plastered on his face. He’s next to Jake in an instant, taking the empty seat beside him. “Or is Bob usurping your role?”

“Can it, Bradshaw,” Jake says. “I’m no misogynist.”

“That was just the repressed homosexuality talking,” adds Nat.

Jake shrugs. “She’s not wrong.”

[somethingvicked]

Take It Back

An Eddie Munson one-shot.

warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, Eddie being an oblivious idiot, emotional cheating(?), breaking up.

If someone asked Eddie when the new girl, Cathy, had become his first priority instead of his girlfriend, he wouldn’t be able to answer them.

He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He still loved his girl, more than anything in the world, she was the girl he had planned his future with, and still wanted a future with. And now he had gone and fucked that all up.

He wished he could take it all back.

Just to have another minute with her.

When Cathy was new to Hawkins High, Eddie hadn’t noticed her much. She immediately became popular, joined the cheer squad and had a dozen jocks hanging on to her every move. Just another cheer clone.

But when Cathy came to the picnic table in the woods to buy weed for the first time he noticed that they actually had some things in common.

Despite being a cheerleader she liked metal, she smoked on occasion to relax and she also came from a broken home – she had come to Hawkins to live with her older cousin because her parents split and none of them wanted to be saddled with her.

Not that he and Y/N didn’t have things in common. On the contrary – they had a lot in common. Y/N loved metal, just like he did, she was a member of Hellfire and even though she wasn’t a part of Corroded Coffin she had named herself the stylist of the band, helping them with their outfits for every show.

Y/N was everything he could ever wish for.

And yet he found himself wanting more.

Every time Cathy waved at him, wanted to exhange a mixtape with him or asked if he was free for business, he felt a pang of triumph, when the jocks seemed speechless, that the new, popular girl, spoke to the freak without shame.

Y/N didn’t say anything about it, at first. Not until Cathy started calling him, and talking for hours. When he had to interrupt their date night to take her calls. When he had to go to a party to pick her up because it was boring and she didn’t have a ride home. When Eddie canceled a Hellfire session to go to a game instead, because Cathy had told him that her cousin couldn’t come watch and it would mean so much to her if someone she cared about was there.

”Eddie, you can be friends with whomever you want, but this isn’t okay,” Y/N had told him, ”this isn’t about friendship. She clearly wants you, and is trying to take you away from me. And by not putting up boundaries you are telling her it’s okay to do that – to me, and to our relationship.” ”That’s not true, sweetheart,” Eddie had said. ”She’s just... she just moved here and you know all the cheerleaders and jocks come from perfect white picket fence lives. She doesn’t, and she needs someone that has gone through the same.”

”You’re oblivious to think that,” Y/N had said. ”Just because you’re popular it doesn’t mean you don’t have any problems. But that’s neither here nor there. Do you seriously think it’s okay to cancel date nights with me to be with her? I’m your girlfriend.”

”Exactly,” Eddie had snapped at her, ”you’re my girlfriend. I thought you would trust me enough to know I would never cheat on you.”

Y/N had sighed and hadn’t said anything else. Eddie had felt a bit bad, because he had to admit she had a point. He promised himself that he would be more attentive to Y/N, make it up to her.

Until Cathy told him that she had managed to get tickets to a concert at the next town. Would he like to come with her? She didn’t want to go herself, since there could be a lot of dangers to a lonely girl. She didn’t know anyone else well enough. Of course Eddie said yes.

And canceled another date night with Y/N, without thinking about it. He would make it up to her.

Soon.

He never did. And now it was too late to go back.

When he canceled another date night, this time on their anniversary, because Cathy had called him, asking him to teach her how to play D&D, Y/N had actually become angry.

”You choose to spend our anniversary with another girl? How is that supposed to makes me feel?! Or do you not care about that anymore?” she had said, her voice broken.  

”It’s important that Hellfire grows, you know that,” he had told Y/N when he left. He hadn’t even offered to drop her off at her place, he had been so eager to show Cathy, a popular girl, his life’s passion, another middle finger to the ones calling him freak and satanist.

When he came home Y/N wasn’t there anymore though, and Wayne had been waiting for him, giving him a stern talking to.

”Y/N is a lovely girl, and you’re hurting her,” he had told Eddie. ”If you don’t want to be with her anymore – even if you would be a fool not to – then break up with her and let her move on. Don’t do this, whatever the hell this is, to her.”

Wayne hadn’t said anything else, but the disappointment in his gaze had made Eddie feel like the worst human on the planet.

That had soon turned to fury, though, thinking that Y/N had sold him out to his uncle and had drove to her place the next day, all but cornering her against a wall in her room.

”If you got a problem, take it up with me, like a grown up,” he had said loudly, almost yelling, ”don’t go behind my back and blab to my uncle about it.”

”I haven’t said a word to Wayne,” Y/N said calmly, ”maybe he has just noticed your shitty behavior, since you make no effort to hide it.”

”What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

”It means that you clearly don’t care about me and our relationship anymore. That’s how it feels. I mean it this time, Eddie. I’ve had it. I won’t be your girlfriend if I’m second best. It’s not about if you would cheat, I know you wouldn’t do that. Physically. But you already are cheating emotionally and I won’t take it anymore. You have to pick. Me. Or her.”

Eddie got even more furious, if possible, when she accused him of cheating. That was something his father had done, and Eddie had sworn he would never be like his father. Y/N knew it too, so that she told him this... it was like she had slapped him.

”You’re a fucking idiot,” he growled. ”The fact that you behave like this – maybe that’s why I prefer to hang out with Cathy instead of you, ever thought of that?”

He regretted it as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but he had no chance to apologize because Y/N’s eyes had gone cold like Lover’s Lake in the winter months.

”Get out,” she said.

”Wait, sweetheart, I...”

”Get. Out.”

How he wished he could take those words back. All of it.

Eddie had left, thinking that he should let her cool off and then come back with some flowers and apologize.

He even decided to tell Cathy that they needed to take a little break from each other.

What he hadn’t expected was for her to open the door in nothing but a towel, after he had called her to say he was going to come by, asking him if he liked what he saw.

”What the... no, Cathy, this is all wrong, I’m with Y/N and I love her.”

Cathy snorted. ”You love her? Then why are you so eager to get away from her, spending every waking moment with me? Come on, we’re already a couple in all but name. Y/N is the past.”

When Cathy laid it out for him it had hit him like a bucket of cold water. He had neglected Y/N, he had chosen Cathy over her, he had... except for actually doing what Cathy now tempted him to do, he had cheated on her.

He got hot and cold all over. ”No, she’s not,” he got out, and ran from Cathy’s porch, throwing himself in the van.

He drove back to Y/N’s place and frantically knocked on her door, wanting to tell her how sorry he was, that he would never do this again, that she was his future and he realized that now.

Y/N opened herself, a box in her arms. ”Oh, good,” she said, her voice revealing nothing. ”Here.”

She gave the box to Eddie and he got so surprised he forgot all about the apologies he was supposed to make.

”What’s this?” he wondered, looking down into the box. Once again he got cold all over. It was tapes he had made Y/N, her Hellfire shirt, a stuffed little bat he had won her at the arcade, a necklace he had saved up to to give her on her birthday, one of his Black Sabbath t-shirts...

”What’s... what’s this?” he got out, in a whole different tone.

”Stuff from you,” Y/N answered. ”I started getting it together last week, but I was thinking that if you made the right choice today, I would pack them up again, and we could move on. But you didn’t, so here we are. You’ve both made this harder and easier for me, dragging this out like this. I knew you weren’t going to pick me, but...”

”But I do!” Eddie cried out. ”I was at Cathy’s just now and I was going to tell her... you were right! She was trying to seduce me, but I didn’t... I don’t want her, I want you!”

”Too bad you couldn’t figure that out earlier,” Y/N said. ”You’ve treated me like shit for weeks, Eddie. I never thought you would do that to me. Not you. And I at least thought you would take it serious when I told you how hurt I was, even if you didn’t think Cathy was trying to seduce you. But you said I was an idiot instead.”

”I didn’t mean...”

”I don’t care,” Y/N interrupted. ”I... I can’t believe it has come to this. Why you would do this to us? We had it all planned out. But clearly it wasn’t enough for you. I wasn’t enough for you.”

”You are!” Eddie yelled, tears now streaming down his face, ”baby, please… please, forgive me. I will spend the rest of my days making it up to you!”

”You say that now,” Y/N told him, shaking her head, ”but what happens when next exciting girl comes along? Maybe someone that will offer you a record contract? Or someone that can join the band in ways I can, since I don't play music. What then? Am I going to be second best again then?”

”No!”

”I don’t believe you. And that’s why we can’t be together anymore, Eddie. I won’t spend my life waiting and wondering when I’ll become second best again. I’d rather find someone that treats me right, all the time. It’s over. We’re done.”

”But...”

”We’re done, Eddie. Please, don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Eddie wanted to protest some more, trying to convince her, but it was then he took an actual look at her and noticed that, unlike him, she didn’t cry, her voice didn’t tremble. She was completely emotionless. Had he done this to her?  He had. By making her feel like she wasn’t good enough. By making her feel like the second-choice and breaking her trust.

Despite everything, Eddie still held some crazy hope that Y/N would call him when he got home and  tell him she was willing to give him another chance.

That was, until he saw a box on the couch in the living room and asked Wayne what it was.

”Y/N’s things,” his uncle replied, with the same dull tone that Y/N had used. ”She called me and asked me to collect them and bring them to her.”

She had asked Wayne, and not him...

That’s when Eddie realized that it wouldn’t matter how much he apologized. Some things couldn’t be undone.

Later that night when he cried in his room, Y/N’s Hellfire shirt pressed against his face, inhaling her scent, he remembered what Cathy had said – that Y/N was the past. She had been right. But not because of Cathy, but because of him.

He had ruined the best thing in his life on his own. And he couldn’t take it back.

Some things you just can’t take back.

[bluewatersfairy]

distraction - j.p.

a/n: this one's for everyone in my inbox, I see all your messages and I love y'all 😭

synopsis: late night studying very quickly turned into needing a distraction which may come in the form of a fwb!

warnings: mature content, MINORS DNI! unprotected sex (wrap it, then tap it), dom!reader, sub!jordan if you squint lots

word count: 2.6k (writing under 3k is crazy for me)

p.s. it's been ages since I've written something in one night so I genuinely have had no time to consider if this is good or not (oh and this is not proof read)

•••

“You sounded urgent on the phone?” Jordan inquired as you opened the door and grabbed his arm to pull him inside.  He’d come over in record time, but it still wasn’t quick enough.  

“It is urgent,” you said, putting your hands on his waist and pushing him to sit on your couch.  “Have you had sex with anyone recently?”

Your hands were in your hair, carefully moving it to be so it wasn’t in the way.  Jordan stared up at you, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips sitting pouted.  “What do you mean?”

“It’s a yes or no,” you said, lowering to your knees in front of him, “answer me.”  You braced your hands on his thighs and for the first time actually looked him in the eyes since he’d arrived.  He’d clearly picked up on your rush and desperation, you could see a familiar sparkle in his eyes, but he still looked deeply confused. 

“I haven’t,” he breathed out slowly, “just you.”  He gave you a little half smirk and watched as you stood again, sliding into his lap with ease.

His hands immediately went to grip at your hips and you carefully took his glasses off, popping them on the foot stool that was by the arm of the couch.  He watched you attentively, waiting for you to be face to face with him again.  

“Rough day?” he asked as you ran your hand up his neck to cup his face.  You let your thumb brush over his bottom lip and the two of you held eye contact.  His eyes not so subtly glanced between your eyes and your lips, his mind wandering off at the sight of your gloss.  He couldn’t tell if that was what smelt so good or if it was just you. 

“If I stare at my assignment any longer, my head might explode.”  You tilted his head slightly and waited to see if he was going to give you any type of resistance or if he was just along for the ride.  You took a few moments to look over his face and compose yourself.  Less than a minute ago he’d knocked on your apartment door and now you were straddling him on your couch.  A lot can happen in 60 seconds.

“I like being your distraction,” he smirked before you leant forward and connected your lips with his.  

He met your greedy kiss with the same type of energy straight away, his mouth opening and letting you take control of him.  It was rushed and hot, desperation dripping off of you.  It felt like the first time all over again, like you weren’t quite sure where to put your hands or what part of him you wanted to feel most.  You loved his lips on yours but they could do so much damage wherever they landed.  He just knew what to do to drive you insane and as much as that was what you wanted, you needed control.

You pushed on his shoulder as you tried to get some leverage on him and without meaning to, rocked your hips on top of his.  He let out a strangled moan and your lips broke away from one another.  His arms wrapped around your torso and he buried his face in your neck.  The tip of his nose rubbed against the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck while his lips sloppily kissed and grabbed at you. 

“Fuck,” he groaned out as you pressed your hips against his again, “you smell so good.”

You weren’t sure if it was what he said or his hot breath on your neck but you needed more contact with him.  Your hand went back to his neck and you pushed his head back again.  He leant against the back of the couch and seemingly waited for you to kiss him again.  

“Take your hoodie off,” you sat back on his lap as you spoke, “shirt too.”

Jordan didn’t make a move straight away so instead you pulled your shirt off.  He had this look on his face that almost looked like admiration, it didn’t really make sense considering, but once your shirt was gone he was pulling his hoodie off over his head.  He lifted his knees slightly and pulled you closer to him.  His hand reached for the back of your bra while he danced his lips across your chest. 

“You’re in a mood today,” he mumbled against your collarbone before he let his teeth playfully nip your smooth skin, “I like it.”

You rolled your eyes as he undid your bra and let the straps fall down your arms before tossing it away with the rest of your clothes.  You went to say something about how you really didn’t care what he liked but instead were cut off by his lips attaching to your nipple and his large hands palming your tits.  

“Shit,” you sighed, “I don’t have all night, J.  I got deadlines.”  He groaned with your tit still in his mouth before pulling away.  You took the chance to lift yourself up to pull the pair of NRL shorts you had on down and Jordan awkwardly pulled his grey sweats off by only lifting his hips off of the couch.  

“I need a second,” Jordan took a breath as you sat down on his lap again.  He could feel the heat radiating from your core and it was making his heart race.  But his hard-on had barely had time to grow, a lot was happening very quickly and he felt like he physically wasn’t at the same place he was mentally.

Knowing Jordan, you spat on your hand and reached under you to pick up his shaft and kissed him again.  You licked into his mouth and slowly rubbed your hand against his dick.  He let out quiet moans into your mouth and you tried to pull him closer to you.  His hands gripped on your ass and thighs and he melted into you.  

“Is that enough?” you asked breathlessly between a few soft pecks.  Jordan nodded quickly and you let your thumb brush over his tip, collecting the precum he had started to leak.  

You smiled at him and popped your thumb in your mouth, tasting him before reaching between the two of you again.  

“You don’t need anything?” Jordan asked as you lined his cock up with your opening, “it feels weird not going down on you.”

“Shut up,” you said half playfully as you pushed his face back again.  He laughed a little and the two of you shared a smile before you lowered your hips on to him, “you’re a giver, a real gentleman, we get it.”  

Sinking on top of him gave you a rush like no other.  The slight curve of his tip meant that he always managed to drag against your g-spot when you were on top.  It was the easiest way for you to get off and that was part of why it was your favourite way to have Jordan.  Not to mention the face time you got meant that the two of you were forced to connect with one another emotionally, not just physically.  It was a nice arrangement, it felt right, in the weirdest way. 

“God, you feel good baby,” you smiled at Jordan as you braced your hands on his broad shoulders.  

Jordan almost missed what you’d said.  He had his eyes closed and his eyebrows furrowed and seemed to be really concentrating.  And he was.  Over and over again in his head he was repeating the same words: don’t bust quick.  This wasn’t the first time he’d been inside of you without protection, but it had been a few weeks since the two of you had hooked up and feeling how wet and hot you were was not helping his case.  You were paradise, but he was here for you and had to at least try and last a decent amount of time before he let go.

“God damn,” he cussed when his eyes met yours, “I might just be infatuated with you after all this.”

“Oh you best be,’ you grinned as you leant up to kiss him again.  It was just a quick peck, but Jordan made it clear he was expecting more.  “Quiet now, Pretty boy, I’m tryna do something.”  

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and you pulled your hips up, feeling him drag against your walls before pushing yourself back down again.  The first few times were more to feel him, you wanted it to be nice and slow just to drive him a little bit crazy.  It was clearly working too, he was hissy in your ear and gripping your hips tight, though he made no move to take over.

Once your speed picked up, he offered some assistance but you were completely in control.  You moved your body against him, feeling every inch of his dick and getting lost in the sounds you were pulling out of him.  The air was thick with your arousal and the sounds of your ass against his thighs.  

“Oh my god,” you called out loudly as you felt his head twitch inside you.  You paused your hips and gripped Jordan’s shoulders again, digging your nails into his skin, before you rolled your hips to get some traction for you.  

“I’m not gonna cum,” Jordan choked out, his head leaning back and his eyes focused on the ceiling.  You smirked and rolled your hips again which sent a jolt through his body.  “I’m not ruining this for you baby, just give me a second.”

You giggled a little and rolled your hips again, seeing the exact same reaction from him, “you’re not ruining anything honey,” you cooed.  He made eye contact with you briefly but that sent another jolt through his body and he pulled his eyes back to the ceiling.  

“If you wanna cum you can,” you said sweetly, your lips leaning down to kiss his heaving chest.  You dragged your lips up his pecs and left opened mouthed kisses trailing up to his neck.  “Nothing’s stopping me tonight.”  

Very carefully you sucked the skin below his ear lobe, pulling a throaty groan from him.  You only pulled away when you were sure you’d left a little mark and blew cool air on it.  You’d always wanted to leave your mark on him, a part of you interested to see how the internet would react and the other feeling proud that you could get a big name like Jordan Poole acting like a lost boy.    

“You’re a fucking problem,” he groaned as your eyes connected again, his moment of weakness clearly having passed.

“You thought this was gonna be easy?” you teased with a smile.  He reacted by smacking your ass before tightening his grip on your hips.

Again, you pulled yourself up and started to rock against him at a steady rhythm.  Your words had seemingly relaxed Jordan and he was just gonna let whatever happen.  It was just about you now and you accepted that with a smile.

Feeling him twitch against your walls sent hot flashes throughout your body.  Your g-spot was being stimulated more and more with each passing moment.  You hadn’t noticed but the heat coming off of his raging tip added an extra sensation to your experience.  Usually at a time like this you’d pull away from whoever and get them to play with your clit or you’d do it yourself, but this was a better feeling.  You were getting wetter the more you worked to get it just right.

“I’m about to cum,” you let out between pants and you adjusted your legs quickly to make it easier to go quicker.  The new angle put your tits in Jordan’s face and he immediately started to give them attention, driving you closer to the edge.

“Your clit,” Jordan suddenly said between movements, “does it need-shit.”  He cut himself off as something like lightning struck through him again.  

“Cum inside me J,” you encouraged, your own head being thrown back as you moved quickly.  You were burning up and were hyper aware of his every touch.  He’d never finished inside before but it felt like the right moment, you didn’t want to part ways with him and you wanted to feel him come undone.  

“Gah, are you sure?” his puppy dog eyes found yours for a second, he needed proper confirmation.

“You’re not allowed to pull out,” you argued back, “shit, shit, shit.”

You pushed Jordan’s shoulders back again and used every instinct you had to ride on top of him.  He spurted out a loud string of cuss words and inaudible claims as he let his head fall back against the couch.  You felt him twitch inside and waves of heat flow through you.  The sounds coming from your bodies was becoming louder, wetter, and you knew you were almost there.  You changed your movements slightly so there was more friction in your movements and you knew you were done.

“You look so fucking good right now,” Jordan choked out, “you’re gonna cum, aren’t you?”

Even in his fucked-out blissful state, Jordan found your clit blindly and fumbled to rub it just to give you a little more stimulation.  He knew it was what was going to send you over and like magic, your name was falling from his lips mixed with loud moans.  You came on top of him, your sex mixing with his and making more of a mess between your thighs.  You rode out your high, your body arching and legs fighting to stay open.

After the final jolt, you let yourself relax against Jordan’s chest.  You could hear his heart beating rapidly and it made you laugh a little.  You weren’t sure how long you sat there with him still inside you.  It was definitely longer than the time it took for him to walk in your front door for you to get him naked.  

“When’s your deadline?” he asked, breaking the silence and pulling you out of your little dreamworld.

“Tomorrow morning at 9am,” you replied, glancing at the clock behind him.  “Why?”

He checked his own watch quickly before brushing some of your hair out of your face, “I’m stickin’ around until everything’s done.  Just in case you need this again, or someone to talk to.”

Someone to talk to, that was how this whole situationship had started up.  One night he’d just been around past midnight and suddenly you were making out with him, and then you were naked, and then he was asking where you keep your condoms.  Life comes at you fast sometimes.  

“I guess you can stick around, you’ve probably got clothes here anyways.”  You kissed him quickly and smiled before carefully standing up, still on the couch.  Unexpectedly, Jordan gave your hand a kiss before helping you get down safely.  You pulled him up and the two of you walked to the bathroom, grabbing a few cloths from your linen cupboard along the way. 

“You should be like that more often,” Jordan commented from the shower while you were sitting on the toilet.  He was just turning the hot water on when you made eye contact with him.

“Like what?”

“Y’know,” he smirked, “in charge.  It’s hot, I like it.”

You rolled your eyes and stood up from the toilet, checking to make sure you weren’t going to leak anymore if you put on a clean pair of pj pants.  

“I’m going back to my assignment,” you said after washing your hands, “I’ll call on you if I need another distraction.”

“I’ll be ready,” he smirked and saluted you before you stepped out, pulling the door closed behind you. 

[love-domme]

Run.

Male Sub x Fem Domme Drabble

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dom/sub dynamics, pet play, begging, degradation, use of restraints, riding, predator/prey, breeding kink, hunting, knife play, cutting, sex in the woods, cnc, male penetration

Freaky stuff under the cut

It was dark, darker than any night should be. The shower that could be heard throughout the house cut off, warmth emanating from the bathroom. She stepped out, wrapping a robe around her freshly washed naked body. Putting slippers on as she walked through the halls of her home until she reached the living room. He was still asleep where she had left him. She couldn’t resist running her hands through his hair. He looked so peaceful like this.

As she walked away the creaking startled him awake. The ropes binding his hands to the chair were so tight he felt them bruising his wrist if he moved. How long had he been here? How long had he been asleep? Why was this house so familiar and warm yet horrifying at the same time? And who was this woman whose lavender scent made him both terrified and…he looked down at his pants. It was the only thing he was wearing. The fabric barely hiding his growing erection.

The lavender scent grows intoxicatingly strong as she reappears, no longer in a robe but rather athletic wear. A tight top and a tennis skirt that showed off her perfect legs so well he almost forgot he should be afraid, so very afraid…

Reality set back in when he realized she was carrying a small bag. It jingled with every step she took. She caught his eyes and smiled. The type of smile you give a lost pet that’s just been found. The memories come flooding back…the woods…the game…the chase… her at the center of it all.

His eyes grow wide as he pushes back against the chair.

“Oh bunny.” She says, caressing his cheek. Her touch so tender he melted in spite of himself.“You were so good yesterday, ran so fast for me. Just not fast enough.” Clicking her tongue disapprovingly.

She set down her bag on a table he hadn’t even noticed until now. Too focused on the situation at hand. Frankly just too focused on her. She was so eerily beautiful. Every movement calculated and poise yet natural. Her touch left him as she reached inside her bag. Re-emerging with a set of carefully wrapped knives. Each one gleaming in what little moonlight was left. His heart stopped as she unwrapped each one. Raking her fingernails over each handle. She finally landed on one in the dead center, small with a black handle that fit perfectly in her hand.

She turned to face him again. Pointing the knife at him with a smile before pressing the tip of the blade right into the center of his chest. Blood quick to drip from the small puncture it made. The cool metal against his bare skin mixing with the pain of the wound caused him to whimper.

She dragged the blade down his torso. The incision just deep enough to sting. A crimson line going down to his waist before landing at the hem of his pants. She smirked removing the knife before straddling his lap. Now holding the blade to his neck she whispered in his ear.

“You’ll do better tonight won’t you bunny?” Before pushing the knife further and sinking down to sit on his hard dick.

He moaned at the sensation of her warmth against him, grinding into him. The knife still digging into his neck turning him on more. He wanted to hate it. To hate her. To hate what she was doing. But he didn’t. He loved it all so much. She knew that.

She harshly rose from his now precum stained lap causing him to groan. Placing the knife back on the table before making quick work of taking off his pants. His cock finally springing free, wet and hard. A shade of desperate red only she could make it have.

She grabbed a different knife, much bigger this time and he felt tears roll down his face as she circled him in ways a predator hunts it prey. Standing behind him now she was silent and then…the ropes loosened.

Only one word was said. A command he knew all too well.

“Run.”

And so he did. Ran as fast as he could. The house a blur as he opened the front door to the surrounding forest. The night air cold and harsh on his skin. Bare feet hitting rough dirt, doing their best to avoid sticks and leaves. He had ten seconds. She always gave him a ten second start. She liked to give him false hope.

He was deep into the forest now, farther than she’d ever let him go. He could hear a stream up ahead. There was plenty of night left. A terrifying realization. Yet his thirst clouded his judgement. As he reached the stream he stopped. Taking small quiet steps before crouching down and cupping his hand to take a sip.

A crunch came from behind him followed by silence. She had been watching him. Waiting. She knew they’d reach the stream. He always ran the same way. Almost like he wanted to be caught. Yet tonight this wasn’t going to end quickly. Tonight, her little bunny was going to play with her all night long.

His whole body tensed, her body emerging from the trees like an ethereal being. Her knife glimmering. He was paralyzed. A deer in head lights had better survival instincts than him in this moment. She stood directly in front of him now. Using the knife to guide his chin to look up at her. His trembling body a beautiful sight in the frightening backdrop of the woods.

“Caught you.” Her velvet tone filling his head leaving him dizzy.

“Please…please give me another chance please. I..I..I’ll do better” his voice a manifestation of need and desperation.

“Aw it’s too late to beg now bunny” Her boot finding his still leaking dick, pressing hard so he could feel every groove of the hard leather sole before kicking him hard. The wind left his body as he felt his back hit the ground. She flipped him over with another kick.

“Ass up pretty boy”

She laughed as he begged for mercy, slowing raising his hips into the air.

“You know the rules. Since the big bad wolf caught the stupid little bunny, she gets to breed it.”

She flipped the knife over in her hand. Delicately holding the blade before ramming the handle into his hole. His screams filled the forest, the pain too much for him to handle as she started pulling it out torturously slow. With each thrust she kissed his tear stricken face, the pain slowly turning into pleasure as his hole took every inch. The sobs turning to moans as he felt so full. So full of her. It didn’t take him long to cum on the dirt beneath him. Slumping to the ground too weak to move.

She slowly pulled the handle out, dropping the knife on the floor before gently turning him over once more. Straddling him yet again. Weak protests fell from his lips quickly silenced by her lifting up her skirt. Giving him a full view of her dripping wet pussy.

He could feel his mouth watering at the sight as his erection slowly returned. She grabbed it. Quick to guide it to her entrance.

“I’ll give you this bunny. You sure know how to put on a show.” Taking him whole.

Their moans filled the forest as she rode him like a wild animal. Biting his neck as she grinded on his spent cock. Draining load after load as she chased nothing but her own pleasure. A mixture of their cum dripping from her pussy covering his hips.

Hours passed until finally she stopped. A weak smile on her face as she fell onto his body, resting her head on his heaving chest. He held her tight. The minutes ticked by before she finally spoke.

“You finally did a good job bunny, let’s head back.”

They stayed like this a little longer before finally rising and walking back holding each other. A blissful haze guiding them home.

[yourprettylittlegirl]

𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭.

𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬.

𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨’𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬.

𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝟒𝐚𝐦 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜.

𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨’𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐦 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 ��𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬.

𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.

𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐦 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.

[ahyperactivehero]

newest chapter of I (Just) Survived In Your Arms Tonight is up now!

looks like the boys have finally, properly met!

XXX

Charles Rowland doesn't die in that attic. Surprisingly little changes as a result.

X

He didn’t notice when the world went dark. Or when Edwin’s arms around him disappeared as everything faded away. He didn’t notice the sound of one of his teachers coming up the stairs, shoes banging in panic as he searched for Charles.

The only thing he noticed was Edwin’s voice, gently soothing him as he drifted off. “You are going to be alright. Help is here. You are going to be fine, Charles.”

His heart nearly stopped when Edwin’s voice disappeared.

[rain-ghoul-appreciator]

what if you maybe wrote. jinx and silco, the first few weeks/months of them meeting? like, how they warmed up to each other.......

i've never written an arcane fic before bear with me as i figure it out 🙏🙏

(also sorry if there are any spelling errors i wrote this right after i did an asthma treatment that makes me extremely shaky)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

it was slow at first. and awkward. very awkward.

silco had no idea what he was going to do. he didn't know the first thing about parenting. he especially didn't know what to do with his newly acquired child with suitcases full of trauma to unpack.

he spent long nights in his office just simply watching the child mess with the little monkey bombs she made out of the scraps found all over the undercity. she was quiet, mostly, only speaking up when she needed something. and he was content to just observe. 

the dynamic changed drastically one night when silco found the child crying under his desk. he carefully crouched down and sat besides her, looking at her in hopes that she would open up. silence.

"im a jinx," she suddenly murmured, more fat tears rolling down her face. silco continued to stare, the gears turning in his head as the girl poured her heart out.

"you're a survivor," silco spoke up after a while. "a testament to the mistreatment you have gone through. you aren't just a jinx, you are jinx." 

by the time she was done crying, silco's shirt was filthy with snot and tears. but he couldn't bring himself to care. the child in his arms was more important to him then anything else in the world. 

ever since that night, the child---jinx---talked a lot more. it seemed like she could go on and on and on about whatever she could think of. she would sit on top of his desk and talk on and on about how she thought she could improve her monkey bombs. or what new things she could make. or even the little rats she would see running around the streets of zaun.

silco didn't mind. he'd listen to all of jinx's ramblings, provide answers when needed, and even contribute his own stories to the conversation. he was happy to listen. he liked knowing that she wasn't thinking about  the past sometimes. 

soon enough, jinx was integrated into silco's routine. he couldn't do his eye injections without her. couldn't stand the silence that was left when she wasn't in the room. he found himself worrying about her when he hadn't seen her in a while. he had grown fond of her. he loved her, even.

even when he felt like strangling her for not listening, even when he was frustrated with the destruction she caused, even when he was disappointed or upset or angry; nothing was going to change the fact that she was his child now. nothing would ever make him give her up.

[veephoenix]

✨ A little something with samurai!noah coming this weekend:

Noah shook his head, his expression determined. “No. There has to be a way to do this without hurting you.”

I'm also planning on updating Zutto next week at some point :)

[heylittleriotact]

WIP Whenever

@razildor @pseudospaceship @xxnashiraxx have tagged me over the past few days, and I've been so busy/tired that I haven't been able to sit down and actually work on anything, which is weird for me. I'm sad my output has dwindled and will for the next little bit due to work stuff, but c'est la vie - it's better to not have time to write than to have time to do it and be plagued with writer's block so I'll take what I can get.

It seems like springtime has brought out the horny in many of us in the Emmrook fandom, and I'm over here writing intensely emotional conversations about death and grief, but if you know me, that comes as no surprise.

Anyway, here's a little bit of what I'm working on for the next chapter of i heard people are dying to get in here. I've got more smut prompts I need to work on too (thanks for sending them in if you did - I will get to them... it's just gonna take some time.)

No tags: if you see this, please post your wip and tag me so I can snoop it <3

Wintersend Eve

The holiday season wasn't particularly relaxing when you worked at a funeral home, as it turned out. In fact, it was statistically the busiest time of the year: the frail and elderly were more likely to succumb to death's call when the conditions were cold and bleak. Inclement weather made for icy roads and parking lots, so there were more fatal car accidents and falls. The worst part of all was the notable uptick in suicides and overdoses around this time of year: the holidays really seemed to be a breaking point some people, and every time during the week leading up to Wintersend when a new call came in where the decedent was resting at the medical examiner, Rook felt sad.

Sad for the person who had left. Sad for their family who would forever have to navigate this time of year while being reminded of the tragedy associated with it.

Taking vacation time around Wintersend was basically unheard of at McDermott & Rafferty: in order to keep up with the higher than normal call volume, only a certain number of staff were permitted time off over the entire month, and those available dates were snatched up within hours of the calendar rolling over in the new year.

Rook was fortunate that due to the rotation of her schedule and sheer luck, she'd manage to swing an extra day off after Wintersend, which then rolled into her normal weekend off, so she ended up with four glorious days off in a row.

McDermott & Rafferty was open three-hundred and sixty-four days of the year, open for all other statutory holidays, with the only exception being the day of Wintersend. Even then, it operated on a skeleton crew of staff: one person in the call centre, two transfer drivers to be available to remove any decedents from where they passed away, and two funeral directors on call, each taking one half of the day, should anyone urgently wish to speak with a funeral director.

Emmrich had graciously offered to cover the first half of Wintersend until noon. After that, Leigh Ernesto would take over, and the regular on-call schedule would resume.

Rook wasn't crazy about the fact that their first Wintersend morning together would be soberly spent within arm's reach of Emmrich's cellphone, rather than wrapped around each other and indulging in mimosas and sweet rolls while thick fluffy snowflakes fell outside, but it was the nature of the profession, and she was grateful to be spending it with him at all. Besides, once he was no longer on call, he had the same days off as Rook.

“Joan asked me yesterday if you’d met my parents.” She mentioned from her place at the end of the couch where she was scrolling her phone, half reading through key studying points for her upcoming final exam, half-watching the TV where black and white re-runs of Alfred Hitchcock Presents flickered on the screen.

“Did she?” He mused, flipping the page of his book and returning to massaging her feet in his lap.

“Yeah - I told her you got in a huge fight with them and kicked my dad’s ass.”

Emmrich tutted, “I really wish you wouldn’t tell our colleagues such outlandish things, darling - wasn’t it awkward enough to have to sit down with Perry and sign that Consensual Relationship Agreement last week?”

By the time they both arrived at work on Monday after the party - separately - it became rapidly apparent that everyone at McDermott & Rafferty had learned of their relationship somehow over the course of the weekend.

‘Spotted leaving the party together and looking very cozy while doing so’ was the rumour that had circulated the ranks of all hundred-odd staff members in less time than it took for an Amazon delivery.

The source of the rumour was unclear - it had travelled so quickly through so many channels that getting to the root of it proved nearly impossible - not like it mattered: they had left the party together and they were very cozy. Denying it would only open the door to further embellishments and outright fabrications: the last thing Rook wanted to be doing was damage control on some bullshit nonsense about she and Emmrich fucking in a hearse or something.

“I mean if people want to keep asking me questions about my personal, off-the-clock life, they’re welcome to,” Rook snorted, “That doesn’t mean I have to tell them the truth - it’s none of their fucking business. I’ll keep making up increasingly insane shit until they get the point.”

She brushed the ball of her free foot over the front of Emmrich’s pants, pleased when his relaxed frame stiffened at the feeling of her toes on his flaccid cock: she knew exactly what she was doing with the flippant little movement.

“Besides—” she continued, “Joan knows you well enough to know that a bare-knuckle brawl with your girlfriend’s dad is the last thing you’d be pulled into: it was just my special, polite little way of telling her to fuck off.”

"I admit I do feel better not having to be quite so secretive about things." He drank from his cup of tea, and Rook reached for her glass of wine on the coffee table next to her: red, intense, and pricier than anything she could ever justify buying. "I just worry that some see it as..." he hesitated.

"Inappropriate?" Rook finished for him before taking sip and setting her glass back down. "The cradle-robbing creeper used his position of power and authority over the young doe-eyed nymph and seduced her while continuing to exercise that position of power in a way that puts her at a disadvantage?"

Emmrich's cheeks reddened, "I wouldn't put it quite so bluntly, but–"

"But what? You're hardly in any 'powerful' position: you're not my boss or my supervisor - as far as hierarchy flowcharts go at McDermott & Rafferty we're basically on the same level, the only difference is you get paid more and deal with more bullshit. The only real power imbalance that anyone could point out would be the fact that you teach one of my embalming classes–"

"Precisely, and–"

"– and I won't even have the prerequisite course completed so I can sign up for that one until later next year," Rook forged on. "We've already chatted about it: you'll go on leave for that semester, and someone else will fill in for you while I'm taking the course so there's no conflict of interest. You've already talked to the program director about it, and been forthcoming, so there's literally no reason for anyone to act fucking weird about it."

He got tangled up like this some times, she had learned: left to sit with his own thoughts for too long, he'd get lost in hypotheticals and 'what ifs' and outcomes that were well beyond his control: they had talked about this - at least three times - each time leading to the same outcome: it was going to be alright and no one was going to put him on a registry that precluded him from being within five-hundred yards of a school. He hadn't done anything wrong: Rook was a consenting adult who was interested in bouncing on his cock because she enjoyed it, not because he had somehow tricked her into it.

"Rook..." he began solemnly, closing the book and setting it down.

"Emmrich," she retorted.

Something was bothering him - she could tell by the slight knit of his brow, and the way his mouth turned down at the corners, his eyes introspective and searching for something unseen.

"What's actually on your mind?" She prodded. "We've been over this so many times, I'm beginning to think you're using it as a front for something else."

His eyes drifted to his lap: her feet across it and his book. His palm whispered over the cover as if trying to soothe the inanimate object made of wood-pulp and ink.

"It's a personal question for many of us, so I don't ask it lightly: what inspired you to pursue the funeral profession, darling?"

[v-thinks-on]

“The village gossips impressed upon me most urgently that there is something inhabiting these woods,” Holmes remarked as though we were at home on Baker Street and not hiking through those same woods as the sun slowly lowered in the sky.

“Mere legends, of course,” I said, as though I did not feel that very presence creeping at the back of my neck.

Holmes tossed me a wry glance over his shoulder which suggested it hardly needed saying.

“But,” I continued, my voice hushed, “if that boy died a natural, if tragic, death, what is there for us to investigate?”

[biblio-smia]

shy shy shy

a little insecure tasm peter parker x reader, early stages of relationship

masterlist | requests are open!

buy me a ko-fi!

nerdy peter lovers rise

They were just glasses.

On, off. On, off. A clear reflection of Peter in the bathroom mirror, a few circles of color where his head and body would be.

Peter examines himself with the lenses on, pulls out a piece of his sweater that had gotten caught inside his plaid pajama pants. His hands run up through the damp hair that falls flat against his forehead in an attempt to give it a little volume but it's no use without his usual styling products. Peter slaps his palms on his cheeks, shakes his head and sends micro-drops of water sailing. He bounces in place, attempting to shake out the jitters his body has had trouble containing all day.

Peter pushes his contact lens case aside, gives himself one last glance over. He contemplates for a few seconds, biting the inside of his cheek. Peter sighs as he pulls the lenses off again, cradling them in his hands and blowing air through his lips.

Metal frames, thick lenses.

Couldn't have that spider fixed his vision while he was at it?

Okay, Peter's vision wasn't that bad. Maybe he could survive without the frames Peter felt altered his appearance so drastically (or at least, reflected more accurately the type of person Peter was in his spare time). Peter with Contacts was cool and confident - scaled back from the confidence he had while he was in his suit, but not as pathetic as he was back in high school. Peter with Glasses? Yeah, that guy looked deserving of wedgies.

He reaches for his phone to check the time (and make sure he hasn't left you alone for too long), but can't make out what the white numbers say through his cracked screen.

Okay, maybe it is pretty bad.

Peter sighs, picks up the mess he'd made pre and post shower, hyping himself up one more time before opening the door and flipping the light switch off.

Peter pads down the hallway and peers his head around the corner into the small living room. He squints and can just barely make out the top of your head sitting on his couch.

Even though he can't see you very well, Peter's heart makes a funny feeling in his chest, even through the eye strain.

It's like you can feel Peter's eyes on you (which, you probably can - Peter is working overtime to try and make out the details of you) because you sit a little straighter and turn your head. Peter pushes his glasses on just in time to see you smile. And then grin.

"You wear glasses?"

Your voice is curious, not at all condescending, though Peter can hear the smile in your voice as you come up to meet him.

"For the aesthetics," Peter grins, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms in an attempt to make you believe the false sense of confidence he's putting up. It's stupid, really, but a tiny piece of Peter thinks someone as consistently perfect as you should be with someone who is equally on par. And, at the moment, Peter feels like he's letting you down.

You stand close to Peter, too close (his heart can't stop fluttering and his breath has caught in his throat). Peter fights the urge to pull you close to him. Too much, too soon, though he'd really like to kiss you right about now.

You try to contain your smile, a part of you still not quite believing that you've been so consistently guilty of making Peter Parker flustered.

Your fingers gently pull Peter's glasses off with a glint in your eye and Peter frowns at the sudden loss of sight - only because he doesn't want to miss looking at you from so close.

"For the aesthetics, huh?" You grin, turning the glasses to measure the thickness of Peter's lenses. Your suspicions about the strength of his prescription are confirmed by the way Peter's eyes are squeezed together as he looks at you.

"A hundred percent," Peter persists, opening his eyes normally and looking straight at the blurred lines of your face.

You take a step back and flash your phone at Peter, tiny words melted into a block of black. Peter instinctively squints and leans forward, trying to distinguish what the small screen said.

"You're like a grandma," you laugh, fully now.

"You should feel horrible for making fun of the elderly." Peter's arms drop, reaching for his glasses with an easy smile. But you move your hands away and Peter's hands catch on the crooks of your arms as you carefully place Peter's glasses back on his face, taking care to place them behind his ears as comfortably as you can. Your fingers graze against Peter's hair, still damp from his shower, gently moving a few stray pieces back into place.

"Well, you can't go to sleep like that," you murmur. "You'll get sick."

"So I guess we have time to kill?" Peter asks, hoping the two of you will sit down for a movie - or anything that'd keep him close to you, really.

"I guess we do," you grin, hands falling to Peter's shoulders, savoring the feeling of his hands on you, unable to help the craving you have for more.

"Pete?"

"Hmm?" Peter is partially entranced, melted like chocolate with the sweet sound of that little nickname coming out of your mouth. His eyes flicker and he's trying not to stare at your lips, bottom lip caught in his mouth in anticipation.

"Could I put my stuff in your room?" You ask sweetly, trying not to laugh at the way Peter falters, blinking quickly.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Peter nods frantically, hoping he's not as red as he feels.

You bite back your grin as Peter stays there, not moving until you do, sweet brown eyes slightly magnified by his glasses. Oh, but it'd be so cruel to deny him.

You press a quick kiss to the corner of Peter's mouth. It's a little shy and you turn away immediately to grab the overnight bag you'd packed. Two pairs of cheeks are red and grateful for the excuse of it, trying to shake off the little bit of nervousness the two of you still have around each other. It's a little strange, neither of you quite used to having someone around to love so freely. It's new, too, both of you still a little afraid to do something that would scare the other off, each of you knowing you'd never be the one to run off.

But this tiny fear that lives in both of your brains is what had Peter picking over his appearance earlier and is what makes him nervous now as he leads you down the hall to his room. He'd cleaned it thoroughly, considering hiding all his trinkets and trophies, ended up shoving things that had littered his shelves into his closet.

Peter takes a breath before opening his creaky door, smiling as he welcomes you in, hoping you somehow wouldn't notice - or maybe, wouldn't care to ask about - any of the posters or books or medals or figurines that made Peter, Peter. He was partially embarrassed and entirely nervous about sharing more of himself with you. After all, Peter was an expert at shutting people out and not too great at letting them in.

He doesn't know if he's relieved or even more anxious as you stare in awe, bag abandoned near his bed. It's clear you're taking in every detail of Peter's room, eyes not missing a single decoration. Peter feels as if he's being dissected, fidgeting as he waits for you to finish your analyzing. He's about to suggest that movie when you walk over to the desk he has shoved against the wall. Peter doesn't think there's anything special about books and pencils, but you're touching the tops of the things on his desk with care and a fascination he doesn't quite understand.

You quietly move onto old trophies and medals Peter has displayed, only the ones he was proudest of.

"Princeton Math Competition? Wow, Pete." You only turn your attention to him momentarily, returning your eyes to the shelf with a grin.

Peter's heart flutters when you sound... impressed? It was an accomplishment he was proud of, but not something he went around telling strangers.

"Oh, that... that- that's old," Peter laughs, coming up behind you, sure now there'd be no chance of getting you to watch that movie.

"Tell me about it."

"W...what?" Peter laughs, glancing at you curiously.

"I wanna hear about it," you say genuinely, taking a seat on the edge of Peter's bed. "Tell me about it."

Peter doesn't have to tell you he's shocked for you to realize it, a small smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him. Peter's not sure he has the courage to ask why before you beat him, sensing his hesitancy.

"I wanna know everything about you Peter. I wanna hear about your math competitions. I want you to tell me what books you're reading. I wanna know what matters most to you," you shrug, face a little warm from the confession. You don't have too much time to be embarrassed before Peter is next to you, hands digging into the bed at your sides. His face is inches away, his breath warm on your lips.

"Please let me kiss you," Peter whispers.

"Please do," you whisper back, letting Peter take your face in his hands and pull you into a kiss. The surface you've chosen is a little unstable as the both of you shift around, neither of you quite able to let the other go until you're forced to, breathless and grinning.

Peter's glasses have fogged up and he groans, pulling them off exasperatedly. "God, I hate these things."

"Really? But you look so good in them," you comment innocently, picking up the frames and attempting to look through them, muttering something about how, wow, Peter is blind.

Peter's not paying attention, though, heart hammering in his chest. He takes you by surprises when he kisses you this time, glasses still in your hands as they rest against his chest.

"You're trouble," Peter says when he finally pulls away. "You're doing awful things to my heart."

"Should I make fun of you, then?" You tease.

"Oh, I think that'd make it worse."

"I didn't know you were into that."

Peter shoves you as you laugh, though he can't help but join you.

"I didn't know you were into nerds," Peter quips, letting you slide his glasses back onto his face - the ones that suddenly don't seem that bad anymore.

"Only the really pretty ones," you murmur, and really, how could Peter not kiss you for that one?

Peter tries to take his glasses off as your kissing grows heated, knowing they'll be useless when they eventually fog up anyway. But your hand stops Peter, lips puffy from plenty of kisses and still eager for more.

"Nuh-uh," you say, pulling Peter's hand back down. "Keep them on."

[venelona]

2, 16 & 21

Thanks for the ask 💖✨

2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?

I'm actually surprised by the amount of kissing and angsting that's been going on lol I think a couple of translations I did contributed... the rest are not a surprise. I'm a sucker for fluff and I cheat by slapping 'slice of life' tag on my fics to have long-ass scenes with little purpose aside for 'it's nice'

16. What’s an AU you would love to read (or have read and loved)?

Royal AU me thinks. Every one I read sucked me in and I'd sell my soul for a good long one

21. If you wrote a “missing scene” in [insert fic], what would it be?

You didn't say which fic, but if I look over mine and think of missing scenes.... I think Dazai's perspective for "An exception" (Highschool Dazatsu where Dazai thinks Atsushi is confessing to him). For my long fics I write both Dazai and Atsushi's perspectives a lot so I kind of longed to write it from Dazai's point of view, even though it wouldn't add a lot to the fic aside for experiencing Dazai's pining first hand

[lvsifer]

my dearest Feini @sauron-kraut tagged me on 7-sentence wip and general wip game so here we go 💞

sequel wip to this lil rhaenicent modern au:

More people push onto the dancefloor until Rhaenyra is barely a hand’s length away from Alicent, crowded in from all sides, everyone moving to the same rhythm, bodies together like drops of water in a thundering river, and Alicent thinks of the dark woods in which she spent so many hours of her childhood, wonders if there too centuries ago, humans were dancing dancing dancing to a drum beat. With a rush she feels part of the long line stretching back six million years into the human past. Dancing from the beginning. In a haze she smiles at Rhaenyra. Incredible that humanity has always done this, always loved, danced—Rhaenrya smiles back—connected.

Alicent swans her arms around Rhaenyra’s neck and Rhaenyra steps closer, hands on Alicent’s hips. It feels so good.

tagging @jamlocked @theskeletonprior and any and all moots who want to do this (esp my dune and hotd moots!)